At the end of last winter I bought myself cross country skiing gear. I had a hysterectomy between Yule and New Years in 2024/2025, so there wasn’t any point in getting geared up during the season, but I wanted to be ready for this winter. This winter has been a little wild with house renovations and all the December madness of school things and holidays, but on the last day of 2025 I finally managed to dig my skis and poles out from the back of the garage.
We had newish snow, the golf course has been closed for a few weeks, and I’d had a migraine earlier so I was hoping fresh air would help some. First I watched a YouTube video as a refresher how-to. When I was very little, around 8 or 9, my grandpa taught me how to CC ski. He loved outdoor activities, and I have good memories of him showing me how to get up a hill, stop, and glide. He was a tall man, always in excellent shape, and made it look easy. I remember it being easy.
I was MUCH shorter and lighter at 8 than I am forty years later. Much.
I thought for this first attempt I’d go from the first tee box bench (which you can see from the back of our house) down the property line that the golf course shares with us along the woods, straight down and back. My experience with ice skating a few years ago was enough of a “first attempt may be tiring” warning. My expectations were far too high.
I made it .24 of a mile. That’s down AND BACK. I went less than half the anticipated distance, and I was exhausted. On top of that, my balance as a six foot tall heavy woman is so very different from when I originally learned: I couldn’t glide at all. I shuffled, swore, laughed at my shitty balance wobbles, and huffed and puffed my way along in the snow until I had to pause to catch my breath. I am proud that I was able to turn without falling. I am less proud that I tipped over standing still with zero provocation while resting on the straightaway. Sigh.
No, I wasn’t hurt. No, I couldn’t get back up with skis on: I took the left one off, stood up, clipped my ski boot back into the binding, and huff-shuffled my way back to the bench.
I’m still sore in muscles I forgot I owned.
Tomorrow, I try again.
No Pithy Phrase 