A Return to the Danger of Wheeled Skis (No Brakes)

After 3 years of doing other things (running, going to athletic clubs, hiking, etc), I finally decided to give rollerskiing a second chance.  Trying to think back to why I ever stopped, I remember a series of harrowing crashes during practices in Norway (one of which induced my first-ever involuntary use of a Norwegian swear word!), made all the more embarrassing by the fact that all the other participants were under the age of 13, and they weren’t crashing.  Bloody, bruised, and frustrated, I gradually stopped attending those practices, turning my attention to cultivating friendships during my time there.

The smell of snow, however, has returned to the air.  Temperatures hover in the mid-twenties.  My dusty old rollerskis, hauled out of the shed at last, still work marvelously.  After the first initial minutes of teetering around, finding my balance, I was rewarded by that deep, sweeping glide that only skateskiing can offer, gliding over the pavement I wished was snow.  It was glorious.  Today I tried the same thing with classic skis, and with each double-poled push comes the memories of good snow days when skiing was more like flying than anything else.  And yes, there are still many moments of “don’tfalldon’tfalldon’tfall”, but oh, it is wonderful.  A prelude to an epic ski season to come.  They say it’s going to be a cold year.

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