Mount Pollock climb -- Glacier National Park

Mt. Pollock from the Going to the Sun Road -- not too far away

 This past weekend my friend Laura and I decided to climb Mt. Pollock in Glacier.  The nature of the rock in Glacier National Park lends itself to rope-less off-trail scrambling up mountains (i.e. it's crumbly which can also be bad).  It can sometimes be a little dicey (and sometimes dangerous if you're being chance-y) but is typically extremely rewarding if exhausting.

We chose Pollock -- or rather I did -- because it promised to be all class 2 and 3 which is relatively tame.  Class 2 is basically walking about Class 3 is generally unexposed scrambling (in my view which might be wrong).  This was basically a good choice.

Looking back as we made our way upwards

Mt. Siyeh as seen from saddle between Piegan and Pollock

 There was one section that I was not 100% confident on -- pictured immediately below.  This rock chimney was basically vertical, though Laura climbed up and confirmed that after this short section it was just walking.  So, I sucked it up and after a practice up/down part of the way I made it up without difficulty.  Mind over matter.

 Below is the "cleft" as seen from the safety of the top.  I feel, based on my own internal rating system, this should be Class 4 -- it wasn't any easier than the climb up Mt. Henry which is Class 4???

Laura walking towads Bishop's Cap

It was really a fantastic day and and yet another reminder of how beautiful GNP is.  It was also a pleasant reminder that I am moderately improving my mental game.

Rock Climbing

Thankfully there are no pictures, but I tried rock climbing for the first time ever in my life last night.  A couple friends were willing to "teach" and a few of us newbies were anxious to learn the ropes.  (Ha ha ha get it?)  It was actually incredibly fun.  Not only that, it was far less scary than some of the "scrambling" I've done in Glacier National Park (ok, I haven't really done anything objectively scary but that further emphasizes how unscary rock climbing was).  I am really hopeful that rock climbing (not that I plan to take it up as a primary hobby or anything) will 1) help me with my fear of heights, 2) help me better learn where to put my hands and feet thus giving me confidence scrambling without rope, 3) help me practice climbing with the safety and comfort of rope (which should transfer to climbing class 4 stuff that doesn't really require rope but requires some basic ability to know what to do without freaking out) and 4) be another fun way to get some exercise.  Also, I should mention there's a lot of gear involved and well, gear.

from the internet (claims to be free download wallpaper)

I think it will be even more fun with actual climbing shoes -- sneakers are a bit limiting.  I expect I will be lucky to get out one or two more times this season but who knows.  It's amazing how new and novel activities can rejuvinate one's interest in being outside and doing stuff.  Not that I ever really tire of being outside and doing stuff, but sometimes the fervent enthusiasm just sort of wanes.  I highly recommend trying new and possibly ridiculous seeming things.  Because, why not.

Yellowstone National Park in 7 days (Fat Camp 2013)

 

So, I am alive.  I apologize if my disappearance had you wondering whether I was dead or having some sort of traumatic life experience.  I was simply not up to a whole lot that is appropriate for this blog.  However, I did recently go on a 7 day backpacking trip to Yellowstone National Park with my friends Amber, Meghan and Dave.

 

I haven't been to Yellowstone since I was little.  That trip, which I only vaguely remember, is what sparked my obsession with moving to Montana.  We were driving on what I assume was the Beartooth Highway and I was lying in the back of our van incredibly motion sick.  Looking up through the windows I remember thinking "this is the most beautiful place on earth." 

I haven't been back on the Beartooth Highway but enjoyed the opportunity to get a more thorough Yellowstone experience beyond Old Faithful (though we did visit Old Faithful and watch it erupt when we got there -- gotta do it). 

Our trip started on the Lamar River in or near the Hayden Valley and made its way to the Hoodoo Basin, to Yellowstone Lake, to the Thorofare and out Heart Lake.  We covered roughly 100 miles.  I was particularly exhausted during this trip, but made it and enjoyed it (though I was ready to be done by the end). 

I'm not very good at describing the blow-by-blow of such a long trip, but suffice it to say that getting out into the woods for at least a few days unplugged is soul cleansing.  Being totally away from my work email and voicemail is probably the best thing I can do for myself.  If you can believe it, I actually felt ready to return to work afterwards.

