Outdoor pool in Chamonix with the Mont Blanc in the background

The swimming pool and master swim club is no different. It took four years to rebuild the outdoor pool at the Richard Bozon Sports Center in Chamonix (and its still 5 meters short, only 45 meters long) but its incredible setting more than makes up for the lost distance. Nestled in the heart of town, swimmers can look up and sight off the Midi or the summit of Mont Blanc itself.

Master’s swim in Chamonix is part of the Chamonix Club des Sports which boasts 28 different sporting sections. The Club Natation de Chamonix is run by the trainer Jean-Christophe Guer or J.C. as we call him. The club was started in 1972 with 35 members and now boasts close to 170. Practices vary, but are held five times a week twice on Mondays and Thursdays and Tuesdays at noon. During the winter season you can even get up at 6am and swim with the high school kids.

The work outs are pretty demanding and focus equally on all strokes, not just freestyle. J.C’s motto is that you must train all strokes to be strong at one and it also prevents repetitive injuries. Even though I can’t swim the backstroke outside in a straight line to save my life, it stretches out my shoulders after a hard freestyle workout. Not to mention how burly training fly is in a longer pool.

When I first joined the club I had to relearn all swimming terms in French. IM (international medley) for example is quatre-nage and the butterfly is called le papillon. For the first few practices I never managed to get the workout right and just followed Vanessa, the speedy girl in front of me or just kinda did my own thing pretending I knew the drill. The sprints at the end of practice were also interesting as their call to start was a little different. Instead of on your marks, get set, go - it was get set, go! Or sometimes there were three commands so inevitably I left too early or too late much to everyone’s amusement.

My fellow French swimmers tolerated me with a smile and gave me lessons while holding up certain items repeating the name in French. Kickboard = La planche. Lane = couloir. I can now understand most of the terminology and apologize in the right language when I run into someone because I am too busy staring at the view. But thanks to that same view I never miss a practice - even when its raining and we can see the snow on the Mont Blanc.

Interested? Master swim programs are very popular and most certainly there is one near you, check with your local pool or community center.

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My Italian pals and I on the summit of the Grand Col Ferret

Last week I drove support for a crew of folks running around the Tour du Mont Blanc with Sierra Mountain Guides. Having put long trail runs on the back burner in exchange for triathlons and mountain bike racing, I grabbed my mountain bike and followed them around via and biked while they ran. The fun part about driving a nine passenger van was my bike fit in easily and it was a cinch to change clothes.

The Val Ferret and looking across to La Peule  where I was supposed to be…

After depositing everyone where they wanted to be in Champex, Switzerland after the day;s run, I drove back up to La Fouly at the end of the Val Ferret in Switzerland with the intention of biking one of the many cols on the TMB, The Grand Col Ferret (elevation 2537 meters). I anticipated it was about ten kilometers up and maybe 1000 meters of elevation gain - give or take a few meters.

Elevation from La Fouly to the Col and down into Italy

The first part of the ride was on asphalt through the town of Ferret and eventually gave way to a dirt road and then split - one continued on up towards the left and the other down into a parking lot that then rose up the opposite valley to the right. I did not see this other road at first and followed a German rider for about half hour or so until the road ended at an area I believe was called Plan de la Chaux. Aha. I looked across the valley and could see the correct trail leading up to the col. Had I continued that route I would have walked my bike a very long ways up to the Col Fourchon.

L’alpage de La Peule

Instead I rode down losing all my elevation and started again up the correct route. A nice dirt road, but rather steep at the start with a few switchbacks. It was Swiss Day and many families were out walking the hills and eating at the small restaurants or alpages that dotted the valley. I rode along for another thirty minutes and came to the Alpage La Peule I had seen from across the valley. Getting off the bike to walk through the wood chips (and it would be weird to ride past all the tables) I noticed it was comprised of a nice main hut and a few yurts that could sleep in total 32 people.

Cool yurt

After the hut the trail became a single track and rose rather steeply for the first three switchbacks or so requiring some hike-a-biking to the confusion of the bell clad cows that stared as I went by. The last hour or so the trail flattened a bit with some steep technical lung busting sections that I could see from a distance. I tried to plan my vertical attack on these sections while resting on the flats in between. Mainly the trail traversed gaining elevation until the notch of the col was visible which - at certain points to me - seemed to be getting father and farther away. One section had a slight bit of exposure for a few hundred meters or so - nothing to bad but a fall would have required rescue perhaps by helicopter.

Up and up, the col visible up and just to the left of center, almost above the white marker

I caught some Italian riders with full packs who had ridden the full Tour du Mont Blanc. I rode with them for a bit enjoying being in a group as well as their cheers when I would successfully navigate a technically difficult uphill section. These sections seemed like mini sprints made worse with the growing elevation. In any case, biking with Italians is fun and motivating!

The way down, woohoo!

We made it to the summit and encountered some riders coming over from the opposite direction - the Italian Val Ferret. We stood for a group photo and as the only female biker and an American at that, I got a lot of commentary and questions. A few minutes later as the wind picked up I bid farewell to my new friends and rode back down the way we had come. The track was perfect for the descent - the technical difficulties disappeared with the help of gravity and it was one of the most enjoyable single tracks I have ever ridden. The trail was still a bit wet from the previous nights rain making it solid and even the steep sections were easily ridden all the way back down to the hut.

All and all the trip with the short detour took about two and a half to three hours and was one of the best experiences on a bike I have had to date. If walking or running isn’t your thing, the TMB on a bike is great option. I found a great site with planning information here courtesy of Alps Mountain Bike.

