Whether it’s a midnight start race like the Elk Mountain Grand Traverse, or a 24+ hour race like Expedition Amundsen, March seems to be the month that Dan and I end up racing through the night. As I’ve been reminded of these races by Facebook memories, it’s definitely triggered thoughts and emotions around what racing through the night entails - and how it might apply to what we’re going through right now. I’ll be honest, it’s not my favorite thing to do, and typically will involve me consuming some pretty nasty things like those five hour energy shots that leave me feeling like dog; heart racing, every fibre of my being rattling, and an almost panic inducing, vibrating tightness in my chest. Now, I’m not suggesting we go and do that, because obviously, that’s pretty extreme, and honestly, a really nice thing right now is that we’re actually being asked to slow down.
Where I do see similarities is in all those hours of darkness, where the race is spread out, so you tend to be solo (or with just your partner), and have no idea where you stand. There isn’t that typical racing camaraderie where you lean on, push, and support each other. It’s just you, and your suffering, not to sound too melodramatic. There are moments where you feel like you’re going to die. Heck, you might wish you would die, just to make it all stop. There is nothing you hate more in that moment than skiing, or running, or whatever it is that you are doing, and you convince yourself that if you survive the night, you will never, ever ski (or what have you), ever again.
But then there are the snapshots of pure ecstasy: Reaching the top of Star Pass, the moon bathing the snow draped mountains in silver. Heading out of the Litlos Checkpoint, leading the entire race (because we were dumb and had no race strategy, it didn’t last) and the clouds flirting with the stars above us. Watching an enthralling lightning storm rage across the Great Divide Basin as we push for a 60 mile day along the Continental Divide Trail.
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I’ve been hesitant to post a ski photo for a couple reasons:
1. People are (rightfully so) up in arms about folks heading to the backcountry at this time. To this, I’ll say that literally for the past well, since we got back from Canada, we have exclusively skied immediately out our back door. I mean, walk out the door, put on our skis, and go. Where we live it literally makes more sense to ski than to walk, as there’s still enough snow on the ground that walking would mean postholing and postholing means a terribly angry me.
2. I feel a bit of pressure to be upset? This doesn’t even truly make sense in my own mind, so I’m going to butcher explaining it. Yes, it upsets me people are very sick and dying. It scares me how so many people are losing their jobs and how here in the US, so many have no access to health care (🙋♀️). And also, the very fact that I get out my door and manage to put my head in the sand, smile, laugh, ski, and just enjoy life for a few hours? That makes me feel guilty.
But also, I feel that in tough times, it’s ok to laugh. It’s ok to smile. And maybe it’s ok to be happy for a moment
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#stopskishaming #followtheguidelines #donothurtyourself #donotgetslid #nevercloserthan20feet #fomohomedelivery #skiyourbackyard #staysafe #selfcare #mybackyard #stayinyourbackyard
This guy. I sometimes just have to stop and think - how the heck did I get so lucky? Somehow, in the chaos and insanity that is life, we found each other. I found the one that is my rock, my solid platform. To know that you’ve got a partner through everything? That’s empowering. Especially in these really weird, uncertain, kinda scary times, I’m lucky enough to have this in my life. There ain’t no one I’d rather be in quarantine with!
With @nomadwolf360
