Pearoast
When I was learning to ski last year, I started out in the bottom group of three (no previous experience). After spending five hours more than I needed on the nursery slope, I asked to move up to the middle group, and was obliged. Turns out there was rather more of a gap there than I had expected.

As I picked myself up from my fourth crash in as many minutes, I looked down the slope to spot the rest of my group waiting impatiently for me to get of my arse. "Sod it" I thought. "I'll just go straight for them and swing gracefully blunder clumsily into place at the end of the line". I started down the hill straight toward one of the smaller kids in the group. It was going fine until I hit the bump. I didn't fall off straight away, but rather fell onto the backs of my skis while still picking up speed. Straight toward the kid five years younger and four stone lighter than me. He was standing with his skis splayed out so they formed a kind of V shape pointing down the hill, and looking over his shoulder. He must have had some sort of sixth sense, becuase he turned back just as I came too close for him to dodge, but with still enough time for his expression to change to shock and a cry of "NOOOOOOO" to escape his lips.

By some quirk of fate, my trajectory was aligned with him in such a way that I was able to tuck myself in and pass between his legs and on down the hill. I, however, was not having this. I didn't want to pile on down the hill for another hundred metres when there was such a convienient method of braking so handy.

I extended my arms and, as I sped between his knees, swept his legs out from under him in a tackle any American football player would be proud of.

When we finally came to a stop twenty metres on I was laughing too much to get up for a full minute. He did not share my mirth. Nor did the ski instructor. The rest of the group, however, agreed with me. My only regret is that it wasn't captured on film.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:15, Reply)