Soft morning ski

I woke up extra early this morning for no good reason (to my knowledge) and sleepily let the dog out. It was then that I spotted the dusting of fresh powder on the deck. Flutter of excitement. After a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola, I was getting my ski boots on as it was just getting light. I jogged to the end of the block and climbed over the dike. Soft snow blanketed the ski trails and soft gray clouds receded to the east, their underbellies lit up with soft pink light from the rising sun.

Today's softness was a welcome contrast to yesterday's icy trails. I had already chosen my classic skis for today, since skating was so uncomfortable, and now I wondered if I should go back for my skate skis since the trails were coated with a new layer of snow. However, the new layer was very light and I could still feel the hardness under my skis, so I thought I'd stick with classic. There's nothing like having the first tracks on new snow . . .

As I headed south, I passed two young people on the dike, enjoying the sunrise. Then I was in my own world, enjoying the lamblike March morning. Kick and glide, kick and glide, inhale, exhale--a rhythm that carried me back into my dreams before I woke up.

On rounding the oxbow, I came to a section where the wind had blown the new snow over the trail and filled in the tracks. I watched the ridge between the tracks to help me guide my feet, but soon found one of my skis was up on the berm between tracks, so I softened my vision, quit looking so hard for visual cues, and let the feel of the skis guide me. After all, the skis want to stay in the old tracks, I just have to not override their desire.

As I neared Lindenwood Park, I saw a round wet spot in the river. Why there? I wondered. I stopped to take a photo of the soft clouds and soft light, admiring the loveliness of this morning. I was comforted to see that the Gooseberry-Lindenwood bridge was still down. When the bridge is up, it signals the end of the ski season and the preparations for spring flooding.

Now I was working hard, my body was warming, the softness of my stance was hardening. I could see the Fargo Parks truck working to plow the bike path in the park. When I came to the end of the ski trail at the I-94 bridge over the river, I could see a steady stream of cars rushing by, carrying people to work. I needed to get back and get to work myself. I turned around, the sun was now up, it hit me full on in the face, and I scurried back home. 

Birkie weekend!

On February 24th, we drove 6 hours to Hayward, Wisconsin to experience the American Birkebeiner weekend. Our trip was special because we got to reconnect with our Alaskan friends, Barb and Mike Kelly, who had just retired and moved to Hayward. Barb took us out for a ski on the Hatchery trails soon after we arrived. Those trails connected to the Birkie trail, so we got to ski on that for a bit. It was impressive--very wide, immaculately groomed, and HILLY. I tried to take it super easy because I was signed up to race on Saturday in the 23 kilometer Korteloppet (short loop). The full Birkie is 50K skating and 54K classic. I'm so grateful to the guys in the PENS club who advised me to sign up for the Kortie rather than the full Birkie. With our lack of snow in Fargo, it was difficult to get enough skiing in to be ready. The longest distance I could build up to was 15K, which I did twice, along with as many shorter skis as I could fit in. I also ran regularly with Noko and worked out at the gym. Still, I didn't feel very prepared, and I was nervous.

Mike made me a great breakfast on Saturday morning--eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes. Then, Enrico and the boys drove me up to Telemark resort. I thought they would just drop me off, but they were able to find parking right in front of the lodge, so they were able to walk me to the race start. I was glad they were there because I was nervous. I was placed in Wave 9, which was the second to last wave. I lined up with all the other people in Wave 9, maybe 2-300 skiers. Everyone was pretty relaxed, but also anxious to get started. Everyone had their little stretches and jumping around while we were waiting. All of a sudden, I heard some Italian on the loudspeaker: "Buona fortuna, Mamma Kelly! Italia, North Dakota." I saw Enrico up on the podium and laughed. "Grazie!" I shouted. A little while later, I heard a shy voice say, "I like cows. Good luck, mom." Max had climbed up on the podium and asked to speak in the microphone. There were several little messages like this. It gave a personal feel to a very big race. Over 9000 skiers were signed up for the Birkie.

