White Mountains 100

On May 28, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Endurance Races, Mental Health, Other Adventures, Uncategorized2 Comments

In November 2019, Grande told me about the White Mountains 100 and I put in for the lottery and got in. In March of 2020 the race was cancelled (for good reasons) and I never made it to the starting line. This past November a friend reminded me of the lottery and I put in. I got in, along with Grande, Ana, and Holly. In a lot of ways it feels like this year is the year I was planning on having in 2020 without the whole pandemic thing. It’s been weird to think about, almost like the past few years didn’t happen.

Rachel and I on a ride in January 2020–I have learned so much since then including how to dress on the bike now

But of course they did and certainly left wounds that have become scars and speaking from the scar is certainly easier than speaking from the wound. In a way this month has been one of the harder ones with memories coming back in pieces– the stark realization of how much my voice didn’t exist and the things that I took on, the sink I became for emotions, the projections that happened, the suspended space I lived in. I pointed out to some friends that I feel like I still bring things up that happened and they were like of course you do because you didn’t talk about it for so long, we had no idea what was even going on. My therapist says that it’s because I’m more out of the fight/flight mode and no longer in survival mode so have a different perspective. I mostly spent much of April getting outside with friends, going for big ski objectives, and surrounding myself with those that didn’t leave me with feelings of being disposable.

Annnnyways parts of April still felt like I was speaking from the wound realizing at all that had come out last year and at some point I’ll share more of the story, the dark places my brain took me but for now back to the Whites.

Grande, Ana, Holly, and I were all in for the White Mountains 100 which I was grateful to have others to help figure out logistics. We found a friend to stay with and Grande rented a u-haul van. Oh, that was easy now the part where I hadn’t done much (re: any) biking since October. I did a ride the week before the race with Grande and Lil’ snugs– reminding myself what it was like to pedal. I borrowed Dusty’s bike and boots for the race since I still haven’t bought a fat bike. Charlotte was able to come up for the weekend so we left on Friday afternoon, which meant I was able to be somewhat lenient with what I packed still not exactly knowing what I would be needing.

We headed up the Parks Highway and I was reminded of how long it had been since I drove that road, at least summer of 2021. The road in the park has had some erosion and has been closed for some time so in terms of biking it, there really wasn’t an appeal to go up for only about 15-20 miles of road. But driving back up, I was reminded of the first time I drove to the park and how captivating it was to see Denali so close. We got stuck in between a few military convoys but made it to Fairbanks without much fanfare. We stopped by the grocery store and then headed to the house.

I went to the airport around midnight and got Ana and Grande, despite my optimism we could not fit 3 bikes and 3 people in Charlotte’s car but Ana was able to find a truck that served as a taxi and follow us back to the house.

The next morning Charlotte headed to the local ski hill, Grande picked up the U-Haul and Holly from the airport and we all went through our things to be race ready— mostly building up bikes and laying out gear, another run to the grocery store to stock up on more food for the race. Later in the afternoon we headed to the race meeting. It’s a mandatory race meeting and if you don’t check in, it’s an automatic disqualification.

It’s also the only race meeting I’ve ever attended that had a PowerPoint. There was some good info about overflow and trail conditions, but I left the meeting feeling more like I hope I don’t die than any type of excitement for the race. I conferred with the others and they agreed that it seemed more doom and gloom, I lamented that I hadn’t even thought to pack my puffy pants and what if I had to sleep out next to the trail. I didn’t think it would be longer than 15ish hours at the most but now I was concerned that I would miss my flight that was schedule for Monday evening (36 hours after we started). The pre-race meeting was filed with information about the harsh elements that could meet us out there and a reminder that the most remote place in the lower 48 is 24 miles from a road (this doesn’t seem accurate) and the race is 27 miles from the road, and if people scratch it can be hours or days before a snow machine can get you. Lovely.

Ana and Grande had done it before and reassured me that it probably wouldn’t be that bad. Holly was on skis and depending on trial conditions, we could all end up having very different experiences. We made dinner that night and caught back up with Charlotte about the ski hill conditions. We filled her in on the pre-race meeting and then all settled into the familiar routine of catching up and dancing back and forth between life (houses, relationships, work, school, books we’re reading) and race conversations.

The morning of the race we all worked in harmony around the kitchen preparing a big breakfast and doing last minute adjustments, I put extra layers into a dry bag and stuffed it into my sack, along with my inhaler, inreach, battery pack, and emergency sour patch kids, all for safe keeping and stuffed it into the bottom of my bag. I had decided to run a camelback and knew that I would risk freezing the hose for the race but also planned on putting a small bottle into the pogie on the bike to keep that from freezing.

We loaded up with three bikes, one pair of skis, and all our gear in the back of the U-Haul van. We caravanned up to the start, grateful that with Charlotte’s car we all had seatbelts. Charlotte was going to head back to Anchorage at some point during the race- I figured out that even if I somehow finished in under 10 hours, driving back would put us into Anchorage super late for the Monday work day so I’d take a flight back Monday evening and Charlotte would head back in time to get to work on Monday. We arrived at the start– really the parking lot to the start as we all had to meet at 7:50 to cross the highway to the start. I shuffled back and forth between Charlotte’s car and the van putting on layers, debating things, and finally feeling ready.

Except I couldn’t find the water bottle I was going to put in the pogie. No matter, I had my camelback and would just put warm water in as I got into the checkpoints. Charlotte was a life saver by being able to take our puffy jackets from the start right before we lined up, meaning we could keep them on for another 9 minutes before we released them– I shivered anticipating the cold I would feel throughout the day.

I had slotted myself next to the others and when the gun started lost them all in the chaos as the wheels started to move next to me and realized I needed to go too. I followed a group up from the parking lot on the course, knowing it would be a mile or two of uphill to warm up. I was worried that I would get slung off the back but was able to hold whatever pace was being set in front of me. This wasn’t like the fatbike rides I had done before, there was no leisure happening and I was just hoping to not cause a calamity on the trail.

After the initial uphill there was a few miles descent which helped to spread the pack out a bit more. Grande and I were close but kept leap frogging and I could still see Ana in front of me. My main concern was that I didn’t want to be hours behind everyone and they would be waiting at the finish for me. As I figured, my hose froze before I had the chance to drink any water. My new plan was to drink as much as I could at the aid stations and not plan so much on drinking any in between. I stopped to adjust the seat height (I had never ridden the bike before the race– thanks again for the loaner, Dusty!), take off a layer, and rejig my hose to run under my armpit in the hopes that the warmth would thaw it a bit. I got behind Grande’s wheel but at the first aid station (mile 15 or so) she kept going and I stopped to drink something. This was also the last point where you could self bail and head back to the start without having to wait for a rescue. I noted it but didn’t think about it and drank some warm tang before peeing next to the bike and getting back on my way. I was mostly by myself at this point and my mind was pinging between thoughts, “should you eat something; oh wow, look at that; I wonder what skiing this would be like; how do people even run this; how did I get so lucky; I hope my body holds up; this isn’t what I expected but so much better”. I saw Grande in the distance and thought I would catch her shortly but then I saw something on the trail that stopped me, an antler. I got off the bike and went back to it, it was pretty cool and I figured when would I be here again to find something like this. Most of it fit in my bag and the remainder stuck out but was cinched down. I got back on the bike before realizing that the smell of death was literally chasing me. The antler gave on a distinct musk, dense and heavy, and when the wind blew just right a pungent smell would hit me and I’d be reminded that I picked up this dead thing from the trail to take home as a souvenir. Motivation to ride faster?

A few miles later I saw Grande in the distance and worked to try and catch her realizing that riding with her would be better than riding by myself, plus I hadn’t printed off course directions. I was able to catch up to her after a bit and sat on her wheel while we chatted, we would take turns in the front with me leading the on the descents and her leading on the climbs but coming back together on the flats. We rode this way to the next check-point, Cache Mountain Cabin (mile 40), both deciding that we didn’t want to take too long. We got to the cabin and they had boiled potatoes, I loaded mine with salt and bacon and ate it before pocketing two more potatoes for later. I filled my camelbak with warm water as the hose had melted out and I had been able to drink some water in between aid stations. We made small talk with the volunteers asking about trail conditions, where they snowmachined in from, and one commented about the antler in my bag. I grabbed some more tang and we headed out. The next section would bring us over a pass and onto the ice fields.

We wove our way into the forest to begin the climb up to the pass, Grande would relay what the section had been like the last time she had done it and how it compared to now. I was grateful for all the knowledge that had been passed onto me and the tricks that were given. Grande had brought extra trash bags for us to all grab and use for the overflow. I had stashed them into my pack with some ski straps making them accessible when I would need them. I joked with Grande on how we had both been in for the 2020 version of this but now we were doing it three years later. When I moved up to Anchorage, I met Grande and her husband Dusty on one of my first weekends in town. I joked that I paid for them to be my friends because I had signed up for a bike packing course that they taught and after that weekend we became good friends. When I was in the throws of it in January of 2021 we went on a walk and she reminded me that she knew me before I was dealing with COVID and in a relationship and assured me I would get my mojo back, I certainly didn’t believe her then but it was comforting to hear. Someone who knew me prior, it was like those who knew me prior knew I would return even when I had my doubts. I tell her this in snippets, half joking if it’s weird that her and Dusty are married since I think of them like older (wiser) siblings.

As we were about to start the real climb up onto the pass we ran into a biker coming the other way. Grande knew her so we stopped and chatted for a bit, they were doing the route backwards and had been bikepacking for a few days. After departing I said it would definitely be cool to come back and bikepack this and really take in the views.

As we were about to crest the pass I turned around to see Holly making her way towards us. I yell ahead to Grande to let her know and we both got off the trail to cheer her on. We briefly chatted about her skis (she had been debating which ones to take beforehand) and quickly started following behind her. She was able to pull ahead of us on descent as the firm snow turned into loose powder and we both had one foot out to steady us as we descended. Grande had mentioned that in previous years she actually had to walk up and down the pass because of snow conditions and I was just grateful that we weren’t having to do much hike-a-biking.

We got to the anticipated ice fields that would have the overflow but were pleasantly surprised at them actually being ice fields and no overflow. We picked our way through and seeing a clear path, I was in front when my wheels lost traction and I went down, sliding along with my bike. I got up and did a quick assessment, bike was okay, I was surprisingly okay, not even really being able to indict what the first impact was (don’t worry it was not my head) as I seemed to just disperse the impact on my left side. I got up and we continued on, I was a bit more tepid and followed Grande’s lead when she would get off and walk on the ice. The ice lakes had no overflow and while we walked some spots we were able to move quickly through the sections and before I knew it we were back into the forest and headed towards the third check-point. The views here proved unlike any that I had seen in Alaska with dramatic limestone cliffs jetting out from the drainage we were in. We approached Windy Gap Cabin and headed in.

We asked how far ahead Ana and Holly were and were both excited when we heard Ana was in the lead and Holly wasn’t too far in front of us. I took some rice and then in current state decided to put some tang powder on it– after a few bites I immediately regretted it. I felt sheepish about asking for new rice so ate some of it quickly and shoved the rest into the trash. I grabbed a handful of other treats and we took a few extra minutes at this station than we had previously done. I still had plenty of food that I had brought and had been supplementing ‘real’ food with sour patch kids every few minutes to keep my sugar and energy levels up. We left the cabin and stayed in the drainage weaving in and out of trees for the next 10 miles and hugging the limestone rock. We crossed the intersection to another cabin which wasn’t on the race route but someone had set up a chair and bike as if they were spectating but we didn’t actually see anyone. After a brief little climb and descent, the course felt more enclosed and some of the view points were obstructed by weaving in and out of the hills. We saw signs approaching the last checkpoint and parked our bikes at the bottom of the little hill to walk up to the cabin. A high school ski group was running it and we ran into Holly here — we talked more about the race as we independently grabbed food and filled water. Woohooo! Almost done, right! We took a few photos, thanked those who were out here and took off again. Grande and I headed back down to our bikes with Holly out in front of us.

We got back on the trail and remained in the drainage with a few more frozen creek crossings. We caught up to Holly and I was jealous of how easily she was able to navigate the slick creek crossings on skis. Watching people who are really good at their sport is always really inspiring, there is such beauty and grace in how their bodies and equipment flow together. Holly and Grande are both two prime examples of this. After the creek crossing we jumped back ahead of Holly as she stopped to make and adjustment. We climbed our way up towards the final trail shelter, there is no support here except some water and a duralog if you need it. Seeing it meant we were close to the end but the Wickersham Wall loomed in between us and the finish line.

We had been able to see the Wickersham Wall for the past few miles, raising 600 feet in just over a mile above the valley floor. The crest of it would take us back to the finish line. We started up it and after a few pedal strokes both got off to push our bikes up. We laughed because at one point Grande had told Holly that she would just be able to fast feet up it (moving her hands and making a noise to denote how quickly she’d be able to ascend). I joked that I wish I was able to do the same mechanics now. We got to the top and then took pictures of each other (like a proud mom moment). Over the past few years one of the sayings that Grande and I have passed back and forth to each other is, “You’re doing great sweetie” (it’s a references from the Kardashians when one of the daughters is crying during a shoot or something and her mom tells her that).

We started the descent and Grande took out her light, I waited to take mine out as with the summer sun coming back there would be few opportunities left to soak in the darkness. I followed her tracks and settled into the feeling, the flow of being at ease with the movements, the stillness that comes from knowing your own body and mechanics. This didn’t last long as I realized I would be real dumb if I crashed because I didn’t have a headlight and stopped to dig mine out. I caught back up to Grande after she waited for me and then she yielded the trail for the descent. I ran into a guy I knew from the area who was out running and who had done the bike and he was like, “oh we all thought you were on skis” and I was like, “absolutely not”. The tracker showed that I was on skis for the whole race and for not being a known skier everyone was terribly confused by this. The confusion cleared up when he saw that I was on a bike. We followed the trail back down into the parking lot that we had started from, crossing the line together. Ana met us having been done for a bit (she crushed it, winning the race, her second year in a row!) and had moved the U-Haul van closer for us to have easy access. I went into the warming station to grab some hot water and then immediately when back out when I hear more cheering and Holly crossing the finish line. Grande, Holly, and I all finished around 13 hours– much better than the 36 I had started to expect after the race meeting.

We all finished relatively close to one other and a brief rest in the U-Haul van we got packed up and headed back to the house. Ana and Grande had an early morning flight to catch with Holly and I leaving later on Monday evening.

By the time I woke up to start work the next morning at 5am, Grande and Ana were gone. I worked most of the day and then packed up my bike and did a short walk around the river with Holly. I shared with her some of the parts of the panic attack, the anxiety, the intrusive thoughts, the feelings of OCD, the demise of my sense of self and relationship. And also talked more about female athletes and the culture that exists today to operate in, she was reading Kara Goucher’s memoir so we talked a lot about the issues women still face today in the sport, from the elites to middle school level.

