"you're pretty athletic"

was the complimentary feedback i received halfway down sugarloaf mountain from "mr double black diamond". clearly he hasn't noticed the frequent withdrawals from our checking account that go to active.com on a fairly regular basis. nevertheless, he had been on at me for the last couple of years to give downhill skiing a go so that we could have "something to do together", why he just cant be happy that we both enjoy a bit of bravo tv from the same couch i do not know.

ski resorts; clearly i have been missing out on a whole new realm of people watching. north face aside, many seem to view it as an opportunity to showcase their collection of voluminous snowflake sweaters. i took it as one to test the commitment of my relationship.

starting with the ski boots. not only do those things bloody hurt, but they make it virtually impossible to maneuver 25 metres from the rental place to the 'staging area'. this doesn't even factor in balancing two extremely cumbersome and overpriced pieces of wood on one clavicle, while trying not to poke someone else in the crotch with a pole. 2,400 centimetres later and it's time to rearrange everything in order to get on the bloody chairlift, which was "fun" (sort of like an amusement park), until we stopped, mid-mountain, due to wind gusts, and just hung there helplessly swinging in the swirl.

and the hills were indeed alive with assorted expletives.

fortunately ours made it to the summit (and i was able to disembark with all equipment intact), to a snowstorm; all the better to propel us down a mountain that no one could actually see. so...if a couple can survive a cross country road trip (we did-- twice), then they need to try skiing from high altitude together. after a brief tantrum, i determined that passive-aggressive would be the best strategy to facilitate a sooner apres-ski, and guarantee that i would never be asked to go again.

and so i made full use of the many, many faceplants, lying like a dead starfish, waiting to be plucked, along with far flung skis and poles, from the snow and pine trees. "i hate skiing/winter/this/why did you bring me here/i cant do this/it's too steep/i'm never doing it again/this is your thing, not mine/stop trying to force me to do your stuff/this isn't fun".

neither my behaviour or technique were pretty, let alone gracious and graceful. and had there been video footage, rather like people who choose to record their boudoir moments, i don't know that i would ever pick up a set of poles again.

it took us 45 minutes to get down the mountain when it should have taken eight. it felt like two hours.

but i did make the "noise".

i did it all for the t-shirt

my second (and final) snowshoe race of the year went significantly better than the first. i did not finish last, instead climbing up to third from the end. this may have had something to do with the fact that we three back of packers kept a nice, even pace the first 2.5 mile loop. that, and borrowing a pair of "racing" snowshoes. it's amazing how much easier the whole process is when there aren't ironing boards strapped to the bottom of your feet.

and much like the elusive 'runner's toenail', i can't seem to acquire 'snowshoer's bum'.

another eskimo word for "snow"; "what the bloody hell are you thinking?! you cant ride in this".

i cant drive in snow, so i'm not entirely sure why removing two whole wheels and swapping the remainders for something an eighth of their size would translate into my being more capable of not only remaining vertical, but maintaining a straight, and somewhat forward, momentum.



fortunately, snow is soft. unfortunately, when most of the time is spent falling into it, it's also rather cold.

much like the unfathomable "leaves on the line" that are capable of bringing the entire london underground to a grinding halt, i had not only chosen "the wrong kind of snow", but it was "too warm" (at 30 degrees F). while colder temperatures, less tyre pressure, different trail conditions and perhaps a set of training wheels could have resulted in a lot less time spent horizontal, i would argue that quite a lot of time was in fact conducted in a very upright position; 'stationary, eating gummy bears in the middle of the doubletrack, and having a gripe about how not fun this was'.

dear "jim"...

ending our relationship back in the spring was the right thing to do at the time. it became clear to me when all i felt was dread, and started making up excuses to avoid regular contact. i finally accepted that the long haul just wasn't in our collective future.

conditions were right at the time, but now they've changed and i am faced with the prospect of groveling for another chance-- the snow is coming, and the days are shorter.

i am materialistic, i'll admit it, i only want you for your treadmill.

xxx

it is better to have raced and lost, than to have never raced at all

"i have a throat that's scratchy, a nose that's runny, and my brother and his wife are in town visiting from england, and we all ate very rich food and drank copious amounts of wine last night".

"i've done something to my L4 and L5".

