When you first read about my cross-country skiing exploits (refer to Adventures in Cross-Country Skiing), you might have noticed that I was a bit of a chicken. I never ventured off the green trails except for the few times my devious husband would say with feigned assurance, "You'll be fine. The sign says 'More Difficult.' It's not like it's a black trail."
Then I would unintentionally prove him wrong as my body rolled down a hill or as I descended the slope on my bottom or occasionally my stomach.
"That will show him," I would think to myself as I climbed out of a snowbank. "I am indeed not fine at all."
But 2011 has transformed me into a reformed cross-country skier. Say goodbye to the yellow-bellied "I-Only-Ski-Green-Trails" chicken. I am "The Blue Trail Conqueror!"
My story carries with it a universal theme that I think all archetypal heroes experience at the beginning of their quest, the disbelief in their calling, self-doubt.
Last year, during one of our Nordic skiing outings, Dan said, "I think you are getting better at this. Would you want to try some blue trails sometime?"
"Absolutely not," I said indignantly. But I didn't stop there, "Just because you’re an adrenaline junkie doesn't mean I am. You knew that about me when you married me. That’s why I chose cross-country skiing; otherwise, I would have taken up snowboarding. Some people like leisurely activities without a lot of risk. This is a hobby, not insanity. The compromise is I do some of your activities at my own pace . . ." And I continued that way for the rest of the trail.
When the trail (and my tirade) finally ended, Dan's response was, "At least you ski faster when you're angry."
Eventually, I began to consider taking more difficult trails, but I never actually skied any of them. During one particular incident during this stage of my heroic epic, I was standing at the bottom of a hill, surveying a trail.
"It's not the going up I'm worried about. It's the fact that I wouldn't be able to stop on the way down, and I could die," I said. (A fellow skier laughed as she passed me, most certainly having heard my philosophizing on her way down the hill.)
This year, we happened to choose the perfect day for our first cross-country ski trip - a calm, overcast day, fluffy, powdery snow, a beautiful gray mist over the lake. And it was early in the winter break, so there were not many people on the trails who could crash into me.
Dan convinced me (“The powder will slow you down. And it’s softer when you fall.”) to climb a hill I had refused to attempt before. Usually, I would make it about halfway up and then turn around and ride down the gentle incline.
I had tried this same trail when we were first married (the self-doubt era of my epic journey). I had attempted the entire uphill and the descent on the other side that completed the loop. I found myself flying down the hill, gaining momentum, yelling at the other skiers, “I can’t stop!”
But I did stop (and drop and roll) right at the bottom of the hill (my heroic descent into Hades). Hence, my trepidation on this particular trail.
This year, however, the downhill did not seem nearly as steep as I had remembered it.
“Here’s the part I was talking about,” I would mutter . . . then, “No, never mind. It must be the next part of the hill that gave me such a hard time.”
“Uh oh, here we go," I would say, preparing once again for the free fall. "Um, never mind . . . that was fun.”
I continued that way down the entire hill until I made it gracefully to the bottom.
Dan took me on one more blue trail, a nemesis trail of mine that I had tried a few years ago and on which I had fallen as was my usual custom.
“There’s no way this is a blue trail. This is too much fun . . . They must have rerouted it since last time . . . It’s way easy. They must have it marked wrong . . . It can’t be done already. We didn’t even get to the hard part," were my responses throughout the trek.
“The powder must be slowing me down,” I said as we reached the end of the trail.
“I think you’re just getting better at this,” Dan said.
So that was how my 2011 commenced. I emerged from my quest victorious, The Blue Trail Conqueror!
What was Dan's response to my accomplishment, you ask?
"Do you think you'll want to try black trails sometime?"
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