The weekend was really fun and it had been a while since I had done a race with other people. People asked if Grande and I planned to ride together and we never talked about it prior it just so happens that after 20ish miles we seem to be the same pace and riding with someone else is always better than riding by yourself (at least for me). I spent a lot of time during the race dipping in and out of my mind and processing all that had existed during the past year.

Dad, if you’ve made it this far, feel free to stop reading here.

It’s hard to find the words of what transpired over the past year(s), but the feelings certainly were there. I thought a lot about coming into the White Mountains with very little bike training, but I knew my body and my history enough to know what to anticipate for 100 miles and could be prepared for it. I think about the Tatanka 100 a lot—it was the worst race I ever had (in a lot of metrics). I loosely thought I’d be going for the course record and then everything went sideways, I got lost, I bonked, I had to hike-a-bike over so many boulders, I laid on a cardboard slab for an hour, I thought of pulling the plug so many times and I cried and I cried and I cried. I hated that course so much when I was done—it took me to the darkest places I have ever gone bike racing.

Because of that race I know so much more of what I’m capable of—if I have to hike for 50 miles during a race, I’ll survive, if I get lost, I’ll survive, if I spend 4 hours crying, I’ll survive. In a way it’s given me the confidence to be more sure of what I can sign up for and attempt. I think about this a lot now in terms of life—the trauma of the past few years—the perfect storm—thinking back to being asked “what will happen if you [I] have another panic attack”. That question no longer startles me with the potential tizzy it would send my life into. But instead, this place of acceptance of having some confidence that if I do go to those dark places again, there will be a trail of a light that I can follow to get myself out. Maybe that’s why I’ve written about it so much in my blog in case I need to find my way home again.

With the Tatanka 100, I realized that so much hurt came from this place of expectations versus what actually happened—the outcome that I was attached to. In life, this chasm exists the expectations of how things will unfold, how people will show up (or not). The timeline I had for healing the expectation that one more meditation, journal entry, yoga class, would be what healed me. But we never actually get to this place of arrival of enlightenment, we are constantly growing (or not). But I think that’s what keeps drawing me back to the various trails, they hold no expectation for you—they meet you where you are.

I heard someone say recently that they couldn’t tell a story until there was a happy ending—and I don’t think there is ever really this happy ending but this place of acceptance, of fulfillment –of learning to not get attached to the outcomes, the expectations, the behaviors of others and myself. I always found it strange when people would say that their goal is to be happy, happiness is a fleeting emotion, it’s not realistic. We’re all happy humans and none of us are happy humans and we get to experience it all, this full range, this joy of being human, of dancing with the darkness and re-finding the light again and again and again.

I was reminded of this while out skiing in New Hampshire recently, someone asked us if we were having a good adventure and Alexi replied that if you’re looking for adventure you can find it anywhere. I think for me in the past I was clinging so tight to what I thought this life and adventure should look like that I didn’t realize how much was beyond the walls I had built around myself. But isn’t part of being human learning to no longer seek out the homes that do not (cannot) hold us.

I had to do this exercise in therapy where I listed all the ways I have grown in the last year (from post-traumatic stress comes post-traumatic growth) and I told her that every day (if not multiple times a day) I have a realization of wow, I can do this thing and there is no problem and all the freedom that has come with it in deciding how to show up. In this exercise I went back to the writings from that time, reminding myself of what I used to carry in me. The writings from that time don’t fit anymore- they feel panic, urgent, chaotic, but they fit who I was then, this comet on her way to dissolving upon reaching the atmosphere, the fleeting feelings of almost arriving, of almost being whole, of almost being enough. That narrative doesn’t fit me anymore because I don’t fit in that tiny box anymore- the uncertainly still exists, as it always has but it’s more tempered, at ease, at realizing that burning up the mess of restrictions allows for reclamation– of my talents, my energy, my priorities, my values. They say you can’t heal in the same environment that made you sick— I remember writing that in my notes at his house, realizing the end would be coming soon, new soil would be tilled, different seeds would be planted, and I’d be allowed to bloom in conditions that were conducive to my growth and creativity.

Who knew this would be such fertile soil for me to bloom on

I sat on this post for a while and went through multiple iterations, sending a draft to Jane, talking about it with others, deciding how to share. In the end I edited a lot because those that know me probably have heard more than enough at this point and as a friend reminded me those that know me know what I’ve been carrying – so in a lot of ways it’s like looking at a result sheet and only seeing the time but no idea the story of how one got there (like obviously contact me if you want the tea and the dark places my brain went—I’m an external processor and always happy to share). Narratives don’t form in vacuums and in being able to talk about what happened during COVID has allowed it to be molded in the world outside of me—and the pain becomes something outside of me allowing new things to grow in what was holding space for the trauma. I think of it similar to the Tatanka 100, where it was just a perfect storm of having the rug pulled out from me and everything going sideways at once—and it’s hard to parse out what was what and what caused the foundation to crack—but it doesn’t really matter as they say the only benefit of looking behind you is to see how far you’ve come. Just like the Tatanka 100 when I got to the end, Barb greeted me with a big smile and congratulations and held space for me to tell her all about my adventures from the day. The tears dried quickly and was replaced with more of a “I cannnnnot believe this happened” and turning it into a hilarious bit of the worst race of my life. I was able to move to a place of acceptance rather quickly, put that race behind, and carry the lessons I learned from it forward. Grateful for all of those who have held space for me to process everything that has transpired– I think societally we have a larger reckoning with what happened during COVID, all that took place, things that emerged, how we’ve arrived after. And just like the White Mountains 100 it’s sure fun to be surrounded by a great crew to get you to the starting line and meeting you at the finish line of some of life’s biggest trials [trails].

Anyyyyyyways, I could probably write a book on all the ways the healing process is like an endurance race but will stop here because I’m sure my dad stopped reading paragraphs ago- ha. The White Mountains was fun and realized that it was the last time I rode my bike but headed to Iceland in about a month for a race so training looks little different this year.

If you have it made it this far, thanks for sticking with, I realize this post is a bit all over but welcome to my brain.

The gear scattered is similar to my brain scatter sometimes

The Bomber Traverse

On April 8, 2023April 12, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Mental Health, skiing, UncategorizedLeave a comment

In a way I’ve been completely unprepared for my life to return after trauma but thankfully my friends were prepared enough for me. I thought this the past weekend when I cancelled my therapy appointment because there was a weather window for one of the ski objectives Charlotte and I had this year. It’s been a year since I started working with my trauma therapist. I thought back to that first session– it was almost 3 months after my panic attack and the dark abyss I had been lost in was a lot. My therapist had her work cut out as this wasn’t a narrative I had ever envisioned having to navigate. The faulty narrative I was carrying around was holding me back, in that period I had no flexibility around the story and couldn’t see anyway it would ever be reframed. Now I figured a long day out in the mountains would do as much good as a 1 hour therapy session– plus the weather window. And if anything over the past few years Charlotte has seen me in most emotional and physical states of being.

Charlotte and I discussed the logistics for the day, we’d leave town at 7am and I decided to bring my heavy/wider skis. I’m still waiting on a replacement part for my race skis but also with the variable snow conditions that we’d potentially run into figured that would be a better bet. We headed out with our (Charlotte’s) Gaia track following the trail up to Gold Mint Hut. It was a mild grade and we chatted along the way and also making note of potential routes up and slide paths. I had never been back in the area in the winter and only once in the summer. The summer trip was in July 2020 when I was in the throws of it, I remember being out there overnight and sobbing in the tent because of how much uncertainty I felt– every time I went into the backcountry at that point I was always worried about what I would be coming back into when I gained service. The silence and solitude did not provide comfort then, instead only amplified how much noise I was missing out on. And then I cried harder for ruining the trip for others. That’s what I was bringing into this space.

We traversed the mild slope before reaching a point to start climbing up towards the Mint Hut. We talked about the different routes, opting to cut more to the left and to try and avoid extra time under a slide path and headed up. The line we took was a little icy and the side hilling didn’t provide for great traction. We kept space between us just incase something released. I was navigating up first when I saw a hole in the snow and looked in, some animal waste was by the opening– my mind thought to a bear den, is it too early, hopefully it doesn’t cave in and I wake whatever might be sleeping below me.

I know those of you outside of Alaska reading that are probably thinking what an irrational fear (like riding over a snake and having it get caught in my rear wheel and flung up on me) but this actually happened where a skier disrupted a bear den and the bear attacked him. I moved past the hole and waited on the shoulder for Charlotte to come up. We weaved our way up towards the hut and then stopped before we started our approach of backdoor gap to get some food and make some gear adjustments.

We kept our skins on and headed up but it soon became apparent that it was too steep and icy to skin so we’d have to switch to boot packing. I had been waiting for Charlotte to traverse so stayed put while Charlotte transitioned. Our plan was that only one of us would be exposed to a potential avalanche at a time while the other stayed out of the slide zone underneath some rocks. Charlotte started the first leg of the boot pack and I stood watch not wanting to transition too early in case something happened. She crested and was tucking back into the rock section when I had started to transition and looked up and didn’t see her– is that avalanche debris new or old, surely I would have heard something if it released. I transitioned quicker and called to her on the radio. No response. I got my skis on my back and crampons on my boots and looked up, she had popped back over the zone I couldn’t see her and was perched below a rock. I took a breath and started making my way up. Because she had put the bootpack in, my ascent was a bit faster and less laborious. I got to the top and we diagnosed the issues with our radios and got them working. I stepped out and navigated a route up towards another rock outcropping to take shelter in. I’m not great at boot packing and deployed all the tricks I had been working on, heel down, knees forward, push up, disperse weight over the polls. As I got near when I said I would stop, Charlotte radioed to see if I was still going, “yeah, almost to the spot.” I got up and radioed down to let her know it was clear. She came up and met me and we kept working towards the top with only one of us moving at a time.

We crested the top and looked at the other side, a nice little cornice. We talked about the boot pack and the choices we made and then talked about the next section. I offered to drop in first, telling Charlotte the line I would be taking to another meet up point on the slope.

I pushed off after finding a small opening that didn’t seem like it was right on top of the cornice and cut left before turning right while trying to get out from underneath the potential area of snow fall fast enough. We regrouped and then party skied down the more mellow slope finding some nice snow and turns. We headed down but the slope was gradual and we tried to keep as much speed as possible to make it to the valley floor. It mostly worked with some awkward side stepping to get over humps but we made it down and then put our skins back on to head up to snowbird glacier.

The skin up was pretty uneventful, we had a track from someone who did it last year and just made sure that we were climbing towards the right ridge. We got onto the glacier no problem and traversed up to the ridge line to drop down. After transitioning we talked about lines and started skiing.

The snow was anything but powder and cutting through it proved cumbersome for turning. The views were incredible but hard to take in with all the survival skiing going on. We looked at the slope of what we’d need to go down and realized all the avy runs we’d have to cross. Fortunately, they had released at that point but the avy debris we had to cross made me realize how fatigued my legs were.

Going across the avalanche debris made me grateful that I had taken my wider skis, having to navigate around chaotic masses of snow, ice, and whatever else had been picked up during the slide. I always think about this when I’m out in the backcountry, if one releases (again, Mom, I’m never in those areas) and the turmoil of getting carried only to then potentially be buried under this massive weight (compacted avalanche debris will weigh in excess of 500 kg per cubic metre). It’s like the snow just settles and immediately becomes like concrete, something like 60% of avalanche victims who died whilst buried show something on the surface but it can take a large effort to extract them– and that’s if they survive the potential trauma. So at least there was some reassurance that they had already slid, until we reached a gully that had only had small tracks of avy debris in it. We stopped and talked about how quickly we could get across and which line. I went first and skied in and popped out as fast as I could hitting ice on the other side and traversing down the hill side to the next debris field where I turned and watched Charlotte. There is always a moment in these situations where you run through worse case scenario, if something slid. But worst case scenario didn’t happen and Charlotte popped up the gully and traversed down to where I was.

We both agreed that being in a gully in Hatcher is the worst thing and have deep reverence for the whims of mother natures. After that we linked up with Archangel road and mostly skated back to the car. We did it in about 11 hours, I ate 6 donuts among other treats. We talked about how we probably wouldn’t have gone too much faster on different skis and we were both really happy with the day and our set up. We debriefed on the spots that were worrisome and how we could have done things differently but some times you’re just responding and figuring out how to best move forward with the information you have.

A long day in the mountains did help and also when you’re out there for 11 hours lots of time to think about things—especially a stark contrast to the last time I was out there. In some ways I feel like my awareness has never been sharper and taking that to the mountains allows me to be fully present. I think about the COVID times and often think of it as my life was on pause—a friend recently corrected me saying it wasn’t on pause and showing up in that space how I did was just as authentic as I am being now. But in some ways I felt like my life was on pause because it didn’t feel like I was growing or able to. How I showed on that summer trek of the Bomber is how I was assumed to keep showing up– all these negatives assumptions piled up against me until I started to believe them too. I sat with that for a while because I think of how I show up now versus then and how different it feels, in all aspects. But that girl during COVID while in some ways felt like a shell of who I can be was still me—it’s like going out into the mountains and not having a blue bird day but still appreciating just being out there—or enjoying the darkness without having to contrast it to the light. And all this duality can exist and growth can happen, someone’s best day in the mountains can be your worst—I can hate a trail and then love it– I can be a shell of a human and still have light in me—someone can be a not great partner and still exist as a good friend– I can be upset that I had a panic attack and also so grateful for it shaking me into being. This growth exists in the mountains and in a way it’s easier to hold space for –the days that fall short of the objectives, leaning into the progression, the changes, the trails that I’ve come to love that once destroyed me—the spaces I inhabit that no longer scare me—the solitude that no longer comes at the expense of peace. And I’m able to hold all these dimensions together–I don’t assume a trail I’ve once taken will remain the same and instead meeting it each time where it’s at.

