Dateline: March 8, Prospect Mountain Ski Center, Woodford, Vermont
The WMAC Dion Racing Snowshoe Series, 4k Mountain Run
New Jersey winters are variable. This year’s variety was bitterly cold and snowy. I have a pair of recreational snowshoes, and was happy to get a chance to put them to use both in NJ and in Maine. I knew that I would have Laura with me for the month of February, so I trolled the internet, looking for events that might bag us a state or two. I discovered the Western Massachusetts Athletic Club’s Dion Snowshoe series, and was intrigued by a 10k race not far from Burlington, Vermont. One day, training on the trails at Jockey Hollow National Park, I knew I was blistering my right heel, couldn’t think why, so I pressed on. Upon reaching the car, I pulled off my sneaker and found 12 cents stacked up right at the back of my heel, outside the sock, which ripped a slot in my heel that looked like an old fashioned gumball dispenser or a Las Vegas penny slots machine.
For two weeks, I could barely wear shoes. Laura returned to Chile; our window of opportunity closed.
February soldiered on, March blew in, the snow and cold persisted, and I got antsy. I kept checking the website for the Dion series :
http://www.snowshoemag.com/2014/12/20/wmac-dion-snowshoe-racing-series-2015-schedule/
and waited for the mystery race to declare a distance. I was praying for 5k instead of 10k, because my fitness was questionable, especially with the 12 cent blister layoff, and a bit of altitude above my home turf. Four days before the March 8 finale, the distance was posted- only 4k! Perfect, no problem. A plan emerged- Dawn assault, 3.25 hour drive to Woodford (weather looked fine), 4k snowshoe race, 3.25 hour drive home. I was registered for an Owl Prowl with friends that Sunday evening, and I wanted to be back for it.
6 am March 8, I’m in the car, and with the Spring Forward time change, it felt like 5 am. Spring Forward, I’m ready. I drove north on the NYS Thruway, to Albany and then east, and at the exact moment I hit the Vermont State Line, the snow started to stick to the roads. Up and over a pass, into and through Bennington, and I was glad for the brand new set of Michelins on the CRV.
Prospect Mountain is a ski touring center now, but it used to be a downhill ski center. The remains of two T-bar lifts sit silent, the T-bars stacked and waiting, but there is no cable, and the towers proceed, lonely and separate, up the hill. Soon, myself and the other racers would mimic them. The aroma of wood smoke greeted me outside the lodge, and inside, athletes were registering and chatting. I had brought my own snowshoes, but Dion offers loaner pairs of racing shoes for only $5. They are much smaller and sleeker, and with them, I would look like I knew what I was doing, at least until the start. I rented pair number 7 and strapped them on to warm up.
The base of the hill was groomed for cross country skis, and the willowy members of the Williams College Nordic Ski team were setting out to train. I liked the feel of my racing shoes and I confidently jogged around at the lower end of the course, as a couple of inches of fresh powder continued to fall. Twenty or so participants lined up to start the race, talking about the recent national championship, run over a 10k course in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Next year, Utah. I was relaxed and thinking about going to Nationals myself, at least for the first 200 meters…
We all ran across the base of the hill and then turned upslope. As soon as we did, my heart rate hit the max and stayed there. My legs, lead. The best runners jogged up that 1000 meter ski slope ahead of us, and we mere mortals hiked as fast as our bodies would let us. There was one set of tracks. Step off, and you sank in 2 feet of powder and tripped. If you felt the hot breath of someone behind you, etiquette dictated you step off and let her pass. I did so, and the woman behind me said, “Oh, no, I was counting on you…” I shoved my heart back down my throat and stepped back onto the trail. Up and up and up, some portions at a 45 percent grade, steeper than Mt. Washington. At least we knew there was only one hill.
Reaching the summit with relief, I jogged around some little turns provided at the top so we could enjoy the view. Due to the continual snowfall, there was nothing to see. So I didn’t regret not bringing a cell phone to the top to take pictures. I was soon extremely thankful for that decision, because my glasses fogged up and never cleared, and I was running, slipping, sliding, falling through the woods on single track downhill for the next 2000 meters. I was completely blinded, chuckling to myself, wondering how I had ever thought this would be easy. The racing snowshoes have a glide that I had never experienced, and they threw me off the track and into the 6 foot drifts a few times. Eventually I stopped, ditched the specs, and tucked them away in a pocket. Then, wonder of wonders, I broke out onto the ski slope and ran down, making better time, but alone on the course and unsure of the route. Oh yeah, look for the tracks!
Literally out of the woods, I was not yet in the clear, since there were about 800 meters to go. I remember eyeing up the younger woman in orange who had passed me in the woods while I was falling or stowing my glasses, probably both. She had a significant lead, 50 yards or so. My tank was empty, though, and when the flats turned into an insignificant rise, I walked for a few meters, saying to myself, “No. More. Up.”
After the crest, I turned on the jets, determined to finish strong. I was gaining on the girl in orange, eating up the distance. I could hear 50k National Trail Running champion and raw vegan sensation Tim Van Orden yelling, “What a kick! She’s gonna catch you…!” I was close, but I didn’t quite get there.
I knew that I had done all I could on the day when I crossed the finish line, made my way to the end of the chute, and flopped down in the snow, oblivious to everything but my pounding heart. Short races are hell, they really are. There is no pacing, no reason to hold back. Every 5k, I lose my breakfast at the finish. For this 4k, breakfast was hours in the past, and I no longer had legs to stand on. That’s what makes a challenge, and that’s how I got Vermont.
Snowshoeing is a wonderful workout, and a life sport. There are racers in their 80s. I will be back to give it another try. Thanks, Dion Snowshoes, and Tim www.runningraw.com and Prospect Mountain www.prospectmountain.com
I made it home for the owl prowl, and while we didn’t see any owls, we had great star gazing and an opportunity to trudge through crusted, deep snow, without snowshoes. Dinner out with my girlfriends was fantastic. Food tastes so very good when you’re really hungry.
The next day, New Jersey started to thaw. I’m just about ready for spring, but I made the most of a wonderland of a winter.