Pineland Farms skiing (or icing the boob)

February 1, 2011
  It’s winter and it’s my birthday. Past birthdays included heading out on the town with my best girlfriends (ala Sex and the City), getting an embarrassingly huge drink at Margaritas, and then trying to find someplace to stash my birthday sombrero (yes, I do actually own one) while we get our groove thing going out on the dance floor. However, this birthday found me in my Blazer, with skis in tow, heading to Pineland Farms in New Gloucester, Maine. This would be my 2^nd ski adventure with Jeff this season, and this time we were on his home turf.
  Pineland has a unique and interesting history of any cross country skiing place out there (in my humble opinion). Technically, cross country skiing is just a small part of what Pineland Farms is really all about. In 1908, the campus was opened to serve as a school for the mentally handicapped of Maine. It closed in 1996 and it’s 1600 plus acres was purchased by the Libra Foundation in Maine. Now, the incredibly maintained, sprawling campus includes: an equestrian center, a YMCA, a non-profit, self-sustaining farm, and other various businesses and ventures.
  If Sunday River or Sugarloaf are the crème de la crème downhill ski resorts in Maine, I have to think that Pineland is the crème de la crème for cross country. The campus is absolutely beautiful and incredibly well groomed. Standing on one of the easier trails, breathing in the fresh air and basking in the sunshine, it is hard to believe this place ever had had such a different, perhaps even misguided, purpose. It is hard to think that the sterile, hard word “institution” could have ever been applied to this beautiful land. What must it have been like for the people who lived in these buildings? Did they get to enjoy it, as we do now?
  I met Jeff at the entrance, and immediately he wanted to head up a rather large hill that was the official starting point for the trail system. I was fine with that, I chose the no less honorable route of taking off my skis, walking on the side of the trail up the hill, until I found the flattest spot to put my skis back on. A woman nearby, who was skiing with her son, and who looked to have a similar view as I did on avoiding unnecessary risks, smiled at me and said, “there’s no shame! I do the same thing when he (nodding to her son) wants to act more extreme.”
  With skis back on, I began to get back into the glide and slide rhythm that is cross country skiing. I was huffing and puffing, but I was doing much better than last time. I think I was able to fool a few people into thinking I knew what I was doing. That is, until I noticed the people with skate skis, flying by me with their graceful movements that I can only describe as dancing. These were the experts, clad in their spandex thermal tops and lightweight bottoms that left little to the imagination. I should invest in some of this wear, I found myself thinking, then wondered if they sold those in plus sizes.
  We took a trail that went into the woods called Oak Hill Trail. It boasted a total of 4.8 kilometers with the option of connecting to some intermediate and expert trails (which was not something I planned on doing today). The nice thing about Pineland is that the trails are groomed with 2 sets of grooves that, if your attempting classic cross country, will keep your skis on the straight and narrow during your experience. The middle track is reserved for skate skis or those brave enough to not need the grooves (or who think they are brave enough, I find with skiing bravery and stupidity can sometimes run hand in hand).
  The first hill we came to was considerable, and was made more alarming because it curved to the left at the bottom. My downhill instincts told me I should slalom back and forth, Jeff told me that I better not try that. The best thing to do, he said, was stick my skis in the grooves, balance and fall down on purpose if I felt out of control. I told him that I doubted my fall would be on purpose, that gravity has a way of making you do things you don’t want to do. But, I followed his lead, bent my knees, pushed off and hope for the best. ½ way down I felt exhilarated with the thoughts, “I’m doing it, I’m doing it, I’m really doing it. I CAN do it” running through my head. I almost made it to the bottom when, woosh, I fell forward, like a sack of potatoes, right onto my left breast! Ladies, if you have not experienced this, you are lucky, because it hurt! It also made me roll around on the snow in fits of laughter because all I could think was, “ow, I just landed on my boob!” Jeff, of course being a guy, just stood there watching me with a confused expression, and reminded me I should get up out of the snow before I got run over by another skier.
  The rest of the trail was better, with fewer hills; but, as Jeff reminded me about ½ way through, if you go down you must go up (notice I say ½ way, in other words, way too late for me to turn back). I dragged myself up the hills and across the rest of the trail, and collapsed at the wooden bench that someone had so thoughtfully put at the end of the trail. I bet, whoever made that bench, had skied this trail before! Maybe they were even a couch potato, it seems like something we would do. I think, my only criticism of this bench is that it did not come with a built in back massager or foot soak; but maybe that is a note I can put in the suggestion box for next year.
  For now, this is the couch potato, retreating to her chair with an ice pack for her boob (yes, it has left a bruise) and watching the episode of Glee that I recorded. Until next time….