Skiing Trek Tests Body, Ego
My skis crossed for the third time, and the ground came up to meet me with a predictable thump. The impact took away my breath and put another dent in the enthusiasm that had brought me out to play in the woods with my wife and her visiting family.
Buying cross-country skis for Christmas seemed like a good idea at the time, but I was now realizing it had been almost 15 years since I last slid through the woods. Whatever coordination and motor skills remained were clearly not up to the task.
I dusted off, retrieved the poles and set off unsteadily down the groomed trails of Mount Spokane with new determination. Perfect snow conditions and sunny weather conspired to create a dream day for pumping along the well-marked cross country ski trails and admiring limitless views. Even my new equipment fit and performed flawlessly. I was running out of excuses.
The concept of cross-country skiing seems easy enough. The skis easily slide forward, but they grab the snow with little fish-scale patterns when pushed backward, allowing for gentle pushing off with each elongated step. Rhythmic pushing with the poles helps shift your body back and forth to weight and unweight the skis as each is used in turn to push off.
Finally, I began to achieve a semblance of rhythm and all those hours on the Nordic Track began to pay off.
Whizzing along a gently rolling trail, I could hear only the skis as their fish-scale bottoms skimmed across the snow with a sound like Bill Clinton jogging in corduroy pants. My goal originally had been to keep up with my wife’s brothers who, like her, had grown up in Germany where they leapt directly from the crib onto skis. At this point, the entire brood had disappeared down the trail, and now even my mother-in-law was leaving me in the dust.
Separated from my group, I began to enjoy the solitude of the woods and memories of growing up in Michigan. Unusual trees, deer tracks and the subtle beauty of the woods in winter garb began to catch my attention. An older man in full aerobic bloom passed me, his sweats soaked through and a big smile on his face as he swooped on with efficient glides.
As the trail turned back on itself to begin a series of climbing switchbacks, a horde of boisterous teenagers burst into a noisy laughter behind me as one of their group lost the battle with gravity. With consternation, I determined to open a larger gap ahead of them, telling myself it would preserve the sense of solitude I was enjoying. Pumping with increased vigor, I discovered that the skis seemed to work better at higher speeds and began focusing on the pace.
Rounding another turn, my skis slipped and veered out of control into the deep snow off-trail and I went down in a cloud of white. Not bothering to dust off, I made an ungainly hop back to the trail and set off huffing and puffing. Feeling slightly panicky, I envisioned the teenagers coming up and passing this over-the-hill athlete with ease, giggling over my snow-caked backside. I can do this, I told myself.
Nearing the top of the long hill, I gained the final ridge and burst out into bright sunshine. The slope lessened, and my wife and her family appeared in the distance, waving happily from the top of the hill. I lifted a pole in salute and bent to the task.
Arriving at the top, I was rewarded with a spectacular view and a heart that threatened to burst out of my ribs. The beauty of the Inland Northwest once again caught my attention and I realized it had been ignored in the heat of my imagined competition. I resolved not to let it happen again. After all, enjoying nature’s feast for the senses is the essence of cross-country skiing.
Just then, a shout interrupted my peaceful reverie, and I turned in time to see my mother-in-law disappear into the woods, waving her poles tauntingly. Pushing off, I gave chase frantically, the specter of being left behind again suddenly looming large, and the call of the fragile male ego ringing in my ears.
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