I went cross country skiing today.
Yes, me, the one always picked last in PE. I went cross country skiing, by choice.
My Scandinavian husband has been skiing since he could walk. As a boy scout in Nevada he would ski with his troop into the mountains, camp over night or several days and ski back out.
My very first Christmas at his parent’s home he took me out and taught me the basics while he family watched from the windows of the house.
I married him anyway.
Then the babies came, and we lived in the city. Winter sports consisted of spending 20 minutes dressing the little ones in snowsuits and mittens then pulling them around in a sled for 5 before someone had to go potty or got snow in their mitten.
After our move to the country, my husband pulled out the skis again. He could now strap them on at the back porch and ski for miles.
He found beginner skis for the children and started teaching them the basics. Pretty soon the entire family was out on skis, and it was time for me to join them.
After a few false starts, I soon got a feel for it and found myself enjoying the rhythm of the sport.
I will never be as proficient as my husband who can do the most amazing turns and even stays upright going down hills. But I can almost keep up with the young ‘uns and as long as I avoid the hills I can stay on my feet.
Now I can enjoy the calm beauty of a winter day while I glide over the crisp white snow. The cold air bites my cheeks as my normally uncoordinated body finds the rhythm and movement of the cross country skis.