Friday
Thirteen teachers convened at Maplelag Resort near Callaway, Minnesota for a skiing--I mean writing--retreat over the weekend. Fortunately, the woman carpooling with me was wiling to ditch school early on Friday so that we could get there in time for a ski before sunset. After a winter of scant snow in Fargo, I nearly drooled when we turned into the resort, and I got my first glimpse of the beautifully groomed trails.
I laid out all the skis against the side of our bunkhouse, the Great Northern, changed into my ski clothes, and hit the skate trails. It was cold, and slow (or I was slow), but beautiful and recently rolled, yet set. Although this area had been subjected to melting like we had in Fargo, the groomers had done a wonderful job of creating a firm skate bed on top of the ice and I didn't cut through to the ice below but once.
I was the second skier down Kamikaze Hill, so I had good stability for stepping and poling around the turn near the bottom rather than just snowplowing as usual. A grin spread across my face at the sheer joy of being out in the woods, tooling around the trails.
The grin morphed into a grimace as I began ascending a series of hills up a narrow ridge. "What's this?" my heart asked, accustomed to the cardiovascular load of the perfectly flat trails I usually ski. I stopped a few times to listen to my heart, but eventually convinced it that we really did have to do these hills to be ready for the 23K Korteloppet in Hayward next month. "OK," said my heart, "but the muscles are going to have to work more efficiently--look at this sloppy uphill technique!" My brain acknowledged this point and soon all systems were working together, allowing me to float into THE ZONE.
That carried me around the first circuit of Skater's Waltz plus Skater's extension, and well into the second. Sweat began dripping into my eyes from the effort. Then I made a series of Jack-London-To-Build-A-Fire mistakes: don't wear your thickest socks, get soaking wet from sweat, stop to take a photo, don't hydrate, enter a windy area. Soon I was tugged out of the zone by the persistent cold of my hands and the slow but certain numbing of my right foot.
I tried to ignore it, but then had to pause to do my little warm-up trick of windmilling my arms and swinging my right leg (not at the same time!) to use centrifugal force to get warm blood into my extremities. That helped for awhile, but I could tell where this was headed. I was less coordinated now, and since I had not seen a single skier on the trail, I thought it prudent not to take another detour across the road to Skater's extension.
The sun was setting too, and my sweat soaked shirts were now rapidly leeching heat from my body. I was tired, and stopped to hug a birth tree. Maybe I could replenish my supply of "sisu" from one of my relatives.
After just 12K, I called it a day and went to our room to get all the wet clothes off and head over to the Lodge for a good long soak in the hot tub before dinner. Ahhhhhh.
Saturday Ski #1
Up at 7:30. Enjoyed Norwegian pancakes for breakfast then headed upstairs with my cohort to write for the morning. I got into another kind of "zone," the writing zone, and suddenly it was time for lunch.
During lunch, I was able to convince three teachers to come with me to try cross-country skiing. First stop was the ski shop in the basement of the Lodge. The student from Brazil helped us. After my converts got their skis rented, I helped them get the equipment on, and then I taught my first lesson--how to fall and how to get up again. They did beautifully, and soon we were on our way, striding down the Sukkerbusk trail.
All three of them mastered the herringbone in record time. Brenda turned out to be a natural--she got the move of shifting her weight almost immediately. Soon Carmyn was doing the same. Sara had skied as a girl, and her body remembered the basic motions.
Everyone was feeling pretty confident when we found ourselves at the top of Suicide Hill. Carmen, clad in white snowpants, white vest, and fluffy white earmuffs, was the instigator. At first she asked innocent questions--"Do you make turns on cross-country skis like you do on downhill skis?"
"How do you stop at the end?"
"How steep is it?"
"Is it harder to make turns on cross-country skis?"
Soon her questions were more along the lines of "Maybe we could try it." and soon "Let's do it!"
Her enthusiasm was irresistible. After the barest instruction to my crew, I took off down the hill, joyfully carving turns. Carmen followed, slowly painstakingly traversing the hill and then making a careful turn before traversing in the other direction. As she gained confidence, she sped up and was elated to reach the bottom without falling. Brenda, who had some previous downhill skiing experience, followed confidently and made it to the bottom of the hill with style. And also no falls!
