Racing

Ski racing isn't what it once was for me. In the past, I would spend countless hours of my spring summer and fall training: running, rollerskiing, and weight lifting. Actually the hours weren't countless, they were in fact very counted. And not only were they counted, but they were categorized, organized and analyzed. Did I do enough intervals this year? How much of my distance training was done above a heart rate of 160 BPM?

Now, however, ski training is something that happens when I get too antsy to sit still on front of a book or computer. In fact, I wouldn't even call it "training", but more of an attempt not to lose every ounce of general fitness that I once possessed.

I was looking forward to starting off this year's racing schedule off with a nice little 6K. Hardly a race, it's more aptly labeled a time-trial. So when I lined up at the starting line with about 6 other skiers, I was content in knowing that we could cruise through the race at a very reasonable pace, and I could successfully hide how truly out of shape I am.

That idea, went straight to hell when I realized that one of the six skiers has ACTUALLY BEEN TRAINING! I know, right? In a situation like that, the only reasonable thing to do is let the faster skier move ahead and realize that it doesn't make sense to kill yourself on what is essentially the first hard workout of the year.

Well, "reason" and I sat down together a long time ago and amicable agreed to never set foot in the same room. So I had no choice but to make my poor legs and lungs follow this far better trained athlete for as...long...as...I...possibly...could... (spoken in a gritty voice through clenched teeth).

No "citizen racer" is going to beat me! I said to my self, in scolding tone. Sadly, it took me until lap 4 of 4 to realize that I am now a "citizen racer" as well. And as I glided past the finish line in 2nd place, bent over my knees like I was just hit in the chest by a sledge hammer, reality struck me. It hit me pretty hard too, because I was in the lodge for 20 minutes after that with my head on my arms at the table, trying with ever ounce of my body, not to die of self-inflicted injuries.

I can just see "reason" laughing over there in the corner (in a different room). And reason keeps telling me not to go back next week...