About a year and half ago I felt like the cage opened up and I was able to create this wildly, abundant, and exuberant life– knowing for the most part that it wasn’t sustainable long term. I kept saying that I got a pass, I could do whatever I want and figure out the things that mattered to me again. It was like going from total control to unfettered freedom. But I knew it wasn’t sustainable, at some point the pendulum would swing back and I’d find that equilibrium that was missing for so long. Maybe that’s what made it all the more sweeter, knowing how fleeting it would all be, still is.
Last year I had about 70 days on backcountry skis, which is by far the biggest season I have had considered I started in Winter 2020, had about 3 days, 2021 about 8 days, 2022 about 12 days. I thought about that number about half way through this season and realized my trajectory probably won’t put me to achieve more than that this year. Does it matter if we aren’t always on a positive linear trajectory with what we’re doing? Is it naive to think that each year will just be a stepping stone to the next level without any back steps, maybe, maybe not. I’ve talked about this with friends in terms of the healing trajectory like once you open up the door to the dark closet where all your shame is you still have to go through all the muck to get to the light and sometimes the current carries you and other times you’re swimming against it and losing ground. But as long as you’re still moving, right? Does it matter if it’s forward or if you’re moving how you can, meeting yourself with grace, taking a breath and figuring out the line down.
Despite me knowing that I was getting off the accelerated train from the past year I still signed up for some big races/events(tbd?). Which means that I have been skiing when I can and trying to build and maintain the fitness that I’ve acquired. On a more recent outing I went down to Turnigan with Charlotte and despite reading all the avy forecasts and looking at surface angles I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. On the skintrack up I had the feeling of what if I just tumble over the side, or the whole side of the mountain just detaches and that’s it. Every trip outside remains a meditation on mortality. Once on top I still couldn’t really shake this weird feeling. Misplaced anxiety is what I’ve come to call it. Charlotte skied down first and once she was at a spot out of the way I pushed off.
My anxiety was accelerated and any sluff that was coming off put me in a heighten state of all the snow just fracturing and carrying me down with it. I got to the bottom and we skied back to the skin track deciding to take another lap. On the way up I told her about my anxiety with the snow, she said she noticed as I kept turning to look up. It was a weird feeling but saying it out loud took away a lot of the power and the next run seemed a lot smoother, at least from an anxiety perspective but maybe also a helpful hack of singing Kesha to myself on the way down…
This is a bit of a weird post because I’m in a bit of a weird place. I was at yoga last night and the teacher said that if you’re wobbly and uncertain that’s where you can grow, figure out the wobbles and find your footing. I’m sure he was talking beyond me finding my footing in dancer pose and that’s what it feels like, figuring out the wobbles and where I’ll land, what will be certain, what am I creating that will be certain, or is it just the fact that there is no certainty and that’s all we get. The impermanence of it all is all the permanence we get.
I’ve had some really great days out too, mostly with Charlotte as we have similar schedules but long days with Hailey as we’re resurrecting our long slogs home, Ana and I have done some boot packing to burn off some excess energy, and team couch (Ana and Grande) got me out the door for my one fat bike a year ride. Sadly, no photo evidence exists of that ride as it was like like -7 and I was cold. And have done more skate skiing this year than years prior with the Hot Laps group and squeezing in the occasional lunch break with others.
I’m set to do the Last Skier Standing race this weekend in Maine but my skis are still in Canada and it’s been a bit of a cluster to sort through. I’ve been grappling with what to do all week– do I race on rentals and piece together the other equipment I would want or just scratch it and go do something else. I was convinced I was going to scratch yesterday, calling Rosie to gain perspective and mostly support my decision to not race.
Then the race director reached out saying they have skis ready for me and anything else I need to get to the starting line and then that’s it. The wobbles– where is the solid footing. What part of me is wanting to race and why, Rosie posed this to me. I hadn’t thought about that. I thought back to when I registered, the excitement of getting to explore more of me in a new sport, a new area. But not wanting it to be like this– but how often do we not want it to be like this and learning to adjust to bend before breaking. Wobbles. Flashbacks to being stuck in O’Hare and not making it to the bike race in Iceland, am I becoming the person who signs up for races and just is accumulating DNS? Or is it me ignoring messages again and again until I finally learn the lesson– is there any meaning to make from this mess. Wobbles.
A friend recently stated that they have limited free time so they try to be intentional with what they do. I thought back to my philosophy professor in college who always talked about when she was a corporate lawyer and from the outside it wasn’t viewed that her external values aligned with her internal values so she changed course, moved to Boulder, got a PhD and started teaching philosophy. Don’t we all have limited free time and where we put it and how we spend our time is our message to the world, to the outside. Do my external and internal value system align, do people know what I value by what I do? Wobbles.
I recently watched two movies, Earthside, a tribute to Hilaree Nelson (having watched it twice now, I cried both times) and the Maah Daah Hey Film that focuses on Kelly Magelky and his last time lining up for the race (unbeknownst to him at the time). Both of these athletes have inspired me in my athletic pursuits in similar and different ways. Kelly and I have talked over the years about the challenges in sometimes even getting to the starting line, finding the balance, going after big objectives while also balancing life– racing is easy, everything before it, well. Finding certainty in the things you can control and letting go of the things you cannot. Wobbles.
Besides these two individuals, I’ve found a lot of inspiration in my life from those I’m surrounded by and the grace that they show while navigate tricky situations with motherhood, careers, marriage/relationships, chronic and terminal illnesses, reinventing themselves after loss, big objectives, changing course, getting to the starting line with grace and going from there.
I guess this is me still trying to figure out the footing, the certainty, the optimal line down, the getting to the starting line with grace and going from there.
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!)
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.
A little sickly looking here Less sickly looking here
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).
Kate Farrell Ginsbach 