We counted down all together and started. It was slow and easy at first, no one was in a huge rush--there was a general feeling of camaraderie. We skied on fairly flat ground until we made the first left turn, and then telegraph hill stood before us--a daunting series of steep pitches with less steep pitches every so often. After one look up, I decided to concentrate on the few yards in front of me and focus on not getting my heart rate too high. The people around me seemed to have a similar idea. We moved at a reasonable pace, not succumbing to herringbone, but not sprinting up the hill either. As we got closer to the top, we could hear drums, which seemed to pull us up and up. I found myself smiling, I was just so happy to be out on skis with so many other skiers on a beautiful day.

Once we reached to top of the hill, skiers began jockeying for position, and I did too, following behind another skier until I thought maybe I could pass them. The Ks flew by with the constant attention to the crowd, to positioning. Once we got to some downhills, I was extra observant. On one hill, I could see a skier crashed below me. I waited for a bit before proceeding so he could get himself up and off to the side. The downhills were not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. There was plenty of soft, new snow, so there were no especially icy sections, though some slippery section appeared on especially steep pitches where the skiers who came before me had snowplowed all the soft snow out of the way. Nevertheless, the conditions were outstanding considering the thousands of skiers who had started before me.

When we reached the first aid station, we were greeted by Mardi gras decorations and music. I grabbed an energy drink, paused for a few seconds to down as much as I could and then continued. Shortly after this, I found a woman in a striped hat who was going at about the same speed as I was. I dropped in behind her and followed along. She had good technique and kept to a steady pace, and soon I found myself in what is called a state of "flow." I was no longer aware that I was breathing hard and my heart was pounding--I just skied. The sun came out, and my glide wax was perfect--I easily caught up to the skiers in front of me on every downhill because of my good glide (and maybe also because of the extra 10 pounds I gained this winter). This continued for several kilometers.

We separated from the main Birkie trail and were off on the separate, narrower Kortie trail. It was wide enough for two skate skiers and one classic skier. This made passing a bit tricky. At one point, a slow skier got between me and the woman I was following, and I lost contact with her. Now I was seeing a lot of bibs from the 8th wave, the 7th wave, even the 6th wave. It made passing tricky--there were a lot of different speeds and ability levels. Some skiers were stopping on the uphills for a few seconds to get their breath.

At one point Laura Holien, one of the NDSU skiers passed me. I had not seen any kilometer markers for awhile, and I wondered how much further I had to go. I was definitely getting tired. I was happy to see the third aid station, and I stopped for a packet of "goo." I really needed it at that point. My excellent breakfast had long been used up. I kept going, though, and when I saw some spectators on the trail, I though I might be getting near the end. They shouted, "This is the last hill," and I was so grateful to hear that. My quads were burning. My technique was starting to go. Once I crested the hill, I had to really focus on the downhill because I wasn't sure I had total control of my leg muscles anymore. I made the downhill all right, and then I heard, "Go, Mama Kelly!" I turned and saw my husband and kids by a pine tree, cheering me on, and I tried to pick up the pace for the final spring to the finish line. There was a tiny uphill right before the finish line, and I just thought, "Ugh." I got up it though, and made it through the finish. I had a big smile on my face. I had finished!

Soon Enrico and the boys found me, and as I hugged each one, I hung on them a little bit. I was getting a cramp in my left quad. Enrico led me to the tent, and I got a bowl of chicken noodle soup. The salty broth was the most delicious tasting thing in the world at that moment, and I could feel my leg cramp easing up. I got my time--1 hour 54 minutes. 17th out of 38 women in my age group. I was content with my effort. I don't think I could have done it any faster.

Later that day, we went to downtown Hayward and watched the finishers of the Birkie. What a sight! For hour after hour, skiers continued to ski down main street to the finish line. The crowds were full of cross-country skiers, cross country skis were propped up everywhere, including a big pile in front of a local pub. We wandered around, taking in the sights, and visited the gallery in the Old Library, where Barb and Mike had a photo exhibit. When we got back to Barb and Mike's house, they all went for a ski, and I took a shower then had a short nap. We all went out for Vietnamese food that night.