It's also a wonderful way to spend quality time with friends.  I wish all my friends could go backpacking with me.  At least the ones who wouldn't whine that is :p

We call this "Fat Camp" and the first year, when Meghan and I hiked the Highline Trail in the Uintas, I did actually lose weight.  The past couple of years I seem to have gotten fatter.  Especially this year.  It seems that it would be impossible but it's not.   

Evidently I only run if I sign up for an event.

In the last month I have run approximately two times.  Allison and I did Bighorn 50, pictures below, and yesterday I did brutally hot and hilly half marathon on forest service roads in the Swan.  I do not recommend this strategy.  Bighorn was really fun but I ran a PW yesterday (2:05) and almost died (not really).  It was pretty though.

Bighorn is one of the best races out there though.  You must do it.

random guy

Free Will

The weather was good and I had a hankering for a hike even though it is only early June and the options are somewhat limited.  However, I did not go to bed early, did not make advance plans with any friends and ended up sleeping until 9:30.  Those are all typically plan-killers.  Traditionally, you do not wake up at 9:30 and go for a hike much less on the east side of Glacier National Park, which is nearly 2 hours away.  However, when I woke up late and groggy and lamented to Ted that I blew it, he reminded me that the days are long now and I still had many many hours of daylight.  I did the math and realized if I hustled I could easily do a long hike all the way on the east side of Glacier National Park and have plenty of daylight.  Admittedly, I am a social critter and rarely venture out alone.  But I wanted an adventure.

For some silly reason I not only wanted to hike, but wanted to test my bravery off-trail without the pressure of company.  Not that I have a single friend who judges me for my cowardice (to my knowledge), but I have this compulsion to overcome and prove.  But I need practice you see (so that I can prove I guess).  Alone.  Without pressure.  It's comforting to know that you can turn around if you want and disappoint no one.

A few years ago I experienced my first off-trail GNP "scramble" when Brad took me Jill and Dave on an extended Scenic Point ridge walk.  I recall being freaked out by the climb up Medicine, pictured above.  I also remember it being so exhilarating.  I have not actually gained that much experience since, but this time it was an incredibly easy walk up.  It is now difficult for me to fathom what made me jittery the first time.  I can only guess that it was my inexperience and my unreasonable level of fear.  It is freeing to be less afraid.  (Yes, it's basically a little knob, bear with me here).

Above all, it was freeing to willfully do something that I knew might be scary but not be scared at all.  I was not marching up because a friend was taking me there (and don't get me wrong I am insanely grateful for any invite), but because I had independently chosen my precise route and every exact step.  It was my choice to continue on or turn back.  The power to choose and be deliberate quashes fear. 

I was giddy and elated thinking about how alone I was.  There were lots of folks on the trail and the chances of spending more than an hour alone were nill.  Upon the ridge, even being a relatively popular ridge, I was completely alone.  In the few rare moments when the insanely strong wind quieted, the quiet was powerful.  I was alone.  (Though you could probably see me from the Scenic Point trail -- I wasn't exactly in the super remote outer bounds of civilization.  But this is all relative remember). 

Pictured above is Mt. Henry.  I turned around at the spot of this photo.  Although I had planned to retrace my steps I scoped out the route down through the drainage and decided to take an unplanned and unknown-to-me route off-trail back to my truck.  I could see from above what looked like an easy route, and don't get me wrong, it was (though tedious it turned out), but I couldn't help but feel doubtful and question my decision making as I picked my way down the large rocky scree slopes towards the trail (which bounced in and out of view which was nerve wracking).  I even crossed a singular snow field alone.  I hate snow fields, even when they are low angle and the run-out is not particularly dangerous.  I am fearful.  But I totally wasn't.  Because if I chose to I could have avoided it.  But I decided to cross it.

Above is the drainage I came down.  In truth it's quite easy (though from afar it look sort of cliff-y no?), but for me, having never done it and being alone, it was an adventure.  Above all, spending a day making my own decisions and suffering my own consequences was a spectacular reminder that I do have free will and can make my own way -- for better or worse.  (And on reflection, I have made an excellent way, by the way (so far)).

