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.

Susitna 100 - 2012 edition

The short version: I finished in 41 hours.  Below are the foot finishers.  There were ten foot division folks who dropped.  So 21/31 finished in the foot division.  I was 16/21 (or you could say I was 16/31. which sounds better).   

click to enbiggen so you can read (if you are interested in the results)

The long version:  It is hard to know where to even begin. Probably with last year's race, the memory of which mostly kept me relatively cheerful as I consistently took mental note of the minutes then hours I had gained on last year's time (and ultimately DNF). I won't do a blow by blow pace or mood comparison, but suffice it to say that this year was better, unless you are hoping for tears and drama. Though the journey was not without "issues," ranging from punchy trail, female issues and hating all my food (and consistently feeling like I might throw up when I ate on the trail), on the whole it was all manner of yes.

The race start

Ayershire Road on the way out

I flew into Anchorage on Thursday afternoon where Jill picked me up at the airport. We first had lunch with Shawn McTaggert, whose blog post first inspired me to do this race (I linked to it in my 2011 report which is linked above). Sort of appropriate. This was really the first time I even met her. She is really cool. She ended up winning the 50k (Little Su) even though next weekend she is walking the entire Iditarod trail to Nome. Yes, to Nome. She will be pulling her sled for a month. Clearly it will be some time before I imitate her. Actually, I do not plan to ever do that. Maybe to McGrath, which is the 350 miles Beat will do next weekend.  (By the way, Beat set up this awesome tracking site for my SPOT tracker, which was a Christmas present from my good friends Kim and Krista.  He is the best). Anyhow, you think I'm crazy? Nah, I haven't scratched the surface. I think I hang with a bad crowd... Anyhow, Shawn's husband did the Su 100 too and killed it. Plus he seems really great too.

trail

mashed potatoes trail

We met up with Amy and Dan, with whom we stayed, and it was awesome to spend so much time with my buddy Jill and newer buddies. Amy and Dan are good people. Jill did Su on foot while Amy skied and Dan biked. It is fun to have a crew all preparing for the same "Su-ffer fest." (clever word courtesy of Dan). Friday morning I had a final Pretrial conference by phone though which precipitated some work obsession. Friday night, after having a great dinner with blogger Karen who did the 50k with her husband, my mind fought the power of my Ambien thinking about work. I finally reminded myself that I would have plenty of time to think about work and fell asleep. Thankfully, that was the last I thought of work.

We were fretting about the weather forecast as above freezing temps would mean post holing and a wet slushy slog. Indeed, when Jill and I left our hotel room in Wasilla (right by Sarah Palin's house!) it was 28 or something Saturday morning before the race. Imagine our delight when the temperature gauge in the car dropped to zero en route to Point McKenzie where the race begins. Jill and I both became giddy. There was hope yet. The best part was the giant moose did not step in front of our moving car. Rita, one of the race directors, recommended taking advantage of firm trail before the temps rose then try to be patient when the trail became mashed potatoes. Keeping this in mind, I ran most of the way to the first checkpoint at Flathorn Lake/ mile 22 and arrived in approximately 5:45, half an hour faster than last year. This was especially good since my sled felt heavier than last year despite being ten pounds lighter.

nope not going to Nome

Barbie Doll Corner

What was in my sled? My huge feathered friends puffy, -40 sleeping bag, closed cell foam pad, extra clothes, Hagloffs rain shell, snowshoes that I hate, 10,000 calories of food I hated, an extra water bottle, handwarmers, too many electronics, a Leatherman tool, a bivy sack, extra shoes and socks, Hydropel, foot repair kit and trash bags for overflow. It weighed about 28 pounds. You must have 15. The only thing I would have left and wanted desperately to chuck into the deep snow was my snowshoes. I am glad I had the rest. I left the awesome fur hat Deb loaned me since it wasn't going to be cold enough and forgot Zeke's ashes, which I wanted to spread on the Iditarod trail. Maybe next year :p

