Swish, Swish, Swish...

So I finally gave in this year to partaking in the winter activity that many of my “better” bicycle racing friends and cronies already indulged in: cross-country skiing. Being originally from the San Francisco Bay Area at just about sea-level, I was never really into winter sports much growing up. Sure, I have the faintest memories of watching the Winter Olympics now and again and fawning over (then) East German figure skater Katarina Witt, being amazed by the totally insane ski jumps of “the flying Finn,” Matti Nykänen, or the U.S. men’s hockey team with its “miracle on ice.”

Temperate, Mediterranean climate notwithstanding, let’s just say the ethno-cultural three-ring circus of my childhood was more inclined toward images of dancing skeletons than racing skeletons, sombreros and tequila vice than hat tricks on ice, and perhaps more in tune with pico de gallo than Picabo Street.

Anyway, after a couple of rounds of badgering and soliciting advice from said cronies, I finally made my way to an REI store and a local ski shop and eventually did get kitted out at the REI (where I received excellent service, by the way). I was all set, with skis, boots, bindings, and poles. I even purchased a little tub of ski wax for the tips and tail ends of my “wax-less” classic Nordic skis.

In my eagerness, I had to roll straight to one of the local county forest preserves to try out my new setup. Before we get into that madness though, let me just say that the process of teaching oneself to cross-country ski is akin to what it must be like to try and learn to swim or ride a bike as an adult, having never learned as a child… awkward and unnatural.

Pull skis out of car. Walk to what might only seem like an appropriate spot adjacent to parking lot. Place skis on snowy ground’s surface. Clip into binding with one leg, then another. Waddle-step around like a penguin a bit and start sliding around like I’m on the NordicTrack indoor exercise machine commercial in my mind, only now I’m doing this FOR REAL. Oh, what’s that?... A slope? Oh, now I’ve fallen, and like the old lady in that classic TV commercial …“I can’t get up!!!” (wow, those TV images do get into our brains!) Ok, so I’m back up, trying not to laugh out loud too loudly, and looking around for jeers and unfortunately entertained onlookers.

This same process of alternating arms and legs gliding (okay, more of an ungraceful sloshing at this point), falling, and getting back up to repeat goes on for the better part of half an hour, before I decide to retire to the comfort of my car’s heater on full blast (it was a crisp 16 degrees that afternoon). Better make my way over to get some coffee, soup, and a bear claw for nourishment and much needed consolation.

So that was my maiden voyage en route to Thor-like Nordic fitness. Subsequent, regular ski-outings have thus far proven exhilarating and quite positive. I seem to fall less, and feel smoother and have those moments of being “in the zone” at times. I even have enough oxygen in my brain to take the occasional photograph (2 of 3 deer, not impressed with my technique): 

I do regret having lived in the Midwest this long, and waited just as long to make the leap and start skiing. A couple of friends tell me that once I master “classic” Nordic style, I can try “skate” skiing, and that I will become addicted to the speed. On that note, how about the sport of “biathlon,” where competitors race against each other on a course and have to occasionally stop and take pot shots with their back-slung rifles at target settings on the course!?!? Really, how awesome is that? Skiing and shooting!!! (here's Germany's Magdalena Neuner being awesome, skiing and packin' heat!):

One variation on a Nordic sport at a time though, please. I should probably take care that I can ski for a couple of hours without falling down before I go strapping a loaded weapon on my back and hitting the snow. I’m on it though, so those Norwegians and Swedes had better watch out!