How Learning To Cross-Country Ski With My Partner Brought Us Closer Together

This would take no time in any respect on downhill skis. I could barely hear my thoughts above the loud grind of my cross-country skis that I held stiffly in pizza mode (meaning, I used to be pointing my skis together right into a wedge shape quite than having them protrude straight out into vertical lines). I did this to manage my speed—which, to be clear, was that of a snail—as I scraped down the gentle, groomed hill. But, slow and regular, I had a smile plastered across my face. Cross-country skiing was recent and different to me, but learning to do it with my partner has been an unexpected joy. And that is a sentence I’d never thought I’d write.

It was a bluebird day, with the snow-heavy pines creating long shadows on the paths and mountains framing the background. My partner waited patiently waiting at the underside of the hill. I wasn’t excellent at this recent winter sport, and my partner was not a lot better, but we were doing something together. And the far-reaching effects of doing so have brought me gratitude for our life, love, and nature. This is the meet-cute of how he, me, and cross-country skiing became a hot recent triad that I didn’t see coming, yet feels so right.

We are what I’d consult with as an lively couple—but we now have historically ended up doing different outdoor activities during each season. He mountain bikes once I hike. He snowboards through the trees as I ski scenic intermediate routes within the open. He runs while I…don’t.

Cross-country skiing was something recent to us each, but due to his athleticism and my background in downhill skiing, we were learning at the same rate.

While we individually fell in love with the game, it ultimately brought us closer together. Cross-country skiing was something recent to us each, but due to his athleticism and my background in downhill skiing, we were learning at the same rate, wiping out at the same rate, and laughing at the same rate. Sure, we were novices at the game, but we were novices together. And we were hooked.

What led us to try cross-country skiing

Growing up in a family of downhill skiers, I used to assume everyone lucky enough to learn would surely pick skiing or snowboarding as a go-to winter sport. Even after college, once I learned concerning the inherent privilege baked into these sports (i.e., expensive gear, lift tickets, and transportation), I felt committed to doing what I could to proceed downhill skiing each winter. I loved having a reason to go to the mountains in winter to smell the crisp pine air and see the magical snow-covered vistas.

But, during a brief trip to Breckenridge, Colorado, a mountain town known for its downhill ski runs a number of years ago, my partner and I took to the slopes—he was snowboarding while I used to be skiing—on a cloudy, snowy day. My fingers were numb after we reached the highest of the chairlift. It was difficult to speak over the howl of the wind, and difficult to see the runs with falling snow and dim lighting.

Uncomfortable and nervous, I took a break in a mid-mountain hut while my partner made a number of runs. But I could not actually chill out and revel in the scenery with the $150 dollar lift ticket expense taking on all real estate in my mind. I attempted to scrub away the economic concern with a $15 comically strong (and delicious) cider beverage. But all I felt was pressure to enjoy something—and guilt that I just… wasn’t. This wasn’t the primary time I felt this fashion because of this of downhill skiing.

So, at this point, a friend’s invitation for me and my partner to go cross-country skiing suddenly felt appealing.

Cross-country skiing: A love story

My partner and I bailed on the worsening downhill weather conditions (and the guilt) in favor of a more tranquil cross-country skiing experience. As we pulled as much as the Breckenridge Nordic Center, the vibe shift was unmistakable: There were no chairlift lines or freneticism, and cross-country ski boots felt more comfortable than stiff downhill ones. (“Sometimes we wear all of them day,” our friend casually told us.)

My first impressions were positive, but I used to be a rather sweating bundle of nerves. Luckily, my partner was utterly relaxed, slinging jokes in a teal ski suit that managed to make his jokes even funnier.

We were suited up and able to get going with our first cross-country skiing experience. Our friend showed us the fundamentals, and we took our first awkward steps within the groomed tracks near the comfy lodge. The ultra-lightweight, narrow, and slippery cross-country skis were different from what I used to be used to from downhill skis, but not wholly unfamiliar. The tracks kept every part aligned and more stable as I worked to seek out a rhythm with the poles.

With some effort, I discovered my first glide. Is that it? With more adjustments, I could feel myself propelling forward with every step. Yeah, that’s it. There were barely every other skiers around as we whooped and hollered as we caught on.

We stuck together at our slow pace, taking over gentle trails with names like Baby Doe and Troll Forest. Even though it was the identical day, with the identical person, in the identical town, you might have fooled me. The same snow that bit at me on the mountain added a background sparkle and softness. The same cold that made my fingers numb on the chair lift kept me from overheating while working my underutilized arm muscles. The same partner who felt compelled to maintain snowboarding helped me out and in of my cross-country ski bindings and eased my nerves.

Why we’ll proceed cross-country skiing 

My partner and I attempted cross-country skiing again in Breckenridge after which sought it out at other locations. The ultra-lightweight, narrow, and slippery skis were different to but not wholly unfamiliar. The biggest difference in gear was the shortage of any “edge,” the solid, sharp side of a ski that permits you to dig into the snow to make turns or stop yourself.

Without the sting, every rolling hill became daunting. A turn at the underside of a hill? It was as if two clumsy penguins were picking one another up after consecutive wipeouts. With this gear shift (from fast to slow, from pros to newbies) got here a shift in perspective. Instead of specializing in controlling or maintaining speed your entire day, it was about propelling ourselves forward at our desired pace—and staying present.

I also found myself having fun with the full-body workout. Using my arms and fascinating my core felt good and balanced in comparison with how much legwork I used to be doing. Sure, my calves were burning on every uphill and my biceps were sore after every session, but I also felt satisfaction with each accomplished loop through the trees. (Endorphins definitely amplified things.)

Despite the bruises and soreness, we kept trying. Each time we went, we marveled at the shortage of crowds and the jolly nature of those we did encounter. We giggled on the sub-$25 trail pass and frolicked within the winter sights we were treated to on each blue-square loop. And we couldn’t stop talking about it, chatting excitedly before each session and recounting the day on our drive home.

We were proving the psychological science on romantic partners: Couples who exercise with one another are happier, and doing a novel activity with each other helps you’re feeling safer and satisfied. Honestly, I felt closer to my partner, like we had more in common. It was so satisfying to do that recent outdoor winter sport—together.

After three seasons of cross-country skiing, my partner and I can proudly say we’re in a long-term relationship with it; we have even invested in skis, poles, boots, and bindings. Each time we go, we marvel at the shortage of crowds and the jolly nature of oldsters we do encounter. We giggle on the sub-$25 trail passes and frolic within the winter sights we’re treated to on each loop.

While I doubt we’ll ever entirely hand over on downhill skiing, with cross-country skiing, my partner and I don’t should battle the lines to the lifts, our frustration with increasing lift ticket prices, or our momentum on the downhill. We can just… glide—very similar to the best way cross-country skiing glided right into our hearts.