After Deadline: First Ski

Looking for a way to get outside and do something different together, my husband and I attended a cross country ski clinic at the Hidden Valley Nature Center in Jefferson on Feb. 6.

First time cross country for him, though years ago he loved downhill skiing. I, on the other hand, had vast minutes of experience from when my grandmother in Edgecomb handed teenage me a pair of cross country skis and told me “go play outside.”

As I recall, teenage me quickly decided she would rather be snuggled up in front of the fireplace with a cup of cocoa and a book. So expert skier I am not. Still, I was game to try again.

It was a brisk Sunday morning with temperatures in the single digits. Unfazed, we layered up and grabbed a pocketful of hand warmers on our way out the door. We didn’t stay cold long; nothing warms the body like exertion (except maybe that fireplace of my youth).

The first thing we learned – after how to put the skis on – was how to fall. It was like a synchronized event: The instructors fell, and then like dominos the members of the class all toppled over.

I did not fall.

I absolutely could not bring myself to do it. I froze every time. It was as if my brain locked my body upright. I tried repeatedly to just lean to the left and let gravity have its way with me. Didn’t happen.

An instructor had to come over and give me a gentle shove.

I knew getting back up was going to be a problem. Getting up and me have had a fractious relationship, born of bad knees, multiple ankle injuries, lack of anything resembling muscle tone, advancing age.

It’s an awkward, graceless thing, me getting up. Better done in the privacy of my own home than in front of a class of eager new skiers, all of whom were, unlike me, upright and ready to go.

I want to say the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not so sure the spirit was willing…

It took some focus, a lot of encouragement, and some unpleasant torque on my left ankle but I finally got one ski in the right position. Unfortunately, nothing I could do would get the other ski off its edge and flat so I could stand.  I wasn’t strong enough to lift up off my knee to position myself over the skis and rise.

Nothing for it but to lie back on the snow dramatically and tell the class (and my husband) “Just go on without me!”

But, alas, I wasn’t getting off that easy. The instructor suggested I unlatch my boots and try rising without the encumbrance of the skis. I managed to kick one off. That and a ski pole gave me the leverage I needed to finally get up.

I have to admit – I was proud that I only had to take off one ski. And I was proud that I was able to get that ski back on all by myself. Actually I was proud that I got up at all.

Then and there I made the decision that I would not fall again. I was not willing to go through the shock, the pain, the humiliation even one more time. Wasn’t gonna happen.

However, the skis and the snow chose not to take my preferences into account.

I slipped and fell just standing and waiting. Clearly, my mistake was thinking that I had anything resembling stability or balance on the jittery snow with long skinny waxed boards attached to my feet.

But I slowly struggled to my feet again, with the instructor standing on the back of my ski so it wouldn’t slip away. And eventually I began to get the hang of gliding left, right, left, right on the slick surface. As long as there wasn’t a hill. Or a slope. Or the whiff of a hill or a slope.

The instructor asked me what I was worried about, was it falling? Yup. That was pretty much it.

I asked him how I could get over this fear of falling. His answer? Snowshoes.

We practiced going up and down a slope so gentle it was barely there. Some of the bolder folks experimented with a small nearby hill. We all got better, more confident, even me.

When the class decided to make their way to a nearby frozen pond, I somehow managed to crab-ski my way down to join them.

Spread out in front of me was a winter diorama, with figures gliding up and down the snow-covered ice, the pine forest marching up the slope in the background, the bright blue sky, crisp air, the visible puff of my breath as I paused to take it in.

I made my way around the pond’s perimeter a few times before the clinic began to wind down. Then my husband and I headed across a section of untrodden snow toward a wide path that led uphill back toward the rental kiosk and the barn.

Hmm. Uphill, huh? I pictured myself, ski poles pumping desperately as I neared the kiosk, only to make a slooow motion slide all the way back down. Didn’t happen. Miraculously, I made it to the top without falling. Proud of myself.

But you know what they say about pride…

A couple more turns between the kiosk and the barn and sure enough, my balance betrayed me.  A spectacular pinwheeling fall bounced me off the icy edge of the road and I landed splayed out in the middle of the main path with skiers to the left of me, skiers to the right of me, skiers all around me.

I lay back on the hard ice, almost gratefully. It felt good to just lie there, catch my breath, stare up at that beautiful blue sky.

A chorus of “are you all rights?” and offers of help came from all directions.

But no. I was determined to do it myself. I pushed my ski pole into the release button above the boot, shook off my right ski, rolled over, and dug my ski pole into the packed snow.

And in my own personal Olympic moment I made it to my feet.

An hour later, I was curled up under a blanket on the sofa with a cup of cocoa, a book, and a bag of ice on my left ankle.  My husband asked if I’d do it again. Ha! Funny husband!

But you know? I just might…

The Hidden Valley Nature Center is located at 131 Egypt Road in Jefferson. Winter equipment rentals including skis, snowshoes, and fat tire bikes are available for rental 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays beginning through March, or whenever the snow melts.

Visit midcoastconservancy.org/hvnc for more information.