Besides the fact your poopy nappy moulded itself to the flat seat of the ski lift, your nappy doesn’t bother you. In fact, you barely think about it as you enjoy the long, circular route. In fact, it’s not really like any run you’d ever done before. It’s not really a run with a clear path, rather there just seems to be a general direction to go, interspaced with signs telling you you’re going the right way.
From the end of the top bit, you can see most of the valley the village is in, with more snow-covered mountains opposite. It would be really neat to ski down those mountains, you think. Further down, it turns more trail like, going through the trees. You’re tired by the end of it and ready for dinner. Mama leads you to a bench out of the way and you sit down next to her, your nappied mess moving again.