We left on Sunday, with plans to return again next year. 

weekend skate skiing

Yesterday I skied one circuit of the skate trail between the dam and Lindenwood Park and today I skied it three times. It was not the kind of ski that lends itself to drifting away mentally because of all the sticks, dirt spots, ruts, and such. I had to be ready to alter my rhythm to avoid these obstacles. When I headed out today, I was annoyed to find an additional obstacle--someone wearing big boots had walked on the skate trail. We have so little snow that when people walk on the trail, they sink all the way to the bottom, and when they push off to take another step, a spray of dirt lands on the trail. And this person had big feet and boots that really grabbed onto the snow and moved it. Holes are not such a big deal to skate over, but chunks of snow sticking up are kind of a pain--it is easy to catch an edge on them and stumble a bit. Fortunately, the footsteps disappeared near the water treatment plant and the next section of the trail was pretty good. I was facing the sun then, a real pleasure after a few days of foggy & cloudy weather.

Despite temperatures up around freezing, the trail really hadn't degraded since yesterday as I thought it might have. I should have started out about an hour earlier than I did, though, because the snow changed during my second circuit. You know how you scoop up some snow to make a snowball and then, if there is enough moisture in the snow, you squeeze it hard and in the last moment before you stop, it almost seems to squeak? This is how it began to feel under my skis--I was no longer fully gliding over the snow, when I pushed off to shift my weight from one ski to the other, the snow under my ski seemed to compress just a bit. I could actually feel the vibration of that compression, the little squeak. The snow was not melting yet, but it was definitely changing, and it was slower.

Since it was slower, I had time to really look at the story in the snow. As I came back past our house, I began to notice the big boot prints in the snow again. However, what was weird was that instead of seeing two, after awhile I just saw one, and then the distance between boot prints increased, until I was seeing only one every few yards. Then I realized that what I originally thought were classic ski tracks must be the runners of a sled. Our neighbor had mentioned he has a kick sled, so probably he had gone out with it and his husky pulled some of the time.

I felt OK skate-skiing, so I thought I would try to go longer. Last week, I made two complete circuits of the skate trail--could I do three today? I had brought a water bottle, so that should help. I tried to keep to a moderate pace most of the time, but where the trail was good, I occasionally made a little sprint or tried to double my poling. It felt pretty good. My hips are not well conditioned for skating though, so I had to stop a few times to stretch.

On the last circuit, I ran out of fuel. It had been hours since I had a bowl of cereal for breakfast, and my vision narrowed down so I was really only aware to the end of my skis. I didn't do the last bit up to the dam again, stopping at my house instead. An hour and a half of pretty good effort. I was spent. I ate a banana as soon as I got home, and it was the best banana I had ever had.

Cloudy Monday Solo Skate Ski

After dropping the kids off at school, I started listening to my new hour-long skate ski playlist on my iPod. The first song was the Talking Heads' "Take Me to the River," and I let the song lead me to the end of my block and down to the river, though I declined to be washed in the water.

An army of small white clouds were marching resolutely to the east, where the sun weakly announced its rising. I resolutely begin skiing, determined to start out easy and last the whole hour. After a half hour the army of clouds was gone, and the sun shone with greater strength, causing the trees to cast long shadows across the snow. I pretended to be a groundhog seeing its shadow and predicting 8 more weeks of winter (because that is the kind of groundhog I was--a ski-deprived groundhog who wanted more weeks of frolicking in the snow).

I made almost two complete loops of the skate trail before my playlist ended. Gosh, I am slow. Oh well, I skied another ten minutes and headed home, ready to take another look at the "Warm Demander" article I'm working on with Amy Carpenter-Ford.

When I got home, Noko sniffed all that fresh air, woods, and river smell on me and looked at me with his large, sad eyes. Sorry, Noko, sometimes I need my solitude. 

Sunday ski at Edgewood

Yesterday I got my kids out skiing for the first time this season. We went with our neighbor, Chuck, and his son, Sam, to Edgewood Golf Course. The day started out cold--minus 4 degrees--but by the time we hit the trails mid-day, there was a lot of radiant heat from the sun, so it was quite pleasant. We toured around the periphery of the course, near the river. At our first break, we were treated to the sounds of a woodpecker, but we didn't get a look at him.

