Sometimes life gives you a free power drill (Ken Jones Classic race report)

Our good friend Brad managed to get us all in (me, Amber and Lora) the Ken Jones Classic ski mountaineering race at Lake Louise.  After the Dogtooth Dash in Golden, Amber and I were already completely sold on Canadian skimo races.  I mean, maybe it's because Canada has a socialist tradition what with providing health care and all, but there's always good free swag at their races.  The Ken Jones classic was no exception.  Also, the volunteers were amazing and the course, while hard, was pretty fun and a huge challenge.

Canada has an actual national skimo team, and they wear fast looking red outfits.  The "C Team" is hoping to have racing outfits soon.  We are told they are very practical and if we do separate tops and pants we can also use them for cycling.  It makes sense that the "C Team" also have a cycling team - at least if it means wearing spandex outfits ironically.

As you can see, it was a beautiful day.  I really couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day.  It was really cold in the morning but warmed up enough to soften the snow but not enough to make it too soft.  There was a boot-pack section where you carry your skis and walk up the snowy mountain and I was worried that it would be slushy and the steps would not exist and I would end up floundering and/or falling to the bottom of the mountain, but this never happened and it was all just great.  I did pretty decently on all the uphills and improved my kick-turns with each switchback.  I was pleased with my uphill performance even though I was slow and probably awkward looking.

 Having learned lessons from the Dogtooth Dash, I went into this race with no fear or apprehension.  This was also a victory.  The first downhill is called the "F Chute" and actually had a warning sign.  I skied up to the edge to peer down and couldn't see the run only rocks.  We had been told if we weren't awesome skiers that we could go around it on an easy cat track.  I chose the "conservative" route since my official rule is that I don't ski anything where I can't see the run.  I don't even feel bad about this because this run was definitely 100% beyond my ability level.  I looked up at the bottom and thought *maybe* on fresh legs I could at least make it down safely, but then again I'm not so sure...

The second downhill was a steep-ish gully and while I think I could normally ski it I chose to side-step and side-slip most of the way down. I was sort of embarrassed and this approach put me pretty far behind everyone else but I made it down without falling -- I didn't want to be trying to get my skis back on during a race on a steep slope. I was too tired for that.

I skied the third descent a little better, though not much, and made it to the last checkpoint with someone still behind me. Pretty amazing. The remainder of the "Enduro" course was a ski out to the base. I got to the place where the Elite and Enduro courses split but couldn't figure out where I was supposed to go. I think the flags had already been pulled and I literally didn't see a place I could ski. So, being tired and functionally $*&%! at that point, I hopped on a chair lift and rode to the top and skied to the bottom and went to my truck and figured the finish was actually where there were no more flags and I was just so slow no one was there still. This was all totally illogical but I was really tired and disoriented.  In hindsight this was a great lesson on the dangers of trying to think when tired.  Bad decision making happens easily and logic goes out the window.  Anyhow, I am officially a DNF.  Bummer.  All I missed was the last 10-15 minutes of easy cat track.  Oh well it doesn't matter but I'm pretty embarrassed.

 The good thing is that in C-Team tradition, I won a great prize in the drawing.  Oh yeah.  One of the people who went looking for me with Amber (again, embarrassing) drew my name for the "best prize" and remarked that "the troublemaker!" won the drill.  How could that happen?  Oh yeah.  It's the C TEAM!!!

And, I got to hang out with my wonderful Banff friends.  Best part of all.

Why do I hate myself?

My friend Beat, aka Jill's boyfriend, aka "the Swiss Assassin" (not really) just finished the Iditarod Trail Invitational in conditions that can only be described as brutal.  Beat pulled his sled through deep snow, broke trail and faced extremely cold conditions for 350 miles.  The adventure was, objectively, actually sort of dangerous.  I suppose Susitna was sort of dangerous, but this was really much more so.  The checkpoints are spaced further apart, the course isn't marked, camping outside is often necessary despite extreme temperatures and wind and the thing is just generally pretty ridiculous.  So why, oh why, does hearing Beat's tales of suffering make me think: "that sounds horrendously awesome."  It had the opposite effect on Jill, who did the ITI on her bike (which is the subject of her book -- you should read it if you haven't already).  She is now saying she questions winter racing entirely and would favor informal adventuring from cabin-to-cabin, sort of like a fun skiing hut trip.  That sounds fun too of course, but so does ITI.  So why am I so intrigued?  Why do I want to suffer?   What is wrong with me?  Do I hate myself or something? 

If I'm being honest, I have to first ask whether I'm trying to impress others with my capacity for self-punishment.  The answer though is that I am actually sort of self-conscious about my fringe interests and get really embarrassed when people shower me with praise.  The truth is that I'm not very good at any of this stuff and with my slowed-down mellow approach, it's not always as hard as people think (I'm not running non-stop for 100 miles or anything).  So no, while I do have my attention and validation-seeking qualities at times, doing difficult things is not a ploy for attention or validation. 

So then, what am I after?  I think Beat or Jill once described their quest for "living intensely" or something of that nature.  At the time I heard that description I thought "gee, I want to live casually, pleasurably and mellowly not intensely."   However, what I get from these experiences that are sometimes pretty punishing is an intense and punctuated feeling of aliveness.  As I adjust and acclimate and wrap my head around a distance or difficulty, it takes even more to get into that gritty zone of doubt and fear that requires me to really rally and overcome.  (This should not be confused with fear of heights, which I hate feeling and really try to avoid when possible).  Needing more to get the fix is pretty much just what addicts and junkies experience.  Hmmm.  The fact that I seriously desire to do something potentially life-threatening to get the experience I am after should be alarming to me.  It is and it isn't.  Part of me thinks it's my taste for adventure.  Part of me thinks it's my difficulty with moderation in any shape or form.  It makes me think I need to just think about something different for awhile.

Another aspect of all this is that my goals, i.e. to experience aliveness and prove to myself that I can overcome things, are not compatible with "racing."  These events I sign up for are, in fact, races.  I do not race them.  I do them as experiences but am not typically interested in competition.  To a certain extent I am competing with myself, but I am more experiencing and participating.  I don't think there's anything really super wrong with this, but it's sort of lame.

Anyhow, back to stepping back and doing something different for awhile.  I think I'm going to train for a marathon.  A road one.  And run on roads and try to run fast and run with purpose.  This will be fun, allow me to push limits of sorts and see if I can improve my times from seven or eight years ago (OMG) when I was sort of fast for me.  This will be a racing-oriented approach with concrete goals that are about getting faster not more mentally powerful.  Of course, mental power is needed to push through the suffering of breathing hard and trying to increase leg turnover, but it's just not the same as ultra endurance running.  It's a pretty normal endeavor for a runner, which I like to think I am even though I rarely run anymore.  I'm going to do the races I am already signed up for but will put some of those other things on the shelf mentally for now (i.e. Bear).  I'd like to quit 100s.  I'm not ready to commit to quitting cold turkey and am not even going to say that I'm not doing Bear, but perhaps a distraction, such as marathon training, will help me be more normal and not want to do the Iditarod Trail Invitational.  I can be kind to myself.  I can.do.it.