Retreat at Maplelag Cross-country Ski Resort

Friday

Thirteen teachers convened at Maplelag Resort near Callaway, Minnesota for a skiing--I mean writing--retreat over the weekend. Fortunately, the woman carpooling with me was wiling to ditch school early on Friday so that we could get there in time for a ski before sunset. After a winter of scant snow in Fargo, I nearly drooled when we turned into the resort, and I got my first glimpse of the beautifully groomed trails.

I laid out all the skis against the side of our bunkhouse, the Great Northern, changed into my ski clothes, and hit the skate trails. It was cold, and slow (or I was slow), but beautiful and recently rolled, yet set. Although this area had been subjected to melting like we had in Fargo, the groomers had done a wonderful job of creating a firm skate bed on top of the ice and I didn't cut through to the ice below but once.

I was the second skier down Kamikaze Hill, so I had good stability for stepping and poling around the turn near the bottom rather than just snowplowing as usual. A grin spread across my face at the sheer joy of being out in the woods, tooling around the trails.

The grin morphed into a grimace as I began ascending a series of hills up a narrow ridge. "What's this?" my heart asked, accustomed to the cardiovascular load of the perfectly flat trails I usually ski. I stopped a few times to listen to my heart, but eventually convinced it that we really did have to do these hills to be ready for the 23K Korteloppet in Hayward next month. "OK," said my heart, "but the muscles are going to have to work more efficiently--look at this sloppy uphill technique!" My brain acknowledged this point and soon all systems were working together, allowing me to float into THE ZONE.

That carried me around the first circuit of Skater's Waltz plus Skater's extension, and well into the second. Sweat began dripping into my eyes from the effort. Then I made a series of Jack-London-To-Build-A-Fire mistakes: don't wear your thickest socks, get soaking wet from sweat, stop to take a photo, don't hydrate, enter a windy area. Soon I  was tugged out of the zone by the persistent cold of my hands and the slow but certain numbing of my right foot.

Road crossing to Skater's extension

I tried to ignore it, but then had to pause to do my little warm-up trick of windmilling my arms and swinging my right leg (not at the same time!) to use centrifugal force to get warm blood into my extremities. That helped for awhile, but I could tell where this was headed. I was less coordinated now, and since I had not seen a single skier on the trail, I thought it prudent not to take another detour across the road to Skater's extension.

The sun was setting too, and my sweat soaked shirts were now rapidly leeching heat from my body. I was tired, and stopped to hug a birth tree. Maybe I could replenish my supply of "sisu" from one of my relatives.

After just 12K, I called it a day and went to our room to get all the wet clothes off and head over to the Lodge for a good long soak in the hot tub before dinner. Ahhhhhh.

Saturday Ski #1

Up at 7:30. Enjoyed Norwegian pancakes for breakfast then headed upstairs with my cohort to write for the morning. I got into another kind of "zone," the writing zone, and suddenly it was time for lunch.

During lunch, I was able to convince three teachers to come with me to try cross-country skiing. First stop was the ski shop in the basement of the Lodge. The student from Brazil helped us. After my converts got their skis rented, I helped them get the equipment on, and then I taught my first lesson--how to fall and how to get up again. They did beautifully, and soon we were on our way, striding down the Sukkerbusk trail.

Brenda and Carmyn with their skis

All three of them mastered the herringbone in record time. Brenda turned out to be a natural--she got the move of shifting her weight almost immediately. Soon Carmyn was doing the same. Sara had skied as a girl, and her body remembered the basic motions.

Everyone was feeling pretty confident when we found ourselves at the top of Suicide Hill. Carmen, clad in white snowpants, white vest, and fluffy white earmuffs, was the instigator. At first she asked innocent questions--"Do you make turns on cross-country skis like you do on downhill skis?"
"How do you stop at the end?"
 "How steep is it?"
 "Is it harder to make turns on cross-country skis?"

Soon her questions were more along the lines of "Maybe we could try it." and soon  "Let's do it!"

Her enthusiasm was irresistible. After the barest instruction to my crew, I took off down the hill, joyfully carving turns. Carmen followed, slowly painstakingly traversing the hill and then making a careful turn before traversing in the other direction. As she gained confidence, she sped up and was elated to reach the bottom without falling. Brenda, who had some previous downhill skiing experience, followed confidently and made it to the bottom of the hill with style. And also no falls!

