February 21, 2007

Waterville Valley Nordic Ski Center

This is not me. But it’s what I did much of last Sunday. That is, go uphill. And I may well have gone up this very hill, as the photo is from the Waterville Valley website, and that’s where I skied. (Waterville, not the website, silly.) Unbeatable conditions, like skiing through some ski area’s promotional film.

Nature aside, the trails were groomed beautifully, for both classical and skating skiing. (Trail pass = $16 for the day.) Snow squalls blew through the valley, separated by swaths of pale crystal blue—while the big slow flakes kept floating down. Birch trees, pines, clean snow… a concentration of my selective memories of winter.

Waterville Valley bills itself as the 12th most popular Nordic ski area in North America. I’m not sure that’s the slickest marketing tag I’ve ever heard, but who am I to argue. I have probably only been to seven North American Nordic ski areas (Weston Ski Track, Great Brook Farm, Waterville, Jackson Ski Touring Center, Bretton Woods, Sunday River, and Snow Mountain Ranch), so I guess I’ve got to put it in my personal top 12….

I give it a thumbs up anyway. Would be happy to go back.

Nordic skiing is funny. More than downhill skiing or snowboarding, the range of aesthetics and abilities is astonishing. And these two attributes do not correlate. Woolly three-pinners (and I mean woolly as in venerable as well as what they’re wearing) gliding in from their maple sugaring and granola baking and wicking polylycra-sleek racers on colorful composite skis babbling of anaerobic thresholds both excel in their separate ways, and people who look like they’ve just arrived at the end of a surprise journey, been given unathletic parkas and told to strap those thingies on their feet and walk, all share the trails together. Quite civilly, albeit at different speeds. I have to love that about it.

I skied mostly uphill (truly, given the nature of gravity and velocity, I spent proportionally much more time going up than coming down…) on Sunday. Had to stop frequently; my heart pounded in my ears, but the stops came mostly when the dexterity of my hup-hup-hup quick skating uphill fell prey to lactic acid overload. Butt burning and feet slowing, momentum flagging… at least it was delightful to stop and look around. (The conditions reminded me of the one time I ever saw a porcupine (in a tree at a ski area from the vantage point of the chairlift), so I was always hopefully looking.)

Monday, the temperature got up to about 2 Farenheit with some especially biting winds. Skied classical that day, and slowly, accompanying a learning five year old. That was joyful in its own way. Wish I had photos to post. Skied one 2 km loop and then, with her cheeks matching her bright fuscia jacket, we went in, satisfied.

 

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February 25, 2006

Teeth for Arms

“She has such long arms, that any ballerina would give her eyeteeth for.”

Ya gotta love sports commentary, especially in something like figure skating, where there’s a contradictory lack of action in between the jumping passes, plus the mysterious subjective element.

So that was Dick Buttons. I wish I’d have kept track of the other bon mots out of Torino.

And here’s an aside: Is it affected to call a place not by its English name (if you’re an English speaker), or is it rude and chauvinistic to impose your language on some other place? I mean, why can’t we be bothered to add another vowel to Turin? And where did we come up with “Leghorn,” for that matter? I don’t know; I’ve always wondered about this.

And while we’re tangentially on Olympic sports here, here’s an admirable website to check out: DFL. Anybody who’s done any racing needs no explanation of the acronym. (For those who haven’t, it’s “dead * last.” And for those who like acronyms, here’s another that I believe originated with MIT rowers: QFB. (“Quite far back.”))

“DFL” you’d think would be tongue in cheek about losers and Eddie the Eagle type longshots. (I love making Eddie the Eagle references! Met him in Lake Placid where we were training. A rare brush with celebrity. (He liked my friend Naomi.)) But, back on topic, DFL actually takes a more respectful approach. They may be last, but… they’re there! And there’s an ethos that DFL is better than DNF (“did not finish”), illustrated by the story of a slalom skier who missed a gate and instead of skiing off the course in resignation, he herringboned back up to the gate and went around it to finish the course. I hope I would do that if it were me.

 

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