THUNDERING down a sheer slope on a single ski in the Swiss Alps is not how you would immediately imagine Steve Shaw.

A fit and healthy 39-year-old who works as a stock controller for BAXI in Preston, Shaw is the 17th-ranked sit-skier in Europe, having won two Europa Cup competitions in the Czech Republic.

But away from the slopes he is confined to a wheelchair and his entire life, from the chair paths in his driveway to the control panel in his car, is geared around him having to do without the power of his legs.

Undeterred, Shaw is steadfast in his quest to represent Britain at the 1998 Winter Olympics in Japan, and is training at Ski Rossendale as often as is practically possible to make that happen.

It says much about the resolve of a man who broke his back while serving in the forces 14 years ago, that he is so attracted to a pursuit which could easily result in him breaking it again.

And, as he knows, much worse fates can become of those who choose to glide at great speeds down perilous, tightly-packed layers of snow and ice in search of what might be described as "the ultimate fix".

An Italian sit-skier in last year's world championship smashed his sternum and broke a collarbone along with about half a dozen ribs when, after losing control of his bob, his knees were driven up through his chest.

But from the moment Shaw became aware of sit-skiing, he demonstrated a readiness to assume the risks, to put his life on the line in order to gain a new lease of it. And it is clear from the depth of feeling with which he now talks about the sport that the risks were well worth taking.

"I was in the hospital one day, waiting to be taken for an X-ray, when I saw this poster on the wall showing disabled people taking part in various outdoor activities," recalled Shaw who hails from Preston but now lives in Hoghton.

"There was water-skiing - well, I didn't fancy getting wet - horse riding - I didn't fancy that - and I didn't fancy the rock climbing.

"Then I saw a picture of this sit-ski and I thought I wouldn't mind that.

"I asked the physiotherapist how to go about finding out about this skiing.

"He put me in touch with Ski Rossendale and I was told to come up on a Saturday.

"The first day I went, we were just getting out of the car when one of the staff said there was only 10 minutes left.

"I said, 'That'll do.'

"After no time I knew this was what I wanted to do.

"I hadn't done any sport for a few years. I had done some road races and a bit of archery but nothing had really grabbed me.

"Nothing got me fired up. There was nothing around that excited me.

"Then this came along and I was hooked."

Though his relaxed demeanour and the soft tone in which he expresses himself may convey the impression of a man content to let the world sail by, there is an unmistakable hardness about this ex-Royal Marine.

His affinity to sit-skiing is based not merely on a desire to again push his body through the rigours of an athletic discipline.

It is the rush of adrenaline generated through being poised on the edge of what appears to be an abrupt drop that represents the primary attraction.

The fact that his favourite spectator sport, apart from skiing, is boxing comes as no surprise.

For like the boxer sitting pensively in his dressing room before being called to the ring, that feeling of impending danger is central to Shaw's experience.

"The world championship downhill in January at Lech was the most dangerous race I've ever been involved in.

"I had never done a downhill before and it was so steep it really was frightening.

"The morning of the race I was physically sick.

"When I got to the slope my mouth was getting dryer and dryer and my stomach was turning over.

"One guy pulled out and I almost said to one of the officials, 'I'm with him.'

"I told the starter, 'This is ridiculous, this is dangerous, it's stupid.'

"She said that I'd be all right and that kind of reassured me.

"When I finally went out of the gate the speed was just smack.

"There's no gradual build-up. It just hits you in the face.

"You're out of that gate and you're hurtling.

"And you just can't explain to someone what it's like to be on a mountain, after being stuck in a wheelchair all day, having the total freedom to go wherever you want.

"It's unbelievable. There's nothing like it. It's another world. It's exhilarating."

For many people confronted with the sudden shock of having their active life curtailed by serious injury or paralysis, their world might have fallen apart. But Shaw faced the prospect with characteristic fortitude.

A Royal Marine from the age of 18 (he had initially tried to join as a 15-year-old straight from school but was turned down for being too short, then decided to serve an apprenticeship as an engineer), he broke his back after falling through a bridge when on patrol.

Paralysed from the waist down, he spent three months in hospital lying flat on his back before confounding doctors by discharging himself within another six weeks.

Psychologically, he emerged reasonably unscathed but the considerable strain imposed on his marriage culminated in separation from his wife.

"My marriage hit the rocks but I'm now happily married to my second wife, Christine, and couldn't feel happier," said Shaw.

"There's no point in yelling. There's nothing I can do. I'm paralysed and no matter how much I cry or whinge about it I won't be able to walk again.

"I've had to start again. There's no use in looking back. It's absolutely pointless."

Instead he is looking ahead to securing selection for Japan, keeping in mind the philosophy of a friend - "Practice hard and the war will be easy".

The man I met would not go about it any other way.

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