Flashes of Panic

So I did manage to ski on Saturday morning. I wasted too much time in the waxing shed determining that the problem was the electrical socket, not my iron, but once I had all the bits together I was able to get out on the trail without having to dodge snowshoe racers.

I was pleased to find that I still know how to skate, even though I didn’t get out at all last winter. It took me a few minutes to get the coordination back, and I’ll have to go back a few more times before I feel like I’ve begun to smooth out my form, but I remembered most of the important bits.

It took a bit longer to remember which side to pole on. Skate skiers double-pole all the time, so it matters which ski they’re kicking with as they pole. You’re supposed to pole “on the uphill side,” which means you’re pushing on your poles as you push off the lower ski. This occupies some focus, because it’s not always obvious which ski is lower, but once I was aware of it I could switch sides with somewhat less thought than I use in changing lanes on the highway. If I was on the wrong side and switched to the right side, I could feel myself getting more glide from each kick after I switched.

They told me that the further up the mountain I went, the better the trails would be, so I angled for uphills wherever I could find them, which is nearly everywhere at Northfield. I didn’t make it to the top of the mountain, but I did get high enough to scare myself several times in my descent. As the morning got later, not only did the snow get stickier and/or icier, but I started making silly slips because I was too tired to hold form.

Once, scooting down off a forest trail on to the access road, I snagged a ski in the classical track and went down. Then I found I was unable to get a ski underneath me (the first step in standing up again) because my legs would cramp when I tried to skitter them around. I sat there for a minute or two waiting for the cramp to pass and had to wave off one would-be rescuer who no doubt thought I’d broken a leg, or at least torn a ligament or two.

I thought I’d be sore from skiing again, but it’s nowhere near as bad as I expected. What is bad, and I should have anticipated, are the nickel-sized raw spots on the inside of each foot, where my bulging navicular bones rub on the insides of my boots. They’re not really blisters; they started that way, but then the skin rubbed off and just kept abrading. I need to remember to put blister-block pads on there before I ski again. Odds are they will heal before I get another chance; there’s even less snow at Northfield now than there was on Saturday.

Now Playing: Unsatisfied from Let It Be by The Replacements