Running on a dirt path with an awkwardly oversized 20 pound weight vest creating a small patch of raw skin that is just now beginning to heal, I had to take a moment and laugh at the hilarity of my situation. I could have been whipping up a batch of strawberry cornmeal pancakes with a hot latte in hand, enjoying the slowness that usually typifies Memorial Day Monday. Instead I was working very hard to run a mile, then complete 100 pull ups, 200 push ups, and 300 air squats…and then suffer through another mile. All the while toting around the aforementioned 20 pounds.
Thankfully I had set up my Murph (the annual crossfit Memorial Day workout) station next to an equally suffering individual. We had broken up our repetitions differently- I chose to do 20 rounds of 5 pull ups, 10 push ups, and 15 squats, while he was doing 5 rounds of 20 pull ups, 40 pushups and 60 air squats- but found ourselves to be moving along at similar paces. Just past the half way point, my Murph partner starts giving himself a pep talk. His weight vest had hit the ground one too many times, and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, he says: “You wanted this! You did this to your self. This is your choice, you can stop ANYTIME you want.” He then proceeded to knock out the remaining push ups in his set and continue on to complete the brutal workout.
Fast forward a couple days, and I’m doing a 5 by one kilometer trail running workout. I consider myself to be a pretty good runner, but trail running is very much slower and very much harder than the typical road run. Rocks, loose gravel and some BIG UPS (1.2 miles of straight up in one instance) make the experience exponentially harder. I was in the middle of an all uphill kilometer, my heart rate was going up as my speed was going down, and I was ready to just finish out the interval without any real bravado. But then, the Murph Man’s voice popped into my head, reminding me that I was choosing to do this. If I wanted to stop, I could. No one was making me run up the hill, and no one would even know if I stopped. This reminder that what I chose to do- run up hills, race on snow and do 200 pushups with a 20# weight vest- was in fact my choice was weirdly liberating. Instead of choosing to stop, I chose to go harder.
Finishing up the final kilometer of up hill running, I was the closest to puking I’ve been in a long while. My legs totally flooded and my heart rate hovering around 190, I let my grimace turn into a smile. After another three minutes of rest, I did the last interval downhill (actually maybe the hardest part of trail running) smiling/grimacing/enjoying the choice the entire time.
Going into a new training season it is critically important to have intentions. Remembering that I am choosing to do this, and more than that I want to do this will be propelling me through this season. There will be days- I’m sure of it- where I don’t want to go outside, or do one more rep or push my heart rate up that extra beat. And it is important to listen to those days- why am I feeling that way? And it is equally important to sometimes push past those hesitations, voluntarily pop on a 20 pound weight vest and sweat it out over 42 minutes of constant work.
Luckily for me, there haven’t been many of those “push through the pain” days so far this year. I’ve just wrapped up a very successful May of training (including two weeks of on snow time in Bend, Oregon), and will be spending the month of June training in Rapid City, South Dakota. Cheers to choice!
Wrapping up an entire season in one- at least somewhat digestible- blog post is similar to finding a new favorite coffee shop and only going once a week. That is to say…nearly impossible (Harriet and Oak I’m the one who came twice on Wednesday). So I’m not promising a full dive into the guts and glory moments of the 2016-2017 season. But in trying to come up with a unifying theme for a year that was, in a word, frustrating, I got the inspiration from my strength/life coach Max.
One day Max came into the gym for my strength session, and decided to also hop into that day’s primary workout. When I asked in jest why he had decided to hop into the session, he said he had to become “harder to kill.” His dad had just broken his ankle, and while pushing yourself through an intense workout of thrusters and pull ups and med ball slams might not directly lead to broken ankle prevention, he figured it wouldn’t hurt his odds at avoiding that fate.
That harder to kill mentality stuck with me. While I had some definite highs this season- most notably my improved qualifying speed and mass start distance races- I also struggled a lot of the time. I found myself unable to get out of my own head, and instead of shaking off uncontrollable variables I let them decide that race’s outcome, and future races’ results. For example- when driving to the final race of US nationals (a skate sprint qualifier), the sky started spitting some mix of snow, ice, and rain. Instead of recognizing everyone was dealing with the same thing and understanding I had to race no matter what…I burst into tears. And being 100% honest, when a super tour was cancelled in Truckee, CA due to too much snow, I was almost relieved. I had gotten myself believing that I couldn’t perform well in blizzard conditions at 8,000 feet elevation, so not having to test myself against myself that day I saw as a bit of a blessing.
