Punished for Good Behavior

If you've ever watched an extreme skiing/snowboarding film, you know that they go on and on about fresh, untouched "powder" as if it's the greatest thing on earth.

Obviously, they've never been in such conditions while in snowshoes, dragging a sled with a toddler, and coaxing a dog to follow.

We went up to the mountain today for some early-season snow time. My husband is eager to get in some back-country snowboarding and I'm considering entering a snowshoeing race at the same location in a couple of months. (The event announcement, put out by a group that normally does running events, guarantees that there will be no cars on the course.)

Intending to leave at 9:00am, we packed and loaded the car and set off at about 9:45. Not bad for a family on Moroccan time. I was actually feeling rather proud of myself because last year I'd left all my snow gear in one bag so that I could just grab it and run and not have to look all over for things.

I grabbed everything except for one seemingly minor but actually very critical thing.

Toilet paper.

The permanent outhouses at the snow park we go to are always out, which I forgot until we arrived and needed it. Fortunately, several months ago I had my husband pack extra baby wipes in his car "just in case" he would need them for something, so we weren't totally without creature comforts.

The important business taken care of, we geared up. Last year, I bought some snow pants that barely fit. It was depressing, because they were enormous pants (I still refer to them as my size "Extra Elephant" pants), I had to unzip the side pockets to provide room for my hips, and if I so much as exhaled (no exaggeration), the waist snaps popped open. All this and they are also about a foot too long for my legs. (I could go into a LONG tangent here about how hard it is to find activity-appropriate gear for large people and how the heck are they going to exercise to make change if there is no clothing to do so in comfortably.)

I was extremely pleased to discover that my size extra elephant pants could 1) have the pockets zipped this time, 2) snap and stay snapped, even when bending over or sneezing (I tested both), and 3) even have enough room for 2 layers underneath.

Another challenge last year was getting the snowshoes on and off. The first time I had my husband help because I'd never done it before and didn't know how they buckled. Every time after that, I had to have him help because I couldn't breathe when I bent over in my too-tight snowpants, because I actually needed snowpants in size two extra elephants.

I got my snowshoes on ALL BY MYSELF (I totally sound like my 3-year-old in my head when I say that) AND I was able to breathe while doing it.

Also my pants were still snapped when I stood up.

If that's not progress to celebrate, I don't know what is.

Off we set on the trail. It was a bit challenging since normally it is somewhat groomed, but I don't think they've had a chance to do any grooming yet this year. Even in snowshoes (and I wasn't wearing tiny ones), I was sinking as much as two feet at times. I took a few pictures, we saw a dad and his son that we saw a few times last year, and then my husband wanted to head off around the edge of a bowl on the side of the trail, so he took off with our daughter in the sled and the dog following him.

Already having enough trouble on the "trail" I decided I'd continue up and meet them at the top so I would at least have a little bit of packed trail to go on from the few that had been up earlier in the morning.

I looked over and eventually saw that the dog was really struggling. I called her and as she stopped it looked like she debated whether to run through the loose snow toward me or continue to try to follow my husband's trail. She opted for his trail.

She was completely stuck a few minutes later.

My husband, hands full with our daughter, kept on going, so I decided to play Canine Rescue Crew, which meant working through all the loose powder I'd been trying to avoid in the first place--and going uphill doing so. There were a few points where the angle was such that I was in snow up to my waist and had to back up and kick the snow ahead so I could step forward.

As I got close to our dog, I could hear that she was crying. Worried that she was injured (and how on earth would I carry an 85 pound dog back down out of this if she couldn't walk?) I hurried as best I could.

Thing is, even though I'm in way better shape than last year, with the conditions and my endurance still not fantastic, "hurried" meant move five steps, pant. Five steps, pant. And the dog whimpered some more. "I'm coming, girl!" Five steps, pant.

When I got there, it was clear she wasn't injured but had fallen into a hole where a small tree was bent over and she couldn't get her legs over the tree to get out. So I laid face down in the snow, reached into the hole and pulled up her back legs.

I got lots of slobbery kisses as a thank you.

I then trudged back over my own trail and she followed RIGHT behind me and then ran ahead as I rejoined the slightly-packed trail up the hill.

My husband and daughter took a slow sled run down the bowl (which was too loose of powder for even the sled to work in), I followed after them, attempting to pack a small trail with my snowshoes (then hiked around to get back up). I did another packing hike down the hill before they went down again and they were only slightly more successful at swooshing down the hill. At the end, I think more effort was put into scooting with feet than it would have been to just walk.

At the bottom of the bowl, my daughter announced, "I have to go PEE PEE!"

We were a good half hour from the parking lot, so I offered her the option of doing her pee pee like the doggie. She didn't like that idea, so my husband hooked the sled rope to my back belt loop (which resulted in my pants scooting down).

Amazingly, we made it--dry--all the way to the restroom. I was actually more pleased with this than I was when I realized the hill I'd hiked up TWICE I did without stopping, which I couldn't do last year.

Again, no Olympic feats from this individual, but when my scales are stagnant, I have to take my progress where I can find it so I'm still encouraged.

When we got back to the car, the dog was so exhausted I had to lift her in. My daughter wanted a bag of chips (which I promised her after she finished her sandwich). Five minutes down the road, she fell asleep, sandwich in hand.

Two hours later, as we bumped into our driveway, she burst awake and said, "I WANT MY CHIPS!"

I handed them over, went inside and laid down as another migraine had kicked in on the drive. It woke up six hours later but was still miserable.

I didn't think I'd pushed myself that hard--I got winded a few times, but really I could have done more. It's hard not to get frustrated that while I'm doing something that should be long-term good for me, I feel like I get penalized by my own body with these migraines.

So a good day in the snow, and probably time to get back to the naturopath again.