Mundanity

Truly good blog writers who offer more than pictures and recitations of fun adventures might be able to keep things going blog-wise during the mundane stretches in life, but unfortunately this is more of a picture blog and I haven't been doing all that much that warrants a post on a picture blog.  I did recently go for a bike ride in Glacier National Park.  See:

I am one of the dots riding the Going to the Sun Road on my bike

And I also went to Great Falls for a fundraiser and spaced out on the drive home and actually took the wrong road and ended up in Glacier National Park rather than on Highway 2.  I stopped and took pictures.  See here:

I think this is Two Medicine Lake

the snow is melting right away on the east side of the Park

The reality is that I am simply not always doing fun or interesting things.  A lot of the time I'm really busy at work or wrapped up in other thoughts or obsessions that aren't especially blog appropriate.  I could tell you about how much work stresses me out at times or how I joined Rotary but that would take some genuine thoughtfulness and creative genius (to make it interesting at least).  Since I can't think of any way to do that, I'll just let you know that I haven't been up to all that much lately.

Real Endurance

White Mountains 100 took a certain amount of determination and endurance, no doubt, but the real test of will was only to follow.  You see, I flew directly from Fairbanks (it was -24 when I left) to Puerto Vallarta.  I had ahead of me nearly a full week of the following arduous routine:

dinner portion of one day - photo by Bea

1.  Wake up to a bright orb thing shining in the windows
2.  Possibly mix a cocktail to put in the coffee mug since the bar doesn't open until 10 or 11
3.  Apply sunscreen, go to beach or pool (or spa if it's a spa day - I got two massages)
4.  Locate chair saved by someone else who got up earlier
5.  Sit on chair and resume sleeping or read
6.  Order beer or drink of the day from waiter
7.  End up with multiple drinks because he keeps bringing extra free ones because he loves us
8.  Order nachos or some other delicious food (to be brought to pool or beach, don't want to get up)
9.  Drink and sit more - socialize perhaps
10.  Talk about dinner plans
11.  Shower
12.  Execute dinner plans -- eat well, including dessert, possibly have port wine as well
13.  Watch men folk smoke Cuban cigars -- possibly take a nighttime dip in the ocean (try to not flash butt to horrified onlookers)
14.  Go to bed, listen to waves

REPEAT. 

Not everyone can manage this.  I had to dig deep at times, but I am well trained for this type of endurance effort.  It wrecked me way more than White Mountains too, which probably doesn't surprise you...

White Mountains 100 -- the official report

Perhaps because the White Mountains 100 took me nearly 46 hours, or perhaps because I tend to space out during these things, my memory of the race consists of a few isolated vignettes.  (Will this make my blog post arty?  I sure hope so).

            1.         Fran is famous.

My friend Fran, who lives in Bozeman and whom I paced at Wasatch this past summer, was the immediate topic of conversation with fellow racer Greg, who was reportedly angry until we started talking about Fran.  She is the person he knows from Montana.  He met Fran, and presumably me though I obviously left no impression on him, during Wasatch.  Or maybe he met her in Bozeman some years back, I forget.  What was clear is that Fran left a lasting impression and the invocation of Fran was all Greg needed to stop stressing about whatever gear issues delayed his race start and get a move on.  Greg finished pretty quickly, jump-started by the awesomeness that is Fran Zelenitz.

 

As an aside, I too spent the beginning of the race futzing with my stuff.  Rather than doing this before the race start, I sat in the car lazily drinking coffee and feeling totally relaxed, as if I was waiting to pick someone up from swim practice rather than waiting to walk 100 miles in the snow.  My new sled, while awesome, needed to be MacGyver’ed a bit and my many electronics needed to be turned on, readied and all that.  Knowing from experience that the 5 minutes it would take me to deal with these things would amount to nothing in the grand scheme of things, I stopped along the trail early on and got everything ready (which should have been done prior to the race obviously).  I assured Greg when he caught me that he need not stress about the time lost messing with his own gear.  And we agreed that Fran is awesome.

 

            2.         The first 17 miles are a total complete blur

It took me about 5 hours to do the first 17 miles, which thrilled me since I knew that was how long it took Beat last year and he finished very quickly in 33 hours or something like that.  Not that I expected to be as fast as Beat, but I always hold out this fantasy early in races that today will be my magical day.  Regardless, I remember nothing between chatting with Greg and rolling into the tent at mile 17, other than losing my camera and laughing since I’ve lost and found it so many times I think it’s stalking me.  Oh, and there were volunteers about 7 miles in who I now know are really cool since I’m Facebook friends with one of them.  They remarked on my super stylish outfit and took a picture of me with both their camera and mine.  Otherwise, I can only assume that the first 17 miles were pleasant, or that I was asleep, since I cannot tell you a thing about it. 

these guys returned my camera to me

 

            3.         The next 20 or so miles are also a blur

This next section, which included a section of reportedly “punchy soft snow” that was, as reported, punchy and soft, is best remembered as the “road to baked potato.”  The snow conditions made the going slower than my normal slow and was very slightly aggravating.  Truth be told, however, it was nothing compared to some trail conditions I’ve experienced elsewhere.  Snow shoes would have been superfluous, which is a good indication that the trail wasn’t that bad.  There was a section of steep downhill where I fell and my sled drug me down like a slide.  That was funny.  I laughed out loud, which startled me somewhat because until that point I had been fairly quiet out on the trail. 

