Not a Winter Sports Kind of Person

Remsen St. Mary’s Senior Class of 1985 - all ready to have fun in the snow… except for me.

I could hear my classmates outside, squealing in downhill delight while I sat alone by a warm fireplace.

It was March of 1985, and this senior trip was our last outing as a close-knit class of forty-four. The majority vote landed on an outdoor winter fun day at a nearby ski hill that offered skiing or tubing. I chose neither.

I was hatless as my classmates packed the yellow school bus dressed in stocking caps and snow boots. I wore Levi’s and tennis shoes. My answer remained the same when asked about my attire and why I never ventured outside from the warm lodge.

“I’m not going outside. It’s too cold. I’m just not a winter sports kind of person.”

In hindsight, this was a curious comment from a Midwesterner born and raised in Iowa. At this point in my life, I had not yet experienced a winter in warmth. But even without the perspective of comparison, I made up my mind. Winter sports were not for me.

My classmates would come and go from the lodge, red-cheeked and laughing from their outdoor shenanigans. I would, in turn, offer food from Tupperware containers spread across the lodge table. Trying to conceal boredom, I kept myself busy with a book as I sat alone for long spurts of time. Organizing the snacks sent from home gave me the appearance of purpose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us? You can borrow my hat and coat while I take a break.”

My friend, Bev, felt sorry for me. I was missing out on the fun. Stubborn in my decision, I stayed indoors. Besides the bus ride, enjoying pizza and soda was the only shared experience I had with my classmates that day.

As a child, I spent much of my Iowa winters playing outside. We built snow forts and had snowball fights. Ice skates hung in our garage for use when the town’s tennis courts were flooded into an ice rink. I trudged along, joining my brothers and friends as the cold wind whipped our faces. What I looked forward to most was peeling off my icy wet clothes and warming by the heat vents inside.

Throughout my childhood, I tolerated the cold. My outdoor play participation was only out of boredom and not wanting to miss the fun.

College did not take me to the sunny south, but nine miles away from my hometown, where the winters were just as brutal.

Adulthood took me a mere 135 miles south to Omaha. I spent thirty chilly winters in Nebraska, although my parents had moved to Arizona shortly after my college graduation.

My proclamation of disliking winter did not result in action. Instead, I acclimated.

My three Nebraska boys did not inherit my dislike for winter play. They loved the outdoors year-round. While they played in the snow for hours, I would stay indoors baking cookies while simmering a soup. I tolerated running as my only outdoor sport through the winter months. But like my childhood winters, it was mainly out of boredom and a need to enjoy physical activity. Although a gym pass was coveted by a Midwesterner in winter, running laps around a small gym track got old.

My empty nesting life arrived with a second marriage and an opportunity to go new in a home zip code. As fate would have it, my husband was an avid skier. His love for skiing was so deep that topping his list for a new hometown was a large amount of snow. Although Bozeman, Montana, came in an early lead, I articulated my need for our move to go in a southern direction. By 2020, we settled in Durango, Colorado, where we were far enough south to catch some warmth but with enough elevation to hit the slopes.

During our first few winters here, I slid into my traditional role of staying home on most powder days. With excuses of needing to walk the dog or mountain drives too early in the morning, I would instead have a hot meal ready at home at the end of a ski day. My winter equipment was limited to downhill skis used twice a season. With our dog enjoying the snow as much as my husband, I did gain a large inventory of thick winter coats and boots for daily dog walks.

I had been enjoying the beauty of the Colorado snow more from the inside than the outside.

Until this year.

On a trip last fall with my friend, Bev, we reminisced while going through our old high school yearbooks. Included were photos from that senior trip in 1985. Later, Bev shared more photos from her scrapbook. This was the first time I had seen these moments. While I had sat warmly in the lodge alone, my classmates obviously had a blast outside, albeit in the cold.

I posted one of the group photos on Facebook. The picture was taken on the school bus and displayed my stocking-capped classmates' smiling joyful faces. Facebook came alive with many comments on the vivid memories of fun on the slopes that day. Memories that I was not a part of.

Looking out my window after Durango’s first snowfall last fall, the reality of my situation came to light: My non-winter mindset was just that, a mindset. The visual from the book “The Cat in the Hat” came to mind with kids longingly looking out the window on a rainy day. I realized their barrier of pouring rain was much different than mine of snowy ground.

Instead of making excuses, I started to listen. My Durango friends, whom I ran, biked, and paddle-boarded with throughout the spring, summer, and fall, all enjoyed winter sports. Following the advice of a biking friend, I purchased a season pass at the Durango Nordic Center. Cross-country skis were rented for the season. Another friend lent me snowshoes. Clip-on spikes for my running shoes were moved to the back seat of my car so I was always prepared.

I live in a year-round outdoor playground, and although late to the game, I have quickly become acclimated to loving winter sports. Durango is surrounded by mountains and trails, with a river flowing through it and a landscape that fills all kinds of athletic senses.

Not only do I love my view from the outside, but exercising under the bluebird skies with views of snowy mountaintops is invigorating. My belief that being in snow equates to being cold is a myth. Temp is rarely an issue if the sun is out and the wind is low. It is all about dressing in layers, and I find myself shedding more than adding.

With sunny skies and tolerable temps on most days here, a winter wonderland is best taken within the elements rather than from inside. My daily routine now includes coordinating meet-ups at the various cross-country trails in our area. I’ve also joined a group called the Bluebird Ladies, who post outdoor group winter activities to join.

Walking my dog through the snowy trails of my neighborhood this morning, I was thinking through the upcoming week. Mapping out calendar openings for cross-country outings or runs on the trails also necessitates frequent check-ins on the local weather forecast.

As my dog playfully stuck his face in the snow, a neighbor walked by, and we exchanged pleasantries. She smiled, commenting about the mild weather we are experiencing. Our temps are forecast for the low 50s this week.

Without hesitation, my answer was clear.

“But we REALLY need some fresh snow.”

I guess I’m officially a winter sports kind of person now.