And then came Sara. Now, because Sara had cross-country skied as a kid, I didn't worry about her too much and instead had been spending more time offering instruction to Carmyn and Brenda.

That was a mistake.

I immediately realized I should have given a bit more snowplow instruction to Sara--she was rapidly picking up speed and showed no signs of slowing down. It dawned on me that she was going to bomb it! I yelled at the others to get out of the way at the bottom of the hills and made lively steps to the side myself. I think we were all screaming as she reached the steepest part of the hill. She stayed on her feet as the slope straightened out at the bottom and came to a stop. Again, no falls! We all bubbled over with excitement, telling our stories of how it felt going down. I marveled at this group of newbie skiers daring to go down Suicide Hill on their first outing. The thrill even carried us back up the hill to the trails. We happily followed the trails back to the lodge. What a ski!

Saturday Ski #2

After that, Brenda was ready to relax, Carmyn and Sara were ready to snowshoe and then ice skate as part of their quest to do an "Arctic Triathlon," and I changed from classic to skate gear to see if I could go for a longer ski than yesterday. It was warmer on Saturday, and I was warmed up, so I felt very good starting out. I remembered to stash a Nalgene bottle of water on the deck of our building so that I could hydrate between laps. I had my thicker socks on and wore more breathable clothing. It was not as windy.

I skated the Skater's Waltz plus the Skater's extension three times--19.8K. It took me an hour and 50 minutes. My lats and tensor fasciae latae were very sore. I was completely spent. Done. But my technique had gotten better and I felt a step closer to being ready for the Kortie. 

Saturday Ski #3

After an evening of hot tubbing, eating, writing, and talking, I felt sleepy, but my ski posse had other ideas.  They had been outside and seen the full moon and clear sky. "Moonlight ski!" cried Carmyn. I really wanted to go to bed, but their enthusiasm lured me out. We set out on the Mother Hen loop. The full moon was so bright--it illuminated the birch trees and threw shadows across the trail. We stopped every so often to admire the stars. When we wondered about one especially bright body in the sky, Carmyn used her nightsky app on her smartphone to let us know it was Jupiter. 

On one of our stops, we just listened. It was soooo quiet. The wind was completely gone. Held in the magical spell of this moonlight ski, none of us wanted to break the silence. 

Sunday Ski

We spent Sunday morning writing, then five of us had a quick lunch before heading down to the sauna by the lake. We worked up a sweat and then took the POLAR PLUNGE through a hole in the lake ice. What a rush!

The plungers consisted of Angie "put the ladder in, take the ladder out" C.,

Andi "Shoes, shoes, give me my shoes!" N., Kelly "Omigod, omigod" S., Sara "Don't look at it, don't look at it" M., and Carmyn "It's not so cold out here" J. 

After that we watched the hilarious video footage of this event, then participated in an author's chair. The group dispersed at 3pm, but Sara and I didn't want to leave, so we went for a classic ski on the Sukkerbusk trail then repaired to the hot tub and steam room for a final pore-opening, muscle-relaxing session before heading back for Fargo at dusk. 

43K skied in 48 hours, lots of good writing, fun, fellowship--a great weekend!

Three Bambis--one human, two not

We had another thin dusting of snow last night, and since I was up early to take my kids to chamber orchestra practice, I decided to drive across the river to Moorhead to see how the MB Johnson trails weathered the melt after last week's ski. I pulled into the parking lot just as the last light in the parking area went off. It still felt dark, though, because of the cloudy morning. Although it was 18 above, it was windy, and I hesitated to leave my warm car.

But I did.

And it did not look promising. There was no indication of where the rolled trail had been. The melt had exposed grass in some areas and re-frozen to sheer ice in others and the new snow had been ruthlessly blown away. I probably looked like Bambi, awkwardly skiing across this expanse, trying to keep upright and move forward at the same time.

First light this morning

Things improved when I turned the corner at the northeast corner of the park, though. I skidded over the ice, almost biting it as I tried to turn, and then I hit the drift of snow as the trail descended down into a ravine. Bouffle! (an expression my kids have been repeating lately when they mime knocking something over). The onomatopoeic quality of the word well describes that awkward turn.

