Downhill fast 94mph

Our track has been mown straight down what is normally a large mogul field beneath the Mont Fort cable car, and is the steepest in the world, with a 48-degree gradient at the top. Amateurs and pros compete on the same course at different times. The pros wear shiny, skintight rubber suits, aerodynamic Darth Vader helmets, fairings on their calves and skis three times the length of a normal pair.

We amateurs are restricted to standard catsuits and 7ft downhill skis. The suits offer no protection. They are simply to cut wind resistance and drag. If you fall at the kind of velocity I am expecting to reach, then even the quick-release bindings on the skis are unlikely to prevent serious injuries to the legs or pelvis.

I'm feeling very nervous, but my confidence is boosted by a couple of Scots, Angus and Colin Morison, easy-going Verbier residents. Angus, 25, competes on the skier-cross circuit and hopes to take part in the 2010 Winter Olympics. The remainder of the 38 entrants are a mixed bag: teenagers from the local racing club to sixtysomething former downhill racers. I've got six attempts, spread over two days, to reach my goal of 100mph.

I join the queue of skiers lining up for the start point. This is not a normal schuss. Think of the steepest slope you have ever skied, then make it steeper to the point where - standing at 90 degrees to the fall line - you cannot stand straight and hold your arm out sideways without touching snow.

Then imagine it dropping straight down for half a mile. The only way not to bottle this is to break it down into small steps. I concentrate on the back of the man in front. Do not, under any circumstances, look down, or either nerves or legs will give way.

The starter clings out there in the void, somehow standing in the middle of the track. The snow is very hard and slick as I edge out and feel the chasm opening beneath me. I look only at the starter's eyes as I halt in front of him. He peers down the slope, waiting for the man in front to clear the run-out zone, takes my number and radios it down to the timekeepers. He gives me a nod and says, "Piste libre", which is my invitation to go.

I treat this as a command, allowing no time for doubt to creep in. I am strangely fearful of tripping over my own long skis as I turn and head down the slope. I get straight into the racing tuck. I have passed the point of no return: there is nowhere to turn either left or right; the only way to survive is to keep going straight down and ride it out.

I had thought about this moment a thousand times, but I still wasn't ready for the acceleration, the rush of wind that turns into a scream. What looked like a smooth slope comes alive with thousands of bumps and ruts that make your feet dance. I have become a human pebble skimming over the surface of a rippled pond. The only way to be safe is to stay as still as possible, keep in the tuck, hands thrust forwards to break the wind, legs apart for stability, weight forwards.

I hold out for the first red line painted across the snow that marks the start of the timing zone, the second flashes under my skis an instant later, then the green line that marks the end of the course. It has taken barely more than 10sec and I slowly extend my arms into the airstream and gradually unfurl into the wind's resistance. After what seems an age, I come to a standstill on the flat.

Now, the adrenaline rush kicks in. I did 137kph (85mph), about 10kph behind the leaders. Fast but still disappointing. Now for the mental challenge of a second run. This is said to be harder because once you know your speed you cannot stop your brain shouting numbers at you.

Fear initiates a collection of small reactions that incrementally dock your speed: you stand protectively on your skis' inside edges instead of letting them wash flat over the snow; your tuck is not completely tight, elbows in front of shins right down over the boots; your shoulders are slightly raised, catching the wind; and your head looks up, not down.

Simone Origone, the men's world champion with a speed of 251.4kph, told me during training that in his tuck he can see only a metre in front of his ski tips and relies on the lines left by previous skiers to keep straight. Saana Tidstrand, the women's world champion, said she achieves her best speeds only when she is totally relaxed.

I can feel in the second run that I am not fully committed and manage only 141kph while the leaders, such as Angus, touch 150kph. For the final run, we climb a long way up the slope, and the mid-morning April snow is now softer and smoother. I record 147kph, or 91mph. Better but still not enough.

Colin is critical of my tuck and suggests some old-fashioned training. The pros use wind tunnels these days, but amateurs still use the time-honoured method of strapping themselves to the roof of a car being driven at speed. It sounds dangerous, but when you think about it, it's no more dangerous than the Flying K itself. In fact, as long as your skis are securely fixed to the roof rack, it's a lot safer.