It was after returning home from the Truckee, CA super tour race that Max planted the harder to kill seed. He helped me flip my perspective from, “that really sucked,” to “somehow in someway that experience will make me harder to kill in the future.” So when I came down with a nasty cold mid sprint race at the last race series in Fairbanks, I worked hard to flip the narrative from the ever unattractive victim act of “why me,” to “get your butt in bed so you can go race a 30K.”
Despite not being at 100% health the day of the US National Championships 30K, I wanted nothing more than to race. And race with the mentality that pushing through this last race of the season would make me harder to kill next year. At 8K I thought I was done for. I had held on to the lead pack of six for the first 7.5 Kilometers (which included the 5th place finisher in that event at World Championships teammate Jessie), and then began to worry about how I would possibly make it another 22.5 Kilometers. That’s when my best friend Sophie hopped in front of me and told me to hang on. And hang on I did- and then miraculously with 10K to go I had a second (or maybe at this point third or fourth) wind. Sixth place was only 30 seconds in front of us, and it became my absolute mission to catch her. With three kilometers to go I had bridged the gap, but then began to cramp a bit. I simply told myself that I wasn’t cramping, and I had to make it to the finish line. Coach Pat told me to “remember my strengths” (which he intended to mean my speed, so encouraging me to ski slower and follow), but I was not in a physical or mental place to try any kind of tactics. I was simply charging towards the finish line. With 400 meters to go I put in my biggest effort of the entire season, sprinting across the line into sixth place. I was probably the happiest sixth place finisher ever.
While it wasn’t a win, I firmly believe I was only able to push myself to close that 30 second gap and then hold on for sixth place because of all the things that have happened this past season. The 2016-2017 season has literally made me harder to kill. It doesn’t mean it can’t happen- I can still have a bad race, a spectacular blow up at a bad time…be beat. But I am going to spend the next ten months making myself as hard to kill (or less dramatically beat) as possible. And, I know there are a lot of other very talented, driven, and incredible women doing the same thing.
This next year is a big one- the Olympics have been a goal of mine for three years now. Qualifying for the team will take an incredible amount of effort, time, sacrifice… and a bit of luck too. Regardless of the outcome, I want to look back and know that I did absolutely everything I could. The worst thing in the world would be looking back and realizing I hadn’t been that hard to kill. So with that I’m making a promise to myself, and sharing it with everyone. Everything I do from now through January will be in the pursuit of being harder to kill. Right now, that means taking a pause from focused training to reset (and spending a lot of time cruising on my mountain bike). Then when May rolls around, it will be planning and figuring out how to accomplish my goals. Ten months is both a very long and very short time, and I can’t wait to share the story with all of you.
An incredibly massive heartfelt thank you to everyone who has encouraged and supported me this season. And especially to my family, boyfriend and furry four legged friends for occasionally picking me up from a puddle on the floor. Also to my teammates and coaches, and of special note Max and the rest of the Powerhouse for helping me find a 2017-2018 season motto. Here’s to being harder to kill!
Walking into the River’s Eatery on Saturday night (the Saturday that was supposed to see my 51K Birkie Debut), I was expecting to see a lot of very sad and grumpy skiers sitting quietly over their perfectly cooked pizzas while sipping on a feel better beer. Instead, the restaurant was pleasantly full of very happy people. Talking with owners Mick and Beth, I was asking how the Birkie cancellation (due to low snow/ high ice) had affected business and morale. Mick paused for a second and then said, “You know, I think this has been the happiest group of Birkie people yet. All the grumpy people just went home, and the people who remained are really here because they want to be.”
Several thoughts went through my head when the official Ben Popp (President of the Birkie, and hopefully future presidential nominee for the United States…he was that good) video surfaced online cancelling the Birkie. One, DAMN. Two, WHAT A BUMMER. Three, why couldn’t that storm have tracked 50 miles to the north. And finally, four, what are they going to do with all of the bananas?
A couple days prior (when the hail mary snow storm seemed to be on track to dump 18 inches of snow on the Birkie trail), Ben had posted a picture on Facebook of what must have been thousands of bananas. These, along with energy drinks, energy gels, oranges, brats, beers, and shots, were intended to help fuel the 10,000 Birkie participants along the beautiful Birkie trail from Cable to Hayward. But with the race cancelled, what would happen to all of that stuff (well, I knew what would happen to the brats, beers, and shots).
