This evening, Julia and I watched a web clip of today's men's cross-country sprint race at Kuusamo, Finland. She loved it, and afterwards ran around the kitchen table a half-dozen times, swinging her arms as if she were planting her ski poles, narrating various actions like pushing another (invisible) racer out of the way (just as one of the actual racers did), telling me she was "working so, so hard on this steep, steep hill" (as I'd told her the winner had), yelling "Te amo sol!" in crazy-kid imitation of the Norwegian sportscasting, raising her arms in triumph on crossing the finish line, then collapsing in a heap just like the winner and demanding that I pat her on the back. All you three-year-old Swedish and Norwegian kids in your skidgymnasium? Julia's putting you on notice.
Of course, to actually start skiing, she'll have to get over her aversion to being cold and having snow in her face. We ventured outside at the height of today's snow storm, and she lasted about three minutes before starting to complain, five before starting to cry, and (after ending the waterworks) ten before saying, "I wish it was the summer time, Daddy!" I sure don't, kiddo.