Two Skis to the Wind

On Thursday I walked three blocks home from work and upon my arrival my bag looked like this:


This is at least partially because Brian turned 27 on Thursday, and his birthday wish was skiable snow.

On Friday I weaseled my out of work in the afternoon (that is worked liked one of hell's minions all morning and got everything done early). I came home, Brian and I got dressed, made a quick stop on the way out to the trails so I could buy my very own set of cross-country skis with my birthday funds (thanks Mom!) and then we finally made it to the U of I cross country course, which was already groomed for skiing.

We skied for about an hour, came home, ate dinner, hung out, slept, got up, ate breakfast and went skiing again. Today, I am really, really sore.

Things I Like About Skiing:

1) It is a way to get out and be active at times when the weather permits very little else.
2) Ski clothes and cycling clothes are very nearly interchangeable, except you don't have to wear a helmet to ski.
3) The cross-country course has this lovely rise in the center, is surrounded by a thick ring of trees and is quite large, so when Brian disappears around the next bend, usually I find myself alone in a vast, still, field of snow - sometimes with the sun beginning to set. It's the closest thing I've found to genuine outdoor solitude since I moved to the Midwest.
4) Skiing is hard enough work that you barely even notice the cold.
5) It doesn't hurt to fall over.


All that said, I am a really bad skier. I am not yet fluid of movement and long of glide. At the beginning of the ski on Friday I resembled most closely a child who has been walking for, say, a week. Excitement outweighing skill significantly, I'd get going alright and even, at times, pick up speed. But all it would take was one obstacle - say, a ridge in the snow or an off-camber part of the trail, and I'd very nearly lose my balance.

By Saturday I had improved to the grace of perhaps a two year old. While mainly in command of my velocity and direction, I'd still sometimes sit down hard at the most unlikely moments, look around to make sure no one had seen my folly, and scramble back to my feet.

One of the nasty things about snow, though, is that is leaves a shiny layer of crystals that cling to clothing in spite of all efforts to be brushed off. So, once you've fallen, you're branded as someone who falls on skies to anyone who passes by. Luckily, most of the people out there are just way too excited about the snow to care.

In fact, it seems that everyone who bikes in Iowa City in the summer skis in the winter. Every other skier we encountered was also dressed in cycling clothes, and at one point when someone flew by me on skate skis wearing a Discovery Channel jersey, I realized I'd seen Jason McCartney.