One thing I have noticed since moving to the Yukon, is how friendly people are, and how much they want you to try new things.

Being the sports editor here after coming from a hockey town in southern B.C., I'm becoming more familiar with a few sports I'd never known much about like judo and squash.

One of my favourite adventures this week was my trip to visit Aaron Jensen's judo class, where I got to see younger boys tossing much larger partners with ease.

I was offered a chance to try it out, but declined.

While I'd love the ability to toss people around, I don't think I'm the right person to have such skills, if you'll let me explain.

I've also been asked to come out and try cross country skiing once the snow falls.

Now cross country skiing, I do have experience in – sort of.

I grew up in northern Ontario in a tiny town called Red Lake where cross country skiing was huge.

My mom was a Jack Rabbit teacher and she got my siblings and me all involved.

While my brother did really well, I relied on trickery and my best friend.

My highlights of my Jack Rabbit ski days were the time I got stuck in a tire swing (although this wasn't so much a high as humiliating), and the day I won a silver medal in a race.

It was a crisp winter day.

The temperature must dipped to at least -20 or lower but I was warm.

I was going to get a medal in this race. I was positive, even before I started.

My best friend Heather was also determined. We had a plan.

When we set off from the start line, Heather and I took a commanding lead and only increased it as we sped through our laps, passing the slower racers more than once.

Finally the last lap came up and Heather and I faced a problem. Which one of us got to take the coveted gold medal?

Being good sports we settled this with a simple game of paper rock scissors, and off she went a little ahead.

While we stopped to make what was the biggest decision of our lives at the time, a boy my age named Jonathon had snuck up on me – but he wasn't going to get very far.

In Red Lake that year there had been a lot of snow, and besides the carefully groomed ski path the trails had been left untouched.

As John came in to try to pass me, I did what any seven year old with a plan would do.

I pushed him into the five feet of snow surrounding the trail and watched him struggle as Heather and I set off laughing maniacally to the finish line.

Heather and I stood proudly as we awaited our medals.

John placed third, and when they put the medal around his neck, he was still picking snow out of his ears and from inside his jacket.

I know now that cross country skiing isn't a contact sport, but I am even more proud of that silver medal than ever.