The Birkie team put out an incredible effort, and on Birkie Saturday had “Birkie Stock.” A nice 5K loop was put together, and all of the on snow demos, food, and music travelled from Hayward to the new Birkie start line in Cable. Nearly 10,000 people attended throughout the day (normally the Birkie brings closer to 30,000 people). I stuck around, and very happily skied some 5K loops with my mom, tried the official Birkie Brew-Ski, and watched some very joyful people dance to the live band. Earlier that morning I had ventured out on to what would have been the course, and much to my happy surprise skied 30 Kilometers (well, probably skied closer to 28 kilometers and walked 2 of them…and made a new pair of rock skis). I ran into a number of people on the trail. One guy had started in Cable and was trying to make it all the way to Hayward, whether he had to ski, run, or swim. Another individual said he didn’t do all this training for nothing, and was planning on hiking 25 Kilometers to the party. And another duo had already made it 25 Kilometers, and were shotgunning beers at 10 in the morning.
I’ve had some times this season where I feel like I have 10,000 bananas and nothing to do with them. Whether that something is me poling between my legs at the start of a sprint heat (a la the Michigan supertours), not selecting the right skis, or just some serious bad luck (blizzards, rain, hail), I’ve had some times this season where I just feel like nothing goes right. I’ve done all of this careful preparation and made so many improvements, only to feel like I didn’t have the chance to show it off. When this situation arises, I’ve learned (very valuably I think, although it took some time) that you have two options. Option one: Feel bad for yourself, play the victim, and do nothing with the metaphorical bananas. Option two: Make banana bread.
Everyone who stuck around for Birkie Stock in lieu of the actual Birkie opted for the latter. They took those 10,000 bananas and made some delicious bread. They still got outside (including many individuals who completed 10 laps of the 5K loop), hung out with an amazing community, ate good food, and danced their faces off (looking at you doughnut pants lady).
So for me, I’m currently taking my 10,000 bananas to Italy and Austria. I skied well enough at US Nationals to qualify for the Europa Cup Trip, and will be racing the equivalent of the World Cup “JV” circuit for two weeks. I’m excited to get some more high quality racing in this season before I actually do nothing but bake for a couple weeks, fueling up for another season of training.
I want to encourage everyone to make sure they surround themselves with bread makers. These are the people that make you feel empowered and important. I’m lucky enough to have a lot of bakers in my life. Plus…no one has ever complained about having too much banana bread
P.S.If you’re looking for a healthy banana bread recipe, head over to my food blog enduring eats. After a great week of races in Canada I had some extra bananas and buckwheat flour on my hands…and this delicious recipe came straight out of the oven into my tummy.
You either love Valentine’s Day or you hate it (I’m not sure there is a single person alive who feels “meh” towards this day of love). If you hate it…then this blog post is not for you (or maybe it is primarily for you). Because this blog post is all about love.
I love skiing. Through skiing I’ve met all of my best friends. I’ve learned a lot about myself, my body, and what makes me tick. And most of the time, skiing loves me back. I’ve found that generally the harder you work at skiing, the better (relative to others) you’ll become.
Except for sometimes, it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes no matter how much attention and love you give skiing, it just responds with a quick slap in the face. This smack is often the result of uncontrollable variables. Sometimes it’s a fall, a sickness, just plain bad feelings… or sometimes it is nine feet of snow in four days (looking at you, Truckee).
And as everyone knows, loving something (or someone) who just doesn’t seem to be loving you back is heartbreaking. To offset this heartbreak, common practice (Hallmark) produces a myriad of half joking cards renaming Valentine’s day “Singles Awareness Day” in some sort of semi-insulting-but-intended-to-be-empowering marketing scheme. Or cards hinting at the luxuriousness of cat-lady life, or the half sized bottles of wine to enjoy with your single filet mignon (and a microwave cupcake for one).
And while these are nice ideas, for anyone experiencing true heartbreak, this does absolutely nothing. No amount of “support” in the form of chocolates, flowers, and cards can heal a heartbreak. Further, hating other people (or the holiday) for having a requited love won’t get you very far either. In my newfound experience (thankfully only relating to skiing), the only way to move on is to give your unconditional love.
After the first half of the season and the snow storm that was Truckee, I was starting to feel a little bit spiteful towards skiing. Instead of throwing my unconditional love at races and training, I started just expecting something to go wrong. I became overly focused on things I simply could not control, and was failing to race the way I know best- going as hard as I can from the start and holding on.
When I went to talk to my strength/life coach Max, I described it as unrequited love. From this inherently negative perspective I was going to get nowhere. Max encouraged me to rebrand the love from unrequited to unconditional.
