I don't enjoy failure enough to fully appreciate new years resolutions.

Sure there's something to be said for making noble promises like "I'll finally finish reading that immense volume of American history I bought four years ago" or "I'll stop stealing and selling bulk office supplies to pay the bills."

But inevitably December rolls back into town and all you have to show for the year are an already forgotten chapter of American history and a hallway closet full of pilfered reporter's notebooks.

I'm not opposed to positive change. But instead of making resolutions, I make suggestions. Things like, "I should focus on saving money this year" or "Not sideswiping parked cars might be a good idea."

Thus, there are no failed resolutions. Only unheeded advice.

This year I said, "I'd like to amp up the outdoor winter activity." The notion was partly inspired by some lackluster beach photos taken on winter vacation and partly by some friendly advice I got when I first moved here: If you want to survive the winters in Maine, you need a winter sport.

Cross-country skiing seemed like as good a sport as any (cheaper than skiing and a lower paralyzation rate than ice climbing). So I acquired some hand-me-down skis and some clearance sale boots and got myself invited to a cross-country skiing excursion this past Sunday.

Of course the snow started falling Saturday night and by Sunday afternoon a solid foot seemed to have piled up. My car had been buried and the roads where a glacial disaster. I was barricaded. Stymied. Homebound. Unable to play in the snow, on account of all the snow.

That's what we call ironical.

But on Monday my coworker Wendy introduced me to the local cross-country splendor that is Riverside Golf Course in Portland.

There are 8 kilometers of groomed trails for snowshoeing or cross-country skiing here - all of which manageable for a near-novice like me. And the sledding hills look rather enticing too (though I'll have to buy my own sled and head back this weekend since not one of the kids playing there on Monday agreed to let an adult stranger borrow their snow tube).

Despite being a holiday, the trail traffic was low. Nothing but the swish, swish, swish of snow pants and the crunch of snow to be heard. Maybe some panting. Cross-country skiing ain't effortless you know.

The scenery wasn't too awful either - the setting sun on a wintry horizon is just, well, cool.

It's easily worth the $2 donation (which should be slipped into the box at the trailhead).

And while I'm hardly destined for Olympic Nordic ski team, getting into a pair of skis sure beats that stationary Nordic Trak in my parent's basement. Of course I fell a lot less on the Nordic Trak. I suppose it's a trade-off.

If you're new to the sport: Walk-on adventures at LL Bean in Freeport are a great way to test the cross-country waters.