Jill looking awesome

Alaska girl and her big fish

Checkpoint for 50k runners

Me with the garden gnomes

By the way, I wore Hoka Bondi B shoes, Drymax socks, Dirty Girl gaiters, lululemon fleece lined running tights, my Melanzana fleece skirt for fashion, a long sleeve lulu top, a powderbak hydration bladder, my country western Club Ride bike jersey for extra pockets and my Mountain Hardwear monkey fur jacket much of the time. I started with a thin hat. Later in the race I donned waterproof socks, the long original Skhoop insulated skirt, my warm wool fleece lined hat and occasionally my giant puffy. It got down to -5 on the Yentna River on Sunday morning.

The first section to Flathorn is so fun. It was sunny and I saw some dog teams. The famous Nome sign is on this section. It is hard to not enjoy the race to Flathorn. (There is a 7 hour cutoff to leave FH which is pretty aggressive on foot really - not sure why they do that). That said, my shins, knees, hip flexors and everything pretty much started hurting from the beginning. I decided that even if it meant injury, I was going to finish the stupid race and endure whatever pain I felt. Luckily, all these things sort of took turns screaming and nothing ended up being a big deal.

Having made the cutoff in plenty of hurried frantic time, my shins and knees and Achilles, though they were going to make the entire journey come hell or high water, were done running. Ouch. Pulling a sled in snow while running is not natural and caused me to tax my hip flexors and run on the balls of my feet which is not my normal way to run. I walked 100% of the rest of the race.

The second segment is from Flathorn Lake to Luce's Lodge on the Yentna River. It is 19 miles. You first cross the "dismal swamp" before decending the "wall of death" to the Susitna River, which joins the Yentna. The entire course is accessible only by snow machine or plane by the way. The sunset on wide frozen river is pretty cool. I really quite enjoyed the quiet and solitude of this segment as day turned to night, and it was also fun seeing the front bikers returning already. There were some sections of horrible soft trail, and efforts to use my snowshoes were short lived and wrought with frustration. It was early though and too soon for me to get too annoyed.

photo courtesy of Jill Homer

Feeling sick and hating my food, especially my nasty homemade candy/protein snacks, I vowed to catch up on calories at Luce's. Best spaghetti and meatballs.ever. Or so it seems after 41 miles of sled pulling. I stuffed my face and took some garlic bread for the road. I wished I had an entire loaf. So much better than my snacks. I'd better hurry back for more....

The next stretch is 12 miles to Alexander Lake. The aurora borealis. Oh my. I was treated to a veritable light show. I have never seen such a thing and may never again. I tried to memorize every column of light and shape shifting surreality. I tried going without my headlamp a bit and just stared at the sky for the whole thing. I almost cried, but didn't. Each time I felt overcome by emotion, I asked myself sarcastically (unintentionally) "are you going to cry about it?". "Um, no, I guess not." "Well you have permission." "Well, you just totally ruined the mood..." So, no tears were shed the whole race, though afterwards at the awards everything was so hilarious to my tired mind that I kept laughing till I cried. A lot.

Jill Homer (photo courtesy of Jill Homer)

Anyhow. Northern lights. Sigh. A couple hours of my life that will forever live in my memory as among the best. My level of euphoria was at its max. I wasn't sure how to photograph it so I am posting Jill's pictures. 

photo courtesy of Jill Homer

Before I knew it I was in and out of Alexander Lake and back to Luce's for more spaghetti. Mmmm. Breakfast spaghetti... I ultimately tossed all but my required emergency calories and lived off checkpoint meals. Not ideal but my stomach dictated this. I have still never puked running (walking, whatever) and didn't want to break my streak. I took awhile at Luce's because I knew the next section was long and would include the scene of last year's epic meltdown. I was a little scared to be honest. And knew it would be a long segment. At least this year it would be light out still since I was many hours ahead of last year. It would also involve walking through the Iron Dog snow machine race with the racers speeding by at 100 mph and spectators on snow machines swarming like Mosquitos. This is a bit surreal, like walking along a NASCAR track. The river is at least a half mile wide yet we were all competing for use of the same strip. At least the fact that the light was really flat slowed them down some. It was actually a fairly dismal day but could have been much worse.

