Winter clinics and why they matter (hint: shared frostnip)

Why winter ski clinics build camaraderie, confidence, and better instructors.

I paid to be cold and critiqued. Mostly on purpose.

I hesitated before signing up. I always do. Every other December, this clinic appears on the Professional Ski Instructors’ (PSIA) continuing education calendar and I pause — long enough to remember the purpose, the people, the learning. And just long enough to conveniently forget how cold it usually is. Not chilly cold. Real cold.

I’m excited to introduce my new series, Beyond the Comfort Zone — a place where I’ll be sharing adventures and stories that stretch our limits and test our comfort zones. For me, choosing challenges as the years add up is how I stay sharp, stay connected to the outdoors, and keep moving forward with purpose.

A typical December in the Adirondacks can be bone-chilling cold. My aging brain forgets my numb fingers, my stiff muscles, my frozen ski bindings and the 12 hour requirement to be on the snow.

About a few days before the clinic when I start gathering my gear, my brain wakes up and reminds me what I signed up for. Again. Why do I do keep doing this?

At that point, there’s no backing out. I’m committed.

Not for the faint of heart

Winter weather has a way of sorting people quickly. A two-day cross-country ski instructor refresher in the Southern Adirondacks — mostly outdoors and unapologetically cold — isn’t designed to win everyone over. Although we have access to a warming lodge, we are expected to spend about 12 hours on the snow. The weather does not matter.

The first day was a balmy 10 degrees but that did not deter our instructors. We start promptly at 8:30 AM each day and told to be on our skis and ready to ski on the practice field. The problem with dressing for cross country skiing when it is this cold is that you need to stay warm enough but not overdress. Although we will be asked to demonstrate and practice skills on the snow, we may also be standing around quite a bit listening to instructions. It is hard to move gracefully when you are wearing too many layers.

Below: you may notice that a lot of our class time is spent without ski poles. The goal is to not fall.

Trying to stay sane when it is 10 degrees

Handwarmers, body warmers, toe warmers, balaclavas, icebreaker mittens help but I need to keep moving to stay warm. The instructors are just as cold as we are so they try to keep it interesting and give us agility drills to warm up — usually these drills are done without any poles. This can either be real funny or a disaster. The last thing I want to do is fall on the cold hard snow. My stiff muscles do not work well when I need to get up gracefully.

One of our agility drills — with no poles.

An amazing group of professionals

Everyone who returns for this clinic is already a strong, accomplished skier in their own right. Many have skied and raced all over the world. Several have toed the line at the American Birkebeiner more times than they can easily count. A few have completed their Worldloppet Gold Masters — ten grueling races in ten different countries. And yet, they show up here not to prove anything, but to keep learning.

For all of those reasons — and plenty more — I feel incredibly fortunate to spend a winter weekend alongside people like this. Inspiring not because of what they’ve done, but because of how they continue to show up and offer their knowledge willingly.

And then there’s this detail, almost easy to overlook: the oldest participants in the clinic were in their late seventies and early eighties. Still curious. Still willing to be uncomfortable. Still eager to improve.

That’s why I’m here. I keep reminding myself this.

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Two days of cold learning on real trails and hills

Over two days, we spent about twelve hours on the snow, earning our learning the only way winter allows — together, on tough and hilly trails. Cold and fatigue surfaced quickly, reminding me how easily things that feel solid on a good day can unravel when conditions get honest.

Skiing alongside instructors with far deeper experience than my own was both humbling and motivating. We rotated through roles — teacher, student, observer — often within the same stretch of trail, sharing demonstrations, testing cues, refining drills, and helping one another become better teachers.

Each time I do this clinic I try to focus on one or two skills that I need to work on this winter.

Cold has a way of bringing people together

Camaraderie built quickly, as it often does in winter when you rely on each other to survive, learn and thrive. When everyone’s wrestling with stiff zippers and numb fingers, hierarchy disappears and friendships grow. We shared training tips, places to ski, encouraged each other and laughed during our agility games. Most of us seemed to have fun but we had to work at it all weekend. That is how we survived.

Cold amnesia sets in again

By the end of the weekend, circulation returned and my fingers started moving better. I stopped questioning my life choices. And even though I should absolutely know better by now, I’ll forget how cold it was. What sticks instead is the good stuff—the people, the laughter, the shared resolve, and the familiar satisfaction of stepping beyond my comfort zone once again.

Will I return again in two years? What would you do?

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