DECEMBER 22, 2022 – (Cont.) “We’ve got to get our skiing in before it gets cold,” I said.
The skier knew I’d said something but hadn’t heard what it was. Out of politeness, the athlete stopped, pulled down a face covering and removed an earbud. Three facts struck me simultaneously: 1. Music had obscured my attempt at humor; 2. The skier was a young woman; and 3. She was a person of color; specifically, she looked of East African lineage. “What did you say?” she said, whereupon, I repeated my ever so funny line. Smiling, she expressed (politely) her agreement. I then apologized for having slowed her down, and in continuing politeness toward this random, non-grouchy old man, she said, “No worries” and resumed her rocket-pace toward the base of “Schilthorn.”
As I applied my own efforts to the same “mountain,” I replayed the woman’s utterance, “No worries.” That’s not a common phrase among most young people—or even older people—with Minnesota origins. Besides, I thought, she certainly looked of East African origin. Were her parents immigrants? Was she herself an immigrant? If I’d detected a slight accent to her few words, clearly she had spent many seasons here . . . or in some other snowy place, such as . . . Switzerland? . . . which caused me to wonder how she had taken up the sport, whether she was a student racer or former student who is now a citizen racer. Obviously, she’d benefitted from some expert coaching and untold hours of training.
I glided down the back side of “Schilthorn,” then herringboned through deep snow up the slope to the “Little Austrian” border. All the while, I pondered the encounter—a young, woman of color, possibly of African origins, skiing like a real competitor on this first day of winter in . . . cold, snowy, blowing Minnesota. I found much in this combination to celebrate.
Curious as could be, I had a notion to ski a straight line to the north end of the “Aletsch Glacier” and intercept the rocket skier at the turn where the track heads south down the backside of the “Eiger.” At the risk of annoying her by interrupting once again her textbook, V-1 striding, I wanted to learn her story and tell her that as a non-grouchy old man whose halcyon ski days are on the back side of time, I wanted to applaud her competitive skiing career. But before the non-grouchy, old man could convert thought to action, the champion was already at the turn. Disappearing with her into the flying snow was any chance of interception.
I went home to a lunch of hot tomato soup . . . and writing this post.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