And then, what a difference! Protected from the sun, this part of the trail did not have ice and protected from the wind, it had held on to the new snow, so it was quite pleasant, and not so deep that the new snow grabbed at the tips of my skis. Still, it could use a pass with the groomer. For now, though, I enjoyed being the first human since last night's snow. I saw fresh deer tracks and wondered whether I would get to see the deer. I kept glancing up in the direction the tracks were heading, but no luck. The tracks could not be that old, though. Just as I was making the turn southward, I caught their movement out of the corner of my eye in time to see their two white tails disappearing northward.

I got into a pleasant skating rhythm through the woods, and then I saw more tracks--a fox? No, human prints joined them, so it must be a guy walking his dog. Big feet. Soon, I saw the man in the yellow coat, hollered out an "on your right." Unfortunately, I must have startled him, because he jumped a bit. I was worried about coming up on him from behind with his loose dog further in front, because if the dog looked back, he might think I was going to attack his owner, like that yellow lab did on the trails by my home. But the dog was relaxed, and I skied by, up the hill and into the south field. This field was not as barren of snow as the north field, so it was quite pleasant, though parts were too deep and I did catch my tips in the snow. This part definitely needs to be groomed.

Heading up the field, I began to feel weak. I should have had some protein in my breakfast. My piece of toast was burned off, and I felt shaky. Just one loop this morning--at least I will be on time for work today.

The new trailhead map at MB Johnson Park

As I left the parking lot, more snow began to fall. "Keep going," I urged in my mind. Just a bit more snow and the skiing will be so much better. I'm tired of using my rock skis. They are from an era of my life when I weighed 30 pounds less than I do now and they don't feel as good as my newer skis--not as secure and straight, if that makes any sense. I probably plow out on them because the camber is not right for my current weight. 

Skis so old, they still have my maiden name on them

My rock skis.
The photo on the left is Alex and the right is Max. This is what they looked liked when I did my first 20K ski race after Max was born. I put their photos there on a whim, to inspire me.
           
                                                         It worked.

With and Without Him

It was so brilliantly sunny this afternoon, that I had to temporarily ditch my work to get outside for an hour. I skijored with Noko for a loop, and then he got tired, so I took him home and went out again on my own. I needed to work my body some more. As I headed out, the sun still shone brilliantly, and I drank it in. My technique was rough as I skied over grass, ice, dirt, drifted snow, crust, powder, snowshoe trails, snowmobile tracks, dog tracks, people tracks, ski tracks, and sticks. Yes, lots of variety in surface conditions--thank goodness for rock skis!

I admired the way last summer's grass glowed goldenly in the sunlight. I felt the sun on my cheeks and even admired the glassines of the ice, knowing my skis would be slipping out from me as I crossed.

And then I turned back. What a difference. Clouds came up, the sun went away, the ice looked dirty and dull. An imperceptible tail wind on the way out now slapped me full on and slowed my progress. The mood of the afternoon had changed completely from gay to gray. The grasses were no longer golden and even seemed to bend down in despair as if they knew their shining moment had passed. My arms tired, but I slogged on. Time to finish my ski and go back to work. 

Post winter storm snowshoe & ski

Crazy weather here in Fargo lately. After enjoying skiing on the barest minimum of snow, the temperature warmed up to well over freezing and the snow began to melt. Then a storm came in, bringing rain. It was very sad walking around campus, watching the snow being washed away. I was at work, from 7:30am until 8pm, so I wouldn't have gone out for a ski anyway, but I wondered what would be possible after all this. As the storm picked up, the temperature dropped precipitously, and the rain turn to freezing rain, and soon everything changed to ice. Then the snow began. I went to bed wondering if the snow brought by this blizzard would make up for that lost by the melting.

In the morning, the skies were clearing as the tail end of storm retreated to the south, leaving gusts of wind in its wake. I wrote a facebook posting about my intention to check out the skiing this morning, and before I could finish my coffee, there was a message from John Wheeler pointing out there would be ice under the snow, so I decided to go for a snowshoe first. I put the waistbelt and bungee line on, but I didn't put the harness on Noko, but rather the plastic collar we use for walking him. I wanted him to get some exercise, but not have any funny ideas about pulling me on snowshoes.

