Ratchets of Destiny, Freewheels of Doom: An EPIC Rollerski (In Brief)
An exclusive xcskiworld.com column by Levi Hensel. Find the complete index of columns by this author here
The breakfast of champs, lets hope there’s no cramps, as the last of the oatmeal is downed.
Its on with the boots, and on with the skis, and where are my damn poles to be found?!
Out into the drive and off down the road, and into the first intersection.
Rollerskiing, though jarring, and often alarming, can offer, at times, introspection.
Not today I’m afraid, too much sun and no shade, and drivers all in a huff.
Leave me alone! I’m not dangerous! I just want to train! I’m just out here trying to get buff!
This poem you’ll find, not quite so Homeric, as absurdly lim-erick in scope.
An example in kind, what first came to mind, when a “Bloody Rollerskiers!” hurled my way was:
There once was a skier from Britain,
Who, while waxing, couldn’t read what was written,
“Its Norwegian!” he said, while scratching his head,
And klistering his face to his mitten.
This yell struck me quite sour, at the start of the hour, as I crossed over two lanes of cars,
Let’s pray for no harm, that I don’t buy the farm, and that these drivers aren’t coming from bars.
Up over the hill, more hours to kill, lungs and legs…really not happy.
Stupid gravel! I curse, as I’m passed by a Hearse, impending an ending that’s crappy.
Two hours approach, as I try to self-coach, and ski with movements quite snappy.
No more Gatorade, and things start to falter, and all I can think of is shelter.
A pool is quite nice, or just a bit of water, or anything other than swelter,
Down the hill of despair, awful pavement everywhere, and large pieces of road, they are missing.
Into a large pothole, drops my ski, swallowed whole, and soon my pants I am pissing.
Up from the wreck, sunglasses askance (trying NOT to look novice is key),
“Get off the road!,” yells a guy in a Jeep, “That’s my advice, AND IT’S FREE!”
Hour three approaches, and my heart rates erratic, and oases my mind starts to mold,
I need some motivation, a powerful invocation, something that turns lead-legs to gold.
From the other lane, fast cresting the hill it approaches, my inspiration found finally, at last.
An amazing girl behind the wheel, tires starting to squeal, but for eye-contact, moving too fast.
The freshest of pavement, you know that I’m on it.
The passing of the hottie, makes me think of a sonnet.
Beautiful girl, must you laugh at me so?
Are my tan lines really quite so funny?
Can’t you see me try to prepare for snow?
I’m out here because the snow’s now runny!
Your Escalade guzzles gas, this I know.
These V2’s are like Chariots of Fire.
Why must you point when I double-pole slow?
My triceps aren’t weak, I’d hoped you’d admire.
Oh! Not my fault that my shorts are way short!
Its times like this I wish I’d played ball.
This is the goofiest part of my sport!
Thank God I’m on snow by the end of Fall.
Although I look dumb, I really am smart.
Why won’t you let me roll into your heart?
My sweat is quite caustic as it drips in my eyes, occluding my vision in pain,
This pursuit of training time, of race places higher, let’s hope it’s not all in vain.
Lack of respect from the car -riving sort, and love briefly grasped and then dropped,
I’m a rollerski cowboy, a titan of asphalt, and my double-pole will NOT be stopped.
Fatigue powered hallucinations, and a sugar deprived stupor, I’ve got to be done with this soon.
Look here, Mr. Angry SUV, in the whole last week, I just did more than you before noon.
Somewhere down the road there’s pavement nirvana, and a rollerski pilgrimage I’ll make,
This day will end, like all other epic’s, with a big plate of pasta and steak.
Aww crap! I recall, there’s no money in the bank, and the steak will just have to wait,
The poor skier life, yes its tough, but definitely…the world’s greatest fate.
If in France I’d leave with adieu,
But as it’s a poem, I leave with haiku
Winter will come soon.
Believe in free falling snow.
Watch out for those rocks.
Rollerski on my friends, and until next time, keep your poles sharp and your wits sharper.
Levi Hensel lives in the skier paradise of Bend, OR where he races for XC Oregon/Therapeutic Associates Inc. He is proud to represent Fischer USA in his racing endeavors, and when not training vigorously, or writing absurdly, finds time to help coach, and drink a lot of coffee.
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