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“Did you do it in a day?” is a question you hear a lot around here, did you climb the Mont Blanc in a day, did you do the course in a day, did you…insert “athletic feat” here. More and more race organizers and people on their own are tackling larger and more impressive physical goals in shorter and shorter periods. The Tour du Mont Blanc Cyclo was a new event this year produced by the same organizers that bring us Le Marmotte, and dared riders to ride around the Mont Blanc in 18:30 hours or less at a minimal speed of 18 kilometers an hour. Do-able you say? Sure, but don’t forget the over 8000 meters of climbing and seven cols included in the route.

I heard about the race the beginning of June from a friend and talented cyclist who also races ski mountaineering. Unsure if I could actually do the event I was attracted to its simplicity - around the massive in the mystical day. The ride was tagged for “elite riders” and that I am definitely not, but I am an endurance bunny so I focusing on training in the little time I had.

Lake Minnetonka, corn and lovely Excelsior

Returning to Minnesota for a month was not the best way to kick off the training regime, but my father has a nice Trek from the Discovery era and I rode many flat miles on it exploring the lakes, prairies and farmlands of Minnesota. I also had to use his shoes which were a tad too big. I rode places near my home I had never been and was stunned by the landscape and actually was able to study lots of corn. Being the good Minnesotan I am I love corn and was surprised at how high the stalks already were. Farmers have an old saying, “knee high by the Forth of July,” well it was almost chest high. Bumper corn crop everyone and I am going to miss it.

I did manage a weekend in Aspen and through the generosity of two friends, Wendy Wogan Williams and Elliot Larson, I had the use of a road bike and a mountain bike. ZG’s own Tom Hayles took me on a ride down valley to suffer in the heat for 80 miles, “Be good training” he said. He had no idea how right he was.

Lord Fletchers’ and my dad’s ride

I returned to Chamonix on July 8th. The next day I met Valerie for a recon ride. We rope up to Champex and then followed it up with the monster, the Grand St. Bernard. The heat was intense and the 95k ride gave me the first indication that maybe I could finish this thing. People said I would finish no problem but in all honesty, I didn’t know if I could do it. I was short probably 1000k training on the bike and for the first time in awhile was excited to put my body and my head to the test. I think it also cured my jet lag.

Eating and drinking would be the most critical so I planned on stopping at all aid stations. The 95 degree heat forecast would make it a necessity regardless. I had mostly solid food as after that amount of time gels and gu would make me sick. Instead I carried small bits of cut up peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, wafer cookies, bars and some power bar cola gel things which ruled.

Back to the start in Les Saisies. We rolled up to the line at 5am - not much of a line really - about 150 men and four women bunched together in the dark with lights on our bikes. The race was in actuality a tour and there would be no classifications but I was impressed with the looks of the people around me. Strong legs and some seriously nice machines. Thanks to Phil Martin I was on an awesome Cervelo with more mountain- friendly gearing than my Madone.

The first descent was gnarly - fast and not easy to see down the rough roads from the top of Les Saisies down towards Megeve. I stayed with a pack and tried to be ready to absorb unexpected unseen bumps. I swore more than once thinking I was going to go down. Once on the route towards Megeve and La Fayet. I stuck with a large pack and drafted for the next hour or so.

We arrived in Fayet and then headed up towards Passy, down through Servoz back up the small road leading towards Vaudagne. I had never ridden that road before. I noticed it was steep. We cruised through Les Houches and up the back road towards Chamonix right around 7:15am. I rode up valley passed my own house thinking more than a few times maybe I should just stop. Up the Col du Montets and then the Forclaz, we descended into Martingy at around 9:20am, well ahead of the 11:00 am cut off time. I stopped and ate well before the short but brutal climb up to Champex. Salami was the winner here, the salt tasted awesome as did the pound cake. For the third time in my European race career someone at an aid station asked me, “It’s not too hard for you?” I looked around at all the men sitting and eating and wondered why she was asking me? I smiled, thanked her for the food and got back on the bike.

From this point on I was mostly alone, passing the same men over and over again and vice versa. The climb seemed endless but I was happy I had just ridden it the week before so I knew the route. After a short descent into Orsieres, I started up the Grand St. Bernard in some serious heat. The road was full of cars and  construction. Before getting to the top we had to ride about five kilometers in a tunnel that went down to one lane at parts. It required a lot of focus and I was happy to reach the last 6-7 kilometers that lead to the top of the col.

Summit Grand St. Bernard

Happy sort of - the last bit is really pretty steep and I kept passing men who had stopped, who then would start again and pass me, and then I would see them stopped on the next bend. No way, I was not getting off the bike since I didn’t know if I would get back on. Reaching the crest of the col I passed the monastery on top and rode down past a lake I had never seen before. Again stopping quickly at the aid station to get water and some more cake. I had a severe lower back ache and I started to notice my lack of training. Time to recover on the downhill.

Not so much…the descent was endless and difficult. My shoulders actually began to ache from the breaking. The construction was brutal and I had to slam on the brakes a few times to avoid hitting cars. The road was uneven and my hands started to cramp. After about twenty minutes the road buffed out and I was able to descent and relax a bit until I hit the flats of the Aosta Valley.

The Aosta Valley

I turned and started up the 30k to the base of the Petit St. Bernard and it felt like someone turned on the hair dryer…on high. A strong, hot headwind greeted me the entire way. Once at the aid station I dunked my head under the spring and sat down in the shade for a few minutes. My fellow bikers were looking a little rough and a few chose not to continue.

