Cross-country skiing isn’t my usual forte. When winter rolls around my mind is so enveloped in downhill skiing it’s hard for me to even entertain the idea of sliding around on flat ground. If I’m on a cross-country tour it might as well be a backcountry mission. If I’m working to ski I’d better be rewarded with deep powder turns or a steep descent. Adrenaline must flow.
This is what I used to think.
But a couple weeks ago when a wad of family got together over Christmas I had a different experience. When planning adventures that three different generations can participate in and enjoy there isn’t all that much to choose from. Cross-country skiing, however, happens to be one of them.
We rent a cabin outside of Gardiner—a nook nestled in Montana’s southwest offering plenty of outdoor endeavors. In classic family fashion—agendas colliding, dynamics conflicting, partners bickering—we pile into three cars and point them east. From Bozeman, we drive to Livingston then weave south along the Yellowstone River through a snowy Paradise Valley, up the eastern foothills and into a drainage called Eagle Creek.
Zigzagging up the winding road pillows of snow stack high on the Doug Fir and Lodge pole pine. The sky is dark, and though it’s not snowing, I have a strong hunch that it might. When we reach the trailhead I grab my skinny Salomon Snowscapes from the back of the van and toss them on the road half-enthused. Just another Christmas ski, I think.
I clip in and immediately start my way up the snow-covered road. At the first corner, when we’d finally gained a little ground, I stop to take some photos and in doing so let the rest of the group continue without me. Gazing south toward Yellowstone the thick fog settles lower, and with it, a peaceful stillness. After a long crammed car ride it feels good to be outside. I hear nothing. No one is quarreling, laughing, or telling anyone else what to do. Stimulation evaporates. New snowflakes begin to fall.
I continue up the road at a pace just tranquil enough to allow me doze into a soft meditation. Eventually, I run into the rest of my family and we ski together, but our ambiance remains quiet. Now that we’re out here, deprived of all urban sensory distractions, everyone seems to appreciate its presence. Up we go, one mile, two, three. We’re feeling good and having fun, but alas we hit our turnaround time.
Looking back the way we’d come, the angle appears seamless for cross-country skis. Not steep enough where you need be worried of falling, but a preferential glade pitched just perfectly for one looking to gain a little speed. I start down and indeed feel a dreamy momentum. With each glide I gain nearly 20 feet. I lengthen my stride, and while I move my motions almost naturally align to the rhythm of my breath. I get the feeling that I’m part of something larger, like be carried by the slow current of a meandering stream.
My pace is swift but my movements slow, the farther I go, the more my mind quiets.
Pretty soon I am no longer telling my body what to do, my motor cortex seems to go into autopilot. My motions are all the sudden intuitive and my mind goes numb, then my body.
I didn’t take any drugs did I? I contemplate briefly. Of course not, I’m on family vacation.
My vision tunnels like I’m traveling in warp speed. The snow falls harder as if to keep the beat, to match the intensity of my state. I’m nearly seeing around corners and into another dimension. My whole world becomes sublime. I forget my age, where I am, what I’m even doing. But my awareness is at its peak. Mind, body and breath are working and moving together. I can’t tell if my consciousness is on hold or purely observing. I’m a Zen master in motion. Though at the time I have little idea of what that means, I am certain I am it. The road is my red carpet and I am its model, its one and only purpose. Nothing else exists.
I glide around the final corner into the parking lot. Suddenly I’m thrown back into my circadian reality. I have no idea how much time has passed and have little tangible memory of the downhill, though it’s clear it was a profound experience. I feel euphoric, like I’ve just been enlightened by the divine.
Snow is now falling quite steadily. Soon enough I hear the distant scrape of skis on snow. I turn back uphill to see the rest of them coming in a fluent line intently focused, captured by the moment—in a wonderful flow state of their own.