This video is dead on. I expected it to not be funny but it is so incredibly accurate that it made me both laugh and feel embarassed -- because it's so true. But if I didn't take pictures for my blog we wouldn't all be here, now would we.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
2012 Whitefish Whiteout
On Saturday I participated in the Whitefish Whiteout for the second year in a row. Before launching into my “race report,” it bears a reminder that I am extremely neurotic about skiing, in much the same way I am tightly wound when it comes to off-trail hiking/scrambling. My profound fear of heights and elevated self-preservation instinct limits my ability to “just go for it” in certain situations, skiing included. I am exploring the ever-changing line between pushing my boundaries for the sake of improving and being safe. In other words, I am trying to teach my inner panic button to be objective rather than always sounding out of irrational and visceral fear. I am making progress but it’s sort of an ordeal. For this reason I am obsessive about my “achievements” when I do something “scary.” Like a little kid, I really need to know what lies ahead just in case it’s really terrifying. All of this is no doubt annoying to everyone around me, but I can’t seem to help it.
There are two divisions in the Whitefish Whiteout – a “race” division and a “recreational” division. I have been working relatively diligently to improve my skiing ability and toyed with the idea of bumping up to the race division. However, I had not skied most of the course, which included a double black diamond run, and I had skied one of the downhill runs and knew I was pretty bad on it. So, wisely, I chose the “rec” division, which climbs a total of about 2400 feet in a short distance and has one downhill run that is black then green. After all, I was dead last the year prior. Surely I should be *not* last before moving up… (Note – for the reasons in the first paragraph, I could perhaps have physically done the “race” division but without knowing the course was untrusting that this was the case and pictured myself paralyzed with fear at the top of a double black diamond run, maybe even crying and having to be coaxed off the mountain by some poor ski patrol kid).
For those not in the know, the sport of ski mountaineering, or randonee racing as the French call it, is essentially “ski running” – with mohair or synthetic “skins” on the bottom of your skis, you race up the mountain. Telemark skis are always free-heeled, but my boots are “alpine touring” or “AT” boots which are free heeled on the uphill but lock down for downhill skiing. You can switch between “walk” mode, which allows more movement on the uphill and any flat sections, and “ski” mode which is locked forward like a traditional alpine ski. The really fast people wear skin suits and have incredibly light gear (e.g. my boots are about 7.5 pounds/pair whereas a race boot might be a bit over 4 pounds for the pair). My skis are pretty light but my boots don’t qualify as race gear. No one in the recreational division uses race gear, from what I observed, so it’s not like I was at a competitive disadvantage.
Feeling slightly ashamed for not throwing caution to the wind and challenging myself in a major way with the tough course, I decided to give it my all in the recreational division. As you may know, I am content to slog endlessly for many miles, but a hard effort that makes me breathe hard is something I do infrequently (to the detriment of my fitness I’m sure). Typically when I run, my average heart rate is around 125-135, depending on effort. My average HR at the 50k last weekend was 120. When I skin up the mountain before work on occasion, my HR is around 150. Saturday I saw it reach 158 and I think the average was 155.
I even tried my hand at being competitive and passed another alpine touring (“AT”) woman. It took all my energy to pass this woman, and likely wasted energy, but I nonetheless congratulated myself on pretending to be competitive. She repassed me soon thereafter and won the division by more than 13 minutes.
I made it to the top in 53 minutes, which is about 4 minutes faster than last year. Yay me! At the same time, I couldn’t believe such an intense effort could yield such meager improvements. Again, conditions were not ideal and no one got to the top as quickly as they might have in better conditions. So, maybe I could make it up even more quickly. Who knows.
I impressively removed my skins WITH MY SKIS ON PEOPLE (I have been practicing this advanced move) and shoved them into my backpack. After putting on my jacket, I was off for the downhill. After traversing and skating a flat section, I skied the “Marmot” run which is a very short moguled black diamond run. Last year I stood at the top, looked down in fear, side slipped, traversed, repeat… this year I had practiced and made actual turns down the slope. It wasn’t beautiful or anything, nor was it especially quick, but I was pleased with the obvious improvement over last year. Again I congratulated myself at the bottom while skiing the green run to the next transition.
Being the dork I am, I told the guys at the transition about how “I didn’t even side-slip once” on Marmot. The volunteer informed me he was a snowboarder and didn’t understand this sport, and the other guy at the transition seemed perhaps embarrassed to be anywhere near me time-wise (I may have been if I were him). I put my skins back on, removed my jacket and trodded up towards the finish – again as fast as I could. Which is not super fast. But it is exhausting.
Before I knew it I was finished – my time was about 1:37, which is a 13 minute improvement over last year. I was extremely pleased. Best of all, since there were only 4 women in the AT division, and I was second, I got to stand on a podium and received an official “high five” for my finish. Yet again, all day long, I repeatedly congratulated myself by having probably a few too many beers. It was a great day though, and I think “ski-mo” racing may be way more fun than running races. Amber and I are discussing going to one in Golden, BC in early February, the weekend before Susitna. I highly recommend the sport if you can swing the gear acquisition which, I won’t lie, isn’t cheap. I don’t recommend race stuff unless you’re sure you’ll never want to do straight ski touring, which is what I ultimately want to be able to do on a frequent basis in the winter.