It felt pretty awkward at first, and I was glad the snow was not too deep, for I needed to re-learn how to lift up the tips a bit with each stride. Yes, I had one awkward fall that made me glad I regularly stretch my groin muscles! Although the bitter cold and wind were not pleasant, I was treated to a gorgeous sundog, just faintly visible in this photo because of how bright the sun was. You can find one side of the sundog in the trees on the right, and the other is equidistant in the opposite direction.

When I got to the large field on the oxbow before you enter Lindenwood Park, I was treated to a dustdevil, but instead of dust, fine grains of snow were whirling around.

All around, the snow had been shaped by the wind as sand is by the sea. There were undulating waves of snow and ridges, and fine layers curving around nearly imperceptible changes in topography. I like observing these little details, partly because then I am not thinking about how darn cold I am! Noko was a bit uncomfortable today too. Sometimes he would step into what he thought was soft new snow, then his paw would puncture through a layer of crust and down into the hard ice below. The first time it happened he lifted up his paw in disgust, like a person who has stepped in dogshit. Then he looked at me, as if to ask, "You really want to go out in this?" I assured him that I really did, so he slogged on with a resigned air. I needn't have worried about him pulling too hard--I was mostly occupied with not tripping over the slack line.

Once we made it to the rocks, Noko crouched to relieve himself, and I realized I didn't have any plastic bags with me. I had chosen a heavier jacket because of this cold, and this one wasn't stocked up. I would have to make a second trip to clean up after him. Just as well, I also wanted to try out the skiing today.

When we got back, I realized I would have to do a complete change of clothes because everything was sweat-soaked (except for my face mask, which was snot soaked. I dressed more lightly this time, and put Noko in his harness so that he could pull if he wanted to. We headed back out. I might mention, I had seen no one thus far and no tracks or anything. All the people and animals were sensibly holed up in their warm spots. Oh, it felt so good to kick and glide after being on snowshoes! We quickly retrieved the poop and headed back. I could see my skate ski marks from earlier in the week. The indentations were filled with snow, but there was no new accumulation. So--my assessment is that the loss of snow from melting was kind of evened out by the new snow. I can still see grass in some areas that are windblown, and a few spots that are drifted over are more pleasant to ski on. Bottom line--we need more snow for the cross-country skiing to be truly enjoyable.

My skate ski tracks filled with new snow and wind-carved patterns of new snow on top. Snowshoe and dog tracks on the left. 

Skate ski at MB Johnson Park, Moorhead

I had to take my son to chamber orchestra this morning at 6:40, so I thought I'd squeeze in a ski at MB Johnson Park before work. (Arnie had posted a message to the Prairie's Edge Nordic Ski Club that the trails were rolled for skating over there).

It was still dark, and the crescent moon shone brightly in the clear sky. I crossed the bridge over to Moorhead, Minnesota and turned north toward the park. The white smoke from the sugar beet factory was blowing straight east at a perpendicular angle to the smokestacks,--a windy morning. I hoped I'd be warm enough. On the positive side, it was 22 above zero.

There was one car in the parking lot when I arrived. I changed into my ski boots and cued up the first song on my "December Skiing" playlist.

Bring. The. Action.

I saw Arnie's skate skiing tracks and followed them into the field. Brrrr. The wind raced across the field, stealing pockets of heat clinging to my body from when I was in the warm car.  Years of skiing in Alaska have trained me to start out fast to get warm as quickly as possible, but I have been feeling chest pain lately & my blood pressure has recently been crazy high for the first time in my life, so I forced myself to start out easy and slowly work up to higher heart rates. If I drop dead of a heart attack on the ski trails, I will have died happy. Know that.

As I warmed up, I could feel a quickening of my spirit, and soon I was laughing aloud, just taking pleasure in the joy of movement, the trees, the blushing of the horizon as the sun gave notice of its arrival.

I rewrote the lyrics to the Will.i.am/Spears song in my head:

when you're out in the winter
you gotta wax your skis up
you gotta wax your skis up

 . . .
I wanna ski and shout, and let it all out,
ski and shout, and let it out. 
 . . .
When you're out in the woods,
All eyes on us, all eyes on us
See the trees in the woods,
They're watching us
They're watching us

Next song: Dylan's "Highway 61." Always makes me think of my parents. We had to go to bed early and they stayed up, listening to Dylan. My dad had every album. I should have known he was going to die of cancer when he sold those albums at a garage sale. He was 42.