Racing will almost never go exactly how you want it to go. In fact, more often than not you will cross the finish line wishing you had done something differently- be it pacing, ski selection, waxing or group tactics. And if you don’t hold an unconditional love for racing, you will not make it very far. Because playing the victim and feeling genuinely hurt only digs you deeper into the hole. And the more you dig, the further you have to climb out.
As it turns out, I had about five days of climbing. But after five completely off days, I was feeling the love. Caitlin Gregg invited me to do some skate intervals with her at Wirth, and it was honestly the most fun I’d had in about two months on skis. We had a great session of cat and mouse, each pushing each other a little faster every interval. Then I went to Ottawa, Ontario for a three race weekend at Canadian Eastern Championships. I came away with one of my best qualifiers ever, a third place in the sprint and two wins in the classic and skate distance races.
Most importantly, I had so much fun doing it. Type two fun (because 15 Kilometers of skating in the falling snow as hard as you can go hurts a lot), but still, so much fun. And then I had three days of extra training in Ontario that included skating on the world’s largest outdoor ice arena, a beautiful ski through Gatineau Park (200 Kilometers of groomed trails!), a trip to the nicest anytime fitness I’ve ever been to, and finally a beautiful sunny day exploring the Nakkertok Trails (and the jumps they groom). I was lucky enough to be staying at a beautiful home near all of the foreign ambassadors home (courtesy of Veronica and Eric Wessels, Veronica was my mom’s Dartmouth roommate), and took many beautiful walks, checked out local coffee shops and cooked a lot of great food.
I’m back to a place of unconditional love, and with this emergent perspective I’m feeling a lot of love from skiing, too. We’re back to a very happy relationship, just in time for Valentine’s Day (coincidentally the next period of Supertour Racing and the Birkie).
So if you’re a person who loves Valentine’s Day…I’m with you. If you’re a person who thinks it’s the dumbest day in existence, I encourage you to change your perspective. Instead of thinking of it just as a hallmark holiday for people already in love to obnoxiously share that love all over social media, find the things that you have unconditional love for. Really give the unconditional love your full self, and I promise you’ll get some love back. With or without a card and instagram post
I feel confident that not one single person (even the ski guru Zach Caldwell himself) could have predicted the past nine days at Soldier Hollow for US Nationals. What is normally a very straightforward venue- both for waxers, coaches, and skiers alike- became anything but. Each day brought some new form of precipitation, often changing every five minutes. And in a sport where (like it or not) skis and wax make almost as big of a difference as an athlete’s fitness, this made the last week, in a word, hellish.
Waxers quite literally made beds under wax benches before classic days (Pat did an absolutely amazing job all week long- he cares so much and I am so lucky to have him on my side), and dealt with a myriad of logistical obstacles. To start, the wax trailers were 2 days late. Then the morning of the first race, there was no power to any of the wax trailers, forcing an hour delay. The grooming plan wasn’t clear, and for athletes there was not a warm up course that at all represented the actual race course. The timing site often crashed, leaving waxers, coaches, and athletes waiting till the last minute on sprint days to find out if they were in fact lucky losers. And finally, the wax cabins were about a 5 minute run and a 10 minute brisk walk to the start, which when combined with changing conditions (and coaches waiting until the last possible minute to make a wax call to try and ensure the best possible skis) certainly resulted in a couple of pre-race stress tears (GUILTY).
I don’t normally like to complain about race sites, but for this to be a standard for US Nationals competition is unacceptable, especially because U23 and Junior World Championships will be held at the same venue in just over two weeks. While it is a massive bummer that this had to happen at US Nationals, I think there is a lot that can be improved when the world’s best descend on Park City.
For all of these reasons (combined with the 5,000 foot elevation), this week did in fact put every single athlete, coach, waxer, volunteer, and parent through both hell and high water. Despite all of this, I’m pretty happy to report that I had two great race results, one medium result, and one result I just really have no explanation for at all.
The first day of racing was the 10K skate, and I will give that day an A+ for planning and a C for execution. I have always struggled with distance skating at altitude (I seem to always have a spectacular blow up), so I wanted to really pace the day. I went out conservatively, and for the first time in my life almost even splitted (went the same pace each lap), and also for the first time in my life missed the finish lane and instead headed out for another lap. I wasn’t the only one (the course was not well marked), but I feel lucky that even in my race haze I remembered to pull a 180 and go backwards to finish. So while the plan was a good one- pace and don’t blow up- I never got going fast enough to be competitive in the race. I think this is an important lesson. When you make a race plan, it will probably only work 75% of the time. It doesn’t mean that your plan was necessarily bad or you should never make a plan again, but it is worth recognizing what went right and what went wrong so you can make a better plan the next time.
