Tag Archives: Spectators

Wild Winter Sports

When winter boredom sets in, don’t you wish the Winter Olympics took place every year? There’s nothing like watching other people exercise to inspire us all.

We spectators used to achieve similar exploits — though if someone tattled to Mom, we got in trouble.

My siblings and I rode sleds, standing up, into icy creek beds. We skated across frozen lakes. When ice c-r-r-a-acked under me once, I set Olympic records, darting to shore.

Image by Julius H. from Pixabay.

A skinny kid taking skating lessons, my husband risked life and limbs lifting a girl twice his weight. She informed him that he risked her life and limbs.

Self-preservation instincts grew with us. My winter daring-do ceased at 21 when I tubed down a mountain. Somersaulting, I received a black eye. Two weeks before my wedding.

Despite that cure, I still crave occasional winter excitement.

But how can anyone — other than fish — consider ice fishing exciting? Nevertheless, while hiking near a frozen lake where we’ve kayaked during summer, Hubby and I saw a subdivision of huts on the ice.

Though fishermen didn’t jump into the lake. Polar dips flourish everywhere!

Some adventurers in Michigan’s Upper Penninsula and Minnesota achieve a rush climbing frozen waterfalls.

Image by Simon from Pixabay.

An international solution to winter boredom: wok racing, which originated not in China, but in Austria and Germany. Competitors sometimes reach 100 mph. The wok-er who borrows his equipment from wife or mother faces the wrath of a woman deprived of cookware — and no dinner.

Skijoring, popular in the U.S., Canada, Norway and Russia, sounds friendlier because a horse or dog pulls a skier through snow and ice. This pastime reminds me of my eight-year-old efforts to harness my dog — or little sister — to pull me in a wagon. My ride ended under the overturned wagon, with bumped heads and bruised knees for everyone.

A souped-up version with Fido or Seabiscuit might prove less appealing.

While I enjoy cycling, fat-tire racing on ice doesn’t tempt me. As for motorcycle racing on the ice — forget the helmet. Wear a suit of padded armor!

Instead, when the Olympics finally come around again, I’ll even follow curling. After all, how could such a wild, wonderful sports event exist without spectators?

Spectators who experience the thrill. The pageantry. The soft, safe sofa.

Sufficient winter excitement for me.

Image by Alexa from Pixabay.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s your favorite winter sport? Why?

Classic Post: Celebrity Goat Runner

This post first appeared on June 23, 2021.

Comedian Bob Hope served humankind by performing shows for military overseas. Dave Barry paraded with The World Famous Lawn Rangers precision lawnmower drill team. When asked to be our 4-H Fair’s Celebrity Goat Runner, I, too, answered the call.

But my friend mentioned the word “maze.”

I get lost in my driveway. “Please pair me with a goat with a good sense of direction.”

Instead, she promised the goat and I would run an obstacle course.

Visions of Goat Gladiators haunted me. Would the animal scale the Ferris wheel with me tied to his back?

Get real. Goats weren’t allowed on Ferris wheels. Besides, who would show up to watch us?

Image by cheskapoondesignstudio from Pixabay.

Only a few hundred spectators. So what, if my name as Celebrity Goat Runner echoed for miles over the fair’s loudspeakers?

Fellow goat handlers’ helpful hints encouraged me.

“Lift the leash,” one little girl advised. “If he still won’t go, lift his tail.”

I’d worn white Capris. …

My goat, Toby, bore a distinct resemblance to a long-ago teacher. Thankfully, Toby, like Mr. P., was hornless. Unlike Mr. P., he tangled with two young whippersnappers. But Toby hadn’t knocked me onto my butt. So far.

Image by Clker- Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay.

Of course, I went first.

“4-H-ers,” said the announcer, “watch our Celebrity Runner carefully so you’ll know what to do.”

Not good. Especially when Toby decided God didn’t make him a hurdler. I politely requested he move. One step? Please?

He not so politely declared he wouldn’t.

I lost it and said his nanny wore combat boots. He said, actually, his mother ate combat boots. Toby devoured my shoelaces to emphasize the point.

Finally, I yanked him along. Digging in hooves, he skied halfway through the course like a motorboat-powered beauty.

Toby wasn’t required to make a basket using a NERF ball and a toy shovel. Why me? Perhaps my pitiful basketball prowess won his sympathy. He refrained from balking, butting and making derogatory comments about my mother. Or maybe Toby decided cooperation was the quickest way to end this agony. We finished 23rd out of 23.

Image by JackieLou DL from Pixabay.

Afterward, a different friend (where do I get these friends?) said he’d never met a celebrity goat. Did I get his autograph? What was he like?

I told him, “When you get to know them, they’re just regular people.”

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Have you ever met a celebrity goat, up close and personal?