For twenty-five years I have driven highway 93 through Midland, shopping at the stores, getting gas and running errands, and there between the entrances to a strip mall and the Super store, a small gravel road leads towards the woods. Follow that bumpy road a short distance to the Midland Ski Club, to a place that I had never been to, that is right here in my own backyard. I rented a set of skis from a friendly assistant, who was happy to point out what trails that would be best for me. Ahem, that means a mostly flat and easy trail for someone who has not been on skis in 35 years and has a high chance of falling and not being able to get back up! However, my challenges started before even getting the skis on. Two poles, two skis and two boots, and me trying to juggle the whole kit and caboodle through the doors. One ski caught on the upper door frame, while a pole wedged itself across the door and I came to an abrupt and sudden stop. Next a shoe dropped, and as I went to bend over to grab it, another pole slipped between my feet and tried to trip me up. As to that nice assistance, she politely looked anywhere but at me with a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. Out the door I went, looking as clumsy and awkward as groundhog on a bicycle, all before I even hit the snow. Well, this should be interesting.
I spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how to snap my shoes in the skis and was overly proud of myself once I figured that out. Poles in my hands and I was ready to smoothly glide away, looking like I was ready for the next Olympics. At least until I tried to move, and almost fell over, only saved by those poles. Less of an Olympic athlete, and more of a cartoon character. Cross country skiing uses a surprising number of muscles, and I could feel every one groan at this activity, from my legs, back and arms, to those abdominal muscles that have been dormant all winter and which where none too happy to be involved in this adventure. I had naively thought that skiing would be easy on my bad knee, and I am unhappy to say that I was wrong. Once I had figured out my balance, I tried one of those graceful strides and promptly yelped. Alright, even on skis I have a limp. A nice long, graceful stride with my right leg, and a little bitty step with my left. If I wasn’t following a trail I would have been going in circles. I gradually figured out my movements and began to enjoy the activity through the silent forest, only the swish of my skis making any noise.
The cold wind quickly picked up as the trail left the forest and entered the open fairways of the local golf course. I was enjoying the gently rolling trail, going at my own pace while admiring the people in the distance, wearing proper gear and speeding along the trails. Several times I almost fell, poles waving in the air as I struggled to remain on my feet. I moved over to let a nice gentleman pass me, while apologizing for my slow pace. We spent a few moments talking about skiing, the weather and other pleasantries, and this gave me the chance to unobtrusively catch my breath and rest my sore knee. We parted ways and I continued with my own slow pace. I was beginning to tire and was happy to note the trail turning back towards the trail head, until I turned a corner and was confronted by a hill that I would have no ability to get up without hiring a Sherpa. Another skier passed me, using muscles that I lack to power up that hill. Other people had used a herringbone technique, by placing their skis outward in a V pattern. I tried this, placing my weight on my poles and walking up the hill like a penguin, and promptly fell flat on my face as I lost traction. Oh boy, now how to get back up without sliding back down the hill. I admit I laid there spreadeagled on the snow, and considered removing my skis, but I am stubborn, and with much grunting and groaning I managed to stand up on my skis. I side stepped the rest of the way up that hill, tiny little step by tiny little step. There was no exaltation on reaching the summit, as what goes up must come down, and though the downward hill was small by most standards, I was not confident that I could get down it without flying off the trail into a tree.
With a silent prayer, I gently pushed off and quickly picked up speed. It might have been the small tree limb that I tried to dodge, but most likely it was my own lack of coordination that sent me sailing off the trail and into the fluffy snow. Thick snow was packed into my glasses, which briefly had me thinking that there had been an avalanche. Nope, just me in a snowbank. After assessing for any bodily damage, I gently untangled the ski that I was lying on, which also happened to be pointing the wrong way and the ski tip was now behind me. That would explain the discomfort in my right foot, as the shoe was still attached to the ski with my toes bent backwards. A few minutes of me rolling in the snow and using some naughty words, and I was finally back on my skis and pointing in the right direction. My knee was throbbing painfully, and my limp was more pronounced as I slowly finished the last of the trail and returned to the parking lot. Despite my adventures, I really enjoyed the day, and if my knee permits, I will be back for another attempt, though perhaps without the hill.