Having taken up cross-country skiing a full month ago, I am
now one of the leading authorities on the subject and recently
skied nearly 18 yards without falling over -- an incredible feat
for a novice when you consider that the world record is - what? -
23, 24 yards?
Anyway, I believe that record was set by a Norwegian, and
those guys are practically born on skis.
Although crude drawings of primitive northern Asiatic peoples
show them practicing a sport in which live weasels were strapped to
their feet, cross-country skiing as we know it evolved in northern
Scandinavia and Greenland, two environments ideally suited to the
sport because there is not one single other blessed thing to do
there.
Even today, Scandinavians frequently congregate by the
thousands for great cross-country skiing festivals called
"grunvaarstooklas," an untranslatable word embracing the concepts
"severe frostbite" and "a withering of body parts."
If you are wondering whether cross-country skiing is something
you would like, take this short personality test.
1. My idea of a good time is:
a. Dinner and a movie.
b. Dynamiting a fish.
c. Crashing headlong through 3 inches of rock-hard snow
crust and coming to rest in sub-arctic powder with my
face mashed up against a dead lemming.
2. The problem with most winter sports is that:
a. They are controlled by Martians.
b. I am controlled by Martians.
c. They are not cold and frightening enough.
3. When I die, I want to:
a. Go quick.
b. Take Andy Rooney with me.
c. Be impaled on a fiberglass ski pole.
If you answered "c" to all three questions, you should either
take up cross-country skiing or see if John Hinckley needs a
roommate.
One frequently asked question is: How many scorpions are
molten in the dungarees? But that question is asked by people who
are not making sense and are not the least bit concerned with
cross-country skiing.
A more relevant question has to do with selecting the right
size ski. The way to measure is to stand flat-footed in the store
and hold your arms straight over your head. This will allow the
store personnel to extract your wallet and remove such money as
they need.
You are almost ready to begin, but first you must wax your
skis. Dedicated cross-country skiers generally arise at 6 a.m. and
begin waxing so they will have the shank of the late afternoon for
actual skiing.
There are about 11 different kinds of wax, each suited for a
certain type of snow. To aid you in choosing a wax, there are
incomprehensible charts, loosely translated from Finnish. Example:
"Snow is clumping vhen you strike it mit penguin bone, ja? Blue
vax is best."
The key to good skiing techniques is to treat the skis as
extensions of your feet, so that skiing is just like walking would
be if you had 7-foot-long mutant unbreakable toenails.
Then it's simply a matter of getting into the rhythm: Step,
push, glide, fall, scream, grovel, get up. Step, push, glide...
(Note: Generally, it's a good idea to start your scream before you
actually crash to the ground because ice crystals frequently embed
themselves in your respiratory system and make screaming
difficult.)
Cross-country skiing is a great way to burn up calories. Just
getting up from one fall can frequently burn up the equivalent of
a butt steak drenched in mushroom gravy, particularly if one of
your skis is trapped under, simultaneously, your other ski, a
frozen tree root and a disabled snowmobile.
Fear stimulates the metabolism, too, so figure an extra 1,000
calories for every vicious wild animal that comes sniffing around
you while you are in this helpless state.
Certainly the ultimate satisfaction for every cross-country
skier is that moment when he struggles back to his feet and
realizes that the other skiers have gone on without him and that he
is alone, in the woods, miles from civilization, strapped to
equipment he does not understand, with little giblets of refrozen
snow adhering to every inch of his body.
If that's not "grunvaarstooklas," I'd like to know what is.