Hit and Run

30th January 2015

Last modified on February 6th, 2024

Tuesday 20th January 2015.

Picture this. It’s a beautiful day in Val d’Isere.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the snow is perfect.

I’m skiing with Chemmy Alcott, Dougie Crawford, a group of British journalists and some friends.

We stop at the top of the Grand Prix to admire the view and take a few team photos.

Then we gently cruise down a wide open blue run in the Bellevarde ski area known as the Diebold, down towards the Tommeuse lift.

What could possibly go wrong?

All smiles

Well, quite a lot as it turns out.

Just a few minutes after this shot above was taken a man skied into the back of me at high speed.

I somersaulted over the front of my skis, fracturing the lower third of my tibia and fibula in the process.

I didn’t hear him, nor did I see him.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Accident scene

The only thing I became aware of prior to the impact was a group of men on either side of me skiing very fast.

I knew it was bad as soon as he hit me, and I yelped like a wounded animal as I travelled through the air.

When I came to rest on the snow, I knew instantly that my leg was broken.

Initially there wasn’t any pain, but I’ve been on enough first aid courses to know that when the bottom section of your leg is no longer connected to the top, you are in quite a lot of trouble.

In spite of it all, I still managed to ask myself the two questions that any self-respecting female would ask herself in such circumstances:

1. Am I wearing matching underwear?

2. Have I shaved my legs?

The man didn’t even fall over.

He skied around me and stopped about 3 metres away.

He didn’t seem to be making any effort to approach me or to ask me how I was, so I told him that my leg was broken and that he needed to stay with me and send his friends to get help.

That’s me – ever practical – even in times of crisis.

He ignored my request and skied off with his friends.

I was left lying in the snow helpless.

Luckily, a knight in shining armour, disguised as ski instructor known as Rupert came to my rescue.

He called the pisteurs and quickly took control of the scene.

He was calm, kind and comforting. His distraction techniques were second to none and he had me chatting away in no time.

It turned out that we knew so many people in common, we were practically related.

I was so relaxed that I even managed to drape my arm casually above my head. I obviously hadn’t noticed the broken thumb at that point.

By the time the pisteurs arrived I had been in the snow for a while and I really needed to get off that mountain.

The first pain I felt was when they lifted me onto the stretcher.

When you’re not injured, a ride in a blood wagon looks like it might be quite a lot of fun.

The reality is that when you are injured, you couldn’t feel colder, lonelier, more terrified or more vulnerable if you tried.

Gliding over the snow at speed has suddenly lost its appeal – every bump makes you wince, and you long for the ordeal to be over.

An ambulance took me from the bottom of the piste to a medical centre in Val where my leg was X- rayed.

Next time a doctor asks you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, save the 10 out of 10 for when somebody tries to remove your ski boot when your leg is broken.

Even with a cocktail of morphine and gas, I can tell you that the pain is beyond excruciating – and I’ve given birth four times.

I would be the first to admit that I am prone to exaggeration,  but on this occasion I can tell you that it really does feel like a 10 tonne slab of concrete has been placed on top of your leg.

The doctor informed me that I would need to be transferred to Bourg St. Maurice for surgery.

The French doctor somehow managed to persuade me to have my surgery performed without a general anaesthetic.

I know, I know, what was I thinking?

It must have been the accent that swung it for me, ok?

I was heavily sedated and numb from the waist down, so I didn’t feel any pain.

But I could feel them pulling my leg around (presumably trying to line up the bones like the pieces of a jigsaw), and then I felt them make an incision the whole way down my lower leg.

I could also hear the drilling and the hammering.

I’ve heard people compare having a Caesarean whist conscious to having somebody doing the washing up in your stomach.

Well, having your leg reconstructed whilst conscious feels just like “having the builders in.”

It doesn’t exactly hurt, but you can’t wait for it to be over.

Apparently my leg was treated with “open reduction and internal fixation using a periarticular locking plate and screws.”

After surgery

Wrapped up

I prefer to just think of it as my bionic leg.

X ray

Bionic leg

The harsh reality is that it will be several months before I can walk again.

I have many months of rehab ahead of me, but I am prepared to work hard and determined to be back on my skis next season.

I’ve skied for many years and have never been involved in an accident before, and I know that there was nothing I personally could have done to prevent this accident from happening.

I have always been a cautious skier and have never let anybody persuade me to attempt something that I felt was beyond my capabilities.

I’m not going to let the actions of one man take away my love of the mountains and deprive me of my passion for skiing.

No way.

Should ski resorts be able to punish people that ski too fast and out of control?

Probably.

I saw an orthopaedic surgeon on my return to the UK earlier this week and he assured me that the French surgeons have done a fantastic job on my leg.

He added that whilst I was very lucky to have had such skilled surgeons, I was very unlucky to have received such horrific injuries on a blue run.

It’s all very well saying that people should be able to experience the freedom of the mountains, but imagine the consequences if people were to be given freedom of the roads?

I just hope the man that hit me feels some remorse.

And questions why he couldn’t stop and help me.

One fellow Human Being to another.

For a related story on PlanetSKI looking at whether speed controls should be introduced in places with so-called Piste Policemen, then here.

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