And then came Sara. Now, because Sara had cross-country skied as a kid, I didn't worry about her too much and instead had been spending more time offering instruction to Carmyn and Brenda.
That was a mistake.
I immediately realized I should have given a bit more snowplow instruction to Sara--she was rapidly picking up speed and showed no signs of slowing down. It dawned on me that she was going to bomb it! I yelled at the others to get out of the way at the bottom of the hills and made lively steps to the side myself. I think we were all screaming as she reached the steepest part of the hill. She stayed on her feet as the slope straightened out at the bottom and came to a stop. Again, no falls! We all bubbled over with excitement, telling our stories of how it felt going down. I marveled at this group of newbie skiers daring to go down Suicide Hill on their first outing. The thrill even carried us back up the hill to the trails. We happily followed the trails back to the lodge. What a ski!
Saturday Ski #2
After that, Brenda was ready to relax, Carmyn and Sara were ready to snowshoe and then ice skate as part of their quest to do an "Arctic Triathlon," and I changed from classic to skate gear to see if I could go for a longer ski than yesterday. It was warmer on Saturday, and I was warmed up, so I felt very good starting out. I remembered to stash a Nalgene bottle of water on the deck of our building so that I could hydrate between laps. I had my thicker socks on and wore more breathable clothing. It was not as windy.
I skated the Skater's Waltz plus the Skater's extension three times--19.8K. It took me an hour and 50 minutes. My lats and tensor fasciae latae were very sore. I was completely spent. Done. But my technique had gotten better and I felt a step closer to being ready for the Kortie.
Saturday Ski #3
Thirteen teachers convened at Maplelag Resort near Callaway, Minnesota for a skiing--I mean writing--retreat over the weekend. Fortunately, the woman carpooling with me was wiling to ditch school early on Friday so that we could get there in time for a ski before sunset. After a winter of scant snow in Fargo, I nearly drooled when we turned into the resort, and I got my first glimpse of the beautifully groomed trails.
I laid out all the skis against the side of our bunkhouse, the Great Northern, changed into my ski clothes, and hit the skate trails. It was cold, and slow (or I was slow), but beautiful and recently rolled, yet set. Although this area had been subjected to melting like we had in Fargo, the groomers had done a wonderful job of creating a firm skate bed on top of the ice and I didn't cut through to the ice below but once.
The grin morphed into a grimace as I began ascending a series of hills up a narrow ridge. "What's this?" my heart asked, accustomed to the cardiovascular load of the perfectly flat trails I usually ski. I stopped a few times to listen to my heart, but eventually convinced it that we really did have to do these hills to be ready for the 23K Korteloppet in Hayward next month. "OK," said my heart, "but the muscles are going to have to work more efficiently--look at this sloppy uphill technique!" My brain acknowledged this point and soon all systems were working together, allowing me to float into THE ZONE.That carried me around the first circuit of Skater's Waltz plus Skater's extension, and well into the second. Sweat began dripping into my eyes from the effort. Then I made a series of Jack-London-To-Build-A-Fire mistakes: don't wear your thickest socks, get soaking wet from sweat, stop to take a photo, don't hydrate, enter a windy area. Soon I was tugged out of the zone by the persistent cold of my hands and the slow but certain numbing of my right foot.
 |
| Road crossing to Skater's extension |
After just 12K, I called it a day and went to our room to get all the wet clothes off and head over to the Lodge for a good long soak in the hot tub before dinner. Ahhhhhh.
Saturday Ski #1
Up at 7:30. Enjoyed Norwegian pancakes for breakfast then headed upstairs with my cohort to write for the morning. I got into another kind of "zone," the writing zone, and suddenly it was time for lunch.
During lunch, I was able to convince three teachers to come with me to try cross-country skiing. First stop was the ski shop in the basement of the Lodge. The student from Brazil helped us. After my converts got their skis rented, I helped them get the equipment on, and then I taught my first lesson--how to fall and how to get up again. They did beautifully, and soon we were on our way, striding down the Sukkerbusk trail.
 |
| Brenda and Carmyn with their skis |
All three of them mastered the herringbone in record time. Brenda turned out to be a natural--she got the move of shifting her weight almost immediately. Soon Carmyn was doing the same. Sara had skied as a girl, and her body remembered the basic motions.
