I’m not here.

As a kid, I fancied myself an Olympic caliber cross-country skier — I wasn’t, but I fancied it anyway. I would sneak out of the house during snow storms to ski at the nearby golf course while pretending I was Josh Thompson, America’s biathlon hero.

For various reasons, not the least of which named “Chicago,” I haven’t skied much over the years. Since moving here I’ve been longing to get some skiing in and today longing became reality.

So after a morning of playing in the snow with the family, a trip to the attic and a quick waxing I set out for a short ski.

I pass by this barn a lot when I run and had never seen it in the snow. The red really stood out in the still heavy snowfall. I found it was a bit tricky to photograph in the snow, on skis, along the road. Biathlon is about pegging your heart rate and then calming yourself enough to shoot a rifle accurately — it wasn’t a rifle I was shooting but it was functionally equivalent.

The apples still on the tree look like ornaments.

My destination, Gazzam Lake Park, is home to bear, owls, coyotes and a lake.

And, here’s the swamp lake. Notice the ski tracks going into the lake, they are not mine. Since I hadn’t skied in so long I wasn’t absolutely confident in my ability to stop in time from what’s a pretty decent descent from the trail to the lake so I took my skis off and hiked down — clearly someone else should have thought it through too.

After the Lake I skied over to where I know there’s an owl’s nest but saw no activity. I took a couple more photos, feared my camera was getting too wet, it was getting too dark and headed home.

On the way there were no cars coming so I skate skied right down the middle of the snow covered road. Just shy of home a car appeared so I went over to the side to give them room. As they passed I could see the passenger had been taking photos of me skiing down the road.

I love living here.