I think of the growth that has happened– the lens that I view things in and those that view me. For most of COVID I felt like my internal and external value systems were out of sync, what I valued internally wasn’t perceived externally. That’s been hard to stomach, like a coworker that told me she was startled when she heard me laugh for the first time (we had worked together for over a year before that happened)– or another unprovoked telling me how much happier I seem now– but harder to stomach is the conversations with friends, where things felt one sided, where I showed up with good intentions but my actions still caused pain. The negative assumptions that were held against me– if I hated this trail I will always hate this trail– if I didn’t enjoy something one day I would always feel that way– this growth that was paused, no new information was allowed. Realizing the friends that have extended grace to me in this period, those that allowed me to exist without ever knowing or suggesting I would return to my old (new) self– the darkness they invested in without knowing if there would be an endless summer to come. Now, figuring out how I can extend the same grace to others that fall short of my expectations or assumptions– I cannot anticipate the harm I will cause, we will cause, or that will be brought onto me, even with good intentions we have no idea what we are bringing into a space, what they are bringing into the space. Here’s the thing, you can show up in someone else’s story as the hero or the villain for the exact same behavior. We are neither the hero nor the villain in our own story but instead the narrator– and it’s our story to tell and rewrite, and edit, as we learn and grow and acquire new information. It’s like being on a long slog (more on those later) where you end up in a spot you didn’t anticipate and you can’t go back but only move forward, make the best decision for you in that time with the information you have but being flexible and adaptable as you make your way down the trail. At the end you look back and think wow, what a crazy story that is, but in the midst of the trail you can’t conceive how it will all unfold– and only when you get to the end do you finally feel like you can make sense of all the chaos in the midst. Anyways, thanks for staying with me on this one and for embracing the weird, chaotic amazingness that comes with being human– it’s my first time being alive (that I remember- haha!)

Arctic Entries

On March 15, 2023March 16, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Mental Health, Other Adventures, Uncategorized3 Comments

In January of 2020, I took a class at the museum that focused on editing vs. censorship, it looked at it through the lens of reductionism poetry and it has stuck with me. The thought is that you take a piece of writing and heavily edit it to give it entirely new meaning. During COVID I would edit, mince, and reduce my words because something wasn’t worth it in terms of engaging. It was like having an editor that took my words and slowly over time changed them, contorted them, that by the end it wasn’t even worth speaking because it wasn’t my words.

My parents have often edited my papers but for the better, making sure that sentences were complete (remember those early days, mom?) and even now I’ll send sections of my blog to my mom to make sure it’s okay or the paper I sent to my dad recently that he said was hilarious and then sent back with 127 edits. But never existing in the form of reducing my voice or my meaning. I’ve noticed that while I had many stories during COVID, I didn’t have the language to tell them —but in getting that language back I’m more forthcoming with the stories.

Last week I did Arctic Entries, which is modeled after The Moth by This American Life, each storyteller has 7 minutes to tell a story with no notes on stage. Language is a powerful tool, and influences how humans behave, how I behave. I thought about this especially going into Arctic Entries, how to tell the story. I think about this with writing but with writing I have so many chances to revise, revisit, and rethink. With speaking it’s a one-and-done kind of show.

I had submitted a story back in September, debating between two stories, one about Alvin, and the other about Chris (#IYKYK). And settled on the one about Alvin, I wrote a brief synopsis: How I lost my dog and found a community. They were intrigued so I met with them in October to tell them the story in detail, and they loved it. The timing didn’t work out for the October or the January show which meant at least more time in theory to practice. I went through another round of practice in mid-February and then finally had the date locked in for the March show. After that I started tweaking the dialogue. How to fit everything I wanted to say in 7 minutes. I started editing, the small details I remembered but didn’t move the plot along.

I was picky in who I would share with in the early stages which only really meant sharing with Tom, who would get on a zoom with me most nights to work through it. I would tell the story, he would sit there showing no emotion, and then provide feedback. It was almost comical because he would say things like, “make sure you pause after you deliver that line, it’ll be killer and they will laugh” without him ever laughing. Based on his feedback I reworked a few key things. Thankfully, Tom’s job is focused on interpretation (for a National Park) so if anyone was going to help me it was him, plus it’s debatable which one of us knows Alvin better at this point and since it was about Alvin figured he’d want to make sure I did Alvin justice too.

I felt like I had finally perfected it but back to the editor in my mind, there was one or two lines that I was worried about, how would they be received, would I get pushback. I spent most of my therapy and private yoga instruction on how to navigate this, both of them telling me not to change my story, do not diminish my experience or what I want to say, just say it. But still in all my preparation for speaking in front of 1,000 people I was more anxious about getting a message or statement of criticism from an individual. Because this was the space I had been in for 2 years, worried about how my words might come out and be twisted. The misunderstandings, only hearing what was wanted to be heard. It’s a lot when your voice gets weaponized against you in learning how to reclaim it. But I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing all these months, figuring out how to reclaim my story and my narrative, in that validating my experiences.

As the show got closer, I told the tale to a few others, even incorporating the suggestion that Brianna said I should let people know I named Alvin that because I didn’t want to waste a good dog name since I was only going to be fostering him. The day before I had yoga where we talked through a few things and did a chakra visualization, at the end we sat there and felt where the energy went and what color was associated with it all. I saw a deep hue of blue, with the energy resting in my throat and the feeling of being choked catching me off guard. As I sat up and digested this with her I told her of how often over the past few years I felt like I was being suffocated, my narrative having gotten cut off. She thought Arctic Entries would be a great platform to share my story and experience. After that I went to Vailferee’s (my old babysitter) and practiced with her and caught up on life in general. As always, she proved to be like a big sister showing up with words that helped to express my experience. Then one of the better surprises happened when two college friends were in town visiting one’s sister and I was able to spend time at the brewery with them, the last time Cady was in Alaska was January 2020 so we joked about that and hopefully they move up to Alaska soon…

The day of the show was pretty low-key. Jane, as always sent me money to go get a manicure (it seems to alternate between book money and nail money) and I went for a run before practicing once more with Tom. He left me with the ever-inspiring words of “don’t mess up” and then the only laugh he’s given me during any rehearsals. I went to the show and talked with the other performers beforehand, we’ve all had a glimpse into each other’s lives with the rehearsals. I found out I’d be going third, which was enough time to hopefully not forget my story. I sat through the first two, a four-day blind date that ended up in a marriage, and an incredible story about aging out of the foster system. I saw Vailferee in the front row before the lights went down and stepped into the spotlight, only being able to hear the audience. I started, “I have a background in pandemic preparedness and response, so I was a little stressed in March 2020…” instead of writing the entire story out, I’m going to wait until the recording is available to post it because writing probably won’t do it justice.

I finished and had an outrageous amount of fun being up on the stage sharing my story. It’s only the second time since my brain injury that I’ve presented without notes. After my brain injury, I had my speech impacted which has made me a bit more self-conscious of how I talk—and while I often present without referring too much to my notes, they serve as a nice safety blanket.

They say there is power in sharing your story, it is healing in some form. But it was validating to not mince my words, to not feel muted, to have no criticism or judgment from the editor. I wrote this shortly after, “Can I breathe now, is this how it feels when the breath finally expands through your chest, casting the dust off the previously constricted places, you are free to move, the claws have finally come out, the hand is off your throat, the day has come where you can fly, fly back to yourself, back home.”

In telling my story I realized I can be as honest as possible to my experience but people will only see the truth if it’s close enough to their reality — so reminding myself that my lived experience is mine alone and my humor is not for everyone (among other things). My experience doesn’t invalidate others and theirs does not invalidate mine but holding space for complex narratives that weave into a tangled web.

There is the cliché where you don’t rescue your dog, they rescue you. I never really thought that until now. In the process of prepping for this in October, I looked at my writing from when I first got Alvin (mostly unpublished). Shortly before I had gotten Alvin I starting dating my ex. In that writing were the words that my ex would not have dated me if I had Alvin when I met him, oof. That was about three weeks into the relationship, so sometimes I thought things would be different if I hadn’t gotten Alvin but then I realized all the times that I had used reductionist language on myself, if I hadn’t taken that job, if I had been able to race bikes, if I wasn’t working on COVID, if I loved Alaska more, if I was faster, if I didn’t eat chips so late, if I never wanted to leave the state, if I didn’t have to travel, if I had healed faster, if I didn’t maintain certain friendships, if I was happier, if I didn’t say certain things, if I didn’t burn my eggs, if I hadn’t had the panic attack. And then it hit me, we would have worked out perfectly if I had reduced who I was. Again, language is a pretty powerful tool. By focusing on my narrative now, not having to edit or censor, I can show up more authentically for the relationships in my life (like all of them). This isn’t to put this on him, it’s me working to not dim my light, my therapist reminds me that I was willing to be molded and contorted, to be adaptable. It was certainly a lot easier to see all of it staring back in writing at me like that. I realize that relationships certainly come with their fair share of compromise but at the end of the day they should contribute to your flame, not diminish it. And as I’ve said before it was kind of the perfect storm with COVID and work and everything else that put my light out. But in telling my story with Alvin, I realize how much Alvin has saved me over the past few years and now has helped to give me my voice back.

Anyways, I finished my story by saying that “when the border opened up and I thought I would be moving to DC but I couldn’t do it, just like Alvin and I both being forest feral creatures it turns out that just like when Alvin got lost and this community showed up to help find him, when I got lost and lost my way and sense of self, this community showed up to help bring me back home.” In a way I feel like my Arctic Entries was a love letter to this community, to the friends who showed up when Alvin was gone and who have continued to show up when I was missing parts of myself.

After the show I quickly grabbed a drink with a few friends and then caught a red eye back to DC to teach once more and moderate an event. I’m back in Alaska already and the whirlwind world tour is done for a bit. I have a few big ski objectives that I’m hoping to get in this spring and headed to Fairbanks in 2 weeks for my first 100 mile fatbike race (was suppose to do it in 2020). Team Couch is set to do it but unlike Ana and Grande my form will be truly off the couch with this one.

In somewhat slightly related news, I just finished a book on cults and realized I would be a prime candidate to end up in one so take that as you will– don’t worry Jane, didn’t use your book money on that book. Grateful to the family and friends who remain vigilant around me and help me get by with little street smarts.

Fisher Price Moments

On March 6, 2023March 6, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Mental Health, Other Adventures, skiing, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Who knew that one week would bring so many new experiences. Grateful to be back in Alaska and all that comes with it.

After Colorado I headed back to Alaska. I landed late Friday night and the next day made plans to get out with Charlotte and Lang. Lang asked what we were feeling and I said something that wouldn’t require skate skiing as during the race the side of my foot had ended up with a nasty blister. We opted for a tour in the front range because of conditions and we wanted to check out a line for later. We met early and caught up on the adventures they had had over the past month. Charlotte showed off her sweet new ski poles that she got in France and I showed her my bibs I got when all my stuff got lost in Canada. We headed onto the trail and talked about what we were feeling, anywhere from 11-15 miles. With the wind expectations we opted for the 11 miles to have a bit more coverage. We skinned for a while, talking about future lines. The slope was gradual until just the last bit, which had a steeper angle (but not really anything over 25 degrees if that). It was icy enough though that we joked we should have brought ski crampons and made our way to what looked like softer snow to grip our skins. We got to the top and the wind was raging. We took our skis off so we could get behind some rocks to check out a line- we questioned if our skis would actually stay with the wind.

I put mine up next to some rocks so if they moved they maybe wouldn’t get blown off the cliff. We tucked in the rocks which gave us only a little more protection and looked at the line. We talked about the best approach and what it would look like. While this was happening I was putting on all my layers, while not actively snowing the wind was whipping the snow up and accumulation was starting to build on my pack.

We decided to get down and then we’d stop to drink and eat something. Transitioning was challenging as the wind kept whipping my skins around as I tried to wrangle them to protect and fold them away. We headed down, I headed skiers left as it seemed the easiest line for me to traverse down. Lang and Charlotte went right and I immediately regretted the split. It’s not a habit I want to get into but I had eyes on them the whole time and I watched my slope to cut it at a low angle. We met up down below on more of the flat surface and talked about how terrible the snow conditions were — it was like we had forgotten how to ski. Because of the low angle slope we mostly shuffled/double poled for a while. We did get to a spot that allowed us to get some turns before crossing the river and putting our skins back on to get out.

On Sunday I met a friend to cross country ski (never too early to start training for the Gothic- ha). We ended up catching up for a while and I had therapy at 12 so squeezed in about a 30 minute ski but it was nice to at least get some movement. I then disregarded unpacking and went and caught up with more friends, promising that I would do more later that evening. Instead I got a text from an old co-worker letting me know the northern lights were going to be out (he knew it was on my list to see them this year). I met up with him around 7pm and we headed out of town with blankets and extra layers.

As we were driving we started to see some dancing, we found an empty pull off away from the highway and started to watch. The lights ebb and flow in their intensity. Sometimes dancing across the sky and at other times, retreating until there is only a glimpse to the naked eye. I sat in complete wonder and awe and stared. This is incredible, I took it all in.

Eric had brought a tripod so was able to take some good photos, I didn’t even try. I thought back to the Maah Daah Hey and had a similar feeling, is this mine to keep forever. We sat out for a few hours and then realizing the 5am wake up call I’d have headed back to town but pulled over once again when they came back out.

The lights were good enough that people saw them from Anchorage without much trouble. I woke up early again and thought of heading outside but still felt satisfied from the night before so instead turned on my sun lamp and started my work day.

I met Charlotte later that day for a little after work ski on the local trails. I used my race boots and still felt some aggravation from my race blister.

I headed up to Fairbanks early Wednesday morning for an all day meeting. I thought about taking my ski stuff but returning Thursday afternoon felt like it would have been a lot to pack in. I did shove in my yoga clothes just in case.

I arrived in Fairbanks and it reminded me of the Black Hills, with small rolling hills and heavy trees, oh this is nice. I had meeting all day and then the friend I was staying with was teaching yoga so caught a ride and met her at the studio, then we stayed for another yoga class and cooked dinner and did a lot of debriefing of our lives.

The next morning I spent mostly prepping for my presentation. I went to the meetings, the focus being on the international perspective of things. One of the early speakers, Deenaalii, talked about grounding, they posed two questions to the audience, what are you bringing to this meeting and how do you embrace change. How do I embrace change I thought and we had to discuss to a person we didn’t know. I thought about this and probably overshared with this stranger giving a lot more detail but the just was but that I was embracing change in a way I did prior to COVID-19. After the talk I went up to Deenaalii, knowing them, and chatted for a bit talking about my answer they gave me the wisdom to say don’t get addicted to the feeling of things changing constantly and to seek grounding. Woof.

I gave my presentation which I won’t bore you with the details but I’m incredibly grateful that I get to work on the things that I feel such drive and passion for– I know a lot of people who don’t feel that in their jobs and I wake up everyday saying a statement of gratitude that I get to have a job I love and live in a place I love. After that I had just enough time to squeeze in a trip to the Museum of the North before my flight.

Back in Anchorage I started unpacking and joked with my roommate that I felt like I was finally ready to emerge from my cocoon that I had created in my room (more like forest ferrel creature) after all the sideways things that have happened over the past few months (again book material, not blog material). I went skiing with Hailey, who gave me pointers on skate skiing form and we got back to the car to find my window was smashed in. This is a very common occurrence in Anchorage. Unfortunately, they only took Hailey’s things and left all of mine. The biggest inconvenience was having to vacuum up all the glass but now The Truc is ghetto fabulous for the next few weeks. I thought about passing on skiing the next day but woke up early enough to take care of all the insurance things and Lang offered to drive so we could be a bit warmer.

