It’s the Whistler World Ski & Snowboard Festival, and because we put out the mag for the event, plus run our ski test, plus hold our editorial meeting, all of Ski Press is there, from the Quebec home office to the far-flung shores of San Francisco. I'm the far-flung one.

I'm skiing Blackcomb with Katia, the circulation manager, and Marie-Claude, a.k.a. MC, who runs the office and just about everything else.

Though it’s still early afternoon, there are magazines to distribute down in the Village, and this will be our last run of the day. The snow on top is ice cream; as we descend, it turns to skim milk, then half-and-half, then heavy cream, then library paste. It’s in the paste that MC runs into trouble.

In the deep slush, she loses a ski and collapses onto the snow. Omygod — it’s the broken ankle from which she has so recently recovered. Katia and I ski down to her. She's quiet. Silent. But already getting up. “Please,” I say. “Don’t get up yet.”

She ignores me. Continues to rise, now looking for her ski.

“Please, MC. First let me ask you some questions.”

“What? You want to see if I know my name?”

Actually, I was thinking of asking that, but I quickly scratch it from my question list. I just want to keep her down for a few minutes. “No, no,” I lie. “I want to know about the injury. And the pain.” I'm improvising here. “Is the pain sharp or dull?”

MC gives me a distinctly sharp look. “What do these words mean?”

Losing your second language could be a sign of shock, but I take it as a sign of displeasure. Still, I mime sharp, then dull. By now, she’s on her feet.

“Dull. Let’s go.”

“Perhaps I should call the ski patrol.”

“Perhaps not. Let’s go.”

“Perhaps I could carry your ski.”

“Non. Let’s go.”

“You are a stubborn French girl.”

“What does ‘stubborn’ mean? I think it is a bad word.”

Note: MC knows what stubborn means. And I can spell displeasure.

Katia chimes in: “You two are driving me crazy. Will you please, please stop arguing!”

MC and I look at each other. We almost smile. I tell Katia: “We’re not arguing. We’re negotiating. This is what we do all day, almost every day. This is the way we work together.”

As always, MC has her way. We ski down. We’re moving slowly, MC in carefully controlled pain. Finally we pick up the bottom leg of the gondola for downloading. On the ride, our ‘negotiating’ continues.

“MC, I have water.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait for a beer.”

“OK, I have ibuprofen.”

“I’ll wait to take it with my beer.”

“Stubborn French girl…”

On the shuttle back to the hotel, MC talks to Dave the driver, whose name she now knows, whose history she knows, whose future plans she knows. She directs the entire conversation to Dave. He hasn’t a clue that she's injured or in pain or worried about her ankle, just that a beautiful woman with an exotic accent is interested in his life. Really interested in his life. This ride is the best moment of his day, maybe his winter. He can't believe his good fortune.

As we leave the bus, MC graciously allowing me to carry her skis, I say, “Maybe you're not just a stubborn French girl. I think maybe you've got game. I think definitely, you've got game.”

MC says, “What does ‘game’ mean?”

— Jules Older