As I expected, the 19 mile stretch was long, but I was pleased with my steady and even keeled mental state. I took a self-portrait of me not being sad or scared or melting down.  The main issue I had was that my iPod shuffle kept playing this incredibly annoying Snow Patrol song that must be one of the worst songs ever.  It reminded me of a song Cartman would sing on South Park if he were trying to get rich imitating schmaltzy alt-rock bands like Cold Play.  That said, another Snow Patrol song (Symphony) was my favorite of the whole race.

Look ma!  No hysteria!

However, walking through the scene brought back intense memories of what it felt like last year. It was odd. I had forgotten the details. I can't say I enjoyed the trip down memory lane. Though I remembered it was the worst I have ever felt in my life mentally, I forgot how that actually felt. I suddenly remembered. It is so dumb because it's not like a real life problem or war experience or anything that matters, but it apparently meant a lot to my brain. I suddenly NEEDED to get off the Susitna River, in part because it was soft and I was annoyed with my slow progress. I asked someone how far I was from the wall of death. Only two miles. Somehow, upon reaching the wall of death (which was icy and required that I crawl up on my hands and knees) I knew I was golden. I was going to finish! Maybe even under 40 hours which was my A goal.

icy wall of death

Dismal Swamp

The return trip across the Dismal Swamp, while soft and punchy, went fast. I developed something I call "nap walking." You close your eyes and walk, but open your eyes when you start to actually fall asleep. It requires some practice and practice it I did. However, when you start postholing you have to stop nap walking and watch the ground.

I passed the scene of where I dropped, though I am not exactly sure where it was. I felt somewhat ambivalent by that point, maybe a little hardened at that point against the weird intense memory of last year's suffering. That was behind me. (It probably helped that rather than being -20 it was +20).

On Flathorn Lake, I forgot how far up the lake the checkpoint is. This pissed me off. A lot. I thought I would arrive half an hour sooner and this made me bitter. My Garmin had zonked out so I didn't realize how much farther I had to go yet. Forty hours or less wasn't going to happen. Trying to be positive, I was relieved that the pressure of a time goal was gone and I could chill at the checkpoint.

I looked over and saw a little doggie looking up at my with its tongue hanging out. Then I saw that there were about 20 of them. I had not heard the team come up from behind me. They were all so small and looked to me like Jack Russell Terriers. Upon arrival at the checkpoint I relayed the team of JRTs and ultimately won the award for "best hallucination." They were real! I swear they were at least JRT/husky mixes....

Leaving Flathorn, where I snarfed reindeer sausage jambalaya and cornbread, I knew victory was mine. What I didn't realize was how interminable the remainder of my race would be. You follow a straight uphill seismic line for, oh, ten or more miles? There was one part where I crossed this open frozen swamp in the Susitna Flats Game Preserve and Dead Can Dance played in my iPod, which I bravely set on shuffle despite last years shuffle disaster (sad music precipitated the meltdown). Boy this was cool. The sky was red and the silhouettes of the black spindly trees were Dali-esque. However, this moment of sensory bliss was soon replaced by a testing of my patience. I created little jobs for myself to pass the time. I obsessed about how far I had left. I so perfected nap walking that it also bored me. Luckily I was tired enough that I decided to tell myself I had fewer miles to go than reality because it was easy to trick myself. Tired logic and math = only 5 more miles until I only have 5 miles left! Much better than 10 miles left.