On I went through Pres. St. Didier up the Petit St. Bernard - which there is nothing petite about. Twenty kilometers and a few false summits I was glad I had ridden it last year to watch the Tour. Strangely no camper vans or flags waited this year, but one random race photographer snapped away as I passed. It sure looked a whole lot different without the Tour mayhem.

Having never been over the backside of the pass I was surprised again to pass a lake before descending another endless road, this one flatter than the rest. About halfway down I noticed I had left my water bottles with the nice man who offered to fill them for me. As it was still a million degrees it was going to be an issue. Secretly I hoped they figured it out and would send a rider down behind me, but who was I kidding, where would they carry them???

Once in Bourg St. Maurice I spied a pizzaria and ran inside to buy 2 bottles of water. The race required that you carry fifty Euros in emergency money, lights and a bright yellow vest. The Euros came in handy and I threw the Evian in my cages - they almost fit and my tired fingers struggled with the screw caps, but it was better than nothing.

Road up the Roselende courtesy of Trek Earth, no way I could stop to take a photo.

The course referred to the Cormet du Roselend as a “mysterious” col. I knew nothing about it and the start was rather uneventful, a small road with a million switchbacks that rose pretty quickly up in elevation through evergreen forest. Fortunately each kilometer (19 of them) was marked with a white marker so I could count on my way up.  However, I got confused a few times and there were uphill markers, and then the kilometers marked for the descent as well. This was kinda confusing, was the summit not the summit? So anyway I would count down the klicks, 6…..6.5…..7… and so on. I had met a fellow American, Ben, at the hotel (who was the third man to cross the line with a time of 12:58) who had texted me his phone number in case I wanted to be picked up. At first I might have been slightly insulted, but the last two cols it was a comfort to know someone somewhere would come get me.

The Roselind is stunningly beautiful and was my favorite of the ride. After the steep climb out of the forest the climb flattens out, I was relieved - for about a minute until the wind hit. More headwind. I could see a rider on up ahead so I kept pedaling away assured I was not out here alone. I sang along out loud to my Ipod Shuffle. Eternity passed while hurricane force winds blew. I made it to the summit. One more pass to go.

Les Saisies and the Mont Blanc

The descent was just as amazing as the climb, down a few switchbacks past a beautiful lake and down again steeply into a forest. I had to brake quickly for a confused fox. It was starting to get dark and bugs were also becoming an obstacle. Ouch.

Finally I reached the base of the final climb up Les Saisies. Night was just falling and if I was not so ready to be done and off my bike it was almost magical. All the chalets were lit up and the temperature had not yet cooled. The moon was rising and I could see the night star. All of this beauty was spoiled by the fact that the climb was friggin’ STEEP. Passing cars would linger behind me for a few minutes giving me a bit of light. I had caught a few riders and we all rolled into Les Saisies together.

They had a pretty nice buffet laid out and I recovered my lost water bottles in the lost and found. It took a few minutes before I could manage to eat and I watched as the last people finished.  Of the 150 men who started just under 100 finished, and of the 4 women, 3 made it across the finish line. I was the third and sincerely mean it when I say I was just happy to have finished and competed the lap in…a day.

Brava to Valerie for sharing this adventure with me and for ripping up the course in an incredible 15:35.

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If there is one thing I have learned, no matter how long your racing career, most competitors have some sort of pre-race nuerosis. Whether its the first race or the 100th, everyone has their methods of dealing with the event build-up. Be you a compulsive list maker, an over-packer, a fly by the seat of your pantser, a last minute buyer of all things suddenly deemed necessary, a regurgitator of useless researched facts to all those around you, subject to bouts of indecision (what should I wear?) or my personal favorite, the last minute meltdown over the smallest thing going awry in perfectly laid plans, we all cope just a little bit differently. One of my post race-nuerosis includes the thought that everyone has one race glitch (glitch being defined as something that can be overcome, not to be confused with a race catastrophe) and as far as I am concerned its best to get that glitch dealt with and out of the way early rather than later.

Control Material

We had a few glitches of our own during the Patrol de Glaciers starting with the Icelandic eruption of Mount Eyjafjalla. The PDG is a famous Swiss ski mountaineering race put on by the Swiss Army. The race has two heats, the longer A and World Cup course covering 4000 meters of ascent and descent across 56 kilometers, from Zermatt to Verbier and the shorter B course which starts in Arolla and covers half the distance. For a view of the A course click here

If successful we would be the first official female USA team to compete in this event. However, the constant spewing of ash into the European airspace canceled hundreds of flights threatening our start. As the volcano continued its geologic bulimia over the weekend, my teammate Nina and I (who live in Chamonix) began to consider the idea that our third teammate Mona Merrill might in fact not make it over from Breckenridge, Colorado. We waited……and waited, checking numerous airport websites and watching repeat news broadcasts crossing our fingers that her Lufthansa flight would make it over to Frankfurt. It did. Phew. However all flights from Frankfurt to Geneva canceled, so she jumped in the car and drove the ten hours to Zermatt arriving a day before the race. Glitch number one.

Gear

Once Mona arrived our team of three ventured to the check in or the “control material” plotting our plan of attack while all our gear was inspected and marked. Tiny zip-tie like markers were placed on all required gear to ensure this was in fact the gear utilized for the race, no mark on your equipment at the end, no finish. This was especially true with the rope. As a patrol we would travel roped for part of the course that crossed glacier and we had placed elastic on the rope to make it more manageable while skiing down. All our gear was deemed a-okay and we headed on to the briefing.

