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4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tues. February 14, 1984 editorial comments THE Hor Dos OLympics chatterbox by Cathy Robb WHAT I DID DURING WINTER VACATION Call me a deprived child. Not once, in all my years of schooling, did any teacher ever ask me to write about What 1 Did During Summer Vacation. When September would roll around I'd sit hopeful- ly at my hoping against hope that Mr. Avery or Mrs. Drennan or Miss Hembruff (the one who wore the purple mini-skirts and yellow boots) would force me to summarize in 500 words the two glorious months that preceded Labour Day But the finks never did. 1 had a burning desire to tell the whole world that I sat around all summer watching Leave It To Beaver re-runs but the world never asked. Psychiatrists call- ed my condition Vacation Envy or something, I think. Which brings me to the present. Last week I had a vacation, a REAL vacation, the first vacation I've ever had. And I didn't watch one Beaver re-run because as far as I can tell, Beaver doesn't speak French and the Quebec television networks don't speak Gee Wally. Monte Ste. Anne. | was there, I y was. Five fan- tastic days of schussing down snow-covered slopes. Tru- ly amazing. And to top it all off, I finally get to write about What I Did During Winter Vacation. This is bet- ter than winning the lottery. Almost. SKI TREK: THE WRATH OF ANNE Nearly 10 hours after we leave beautiful downtown Claremont the Subaru pulls into the driveway of Le Plateau, a resort about 1 km away from the base of Mont Ste. Anne. : The chalet with the administration sign hung in the window houses a man who has never heard of us. He suggests we try another administration chalet. We do, but the lady inside has never heard of us either. The lady seems nice enough but she speaks very little English and we speak very little French. In sign language she tells us to go back to the ad- ministration chalet we'd just come from. Resignedly we head back to the original chalet, where the man still claims he has no reservations for us. Maybe, we think he says in French, we should try the third administra- tion chalet. This I cannot believe. Three offices? Behind Door Number Three is the jackpot, a love- ly couple who has indeed heard of us and has a con- ium made in heaven reserved in our names. This condo is the most decadent place I have ever set eyes on. It's a dream two-bedroom apartment that comes complete with sauna, a whirlpool that n't work, an indoor pool three steps from our front door, a weight room, our own personal washer/dryer, dishwasher, dishes (including a corkscrew, salad Is, mixer and even wine glasses), a French-speaking clock radio and a bilingual TV. It's almost enough to make me forget why I'm real- ly here, and that's to ski. Or should I say try to ski. You may recall in past issues of this paper my total inep- titude on the ski slopes. When we arrive at Le Plateau, it's dark, very dark, and I can't see a trace of this mountain we've come to conquer. I go to sleep thinking maybe it's not as big as it is in the pictures I've seen. Maybe it's about the size of the Tiny Tot Hill at Dagmar. Maybe I'll forget about skiing and tour Quebec City instead. Maybe it's not too late to go home, I think desperate- ly as the first rays of morning light reveal the biggest mother of a mountain I've ever set eyes on. This is no Tiny Tot Hill, my brain shrieks as panic takes over. But- terflies are breakdancing up and down the walls of my stomach. : "I don't belong here," I say nastily, through grit- ted teeth. "I am not a skier, never will be. I have nothing in common with skiers -- they're crazy, they must be. How can anyone in their right mind want to ski down that mountain?' "Just relax,"' my friend says, losing patience. "It's not as if you're going to be skiing down the big hills." 'Are skiers as dumb as surfers?' I ask, thinking back to those ski magazines and ski movies I've seen recently. My friend ignores me. "And what if my instructor doesn't speak English, huh? What'll I do then? I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll be dead, that's what. Or fired. My boss told me he'd fire me if I came back with a broken leg." "He was only kidding,"' my friend sighs. "I don't know," I say doubtfully. So I pout all the way to the mountain. I pout while I'm renting my ski equipment for the week. I really pout when I find out the boots I rented don t fit and have to exchange them a couple of times to get ones that do. Fit, that is. Which reminds me, everyone you see at a ski resort is fit. Their bodies are hard and sleek, their faces are tanned and smooth with nary a zit to be seen, and they're all beautiful -- men and