We headed out to Hatcher’s with a plan to try and ski a couloir. When telling someone that I was going couloir hunting, he joked that I didn’t really annunciate well and thought I was going ‘cooler hunting’ for the Yeti’s that had washed up on shore previously this year. I assured him that I have a terrible time with the spoken word as everyone thinks Alvin’s name is actually Elvin when they hear it from me.

We headed out and decided to go towards Lost Couiloir since it seemed the safest bet in the conditions– figuring it would be tracked out but thinking that was a better bet in case we had to bail and ski something else.

We headed up and skinned our way to the bottom and looked up, no one had been here. How is this possible? We skinned up until we were at a good spot and dug a pit to see what the snow pack looked like.

We both felt good with what we had seen and headed up to the point where we had to stop skinning and start boot packing. My boot packing skills are quite comical as I would basically just sink further deeper into the snow. Lang gave me some tips, like heels down, knee in, drop your butt, all the things to disperse weight over the surface, and we made it to the top, maybe an hour after we had started. Mind you it was only about 400-500 yards.

We still couldn’t believe that no one had been up here. Lang offered to go first, even though we felt good about the potential avy risk (it was very low, mom) he would get some of the sluff out that was on the top layer.

He went down first and I waited at the top, watching his line to see how the snow was cutting. I waited until he got to our discussed meet up point and then flipped my boots into ski mode. At some point I realized I would have to go down, which I know what you’re thinking, isn’t that the point, yes obviously, mostly. But I also really enjoy ascending so sometimes I get to the top and then I’m like oh yeah how do I get down.

I pushed off, trying to make sure I did not tumble and lose a ski right away like I had done the weekend before. I cut into the slope and the snow felt amazing. I cut back and started following a similar line of Lang’s down. I kept cutting down, anticipating hitting terrible snow at some point but it never came and I started to relax into the turns, plant poll, and turn, I kept repeating as I kept turning. I made it down to the bottom and my quads were on fire, it was probably the steepest and longest run that I’ve done this season and coming off close to a month of no skiing I certainly felt it. I met up with Lang and we debriefed quickly about our respective runs. We started heading out and then decided to head up towards a small pitch to get a faster track back to the car.

We skinned up and then quickly transitioned talking about which aspect to go down both settling on a cardinal direction that was not prone to avalanches (I’m terrible at naming cardinal directions and am mostly like it’s this direction and the other one was that direction). I went first and pushed off, trying to make longer and steeper turns. I was feeling overly confident when my ski looped a bit too far around and I tumbled, I got up laughing, of course. Both skis were still attached so I pushed back off again and made my way down to the skin track. Meeting up with Lang he asked if I had hit a rock, and I said no, just my large ego. He said he definitely thought I had hit a rock and I was like we’ll just go with that.

It was my first time skiing a couloir and was really grateful that Lang was game to take me. I feel like I’m becoming more confident in my skiing abilities and was telling Lang that I’m grateful for partners this year who take me out and keep giving me pointers. We’re rapidly approaching spring skiing season in Alaska and I’m very excited for what’s on the horizon.

In another first, this week I’ll be telling a story at Arctic Entires. It’ll be the second time since my brain injury that I will present without notes (I don’t typically use notes when I present but they serve as a nice safety blanket). After that I got to DC for two days and then I’ll back in Anchorage for a good chunk.

Mom and Dad with the carempackage for Arctic Entries- ha!

I joke that sometimes when I have a new experience I call them Fisher Price Moments, like bebe’s first experience. Grateful, again for all the new experiences that keep coming my way. Okay, now back to finishing unpacking so I can repack.

Gothic Mountain Tour

On March 1, 2023March 1, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, colorado, skiing, Uncategorized, XC SkiingLeave a comment

I’ve gained weight, I don’t know how much or really where but it’s palpable. At first I thought maybe it was because of the chips I was eating, or the absorption issues getting better (more on that later). But then I realized that my body finally feels like it’s safe. Let me explain, from an evolutionary standpoint when we’re hunted by a predator, we try to get small, like really small as if that will keep us safe. Our bodies and minds haven’t exactly caught up to the modern world so the fight or flight persists to manifest in maladaptive forms. Anyways, when I did a skimo race last year, my friend asked how she could get so skinny, I half joked, have a panic attack. But it was true, I remember some days getting to the end of the day and realizing I hadn’t eaten anything and then would eat chips to try and compensate. This later became an issue when someone mentioned how odd it was that I ate chips so late at night, I realized that they didn’t realize that sometimes it was the only thing I had eaten. Anyways, it was a foreign place to be, I had always seen food as fuel, something that could sustain me on the long endurance races. A necessity, when I was in grad school I weighed myself every day to make sure I wasn’t loosing weight. I thought about this recently as I lined up for the Gothic Mountain Traverse. A race I had signed up for last year but didn’t make it to the starting line, last year I felt too weak, too fragile, too small. Instead I spent that weekend not racing hanging out with Allison and Kati while pouring out the contents of my brain. But it was a much needed weekend with them.

Fast forward to this year and I signed up for the race knowing that it would coincide with teaching in DC. Because I had left Alaska five weeks earlier I opted to not bring my race boots so I could just use the same boots for the Canada trip and this race (they required different skis, remember no skimo skis on the Canada trip). But by not bringing two pairs of boots I had more room in my suitcase to bring back Trader Joe’s to Alaska.

Texted a friend I had forgotten how big a medium was at Dunkin’

I took the bus to Boulder to get a car and pick up my skis (thanks again Dave and Neil for bringing them back after Canada). I finished up some work and stopped at Costco for the Crested Butte crew before picking Alexei up at the airport and heading to CB. We got in a bit late but Sam and Claudia (the cat) greeted us.

On Saturday morning, Zach made us crepes and we talked about a plan for the day. I told Sam I was down for whatever tour, as while I was there for a race wasn’t exactly prioritizing the race like I used to do. We headed out, only stopping to buy batteries as I had left my avy beacon on since leaving Canada and it was very dead. We headed up Snodgrass which I had only been on in the summer. Part of the skin track was on the race course so I just kept saying it was like a course preview.

We got up to the top and poked over the ledge in a few places to see the best line down, we backtracked a bit and then transitioned. I took my skins off and then decided to go pee, which was quite hilarious when I went to squat, started peeing, and started sliding on my skis. Fortunately I was able to somehow not end up with any pee on me and stop the slide before I got too far but lesson learned.

We decided I would go first because I didn’t have a radio, I told Sam my line and then pushed off. Except then I quickly tumbled and lost a ski, I heard Sam say, “what the fuck Kate” and reminded him I hadn’t skied in like a month. Alexei grabbed my ski as I had slid down and I put it back on— woof! Round 2! I pushed off again and immediately realized how much I had missed this in the past month. I cut down into the trees and weaved to a good stopping point. Alexei followed soon and then we cut over to meet Sam. Wow, this is nice, I might move to CB! The bottom half was even better with open glades for the taking. We got down to the end of the road and debating doing another lap, we realized where we had gone down didn’t exactly set us up for another lap and with a bib pick up cut off time decided to skin out.

I got my bib with no problem, running into friends from Alaska and friends from Boulder. We went to the store to grab things for dinner and last minute race provisions. No such luck on the sour patch kids though. We stopped at the gas station where we were informed “they have the best candy section in town, maybe the valley” and they did. I had actually only been able to get some flavors in different countries and thought they were specific to those countries. So we bought 4 bags to be safe of different varieties.

We got back to the house, made dinner, Sam adjusted my bindings for my boots and I prepped my stuff for the next day. There was a lot of discussion about going to karaoke but I was unsure with karaoke not starting until 9pm.

It didn’t take much to convince me to join karaoke and figured I would go for an hour and then come back and go to bed. I changed and then changed again when it became clear everyone was wearing costumes and dawned a banana outfit— any house that has a costume closet is my jam. I drove so I wouldn’t be tempted to stay out too late. It was well worth it, with the CB crew really showing off their voices and dance moves. One of the friends had a skinsuit as her costume, she asked if I wanted to borrow it for the next day, “it’s a kid’s x-large, I found it at a thrift store.” Ohhh maybe, that could be fun”, but was concerned about the weather and if it would actually keep me warm. By the end of the evening I was convinced I would wear it if I could fit my layers underneath it. I stayed out a bit later than I had planned but got a skinsuit and a top 10 at karaoke.

The morning of the race came early, the race started at 6 so I got up around 4:30, made coffee, ate breakfast, and toiled around a bit. I put on wool baselayers and then pulled the skinsuit over, oh wow, this is amazing.

I shoved the rest of my layers into my bag anticipating having to put them on at the start line as previous years it had been -20. I had almost left the house when I realized I needed my skis. I grabbed them and got in the car, leaving the house a little later than I had planned but fortunately everything is close. I looked at the temperature in the car, 20 degrees. That can’t be right. I got to the school, put some last minute things in my bag, my helmet and headlight on and headed to the start. In talking to people the night before it seemed like the start tactic would be to go without skins and skate. I’m not a fan of skate skiing but figured they knew best. I slotted into the start and made conversation with the girl next to me, it was also her first time. She said she thought I was very serious because of my skinsuit, I told her I borrowed it from a lady at the bar last night so not that serious.

We started and I started, pushing off to skate, okay this isn’t too bad, definitely faster than on skins, I can do this, I was kicking and gliding when something got tangled and I starfished face first onto the track, oh my gosh please don’t hit me. I scampered up, well at least I got that out of the way and was relatively unscathed, and because it was dark no one could see my bruised ego. I followed the headlights in front of me feeling the divide between the skaters and the skinners opening up. I got to the spot to transition and put on my skins and stepped back onto the course. The next section zigged and zagged over the Nordic trails, but we remained mostly in a congo line going up the single track. I wondered if those in front had to break trail and thanked myself for not being that fast.

I got to the first descent, transitioned and set off, convinced that I’d be able to make up time on the descents. I think of it similarly to mountain biking where I feel confident taking the B line to make up time (I’m sure my friends who have seen me ski are like, “plz Kate don’t ever take the B line, your mountain bike skills are non-transferrable). I was going down the groomer and feeling pretty fresh, I saw a little jump and took it which fed into the next transition area. I unlocked my heels to put my skins back on but one of my heels was already released, oh maybe I didn’t actually step in properly. Then I looked, oh that’s not right and the heel attachment was gone but the tower was still there. I looked behind me as if it would be there. I thought about bailing, I mean I was only 3 miles into the race but realized I didn’t really need a heel piece.

I decided I would keep going, there would be one more descent before Snodgrass and if it was sketchy I could bail and walk back to Zach and Mary’s. I sent a text to the boys with a photo and kept going. I thought of how it could have happened but it didn’t really matter and just hoped I could warranty it.

We climbed on the resort trails until reaching the first cut off point where it was another transition point. The guy behind me told me that was a tough time cut-off but we were in good shape. I had no idea and asked if he had done it before, a few times he said. I ripped my skins and locked my one boot in and took off. The descent felt pretty normal so I decided I would be fine without a heel piece (granted this was on groomers). I transitioned again and then headed up the Snodgrass track that we had taken the day before. The Alaska friends passed by me on this section, one having raced it the year before said they were just here to mostly tour and have fun. I felt similar even though I was in a pretty fancy skinsuit. I followed them for a bit until I fell off and settled into my pace. I made sure to occasionally grab a handful of sour patch kids. I got to the top of the next transition, the guy behind me was like “Oh wow, you’re missing your heel piece” And I was like “oh yeah, but now my ski is lighter!” The guy doing the checks asked if I wanted a ski strap and I said I had one but also like absolutely not was I going to strap my boot to my ski. I figured this would be the real test, as it was a little more powder and no groomers. I reminded myself that my right ski was stronger so to rely on that if I needed to. I started the descent and went skiers right looking for the flagging to tell me I was going the right way. I stopped as I couldn’t see the flagging anymore, I figured either way would end up on the road but waited till I could see another skier through the trees to my left and headed in that direction.

I got down to the road and debated putting my skins back on, some were skating so I decided to skate for a bit until it wasn’t worth it. The skate didn’t last long and soon I was putting on my skins, chatting with others on the way. I was familiar with the Gothic Road from the summers I spent riding in CB up to the 401 trail but the ski route went up the 403 trail. After skinning the road for a bit we turned off to start the climb– a guy near me told me that it was just 2,000 feet up and then you’re mostly done with climbing. With that encouragement I settled in and adjusted my pace. And up I went, a bit slow at times, some movements felt more laborious than others. I thought of my roommate Hailey’s instagram post from early that week, she talked about giving 100% of what you had in that moment and not just a blanket 100% (she definitely articulated it much better than I just did). I kept going up, and eating, and drinking. My mind kept wandering over the past year, the ridges and grooves that brought me back to myself– the absurdity of having gotten so lost in the first place. I got near the top and stopped to put on my shell and my warmer mittens. The wind had picked up and was blowing snow. I got to the top, called Top of the World, and took in the view, or what would have been the view if it wasn’t socked in, oh well next year. I ripped my skins and headed down. Someone told me that it was a straight line down to the next point and the last descent was the most technical. This was mostly true and while I didn’t exactly straight line, I did get down pretty quick. I stopped to transition again, I had my puffy gloves on and in the midst of it all it got caught in my jacket zipper and ripped, exposing all the feathers. They floated around and kept coming out, I don’t know how they fit so many feathers into such a small patch because a few miles later I still had feathers circulating around me.

I got to the final transition for the last descent. Another volunteer was directing where the line was. I looked down and while tracked out it didn’t seem like any powder at this point. I stood there for a moment and a guy came up behind me. “You’re the girl without the heel piece right?” I looked at him and said that was me, he told me to be careful on this descent. Sometimes I get annoyed when that happens but he had genuine concern in his voice as if he realized how easy it might be for me fumble this one. I let him take the first line so I could follow. I started going down and it was definitely a bit of survival skiing. I followed the tracks but the snow had gotten a bit more harder packed, I leaned onto my right leg to cut the turns. My legs were a little tired at this point and the hill down was pretty long, I stopped to release my legs and straighten them out. I noticed the guy in front of me would occasionally glance back, as if to make sure I was still okay in my descent. With a few more stops (it was a long descent) I made it to the bottom and the final check-in. They said there was an angry moose so a bit of a course reroute. But still about 6 miles from the finish but overall a net loss. In talking to people it also seemed like the best approach was to skate ski until you couldn’t and then put skins on. In all my winter skiing this year, I had done about 30 minutes of skate skiing total.