Despite the added variables on a classic day, both the classic sprint and the classic 20K were great physical and mental efforts for me. I ended up racing the “A” Final on the classic sprint day to end up as the 4th American, and then went the opposite distance and finished as the fifth American on a very challenging and mental resiliency testing 20K day.
The new classic sprint course at Soldier Hollow is awesome. It is a course where double poling really isn’t a viable option for four rounds of as-hard-as-you-can-go efforts, and requires both tactics and fitness to prevail on top. The course is a combination of a minute of climbing, a fast downhill, a big kicker, and then a long stretch into the stadium. The lead up to the qualifier was I think the most nervous and stressed I’ve ever been before a race. The conditions were absolutely out of control- a combination of fresh powder, glazed tracks, and icy climbs. I chose to race on klister. I exploded out of the gates and was really excited about how I felt and the ratio of kick to glide (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VO5LNExTPrU) on my skis. But part way up the last wall, I realized that I was starting to accumulate a lot of snow on the bottom of my skis. This is particularly dangerous going into a big downhill (think face plant), and I decided to stop at the top of the climb and quickly scrape off my skis. I’m happy to report I made it down the hill on my feet, and also feeling really mature about myself as a racer. I know if that had happened last year I would not have even considered making a risk analysis (stop clean skis and lose seconds, or fall and lose more seconds) two minutes into a three minute race.
I qualified well, and throughout the heats learned that my fitness is right where I want it to be, but I got a little out-tacticted on the final climb. I was at the back of the pack as we descended into the stadium, and put down maybe my best double effort+lunge to date to clinch fourth American. Also, it was pouring outside the whole time (with no dry space near the start for either athletes, waxers, or coaches to go between heats- another thing to fix before U23/Worlds), and by the end of four rounds everyone looked like drowned rats or wet kittens (depending on your facial expression).
The 20K classic was a course with three distinct huge climbs, followed by fast downs with almost no flat or undulating terrain. It was clear to me at the beginning of the race that I had amazing climbing skis. I was able to stride right up most of the hills, and spent most of the race leading a group of four to close down a gap to the leaders. While I didn’t quite catch third place, I was really excited with my mental strength throughout an hour-plus of racing. I never gave up, and while I ended up fifth American on the day (not quite the first I was hoping for), I gave everything I had and have to be satisfied with that.
The final day of racing- a skate sprint qualifier only- I really have no answer for. I felt a little flat from the 20K effort two days prior, and the waxing conditions were rather difficult (heavy falling snow over wet snow over ice), but still I’m not sure what happened there. Typically my skate sprinting is one of my strengths, but I ended the day in the 20s, disappointed and scratching my head.
By the end of eight days of “hell and high water” (according to Caldwell Sport), I was exhausted and having a really tough time getting past the negatives and variables and focusing on the things that I did really well. I was having a hard time finding the silver lining. Driving to dinner with my mom through yet another snow storm, one of my favorite songs came on:
It’s worth listening to a couple of times (I’ve listened to it at least five times this morning). My three favorite lines are (1) “Hey, don’t write yourself off yet” (2) “It just takes some time, little girl your in the middle of the ride, everything everything will be alright” (3) “Live right now, yeah, just be yourself. It doesn’t matter if it’s good enough for someone else.”
Skiing, and US nationals this year in particular, felt like the most puke inducing roller coaster ride of my life. It was supremely challenging both physically and mentally, and I certainly had some seriously questioning moments. But it would be unfair to me to completely write myself off- at the end of the day I still had two top five races. I felt good, and I continue to feel strong and fast. I’m controlling the variables I can control, and getting much better at shaking off the variables I can’t. After all, it just takes some time, I’m going to keep on being myself and everything, everything will be just fine, everything, everything will be alright alright
There are a lot of skills (both practiced and innate) that get you to both the start and finish line of a race. There is punctuality (don’t ever take for granted getting to the start line on time, even after three years of professional racing and eight additional years of high school and college, I STILL have nightmares about missing my start), time management, multi-tasking, organization, fitness, strength (both mental and physical), speed, stamina…the list goes on. But- as I was recently reminded by a father of teammate of Val’s at St. Paul Academy- there is an often overlooked skill. As the father eloquently put it, “and of course, the essential athletic talent of forgetting.”
