I’m not exactly a paragon of grace normally, and strapping long pieces of wood to my feet could do nothing but exacerbate that, but I was still expecting my first cross-country ski trip to go better than it did. Ah, Alana of the past - so optimistic, so unaware. I wish I could go back in time and warn you.
The flat part was all right, except when it was icy, but I was ready to give it up after I spent literally twenty minutes floundering on a barely-there slope while Glenn waited patiently at the top. I resorted to my old standby motivator – if a man who is fifteen years my senior and weighs twice as much as me can do it, then, dammit, so can I. Glenn now has a bunch of cripplingly embarrassing photographs and videos if he ever needs to blackmail me for some reason.
After I was up the hill, I became more comfortable on the skis and I was able to move along at a slothlike pace without falling, for the most part. The trick, I think, is to really put a lot of weight on your heel with each step, so you don’t fall backward. Also, the annoyance of trudging gracelessly up hills and over flat stretches of the trail was lessened somewhat by the brief but exhilarating downhill slides, although I still haven’t got the stopping thing down yet; my current technique involves plowing into handy snowdrifts.
I gave up in the end, when it started getting dark. I couldn’t see the definition in the snow, so I was falling right and left over invisible bumps and valleys and getting really frustrated with the entire thing. Glenn, who had long since made it back to the car, walked back and showed me how to take off my skis and I limped, humiliated and defeated, back to his truck.
I’ll try it again; I really hate hiking, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it. I’m not the kind of person who hikes for hiking’s sake, or who strolls around enjoying views, but I like the sense of accomplishment I get from summiting a mountain. Maybe if I set up some sort of goal for myself next time, I would feel less like giving up when things get tough.
The flat part was all right, except when it was icy, but I was ready to give it up after I spent literally twenty minutes floundering on a barely-there slope while Glenn waited patiently at the top. I resorted to my old standby motivator – if a man who is fifteen years my senior and weighs twice as much as me can do it, then, dammit, so can I. Glenn now has a bunch of cripplingly embarrassing photographs and videos if he ever needs to blackmail me for some reason.
After I was up the hill, I became more comfortable on the skis and I was able to move along at a slothlike pace without falling, for the most part. The trick, I think, is to really put a lot of weight on your heel with each step, so you don’t fall backward. Also, the annoyance of trudging gracelessly up hills and over flat stretches of the trail was lessened somewhat by the brief but exhilarating downhill slides, although I still haven’t got the stopping thing down yet; my current technique involves plowing into handy snowdrifts.
I gave up in the end, when it started getting dark. I couldn’t see the definition in the snow, so I was falling right and left over invisible bumps and valleys and getting really frustrated with the entire thing. Glenn, who had long since made it back to the car, walked back and showed me how to take off my skis and I limped, humiliated and defeated, back to his truck.
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