I saw a lot of this

It started really snowing I think in this section which was not super awesome.  I was sort of bummed that I couldn’t see what I could only assume were stunning views all around me.

At some point on this section or the next I lost a giant bag of chocolate.  I felt like a loser litterer.  I learned that Moose do not eat Snickers’ bars and there was basically nothing that would touch my bag of chocolate.  Or was there? 

I thought often about how the next checkpoint had baked potatoes with cheese and sour cream.  I think there had earlier been bacon but the cyclists, who are obviously all assholes, probably ate all the bacon.

There was a great baked potato and good conversation in the well-heated cabin that ended this section.  I got to chat with a dropped cyclist who seemed like a neat guy, whose name I’ve already forgotten but is a friend of Jill and Beat’s (everyone in the middle of nowhere in Alaska seems to know them) and learned how to make an “Orangoutang” (you don’t want to know).  Eventually I knew I would have to leave so leave I did.  Onward.

            4.         The next section included the “ice lakes,” a foxy doctor and a mountain pass 

The temperatures during the race were consistently inconsistent.  As in, a matter of a mile might be the difference of 20 degrees.  I was comfortably dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a vest for the majority of the early miles, but at some point near the “ice lakes” the temperature dropped profoundly and I got really cold.  Like, too cold to stop and put my coat on.  The glare ice was covered in a blanket of snow so the going was not especially treacherous and the overflow was mostly frozen except for a few pools of shallow standing water.  I did get one shoe very slightly wet but mostly got super cold.  I warmed up after about an hour of lollygagging in the tent that was strategically set up at the end of the ice lakes.  I am very grateful for the gentle assistance and kindness of the guy who was manning that tent.  I was a little embarrassed to be anything but all smiles and gushing (if fake) enthusiasm.  I allowed myself to be miserable for a little while and felt like an infant.  The guy should have told me to cowgirl-up but instead he boiled water for me and stoked the fire until the temperature was unbearable for all except a very cold Danni.

Somewhere in this section was a very long uphill that took us over a mountain pass that was above treeline and really cool looking in the darkness.

Eventually I reached the cabin that had soup with meatballs and there was a foxy doctor who once worked in Butte (not as foxy as Ted obviously).  The meatball goddess told me that the next section was pretty fast and pointed out that if I made 3 mph I could finish the race in daylight (as in around 36 hours or so).  Elated by this dubious prospect, I set out with a skip in my step.  Only, the thing is, that next section was not fast.  It was basically all uphill.

            5.         The next section was uphill

The next section was not fast.  It was basically all uphill.  It took forever.  I got a giant snowball stuck to the bottom of my shoe (it was clinging to the cord of my gaiter) and had to march uphill.  Forever.  I started hallucinating.  The snow blobs all looked like animals, including dinosaurs and cats and other non-arctic animals.  I would get really close to tell my brain that it was just snow, but no matter how close I got or how long I stared I could still see the eyes, nose and other features of the animal.  It was really annoying.  Losing control of my brain was deeply uncomfortable.  I knew I was hallucinating, though others saw much of the same, and I was helpless to stop it.  So I just rolled with it.  Hello tree of puppies.  Hello elephant -- oh wait you are not an elephant you are a goat!  Hello basketball hoop.  Hello owl.  Oh, you are a real owl.  Creepy but cool.  Hello wooden cat.  I still do not know if that cat was a real chainsaw style cat or not.  Not sure why it would be there but you never know.

more like an iceball

A mile before each checkpoint there is a sign notifying you that you are a mile from the next checkpoint.  All the trees looked like this stupid sign.  That was very uncool.  Again, everyone seemed to be having the same problem.  (I was in close proximity to the same group of skiers for the latter part of the race and so we got to compare hallucinations and tribulations). 

real sign

I thought it was the sign.  Boo.

