Flashes of Panic

I went skiing.

No, really. When life gives you mid-March snowstorm(s), you go up to Windsor and ski Notchview. It was the first time I’d been skiing since I moved to Medford, and it was great. They had eighteen inches in the woods (who knows what that means for the groomed trails) even though most of the other areas in this end of the state are closed. (The conditions page showed a lot of, “Sorry, we didn’t expect this storm and we’ve already shut down for the year.”)

When I only had classical skis, I was all strength and no technique. (And lack of technique makes strength pretty irrelevant.) Since I bought skate skis, I still have the clumsiest form on the trail (I imagine) but boy can I fly.

Skating requires at least a little technique to move at all, and the more you practice the more you learn. Today, I actually pulled my hands out of the pole straps and carried the poles for long stretches, forcing myself to use only the skis rather than poling like a demented gondolier; it was slower, particularly if there was a hint of an upgrade (on a real uphill, I needed to get back in the pole straps) but I felt smoother if I limited myself to occasional stabs at the ground. Also, on the downhills, it was much easier to keep my poles from dragging!

On the way home, I stopped for a few photos. This abandoned ski area in Cummington has always intrigued me; there’s only one run and a lift visible from the road, but it jumps right out in the satellite photo.

Now Playing: This Is the Sea from This Is the Sea by The Waterboys

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