The briefing was held in the Zermatt Church, an impressive spectacle that unfortunately we could not get into due to too many people, so we watched in the neighboring gym via video. Many local dignitaries spoke including the president of Zermatt and the Commandant of the race itself. The briefing oozes pride and tradition and its hard not to get caught up in the festivity. We were wished luck by all in four languages and and told that, “guardian angels would accompany us on our traverse.”

Zermatt Chapel

Last, we received a sandwich benediction by not only the priest of the Zermatt Chapel, but also the Verbier priest. The Patrol even has its own prayer blessing our brothers the glacier, the army men on course, our backpacks and our skis. Furthermore it blesses our sisters the snow, the rope that holds us together and our fellow teammates and volunteers. After a final group benediction we were dismissed and it was hard not to be a little choked up and to feel a bit a part of history.

Last climb up the Col de la Chaux

After dinner it was time to suit up for our midnight start. A rapid fire question session ensued regarding what to wear, what to bring to eat, how much water to bring, what kind of jacket and so on. Shortly after getting dressed I notice my Camelback was leaking and the entire back of my pack was soaked. Genius. Nothing like having a frozen pack heading up to 3800 meters. Enter the previous nuerosis, the meltdown.  After counting to ten I realized something had gotten caught in the seal of the Camelback. I removed it and used the hairdryer in the bathroom to dry the pack. Glitch two.

Good luck Matterhorn chocolate

We lined up at the start while a mono-toned voiced woman counted down the start again in four languages. Three, two, one, the gun was off and the soldiers forming the human start line jumped out of the way. Away we went running down the main street past all the bars with happy revelers toasting our exit. The race had starts every hour on the hour from 10:00pm until 3:00am. Someday I am going to be the one in the bar toasting the heats as they run past.

Nina, Lyndsay and Mona

The first hour and a half of the course is done on foot with skis and boots on pack. We ran up towards the snow doing the endurance race shuffle passing teams on the narrow path. Weaving in and out of poles and over rocks in the dark I heard a crack. “My pole is broken.” Nina’s carbon pole had snapped about three inches above the basket. Damaged but still usable, we kept going hoping to replace it in Arolla at the halfway point. Glitch number three.

Climbing out of Arolla at daybreak

We continued on up and over the Tete Blache at 3800 meters, past the Col de Bertol, down into Arolla arriving in four hours and forty-five minutes, well ahead of schedule. A bad mixture of sports drink during my short Camelback emergency had given me a rough stomach. “This will pass, this will pass” I kept saying to myself. Enter another of my race nuerosis, I repeat these words while I suffer until it does actually indeed pass eventually. Often times I follow it up with a quote from “What About Bob” borrowed from a friend, “I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful.” Unable to find our support crew due to the large crowds amassed in Arolla we continued on up and up to the Col de Reidmatten, down the Pas du Chat and skated the eight kilometers across the Lac Dix. The sun was now out and it was getting warm very quickly. “I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful.”

Last transition and down

We summited the Rosablanch and the Col de la Chaux and ripped skins for the last time and descended down to Verbier. We finished at 9:52am and since we had left at midnight it was also our race time, we had broken ten hours. It was especially a surprise to me. I had shut my watch off to focus on each climb of the race like it was a separate race (enter nuerosis three). I had not been feeling well but learned that truly your mind is a powerful thing and thanks to my teammates learned just how much I can indeed suffer and move forward, ten hours forward to be exact.

Team USA to the finish

So in fact the race really went off without a hitch. Upon further inspection I realized that perhaps in fact my pre-race nuerosis regarding race glitches is faulty. Perhaps they are not really glitches at all, just a normal part of racing and what defines you as a racer is how you deal with each glitch, is the glitch half full or half empty? Perhaps in fact glitches can be a useful use of converting negative to positive energy flow - better my Camelback leaked when I can fix it. Broken pole though incredibly annoying could account for added adrenaline. Spewing volcano can re-enforce just how much racing means to us all. Missed support meeting could account for saved time and added pride we did the whole race start to finish on our own and lousy stomach can teach just how much it really is…all…in…your…head. Cause it is.

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Racers congregating at the start

The Tour du Grand Paradis has got to be hands down one of my favorite races. Its in Italy (meaning great food and prizes), it’s well organized, the course runs up the Grand Paradis, a 4000 meter peak (the highest peak entirely in Italy) and the ski down is spectacular. And did I mention it’s in Italy? I LOVE Italy. I had previously done this race before under perfect conditions in 2008. However, due to ice at the top we had to stop 100 meters short of the official race summit but were able to finish the rest of the marked course. I was excited for another chance at the summit this year.

Course map. We had to turn around at point 4

I signed up with fellow Chamonix Ski Alpinism pal Nuno Caetano and it would be the first time I competed on a mixed team. Nuno is much stronger than I am so we had planned to use an elastic to stay together on the way up since normally he would leave me in the dust.

Course profile. 2400 meters of ascent and descent.

We left Chamonix at four am after a few days of dubious weather and crossed through the tunnel to Italy. I was doubtful the course would be run in its full entirety after so much precipitation. After an hour and a half drive including a stop outside a night club confirming directions with leather clad late night Italian clubbers we arrived around seven am and started to suit up (in spite of a few attempts to get us to join the party). The race crossed glacier and required us to wear harness, via ferrata kit, an extra layer for warmth, carry crampons and be roped. Nuno would carry the rope and I would take the extra layers.

