Skiing

[Above photo: The Riverside Golf Course, 18 holes groomed for cross-country skiing.]

9 January 2022

The idea of 17,000 therapists waiting online would, I imagine, terrify rather than reassure a therapy-naïve person seeking help. More ambush than embrace. It seems like a bad bit of marketing. All those therapists hanging around, waiting for fresh meat. It is surprising that PBS continues to announce the possibility, as if it were an enticement.

Five to seven inches of snow coated the streets and parks Thursday afternoon and night. I broke out my new Rossignols and skied to the Western Cemetery and around the Western Promenade. Between unshoveled sidewalks and unplowed streets, I had to remove my skis to cross streets only twice. It was great fun to try to retrieve my old cross country chops. I worked up a terrific sweat.

As a kid in Denver I raced on the Eskimo (not PC) Ski Team. It was sponsored by Frank Bulkley who owned a ski shop and a ranch in Middle Park where I worked 3 summers. I wasn’t a great racer for some reason—-just OK enough not to feel embarrassed—but I really liked jumping and the occasional cross country race. We skied all over the state, going to Steamboat Springs, Aspen, and other areas to race.

My most memorable cross country race was at Winter Park, our local (and very good) area. I had to poke holes with a knife in the soles of my work boots so they would fit on the pegs of the bindings since I didn’t have proper cross country boots. I motored along, passing lots of people and did quite well.

At a jumping meet in Steamboat, we were all terrified of the hill, twice as large any we’d previously jumped. The estimated speed at the take-off was 60-70mph and your jump was dependent on strength and timing. It was necessary to spring up and forward from a crouch with all your strength at just the right moment. But then you soared through the air, supported by an updraft, for a long, long time, landing easily on the nearly vertical outrun. A friend of my oldest brother, Marvin Crawford, had been on the US Olympic ski jumping team—we never were competitive with the Finns, Norwegians, or Swedes—and he coached us a bit before we set off. It gave me reassurance and, thus, courage.

Yesterday I drove a few miles to the Riverside Golf Course. When there is snow, the 18 holes are groomed for cross country skiing. I did the large loop of about 4 miles, going up and down small hills and passing a placid but chilly river bordered in white.  The day was sunny and the parking lots were packed but the area is so large that it never felt crowded.  Middle schoolers who ski for their teams were practicing. Older couples with dogs in booties. And young hotshots skating, which is much faster than my classical style. A couple of hours of moving at a good clip is great exercise, upper and lower body. And the scenery was, well, snowy. I spied a Vietnamese restaurant on my drive out and stopped on return for a bowl of Pho ga, Pho with chicken. It was the best I’ve had since being in Vietnam in 2004. Not walking distance from home but worth a short drive.

Today the temperature is 35F and the rain is washing the snow away. But it appears we’ll get another blanket next weekend.  Now I am set to enjoy the cold. There is a larger groomed area, Pinelands, about 35 minutes away and I shall try it soon.

It is very sad and a little infuriating to see the state of the country. So angry, so opposed, so unable to hear or speak civilly to one another across the divide. I count myself among them. The misinformation, wickedly used for power, is evil.  Now we all are eager for shadenfreude, to take pleasure in seeing the other side fail, shamed.  The craftiness of Facebook and other opinion Media who exploit our desire for blood and sensation are apparent. It is tough to stop disinformation without censoring free speech. It seems to me, however, that if someone of any Party knowingly encourages others, through misinformation (we used to simply say “Lies”), and the latter commit crimes, injuring or killing others, destroying property, looting, etc. that the source of the misinformation is at least as culpable as those incited. Tucker? Donald? We don’t want to punish innocent people, of course, but I’m not suggesting that.

On the other hand, it is adolescent and ignorant of MoveOn to hawk bumper stickers that say, “You lost. Get over it.” I wrote them the same. Why scornfully and triumphantly shove it in their faces? It may be directed at DT but those who voted for him will feel it points toward them, increasing the divide.

I also feel that, as well as I think Joe Biden is doing, our country needs a younger, more vibrant leader. He looks really, really old to me. Older than I feel—or look, I might say. Elizabeth Warren, who I supported, might have angered others with her edge, the know-it-all schoolmarm. Bernie was unelectable, being too far from the mainstream, even though I agree with much of his platform. Pete Buttigieg—not so easy to spell—is measured, tolerant, and smart as a whip, more like I’d want to see. At least Joe has surrounded himself with bright, honest, and competent people, not thugs.

I’m working my way, chapter by chapter, through Orwell’s Roses, a gift from a friend. Rebecca Solnit, who I mentioned last week, has written a brilliant book about the need, which Orwell knew and lived, for both bread and roses in our lives—the utilitarian and sustaining parts and the enriching and inspiring bits, desire as well as basic needs. Her mind is encyclopedic and her prose so deft it is cause for both celebration and envy.

I began my new course in psychotherapy with 8 psychiatrists scattered around Myanmar. They are, as were my earlier students, bright, engaging, eager to learn, and unfailingly polite.  Most of them grew up in a corrupt dictatorship which severely limited their learning and earning opportunities. And they are again, after a 5 year partial-hiatus, being ruled by a cruel, corrupt, and violent dictator. They continue to try to do the right thing for the needy in their country. The deaths from covid and conflict are widespread. One presented an 11yo boy who is permanently blind from injuries suffered during an explosion.

Off to the grocery store.