I never bonded with my childhood sled. Unlike Charles Foster Kane, I didn’t give it a name, nor did I carefully preserve it as a memento of lost youth. For decades, it languished in a succession of dusty garden sheds until, last summer, I used it to drag a heavy load of turf across my lawn and broke it.

After 40 years of service, my erstwhile winter mode of transport was unceremoniously incinerated on a fall bonfire. Any similarity with the famous final scene of Citizen Kane was coincidental. My sled smoldered to ash under piles of leaves and miscellaneous junk.

So, this winter, I am sledless. And although it is many years since I last slid down one of the steep, snowy slopes near my home, the urge to recapture that simple thrill is beginning to stir. When the snow comes, I will probably gaze with envy at the neighborhood kids careening down the hillsides.

But wait. All is not lost. From Germany there comes news there is more than one way to get from top to bottom of a slick slope. It transpires that the perfect sledding vehicle languishes in a kitchen cupboard among my pots and pans — a Chinese wok.

The official history of wok racing begins in 2003, when a German TV channel had the wacky idea of sending various celebrities down a bobsled track in the eponymous kitchen tool. (Unofficially, it is likely there were earlier outbreaks of the sport wherever frat boys, woks and snow converged.)

The first televised wok racing championship was a surprise ratings success, not least because of the genuine undercurrent of risk each time a has-been or wannabe celebrity set off down the track. There were spills as well as thrills, ultimately resulting in a broken arm for the lead singer of a German techno band.

The following year saw the first of eight world championships (and counting) for legendary luge star Georg Hackl, who sped down the fearsome bobsled track at Innsbruck with a degree of serious intent that transcended the absurdity of his means of conveyance. Suddenly, wok racing was a proper sport.

The annual Wok World Championship now attracts sponsors and competitors from across Europe. The latest edition is being held on the Olympic training run at Oberhof. Most of the competitors have dedicated racing woks, smoothly fashioned from aluminum and obsessively polished to minimize friction on the ice.

Although conceived as a joke, the laughing ends when the races begin. Bobsled tracks are notoriously dangerous. Competitors must judge their line and balance to perfection. Disaster is always just a split second away.

In 2009, on the track at Winterberg, Georg Hackl recorded a speed of 65 mph. At that velocity, it doesn’t matter if your transport is a sled, a luge or a cooking pan. It is the only thing separating your backside from the ice.

Convinced a wok is a worthy replacement for my sled, I took mine out of the cupboard in preparation for the snow season. But there was a problem.

Over the past few years, I employed the wok in its primary purpose once or twice a week. The base is blackened from the heat of the cooker — though a bit of washing followed by a good polish would sort that out. The inside is stained from the oil of a thousand stir-fries — but that, too, can be cleaned.

The accumulated calories of those stir-fries are the real obstacle. Yes, I have a wok. Unfortunately, as a direct result, I can’t fit in it.