Brooks, husband of Rita and co-RD drive up on his snow machine and while I was deliriously happy to have human contact, felt like I was being pulled over for DUI (which has never happened by the way though I have done field sobriety tests for officers in training). Brooks was checking my eyes and asking a lot of complicated questions like "how are you feeling?"  I tried explaining that I was channeling all the zen I could and he said he had no idea what I was saying. Fail. I invited him and his companion to walk with me but he declined. I hoped Jamshid, who has 14 or 15 finishes and is a neat guy from Seattle, would catch me. In fact, I stopped to lollygag many times thinking Jamshid was right behind me. Turns out he wasn't and I started repeating to myself "this is the most interminable race I have ever done" and "I am not doing another hundred ever or even going to keep running or possibly exercising even."  I vowed to become a sitter and sleeper full time.

Finally I hit Ayershire road, which involves three miles uphill on the snowy but firm bike path. It all took ten times longer than I wanted it to but I eventually saw the lights of the finish. Jill, who is awesome and finished five hours earlier, was standing in the cold waiting for me. I love that chick. Truly. I wanted to run the last ten feet but couldn't. So I pretended. I am sure it was dumb looking but I thought I was pretty hilarious. I do crack myself up a lot. I finished in 40:59 but despite my protest they recorded 41 hours. My watch was righter than theirs :p

this is what my camera thought of the finish line, which sort of reflects how I felt

I downed soup and Jill drove us to Wasilla. I mumbled incoherently as Jill got lost and almost cried while I slept. We hit no Moose and made it back to near-Sarah's. I have honestly never been so tired in my life. I fell asleep while saying words (not sure what I was trying to say).

puffball finisher (photo courtesy of Jill Homer)

If you have read this and are still asking "why Danni?" -- I think I enjoy this stuff that you may or may not think is dumb because I enjoy pushing the boundaries of my ability and just seeing what I am able to do. Yeah, it is pretty random and punishing, but life is short and while sometimes I crash and burn, I also sometimes surprise myself. Either way, I file it all away for later when life requires that I go to the well. Thus far the journey has always been worth it, even when I fall short, and this year was no exception. It sure is nice to succeed though! Yay me.

P.S.  I have to point out that I am lucky to have Ted as my husband -- he is so supportive and awesome.  Also, I really have great friends who spoil me with their support and friendship.  Yay me.

Sometimes Life Gives You a Free Arc'teryx Jacket (Dogtooth Dash Skimo Race Report)

After annoying myself to the point that I couldn’t stand to hear my thoughts or the stuff that was coming out of my mouth, I made a pact with myself at the end of this weekend to 1) stop psyching myself out and working myself up over “scary” things, 2) stop explaining to everyone every second of every moment that I am a wuss and terrible at everything and 3) be more the person I like to think I am and just be smart and have fun.

This weekend was the Dogtooth Dash, a ski mountaineering race at Kicking Horse Resort in Golden, BC. A large group of friends went up and nine of us “adults” and one three year old shared a condo as if, as our friend Phil alluded to, we were all unemployed students and couldn’t afford anything other than cramming into close quarters. Obviously, this was the most fun option anyhow.

Last week, prior to the race, I began studying the course map, below. I realized upon comparing the vague Google earth map to the resort trail map that one of the downhill runs was a double black diamond (the second descent). I’ve mentioned previously how tightly wound I am about skiing… I emailed a race person and confirmed that it was double black but “easy” double black. It should really be a black diamond she said. I spent several hours combing the internet for pictures and videos of the resort and assured myself that it was going to be totally manageable. At the pre-race meeting slide-show though, the photo of the run had me back to a panic that gripped my stomach and made me want to cry. I informed anyone who would listen (which at that point was no one really) that I didn’t want to play anymore.


As we ascended the gondola into a thick fog that obscured everything while revealing my doom, I tried breathing techniques to calm my nerves. I didn’t want to start crying. It was embarrassing. I knew I had worked myself irrevocably into a stupid hysteria and that I needed to somehow relax if I was going to do the race. It worked a little though I noticed at the top (where the race began) that my heart rate was about 20 beats higher than it normally is when I’m just sitting. Nice.