Alessandro found his ski technique after the first ten minutes and soon was out of sight, not to be seen until the end of the ski. Massimo and his friend, Sam, skied in the back, chatting, and playing. Chuck and I waited for them a few times, but after awhile we thought they must have taken one of the shortcuts back, so we just continued all the way around on our own. I enjoyed chatting with Chuck while skiing. It reminded me of my life in Fairbanks, where much of my socializing with others was done on skis. It makes the Ks fly by.

The Edgewood trails were kind of a mess, one track had been set in the middle, but was kind of roughed up. There were the occasional sticks and rocks poking through, but a skiff of new snow helped.

After skiing, the kids went sledding and then we had brunch at the restaurant. A pleasant outing. 

loose dogs on the ski trail

Yesterday, I went for a leisurely ski, my enthusiasm tempered by having just had stomach flu. It was good to take it easy also because the trail had deteriorated since we got snow a week ago. There were a few dirt spots where the snow had melted away. Despite the marginal trail conditions and my still-tender stomach, I really, deeply loved being outside--it was sunny and warm and felt like spring skiing.

Lots of other people were out too--runners on the bike path, other skiers, people walking their dogs, a guy sitting on a bench writing in a journal. However, there were also a few people letting their dogs run free, which always makes me a bit nervous, and I will tell you why in a moment. But first, let me describe what happened next. I came around the corner where the bike path branches and one part leads to the neighborhood and the other continues on toward Lindenwood Park. I saw some people with dogs walking on the ski trail, which is always disappointing because it undoes the wonderful work that the groomers do to give us a safe and pleasant trail. One of the dogs was small and white (and fluffy!) on a leash and the other was a yellow lab running free. On my right, a runner with a large dog passed me. The yellow lab immediately ran toward them and started barking and jumping at the dog. The runner braced herself against her dog's leash, in case he jumped back at this dog. Then the dog ran toward the owner, but evaded him at the last minute and ran toward a person coming the opposite direction, then he came back on the ski trail and started running toward me. I froze.

My mind flew back to that day a few years ago when I encountered another yellow lab. I could see he was off leash, and I slowed down as I passed by, but he ignored me. It looked like the owner was training him, so I didn't give it another thought and continued with my skate ski. I'm not inherently afraid of dogs and have had many encounters with loose dogs in Alaska when I used to do a lot of mountain biking.

I was feeling stronger, having recently recovered from having a miscarriage, and skiing helped me release my emotions of sadness and anger at having lost the possibility of a third child. Truly, I was immersed in my thoughts, the rhythmic gliding and poling having lulled me into a meditative state. I turned around where the skate trail ended at Lindenwood Park and made my way back. Seeing the man and his yellow lab barely registered on my consciousness when I encountered them again. However, just as the trail curved away from them, the dog suddenly ran at me at full speed. I picked up my speed, hoping the dog would respond to the man's calls. I didn't look back--all my energy was put into moving forward down the trail, and with the curve I had followed, I knew the dog would be approaching me from the back, left side. But I really was not prepared for what happened next. In a split second, I felt excruciating pain in my left calf as all four of the dog's canine teeth sunk into my flesh and sudden loss of breath and overall impact of having been knocked to the ground. I quickly brought my hands up to my head, afraid the next bite might be to my head or neck, now that I was down on the ground and vulnerable. I wondered how well my poles would work to fight him off. But then the man was there and the dog was near him. I tried to get up, but the dog lunged toward me, so I stayed still.

I was in shock, and still scared. The man started talking to me or kind of at me. "I should have killed that dog when I found him...he's a bad one, but I thought I could train him . . . I've been out of town and he hasn't been exercised.." I tried to get up again and the dog lunged at me again.
"Can you please put your dog back on leash?" I asked "I'm afraid he will come at me again if I get up."
I waited while the man slowly, so very slowly, did this. I began to have an uneasy feeling about this man.