"i left my running shoes at home, but found a pair to borrow that are half a size too small for me."

february in maine, 10 miles of rolling hills, the wind chill of a cape elizabeth coast line; it is easy to gripe and make excuses, albeit mine were a little more whiney (refer to first set of quotation marks), but rather just get on and do it, than talk about doing it, not do it, and then not have anything to do a little race report on.

(it sucked).

cross country skiing is the gateway drug to downhill

i have been told that all dedicated runners cross country ski during the winter- when they're not out at 6am, clocking 19 miles, in a blizzard, on one leg, backwards- and this became very apparent at the trail head parking area, where a gaggle of subarus were all sporting the 26.2 bumper sticker.

for those sun bunnies, not in the know, cross country skiing is further broken down into "skating" and "classic". the latter being a parallel front-back-front motion that you will see the 'cardio equipment infomercial guy who wears leopard print hot pants', demonstrating (and looking far too perky for someone with an all over groin chafe). by contrast, "skating" looks an awful lot like the stuff of rollerdromes, just with two enormous planks of wood strapped to the feet. fortunately there are poles- with funny bits of plastic on the end- to help with the inevitable balance/forward propulsion and/or provide one more thing to co-ordinate and become entangled with.

the human condition dictates that we find something familiar in the non-familiar so as to make that pesky, awkward newness not feel quite so uncomfortable. for example, dubai now looks an awful lot like vegas (sans celine dion in something encrusted and silky), and boston is london substituting starbucks for pret a manger every 20 metres. therefore, cross country skiing is to winter, as mountain biking is to all that is great and wonderful in the other three, "fun" (dry, warm, snow-free...) seasons. there's pretty trail to look at, and plenty of social stops with fellow xc-ers so as to keep profuse sweating on a purely intermittent basis. perhaps xc skiing could take a few pages out of mountain biking's book; helmets would be a good place to start, and maybe "knobby skis". i am confident that had i had this kind of equipment there would not have been a large right butt cheek impression left at the bottom of the hill, requiring groomers to come out and make the trail safe for others.

all of this means that i must be ready for a snowboard.

there are definitely more than 12 days to christmas

in no particular order, except the gregorian one:

one nice idea (to invite far flung aunt/uncle/mother/sister/3 nieces, for a lampoon christmas vacation).

two mildy traumatized pooches (from either being picked up, or fiercely patted on the head by an overzealous toddler).



three bottles of wine/beer/2% milk consumed daily (by each age group, respectively).

four o'clock in the morning wake-up calls (related to the senior family members rising to brew coffee, or the junior ones to make a general "what's on disney channel?" ruckus).

FIVE christmas presents to RE-GIFT (what social occasion calls for a naughty nun and/or eve costume, paired with an obama baseball cap?).

six lobster exoskeletons discarded (per both "we have visitors in town, let's have lobster for xmas eve and new year's eve, eve, plus i can't be bothered to cook again" dinner sittings).

seven trips to the airport (to include multiples to collect wayward family members caught up in terrorist related delays).

eight incomplete hours of solid sleep (by everyone except the dogs and toddlers, who were at least able to nap at the restaurant table during lunch).



nine two way conversations (going on simulataneously, that no one was actually listening to, of which aunt margaret admitted "i just made that up" to at least three).

ten hours before departure, that one nervous family member insisted upon being dropped off at the airport (to be sure she made the flight).

eleven incidents related to improper or negligent use of a cell phone (infractions include; calling, leaving a message, and then immediately switching off the phone; leaving said phone switched off and in the suitcase at home when going to the airport to collect the uncle/brother arriving from florida, who does actually have a cell and knows how to use it; travelling without a phone during 'terrorist and winter weather' season; not setting up a voicemail, so that messages cannot be left/missed calls cannot be noted when the phone is eventually switched on again some time after the pilot has landed and said it is ok to do so).

twelve frostbitten phalanges (from agreeing to snowshoe in 15 degree weather, never mind about the wind chill, we will do an "activity", damnit).

running naked

the temperature has now dipped to some number that is a close enough approximation of my shoe size. as a breed originally designed to jump and retrieve off the frigid waters of canada, axel certainly does not require merino socks, fleece "outerwear", or a baselayer in order to head out for a run.



it is time for fleet feet to carry a line of 'technical labrador wear'.