I’m going to make a slight adjustment. To get successfully to the start and finish line, one needs the essential athletic talent of selective memory.
In any career- whether it is skiing, law, teaching, parenting or cooking- you are going to have bad days. Sometimes caused by things in your control, but also often a result of uncontrollable variables. In fact in a lot of ways, you’ll have more bad days than perfect ones. But to reach those perfect days- when pain doesn’t resonate and everything just falls into place- you need to remember you are capable of a perfect day, AND you not only need to have bad days, but also you need to forget they even happened.
I set incredibly high expectations for myself going into the season. Coming off a kick-ass summer of training combined with some really positive fall time trial efforts, I was ready to take the season by storm. But race after race after race (x3 more races), I fell short of what I feel I’m capable of.
It was incredibly frustrating to finish every race disappointed in the end-result, and I had an incredibly hard time in the moment recognizing the things I could control, and the things I couldn’t; what went really well, and what went poorly. And each time I started a race, I carried that emotional baggage (which definitely took a physical toll) all the way around the course. So by the end of period one- despite actually placing better than I ever have in these opening races (nothing below 12th place, whereas last year I had some high 20 results)- I had six races weighing me down both mentally and physically.
So when my mom forwarded me that text, I was stunned. I had honed all of my other skills- I’m objectively stronger and faster than ever before- but I’d forgotten how to forget, or rather selectively remember. I’d dwelled on things that didn’t go my way or well, and completely forgot to remember all the things I had done to get me to this point.
So with a 14 day training block at home before heading to the ever important nationals races in Par k City Utah, I embarked on practicing the skill of selective memory. This doesn’t mean I’m not going to reflect on less than ideal races, but every time I start a training ski or a race, I’m going to view it as a blank slate and an opportunity to showcase my effort. I’ve had some really positive sessions this last week (I did my first muscle-up!), and also some really wonderful relaxing at home with my family.
I’ll post another update after Nationals, and until then I’ll be snacking on all the best holiday treats, singing my favorite holiday songs, and working on that selective memory (in fact I just recently watched Finding Dory, a movie all about a fish with short term memory loss). Happy Holidays, and now for lots of pictures!
Every year I head into the first races of the seasons with high expectations. Each time I toe the start line, I know I’ve worked harder than ever before. I know I’ve made gains in technique, fitness, and strength. Despite this knowledge, every year I cross the first finish line I am left…wanting. A little disappointed, a little discouraged, and a little bit perplexed. So, every year I write a blog working my way through the weekend. Year one: On Starts. Year two: Finding Finesse. Given this history, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the opening weekend of races. They were WAY better than years past (each year at West Yellowstone I’ve cut my eventual result in half- 7th this year instead of 28th in 2014), but still not what I wanted (RE: winning). This year is a little different because that first race weekend didn’t count for overall domestic points scoring (that happens this weekend), but still a race is a race. And as a racer I’m generally unhappy when things don’t go to plan.
So cooling down from the races, I was searching for an analogy. Being a perennial pancake person (in the ongoing debate of pancakes vs. waffles vs. french toast), I decided that my racing is rather like pancake making.
To anyone who has made pancakes- you know about the first pancake theory. For no real scientific reason- the pan, the ingredients, and the chef remain the same- that first pancake just doesn’t turn out like the rest. I tried searching for a scientific explanation, and there just isn’t one. There are some nonscientific ones HERE, the most succinct coming from KrazyKakeKylie using the source “myself.” You don’t do anything differently, but that first pancake is a little flat, a little burnt (or undercooked), and just not as tasty. So you make one (and in our household give it to the dog), and then by the next batch things turn around.
And, no one remembers that first pancake. The first pancake is heavily (and thankfully) overshadowed by the glorious batches that follow. I was devastated after the first races last year, but went on to podium for the first time at US Nationals, win my first SuperTour, and race in my first World Cups. But if I’d given up and assumed that the first pancake would be representative of the following pancakes…well I’d be hungry.
So instead of throwing away the entire batch before I even give it a chance to cook, I’m going to figure out how to make them better. For one, I should turn up the heat. I skied technically well last weekend, but (I think) was so focused on skiing well that I ignored the ski really fast part. Pacing has always been a struggle of mine, and the transition from pavement to snow makes that extra hard (you don’t get a perfect push every time on snow). Further, you don’t pick different roller skis for different conditions. I’m immensely thankful for all the new Madshus skis I got this year, but am still figuring out the prime conditions for each and working with Pat to figure out how to best wax them for kick.