Everyone was feeling pretty confident when we found ourselves at the top of Suicide Hill. Carmen, clad in white snowpants, white vest, and fluffy white earmuffs, was the instigator. At first she asked innocent questions--"Do you make turns on cross-country skis like you do on downhill skis?"
"How do you stop at the end?"
"How steep is it?"
"Is it harder to make turns on cross-country skis?"
Her enthusiasm was irresistible. After the barest instruction to my crew, I took off down the hill, joyfully carving turns. Carmen followed, slowly painstakingly traversing the hill and then making a careful turn before traversing in the other direction. As she gained confidence, she sped up and was elated to reach the bottom without falling. Brenda, who had some previous downhill skiing experience, followed confidently and made it to the bottom of the hill with style. And also no falls!
And then came Sara. Now, because Sara had cross-country skied as a kid, I didn't worry about her too much and instead had been spending more time offering instruction to Carmyn and Brenda.
That was a mistake.
I immediately realized I should have given a bit more snowplow instruction to Sara--she was rapidly picking up speed and showed no signs of slowing down. It dawned on me that she was going to bomb it! I yelled at the others to get out of the way at the bottom of the hills and made lively steps to the side myself. I think we were all screaming as she reached the steepest part of the hill. She stayed on her feet as the slope straightened out at the bottom and came to a stop. Again, no falls! We all bubbled over with excitement, telling our stories of how it felt going down. I marveled at this group of newbie skiers daring to go down Suicide Hill on their first outing. The thrill even carried us back up the hill to the trails. We happily followed the trails back to the lodge. What a ski!
Saturday Ski #2
After that, Brenda was ready to relax, Carmyn and Sara were ready to snowshoe and then ice skate as part of their quest to do an "Arctic Triathlon," and I changed from classic to skate gear to see if I could go for a longer ski than yesterday. It was warmer on Saturday, and I was warmed up, so I felt very good starting out. I remembered to stash a Nalgene bottle of water on the deck of our building so that I could hydrate between laps. I had my thicker socks on and wore more breathable clothing. It was not as windy.
I skated the Skater's Waltz plus the Skater's extension three times--19.8K. It took me an hour and 50 minutes. My lats and tensor fasciae latae were very sore. I was completely spent. Done. But my technique had gotten better and I felt a step closer to being ready for the Kortie.
Saturday Ski #3
After an evening of hot tubbing, eating, writing, and talking, I felt sleepy, but my ski posse had other ideas. They had been
outside and seen the full moon and clear sky. "Moonlight ski!" cried
Carmyn. I really wanted to go to bed, but their enthusiasm lured me out. We set
out on the Mother Hen loop. The full moon was so bright--it illuminated the
birch trees and threw shadows across the trail. We stopped every so often to
admire the stars. When we wondered about one especially bright body in the sky,
Carmyn used her nightsky app on her smartphone to let us know it was
Jupiter.
On one of our stops, we just listened. It was soooo quiet. The wind was
completely gone. Held in the magical spell of this moonlight ski, none of us
wanted to break the silence.
Sunday Ski
We spent Sunday morning writing, then five of us had a quick lunch before heading down to the sauna by the lake. We worked up a sweat and then took the POLAR PLUNGE through a hole in the lake ice. What a rush!
The plungers consisted of Angie "put the ladder in, take the ladder out" C.,
Andi "Shoes, shoes, give me my shoes!" N., Kelly "Omigod, omigod" S., Sara "Don't look at it, don't look at it" M., and Carmyn "It's not so cold out here" J.
After that we watched the hilarious video footage of this event, then participated in an author's chair. The group dispersed at 3pm, but Sara and I didn't want to leave, so we went for a classic ski on the Sukkerbusk trail then repaired to the hot tub and steam room for a final pore-opening, muscle-relaxing session before heading back for Fargo at dusk.
43K skied in 48 hours, lots of good writing, fun, fellowship--a great weekend!
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