Just before the start we got in line to do a beacon check. Although the race was in controlled in-bounds terrain, we were required to carry full avy gear. I always appreciate an opportunity to involve more gear into my activities. The start of the race was a Le Mans start where we had to run around the restaurant at the peak of the mountain carrying our skis and then put our skis on. This was funny to me. Of course, I stayed at the back knowing that I do better when no one is on my heels. And, of course, I couldn’t get my skis on while everyone was watching and cheering. Evidently Amber was having the same problem, but we were so focused on our own humiliation that we didn’t see the other still futzing with bindings. Finally I got them on and the crowd roared.

This race next goes down a mellow cat track into the “Sugar Bowl,” which is a flat open bowl. Our friend Shane somehow promptly lost a ski, and I saw it pummeling at high speed into the abyss. I looked at him and realized that things could be much worse. Poor guy. His ski has yet to be recovered. Those ‘aint cheap. Anyhow, I made my way down the cat track and headed the wrong direction into the bowl. Once a random skier confirmed that racers were going a different way, I side stepped up to the right place. An awesome start… the transition wasn’t far and stopped to put on skins and head up the first ascent, which was on a really well laid uptrack with well-engineered turns. I was amazed that I wasn’t even last, and amazed that Amber was not far ahead (I was worried she was waiting for me because she knew I was hysterical, which I didn’t want. I didn’t realize she had binding issues too). Before I knew it I was up the first ascent and peering over the double black run that had me so hysterical. It was extremely not bad at all. The drop in was a narrow traverse and then it dumped into a not very steep but hard packed bumpy bowl. This is double black? My friends who tried, to no avail, to tell me this were right. Hmm. Guess I can trust my friends after all. Nonetheless, I side slipped clumsily down until I reached the flat bowl and straight lined to the next transition.


The next short uphill was back up to the end of the bowl, which was like a high alpine white snowy desert. The sun occasionally peaked out and I was dumping buckets of sweat in the mild temps. Before I knew it, it was time for a long descent halfway down the mountain (which has quite a lot of vert). Skins back on, back up. Again, it was well laid uptrack though it was a little slick in spots. I negotiated it just fine through the trees. Eventually we dumped out on an open ski run that was a little steep and started to feel overwhelmed by fatigue. I looked at my watch and realized I’d been out for an hour and a half, working hard and sweating with a high heart rate and hadn’t drank a sip of water or, obviously, eaten anything. Oops. I stopped and took a Hammer Gel and some water, and waited for that magical energy boost. Nothing. I tried eating a Hammer Bar but almost choked since I was dehydrated and my mouth was really dry and not producing saliva. I sucked down more water. Crap. I was so focused on being scared that I got behind on my hydration and nutrition and wasn’t catching up. At all. Ugh…

I never felt better. The fatigue just continued to set in. It never occurred to me that I needed to pay attention to the regular things one needs to pay attention to during a race. It also never occurred to me that fitness might be a limitation. I felt slow and unathletic. I trudged slowly until reaching switchbacks that headed up the side of the bowl back to the start/finish where we would do the last loop. I was so tired I was getting sloppy and struggling with the turns. There were small platforms where one might be able to avoid kick turns if one was not about to fall over from exhaustion. Kick turns were easier somehow, yet I was executing them very poorly. “Don’t fall over” I kept saying to myself. I didn’t want to slide to the bottom, and it was packed slick snow so that was entirely possible.

Finally I reached the end of the uptrack and saw that this was where I needed to put my skis on my backpack and boot pack up the steep cliff area to the ridge. As I had been assured by my friend Dustin, the steps were well set and it was like climbing stairs. Really scary exposed stairs up the side of a cliff. Looking up it didn’t look especially bad or long, but my adrenaline kicked into high gear. “Stay calm stay calm” was my mantra. I had planned to remind myself to “send it,” which were Phil’s words of wisdom, but “stay calm” seemed more to the point. It would be fine if I didn’t get too sloppy and kept my focus. Snow suddenly came barreling down at high speed and I was smacked in the neck with a snowball. It looks like a hickie now. It was sort of funny in a way. Eventually I made it really close to the top and negotiated a couple sketchy steps before getting on the ridge. Lazily I walked with my skis on my pack to the transition at the Start/Finish rather than skinning like you were supposed to.