Finally, I will head into the next weekend of races with twice as much skiing under my belt. I decided to stick around Vermont this summer instead of travel for snow, so the learning curve is steep. Kikkan Randall (who, granted, had a baby last year, making her transition all the more impressive) likened getting back to snow skiing like riding a bike: “It is a bit like riding a bike. The sensations are all there and I’m used to it, but it’s also new again. But I kind of like that. I really enjoyed working my way to the top and where I was through the 2014 season, and now I have to work my way back. I like that challenge.”
I’ll report back on the second batch next week. Until then it is time to recover from a big week of training and intensity on snow, and get ready for our first Super Tour races of the season- back at West Yellowstone because of (lack of) snow problems in Bozeman.
Loading up my haul of 2016-2017 Madshus skis for the race season, coach Pat reminded me to raid the Caldwell Sport ski tie bin. If you’re racing at any level, chances are high your skis have travelled through Putney, Vermont and the Caldwell grinder. And if you’re lucky enough, you not only get your skis ground, but watch fresh coffee get ground and then transformed in their state of the art espresso machine. I digress.
Because of the vast quantity of skis that go through the shop in the season, Caldwell sport ends up with a lot of ski ties. And I mean a lot. And in a world where ski ties are essentially currency come race day, I loaded up for the season (because somehow, like hair ties and socks, you never seem to hold on to them for more than a week). As I tossed the ties into my bag, I noticed one of them said, “Sharmila Ahmed, Midwest J2.”
Sharmila and I crossed paths many times in high school and college. We raced together with Jen Rolfes (who went on to ski for Harvard and from what I can tell became fluent in Russian) to fifth place during the 2008 Junior National Relay Championships in Anchorage, Alaska. I distinctly remember a sections race where seeing Sharmilla on the start list right after me may have initiated my habit of starting races as hard as possible (and seeing her teammate Maria Tinebra 30 seconds behind me only further fueled that questionable habit). And while Sharmila had mono (I think) our senior year of high school and consequently wasn’t competing in the race, she is front and center in a picture I have framed at my house of now teammate Jessie Diggins and I tucking into the final sprint of the 2010 State High School meet (dubbed by the Star Tribune as the most exciting cross country ski race maybe ever…full recap with video here).
Her mouth is wide open with her hands in the air as she’s cheering both Jessie and I on (I know it’s her because of the Burnsville Letterman’s Jacket, and her signature braids poking out from her hat). Our paths diverged in college- her competing for St. Scholastica in the central region and me for Dartmouth in the eastern one.
Sharmila and I are Facebook friends, but other than that I don’t think I’ve talked to her since sometime at an NCAA race in college, so this blog post will probably come as a huge surprise to her. But seeing her name on that ski tie brought a big old smile to my face. And because we are nearing Thanksgiving, I’d like to start the what-I’m-thankful-for-list. I’ll begin with ski ties.
Obviously I’m thankful for ski ties because they keep my skis safe from me, the pavement, and the airlines. Beyond binding my skis together, in a community like the cross country ski one that seems simultaneously so vast and so small (and so prone to thievery, apparently) ski ties are a great way to reconnect and reflect. It seems silly that something so over priced (5 dollars for a piece of foam sewed between two flimsy pieces of fabric…unless you’re Sam Tarling and get them personalized…points out there to anyone who managed to snag one of those) and so small could bring me so much joy. Ready yourself for the pun ahead: Ski ties really are the ties that bind.
As everyone hits their first snow and first races of the year, I encourage you to take a look through your ski tie collection. I’m willing to bet you have a tie with someones’ name on it that will bring you back to a particular race, moment, old friendship or rivalry (and undoubtedly some awkward high school crushes). Reach out to that person. And realize how fortunate we are to be part of such a wonderful and supportive community. I feel so thankful all the time that I get to spend some of my twenties chasing snow and goals alongside such an amazing crew.
And Sharmila, if I haven’t lost the ski tie by the time I post this blog (which may seem crazy, but I’ve lost ski ties faster than that), I’d like to give that ski tie back to you as part of a holiday care package. Let me know if you like milk or dark chocolate, and I’ll send it your way Happy early snow to everyone, and happy Thanksgiving! Here are a couple shots of the last two weeks…
Last year around this time I wrote about campaign season, and how I secretly loved every minute of it. I’m here to formally retract that blog post. I am BEYOND ready for this election season to come to a close. That said, this blog post will be drawing inspiration from this current situation. Regardless of political leanings or opinions, you would be hard pressed to call this election normal. In typical election years, the October surprise is a news event concerning one or both of the primary presidential candidates that either coincidentally or purposefully influences the eventual outcome of the race. But when the Saturday Night Live skits and the events they are satirizing could work both ways, can there really be an October surprise? I’m going to argue no. Nothing that happens from here until (…or beyond) November 8th will surprise me. And that goes for my ski season as well.