I started skating and I have terrible form but still managed to move faster than those around me with skins. Kick, glide, kick, glide, trying to channel all my physical therapy tools to keep my hips forward, upper body up, and channel my two roommates who actually grew up skate skiing. I got to the bottom of a big uphill, net loss my ass. The guy next to me took his skis off to boot pack. I opted for the same approach, realizing that transitioning twice would take longer and because I mostly penguin walk up hills figure it would be the same amount of time but just different muscles. I got to the top, put my skis back on and started back with the skating. I had no idea how much further I had to go, I opted to not race with my watch but did have the mileage on my phone but it wasn’t exactly easily accessible. I made sure to keep eating and drinking.

I was skating along when a snowmachine pulled up with Zach and Sam on it. I stopped and we chatted for a bit, offering them my sour patch kids, they told me I was close to the finish. I told them about the day and they told me where they were headed to ski. Sam said his machine had broken down about 100 yards from the finish so when I saw it I would know I was close. I thanked them and headed back on my way. It was around here that I thought about switching skis, my right leg had been attached to the heel piece for all of skating but my left leg was stronger so thought by switching maybe I would get a little further each time. I stopped and switched skis with my right heel being free now. I went to push off and it was like my brain stopped working, I could not go forward with any grace. I started laughing, how is this happening. I switched my skis back and wondered if anyone just saw the calamity. I started skating again and saw the course deviate a bit, I took my glove off to grab some sour patch kids and when I went to put it back on I couldn’t find it. I looked behind me and some lady said she would grab it, I stopped and waited offering her candy in exchange for my glove which she took some candy. I got up a short pitch and a woman on a fatbike rode by saying the finish was just around the corner and all downhill from there. I was skeptical but then I saw Sam’s snowmachine.

I got through the finish and that was that. I saw the friends from Alaska and chatted with them about the course waiting for the shuttle. I got on the shuttle and recognized the guy who had warned me about descending, I asked if that was him and he was like yeah I was worried you were going to blow a knee, I thanked him for his vigilance. Especially because blowing a knee had never actually crossed my mind.

I got back to the car and was feeling so fresh I thought I might go meet Alexei at the resort for a lap or two but decided to go home and shower first so I didn’t get cold. After the shower the exhaustion hit me and instead I laid on the couch catching up with Mary and waiting for everyone else to arrive and talk about their near-misses of the day. We all opted for an early bed that night.

On Monday, Alexei and I headed out to tour before heading back to the front range. We opted for a more mellow tour both being unfamiliar with the terrain but we found great little laps and the sun even making a few appearances exposing the valley, which would have been cool to see during the race, oh well, next year!

I spent the rest of the week in Boulder with Dave, Allison, and Ruby, catching up with other friends over dinner, going to Banff Film Festival, and getting an early morning lap in (where I forgot my skins but kind of made do).

I’m back in Alaska but for a work conference in Fairbanks and next week back in DC for a bit more work but then will be back in Alaska for a good chunk. Arriving back in Alaska no longer brings a sense of uncertainty with it and instead this immense gratitude for all that has grown around me. The past few weeks with traveling and reconnecting with friends has made me examine my value system, the standards I have for myself and how I show up in relationships and the expectations that I have for others. It made me think of the race because during it one guy made a comment to me “skimo skis aren’t great for skiing, huh?” and I was like why are you telling that to me, of course I know they aren’t great for skiing but like I’m not here to ski well, obvi. But realizing he was probably going through some shit and was projecting whatever onto me. Instead I try to think of all those around me during the race who were cordial, gracious, and vigilant towards me. This is somewhat related to my personal life as I had a very abrupt rupture happen recently and trying not to dwelling too much on that point of inflection, instead remind myself of all the others that continue to surround and inspire me with their actions and words. Don’t worry the story is bonkers and it’ll be in the book but I no longer feel like I have to become small because of others (cue eating all the Trader Joe snacks I brought back).

From Vigilant to Vigilante

On February 17, 2023February 17, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Global Health, Mental Health, Other Adventures2 Comments

If you separate a pack animal from its pack, it flounders, it does not thrive, it merely survives, if that. I think about this sometimes with Alvin, when I got him he was so malnourished and seemed so weary and guarded. But over the months (now years) with him, he changed into a completely different dog, he’s comfortable taking up space wherever, he’s more confident, and far more chill. I was talking to Tom about this the other night, noting that he hasn’t had to be on prozac in a while or use his thundershirt, saying that he must feel like he’s back in a pack (one that comes with endless pup cups, right Tom). When a pack animal is by itself it has to stay vigilant at all times because it never knows what threat is harboring, put the animal back with a pack and it can flourish because it has others to stay vigilant with it. I’ve thought about this a lot. For so long I felt so isolated and felt like I was on high alert, vigilant for the next looming threat, the next perceived menace. Since July, I’ve felt that rest can finally seep back into my bones, the burden I was carrying is no longer wearing me down. I feel like I’m back with a pack. The vigilance is no longer mine to carry alone, and it never was it just felt that way.

I’ve thought a lot about rest in the past few months– especially because for so long it felt so elusive– as I feel like I’ve been on the move quite a bit and have been asked if (a) I have down time and if so (b) what does that look like. I’ve thought about this a lot because when I was at my peak fight or flight, I had an MRI done and it was like 30 minutes of pure bliss. That’s when I started to think maybe I needed to rest. But even then, I couldn’t, it really wasn’t until the panic attack acted as this catalyst and even then it took so long to get back to a resting state. Now I realize that when my body was in this hyper vigilant state, rest, no matter how often I did yoga, got a pedicure, or did mediation, never came, it felt like I was constantly sleeping with one eye open, being on alert for what risk was around the corner. I feel like I’m mostly back to homeostasis and it’s given me some perspective on how I rest and what that looks like.

I’ve done a lot of visualization work in therapy (again maybe like a placebo effect but I’m a big believer in placebos). The last one I actually threw up during, I called it my great purge (exorcism-ha, sorry mom!) when in reality I think I ate something wonky the day before and had thrown up a few times already that day. Anyways, we were going back into the controlling times, when I felt like I was stuck, literally black tar around my feet, holding me in place, because any step would be the wrong step, everything was dark and closing in and realizing how terrifying it all was. Then I had to visualize the girl inside me who came to save me, who pulled me out of that dark space, but then it wasn’t just me there getting me out of the dark space, it was this whole choir, like everyone I knew was there, it was a large group and it was really moving and powerful. To realize that even though I had felt so alone and so isolated, I actually wasn’t, that others were staying vigilant with me, I just didn’t realize. But now I do.

I thought of this the other day because I was in yoga and struggling to get into child’s pose. The pose that you’re suppose to be able to relax into, but my feet kept cramping, and I kept adjusting to mitigate any potential cramp, I was doing slight movements to find the sweet spot of relaxing and non-cramping. It wasn’t pretty but then again most of the yoga I do isn’t (more blocks, plz!). I went up to David the instructor after class to talk to him about my cramping feet when I was suppose to be relaxing. “I saw you struggling to get into the pose, but you adjusted and adapted, you listened to your body and did what it needed.” He said that when you feel the cramp happening, go in the opposite direction, as if to let your body know it’s okay, then he demonstrated how I might too sit on my feet to stretch them out. Oh, he did see me. The struggle was not mine alone.

At first I was hesitant to relax into this pack feeling, it’s jarring when you go from fight or flight to a safe feeling. Even being more grounded I have to remind myself that the free falls isn’t going to come, the moments of joy can linger, there is no shoe that is going to drop that those steps can be missteps, stumbles, and falls but they are not final. Anyways, the rest comes in waves, on airplanes, in the checkout line, with a namaste, in the stillness of of holding your best friend’s baby, in the FaceTime check-ins and video messages, in the early mornings walking to work, in the phone calls just to say hi, in the parking lot meet ups, and beacon checks, in the swapping stories, the dance moves, the belly laughs, in the exhalations, the morning meditations, someone making the coffee, the house dinners, the MRI machines, the photos of Alvin, the kindness of others, the realization that while an individual pursuit, the collective humanity of it all, of us all.

So here’s to those that remain vigilant with us in our pursuits.

Blessed are those who linger just a little bit longer in a hug, those who stay after the check is paid and no one wants to be the first to get up, those who fill the chorus in with their laughter, who carry joy in their eyes, those that make you tea, send you photos of their children, stay on FaceTime so you don’t have to cry alone, those that text you on a powder day, that let you sit on their wheel, that show up to crew your race, those that ask you to watch their dogs (and cats), that show up for impromptu arepa nights, that bring you sour patch kids, that pretend to know what you do for work, that elate in the small victories and celebrate the big wins, those that remind you the loses are small, there are better things down the road, those that send you articles to read, and memes, those that support you getting 1000g skis even if that means only skiing together during volcano season, those that let you sleep on their couch, floor, spare bedroom, those that know how you take your coffee, those that show you grace, and those that see the magic and brilliance in your life, in your eye, in you.

There are two things that have prompted a lot of reflection, one is H5N1 is making moves and the other is I’m thinking about dating again. Both which have made me realize how many people are invested in my well-being. Thankfully, I love data so for 5 years I’ve been keeping a spreadsheet (called All About That D(ata)) of every guy I have been on a date with or dated since my last long term relationship ended, don’t worry he’s not included. I know you’re probably like wow, that’s weird, and sure it is but I literally have spreadsheets for everything so really it’s more like a journal, just with data you can manipulate. But it’s created this great sampling of longitudinal data where I can identify patterns. One thing that emerged was just how passive I have been over the past years with dating, where it’s like oh this fine because I always figured I would be leaving so never thought too much about how much I actually liked the person vs. being like oh well this isn’t bad–lollz! I also realize that I’ve ran so fast in the pursuit of so many other things that I have this great foundation now to just live my life. I joke that now is the right time to find a guy because of how fast I’m moving, I’ll need someone who can keep up or be excited for my solo adventures. Let me know if you want access to the spreadsheet, always happy for a peer review- haha. Sorry, mom! I joked during COVID that I couldn’t wait to get back to working on influenza but I’m okay if this one doesn’t spillover just yet….and of course happy to talk to anyone about this at any time and share data.

In all of this it’s also learning compassion for myself and others, and I liken things to COVID, I think back to how I operated in March of 2020, wiping groceries, leaving packages out because we didn’t know how the virus was operating. Fast forward to now, I think I know more about this virus than I ever thought possible but as a result my behaviors have changed. I some times think about this, those early red flags, the things that seemed off, and instead of judging I remind myself the information I have now is very different than then. Or as Frank says, no flag is red when you have rose colored glasses on. Hence the very helpful spreadsheet to remind me of them.

You know this story is in the spreadsheet

Alright, headed to CO for a ski race— and while my posts have gone a way of showing more emotion, one thing that the past few months have shown me is how incredibly grateful I am for my pack, and being more vulnerable in showing that gratitude for others.

Death is but a change of clothes and I came dressed to kill. What I thought would kill me actually came to save me.

Photos compiled from moments when I took in rest in some form or another.

Fearless Knitting and Improv

On January 2, 2023January 3, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Mental Health, Other Adventures, skiing, XC Skiing1 Comment

After my brain injury in 2012, before I was cleared for any physical activity I took up knitting, again. Dorothy Fetters had taught me how to knit one Christmas when I was in high school but all of those projects remained unfinished. I guess past Kate knew that future Kate would need something like this at some point. After the panic attack I took it up again as it would at least give me some small task to do that engaged my brain enough that it wouldn’t wander too much. I finally finished the only project, despite all the ones I’ve started, which was a tube top for Alvin and currently working on a baby blanket for a friend’s first baby but at this rate she might have a few more kids before they get it. I asked a cousin for some knitting pointers and she sent me a few spools of yarn and a few books, one which was called Fearless Knitting. Reminding me that even the smallest things can require great feats of courage and fearlessness. The progress in Alvin’s tube top followed my mind trajectory at the time, the rows closer to the panic attack are a little more chaotic, with missing casts and a few more holes protruding, the ones further away from the panic attack are a little neater, less gaping holes and cleaner lines— mimicking the space in my mind during those times. I flipped through the fearless knitting book that I was sent, finding the title amusing but soon realized that I was not in the fearless knitting category with some of the techniques far above my skill level.

I took a workshop from Jennifer England the other week that focused on intention vs improvisation. I hadn’t ever thought of improvisation as a skill that I use in my daily life. Rather it’s something reserved for the stage or outdoor pursuits when you have to pivot or adapt but sitting in this space it made me think of all the daily improvisations that creep in.

I had to write down what intentions I had come into 2022 with– and I thought back to pre-panic attack Kate, what did she want: finding grounding in the uncertainty, a greater sense of community, building out more of my own research, maintaining and building my relationships, getting the Maah Daah Hey course record, getting published in Teen Vogue, and down step energy only. I reflected on this thinking of the chaos I had entered the new year with and the lack of any clear direction or intentions.

Little did I know I would be climbing into a very dark hole mentally at the start of 2022

For the first 3-4 months I felt like I was bouncing off things, like a pin ball that was getting sent in all different directions. And I thought about those days when I couldn’t even conceive being here a year later, existing in this space as I do.

I think so often of the improvisation that happens in the outdoor space— every trip we aren’t exactly winging it but we’re constantly adapting and reevaluating our original intention. Before I left town I had skied with Lang on Wednesday, being mindful of the avalanche conditions, we climbed up towards tequila bowl in Arctic Valley and were rewarded with abysmal lighting.

We talked about the different lines and opted for going near rocks to have some depth perception. Lang went first and when he gave me the all clear I followed. My body knew what to do but it felt lost in space as each turn left me more and more disoriented, and confused. I got to the end and despite feeling the spins told him we should definitely do another lap– probably similar to a little kid who spins herself sick and then after throwing up proceeds to do it again (or was that just me).

We climbed back up talking a bit more about the conditions and weather. We took another line down on the other side of a rock outcropping of what we did before. I let Lang go first again so he could put a line in and I could follow. Again I got to the end with a high sense of spins followed soon by the euphoric feeling. We opted for one more lap of the route we had just gone down before heading further down the valley and skinning back up to get a better line to get back to the car. We got up to the top where we ran into some other friends who had come out for a lap with their dogs. Realizing it’s much easier to recognize dogs than people in ski gear.

That night there were only two of us for Wednesday Worlds (if you build it, they will come…). We opted for just a chill Spencer loop as we had both been out skiing that day. We got about 900 yards in and ran into a moose that was compromising any continuation in that direction. We talked about options and knew of another location we could hop on to maintain the uni-direction of the loop. We headed up and after going about 500 yards on the loop realized that we were going the wrong way (and as I found out earlier this season the loop is in fact uni-directional not just like hey you should got this way). We discussed our options and there really wasn’t a good bail out option so we kept going, given the recent snow fall we didn’t anticipate seeing anyone else. We were wrong and we did, informing them that we had seen a moose and had to go this way. Once we got to the top of where we should have been going down, we ripped our skins and finished the loop the proper way. Improv.

