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Diary

Henry Sands

Tuesday, 18th March 2008

Henry Sands on hurtling down an icy slope in a toboggan

Briefed now, we make our way to the start of the run. I go to reassure Oleg as he is ushered towards the starting block. I try to cheer him as his toboggan is placed on the ice. ‘You’ll be fine, Oleg, I’ll see you at the bottom.’ ‘You really are one of the biggest dicks I know,’ he says, before obediently lying down in the correct position. The starting bell sounds and I watch him head down the ice. The course record stands at 40.09 seconds and you are expected to descend in a ‘very controlled manner’ and take between 65 and 70 seconds for your first run. We are warned that times outside this bracket imply a lack of attention to our instructor.

I go to the gallery to watch my friend crossing the finish line. The 70-second mark comes and there is no sign of him. The clock continues. Now it is at 90 seconds and I am slightly concerned. Then I hear the announcer, ignoring such niceties as ‘Mr’. ‘Sorry for the delay, but Tolstoy is still going. Tolstoy! Will you get a move on, you are holding everyone up!’ Oleg finishes with a time of 109 seconds, the season’s record slowest. The voice comes over the tannoy again: ‘Tolstoy, with a time of 109 seconds, that is disgraceful and simply not good enough. That is quite frankly an unacceptable and appalling performance, Tolstoy. You are just wasting everyone’s time.’

By race day we have had eight practice runs, and the team’s performance has improved. We are given our handicaps, which mean if three of us can get our best times, we might have a chance of a prize. This does not happen. Our enthusiasm gets the better of us and two of our team crash at the infamous Shuttlecock Corner, the sharpest bend on the run. Oleg gouges a four-inch gash in his leg. Our team finishes in last place by an embarrassing margin.

What is the point of the Cresta Run in the 21st century? It is simple. It is a little haven where grown men, who have spent hours travelling, at great expense, can slide down a 50-second run of ice, on what is effectively a tea tray, wearing plus fours, a jacket and tie. Women can laugh at us, if they dare.

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