Crunchy Granola
A few months ago, back when we could go outside without wondering whether we'd remembered to grab our face covers, I was standing in a snowy field with way more than 50 people, most of whom were sliding around with long, skinny planks clipped to their feet.
Next to me was one of my athletes. We were at the state championship meet, and we had lots of down time. The skis had been waxed, the course had been previewed, and we had nothing to but wait. We were people watching.
If you go to a nordic ski race, this is an activity I highly recommend. (Second to, of course, actually skiing.)
The results will be enlightening.
Let me start by saying that several people that I have met through the nordic skiing community in New England are on the list of Best People That I Know. At least one person that I met not through the nordic skiing community ended up being a part of the nordic skiing community, and is at the top of the list. (And I'm not just saying that because we're quarantined together.)
Some things that you might notice if you happen to find yourself people watching at a nordic ski race:
First, a lot of people are smiling. This might at first seem counter-intuitive, because it might be something like 5˚F outside before the wind chill, but it's true. My theory is that being outside, even if there aren't green leaves everywhere to nature bath in while running around the forest without any clothes on, is grounding. While you're noticing the many people smiling, you'll likely observe several of them conversing with each-other and laughing.
Second, there will probably be a wide array of colors. At the time we were people watching, my athlete observed that nordic ski people are flamboyant. I don't think flamboyant is quite the right word, but the idea is sound enough. When you're not smitten with it, nordic skiing is kind of an odd think to do. You're going to put slide-y things on your feet, that are longer than you are tall, and then try and slide uphill? Yeah, right. So it would sort of go that the people that voluntarily choose to do this for fun, are perhaps, sort of, out there. Not in any negative sort of way. In fact, that is what I think draws me to the people and to the sport. It's more the sort of out there that, when faced with the choice between buying a navy blue headband, and a navy blue headband with bright pink flamingos printed all over it, will go for the one with the flamingos. (I myself have one covered with pineapples.)
There's a type of person, which I believe I first heard referenced to by Rich Roll in the forward to his book Finding Ultra. It's the reason he chose to refer to his diet and culinary lifestyle as "plant-based" as opposed to "vegan". The phrase was crunchy granola people. (Or possible just "granola people"; I'm not exactly sure, and don't have a copy of the book on hand. Either way, I hope you understand the sentiment.) It was meant to encapsulate the self-righteous soapbox vegans, the ones who, given any opportunity would shout down upon the ignorant fools who do things like wear leather clothing, eat subsidized ingredients that are all they can afford instead of starving because they're too principled to feed their family. The sort of people who, say, make their own granola.
I've been thinking recently about this moment, the one in the snowy field. I've been thinking about it because, well, with all the extra time I've found myself with during this quarantine, among other things, I've started making my own granola. I'm a crunchy granola person. It's no different than buying overpriced granola in Hannaford every now and then. So either, the crunchy granola people are actually the same as the rest of us, or, I have crossed the threshold, and in my relative isolation don't have any reference frame to realize it.
Either way is alright with me.
However, I think there should be a new archetype of the crunchy granola person. It is a person who, all other things being equal, will choose to make something themselves instead of buying packaged in a store. The type of person who chooses to support local businesses whenever practical. The type of person who takes the extra moments to learn about the why of the thing, instead of just accepting the what. The type of person who understands where the things they consume come from, and while they might not be able to take drastic measures like making all their own clothing, or growing all their own food, understands that these things cost more than the small price we might pay for them in the shop or market. It's someone with purposeful mindfulness of their surroundings at every level, from the immediate air around their skin, to the far reaches of the Peruvian plantations from which the single origin beans that wake them each morning come. It is a person who brings inclusiveness into their worldview.
I don't know what the future may hold, now more than ever. That said, I still believe to be true that the "vegans", the old "crunchy granola types" from Mr. Roll's book, that is not the way forward. It's the equivalent of telling a friend who is leading an unhealthy lifestyle that they need to exercise, and then telling them they're "doing it wrong" once they take the terrifying and vulnerable leap and actually begin.
We humans are in a time where, in this country at least, we seem very polarized, and the way forward is anything but certain. We all have things that we wish to preserve for ourselves. For some it's our "American" way of life, for other's it's fruit (you know, literally preserves), and for me and perhaps a few others, it's standing in a frozen field sliding around on long skinny skis. It's a huge task to think of how we are going to go about preserving these things. Might I suggest we start with making our own granola. Or potato salad. Or sourdough. Or cookies. Whatever. Can you tell I like food? Is anyone else suddenly hungry? Anyway, let's start there, and take a moment to be mindful of whatever is around you, wherever you are. It will get you through the first moment, and then you've already gotten part of the way there.