On Wednesday, Lang and I had talked about skiing a line on O’Malley, thinking that maybe there was enough snow coverage to avoid the rocks and have a good line. We wouldn’t really know until we were up there and discussed that option as well. We had another friend, Morgan join us. We headed up a little early know that the skin might be a little long, especially if we had to put the track in. We left Glen Alps and despite the temperature showing 2 degrees when we warmed up rather quickly.

We saw another group headed up the Little O’Malley gully and were happy to know that we wouldn’t have to put a skin track in. We were about halfway up the skin track when I heard a familiar yell, having a friend ski down towards up, I didn’t recognize her until she was closer (as I never recognize anyone in ski gear) and we talked about the line and routes that they were taking and the ones that we were taking. I was glad to know the group as the sun and snow looked so good going down I was thinking I should grab a photo of whoever was about to descend and turns out I could send the photos to them.

We got up to the ridge line and looked at the line we wanted to ski. Ha! Lots of rocks exposed we discussed options as we really wanted the line and really tried to talk through how we could get it but finally realized that even if we avoided the exposed rocks there were probably plenty just below the surface and if we messed up it’d be like going through a cheese grater. Instead we headed up the same line we would have but cut it short to ski down False Peak. It required some boot packing and negotiating around some rocks but we finally reached the line to put in.

No one else had been here. Lang having gone a bit further up dropped in first that way if something happened we could respond. He took the line clean down and then I followed. I pushed off and flowed into the soft powder, trying to follow Lang’s squiggles but improvising into my own turns. Lang is pretty experienced and I still cut my turns pretty wide. After that we watched Morgan come down in untracked powder as well.

Feeling successful at getting first tracks we decided to opt for a few laps off of the gully of Little O’Malley. As we traversed we talked about skiing back to town and to either of our houses, we went through all the options and logistics as we took Lang’s car to the parking lot and our other car’s were at Lang’s. We talked about skiing to my house, and then skiing to a parking lot and finding a shuttle, and then we finally got to the point where we realized that both of our keys were in Lang’s car and the way we parked would require way too many logistics and a lot of improvisation. We decided to scrap it although we did give it a good go as even into our second lap we were still talking about how it might work. We got one final lap in as the sun was starting to tuck behind the mountains and then headed back to the parking lot.

The next day I headed out with Tyler to what ended up being Corn Biscuit but we thought was another mountain for most of the day. I’m always grateful for Tyler– he’s one of the people who convinced me I could live in Alaska just by the way he exists in Alaska. I always felt a little manic during COVID and with other things happening and felt like I was constantly running out of time to do what I wanted to do. Tyler has big days in the mountains and even more epic trips to glaciers and Denali (with Charlotte) but also takes ‘day of contemplation’ where he will chill at home and get caught up on life. I realized that this manic feeling of having to go go go didn’t have to exist and well I’m still here aren’t I.

We navigated through some alders as the snow had limited coverage and used his old Gaia track to figure out where we needed to be. We skinned up to an overlook but couldn’t exactly see the line below and how soon we would hit the alders so scrapped that for a place to do laps. We kept going up and found a good spot that would give us a pretty clean line down to the overlook we had just been at. Tyler went first and after getting the clear I followed. I was on different skis than the day before, these ones are a little lighter and wider so still adjusting but they perform well for me in the untracked powder we had found. Having another pair of skis has helped me to figure out what I like and don’t like. Last year I always lamented about how heavy my old set up was and got a lighter one this year. Except I’ve found myself taking the heavier one out more times than the lighter one, some of it is because rock exposure and some of it is the snow conditions but it’s been nice having the comparison to understand how exactly a heavier boot drives the ski or the different turn radius. I got to the bottom and we went up again, this time going a little bit further and off to the side. We got to the end of the run and talked to some of the avy forecasters who were out digging a pit about the snow conditions. We decided to do one more lap and then use that to head out on a different out track that Tyler had taken the time before. We got to the top and Tyler was talking about how when someone goes the person behind them can try and alternate their “S” turns. I took that as a challenge and after Tyler went I followed down but contradicting his turns and alternatively trying to match where he would start turning. It was a good challenge for me as I still struggle with control all the way through my turns. I got to the bottom and we decided to take a different track out to hopefully avoid some of the bushwhacking we had with the alders coming up, spoiler alert we did not avoid and in fact maybe found more. It resulted in a somewhat comical exit from the trail but we made it back to the car without too much fanfare.

After I got back to town I had just about an hour or so to pack before my I needed to leave for my flight– I ended up being later than I was planning as my roommates came home and we were catching up and swapping stories before we all scattered again. For living with 3 other people it’s very rare that we’re all home, and as it was there were only 3 of us at the house. I got to the airport and was the last one in line to check my bags but made it only to have my flight delayed. I spent time thinking of all the ways I had improvised in the past year– not just in the outdoors but how untethered I felt at the beginning of the year. Drifting aimlessly I was passive towards everything and felt like I was constantly improvising as I would wake up and feel “not healed” and spend the day in survival mode. I improvised trying not to word vomit everything all the time as a way to get the chatter out of my head, I improvised when the word vomit came out, I improvised through nervous laughter, and fumbling into the dark depths of my brain. And then I improvised during the 600 mile bike ride. And then I slowly started being more intentional, finding shallow bits of ground to base off of while the improvising continued. I feel like in June I started putting more things out into the universe, intentionally. I’ve also thought over the past year of all the people in my life who have face different/similar challenges and the resilience they have shown, the flexibility, creativity, adaptability, improvisation that comes with meeting those challenges. As I sat and thought about the intentions I had started 2022 and the improvisation that had resulted I realized that in a very round about way I had met a lot of my intentions, I have a greater sense of community, I feel more adaptable in the face on uncertainty, I’ve found a deep sense of gratitude towards my friends and family who have supported me, I got the MDH course record, and starting to build out some of my own arctic research. I’m still working on the Teen Vogue publication (if you have an in) and down step energy only is really more of a lifestyle commitment (#IYKYK). But thinking back on what brought me to this was also a lot of pain, grief, sadness, confusion, and uncertainty, in going to the darkest places without a light and sitting for a while as my eyes adjusted and finding solitude there.

In thinking about my intention for this year one of the words I keep coming back to is ‘burn‘. I told my therapist this and she was like um, okay, I think she thought I was going to go on a tirade and burn all the bridges but instead I told her how for most of COVID (and probably for a multitude of reasons) I felt like my flame was diminished and/or completely out and so now I’m only burning for those things that burn me back, that set me on fire, that give me energy instead of taking it away– everything from work, to relationships, to outdoor pursuits. To be more intentional in how I show up and where I spend my energy. After being in the dark for so long it’s nice to get the light back.

I’m grateful for the darkness, the dark embraces everything just as it is and in that space without a light you can see things as they truly are, there are no shadows to dance with just the tranquil solitude that greets you as your eyes adjust to everything that is around you. I traveled to the messiest parts of my mind and have finally found beauty there. And I hope that if you ever find yourself on a similar journey you too remember that you are a living extension of the moon in the night a light that shines the brightest during the darkness.

Here’s to 2023 and setting the world on fire (but like not literally because climate change is already kind of doing that– sorry not full Pollyanna yet, Jane).

The Storm Outside

On December 11, 2022December 12, 2022 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Mental Health, skiingLeave a comment

This week Anchorage received a massive snow storm—schools were cancelled for 3 days because the plows were unable to tackle all the roads in time (a massive policy failure if you ask me). No matter, I didn’t have to drive and I don’t have kids. But waking up on Wednesday and seeing all the snow certainly made me giddy like a little kid. Text messages started flurrying, who was going to ski; where and when? I had a meeting that I could not miss at 9am so needed to find people willing to wait till 10. I found not one but two. We met to carpool at 10:20 and were headed to Turningan Pass by 10:30. There were a few cars in the parking lot and we saw 2 avalanche forecasters also heading out. We started skinning up and talk about death once again found me—I don’t even bring it up anymore because I’ve been told that I talk about it too much—but I’ve found that it’s a common topic in Alaska or maybe I just attract it. Like in the L48 snakes always seem to find me and since there aren’t any snakes in Alaska maybe I just attract people who are comfortable talking about death. But despite being told that it’s weird to talk about, we’re headed out into terrain and doing activities that could kill us all the time– I think it’s weird not to acknowledge it.

Anyways, back to death. We talked about the different risk that activities bring, snow vs. water, which ones carry higher consequences and how risk isn’t cumulative but we treat it as such. All the decisions that go into risk mitigation and how skewed everyone felt during COVID-19. I was almost relieved someone else said it, that they felt their risk perception had also changed during the pandemic. Mine certainly did but I also know others who became more riskier, like they were trying to get it out of their system somehow. That happened when I first started grad school and my racing took a back seat, I would get small adrenaline rushes by turning in assignments as close to the deadline as possible without it being late (it was never late and I soon learned how to channel that energy into more productive things). With all the new snow we talk about avalanche conditions and opted to start with a lap in the lower section in the trees where it would be more stable. We transitioned on a little knob and then talked about the different lines down and our next connection point.

After I pushed off, the snow parted as my skis carved through the powder and I felt like I was floating with the ground breaking away. I pushed into the snow to turn and would quickly (or what felt like) whip back the other way, trying to drive my skis through the deep powder without getting swamped. We regrouped at the bottom and transitioned back deciding to go back to where we were and do another lap from there. We skinned up, cursing those that had put in a steep skin track but we got back up there quick enough. We took a different line down but it was the same feeling of cutting through the snow and feeling like I’m the best skier ever (I’m absolutely not, very far from it) but powder is magical and it makes you feel magical. We got to the bottom and seeing the clouds break decided to make a push for the summit and if it socked back in we could take the skin track down.

On the way up this time we talked about breakups with one of the guys’ recently getting out of a relationship. I pointed out it’s been interesting because post breakup it’s like with COVID when you realize you just have different values than other people and how they show up in their lives—it’s like learning your cousin is an anti-vaxxer and you’re like okay well if this hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have known this and how do I continue to show this person grace. Same thing, post breakup when you see a different side or maybe not even different you just don’t have the same lenses on anymore and you’re like ohhhh well if we hadn’t broken up and/or even gotten together in the first place I wouldn’t have seen this side of you and how do I keep showing this human grace despite it all. How much does the unspoken assumptions do more damage than anything else but I mean we all have free will (right, Dave) so what are you going to do. And like most communities, Anchorage is pretty small so showing grace seems to be the best option, I recently realized just how small it is but that’s better left for a different medium. Anyways, back to skiing.

We got to the top and felt lucky that we were still in the weather window of the clouds breaking and we’d have a clean line all the way down. We ran into another friend at the top and talk about the conditions and where everyone might be skiing this weekend. Then one by one we pushed off, I followed lines down, trying to work on my turns and trying my best not to squeal at the amount of powder we were in. We regrouped and talk about the next line. I went second and was hooping and hollering when I hit a rock and rolled, even in powder the landings are soft. The guy behind me followed me and not realizing that I hit a rock also hit it and was soon on the ground by me, both of us laughing. We got up and followed each other through the trees, I saw the tracks going through a section and didn’t exactly peak, push, roll that I teach in mountain biking but instead followed the tracks thinking everything was mostly roll able. It was not and instead I slow-mo tumbled off the side of a rock and then rolled down onto a ledge where I did one more roll before landing. Again, the powder proved to be a soft landing and laughing I got up, apologizing for the delay it caused. They didn’t seem to mind and once they realized I was unscathed talked about how hilarious it was to watch. I gathered my ski that had come off and met them at the bottom. We talked about the next line and decided to head back to the car after that long run.

I got back in time to break trail for Wednesday Worlds—we slogged through about 2 feet of powder to put in a little skimo loop, the first lap being almost an hour of breaking trail and the second lap once it had been packed down was closer to 25-30 minutes. To give you perspective, the loop usually takes 15-20 minutes. I caught a ride to the trail thinking I would ski home but soon realized the normal 30 minute ski would probably be another 2 hours of breaking trail and caught a ride back–thanks again Maddy!

I got home and posted on Instagram to see if anyone had the next day off as I would finish my meetings early enough in the morning and could make up hours later in the evening when I was done skiing. I wasn’t sure anyone would bite but someone reached out but wasn’t sure it would work out so also starting thinking about how to ski from my house. In the morning we touched base again and I told her what I was thinking—it was loop I had run about 7 weeks before; it was about 13 miles but would put us on the top of Wolverine to ski down but it would be a bit of a slog to get up there. Much to my surprise she was game.

We decided to drive to a closer trailhead and start where we would take out on the trail just to save time and were skinning up the road by 10am. We didn’t think it would make much difference how we got to the top of the first hill because everything was covered in snow so we just started heading up, navigating through alders before finding what seemed like a little trail with clearing from the brush but the trail did not exist on any map so we decided to just keep taking it up figuring at some point we would get where we needed to be. We alternated breaking trail and I had much appreciation for those who put the skin tracks in that we all follow. Some of the navigation was rather comical, what seemed like a clean uphill track proved to be rather challenging with the angle and the loose snow.

We soon intersected with the actual trail up and laughed that there was an actual track that we could have been on for the first part but hopped onto it and saved some energy. We kept going up and about half a mile from the top the wind started picking up and blowing snow, we put on a few more layers and kept going. We made it to the top after getting in one persons downhill tracks that were quickly filling in with blowing snow. The top looked very different covered in snow, the wind had picked up and cornices were forming, like white caps in the ocean. We quickly had a snack and kept moving. We navigated the backside and dipped low to carve a wide angle into the hillside before looping back around to get onto the ridge line that we would boot pack to get closer to the summit to ski down (again, can’t believe someone was game for this).

The last time I had done this run I listened to a podcast about a couple in Alaska who after a one received a terminal diagnosis decided to die together on their own terms (small world but after listening to that realized a friend had bought the guys’ sailboat). I thought about that time I was back here traversing the hillside going through my own death and rebirth. And also thought about what it meant to love a person so deeply that you simply don’t want to exist without them–is that the level of commitment people should be willing to undertake in a relationship? Again, good reasons that I’m single because that’s definitely not my thinking. I’m not even sure how we got on the topic but once again we landed on death, with my ski partner being in the medical profession we talked about how she navigates it and how I navigated it when I was in the hospital. We also talked about all the environmental impacts of embalming and when she questioned out loud how that even started I enthusiastically was able to respond having just read a book by a funeral director and the culture around the industry. We both agreed that our culture doesn’t do death very well and she recommended the book The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.

