Our pink army of AMBASSADÖRKS continue to share their stories from the skate deck. Ryan's retrospective is one for the books - his discomfort at learning a new sport, managing his athletic expectations, coupled with a keenly observant viewpoint of a sport that sidelines recreational skiers is an important read for anyone feeling marginalized in cross-country skiing communities.
With that, let's get to it.
ambassadörks
Ryan: Rethinking Who Nordic Skiing Is For
When I first stepped into the world of Nordic skiing, it felt like showing up to a black-tie event in a thrift store suit. My first pair of skis, boots, and poles were handed down by a family friend—gear that, even when it was new to me, was considered vintage in the Nordic ski community. I was self-conscious about it, especially when I lined up next to skiers decked out in sleek, polished gear. It was a reminder that I was new, that I didn’t quite belong—and that was before I even tried to ski.
I was 25, a washed-up ex-collegiate athlete. My aunt and uncle, both avid Nordic skiers, had suggested the sport as a complement to my other outdoor pursuits, and it seemed like a great idea. As a backcountry skier, mountain biker, and surfer, I assumed I’d pick it up quickly—if not immediately excel. But when I finally managed to clip into my bindings, I felt like a giraffe on ice skates.
My aunt and uncle, 30 years my senior, skied away effortlessly as I skipped zones 1-4 and launched directly into zone 5, huffing like a buffalo and moving backward as often as forward. The hills, which they floated over, turned near-vertical in my path, forcing me to resort to crawling more than once. By the end of the day, I felt like I had skied multiple marathons but had never really made it out of the trailhead.
Yet, everyone around me seemed to be having a great time. My aunt and uncle were all smiles, and the skiers who passed me looked more entertained than annoyed. A few even asked if I needed help.
Despite my exhaustion, I decided to try again the next day. On a slightly downhill slope, I managed to glide a few steps. Over the next few days, I even made it up a hill—without taking my skis off.
I left humbled—and I loved it. I wasn’t used to being bad at things, and in this case, I was the worst. But the small improvements were exhilarating, and the endless potential for growth was captivating.
At the time, I lived three hours from the nearest Nordic center, so I could only ski a few weekends a year. But I kept at it. My progress stalled when I started PA school in 2016, and it stayed on the back burner until after residency. Then, I moved to a small town in western Wyoming with a rich—but little-known—Nordic skiing history.
In Pinedale, the Nordic trails were 10 minutes from my house, groomed nearly every day, and one of my best friends was a former U.S. Biathlon team member. I skied every day. I was still bad, but I kept learning, and as my times improved, so did my confidence. Eventually, I started to feel fast. I signed up for my first race, the Boulder Mountain Tour, ready to test myself.
I’m not sure what I expected. I started near the back—and that’s where I finished. At 30, I was passed by racers twice my age, racers in costumes, even racers shotgunning beers at aid stations. I was humbled again—and I loved it.
In the years since, my skiing has improved, and so have my results. I’ve learned to embrace the humiliation, the struggle, and the pain. The growth mindset is addictive, and the continuous progress keeps me coming back. I’m lucky to live in a place with reliable snow, daily grooming, and a community that supports the sport. But as I ski now, I often reflect on how different my experience could have been.
I had people in my life who were experienced and passionate about Nordic skiing, and I lived—and still live—in a place where skiing is accessible. There were trails, resources, and a community of like-minded people. But for many, that’s not the case.
Access to outdoor sports like Nordic skiing is still, in many ways, out of reach for people from different racial and socioeconomic backgrounds. This isn’t just a problem in skiing—it’s the reality across many outdoor sports.
The monoculture that dominates Nordic skiing and other outdoor sports often leaves out people who could benefit from them the most.
If I—a white male from a middle-class background—felt like I didn’t belong in those early days because of my old gear and lack of experience, how much more alienating must it be for people from backgrounds where access has historically been limited?
Gear is expensive, and the cost of getting started is just the beginning. The culture of competition, often focused on elite athletes, can make recreationalists feel unwelcome. It’s easy to see how someone from a different background might feel like these spaces weren’t made for them. This kind of exclusivity perpetuates a cycle that keeps these sports niche, limiting their growth, accessibility, and longevity.
But that’s where companies like Nordjork come in. What I love about Nordjork is that they break down those barriers. They make Nordic skiing accessible and fun, not just for competitive athletes but for anyone who wants to get out on the snow and enjoy these often public spaces. They were beyond supportive of our Non-Profit and our local ski race this year and there always seems to be a focus on stoke, style, and inclusivity. By emphasizing quality gear that works for everyone—from recreational skiers to racers—they create a space where the focus is on personal growth and enjoyment, not just performance. This approach helps make Nordic skiing, and outdoor sports in general, more accessible to people from all walks of life.
Obviously this is a huge issue. Expanding access to the outdoors requires more than just fun gear, or personal motivation. It takes systemic change—investment in community trails, affordable equipment options etc. But an apparel company that is inclusive, welcoming and supports these things on a local level helps change and create a culture that welcomes everyone, not just the elite.
Companies like Nordjork are helping shift the narrative, making skiing not just about competition but about joy, camaraderie, and personal progress. And that’s something worth supporting
Ryan Grove is a mountain-biking, pow-shot chasing, corduroy cruising, V2 aficionado based in Pinedale, WY. Passionate about trail based recreation and the president of the Sublette Trails Association, he can generally be found out and about, chasing fresh lines or schralping some new section of tacky single track with his food loving black lab Olive. His favorite candies are Hi-Chews and is on the grid @_thebear_necessities
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