Small bottleneck at the start

Both of us were suffering from a cold and decided to race for fun and acclimatization for upcoming races. No stress we kept saying to one another, just nice and easy for fun. We lined up at the start one of a record number of 220 teams and learned the event was to follow the original course. Yippee! Looking up we could see the sky was clearing and a moderate wind was blowing a little snow aloft. I was excited to get up high.

Up and up

We started slow which proved to be comedic when the course immediately turned into the forest. 500 racers fought for space on a technical single track. We laughed as we heard racers mumbling, “Madonna,” and push past each other. We waited at the back and took photos while marveling at the controlled chaos. Perhaps next time a kilometer loop before heading up the single track could spread the competitors apart.

Refuge Chabod

A few switchbacks in we got into a rhythm and began passing people from the back. Once in the open the course was well set with three tracks and numerous kick turns. It was not the best course for using the elastic so I sent Nuno up ahead so he didn’t freeze and we both went at our own pace. He would look back on occasion and I would give him the thumb’s up.

The race started at the Alp Terre in the Valsavarache at 1834 meters and I started to feel the altitude just past the Refuge Chabod around 2800 meters. I gladly accepted a warm tea and smiled for the camera as Nuno clicked away. It was fun to be so relaxed on course. Because we were traveling at a slower pace I was able to observe other racers and all the terrain and actually learned a great deal about what I would do and not do in future events. I was also able to pick up trash left by careless competitors. It was a bit like being able to examine a race in slow motion.

Nuno on course

Up and up we went towards the toe of the glacier and I began to see some of the top racers skiing back down. Unsure of what was going on I continued on. The course reached an open section and I was bombarded by strong winds and had difficulty seeing due to blowing snow. The temperature was dropping and my fingers were freezing. I caught up to Nuno and he explained the situation as we put on our down jackets. The race had been stopped due to 85-100 kilometer winds and -15 degree Celsius temperatures up high. We were allowed to continue to the base of the boot pack at 3400 meters but no further. The first teams to reach that point had been deemed the winners. For results click here.

Boot-pack and the turn around point

We roped up and went as high as allowed enjoying the tour and acclimatizing. They sky had cleared and the views were stunning. At the last checkpoint we turned round and practiced skiing roped which is not as easy as it looks. Back off the glacier we skied some great powder back down through the woods walking the last steep bit to the valley floor.

Italian table wine complete with no label

We changed out of race gear and headed for our reward, the Italian lunch including meat, polenta, bread and table wine. In spite of not reaching the top it was a great training day filled with lots of laughs and another great day in the mountains.

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This year marked the 25th anniversary of the four day ski mountaineering race the Pierra Menta. It was my third time bellying up to the start line and each year after the grueling event I had considered not doing it again. In fact my teammate and I had looked each other in the eye and said those very words and seriously meant them.

Florent Perrier and William Bon Mardon with the Pierra Menta peak in the background. Race photos courtesy of Adrien Picpic

Crazy stats, four stages, 10,200 meters of climbing, multiple boot-packs and technical ski descents aside, what exactly is it that drives people to do this event year after year (some do it for vacation, others on are on their 14th year), in fact what is exactly it that compelled me to do it again? I sat and mulled it over this week while I was prone on the couch recovering from our 16 plus hour ordeal while stuffing my face with slivers of cheese courtesy of the huge hunk of Beaufort we won for placing ninth. I have learned cheese does not necessarily go great with every meal.

The cheese taking up a large part of my fridge

I digress, back to the race - It certainly was not the five am wake ups and the seven am starts that brought me back, it was definitely not the cold wind up high and the freezing fingers, it was not the pushy men on course (chivalry is dead in most cases on course with the exception of a gallant few), it was not the ice cold baths we took in attempts to recovery our legs for the next day, it was not the weird fleece jacket we got each year, it was not the racers behind me that would kick my skis letting me know they wanted to pass, it was not realizing my Camelback tube was frozen and you had no water, it was not eating gels and getting the gooey stuff all over, and last, it was not the co-ed group massage atmosphere at our 30 minute session each day (included in race fee) and the things we got to see that we really didn’t want see. Lots of bad underwear choices out there guys. Think it through.

Now that I have sorted out what it wasn’t, I will try to express what got me out of bed each morning. It was the ability to communicate with my partner without speaking. It was the fact that when I was tired she would help me with a pull and when she felt bad I repaid the favor and pulled her. It was pushing ourselves to the limit while experiencing some amazing landscapes and the rapid descents through the trees and steeps that gave us the adrenaline for the next up. It was the guide on course who would play “Glory Glory Hallelujah,” in honor of our American heritage when we passed (for video click here). It was the relief and joy when we finally hit each summit and could fly to the finish sensing the end was near. Most certainly it was the people on course constantly cheering “Bravo les filles, courage”, and the hundreds of people awaiting us on the summit of the Grand Mont. Our names were on the starting lists and people who didn’t know us would cheer us by name and I was motivated by their respect as we skinned past. It was also cheering for the other people suffering on course and knowing that everyone felt the same as you did. It was the feeling of being a part of something. It was knowing even though you felt like quitting, you weren’t going to stop.

There is a certain something about being in the mountains with others that heightens all experiences and is not easily described. Once you experience this with someone you are bonded for life. Take the feeling of reaching your first summit under your own power (no matter the length or elevation) and add the intensity of being in a element that requires obeying the unwritten rule that while you are racing against everyone you are also simultaneously responsible for their safety and well being.