We still had to get to the ridge on the right in this picture

We skirted around to the ridge line, traversed between the rocks and tried to tuck behind a larger rock to gain shelter from the wind while we took our skis and attached them to our packs. The rock offered little protection and despite how heavy my skis are I was worried they would just get ripped out of my hands as I wrestled with the straps to attach them to my pack. I grabbed another snack as quickly as I could and we started hiking up. It proved to be pretty easy because the wind had moved enough of the snow and we could navigate from rock-to-rock-tundra to get some stability. Occasionally, I would step out onto what I assumed was solid ground and my entire leg would plunge through the snow quickly making me renegotiate my way across. The wind was vicious and the snow was getting whipped into the one spot on my body that was exposed, my left face cheek. I tried not to take it personally but realized that a nose guard might be in my future (another obscure thing that only seems to exist in Alaska).

After about an hour of hiking up we popped over to look at the run, huh, not great, we tucked back in and navigated up a bit further. We looked at the line we had initially thought of running but with all the wind activity thought dropping in would prove the most perilous. We moved again, finding a spot between rocks that gave us a clean view. The line didn’t seem to have much wind effect and it was low angle- we talked about the reasons we shouldn’t do it and decided we were okay with the amount of risk that it came with (very low, risk mom, don’t worry).

Still unclear if I have windburn or frost nip on my face

With the line I would take she would have eyes on me the whole time in case something went and then I would see her the whole time. Because it was my idea I felt like it was only fair that I went first–not for a clean line but in case I triggered an avalanche, sorry mom. I pushed off trusting our knowledge and ability to respond if something did happen. It didn’t and the snow proved to be the playground that you can only dream of as a kid. The minutes went by fast but the seconds went by slow as I took it all in. I got down to the meeting point and gave the signal. I watched similar turns to mine come down the mountain. I couldn’t believe it.

Totally worth the 6 hour uphill to get this line

We met up and talked about how great that was and the fact that we actually got our objective as we both doubted it would be do-able at multiple points. Where we stopped didn’t prove to be a steep enough angle and with all the powder and we had to work to get going again. Despite that we linked up with an uphill track and worked our way the rest of the way down the mountain. I would ski in the track and then pop out when I felt like I needed to slow down a bit with the powder doing enough to slow my momentum. We took our skis off twice to hike up short little hills to get out, as the snow proved too deep to want to do any side-steeping. We exited the trail just as the moon was rising and darkness was sweeping through the valley floor. We didn’t even need to pull out our headlamps. We were glad that we didn’t start from my house because that would have added 4 more miles to the route—but it’s on my list of things to do. We got done and went over the events of the day–we ended up skiing for about 7 hours but really to only go downhill for about 30-40 minutes of that and really with only about 4 minutes of powder turns but made those 4 minutes all the more magical. I felt lucky that I found someone last minute who had the day off to do it with me.

I’m trying to get as many skis day in because I’m going to Canada with some of my friends from Colorado and well they can all ski laps around me so trying to at least get my legs ready for 7 days of skiing. I’m pretty excited but trying to act cool so they’ll invite me again—haven’t decided if it would be too much if I showed up with t-shirts that say, “Bayesian Kate Learns to Ski” – or “geological time is now” sorry that’s a joke that only 9 people might get and I’m sure none of them read this.

After Wednesday Worlds, we were in the parking lot talking and eating chocolate I had brought back from Italy when one of the guys said that he feels like he’s really coming into his time, like this is it. I was almost taken aback, are we allowed to admit these things out loud? I decided if he could, I could too and I said yeah, I feel like I’m also entering my time, and I’m really excited about everything and feel like it’s all coming together and I’m finally thriving, not just surviving. Then I thought about this book I was recently reading from an author that I’ve read a lot of books from and she told the story of how she kind of lost it on an airport worker and I was like what, you’ve been writing about how to operate in this world with kindness and grace for like 30 years. And I started thinking is she different than she was, have any of these things change the way she interacts with the world or do we just fall back into old habits at some point and write about what you did so others can learn but you don’t actually learn. I had an intense therapy session last week (probably why I wanted to get outside so much this week) where my therapist suggested meeting myself with compassion instead of judgement, for thanking myself for doing what it needed to do to survive, even if that felt like getting myself lost. I guess what I’m saying is that I still wonder, despite feeling like it’s my time and I’m finally on solid ground, what the future will look like and what I will look like and how I will navigate through it all, how will I show up in certain situations. But I suppose it’s just like a big outdoor objectives where you do what you need to survive until you can thrive, adapt as needed, pack a lot of sour patch kids and trust that you will see yourself through.

And get by with a little help from my friends

the storm inside you isn’t trying to kill you. it’s trying to save you. from the mercilessness of the universe.

you are not meant to be at peace with yourself. they’re selling you lies.

you are meant to rage. and to look where no one dares to look.

you are meant to seek lightening. hell, even become it.

genius is not born in quiet.

it’s the child of chaos.

you can either run from it or embrace it. but you sure as hell cannot be free from it.

i imagine myself to be a writer. old wrinkly hands, and my children crying at the poems i wrote.

pain, unleashed, is the real becoming.

–this was definitely taken from somewhere but I cannot find the credit but it’s not my words just seemed fitting

Jane said this blog was a little Debbie Downer and didn’t think it was reflective of how much joy I’ve been showing these days– but I suppose just like finding joy and happiness in the dark right now outside maybe that’s what I’m doing inside. Stay tuned for more Pollyanna. Oh, and Team Couch will be riding again! We all got into the White Mountains 100 in March– TBD if I’ll be biking, skiing, or running. Lolz

Last Place Champ

On December 4, 2022December 4, 2022 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Chamonix, Cycling, cyclocross, Mental Health, Nationals, skiing, Uncategorized1 Comment

I was looking for an email this morning and had searched Chamonix when something called Last Place Champ popped up, I didn’t recognize it so clicked to search and it took me to an email from February 10, 2020. It was for a profile someone was doing on me after getting last place at Nationals in the singlespeed category. That took me back to a life that seems so far away now. I was looking at my responses to the questions.

How did you feel once you crossed the finish line?

I had mix feelings crossing the finish line, on one hand I was proud of the effort I put in to get me across the finish line and on the other hand I was pretty disappointed that a mechanical had taken me out of contention and I spent the majority of the race running with my bike instead of riding. There are a lot of factors you can control with racing; training, nutrition, equipment choices, ect…., but you can’t control for everything and that’s part of the appeal is the chaos that you attempt to contain while racing.

What would you say was the hardest challenge in this race?

…I think it’s hard because a last place finish, doesn’t tell the whole story of the race, it only captures a brief moment of time, there is no asterisk there to explain anyone’s story. I kept joking that sometimes ‘I’m fast, sometimes I’m last’. During the race I also had to shake the expectations others had for me and that is not to say that I felt pressure from anyone else but during the race felt like spectators just assumed I was not here to really compete, I mean who runs with their bike during a bike race. I had to remind myself that these people don’t matter but that’s easier said than done.

What was the most rewarding thing about completing this race?

Gaining that mental toughness. Before the race I was joking with my mechanic that is something really went haywire I would just pull the plug, I was there mostly for fun and then to see how my body actually responded during that moment of deciding, it didn’t want to give up and wanted to keep racing, that was oddly exciting to see. This season was one of transition for me and at times I wondered if my body and mind were maybe just done with racing (I took the summer off from racing to study for the bar exam so had to race my way into shape throughout the seasons). It also taught me that it’s okay to have fun and still take things seriously. I didn’t want to put too many expectations on myself to perform so missed some key equipment checks because I didn’t want to come off as too serious because I didn’t think I would be a contended.

Any final words of encouragement and thoughts you’d like to share?

Racing opens you up to vulnerability and potentially criticism, but it also opens the door to an amazing supportive community that will share in your victories and buy you drinks to drown your sorrows. I’ve learned so much about myself by showing up to starting lines that I was minutes away from talking myself out of. I’ve never regretted doing a race, even the ones that I didn’t live up to my potential at, in fact those are the ones that keep me up at night and leave my hungry for more. I thought getting last would be devastating and it was for a bit, but the bright side is that when people ask you how you did in the race, no one expects you to say, “I got dead fucking last” and then laugh, which really sounds better than some random number, unless you’re first.

———

I don’t know if this ever actually got posted anywhere because as 2020 unfolded most things took a backseat to anything other than COVID. In a way it was weird to get transported back to that time and place, the girl who wrote that, past Kate must have known that future Kate was going to be going through some shit soon and maybe would find these words all these years later a little encouraging (I love when past Kate looks out for future Kate). I read through them and thought of how much the answers related to the trauma I’ve been carrying, about holding space for the duality, shaking others’ expectations and assumptions, being confident in my ability, leaning into the community, and how the finish results only serves a snap shot of the race. I think we should all come with asterisks, Kate*

*Kate had a panic attack at the end of December 2021 which she feels like was her own fault and the amount of pain and destruction it caused is complicated by the amount of joy and growth it brought, please proceed gently she is still sometimes anxious and occasionally gets an intrusive thought but loves playing outside and is really good at an extremely niche area of international law.

But we don’t come with asterisks. And in a lot of ways with writing and the past year I’ve been more vulnerable than I ever was when I was racing and while that vulnerability brought pain it also brought me into this amazing circle of others who are navigating choppy waters as well (I mean aren’t we all). I remember during the MDH 150 (yes, still working on that) my phone died and Barb gave me her phone with music on it and tee’d up Florence and the Machine– I told her that was perfect because the most recent song I had had on repeat was one of hers that starts, “Sometimes I wonder if I should be medicated…I’m on fire and I’m trying not to show it.” And isn’t that the theme for most of early 2022. But I suppose I have shown it and it’s taken a while to peel back all the layers and talk about them because well who knew what I would be peeling back. I’ve found that the space that used to be filled with so much grief, sadness, and anger didn’t go away, that space still exists but now has room for other things to fill it like joy, content, relief.

I kept thinking that once COVID was over my life would unpause and I could make plans, grow/strengthen my friendships, dance, laugh, cry, show any emotion. But that thinking did me in and instead I felt so numb for at least a few months leading up to the panic attack, joy was fleeting and even the highs were punctuated with bated breath to see if anyone would get COVID. As I said before life doesn’t pause and having to reschedule and cancel things or adapt comes with frustrations, even when not dealing with a pandemic. I feel like in the past year I saw my mind fail me in a way I had never experienced and am doing everything to make sure it never happens again. Fortunately (or unforunately) I’ve also seen friends in the same boat and some navigating having their bodies fail as they share the frustrations of having to reschedule or put things to a date to be determined. So we’re all adapting, navigating, and walking each other home.

One of the bigger loses I felt this past year was my relationship, I’d like to think the panic attack and the residual aftershocks killed it but it was probably more like death of 1,000 cuts and thinking that once I got footing and my narrative back from COVID, the panic attack, life, I could pick up where we left off before everything, back in March of 2020. Before the cascade of uncertainly crushed me in the chaos. I think of that post-race analysis and it’s like man, I don’t even know if he met that girl who was talking about how strong she was and how much fun I could be, if he did she was fleeting. And while certainly sad it’s also acknowledging that within every relationship is a time stamp of the events around it, with no asterisk. While I certainly grieved for the relationship I feel like I grieved more for the girl who didn’t show up, who had been knocked down and couldn’t figure out how to ask for help, who felt incredibly isolated, alone and awash with my own thoughts, who lost her laugh. I think I grieve mostly for what I lost in myself, who I used to be, and the amount of effort it’s taken to get back to her — the girl who breaks her bike and takes off running to keep up. My therapist (and I) think she’s still in there- and is making quite the moves to come back–but it’s almost like she had to retreat for how much she was trying to protect herself. As I move forward with healing and trying to untangle COVID, panic attack, relationships, I realize that they are all intertwined and figuring out the contact points of the specific fission isn’t exactly a productive use of time. It’s like when a race really goes sideways and it’s just a multitude of factors. And yes, sometimes I still get real annoyed at this trauma suitcase even though it is much smaller than it was a few months ago. Anyways, #SingleK8 is back (IYKYK) and I’m sure this is the start of a Hallmark movie….just kidding more like #SkimoK8 is back (just signed up for a race).

I thought about this all after I arrived back in Alaska after 30 hours of traveling from Italy and awoke early from jet-lag. I was waiting for the sun to come up and then headed out to ski with my roommate. We ran into some overflow early on and Hailey’s foot broke through exposing her to cold water. Realizing the potential damage that could come with a wet, cold exposure she turned around and I remained to do some laps and then ski home. I went up to the top and then dropped down a bit to do some hill repeats, up, down, up down, up down, my heartrate monitor still in a bag over the Atlantic. I kept going beyond what I was told to do, entering the flow state, breaking down the technique, wondering if I could just be a little bit better than the last time. I stopped just as the sun was about to crest the hill line and decided to rip my skins and go down. I took off thinking I should wax my skis at some point, the loop itself is short but there are a few tight corners and as I’ve worked on my technique I’m more comfortable leaning in and pushing through the apex. In those moments, right before the turn falls away, I feel a pushing back from the earth and yesterday as I rounded the corner I couldn’t help but to think it was mother earth kindly reminding me that she had me and would always have me. Alright, nerds don’t ruin that with the forces of gravity pushing back on you, I know logically how it works, just let me have this.

I did a writing that isn’t public yet about how my relationship changed with the outdoors during COVID, before once a place of refuge, became a place where anything and everything could kill me. After the panic attack it was the only place I could go that would quiet my thoughts and pull me back into the present being, however brief and I kept chasing that no matter how elusive it was on some days. I thought of that yesterday too as the quiet spots are no longer elusive or just contained to the outdoors, my resting heartrate is back to a normal 45-55bpm range, and while some days feel long and the trauma suitcase a bit heavy I know that over time this will become a footnote in my story.

On a side note, Italy was great, I was able to meet up with a former co-worker, Renu. Julia and I did some touristy things when we overlapped in Milan. Trento was lovely and I feel like once again I get the push and pull of do you return to a place you already know or to go explore somewhere new. I don’t have to answer the question just yet as I’m headed to Canada and Switzerland in January but sending the question into the universe to see what comes back.

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I’m back for a few weeks before what will feel like another whirlwind tour and packing in all the days on snow I can. Charlotte and I once again got out today, with Lang, finding some nice fluffy snow on a less than existent base layer.

You’ll know how to build your own fire in a cold forest. You’ll find yourself in the middle of life’s wet howl and you’ll recognize how bright you are. You’ll reach for only what will burn you back.

Never Enough

On November 27, 2022November 28, 2022 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Cycling, cyclocross, Endurance Races, Mental Health, Other Adventures, Uncategorized, XC Skiing1 Comment

Even before getting to the start of the Maah Daah Hey 150 people would ask me what was next. Next? I hadn’t even thought about that so I would joke that I was going to retire. Part of me maybe wasn’t joking. It’s been the first bike race in my life where I didn’t have something immediately lined up afterwards– I think I wasn’t even fully convinced I would get to race this year and the other part knew that if I did, I wasn’t sure what the after would look like. Instead of rushing off to the next event, I’m absorbing all that has transpired and releasing what’s also been contained in my body for so long. It’s like a long savasana and my body is finally in a state of resurrection.