The last two weeks in Park City have made it clear to me one thing: If you spend five months working really hard, focusing on the small details, there won’t be any October surprises (the same can’t be said for America, apparently). And when the only kind of surprises I like involve good food, this is a good thing. In past years I’ve been incredibly nervous for the first race simulations of the year, wondering how I was going to feel and where I’d land amongst my peers. In fact during my first year of full time racing, I couldn’t even finish a bowl of oatmeal before the first Park City time trial (a surprise to all who know me).
But this year was different. Before our two time trials, I warmed up as I normally would and instead of feeling nervous I just felt excited (okay, also a little bit nervous, but in the good way). I shot out of the “gate” (Head Coach Chris Grover’s arm) and immediately began focusing on my breathing, and relying on months of technique work to take care of itself. I found myself not worrying about other people, but only how I was going to get up this hill (or more importantly DOWN the infamous solider hollow hill on roller skis), across that flat and into the finish line. So when I finished, I didn’t have to wonder if I had put down a good time- I knew I had done the absolute best I could, so that time would be good enough. No surprises, just a lot of hard work summarized in a 30 minute all out effort.
Of course October roller ski time trials don’t mean everything, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to have a confidence booster going into the season. I’m not expecting any November Surprises either (again, not sure if we can say the same for America), but I’ll keep you updated as we get closer to race season (three weeks for me, six days for America- make sure you vote!).
On a list of all time favorite movies, Finding Nemo tops my list (me, and everyone else in the world. On Rotten Tomato’s tomatometer the film scores a whopping 99%, with only 2 “rotten reviews.” And the people who gave this film a rotten review must have lost a pet fish recently and therefore felt particularly sensitive when confronted with their deceased fishs’ likeness). It’s hard for me to pick a favorite scene from my favorite movie, but Nemo’s naming ceremony definitely ranks in my top 3.
In this scene, Nemo gets re-dubbed “Shark Bait.” And besides the forever quotable line, SHARK BAIT OOH HAHA, the moment is big for Nemo. Before receiving his name, he must swim through the ring of fire- an aggressive line of bubbles. This might be easy for other fish, but Nemo is young and has a small right fin (the result of an attack on his home as an egg). But with a strong determination, the promise of membership in the tank, and his mentor waiting on the other side, Nemo swims through the ring, and right into the waiting nose of Gill. It is then that the other fish give Nemo his alter ego as Shark Bait, and the story continues from there.
Backing up, what got me thinking about Nemo, Shark Bait, and celebrating Shark Bait was the first fish I held in South Dakota visiting Thomas. The fish was not big, I did not catch the fish (that honor goes to Thomas), but it was none the less exhilarating to hold the little guy up for the camera.
Back to Nemo, I don’t think it is a coincidence that they name him Shark Bait. Obviously in the literal sense Nemo is actually Shark Bait. He is small, and in the big ocean he sits closer to the bottom of the food chain than the top. But, that doesn’t mean he isn’t important. He plays a vital role in the broader ocean ecosystem, the dentist’s tank, and is family. Besides being a talking fish, Nemo has many accomplishments that ought to be celebrated.
As a skier, it can become daunting to think of the big things- in this extended metaphor, the shark. Earlier this summer I got myself a little wrapped up in chasing the shark, forgetting to acknowledge the “shark bait” I was achieving. When I went home to Minnesota, I had a wonderful opportunity to slow down and think about how all of the shark bait I was achieving was actually helping me reach the shark. I had a series of great workouts where everything felt like it should- my mental and physical coalesced into workouts where I thoroughly surprised myself.
Further, I had the awesome day of Friend and Fundraising, where a bunch of individuals (different shark baits) all came together to chase the big shark- and it was a success! Within the next week I will be emailing the winners of the raffle (sorry of the delay! Things got very busy at home), and would further like to thank everyone for being part of my shark bait. I’ll be in the West (moving from Rapid City to Park City) for the duration of October, and then I will head back East until racing starts back out West in early December. Thank you to everyone who reads along- you can’t catch a shark without some shark bait (OOH HAHA)