It’s getting harder and harder to
be an “extreme” athlete. The ultra-fit among us aren’t just
climbing all Western peaks over 14,000 feet; they’re climbing
them in less than 10 days and doing it on snowboards, skis, bikes
and in-line skates.
All this requires thousands of
dollars’ worth of gear and years of training. And if you want
some publicity for your accomplishments, you’d better hire a
agent or else blunder into an accident. The only physical stunts
that garner much attention these days are Extreme Escapes,
especially when combined with Extremely Gory Injuries.
So
is the idea wandering off, exhausted, into the territory of
cliché? I don’t think so. I think most of us want to
push our limits, compete against others of similar abilities and
brag about the results — or at least read about people who do. For
those of us in the West who have soaked up mountain-man,
pioneer-woman, and Indian-brave tales, our taste for extremity is
probably even more, well, extreme.
I think it’s our
definition of extreme, not the essential concept, that’s been
boxed in and tired out. For years, we’ve limited our extreme
experiences to the Great Outdoors. Let’s loosen up a little,
and look at where these pastimes got their start.
Most
were once essential means of transportation, if not survival (OK,
kite-boarding has always been optional, but you get my point). But
in our search for new experiences, we’ve been ignoring
old-time survival skills. These could easily be taken to ridiculous
and possibly dangerous new levels, opening up limitless competitive
territory. We just haven’t recognized their sporting
potential, probably because they’ve historically been
practiced indoors and by women. It’s time for a retro
change.
Just for starters, I’ll introduce you to my
household’s new sport: Extreme Canning.
“If I got my
hands on enough basil,” mused my husband, “I could really go into
full pesto-production mode.” I looked at him with concern.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough this year?” I
asked, trying to play the responsible trainer. After all, he and a
friend had just stacked up 36 gleaming pints of applesauce.
They’d spent the day toiling over a couple of boxes of local
Golden Delicious, armed only with a motley collection of jars and
lids and rings, an oversized kettle of boiling water and an
alarming contraption from a yard sale that promised to core and
peel an apple in less than 30 seconds.
After a marathon of
cooking, pulverizing, sterilizing and sealing, they added the
applesauce to our already burgeoning collection of preserved
produce: a winter’s supply of apricot jam, a knee-high wall
of pears and a somewhat more modest row of luscious peaches.
We’ve also got fat bags of roasted green chiles, dried
cherries and apricots.
“Almost enough,” he said, slowly
spooning leftover applesauce out of the still-warm kettle and
absentmindedly wiping a pink fleck from his chin. “I think
I’ve still got a little left in me.”
I, the
trainer, abandoned my protests; why fight the championship
instinct, especially when there’s pesto in the
offing?
You may scoff at Extreme Canning. But think about
it for a minute. The results are easy to quantify, which means that
records can be clearly set and broken. There’s skill
involved, since lightning-quick cherry-pitting and pear-peeling
take practice and patience.
There’s also a
surprising amount of jargon, useful for boisterous bar
conversations: Hot pack or cold pack? Low acidity or high? Dude,
did you leave enough headroom in that last batch of peaches? There
are also heavy emotional challenges, especially for men (Watch out!
Another gender barrier approaching!) And while Extreme Canning is
not what you might call death-defying, it does involve several
gallons of briskly boiling water, and an acquaintance of mine
recently blew out his knee in the midst of a salsa-making
operation. Now, that’s Extreme Injury.
Extreme
Canning, unlike its predecessors, is also a refreshingly
democratic, let-the-best-human win kind of sport: Any cheapskate
can afford the required gear. But most importantly, while more
familiar extreme sports might leave you with nothing but a few
snapshots and an adrenaline hangover, Extreme Canning has tangible
rewards.
Once you’ve stretched out your sore neck,
tended to your sliced thumb and found a cool corner to store all
your goods, you can spend the dark winter months sharing the
results of your training with family and friends. And homemade
apricot jam in January, let me tell you, is an extreme pleasure
like no other.
Michelle Nijhuis is a contributor
to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News in Paonia,
Colorado (hcn.org) where she lives and
writes.
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