CROSS COUNTRY INTERVENTION

By Mary Ann Franscioni

My name is Mary Ann, and I married a downhill skier.

I didn’t grow up skiing. I skied once in eighth grade and again in my senior year of high school. I wore dungarees and gators. No lessons, just skidding down the icy hill in upstate New York praying I wouldn’t break anything.

When I moved to California, the land of sunshine and beaches, I was surprised when everyone talked about skiing! “Oh, the snow is a beautiful powder,” “it’s nothing like the East Coast,” they would all say. So, I tried it. Every year, I gathered my courage, buckled up my 2-ton boots and slid out to the chair lift. I progressed from a frightened beginner to a nervous intermediate.

Along the way, I had three children. One by one, they took up skiing. Soon enough my children surpassed me. There’s nothing like going down Moke West as your 5-year-old zooms by while you are in a slight “pizza” doing S turns. My kids joined the mountain team. We came to Bear Valley every other weekend and on all the school holidays. We bought a cabin, got season passes and a locker. We were a downhill family.

At the end of one season, I twisted my knee and, thankfully, was told I should take the next season off! Phew!

I knew I would go crazy if I sat in the lodge while everyone else skied, so I tried cross country skiing. I took a lesson and went from an interested beginner to a delighted intermediate! I bought skinny skis, slimmer gloves, and wrap-around sunglasses, the whole package. The next season I discovered skate skiing. I found a ski buddy. There was no stopping me now! I dropped the gang at the downhill lodge and headed to the XC trailhead. I bought more skis, took more lessons, skied the trails from hut to hut - even to Tamarack when there was enough snow - and skied in the annual races.

But my family could not wrap their heads around my new love for cross country skiing. Had I really forsaken downhill skiing. Surely that was not possible. My husband continued to buy me a downhill season pass. One Christmas they bought me a new helmet; the next, new goggles; and the following year, thick gloves. Was this an unconscious intervention? Each year I told them I preferred cross country skiing. They were in denial, sure that I was just “going through a phase.” They loved me; they humored me.

In the end, I put my foot down and declared that under no circumstances should they get me a downhill season pass or any downhill gear moving forward. Shock! Horror! It was as if I had asked for a divorce from the family!

Now, 20 years into my cross country “phase,” my family seems to have accepted my decision. They have, one by one, tried skate skiing and classic skiing with me. I now get vests and slim gloves for Christmas. But to this day, I still see a little sadness in my husband’s eyes as he heads up the hill, and I head to the XC trailhead.

My name is Mary Ann, and I am a cross country skier!