One of many boot-packs on day three

Examples of this mountain spirit include an incident at our first Pierra Menta involving one racer jamming his pole under my partner’s skis while the other grabbed her pack to keep her from sliding down a technical icy slope. Last year a racer handed over his last Powerbar when one of us was bonking on a hot stage that went on forever, and this year, a French racer from Sallanches stood behind me on the arete of the Grand Mont singing his French traditional songs to distract us while we waiting our turn to climb in the freezing wind.

Waiting on the arete with French singer behind me smiling away

So I guess no one wants to remember the pain and the suffering (and how quickly we forget) of each stage and the range of emotions we try to conquer. Instead it is the feeling of each summit climbed, the exhilarating descents and dropping into a tuck to fly across the finish line that keeps us coming back for more and the certainty that my teammate, as well as everyone else out there, was with me each step of the way.

Summiting the Grand Mont!

Thank you Nina, for three great years of racing and thanks to all the guides on course who guide us safely through the course.

And this time we mean it, next year we are spectating. It’s your turn.

I am having a great day….

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A fellow ski mountaineer Sari Anderson recently gave me a great piece of advice. I had asked her how she always keeps such a tough mental focus while racing year round. Ski mountaineering is a harsh sport with a long season, it is easy to get burned out. Sari who is also professional mountain biker, adventure racer and a mother of almost 2 (one on the way) suggested signing up for something different, taking a break from the normal schedule and trying something new.

Mara at the start

For the third year running, Chamonix held a winter duathlon of sorts called the Skate and Run. The event can be done as an individual or in teams. Bingo, perfect idea. I called my trusty running pal Mara and we signed up for the relay. Mara would complete the first 12 kilometer snow run and I would attempt the 18 kilometer skate ski.

I own skate skis, I have taken a few lessons but I would not call my self a “skater.” Patient friends have taken me out and I can manage all right, but I am quite certain people who see my technique would have a lot to comment on, I skate with heart so to speak. I had never done any kind of skating race, but I certainly watched enough on television of late with the Olympics and all so I felt ready.

The morning of the event it was pouring rain. We met at the Chamonix Nordic Center for the briefing and dressed appropriately for the full on drenching downpour and talking about how to deal with the wet snow turning to slush turning to huge puddles. Mara wore Yaktrax on the bottom of her shoes for some additional traction and I had some structure put onto the base of my skis.

The race was postponed for about twenty minutes until the start was announced and all the racers took their marks on the line. Mara positioned herself on the line only to realize right into the run there was a huge puddle to navigate after the start hampering her strategic start plans. The course alternated between road and trail. We watched her take off guessing we had a little over an hour until I needed to be ready to roll.

I changed quickly and stayed out of the rain with my pal Meg as my sherpa. The weather seemed to be improving (less downpour more drizzle) and I made sure all was in order for my start. Mara came flying in third female, and first female for female teams. She tagged my pole and off I went on the first of two laps thought the Chamonix course. Later she explained some of the hazards of the course included watching a fellow racer unsuccessfully negotiate an icy traverse through the forest while she held tight to the nearest tree branch and waited for him to climb out before carefully crossing the same section.

The snow on the skating trail was ankle deep mush and it was a bit like skating in peanut butter. The first loop I managed well enough but gave up trying to get water from my waste pack, with the poles strapped onto my hands it was a bit like being Edward Scissor Hands and there was so much water falling on me I figured I didn’t need to drink any.

Mara with some vin chaud

I was grateful to all the cheerleaders on course and actually enjoyed some of the hills more than the flats since skating through water was not my forte. Some of the track was covered in branches and I had one almost spastic moment when I ran over a pine cone. I was able to improve a bit on my technique by mimicking the racers that passed me.

As I shuffled through the last kilometers of the course I kept thinking to myself, “I just want to finish this!” Alternated with, “Holy moly those guys in the Olympics are insanely fit!!!” I had a silly grin on my face when I finally crossed the line and loved having friends Meg and Ali cheering me along. Later on we even learned we managed to hang on to first place for female teams which was awesome - but this was not about the podium, more just a reminder of how much fun racing can be due to the feeling of satisfaction achieved with completing a new goal and the people you get to share the experience with along the way. Brava Mara, Ali, Meg and Sari - and thanks for giving me a boost for the rest of the ski mountaineering season.

Does the skate and run sound like something you want to try? Click here for more event ideas.

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Every February our friends at the EMHM, or the Ecole Militaire de Haute Montagne stage in my opinion one of the most difficult vertical night races. The course is 870 meters of elevation gain and runs right up the famous Kandahar downhill course route, yes the idea does defy common logic.The course is painful and steep, so much so that at two points during the event competitors take off skis and boot-pack up the route. Last night as I was suffering up the first of the two portages I kept thinking to myself, “I watched Bode Miller soar over this drop a few years ago and now I am hiking up it.” He might be the wiser.

Julie, Yann and Nuno

This year the race was delayed a few minutes allowing for added stress at the start and roughly 170 racers tried to stay warm before the final call including female ski mountaineer legend Laticia Roux (who won by a commanding six minutes). Fifteen minutes before the start of each night race,  competitors strip their outer layers, pack them in a pack and throw them into a snow-cat which will travel up the course to ensure warm clothing for sweaty racers at the summit.

