The fine art of cross country skiing

Saturday morning I was groggily eating my breakfast and looking at the morning sun when lo and behold on the street outside our house, dressed in pink and blue spandex from the 70's was an old lady cross-country skiing! Besides her amazing outfit, I was so impressed to see her skiing on the street and very gratified to be living in such a great place where it was actually possible to do so.
When I went to Vancouver for the weekend I picked up my skis and announced to Miriam on the way home to Langley that I was going to ski to school the next morning. She laughed when she saw my skis in the car.
"You can't ski to school, Heather."
"How come?" I had planned out how I would ski the flat parts and when I came to an uphill I would take my skis off and walk up. It would take about half an hour, I figured, to be generous.
"These aren't cross-country skis."
"What are you talking about?"
"Cross-country skis have different boots that only clip on the toes, leaving your heels free to lift up and down. Also, they are skinnier and shaped totally different."
Obviously Miriam wasn't acquainted with skiing like I was.
"No worries." I assured her. "These will work exactly the same! I'll just carry them up the hills."
"They also use long poles to propel themselves along."
"I put poles in the trunk." I didn't mention that I'd never used poles before and I had no idea how. I can barely manage two pieces of equipment, let alone four.
As we got closer to home my joy began to evaporate a little. There was no snow on the roads. It had melted overnight while we were in Vancouver.
"No problem." I told Will. "The weather report is for 2-5 cm tonight."
"That's tomorrow night, not tonight." Will started to laugh too.
I pictured myself skimming along the pavement and into the bare blackberry bushes around the bend in the road.
"Besides," Miriam said perfunctorily, "It's uphill all the way to school. It will take you more than an hour to walk carrying your skis."
I carried my skis in the house and leaned them up behind the door, staring gloomily out at the slush and pavement outside our house. Sam would probably say that hardcore skiiers can take a little pavement, but somehow the picture of me sweating up the four-kilometer hill with skis over my shoulder seems a little silly. I think I'll wait for tomorrow and a little more snow.