Flashes of Panic

Yesterday afternoon, with the pool closed, I decided to embrace the weather to the extent of going out on snowshoes. I plowed right across the lawns of the College, down Memorial Hill, and out into the Bird Sanctuary, then across Misty Bottom (noting for the first time the signs renaming it the Emily Dickinson Trail, as though Emily Dickinson would go outside and walk along the Fort River,) and up 116. The loop is probably around five miles, and it took me an hour and a half. On one hand, I was moving pretty steadily. On the other, the surface left a lot to be desired. When I put my foot down, it would sit on top of the snow, but as I shifted my weight to it, the shoe would crunch through the crust, so I wound up with a jarring double-bump ride with most steps. By the end of the walk, I was envying the skiers on the rail trail, who looked like they were gliding along so much more easily than I was.

Today, I got my own skis out for the first time in nearly two years. I would have preferred to skate-ski, but I figured my odds of finding a groomed trail were pretty low, so I took the classical skis over to the rail trail, where I knew there would be a track, even if it wasn’t set by a groomer.

Skate skiing is more fun, since I got the hang of it; it’s more like flying and very much like speed-skating except that the snow is softer than ice. Figuring out skate skiing has made me better at classical, though, because it taught me how to shift weight between the skis and get a good push, even if I can’t get an edge. I found myself passing most of the people on the trail. I used to go out here and flail, passing everyone else just because I was working harder, and at the end of my run I’d be hanging from the poles. I resolved not to get too aggressive with my effort today, because I’m not in the kind of shape I might think I am, and when I turned around at Station Road my shoulders were tired from poling. Still, what I’ve lost in bull-headedness I’ve made back in form, and I’m easily as speedy as I used to be, and much quieter.

Skiing is probably as close to dancing as I’ll get on a regular basis. Like rowing and swimming breaststroke, it rewards a good rhythm and punishes those who try to rush. It requires some coordination and balance, as well, and trying to maintain that while coping with an irregular track is enough to fully absorb almost enough of my mind that I can let the rest spin free.

Poling was pretty tough today, though. Sometimes I’d get a good plant, other times the poles would skid across the crust, or punch through and have to be yanked out. By the time I turned around, I could tell my baskets were in pretty tough shape, and both of them tore free completely on the way back. (I stowed them in my pockets rather than leave them on the trail for the thaw.) Once the baskets were gone, I was punching through the crust and grating on the pavement underneath with each plant. I understand that ski racers frequently break poles, something which hasn’t happened to me yet, so I figure I’m still doing pretty well. However, since my skating poles are much longer than practical for classical skiing (they’re used differently,) I’ll need to either replace the baskets or the poles before I go out on that trail again.

Not that I’m in any big hurry, since I found the heel of my sock soaked pink from a snowshoeing blister ripped open by the ski boots.

Still, if I could ski every day, I wouldn’t miss running as much, particularly at this time of year.

Now Playing: Sunshine/Nowhere To Run from Tarantula by Ride