Before the winter is over I want to ski every run on that race course. Just to see. So if you hear about a sobbing woman at the top of “Haskill Slide” removing her skis in preparation to slide down on her butt…
There are two divisions in the Whitefish Whiteout – a “race” division and a “recreational” division. I have been working relatively diligently to improve my skiing ability and toyed with the idea of bumping up to the race division. However, I had not skied most of the course, which included a double black diamond run, and I had skied one of the downhill runs and knew I was pretty bad on it. So, wisely, I chose the “rec” division, which climbs a total of about 2400 feet in a short distance and has one downhill run that is black then green. After all, I was dead last the year prior. Surely I should be *not* last before moving up… (Note – for the reasons in the first paragraph, I could perhaps have physically done the “race” division but without knowing the course was untrusting that this was the case and pictured myself paralyzed with fear at the top of a double black diamond run, maybe even crying and having to be coaxed off the mountain by some poor ski patrol kid).
For those not in the know, the sport of ski mountaineering, or randonee racing as the French call it, is essentially “ski running” – with mohair or synthetic “skins” on the bottom of your skis, you race up the mountain. Telemark skis are always free-heeled, but my boots are “alpine touring” or “AT” boots which are free heeled on the uphill but lock down for downhill skiing. You can switch between “walk” mode, which allows more movement on the uphill and any flat sections, and “ski” mode which is locked forward like a traditional alpine ski. The really fast people wear skin suits and have incredibly light gear (e.g. my boots are about 7.5 pounds/pair whereas a race boot might be a bit over 4 pounds for the pair). My skis are pretty light but my boots don’t qualify as race gear. No one in the recreational division uses race gear, from what I observed, so it’s not like I was at a competitive disadvantage.
Feeling slightly ashamed for not throwing caution to the wind and challenging myself in a major way with the tough course, I decided to give it my all in the recreational division. As you may know, I am content to slog endlessly for many miles, but a hard effort that makes me breathe hard is something I do infrequently (to the detriment of my fitness I’m sure). Typically when I run, my average heart rate is around 125-135, depending on effort. My average HR at the 50k last weekend was 120. When I skin up the mountain before work on occasion, my HR is around 150. Saturday I saw it reach 158 and I think the average was 155.
I even tried my hand at being competitive and passed another alpine touring (“AT”) woman. It took all my energy to pass this woman, and likely wasted energy, but I nonetheless congratulated myself on pretending to be competitive. She repassed me soon thereafter and won the division by more than 13 minutes.
I made it to the top in 53 minutes, which is about 4 minutes faster than last year. Yay me! At the same time, I couldn’t believe such an intense effort could yield such meager improvements. Again, conditions were not ideal and no one got to the top as quickly as they might have in better conditions. So, maybe I could make it up even more quickly. Who knows.
I impressively removed my skins WITH MY SKIS ON PEOPLE (I have been practicing this advanced move) and shoved them into my backpack. After putting on my jacket, I was off for the downhill. After traversing and skating a flat section, I skied the “Marmot” run which is a very short moguled black diamond run. Last year I stood at the top, looked down in fear, side slipped, traversed, repeat… this year I had practiced and made actual turns down the slope. It wasn’t beautiful or anything, nor was it especially quick, but I was pleased with the obvious improvement over last year. Again I congratulated myself at the bottom while skiing the green run to the next transition.
Being the dork I am, I told the guys at the transition about how “I didn’t even side-slip once” on Marmot. The volunteer informed me he was a snowboarder and didn’t understand this sport, and the other guy at the transition seemed perhaps embarrassed to be anywhere near me time-wise (I may have been if I were him). I put my skins back on, removed my jacket and trodded up towards the finish – again as fast as I could. Which is not super fast. But it is exhausting.
Before I knew it I was finished – my time was about 1:37, which is a 13 minute improvement over last year. I was extremely pleased. Best of all, since there were only 4 women in the AT division, and I was second, I got to stand on a podium and received an official “high five” for my finish. Yet again, all day long, I repeatedly congratulated myself by having probably a few too many beers. It was a great day though, and I think “ski-mo” racing may be way more fun than running races. Amber and I are discussing going to one in Golden, BC in early February, the weekend before Susitna. I highly recommend the sport if you can swing the gear acquisition which, I won’t lie, isn’t cheap. I don’t recommend race stuff unless you’re sure you’ll never want to do straight ski touring, which is what I ultimately want to be able to do on a frequent basis in the winter.
Before the winter is over I want to ski every run on that race course. Just to see. So if you hear about a sobbing woman at the top of “Haskill Slide” removing her skis in preparation to slide down on her butt…
Monday, January 16, 2012
HURL Fat Ass 50k
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| photo courtesy of Martin Miller |
I ran this several years ago with Rebecca, for her first 50k. Callie and Allison were planning to each do half of the Fat Ass (Lame Ass) but were convinced after a couple IPAs at the Blackfoot Brewery to try the whole thing. Allison thus completed her first 50k and Callie made it despite coming back from injury.
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| Danni, Callie and Allison (photo courtesy of Martin Miller) |
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