Sadly, the Swiss police have never really approved of this technique, and after a while I see the blue light of a traffic police car over my left shoulder. Beneath me, I hear an exchange in Swiss French that goes along the lines of: "Do you know you have got a man strapped to the roof of your car?" "No, officer, never seen him before in my life." Colin is nonchalant, and the policeman laughs, but our training is over. Still, the valuable minutes in the slipstream have improved my tuck and trimmed my stance.

I was ready to give it another go. The third and final run the next day saw us right at the top of the course, not far below the world championship start point. This was my chance to break 160kph - the magical 100mph. I pushed off, got into my tightest tuck and hung on for dear life. I was flying and had no doubt I had hit my target when a blast of wind hit me so hard it nearly pushed me over.

Those watching thought I had run over something, or caught an edge as I veered right. I later learnt that a thermal vortex builds up in a bowl near the bottom of the slope. It took all my instincts and balance to stay on my feet, but going through the timing zone half-standing blew my time and I recorded only 151kph, about 94mph. I was furious and sat on the snow cursing.

Then something happened to put it all in perspective. News arrived that Caitlin Tovar, the only woman member of the British speedskiing team, had had a bad accident at Les Arcs in France. She slid off the track and fell 3,000ft through a mogul field. Her helmet was ripped off and she sustained serious head injuries.

She was rushed to hospital in Grenoble and fellow team members anxiously awaited news while she was on a life-support machine. Her brain showed no signs of activity and later she died. Only two days earlier, on her 32nd birthday, she had broken the British women's record with a speed of 202kph (125.5mph).

On such occasions you get a sense of how fragile you are and how transitory life is, and nothing else matters that much.

After Caitlin Tovar's death, the International Ski Federation (FIS) has denied the Les Arcs speedski course approval for FIS races using the top part of the course and limited the top speed on the course to 180kph. It has also introduced a new safety feature, a fence extending across the slope at the start to be called a "catline", after Caitlin.

Who, when and where

Speedskiing records

1930 St Moritz, Gustav Lantschner (Austria), 105.7kph

1982 Les Arcs, Steve McKinney (America), 201.230kph. The first man over 200kph

1987 Les Arcs, Graham Wilkie (Great Britain), 212.514kph

1995 Vars, Jeff Hamilton (America), 242kph. The first 150mph-plus skier

2005 Les Arcs, Marc Poncin (Great Britain). Set a national record at 245.23kph (152.41mph)

2006 Les Arcs, Sanna Tidstrand (Sweden), 242.59kph. The fastest woman on skis

2006 Les Arcs, Simone Origone, (Italy), 251.4kph. The world's fastest man on skis

Other records

2005 Les Arcs, Xavier Cousseau (France), 206.07kph. Fastest mono skier

2006 Les Arcs, Michael Milton (Australia), 210.4kph. Fastest handicapped skier on one leg

2006 Landgraaf (Netherlands), Millar Reid (Great Britain), 103.5kph. Fastest indoor skier

How to do it The open event will be held in Verbier on the weekend April 12-13. Entry costs 100 Swiss francs, including ski pass, lunch and race fee. See www.xspeedski.net or contact the Verbier tourist office on www.verbier.ch .

Racers have to wear a helmet, back-protector and goggles. Ski Bartlett (www.skibartlett.com , 020 8848 0040) sells and hires ski racing equipment and provided Graham Duffill with downhill skis and catsuit.

The Les Arcs speedski course is open from March and anyone can have a go; €12.50 for a single run and €25 for three runs. Contact the Club des Sports www.sports-lesarcs.com/hiver or the tourist office www.lesarcs.com or the French speedski organisation www.kl-france.com.

The French national championships, where new records are often set, will be held in Les Arcs on April 11-13. Erna Low (www.ernalow.co.uk , 0845 863 0525) specialises in holidays and apartments in Les Arcs.

Life's about zero drag: what speed skiers wear

Ski poles Used for balance, they are shaped so that when pushed into the hips they help brace the arms against the body

Fairings Fairings behind the calves improve aerodynamics by reducing drag

Skis Typically 246cm long and wider than normal skis, the metal edges are blunted to reduce the risk of catching an edge at high speed

Helmet Full-face Kevlar helmet is tailored for each racer. The aerodynamic outer shell breaks away in the event of an accident, leaving the inner part to protect the head. Vision is extremely restricted

Suit £500 tailor-made latex rubber suit is designed to cut wind resistance and slide in the event of a fall. Back-protectors under the suit are mandatory