Getting frustrated with this section, I finally pulled out my secret weapon: my friend Brad’s iPod.  He generously (at my request) loaded some music for me so that I would have an iPod of surprise music to entertain me during any rough spots.  Indeed, it did the trick.  Mainly, I chuckled frequently realizing that Brad owned the music I was hearing.  He has excellent taste in music, but let’s just say he is clearly ten years older than I am...

look Keith and Meghan, I have a huge range of emotions -- I am grumpy!

Finally I saw the real sign and about cried with joy.  I made it.  I made it.  I made it.  There would be ramen noodles, which I love.  I love ramen.  I made it!  Yeah!

At this cabin, I went up to the loft, did “child’s pose” and tried to not have a tantrum.  I did not want to continue.  But, eventually, after socializing for awhile and eating ramen noodles, I was ready to go.  The skier I walked with near the end of my first Susitna was also racing, and there was some joking about how we swore “never again” but were both there.  I shared my memory of her and the fact that I had blogged about her, convincing everyone there that I was pathetic and geeky all rolled together.  I learned that Daniel, who wasn’t too far behind me, found my chocolate baggie and seemed to be enjoying it, so that made me happy.

            6.         That happy feeling section

Leaving this cabin began the last 20 or so miles of pure awesome.  The calm I feel sometimes out on the trail is indescribable.  Waves of contentment and satisfaction with the world, my place in it, all that has passed and all that is yet to come washed over me as I made my way down the trail, pulling my sled of snackage and rocking out to tunes, which are most delicious during these moments.  All the senses feed off each other, elevating me to a state of peaceful bliss.  The next eight miles, until I reached the trail shelter where we had the option of hanging out in warmth (which I did for at least an hour or more), were by far 8 of the best miles I’ve ever travelled by foot.  I chose to take a quick nap at the trail shelter, perversely wanting to prolong things.  With only ten more miles to go, it would soon be over.

Sun?

Intense feelings can only last so long.  While the remainder of the race did not reach the pitch those eight had, they were still good miles.  I drug my sled up the Wickersham Wall, wondering if my sled would pull me to the bottom if I fell or passed out.  I did think I was 100% on the wrong trail for the last two miles, but knew from my GPS that I was near the highway and could hitch a ride or walk to the actual finish.  The snow had blown over the tracks.  I won’t bother to explain why it was obvious that I was lost, but I did wonder who had been out skiing in the middle of the night when I saw some pole marks.  The wind was blowing in my face, blizzarding basically, but my stash of black olives got me though.  Eventually I reached a sign that said I was a mile from the finish and was pleased that I had not, after all, taken the wrong (imaginary) trail. 

            7.         The finish

Jill had sent up cookies baked by our friend Amy and milk which were waiting for me upon my arrival at the finish line.  I had an Indian Spinach Wrap and stupidly returned promptly to Fairbanks where I napped for a few hours then began a day of socializing with Fairbanks friends -- Mike and then Ti.  I have been reading Ti’s blog and was so stoked to meet her in person.  She’s an awesome woman and I really enjoyed having dinner with her.

            8.         Afterthoughts

It was fairly uneventful in light of the fact that I drug a sled 100 miles in the Alaskan interior.  I do recall thinking it was really hard while I was doing it, but when I would question myself more closely on these bold proclamations I would learn that I was basically full of it and trying to drum up drama.  I declared to myself that I will never go to Antarctica (better break it to Jill sooner than later) and would never do another 100, but we all know how these things go.

EDIT:  JILL'S COUNTERPOINT

I think the earth maybe shifted for me

 

White Mountains 100 -- Part I (Introductory Ramblings)

This is ridiculous.  I’m not doing this.  As I sat shivering in the tent, waiting for the warmth of the stove to make the discomfort of being very cold go away, it was 100% clear to me that my apparent drive to put myself through hell in the name of sport needed to stop.  I looked over at the volunteer stoking the fire for me and bending backwards to try to help me in any way he could, even though the sauna like conditions must have been unpleasant for him, and felt terrible that this wonderful guy was having to expend time and energy warming some dumb girl who, evidently, lacked the sense to avoid trudging through the Fairbanks backcountry in the cold.  He was bundled in thick snow-machining garb, complete with the “bunny boots” that are ubiquitous in the Fairbanks area.  “This is really nice of you” I told him.  “It’s fun” he lied.  He heated some water and made a hot water bottle with a Nalgene for me to put in my shirt.  I started to warm up both physically and emotionally and after probably an hour of sitting in what is not intended to be a checkpoint, and is instead intended only as an emergency warming station after the “ice lakes” section of the White Mountains 100, I ventured back outside.  This is fun!