I knew that there was the option to skip the last loop and be in the “Recreational” division (there was an Elite and Enduro, I was to do the Enduro) and didn’t want to take the “easy” option. I knew I would get a hard time from my friends and naturally don’t like to quit. I first asked if I had time to do the last loop and was told of course go for it. I headed out and as I approached the steep, choppy descent felt so tired I wanted to lay down and cry or sleep. I wondered how I had the strength to stay upright on my skis. Staring down, I asked a ski patroller if the loop was hard. He assured me that it was really quite hard and encouraged me to keep it fun and call it a day if I was really worked. The decision became obvious and turned back and let the timekeepers know I was going to join the “Rec” division after all. But hey, I won the “Rec” division in under 2:30.   RESULTS

Amber finished soon thereafter as first woman’s finisher in the Enduro. She confirmed that I would have hated that last loop and no one gave me a hard time about skipping the last loop. I chugged warm Heed and enjoyed seeing friends finish the Elite division. I felt good because while I didn’t do the whole Enduro course, it wasn’t fear that held me back, other than being the genesis of my poor hydration and fueling earlier on.

There was a nice awards ceremony and Amber won a Smart Wool midlayer jacket and an Arc’teryx toque. They also drew names from a hat and gave out other swag. Mine was the last name picked and I won an Arc’teryx insulated jacket. Yeah. All mine.

The next day Amber and I tried to ski, since our race entries included two days of lift tickets, but I wasn’t feelin’ it and was skiing poorly. I hung in the base lodge with Laura who is quite preggo and lamented my suckitude. It was then that I made that pact and realized how unfun I am when I act like a baby. It was a great race, a great weekend and I was lucky to have been able to jaunt off for another ski race in another ski resort town. Charmed life. And sometimes, just sometimes, like in Canada, there’s a free expensive jacket waiting for you if you hang in there…



Next up: Susitna 100. I hope I can recover in time!!!

Boulder Mountain Tour -- Half Tour

This weekend my girlfriends and I drove to Sun Valley for the Boulder Mountain Tour, which is a giant cross-country ski race/tour.  We opted for the half, which was 15k.  Allison, Deb and I used our classic XC skis, and were nearly the only people to do so.  We held up the rear nicely I think.

Since I'm tapering for Susitna, I thought it important to take things slow, fuel well with all beer available on the course, and simply soak in the sun.  I succeeded on all fronts.

It was a beautiful and fun weekend.  I kept thinking while skiing: "I am so lucky -- I am so privileged -- how did I get so lucky?"  I am always aware of the fact that my life is a combination of choice/path and privilege.  I was born into a life where I could choose a path that allows me to live this life.  I do not take it for granted. 

Next up:  Dogtooth Dash in Golden, BC. 

Wait, I have actually said these things...

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. 

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…

HURL Fat Ass 50k

photo courtesy of Martin Miller

 On Saturday Allison, Callie and I did the Helena Ultrarunners League (HURL) Fat Ass 50k and finished in a lesisurely 6:53.  A "Fat Ass" run is informal with no entry fee.  Martin Miller hosts this event and makes it as great as a paid event.  There were a couple well-stocked aid stations and Martin hosts a potluck at his house afterwards.  It's really fun. 

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.

 The weather was nice with some sun, blue sky and decent temperatures.  There is a long climb (5 miles or so) that was really snowy/sandy which made the backs of our legs scream, but it wasn't too terribly icy.

Danni, Callie and Allison (photo courtesy of Martin Miller)

This was essentially my first and last official training run for Susitna.  I have two ski races coming up and a quick weekend trip to Chicago for Cheryl's baby shower.  I think the training will be adequate.