One of the many negative aspects of winter — other than the obvious — is the difficulty in finding enough enthusiasm to haul one’s butt off the couch and get moving.
Winter conjures up thoughts of a toasty fire and a good book. One to be read, perchance, with a nice glass of vino close at hand – as long as it’s ABC.
Let’s be honest. Getting bundled up and indulging in some exercise is oft the last thing on people’s minds during the frosty winter months, right?
For the most part you can count me among those ‘people,’ although I have to admit I get more motivated when it comes to cross-country skiing. After all, we have some wonderful crosscountry trails right here in Muskoka.
As a Brit who only arrived on these great shores about 35 years ago, winter activities in my youth had, for the most part, been limited to walking. Especially on those grey, damp and blustery Sundays.
“Come along,” my mother used to say to my three siblings and myself. “We’re going for a blow at the seaside.” Then she’d pile us all into our old banger of a car and we’d head off to the nearest beach.
As was probably Mother’s original intention, we’d all sleep very well after those outings. In Canada, there are many more winter activities to be had.
Take, for instance, skating. Soon after landing on these shores, a new friend persuaded me to try ice skating. It wasn’t one of my finest hours, that’s for sure. I did manage to stay upright – albeit only by holding onto the boards – but an excruciating pain in my ankles quickly drove me off the ice. I never tried the sport again.
Cross-country skiing became a favourite pastime of mine whilst I was living in the comparative flatlands of Kapuskasing. How I got there is a whole other column.
One husband and two kids after Kap, Muskoka became my home. This move meant I could finally try my hand at downhill skiing.
Despite my inordinate fear of ski lifts – I’m terrified of heights – and my allergy to speed, I persevered for six long winters. But rarely did I venture off the easy blue trails.
One incident finally convinced me to give up downhill skiing altogether.
It happened on a mild, snowy Sunday afternoon as I was on a ski lift slowly making its way up the hill. The guy sitting next to me was a friendly soul, and we started to chat. I became so engrossed in our conversation that when it came time to get off the chair, I was ill-prepared. ‘Tips up,’ the nearby sign clearly stated. Too late.
I was in the midst of saying “Good talking to you, have a....” to my companion when disaster struck. Suddenly, I found myself flying through the air. I landed face down in the snow, one ski tip wedged firmly into the ground.
Whether it was quick thinking on my part, or an instinctive act of self preservation, I stayed prone, my face buried. Thankfully, the chair of the ski lift gracefully swung on over top of me. Then the ski lift came to a halt.
Of course, everyone who had caught sight of the debacle thought I was seriously injured since I hadn’t moved a muscle. To my acute embarrassment a group rushed over to my aid.
Luckily, the only thing hurt was my pride, but that marked the day I forever hung up my downhill skis.
While my skiis are now obsolete and are good only as dump fodder, I have just found a new use for my ski poles.
For some time, when out for our weekly jogs, my friends and I had noticed an increasing number of people ‘dork walking.’ That was our rather unkind moniker for the art of propelling oneself along the street with poles.
A local gym soon took up the craze, offering Nordic walking classes. The sessions garnered quite a following. Obviously, there had to be something to this new phenomenon.
The fitness benefits from Nordic walking are enormous as you are exercising your whole body, so we were told. It sounded good.
There was one small drawback: the cost. Walking poles run about $100 a pair.
That’s when a bright spark among us decided to use black electrical tape and rubber tips purchased at the hardware store to MacGyver her old downhill ski poles.
I hauled my old poles out of the garden shed and followed suit.
It’s been an interesting exercise, ‘dork walking.’ At first the ski poles wore through the rubber tips. We added larger tips and placed a dime in the bottom to protect them. Then the dime wore through. We’ve now found tips that are made specifically for canes, so they are more durable.
So far, so good.
Now ‘dork walkers’ and proud of it, my friends and I and can be found most evenings pounding the pavement with our recycled poles in hopes of achieving well-tuned bodies.
Heck, if nothing else, we’ll be well and truly ready when the cross-country ski trails finally beckon.