But then he asked if his dog's bite broke my skin, and I rolled up my pant lag to take a look, Yes, it had broken the skin. He looked at it. We talked for a little while, and then I realized that I should probably ski myself home before the adrenaline wore off. I asked for his name and his dog's name and left, feeling dazed. Later, nearly my entire calf would turn purple from the blunt force of the blow that took me off my feet, but at the time, it did not register that I had been hit as well as bitten, which is probably why I felt so dazed.

I got home and quickly drove myself to the walk-in clinic. I had never been bitten by a dog before, and I didn't know what kind of treatment was needed. The doctor who saw me cleaned and dressed the wound and gave me antibiotics. He said the chance of getting an infection from a dog bite is very high, so they always give antibiotics. I asked about rabies shots, and he said that I could take time to find out if the dog's immunizations were up to date before doing anything about that.

The officer who checked on the dog's immunizations said the dog was very nice, and she never would have guessed it would bite a person.

After that incident, I have felt less comfortable with loose dogs, and because this one was a yellow lab, like the one that took me down, I had a momentary flashback to that traumatic incident. In my rational mind, I knew it was just a fluke accident that would probably never happen again, but my emotions told me to stay put.

The owner signaled to me that I could pass by, but I said, I had been bitten before, so I would wait. He said, "He's a nice dog, he won't bite you." So was that other yellow lab, though, so I continued to wait. Another skier came up on the classic trail a few yards from the skate trail I was on. I called over, "I'm waiting because I've been bitten before." He said, "I've been bitten three times on this trail." Whoa, I thought. Maybe my experience was not as much of a fluke as I thought.

So we waited while the owner tried time after time to lure the dog to him, each time the dog veering away playfully at the last minute. Finally, the dog grew tired of the game, and with the aid of a treat, he was lured to his leash. The other skier and I continued on our way.

The rest of my ski was uneventful, peaceful. I drank in the rays of sunshine with every pore on my face, grateful for another outing. 

First skate ski of winter

Just laid down the first skate tracks on the newly groomed Lindenwood Park-Dike West trail along the Red River. What a difference a day makes. The snow looked so good, newly smoothed, and my temperament was also smoothed today. Mind and body were more in sync as I poled and glided, getting my balance in the various attitudes of skate skiing--V1, V2, etc. etc. I had a joyful smile on my face in the last hour of light. Already, a pink glow was gathering all around the horizon I could glimpse between the tree trunks, signaling the winter sunset.

On my way back from Lindenwood, I glimpsed a runner with a dog, and as they grew closer, I saw it was my son! He is looking more like an adult than a child these days, and he likes to run on his own. When our paths crossed I petted Noko and chatted with Alex. They both looked happy to be outdoors, and I wanted to capture the moment, so I took a photo. In the one of him running away from me, you can see that the Fargo Parks has left a little snow bridge where the ski trail crosses the bike path. I so appreciate little considerations like that. If I saw a groomer right now I would toss him or her kisses.

I played a game of agility on my ski today, swooping down to pick up all the loose branches churned up by the grooming. There is still a bit of debris here and there--we have only 5 inches of snow--but it is very skiable, and it was a thrill to paint the first skate tracks my little Vs, like a lone goose flying across the snow. 

Snow! Finally.

Yes! Fargo-Moorhead got five inches of snow yesterday and skiing is finally really happening at this late date. Bright whiteness covering the brown that has gone on too long, and such fluffiness as one walks. Like walking in clouds. Oh, how I have missed the snow. I dashed out yesterday without properly warming up, knowing Noko is dying to get out skijoring. Within 5 minutes we encountered an off leash dog who distracted Noko and I got jerked back and my knee slipped out a bit. Stupid!

After icing & ibuprofen, I ventured out again just now for a classic ski by the river without Noko just to see how it felt. Not too bad. I saw another skier ahead of me, so I had to catch up. I am such a dog myself  sometimes. Just like Noko when he sees a squirrel. I just have to chase, even though I know a) I am not in very good shape b) my knee is injured c) people probably do not appreciate being chased when they are out for a leisurely ski.

So . . . I overdid it again. Now I am icing. Awkward start to the ski season for me. I need to get centered.