I had to leave work after lunch to pick up the Subaru--a new windshield had been installed. I noticed how bright it was after the snowstorm, and thought about how tired I was from making editing changes to my book manuscript all morning. Why not go for my first ski? The work will still be there in the evening.
When I got home, Noko looked at me imploringly. "OK," I thought, "Let's make it a skijor so he can enjoy the outing too." It took all of 15 minutes to change & gear up--everything was easily accessible thanks to my darling husband's wonderful basement organizing skills. When I brought out the harness, Noko supplicated himself in front of me, bowing his head right down to the ground for me to slip the harness over his head and then patiently stood on three feet while I slipped a front forefoot into one side of the harness, and then the other. We started off down the street, climbed over the dike, and slid down the other side. Sundogs glistened on either side of the bright sun. This morning I had noticed the first subzero temperature of the winter, but now it was a balmy 3 degrees above zero.
We started out, making first tracks, a lovely feeling. Well, in the spirit it is a lovely feeling. In the legs, it soon felt like burning--THOSE muscles haven't been used quite like THIS in awhile. And Noko, as happy as he was to be out, was more interested in zig zagging in front of me, trying to catch a whiff of the many smells under the new snow, rather than moving forward in a straight line and pulling. Fine. Like him, I was just happy to be outside.
It was a bit windy, not too bad, but it must have been very windy earlier because the snow had been sculpted into a variety of repeating patterns. Sometimes the wind had shaped the snow to look like sand carved by waves at the beach. Other times, the wind had created patterns resembling a topographical map, with curving lines demarcating areas of higher elevation. One part looked like mesas in the desert (if the desert were white) and I felt myself a giant on the land, striding across desert valleys to the next mesa.
Such reveries were rudely interrupted by a tugging on the line. Noko had stopped to squat. I felt in my pocket, no poop bag! Grrrr. OK, it's our first time out--can't think of everything. This would just give me an opportunity to double my ski by going home to get a plastic bag and heading out again, this time alone.
On the way back, Noko had a trail to follow (as did I) so he pulled a bit. After such a stint, he wanted major petting and encouragement, so I indulged him. This is our thing together. He knows that. We are both smiling now. Once we got back home, he patiently waited while I took off his harness and gave him a treat. Then I added a neck gaiter to my ensemble and headed out again.
As much as I like to ski with people and other animals, I love to ski alone. The solitude while skiing, to me, is the most perfect kind. I listen to the squeak, squeak of the largest trees rubbing against each other, the chirping of a bird, the whistling of the wind, the swish of my own skis. And then my mind is off and away, musing on this or that, free from the usual constraints.
With a bit of the trail skied in, I can put a little kick into my glide, but not TOO much, after all, this is kind of an experimental day. My research question is, Will my knee tolerate skiing well enough to put off surgery until spring, or should I get it done ASAP with the hope it will heal soon enough to enjoy enough of the winter? More data collection and analysis is needed, I decide.
Once I reach the end of the trail I broke, it remains for me to get Noko's poop in a group, get the plastic bag tied with a minimal amount of time exposing my skin, and the find the nearest trash barrel before heading back. Here are a few photos from my first ski of the winter, a 67-minute outing that made my day much more enjoyable.
When I got home, Noko looked at me imploringly. "OK," I thought, "Let's make it a skijor so he can enjoy the outing too." It took all of 15 minutes to change & gear up--everything was easily accessible thanks to my darling husband's wonderful basement organizing skills. When I brought out the harness, Noko supplicated himself in front of me, bowing his head right down to the ground for me to slip the harness over his head and then patiently stood on three feet while I slipped a front forefoot into one side of the harness, and then the other. We started off down the street, climbed over the dike, and slid down the other side. Sundogs glistened on either side of the bright sun. This morning I had noticed the first subzero temperature of the winter, but now it was a balmy 3 degrees above zero.
We started out, making first tracks, a lovely feeling. Well, in the spirit it is a lovely feeling. In the legs, it soon felt like burning--THOSE muscles haven't been used quite like THIS in awhile. And Noko, as happy as he was to be out, was more interested in zig zagging in front of me, trying to catch a whiff of the many smells under the new snow, rather than moving forward in a straight line and pulling. Fine. Like him, I was just happy to be outside.
It was a bit windy, not too bad, but it must have been very windy earlier because the snow had been sculpted into a variety of repeating patterns. Sometimes the wind had shaped the snow to look like sand carved by waves at the beach. Other times, the wind had created patterns resembling a topographical map, with curving lines demarcating areas of higher elevation. One part looked like mesas in the desert (if the desert were white) and I felt myself a giant on the land, striding across desert valleys to the next mesa.
Such reveries were rudely interrupted by a tugging on the line. Noko had stopped to squat. I felt in my pocket, no poop bag! Grrrr. OK, it's our first time out--can't think of everything. This would just give me an opportunity to double my ski by going home to get a plastic bag and heading out again, this time alone.
On the way back, Noko had a trail to follow (as did I) so he pulled a bit. After such a stint, he wanted major petting and encouragement, so I indulged him. This is our thing together. He knows that. We are both smiling now. Once we got back home, he patiently waited while I took off his harness and gave him a treat. Then I added a neck gaiter to my ensemble and headed out again.
As much as I like to ski with people and other animals, I love to ski alone. The solitude while skiing, to me, is the most perfect kind. I listen to the squeak, squeak of the largest trees rubbing against each other, the chirping of a bird, the whistling of the wind, the swish of my own skis. And then my mind is off and away, musing on this or that, free from the usual constraints.
With a bit of the trail skied in, I can put a little kick into my glide, but not TOO much, after all, this is kind of an experimental day. My research question is, Will my knee tolerate skiing well enough to put off surgery until spring, or should I get it done ASAP with the hope it will heal soon enough to enjoy enough of the winter? More data collection and analysis is needed, I decide.
Once I reach the end of the trail I broke, it remains for me to get Noko's poop in a group, get the plastic bag tied with a minimal amount of time exposing my skin, and the find the nearest trash barrel before heading back. Here are a few photos from my first ski of the winter, a 67-minute outing that made my day much more enjoyable.
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| Noko surveys the trail back home |
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| One sundog |
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| Wind-sculpted snow |
