An Ode to a Forgotten Hero

Ski poles are a beautiful thing. They are an extension of my body, with their sole purpose in life being to make me better, faster, and stronger. They respond to my every command, and never ask for anything in exchange. They are selfless agents of athletic perfection.

Over the years my ski poles have seen the world with me. They have been my constant companion through some of the most athletically painful experiences of my life. They were at my side every step of the way to the top of the tallest mountains. They have expressed my happiness, relief, frustration, and disappointment across every finish line. They have never let me down.

But today I have let you down poles. I fell today, in the Hyalite-Bozeman Creek Time Trial, and I have broken you. And while you may be joining my poles broken of past, I will never forget you and what you have done for me.

I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the ski shop this past December. You were 180cm of perfection, flaunting your fluorescent green and white stature. Just holding you made me feel fast, made me feel worthy. You brought me to victory at World Junior Trials, and paved the way for a comeback this January when I thought my results would only continue their downward trend. You were my responsibility, where I could and would take care of you, and let no part of you get in harm’s way. I have failed you. You were so young and full of potential.

Today in your honor I raced the remaining 10 kilometers of the Time Trial with your broken pieces safely in my grasp, using the memory of our past victories to inspire me to continue with only my legs as propulsion. We did good, and finished only seconds behind the victors. You gave me the willpower to reach a new maximum heart-rate, and push through the schorching pain my legs felt throughout the race. You will never be forgotten. I will see you again someday, I am sure of it. You might be in the form of a clever ski wind chime, and I in the form of a desperate biathlete trying to sell ski pole wind chimes to raise money for World Junior Championships and new poles. Who knows.

Farewell my poles. Farewell.   

Busy Saturdays und so Weiter

The bouldering comp. Second Heat.
What's climbing without music?

Today was the Hyalite-Bozeman Creek Time Trial. I had a spectacular high-speed crash right off the bat, and broke my beautiful new poles. Only a skier knows the true anguish of breaking both poles in a race. After the time trial, I high-tailed it back to campus where I did a 4 hour DJ set for the MSU Bouldering Competition. It was a good distraction from breaking my beautiful new shiny poles. I guess from now on everything I earn will be going towards new poles. And Worlds.. dang this is an expensive sport. 

The race course today.
My watch can do some amazing things, like overlay my races
on 3D satellite images. 

Kicking Grass in the BoZone

Conditions are not exactly a skier's paradise, but at least for now we're all in it together.
Really makes you appreciate the perfect corduroy. Victory will be all the sweeter
after putting in the majority of my workouts on this 1k loop.

3 Options

quit

[kwit] verb, quit or quit·ted, quit·ting,adjective

1. to stop, cease, or discontinue

2. to release from obligation; free, clear, etc.

per·se·vere

[pur-suh-veer] verb, -vered,-ver·ing

1.to persist in anything undertaken; maintain a purpose inspite of difficulty, obstacles, or discouragement; continue steadfastly.

vic·to·ry

[vik-tuh-ree, vik-tree] noun, plural -ries.

1. a success or superior position achieved against any opponent, opposition, difficulty, etc.

Today was the Sacagawea Classic at Bohart Ranch, and to make a long story short it was chaos. 36 degrees with rain and snow dumping from the sky made for almost impossible waxing conditions, and within three minutes of the start I was soaked to the bone. My kick wax grabbed every piece of snow, rock, ice, and branch it touched and refused to let go. I was running on super glue. I stopped 13 times in the race to pound the crud from the bottom of my skis. It took me 78 minutes to race 18 kilometers.

2 minutes into the most bizarre race of my career, both physically
and mentally. Pouring rain and... awesome??

Many people dropped out, and a part of me didn’t blame them. I’ve always raced with the philosophy of “You can’t finish first if you don’t finish.”  Personally, if I dropped out of a race every time I was frustrated or exhausted with 10k to go, I would rarely make it to the finish line. Only one person can be first, and to the rest defeat is inevitable. To admit to this defeat before the End would only fill me with woulda-shoulda-coulda thoughts. I don’t like those thoughts.

However to me there’s a difference between pain and suffering. Yeah I totally got spanked by some weekend warriors, including girls, and yeah it took me twice as long as it usually would to ski a race like that, but after crossing the finish I felt like ‘wow, I can’t believe I got to the end of this’ and had to laugh about it. I wasn’t the only one skiing those conditions today, and there was a sort of camaraderie amongst all of us rain-drenched and bedraggled racers that got through it, and I felt proud to be among them.