Three years ago I wrote about death and the novelty of the dark reaching Alaska. During that period, in the span of one week I had lost three clients and one co-worker and it seemed like death was closer than it had been in previous locations. That feeling didn’t go away once COVID hit, in fact it seemed to get closer as I would go into the backcountry without service for 24-48 hours and wonder what I would come back to– if I would miss the passing of a parent, relative, or friend. This was taking me away from being in the present and into the liminality between life and death.* Instead of coming back to life I was stuck in this transition space in-between it seemed like. I was just waiting to be released and go back to living. After the panic attack death felt so close and it felt so foreign, as someone who has been relatively comfortable with death for most of my life, maybe more than others. It felt like it was chasing me as I tip-toed around my brain, worried that somehow while suspended in this chaotic state I would die and spend the rest of eternity being anxious. Told you it was a wild ride. But in learning to release all this trauma it’s shown me a lot that got built up during COVID and finally feeling like I have some distance from death gave me new perspective on what that really meant or didn’t mean, I mean who really knows right. Now in a lot of ways I feel grounding that I haven’t felt since COVID, these days my grief is living closer to the surface but so is my joy. I no longer feel like I must plan activities days/weeks out to give my mind time to prepared and can envision a future that exists more than 2-3 days out. Why do I keep writing about this, well for part it’s cathartic but also ties into a lot of my experiences with the outdoors. But it also is starting to fit into the larger narrative of how to do I want to move forward in my life.

After I returned to Alaska I did four cross races, two I previously wrote about. The last two included a night race and the other one in snow covered/icy field that my only real goal was to not crash and break my leg this close to ski season. I didn’t, instead I opted to hand out candy on the course to the spectators #plottwist — and we all made sure to celebrate Grande’s 40th birthday as she crossed the finish line. At some point this summer I had entertained the idea of going to cross nationals this year. Another friend up here, Mel was also thinking about doing it but we both realized our work schedules were a little too hectic to make it work this year. We both talked a lot about how racing is so different up here (for context, Mel and I raced against each other at national’s- she got 3rd and I got 5th) nobody is stressed about points or races, everyone is kind and pretty excited to be riding bikes. In a lot of ways, it’s what you want out of a cycling community. And even if cross seems to be dying in other parts of the country it continues to grow here– which makes me happy.

After the cross season wrapped up, I went to Ottawa, CA for work. Two of my friends and I decided to track our elevation for 2 months to help get in shape for ski season with a goal of at least 1200 ft/day. I spent time running there and finding stairs to get as much elevation as I could. It’s weird to travel and to present about COVID-19, it’s like a postmortem but the body is still moving.

When I returned to Alaska, I was able to get on skis, getting a few laps in Hatcher Pass with Charlotte the end of October. The first run of the season we took pretty mellow to see just how our ski legs would do after months off, not terrible. The snow glided under my skis, and it felt like no time had passed. We turned around for another lap where we climbed higher and we were rewarded with some nice pockets of powder and opted for another lap. I wasn’t sure I could find someone to ski on Sunday with so discussed with her a route that would work for low avalanche danger but could still get some elevation in (for the elevation spreadsheet).

I was able to get another friend, Nate to come with, he seemed pretty open to my ridiculous idea of skinning up to the ridge and then I would run down and he could ski down, the snow was a little sparse and he’s a better skilled skier than me, as he still teleskis (that’s how that works right?). I know the absurdity of this idea but I wasn’t sure my skill level was strong enough to get down the line I wanted. Instead, I left my running shoes in the car and after skinning up the road we saw a bowl that looked pretty good and made our way up, navigating above where Charlotte and I had been a few days before. I was on my lighter, skinnier skis than I would have liked but didn’t hesitate about climbing up. Nate and I ended up talking about death on the way up, he was raised Jewish which means they don’t have the same after life thoughts as Catholics, he joked that it was poor for recruitment but nice in terms of not having to concern yourself with where you ended up after you died. That seemed nice and I told him how close I had felt to death for so long, not in a suicidal sense, more that I would just die and I would be stuck like this forever– on top of feeling so incredibly isolated during COVID I wasn’t sure that I had made an impact in any community and had feelings of being incredibly disposable. I was so worried to do anything that would push me any closer into the death zone. Told ya not to trust your brain when it’s on fire.

I ripped my skins, and we discussed our lines down, the light was flat and so we opted instead for tracked out areas of snow instead of untouched powder. We got down, hooting and hollering despite the survival skiing methods being deployed and looped back around to the top of the road to take that down instead. Nate commented about a section to not trigger a slide, oh that’s right, avalanches, things that can actually kill me instead of my thoughts. We got done and Nate commented how I seemed like a strong skier already than when we had gone out last spring. I told him that having some distance from death and gaining confidence back in myself and self-trust seemed to make the biggest difference in terms of my ability.

For all you at home, don’t worry finally got my lighter (after this photo)

I’ve had a few more Fridays of skiing that I call ‘Ferda Girls Friday’ —Charlotte and I have somewhat similar work schedules and we’ve been trying to get out when we can. The skiing has been good up in Hatcher’s Pass or at least they have snow. One Friday had another friend, Julie join us as well, she dubbed it ‘Femme Fatal Friday’. Again, we warmed up with a road lap to scout out conditions, seeing more avalanche activity we picked a route up that wouldn’t leave us too exposed and would put us back where we had a been a few weeks earlier. We skinned up and on the first run down were surprised with the pockets of powder that existed, despite a few rocks poking up. We opted for another half run and took a different line down. The Anchorage scene is filled with incredibly strong women and in talking to them about everything from life, work, and relationships it seems like my challenges aren’t unique to just me, which is reassuring, and almost comical for how long I held things in thinking I was the only experiencing these things. Not only do I get to bounce life and work ideas off of them, I also get to follow their lines down. On the last run I took a nice little chunk out of my ski, despite not realizing until I went to put my skins back on. I joked that it was okay, because I needed a pair of rock skis anyways.

After that I headed to Singapore for work where I traded in my down jacket for tank tops and sandals. I opted for running outside when I could, having some familiarity with the city from being there this summer. The jet-lag often meant that I had a lot of places to myself at 4am. Into the dark I would head and not think anything of it- a stark difference from where I had been a few months ago. The darkness seemed to be a place I didn’t want to go, I was already spending too much time there in my mind and was fearful that surely there was more that could kill me in the dark than in the light. In a weird way being able to poke further into the dark spots in my mind and hold space for them has allowed me to hold and reclaim space in the darkness. What was once feared is back to feeling like an old friend. I would dash around the botanical gardens and despite being next to a large metropolitan was easy to get into the dark spaces and revel in them.

Maybe it’s also because in the dark I don’t get sunburnt because after we had some time after work and spending an hour or so outside, I got too much sun, threw up (totally normal), and I joked with my coworker that’s why I live as far away from the equator as possible.

I got back to Alaska with one weekend in between arriving from Singapore and leaving for Italy. Opting to try to make the most of it, I found a cabin down on the Kenai to ski into. Charlotte joined and what started as thinking of going to the cabin grew into backcountry skiing on the way down and carrying skates in to skate on the lake by the cabin before heading back out and if there was enough time to ski again on the way home. We couldn’t find anyone else to join us (Fridays are hard) and left late morning. We got to Turnagain pass and were pleasantly surprised to find the weather was nicer than anticipated. We skinned up and again looked for routes to go down as the recent weather had created a weird crust on top. Charlotte is an incredibly strong overall athlete and has really good skiing technique so I often let her go first and then will try to follow her tracks, turning where she did and making similar descents. Which sometimes works but more often than not I’ll veer out of her line and try to gain some control to get it back.

We found nicer snow lower down but only opted for one lap so we wouldn’t arrive to the cabin too late. We rearranged things in the parking lot, putting away our backcountry gear and getting our Nordic gear and re-packing our packs for the ski in. About an hour later we got to the trailhead and we were on the trail quickly but moving on the trail proved to be less than quick.

The snow was patchy, and we would alternate between gliding and having to pick up our skis and walk on what seemed to be ice on top of dirt and rocks. After one up-hill switchback tiltering on the icy/rock mess I toppled over the side of the hill but luckily only had 1-2 tumbles down before stopping with my pack and skis still attached. I somehow avoided any underlying brush that could have been problematic. I unsnapped my pack and skis and hopped back up to the trail taking note of anything that might have been impacted. Surprisingly good to go. We kept making our way down the trail and after another mile or so we opted to instead take our skis off and hike in. The snow had covered the alders and weighed them, so the branches were often covering the trail requiring more navigation than we at points were wanting to do. After about 4-5 hours we made it to the cabin around midnight and with getting a fire going and making food finally got to bed around 1:30am deciding we would figure out what things looked like in the morning for our activities.

Throughout the night I could hear snow sluffing off the roof with the warmer temperature, at one point convinced someone else was in the cabin but was too sleepy to actually investigate. The morning brought a bit of a drizzle and after a fire and breakfast we packed up most of our things and went to the lake to check out ice skating. Charlotte used her ice screw to determine we had at least 4 inches thick to skate on and in that time period I realized that I had the wrong mount for my boots and skates- ha! Well, something had to go array on this 24 hour frenzy. Charlotte skated around near the shore, avoiding a large crack across the ice and I walked out on to the frozen lake. One of the distinct memories from last January is skating on a frozen lake and being absolutely terrified, like so much so that I became almost paralyzed and had to be gingerly coaxed back to shore—this was despite all the cars that were parked on the ice for ice fishing. I remember thinking that at any moment I would just plunge through and at that time I wasn’t convinced I would be able to fight to stay alive, I was too weak physically and mentally, and that I would just simply perish. And despite the current ice being in the same molecular state I felt grounded with a renewed sense in myself.

We didn’t spend too much time on the lake but enough to make it worth carrying an extra set of boots and skate into our packs. We made our way back to the cabin, repacked our boots and skates in our bags and headed out. Thinking we would at least start skiing and hoping to at least get a mile in before we’d have to hike. We hit the trail and we were pleasantly surprised, the warmer temperature meant that most of the snow had fallen off the branches with the trail being mostly clear of the wood that had posed so much hassle the night before. We were able to ski out for about 5 miles before having to switch to hiking, almost the exact opposite of what we did the night before. We got back to the car as night was approaching and didn’t even discuss getting a backcountry lap in on the way home. We watched the temperature not even dip below freezing on the drive back and wondered what the rain would do to the snowpack that was already being formed for the season.

In between, I’ve tried to start a ‘Wednesday Worlds’ group- there is a small contingency of those who have been showing up (mostly Charlotte and Mary) to hike and now hoping to consistently be on skis to get some hot laps in– but if anything it helps to get me out of the house and do something on Wednesday, often later than I would. I keep thinking it’ll be one of those if you build it they will come and going for the long game here but if you have some skis and want in, let me know!

I still have a lot of guilt and some shame about how I showed up during COVID and the panic attack, and while it’s been a long recovery for me, I also feel like it’s been a long recovery for my support system. Now having more space from that gives me a new perspective on everything. In a lot of ways, it’s similar to bike racing, there are highs and lows and you try to learn what you can and keep moving forward hoping that the highs will be enough to carry you through. One thing that I deviated from with racing is that my general approach with my support crew is it’s not their problem, I’ll let them know what I need but they shouldn’t panic. Well with COVID I feel like I let that line blur and did not necessarily contain my problems. The lows certainly damaged relationships and I’m grateful for those friends and family who keep showing me grace with how I can show up some days. And while I certainly wish there were some things I could do over much like a bike race you take what you can from it and keep moving forward accepting that sometimes there just aren’t any do overs to be had. In some ways I feel like COVID and the panic attack resulted in the biggest bonk of my life and much like experiencing that during a race, you take the lessons you can from it so that you never get to that space again.

How do you continue to live and love with so much uncertainty. How do you stay in love with the world amid so much loss? Nevertheless, you love, you’re injured and you inflict injuries, you throw people away then try to get them back, we yearn for one another in sickness and in health.
Love in the time of Contagion

Where does this leave me, well the future is much easier to plan, and getting outside in the dark is no longer anxiety inducing so I asked my coach to keep coaching me for skimo racing with a few races on tap in the L48 when I have to be down to teach later in the winter. I also signed up for a stage race in Iceland next summer (you didn’t really think I would be done biking did you). But it’s also leaving space for what comes my way, a hut-to-hut running trip in Switzerland, that sounds fun, going backcountry skiing in Canada, ohhh I can definitely make that work.

Or I can go as long as I don’t break any more rules

I’m also trying to work on the balance of not wearing myself down to get anywhere close to a breaking point again. In a lot of ways that means that it feels like there is never enough time while simultaneously having to be okay with the time that I have. One of the biggest things I’ve been tackling in therapy is this duality—that I can love my job and love where I live (before it felt like I would always have to pick one), I can love my work on pandemics and really hate that the pandemic happened, I can have doubt while also knowing that I’ll land on my feet, I can be afraid and still take the leap, I can hold space for all these things, or at least try to hold space for all these things. One thing that has helped me a lot recently is when someone told me, “it’s okay to not be okay, but it’s also okay to be okay while others are not.” That literally feels life changing for me.

Scouting ski routes and making plans for the future

I’m in Italy this week for work but will be back in Alaska next weekend in hopes that the snow has finally stuck around in Anchorage. I also convinced a friend to come with, it didn’t take much convincing but appreciate being at the point in my life that friends have disposable income and PTO. We’ll be in Milan for about a day where we’ll meet up with a former co-worker and then I’ll head off to Trento for work and she’ll go Venice before we meet back up in Milan and head to London, where I’ll continue onto Anchorage and she’s tacked on a few other sidequests.

I guess I continue to write more about my personal life (I mean is it any more than normal, I’m sure my mom would suggest not-ha!) because we write about the things we’re trying to make sense of or are hopeless at. So much of my writing became trying to make sense of COVID that I lost the sense of everything else. Thinking I could put things on hold and return where I had left them when things were more stable, more grounded, but time keeps marching on whether you try to hit pause or not. And realizing that while control is illusory (I mean is there even free will), there is a difference between trying to control your life and passively living your life—and while sometimes it seems like the work is long and the narrative will remain incomplete, there is some solstice to be had in knowing that we (I) may not know the whole story in our (my) lifetime.

And if anyone in Anchorage has next Friday off and wants to ski lettttttttme know.

Oh and still working on the MDH150, but gossiping more with my therapist than crying so it’ll probably be done soon.

* I mean aren’t we all just little souls carrying around corpses (Marcus Aurelius)

Kate Ginsbach

Tag: Alaska