You’ve heard the saying before: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
There’s something special that transpires when you travel to a new place, experience novel things, and partake in local customs. At its core, living this way is an act of displacement: A complete uprooting and restructuring of that which is familiar, of that which you currently know to be true. When you travel, not only do you see things through your own eyes, but if you’re a good traveler, you attempt to experience those same things from a local’s perspective. It’s not about assimilation but rather expansion, connection, and sometimes even empathy. For when you embrace the rituals and pastimes of a particular place and culture, you not only learn something new, but you ultimately broaden your perspectives and expand your world.
As I said: When in Rome.
However, it’s worth noting this same line of thought rings just as true when it comes to trying new things in your own backyard. Using this logic, Cam and I recently decided to give cross-country skiing a try. After all, we do live in Minnesota, and aside from lakes and snow, cross-country skiing is one of Minnesota’s most iconic claims to fame.
Now, I had “cross-country skied” once or twice before[1], but only as a kid in the woods behind my parents’ house, and it mainly involved sluggishly dragging my feet across flat ground, covering a couple hundred yards, and then turning my boots in for some highly anticipated hot chocolate. So, suffice it to say I had never truly cross-country skied before. But, no matter, I’m always game to try new things[2], so we picked a date and boldly began prepping ourselves for the snow we were about to shred[3].
Our “preparation” consisted of sitting on the couch, drinking a beer, and watching REI instructional YouTube videos intended to coach us through the basics of cross-country skiing for dummies[4]. Through watching this thirteen-minute video we “learned[5]” how to start, stop, and navigate our skis around tight corners. As we watched the instructor—a professionally trained athlete, mind you—move through each of the demonstrations with complete ease, we practically brainwashed ourselves into believing premature[6] visions of our skiing success. I mean, we are two active, in-shape twenty-somethings with a love for the outdoors and a profound appreciation for learning new things. How difficult could it be, right?
Oh, Katie: You sweet, sweet dumdum.
Cold gear in tow, we arrived at the park reserve just as the sun was beginning to rise, eager to click into our skis and make some cross-country magic happen. We found our way to the rental area where a half-asleep teenager asked us which kind of skis we preferred: Classic or skate.
Us: “What’s the difference?”
Teenage boy: “It’s really whatever you want it to be, man[7].”
Random strangers behind us in line: “For what it’s worth, we’re going to try classic because we’ve never skied before and have heard that’s the way to go for beginners.”
Us: “Great. We’ll take the skate skis.”
Again, please tell me you can see where this is going.
So, we grabbed our newly rented equipment and made our way back out into the frigid morning air. We moseyed up against a bench, buckled up our boots, and clicked into our skate skis: A phenomenal start. Then, we made our first attempt at moving forward…
…And we didn’t get very far.
“Cam, am I doing this correctly? I’m not getting the right traction. Maybe that kid gave me a damaged pair of skis?”
I continued to dig into the snow, alternating my weight like I’d seen Apolo Anton Ohno do in the Winter Olympics[8]. Slowly, painfully slowly, I began to make progress, covering ground with the grace and speed of a blindfolded drunken tortoise.
We continued to inch our way along the track—Cam struggling every bit as much as I was— perplexed but determined to get this right. Amidst our struggle we gawked in disbelief as a trio of high school athletes effortlessly zoomed by us, only reinforcing my theory that bro boy had given me a defunct pair of skis. Nevertheless, we continued to plod forward, repeating the same motions we had seen REI man mimic on tv the night before and telling ourselves that our big break—the lightbulb moment where everything we were attempting to do would magically come together—was just within our grasp.
Now, I should pause to mention here that—little did we know—the course we had chosen to ski for the first time was not particularly easy. We had both envisioned a relatively flat, expansive straight shot of snow, but this course was curvy, winding, and all sorts of hilly. The downhill stretches were easy enough to figure out—I would tuck my ski poles under my arms, bend my knees, and glide down those suckers; you know, like real cross-country skiers do—but the uphill sections were another story entirely. Moving forward was hard enough on a flat stretch of snow, but now I was supposed to move forward and climb a hill with these obnoxiously long chopsticks affixed to my toes? Excuse me? Needless to say, I climbed these hills exactly as they were meant to be climbed: With sheer grit, determination, and a stupidly exaggerated dependence on upper body strength. With each hill I summited—for that’s what it felt like—I would pause, exasperated and painfully aware that REI man had not prepared us for this.
At one point I turned to my right and saw a woman about my age experiencing a similarly arduous battle up the hill. We looked at each other, exchanging knowing looks of pain, torture and utter hilarity when she paused and said: “Isn’t it fun to try new things?”
I loved that. While “fun” may have not been the first f-word to cross my mind in that moment, this woman was absolutely spot on: We were both putting ourselves out there, being vulnerable, and trying something new. We were outside enjoying the gorgeous winter weather under a flawless blue sky. We were trying our best and completely sucking at it. She was absolutely right: This was fun.
We continued to plod our way along the course, picking up steam on the flat stretches and trying not to die on the hills. At one point I actually felt like I was starting to get the hang of things and boastfully decided to showcase my newly mastered skills for Cam.
“Look, it’s really not that hard,” I bragged. “It’s just like this: One, two….”
And ladies and gentlemen, that’s when I ate it.
Somehow, unbeknownst to me, in that moment my footing became dislodged, my balance was rendered off kilter, and I felt myself slow-motion fall through the air, fully aware I was about to meet my maker.
Thud.
“Ouch! My tailbone!”
I’m typically not one to cry in moments like this, but the combination of the cold, the difficulty of this exasperating endeavor, and my blatant show of stupidity suddenly prompted me to burst into icy tears. I don’t know how to say this any other way, so I’ll shoot it to you straight: My butt hurt. Real bad. Like when I stood up, I wasn’t even sure if I still had a butt kind of bad.
I had grossly miscalculated the moment: In trying to be a badass, I had ultimately ended up having a bad ass. And yet, regardless of my frustration, embarrassment, and now defunct backside, I was determined to see the moment for what it was. No, I couldn’t keep skiing—but keep in mind, I could barely keep walking—but I had committed to trying a new skill, putting myself out there, and giving it my all. Sure, I was bruised and battered (and bruised again), but I had also experienced an exhilarating morning outside learning something new with Cam. Was it frustrating? Sure. Was it scary? At times. But was it rewarding? Had I stretched myself to try something different, something very Minnesotan, and give it my all? You betcha.
At the end of the day, I learned this: When in Minnesota, do as the Minnesotans do.
Just know that you’ll likely land on your ass—and learn to get back up—in the process.
Isn’t it fun
to try new things?
[1] Notice the strong use of air quotes…
[2] Keep in mind I’ve designed an entire blog project around this endeavor!
[3] From my improper use of lingo you can probably begin to predict how this story is going to evolve…
[4] The preparation of champions, clearly.
[5] Again, notice my strong use of air quotes here.
[6] See: Grossly misguided.
[7] I swear this kid’s eyes were half open…
[8] Granted, speed skating and skate skiing are decidedly not the same thing, but I had a mental framework of what this should look like in place, and you better believe I was about to use it!
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