photo credit: Lucy Bettis (me early on in the race)

The White Mountains 100, like Susitna only much harder, is entirely on snow machine trail and can be travelled by bike, ski or foot.  I was one of a half-dozen idiots to do the race on foot.  Snow biking or skiing is typically, though not always, a better mode of transport in snow.  This year skiing was tough since there was constant fresh, dry “sugar” snow that makes for terrible glide.  The skiers were putting kick wax on their skate skis since there was no skating to be done.  My sled felt especially heavy for most of the race since it too was having trouble gliding efficiently.  I was never able to weigh it but I am guessing that my sled was only 20 pounds max.  I was only carrying food and extra clothes (plus some emergency stuff like an emergency bivy and matches). 

The week prior to the race I had decided to bag it.  It was stressing me out and my heart wasn’t really into it.  But then after talking to Jill I decided that it would probably be fun and I should do it.  Of course, I later realized that I was talking to someone who had only biked the course and was able to finish in under 20 hours.  (That said, she would love walking the course and think it was the best thing ever).  I was worried that my ambivalence would make it difficult to finish the race, and I was right.  I couldn’t, at any time during the race, explain to myself why I was there or what my objective was.  I asked myself at one point to focus on what had been good rather than chanting repeatedly in my head “this is horrible.” “I eventually warmed up after the ice lakes.  That’s all I got.”  Although I recall that I had all these negative self-chats and chastised myself for ignoring my friend Kevin’s reminder that I had previously promised myself to be kind to myself (something I consistently ignore), I cannot now feel anything but warm and fuzzy about the experience.  I also know that I kept asking myself “what exactly is so terrible?” and found that the answer was always “I am fine, this is sort of beautiful and neat.”  It was both beautiful and neat. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

Dogtooth Dash 2013



This weekend a sizeable group of friends and I (there were 8 of us total) went to Golden, BC's Kicking Horse ski resort for the second time to do the "Dogtooth Dash" ski mountaineering race.  Somehow I was able to convince my friend Emily, pictured below on the left, that she should come do the "rec" division, even though she only started skiing this season and only began tentatively trying blue groomers.  It seemed to me, and I was correct, that she could side-slip the tougher downhills on the course and would enjoy the race.  I'm not sure she enjoyed it, but she finished it with a smile.

friends!

Having convinced her to go, I agreed to do the entire race with Emily and stick with her (unless she wanted to go ahead on the uphills -- she's a fast and super strong athlete).  I'm not sure she had ever done a kick turn before, but she was doing them by the end of the race (nothing like baptism by fire).  She achieved quite a lot for someone in her first season.  She dropped into a steep bowl, got down the double black diamond run (which she had been permitted to believe was not really going to be steeper than a blue run), made it up some gnarly skin track, boot packed with less than awesome steps pre-kicked in, skied giant icy moguls/bumps and generally amazed me.  I can assure you that I would *not* have been doing that in my first season (this being my fourth).  I wasn't totally sure I wanted to be doing it on Saturday, really.


not a blue run (and steeper than this pic makes it look, at least up higher is much steeper)

Meanwhile, Amber stepped things up and did the Elite course, which featured 6,000 ft of vertical climbing (which is a lot) and some impressively sketchy downhills.  For the first time in her skiing career she was side stepping down a run (which she described as a "death chute" -- "%&$ that!" she reported).  I am glad I am not so ambitious.  She is super badass.

definitely not "blue" in those cliffs

Since I have White Mountains 100 next weekend, I was hoping I would not have to do any more than was minimally necessary to make sure Emily didn't die.  I nonetheless chose to use my "heavy metal" setup, with a combined ski/binding weight of 12 pounds (boots add another 6.5 pounds or so), and am now (not surprisingly) a bit sore.      

Amber is my hero

I made sure we enjoyed some Caesares, the national Canadian drink (I am making that up but if it isn't it should be).  It was a really fun weekend and it never caesares to amaze me how cool my friends are.

my contribution to the idea pool (stop skiing, get Cesares)

On the subject of White Mountains, I am mentally getting prepared this week by making lists and being generally distracted at work.  This seems to be the extent of my pre-race routine... I will admit to being very nervous having never done this course before.  I am also incredibly wiped and hoping I get over whatever malaise is consuming me.