Been a long time…

So I did something last weekend I haven’t done in probably ten years.

I pulled out my cross country skis.

As many of you know, I live in the frozen northland known as the great state of Minnesota. As a result, I spend a chunk of every year up to my knees in snow. At least I hope to. I figure if it’s going to be cold it might as well be snowy. At least you can play in the snow. Last year was sort of stingy with the precipitation but this year is proving fabulous.

Which is why I pulled out my skis. Cross country skiing is an awesome winter sport for the budget-minded snow bunny. No lift tickets necessary, not a ton of skill involved, very little risk of massive head trauma. In other words, right up this ‘fraidy-cat’s alley.

Kids, however, were a complicating factor when it came to pursuing my chosen winter recreation. Unless you’re a lot more dedicated to the sport than I am–or you’re perhaps an 18th century fur trader–you don’t ski with an infant strapped to your person. I shoveled the driveway one desperate morning with a baby in a sling inside my winter coat & that was plenty of pioneering for this girl.

But this winter my kids are 9 & 6, & they’re big enough to ski. So Mr. Sey & I hauled out our fifteen year old skis and boots, drove to the nearest golf course that rents kiddie skis & got this party started.

The 9 year old took to it like a duck to water. Mr. Sey spent a hilarious two hours chasing her up & down gentle slopes, laughing and shouting and racing.

The 6 year old had a blast for 45 minutes, then cried and fell down for an hour. Guess which parent got that kid?

But fate wasn’t satisfied sticking me with the sobbing kindergartner. I also broke my ski boot. Actually broke it. I fell down three minutes into the adventure and snapped the sole right off my left boot. Now the sole–in case your’e unfamiliar with this type of ski/binding/boot set up–is sort of crucial. It’s what attaches you to your skis. Skiing doesn’t actually work unless you’re somehow attached to the skis, you know? This was a problem. A big one.

But did I give up? Hell, no. We’d bundled up the kids (a serious time investment), driven to the ski center (another time investment), & rented kiddie skis (a monetary investment). I was in it to win it.

So I trotted up to the ski shop to see if they’d lend me a roll of duct tape to temporarily reattach me to my ski. (What could go wrong?) They refused. (I have to assume they saw a lawsuit looming.) But I was determined so I trudged down to the van & rustled up whatever I could find that might put a sole back on a shoe.

Ten minutes later, I was back on skis, my boot MacGyver-ed to its sole with a length of tennis racquet grip & some dental floss. (Kid you not. Dental floss.) I heroically inched along behind my sobbing, snuffling daughter while my toes slowly turned to ice. I bellowed encouragement when she flung herself repeatedly to the ground & insisted she couldn’t get up. (She sprang up handily when the ski team threatened to stampede us, however.) I lavished her with praise when she stayed vertical for thirty seconds or more. I patiently demonstrated how to pop off your skis when you become hopelessly tangled after a fall.

But finally even I’d had enough. I handed her off to her father and clomped off to the van to stew in my fury. All I wanted was to enjoy a beautiful day outdoors with my family & what did I get? A broken boot, an ungrateful child & absolutely no exercise at all. Unless you counted taking my temper for a spin. What a disaster.