women alike. My instructor for the week is no different. Guylaine looks like the heroine from the movie Breathless, with a sultry French accent to match. She's 20 and she's been skiing since she was four years old. The instant I meet her I stop pouting. For awhile it looks like Guylaine will only have two people in her class of beginners, a social worker nam- ed Debbie from Toronto and me. Debbie has skied once before but it was such a disaster she doesn't even want to count it as skiing. I feel like I've found a kindred spirit in this land of expert skiers. Feels good. Guylaine starts us off at the very beginning, walk- (Turn to page 6) Canada At The Olympics Why is that in the weeks just prior to an Olympic competition (winter or summer) Canadians get a steady stream of hype telling us that so-and-so is just about assured of a medal against the best in the world. Somehow, it just doesn't seem to work out for Cana- dian competitors in many cases, and because of the hype the disappointment seems all the greater when they don't meet these expectations. The worst offenders for the hype seem to be the television media commentators who run around the Olympics looking for anybody to say "yes, by George, we've got a good shot at a medal in this event." Mostly they are team officials or former competitors who make these predictions (what else are they going to say, for crying out loud). It is necessary to take a positive attitude, but we can't help but wonder if all the hype is helping to psyche out some of the Canadian athletes. In Sarajevo, the figure skating pair of Barb Underhill and Paul Martini were being touted as "a serious threat for gold." But what happens? They take a tumble on what looked like a routine move and bingo, the chance of even a bronze medal came crashing down with them. Ski jumper Horst Bulau was also being built up to great lengths as having a fine chance to bring home some Olympic hardware. When the chips were on the line, Horst finished something like 38th and could not even top his practise jumps. Granted, conditions were atrocious, but they were the same for everyone. Our hearts of course go out to these fine athletes in their moment of sorrow with the whole country and half the world watching, but we can't help but wonder if somehow they are the victims of over-blown expecta- tions which puts undue pressure on their shoulders. Sure, coping with pressure is part of being an Olym- pic athlete, but these youngsters can't help but feel all the hype and the build-up. What is Canada trying to do with all this hype, justify our presence at the Olympics? It seems that year in and year out, we make such a big deal out of their potential chances, only to see them come home empty-handed. We fear that the Canadian hockey team may now be getting the same treatment thanks to their three straight victories which have put them "almost into the medal round." There are hints of another '"'miracle on ice," similar to the 1980 Games, where the United States upset the Soviets, the strongest hockey machine in the world. Of course the hype that surrounded the U.S. team at Sarajevo reached truly Olympian proportions in the American media, and look how far they advanced. While we wish the Canadian team the very best of luck (and hope of course that miracles do come true) the predictions and hype should be kept on the back burner lest the Czechs or the Russians get wind of them. Seriously, our athletes have enough trouble with the cradle-to-grave competitors from the Soviet Union or East Germany where the word "amateur" is a joke. It is fine to think positive and get our hopes up, but we wonder if it all doesn't work to the detriment of some. However, with the Summer Olympics just around the corner and Calgary set to host the '88 Winter Games, we suspect that Canadians will be deluged with stories about how good our chances are. Maybe we should remember the old saying that pro- of is in the pudding. Bumped Again? If the voters in Scugog Township are feeling a little confused about who they are, one can hardly blame them. The Electoral Boundaries Commission is recom- mending that Scugog be taken out of the Provincial riding of Durham-York and put in the riding of Durham-East. Actually, the Durham-York riding is slated to disappear off the electoral map. These recommendations are not likely to come in- to effect until after the next Provincial election, but who knows. Getting bumped and shoved into new ridings at both the Provincial and Federal leval is nothing new for Scugog Township as the boundaries have changed several times over the last decade or so. Provincially, Scugog has gone from the Ontario riding to Durham-York and now apparently to Durham East. (Turn to page 6)