Be well, until we meet again.
Next to me was one of my athletes. We were at the state championship meet, and we had lots of down time. The skis had been waxed, the course had been previewed, and we had nothing to but wait. We were people watching.
If you go to a nordic ski race, this is an activity I highly recommend. (Second to, of course, actually skiing.)
The results will be enlightening.
Let me start by saying that several people that I have met through the nordic skiing community in New England are on the list of Best People That I Know. At least one person that I met not through the nordic skiing community ended up being a part of the nordic skiing community, and is at the top of the list. (And I'm not just saying that because we're quarantined together.)
Some things that you might notice if you happen to find yourself people watching at a nordic ski race:
First, a lot of people are smiling. This might at first seem counter-intuitive, because it might be something like 5˚F outside before the wind chill, but it's true. My theory is that being outside, even if there aren't green leaves everywhere to nature bath in while running around the forest without any clothes on, is grounding. While you're noticing the many people smiling, you'll likely observe several of them conversing with each-other and laughing.
Second, there will probably be a wide array of colors. At the time we were people watching, my athlete observed that nordic ski people are flamboyant. I don't think flamboyant is quite the right word, but the idea is sound enough. When you're not smitten with it, nordic skiing is kind of an odd think to do. You're going to put slide-y things on your feet, that are longer than you are tall, and then try and slide uphill? Yeah, right. So it would sort of go that the people that voluntarily choose to do this for fun, are perhaps, sort of, out there. Not in any negative sort of way. In fact, that is what I think draws me to the people and to the sport. It's more the sort of out there that, when faced with the choice between buying a navy blue headband, and a navy blue headband with bright pink flamingos printed all over it, will go for the one with the flamingos. (I myself have one covered with pineapples.)
There's a type of person, which I believe I first heard referenced to by Rich Roll in the forward to his book Finding Ultra. It's the reason he chose to refer to his diet and culinary lifestyle as "plant-based" as opposed to "vegan". The phrase was crunchy granola people. (Or possible just "granola people"; I'm not exactly sure, and don't have a copy of the book on hand. Either way, I hope you understand the sentiment.) It was meant to encapsulate the self-righteous soapbox vegans, the ones who, given any opportunity would shout down upon the ignorant fools who do things like wear leather clothing, eat subsidized ingredients that are all they can afford instead of starving because they're too principled to feed their family. The sort of people who, say, make their own granola.
I've been thinking recently about this moment, the one in the snowy field. I've been thinking about it because, well, with all the extra time I've found myself with during this quarantine, among other things, I've started making my own granola. I'm a crunchy granola person. It's no different than buying overpriced granola in Hannaford every now and then. So either, the crunchy granola people are actually the same as the rest of us, or, I have crossed the threshold, and in my relative isolation don't have any reference frame to realize it.
Either way is alright with me.
However, I think there should be a new archetype of the crunchy granola person. It is a person who, all other things being equal, will choose to make something themselves instead of buying packaged in a store. The type of person who chooses to support local businesses whenever practical. The type of person who takes the extra moments to learn about the why of the thing, instead of just accepting the what. The type of person who understands where the things they consume come from, and while they might not be able to take drastic measures like making all their own clothing, or growing all their own food, understands that these things cost more than the small price we might pay for them in the shop or market. It's someone with purposeful mindfulness of their surroundings at every level, from the immediate air around their skin, to the far reaches of the Peruvian plantations from which the single origin beans that wake them each morning come. It is a person who brings inclusiveness into their worldview.
I don't know what the future may hold, now more than ever. That said, I still believe to be true that the "vegans", the old "crunchy granola types" from Mr. Roll's book, that is not the way forward. It's the equivalent of telling a friend who is leading an unhealthy lifestyle that they need to exercise, and then telling them they're "doing it wrong" once they take the terrifying and vulnerable leap and actually begin.
We humans are in a time where, in this country at least, we seem very polarized, and the way forward is anything but certain. We all have things that we wish to preserve for ourselves. For some it's our "American" way of life, for other's it's fruit (you know, literally preserves), and for me and perhaps a few others, it's standing in a frozen field sliding around on long skinny skis. It's a huge task to think of how we are going to go about preserving these things. Might I suggest we start with making our own granola. Or potato salad. Or sourdough. Or cookies. Whatever. Can you tell I like food? Is anyone else suddenly hungry? Anyway, let's start there, and take a moment to be mindful of whatever is around you, wherever you are. It will get you through the first moment, and then you've already gotten part of the way there.
Be well, until we meet again.
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