Cross-Country Skiing at L.L. Bean

Sure, it's possible that a heavy dose of prescription medication is responsible for your coworker's winter-long serenity.

But chances are pretty good he's keeping himself sane this season with some good old fashioned outdoor therapy.
If you're going to survive winter without a weekly keyboard-chucking meltdown, you're going to need some winter activity. And L.L. Bean's Walk-On Adventures are cheap and easy way to get it.

Snowshoeing and cross-country skiing "adventures" are available this winter for $15 (which includes instruction, equipment and 1-2 hours out there trying not to fall down).

Having never cross-country skied before, I wasn't about to dish out the cash for equipment (and find out two days later I hated the sport, curse fate, chuck the skis into the basement where they'd rot for six months until I sold them at a garage sale for $10, which I'd then waste on a chicken wrap and some chips).

So instead I tagged along on a walk-on, where I was told we'd get the luxury of trying out the sport without the monetary expenditure.

Our group met up inside the retail store (at the Outdoor Adventure info center near the new hunting/fishing wing) and filled out the obligatory "should-you-die-your-mom-can't-sue" forms. We boarded a bus with Instructor Suzanne (a sure sign you're on your way to something special) that dumped us off at the nearby training "lodge" (a repurposed house). We were greeted by Tom inside, who instructed us to grab a pair of boots and take a seat.

Tom and Suzanne (of bus driving fame) spent the next 20 minutes going over the basics (i.e., how to lock your boot into the ski, how to hold the poles) until we could absorb no more and we headed outside.

No one fell putting on their skis (the falling came later) but Tom prepared us for the inevitable with a quick demonstration of the "turtle." If falling isn't embarrassing enough, rolling into turtle position will surely kill your pride. A few practice steps to the right - a few to the left - and we were ready to get moving.

The field we skied in was adjacent to a moderately busy road, which I noticed at one point, but forgot about quickly. We followed - single file - a set of precut tracks in a large practice circle, with Tom and Suzanne skiing alongside us to offer helpful tip. Still, no one fell.

After confidences were built up high enough, Tom led us into the field, keeping close to the tree line (apparently a good out-of-the-wind place to ski). Not being at all graceful or athletic, I spent the next twenty minutes unsteadily scooting along, staring at my skis in mild panic.

Eventually, as anxiety gave way to a rhythmic push of my left ski, right ski, left ski, right ski, I was able to actually look up.

Not a bad-looking view.

Although amply warm, I didn't find the exertion overwhelming (although a few of my cohorts had already begun removing layers). And Tom, as any good teacher does, told us we were doing better than most groups (riiiiight). Maybe it was a lie, but I'll take it just the same.

Seeing as we were all such fantastic cross-country skiers (don't argue, we're just going to ride out that delusion) Tom decided to take us into the woods.

Here the tracks weren't as easy to follow, and leaves and branches on the path kept tripping me up. And here is where people began falling down. First it was an icy decline (fair enough, it's to be expected). Then it was just an icy patch (again, ice is slippery. Falling happens). But once you've seen someone fall, and you have the notion of potentially falling in your head, it does something awful to your nerves.

People began dropping for no apparent reason. "We're like spooked horses," I heard someone say. Perfect analogy.

We stopped to enjoy some much-appreciated hot chocolate (thanks, Tom) and take a breather, but trying to simply stand still was nearly more trouble than it was worth. Looking back, I think think Tom's "hot chocolate break" was a well-disquised set up. Think about it: ten unsteady skiers, spillable hot drinks and a resting place that just happens to be a giant patch of ice. I'm just sayin'.

We headed back toward the lodge with a little less enthusiasm and a little more I-think-I'm-going-to-fall shrieking (and yes, more tumbles). But seeing as most of our group was brand-spanking new to cross-country skiing, I think we did pretty darn well.

We were out for about an hour and a half (it flew by), which was just long enough to get a real feel for the sport but not so long that you needed to crawl back to the bus. Still, it was nice to get the skis off.

Truthfully, there's an ulterior motive for the Walk-On adventures: L.L. Bean is hoping you'll test out a sport, fall in love and return to the store to spend your hard-earned dough on equipment. I figured we'd have to hear out a sales pitch or two before the afternoon was over.

I was wrong.

Tom answered questions (of which there were many about what kind of equipment to buy, his suggestions on the essentials to get started, etc.) and encouraged us to grab catalogs or browse the store. But it was a no-pressure event.

I have no complaints about the entire day. In fact, I'm thinking an archery walk-on this spring might not be a bad idea - maybe some target shooting. I'll try it all.

And for $15, you can't go wrong.