The good and The Great

The good: Borrowed my friend Richard's dog, Luna, last weekend for a snowshoe up above Donner Lake. After spending most of the day working, we were both going stir crazy inside so we set out in the remaining light, Luna bounding through the 8-10 inch snow, me clodding along behind. She was the perfect company to unwind with in the quiet stillness of new snow. All happiness and fresh tracks and boundless energy forging ahead of me. I like to think that my expression reflected hers below.

It marked the beginning of a weekend spent shredding over,ripping through and plunging face first into my good friend, snow. To keep this short I'll skip over the stellar day at Squaw Saturday running laps around KT, Headwall and Granite Chief until we caught last chair at 3:57. Shout outs to Richard, Jules, Rob, Yariv and Kieron - I got to share some turns with all of you over the course of an excellent day.

Which brings me to The Great (also known as the not-so-good).

Oh Great Ski Race. You had me at Go. And by "had" I mean you owned me. Just 4 inches along in my first Great Ski Race I stumbled and fell, visions of the bulls of Pamplona racing through my head as lycra-clad skiers stepped nimbly around me. There I was still three feet behind the actual starting line, 30 seconds into the race; face down, butt up - an inglorious beginning to the 18 miles ahead. Yeay, me.

Once I got going, the first section rolled gradually into gentle uphills, steady and easy enough for me to work out the kinks. At 11k, the first aid station took an eternity to get to although in fairness, I spaced on carrying proper food and drink with me. I underestimated how thirsty I'd be.

After the aid station it was a long, gradual downhill. Yeay? Crippled as I am with nordic descents, I had to pizza-pie my way down the trail watching with lustful envy as children and the elderly raced past me in tucks. By the time I got to the first significantly steep downhill - 2 uneven troughs of mushy, piled up snow - without a trace of athleticism I spread-eagled my way down, falling face first into a bank of snow.

1, 2, 3 hours came and went. I passed a blind skier. A group of tweener girls wearing fairy wings passed me. My feet ached, an elbow hurt, I was hungry. And there was still 10-12k left to cover. I continued to plod on, ticking off the kilometers slowly, stopping to stretch every 15 minutes or so. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't appreciate how pretty it was around me or how good the cold air felt deep in my lungs, but when I saw the first glimpse of a house - civilization! - I think I cried a little inside. The end was near. But first, the epic downhill I'd heard people talk about ever since I signed up for this race. Steep, curving, and long - a final straightaway into a half circle of spectators waiting to see the show.

I started my way down making it 3 feet before nose-diving into a clump of snow. Another 5 feet and I was down again. Two kids came careening past me - one in shorts - barely in control racing for a finish that I still couldn't see. An older woman took her skis off to walk the final 100 yards. I had no respectable finish time in sight and even less ability at that point, but I had my pride. No way were my skis coming off. And so I finished the day as spectacularly as I started, stumbling and falling 3 more times down the homestretch before crossing the finish line. As I kicked my skis off I overheard a woman say "I can't imagine still being out on the course." Oh imagine it, girlfriend.

Oh Great Ski Race you flogged me. I get it. You are not to be taken lightly. Despite the costumes, free beer, a party at the end - there's still the matter of traveling those 18+ miles of trails up and down. My friends Jessica and Jeff came with respect and fared much better finishing so much earlier that they were nearly frozen - and on a bus - by the time I fell across the finish line. Ah, the quiet silence around the back of a pack finish. Well-played, humility, well-played.

I'll be back oh Great and mighty Ski Race. Maybe.