I had to take my son to chamber orchestra this morning at 6:40, so I thought I'd squeeze in a ski at MB Johnson Park before work. (Arnie had posted a message to the Prairie's Edge Nordic Ski Club that the trails were rolled for skating over there).
It was still dark, and the crescent moon shone brightly in the clear sky. I crossed the bridge over to Moorhead, Minnesota and turned north toward the park. The white smoke from the sugar beet factory was blowing straight east at a perpendicular angle to the smokestacks,--a windy morning. I hoped I'd be warm enough. On the positive side, it was 22 above zero.
There was one car in the parking lot when I arrived. I changed into my ski boots and cued up the first song on my "December Skiing" playlist.
Bring. The. Action.
I saw Arnie's skate skiing tracks and followed them into the field. Brrrr. The wind raced across the field, stealing pockets of heat clinging to my body from when I was in the warm car. Years of skiing in Alaska have trained me to start out fast to get warm as quickly as possible, but I have been feeling chest pain lately & my blood pressure has recently been crazy high for the first time in my life, so I forced myself to start out easy and slowly work up to higher heart rates. If I drop dead of a heart attack on the ski trails, I will have died happy. Know that.
As I warmed up, I could feel a quickening of my spirit, and soon I was laughing aloud, just taking pleasure in the joy of movement, the trees, the blushing of the horizon as the sun gave notice of its arrival.
I rewrote the lyrics to the Will.i.am/Spears song in my head:
when you're out in the winter
you gotta wax your skis up
you gotta wax your skis up
. . .
I wanna ski and shout, and let it all out,
ski and shout, and let it out.
. . .
When you're out in the woods,
All eyes on us, all eyes on us
See the trees in the woods,
They're watching us
They're watching us
Next song: Dylan's "Highway 61." Always makes me think of my parents. We had to go to bed early and they stayed up, listening to Dylan. My dad had every album. I should have known he was going to die of cancer when he sold those albums at a garage sale. He was 42.
So, I am skiing for him today, greeting the sunrise, living another day, remembering his words on one of our more challenging backpacking trips in the Wind River Range: "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Kelly."
It was still dark, and the crescent moon shone brightly in the clear sky. I crossed the bridge over to Moorhead, Minnesota and turned north toward the park. The white smoke from the sugar beet factory was blowing straight east at a perpendicular angle to the smokestacks,--a windy morning. I hoped I'd be warm enough. On the positive side, it was 22 above zero.
There was one car in the parking lot when I arrived. I changed into my ski boots and cued up the first song on my "December Skiing" playlist.Bring. The. Action.
I saw Arnie's skate skiing tracks and followed them into the field. Brrrr. The wind raced across the field, stealing pockets of heat clinging to my body from when I was in the warm car. Years of skiing in Alaska have trained me to start out fast to get warm as quickly as possible, but I have been feeling chest pain lately & my blood pressure has recently been crazy high for the first time in my life, so I forced myself to start out easy and slowly work up to higher heart rates. If I drop dead of a heart attack on the ski trails, I will have died happy. Know that.
As I warmed up, I could feel a quickening of my spirit, and soon I was laughing aloud, just taking pleasure in the joy of movement, the trees, the blushing of the horizon as the sun gave notice of its arrival.
I rewrote the lyrics to the Will.i.am/Spears song in my head:
you gotta wax your skis up
you gotta wax your skis up
. . .
I wanna ski and shout, and let it all out,
ski and shout, and let it out.
. . .
When you're out in the woods,
All eyes on us, all eyes on us
See the trees in the woods,
They're watching us
They're watching us
Next song: Dylan's "Highway 61." Always makes me think of my parents. We had to go to bed early and they stayed up, listening to Dylan. My dad had every album. I should have known he was going to die of cancer when he sold those albums at a garage sale. He was 42.
So, I am skiing for him today, greeting the sunrise, living another day, remembering his words on one of our more challenging backpacking trips in the Wind River Range: "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Kelly."
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