COMIN' DOWN

8:30, West Yellowtone, Montana - The snow is here. This image was taken just minutes ago... There isn't much yet, as you can see from the picture, but we are in a winter storm watch for the next 24 hours. Game on folks! Check the comments on this article in the morning - I will post the accumulation after breakfast.

I have been asked to re-post a few articles that were on my former blog (FSx) that is no longer accessible. For those of you who read last year, I am sorry for the repetition. Below is the first of two marathon accounts from the 2006-2007 ski season. The second, my account of the Engadin Ski Marathon in Switzerland will be re-posted in the next few days.

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Hayward, Wisconsin, February 24, 2006: The American Birkebeiner

T-minus 18 hours and the race is cut from 52 kilometers to 25. I am confident in my ability, regardless of length, and my heart could not be more in. 100%, I am ready.

Just one year ago I stood on the same start-line. I was told that most people don’t do very well during their first marathon and as the announcer gave us the 30 seconds to start, I did not feel the bitter wind, only the butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "You are most likely going to bonk," a coach had informed me that year, "but you might as well be in the front pack when you do..." I went out hard, my only goal to stick with the leaders as long as possible. Finishing 5th(2nd American), I not only skied well, but I caught the fever. From that moment on, I wanted to win the 2007 American Birkebeiner.

The gun goes off and the men scramble away. I am left, 10 minutes to go, along with the other elite women to wait. Seconds tick by like hours and I am thankful that I have a thin base layer beneath my suit. 60 seconds to go and I can feel the tension in the air, the other competitors are anxious. I am calm, I breathe deep and I keep an eye on the gunman. I am aware that I am no longer cold, I have to pee but I am completely confident.

The gun is fired and the first 2 kilometers are covered in ankle-deep sugar mixed with a dirt road. I have never seen snow this dirty and I hear my competition struggling in the conditions. Understanding that my skis are becoming just as dirty as those beside me, I focus on staying light. The wax and the hours of testing is quickly leveled by the dirt. We will all have slow skis for the duration of the race, not one cleaner than another. I am thrilled. I can hear the frustration in the other girls. Mentally, I have already won the race.

The sugar gives way to an inch of hard-packed snow and I decide to take the lead. We climb a power-line with very steep hills and I try to start breaking up the pack. I am warmed up and ready for this early surge but others are as well. I look around at the top and the pack is 20 deep. There is a slight headwind and it is time to follow. I throw it into second-gear and, like an accordion, the girls behind me catch up and it becomes crowded.

"Someone take the lead," I hear from behind. "Keep up the pace, they’re catching us."

It does not matter to me, whether I ski in a pack of 2 or 20, I will not pull anyone. I am in this for the win, not to be nice. I position myself between second and third place for the next 10 kilometers. I do not lead unless I am trying to drop people and with the headwind, that will not happen today. I change my strategy and sit back; I take the draft and wait. I am alert, ready for a surge but it does not come. My legs are remarkable. They are recovering quickly and my skis are even with the others. I am skiing at high threshold and the kilometers quickly pass.

I take a peek through my legs, while in a tuck and realize that somewhere along the last 10k, the mass of girls dropped. I am skiing in a pack of 4, sitting in second place, and I can hear the announcer through the woods. We wind around a bit and the announcer sounds further away. I do not know how far we are from the road crossing (a sign of 3k to go). The girl just in front of me picks up the pace and I follow with ease. Another girl falls off the back. Then there were three. We finally cross the road and I size up the state of my competitors. The girl in back is not challenging and the girl in front is not picking up the pace. I figure that I can win a sprint and so I continue to wait.

People cheering on the side of the trail are yelling that this is the final hill. I have done my homework however, and know that there is still a sizable one just before the finish. Regardless, I decide to go for it at the top, the 200m sign is visible. It is time to bury it. I take the inside corner and sprint over the top. There is a fairly long section to glide now but I skate-tuck to make sure the girls do not suck my draft. Going up the final hill, the finish is just around the corner; I do not know where the others are. I pass the 100m sign. No one is stepping on my poles and I cannot hear any breathing; a good sign but I do not let up. I did not come here to get beat in the final few seconds and as I come through the final shoot, the fans are a blur. I give it my all, as if I was trying to catch someone just ahead of me. There is not someone there, however and I cross the line 6 seconds before the next person. I have won the American Birkebeiner and I throw my hands over my head as tears come to my eyes.

As the reporters crowd around me, clipping speakers to my bib and holding out microphones, motioning their cameraperson to get closer, I am thankful that my sunglasses conceal my eyes. I focus on making my voice calm and steady. I try to say something intelligent when I want to do is run and yell and hug people. I won the American Birkebeiner.
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Happy training everyone.