Cross-country skiing.*

For the first time in 20 years.**

In boots that are 1.5 sizes too big.***

While walking two enthusiastic dogs.

There were actually moments of pure bliss, if by moments you mean “the nanoseconds between Saguaro taking off at full speed and me landing on my butt in the snow.”  But those nanoseconds brought the pure bliss of effortless motion!

Anyone notice in the photo what made the outing extra-special?  That’s right:  the poop-bag/ski pole grip!

For all the goofiness of the adventure (see photo above), it was actually a lot of fun.   Hope to try again soon with new boots and an OFF-LEASH DOG PARK.

**********************

* I tend to think cross-country skiing is generally a bad idea, as you get very little help from gravity, placing it firmly that distasteful category of exercise that requires you to actually exercise.   See also note **.

** The only time I’ve cross-country skied in the past was at the urging of a long-ago boyfriend, and I tend to associate the sport with the general aura of humorless didacticism that pervaded that relationship.

*** I cannot imagine what prompted me to buy boots in this size, but it turned out to be a blessing.:  As I plummeted**** toward the snow, rather than spraining my knee or ankle, it was the vast unoccupied space at the toe of my boots that twisted.

**** OK, there’s only so much plummeting you can do at 5’2″, but allow me some dramatic license!!