The cute young man skiing past as I tried to surreptitiously (and safely) slow down at the bottom of a hill and turn to see if my husband was still
behind me. He said “Your dude fell,” then gave me a smiling, sly little
sideways glance. “I know you didn’t want him to.”
The man off his skis, posing at the 13K maker, taking his
own picture of his face right next to the sign. I wished I had the generosity
to hop off my own skis and do it for him. But I didn’t.
Skiing next to Jacque Lindskoog and seeing the look of
determined concentration on her face. I wanted to yell “I love you, Jacque
Lindskoog!” but couldn’t bear to bother her.
The music booming out over the slope where the 39K club
hangs out. It lifted me up and carried me and I had tears. I vowed to remember
the song but of course I’d forgotten it by the next hill. You know which one it
is.
The woman dressed as a leprechaun, dancing in the middle of
Bitch Hill, and the woman handing out pins who laughed as she chased us to zip
them right into our pockets.
Skiing up Main Street, side by side with my husband, the
sidewalks lined with people cheering us on, me smiling so hard, having no idea
how I was managing to do that and keep moving without falling down.
Crossing the finish line and skiing up to the tall and
skinny young man, with clouds of hair and beard, who stapled our 4
year pins on our bibs and told us “Congratulations!” with whole-hearted
sincerity.
2013 finishers
The young man working at the bag pick-up who expertly
watched people approach, dazed, wearing their Birkie bibs, looking around,
trying to make sense of a sea of numbers and white bags. He came up and put our
bags in our hands, calling out our numbers with the authority of a professional
announcer but the face of a high school sophomore.
Walking unsteadily into the changing tent, knowing I could
never manage getting out of my wet clothes without a chair to sit on, but
seeing they were all in use. Just standing there, trying to make my brain work,
when a young woman in the corner gestured me over. She said “Ma’am, you can
have my chair!”
I was so grateful, and tried to think of what to say. “So
you skied the Birkie!” is what came out. She lit up and said “Yes! My first
one!” I said “Were you happy with your time?” and she looked at me,
uncomprehending. “I’m just happy I skied it!” Which is exactly how I felt the
first time. I was so tired I forgot about the point of the whole thing.
