I'm a Cross-Country Skier

When you tell somebody you cross-country ski people tend to take a step back. They normally have one of three responses:

Is that a jingle bell on your hat? (Photo Courtesy of City News)

1) They glance at you with a little bit of disappointment in their eyes. Maybe like one would regard a favorite childhood TV show which doesn't live up to it's memory. "I thought you were so great...and now everytime I look at you I can't stop imagining you wearing some not altogether successful combination of a hat and earmuffs and telling knock knock jokes as you trudge through snow."

Should I start planning your funeral now or...(Photo Courtesy of Herald Net)

2) They are remembering what is often described as "finish line carnage." Some people, maybe those slightly more educated on competitive nordic skiing, might be picturing something like they see at the end of the olympics. A scattering of people lying in agony across the snow, chests heaving, on the verge of death.  In this case people seem to treat you like you've gone sort of insane. Place a comforting hand on your shoulder and ask, "why?"

Yep, that's me. (Photo Courtesy of istockphoto)

3) They give you a nervous smile and say timidly, as if you might knock them out with a club, "Do you live in a cave?" In which case I try to copy their nervous smile and say, "Sorry?" And they respond, "They've got chairlifts for that type of thing, you know. This is a ski town, surely you've seen them. You don't have to ski up the hills, you know. I can even take you real skiing sometime..." In which case I really do feel like knocking them out with a club because nordic skiing is real skiing, thank you.


To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why I cross country ski, or even exactly what it is. We had a sports psychologist come to a few of our trainings during the summer. We were supposed to have individual meetings with him but I never ended up going to one. My friend, Claire, did however, and we discussed it afterwards: suddenly coming to the realization that neither of us had any clue why we were doing what we were doing. I mean it doesn't sound fun. We come to training everyday after school, strap skinny skis onto our feet and go as fast as we can up a few hills. We push ourselves at training until we are about to pass out, only so that when the time comes, we can go a few seconds faster, a few heartbeats quicker, at a race. And yet when someone asks me, I tell them it's fun. Because it is. Racing is fun, training is fun, being with my teammates is fun....

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have no answer. Sorry to disappoint you.


Well that's it,

Victoria