After the build-up it was a rather anti-climactic start (I can never actually here the start, just see the front line moving) and halfway through the first steep climb we had to navigate a steep ledge leveling out and crossing a cat track before heading straight back up the piste. I was curious why on the way up the cat couldn’t just hit that part and smooth it out. Grooming is not compulsory at these events, in fact its a non occurrence. The first portion of the course I kept my head down relying on my arms and watched a few other racers fail on the icy, skied-off surface. When navigating steep, icier sections its best to keep the weight on the balls of the feet, activate the stomach focusing on core strength, and taking smaller steps while preforming a strong pole plant along side the skis. Easier said than done and once you start to slip backwards, its hard to regain footing.

Julie coming into the finish

New this year the course was marked with elevation gain markers, I am not sure if I was thrilled to know how far I had to go or not, might be best to suffer in ignorance. I know its helpful for pacing but this event is all about survival in my book. At one point I saw the 400 meter mark and thought, really? that’s it??

Brava, Julie!

The race concludes at the actual start house of the downhill and it is a sideways battle across the fall line into the gatehouse. I finished, a mediocre performance but pleased to have made it up the difficult course once again and chalked it up to good training needed for a later start on the ski mountaineering season year. End of season will be my time to peak so for now its all about miles in the bank and ditching my hacking cough companion. We definitely need to break up.

After the no pain, no gain part, we skied down headlamps lighting the way to have a lovely meal organized by the EHMH in Les Houches at l’Espace Olca. Wine was served along with pasta and apple tart. Chamonix’s newly formed Club du Ski Alpinism was in full force with thirteen racers clad in our new red (for men) and pink (for women) suits. A special shout out to Julie Siniciali who having just started ski mountaineering last year broke the mythical one hour mark crossing the line in 57 minutes and placed 13th at the French Individual Championships last weekend. Julie is a nurse in Chamonix and manages to train and race alongside her demanding work schedule. She is a true inspiration with all she has attempted and accomplished in such a short time. For a full set of results click here

Brava Julie, and thank you Carron for the great photos!

Julie, Nina and Lyndsay at the French Individual Championships, the Tour du Grand Veymont

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This past weekend I chalked up another “first” in my ski mountaineering career. My teammate Nina and I traveled to Jaun, Switzerland to compete in the initial team World Cup race of the season, the Gastlosen. After the famed Patrol des Glaciers, the Gastlosen was the second most popular race in Switzerland and no less than 1500 people would be joining us on the start line.

The race had a few different categories, the World Cup, Swiss Cup, and the shorter, more user-friendly B course. Course A for the elite traveled up some 2300 meters across 20 kilometers. Best part? A six kilometer downhill to the finish. We like the downhill.

The weather was iffy at best. It had been snowing a great deal and the start was delayed…a few times. Fortunately we had been put up in hut-like communal accommodation with other World Cup teams near the start of the race. Once on course, visibility was minimal but the snow on the descents made the up all worthwhile. My favorite descent took us down a narrow rocky couloir and again I was reminded of how hard core European courses can be.

Cruising into the finish and fighting with some guys in orange suits who REALLY wanted to beat us (think skiercross on the way down), we had to take off skis and run the final 100 meters. Nina and I crossed the line and headed over to the control to have our gear checked. Before I even caught my breath a blond haired woman carrying a clipboard called my name. Thinking it was something to do with the control I started to take the items out of my pack until I finally understood what she was explaining. She was an employee of antidoping.ch. I had been chosen for a random drug test. I had an hour to give the sample and would be accompanied by a chaperon until I could do so. Doping unfortunately is becoming more and more popular within the sport of ski mountaineering and national athletes licensed by the ISMF (International Ski Mountaineering Federation) are now being subjected to random tests to keep the playing field level.

My chaperon was a younger woman who was not thrilled with her job but was very professional. Wanting to get the whole thing over with I agreed to try right away (rookie mistake) and headed back into our accommodations to the dopage (doping in French) area where I was told to wait before “making peepee” as they kept saying.

Photo courtesy of www.skimountaineering.org

When it was my turn to enter the room I had to sign some official papers. Next I chose my own container and cut it out of the sealed plastic. After a bit more explanation we headed off to the bathroom. En route I passed some of the other teams who had finished much earlier than we did. I smiled as I walked past and mused they must be thinking that if I was doping, I should certainly get my money back cause it was not really working!

So into the bathroom we went and yes both of us crammed into the stall. It took me awhile to de-layer and peel off the suit. Guess what? After racing for three and a half hours it is not easy to produce the size sample they need. I had downed a bottle of water but nothing was happening, My chaperon thoughtfully turned on the faucet to help. I felt like a little kid again.

After a few more somewhat embarrassing moments I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. I showed her the sample I had managed and she shook her head, it was not enough. Back to the dopage room we went where I had to sign more forms indicating this was a provisional sample and I would have to come back and try again.

In the meantime I asked if I could change out of my race gear. She said of course but accompanied me to my room while I changed. I desperately wanted a hot shower but realizing she would have to shower with me my desire faded.

Back outside the dopage room I took my seat this time armed with three bottles of water and sports drink. I drank while I chatted to Florent Troillet, one of the Swiss masters of ski mountaineering. He was waiting his turn as were a few others. Some would smile sheepishly with their specimens in hand as they passed.

I sat for about an hour until it was my turn again. I was starving and not feeling so well and really ready to give a good sample and get out of there. I was successful upon my second attempt and handed her the container thinking it was over and done with - nope. The dopage room had small styrofoam containers sealed with special tape and marked with numbers. She told me to pick one and note the number. Next I opened the container (almost like a beer cooler) and found two small glass bottles with the corresponding numbers on them. I was told to make sure all matched.

