Chris
and I were so determined to make it up to Balsam Lake for WinterFest's second annual snowshoe “race” that we set the alarm for 5:30 a.m. on Saturday
and drove in from the Twin Cities.
I’m pretty sure we’ll move heaven and earth from this day forward to make
it there, thanks to Chris. His beer man costume was such a
hit last year, that race organizers cheered his return as soon as we walked in
the door. On the trail, fellow snowshoers asked why he didn’t wear it this
year.
Ever
the gentleman, Chris chose not to answer with a sneer in my direction. I
suggested that he try something new this year. I rejected his “Elf” costume
as untimely in this post-Christmas month, and possibly too creepy…
Even though it was still colder than all get-out, the number of participants almost tripled from last year, when there were just nine of us.
We made the 3-mile course in just under an hour, including stops for equipment malfunctions and photos at the scenic creek.
With temps hovering around zero (or maybe just below), we embrace this notion of partaking in festivities that celebrate winter. Other than crumbling into a heap of writhing despair, what choice do we have?
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