Monday, 28 January 2013 10:00

Kulture Winter Sports You Can’t Pay Me To Do

Every winter, I get invited to participate in icy activities that really don’t appeal to me. Sure, tobogganing, hockey and eating maple syrup off of snow are my Canadian birth right, but that doesn’t mean I’ll slip on a pair of snow pants for just anything.

 

 

 

Crashed Ice

Granted I’ve never been invited to take part (I think it might have something to do with my gender, physique and lack of athleticism), I still get invited to witness the “phenomenon” that is grown men throwing themselves down ice slides. Like a Nascar race, I understand the crowds blood lust. But my desire to see people hurt only goes as far as watching it people fall down on YouTube. Here, falling is more a sport than skating itself. Sorry Red Bull, but you’re not selling me tickets or gnarly caffeinated water.

Ice Fishing

I obviously dislike the idea of this “sport” for the exact opposite reasons I dislike the others. Who decided that taking the boring task of dangling worms at fish would be “improved” by adding freezing temperatures and the small chance of falling through the ice to one seriously frosty death? I imagine that same guy is responsible for ice hotels (which I admit look cool, but seem wildly impractical).

Skijoring

Have you heard of this insanity!? Norweigian for “ski driving” and english for “not on your life” is where you are pulled by a horse, dog or motor vehicle while strapped in to skis. Basically, it’s like cross country skiing on acid, and with a lot more animal waste or gas fumes. And if that weren’t dangerous (or stinky) enough, people get together and race like this. We imagine the folks over at PETA have as much of a problem with this as we do. Some folks miss it so much over the summer month, they have to go” grassjoring,” you guessed it, being pulled on grass instead of snow. Think of the stains…

Speed Flying

Here’s another one for you daredevils. What do you get when you combine downhill skiing and skydiving? My new biggest nightmare. Riders are kicked out of helicopters on to mountaintops, where they’re expected to ski down, avoiding terrain obstacles by “soaring” above them. I’ll be fine never going 100mph down a snowy slope with a piece of cloth to protect me, thank you very much. My neighborhood’s “killer hill” was enough to make my life flash before my eyes.

Want to know where you’ll find me when the snow starts to fall? Indoors. With a hot chocolate and enough marshmallows to pad an insane asylum wall for all your thrill seekers.

By: Eva Severed