Once confirmed, I was told to fill the first glass container up to the fill line, pouring the rest into the other container. I assumed this must be the A and B samples I had heard so much about. After sealing them tight I put them back into the case and taped the lid shut. More papers to fill out and she asked if I was taking any medications. My first instinct was to say no and then I remembered I had taken a decongestant the night before as I was fending off a cold. Memories of gymnasts and skiers who could not perform at the Olympic Games popped into my head. I wrote down what I had taken and wondered if due to my ignorance I had just messed up my season. I would find out in three weeks time.

We arrived home later that night and I took a look at the WADA (World Anti-Doping Agency) Prohibited List and breathed a sign of relief. I had only taken a simple cold medication and was in the clear. Some cold medications like Sudafed PE contain a ingredient called pseudoephedrine that acts as a stimulant and has been shown to prove beneficial to competitors in threshold doses. The drug had been on the monitor or watch list for the past few years and this year was placed back on the prohibited list. Interestingly enough, to purchase Sudafed PE in the states you have to show i.d and sign a sales log due to the fact that it plays a key role in producing methamphetamine. Other things I recognized on the watch list were common items like simple caffeine and ephedra.

All in all the experience took about an hour and a half. Now I am not even going to attempt to make any kind of comparison between myself and Lance Armstrong, but I do have a new appreciation of what he goes through when he is tested randomly a gazillion times each year. While it was not the most pleasant thing to deal with after an event, I now understand the procedure and am thankful they are closely monitoring the sport and reminding athletes to play fair. I am also happy that I took the time to educate myself so as not to make future mistakes, it would have been a bummer to accidentally ruin our 7th place finish.

Monday morning rolled around and I woke with a bit of a cold perhaps due to staying cold for so long after the race. Lesson learned, next time I am taking the chaperon into the shower.

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The crew ready to load up

A million vertical feet. I tried to sort out some sort of visual for how much vertical that covered. Skiing Everest ten times to base camp would do it, or conversely skiing my old Minnesota stomping grounds Buck Hill roughly 3,333 times (only 300 feet of vertical built on an old trash dump). Either way I was stoked to have accumulated all my feet at CMH Valemount. Located in British Columbia in the Colombia Mountain range, the majority of my million was skied through un-tracked alpine and trees covered in deep powder to the tune of gleeful shrieks. Okay - maybe there were a few off days here or there due to mother nature but on the whole I was a happy millionaire.

What a good lookin’ suit!

One of my favorite days out

The excitement all unfolded at Valemount, one of Canadian Mountain Holiday’s heli-ski lodges with the yearly cast of characters (we now call ourselves Jerry and Gina’s kids). I was told I would hit the magic number sometime that week, only 40,000 meters (131,000 feet) to go. No problemo if our weather cooperated because Valemount is for the true ski addict. Ten people, two guides and one helicopter often result in days topping 15,000 meters (50,000 feet) or more.

The crew making the tunnel

The beginning of the week was filled with the light sparkly snow consistency you read about and we managed to log a 13,000 meter day. Wednesday afternoon a weather system moved in giving us a few down days to chill around the plush lodge which also touted cross country ski trails, a gym, yoga and bouldering area. Friday morning, our last day arrived. I glanced again at the daily meter count and found I was only a few meters short. The breakfast weather report did not sound promising but we set out to try to “see what we could see” as the guides say. White out soupy conditions prevented us from landing anywhere and denied me my last run, or so I thought.

Navigating Desperado

No biggie, I thought to myself, its all about the journey, I will bag my suit next year (a suit is awarded from CMH proclaiming you are a million footer when you hit the zenith mark). The chopper turned around and instead of heading home landed at the top of a logged cut block area out behind the lodge. Local loggers had harvested much of the diseased young timber in the area to prevent the beetle kill from spreading. The guide pointed to me and we hopped out leaving everyone else inside.  Surprised, I donned skis and watched as they flew down a few hundred feet and landed.

Celebrating with Jerry, Gina and champagne

“What are we doing?” I asked. “Getting you your last few feet!” he replied. We skied through heavy snow weight on our tails careful to avoid the cut logs underneath. At the bottom my great posse had made the traditional tunnel of poles overhead and I skied down through rains soaked snow mush and loud cheers to my new suit waiting at the bottom. We deemed the new run “Desperado” and thanks to my pal Jerry, our crew has become family over the last five years and I cherish each run I have skied with them.

The Valemount Curling Club

The special suit…

Later in the night we returned to the lodge where a special surprise awaited which requires some background information. In addition to skiing with my pals for the past five years I also met my fiance, Danny, at the lodge. A sort of million foot celebration/impromptu bachelorette party ensued. The fun-loving gals on the trip had taken one of Danny’s old neon 80’s style CMH guide suits and transformed it into a new fashion creation which I have to say was an improvement on the original. I wore it after dinner for some late night dancing but had to change for the limbo contest. I have saved the special suit and left it hanging in the lodge, but will prefer my new suit for the actual skiing downhill. The day could not have been better (we even curled in the afternoon) and many many thanks to Jerry, Gina, Jeff, Becky, Tom, Helen, Robbie, Bernadette and the Good Doctor Jim for making the last feet the best feet.

A special thanks to the legendary John Eaves for capturing some of it on film - don’t know who he is? Ever seen James Bond’s “For Your Eyes Only”? Remember the ski scene? Click here for more info on the ski-stunt legend, and click here to see him in action.

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