So, I am skiing for him today, greeting the sunrise, living another day, remembering his words on one of our more challenging backpacking trips in the Wind River Range: "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Kelly."

Blood, sweat, and tears

I got kind of intense about my Sunday ski. Previously, I was skiing casually, patiently waiting for more snow, hoping for groomed trails before trying to get serious about logging the skating Ks, but when I went out this time, I just thought, "Screw it--I'm going to skate anyway." The Korteloppet will be here before I know it, and I need to have more hours doing skating technique. Sadly, we have had so little snow, that I could just skate anywhere, though it was much easier on our little skijoring  and kicksled trail because it had been packed down a bit. I've had a cold, so my skating rhythm included many head turning, nose blowing moves. At one point, I thought I saw a spray of blood, but with my attitude that day, I just kept skiing, a la Ann Schuler style. Grrrrr! I took this photo at the end of my workout, when I was feeling pretty tired. No pain, no gain. 

First ski, 1973

With the recent holidays, I was thinking about my parents, Paige and Claire, who both died in Alaska. My mom was from Fargo, and my dad was from Moorhead. When they were first married, they were very poor, and my dad did something impractical that really annoyed my mom: he bought some downhill skis. I'm sure she voiced her concern in her tactful way, but inside she was probably thinking, "Idiot! Do you see any hills around here?"

But that was his dream, a dream that led them (and me) far away from Fargo. When I was 7 and my sister was 5, we moved from Houston, Texas to Idaho Falls, Idaho in the middle of the school year. We made a stop in Telluride, Colorado, where my dad was finally able to go downhill skiing for the first time. That was my first time too! (And yesterday's ski is the 40th anniversary of my first ski. OK, one was alpine, and the other was nordic, but skiing nonetheless.)

Once we were settled in Idaho, my dad decided that we would all take up cross-country skiing, not downhill. We got wood skis for Christmas the next year. My mom sewed gaiters for all of us, and off we went. None of us had any lessons. My dad would load us all up in the blue van, drive for an hour or two, and then we would pull on those itchy rag wool socks, put on our leather boots designed for 3-pin bindings, grab our bamboo poles and just start skiing through the wilderness in the deep light powder. I remember once we were traversing a steep slope, and my mom fell. We could not see  her at all--she had fallen in the powder and was completely covered! Finally, after digging around for awhile, he found her hat, and then he found her. My sister and I were pretty worried for awhile, but once we knew she was OK, we also thought it was pretty hilarious to see Dad try to get her out. All of us had our turns falling and having a tough time trying to get up again. The combination of being a novice skier in deep snow on steep slopes made for some very challenging scenarios.

It also created a strong bond between us as a family. My sister and I look back at those experiences as some of the best of our childhood. I wish my dad had lived long enough to see his grandsons on skis. He would have been very proud.

After my mom died, I kept her wooden skis and my dad's. I've skied with both pairs over the years, but the tails are pretty damaged, so last year I made a coat rack out them, which stands in our entryway at our home in Fargo (where I moved back to five years ago), a reminder of my dad's improbable dreams.

First ski of 2013

January 1, 2013. Happy New Year! This afternoon I went out on my classic rock skis (my oldest pair of skis, with lost of scratches and chips, for classic technique) for an hour-long tour along the river between Dike East and Lindenwood Park. I skied all the way to the bridge at I-94. It was an overcast day, but warmer than yesterday. The trail has not been groomed due to our paltry snowfall thus far this winter, and there are lots of twigs, grass, and even dirt visible. Nevertheless, I was able to forget all that and get into the zone where my body is busy and my mind is free. I imagined being back in Alaska and the ravens flying overhead laughing at me. However, a glimpse up above at the distinctive fractalish pattern of the bare oak trees dispelled that fantasy. I am in Fargo.

A positive note: I encountered six other skiers today (often I am alone on these outings). I greeted each one with warmth and positive energy, willing them to enjoy their ski and keep at it. Maybe this was a New Year's resolution for one of them?

I also sent out many pleas to the snow gods for more snow. If we don't get adequate snow for skiing, I may have to take up winter cycling again.