For the Ski Patrollers

I stand at the rear of a huge room in the lodge at the Alpine Meadows Ski Resort. It is packed tight with people, sitting, standing, some of them standing on chairs. This is the memorial service for ski patroller Bill Foster who, after nearly 30 years as a patroller at Alpine, died on the job on December 24^th.

I can’t see the speaker from where I am, but it doesn’t matter. Even when I can’t understand his words, I can hear his emotion. There are humorous stories to be shared, passionate stories, and personal ones as well. When his voice cracks, I hear the tears streaming down his cheeks even if I can’t see them. Tears spring to my own eyes.

I am here because my husband and many of my friends are ski patrollers. Even though I’m not a patroller, I feel deeply connected to this community. I feel the loss when I see the grief on the faces of my friends. And I can’t help but stand there, listening to the grief of others, and wonder what it would be like if it were someone from my own inner circle, if it were my husband.

“I can’t even contemplate that,” a patroller friend told me after the service when I confessed this thought to him. “I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I did.”

I nod. This makes sense to me.

It occurs to me that it is difficult for those outside the community to understand how complex and challenging the job of ski patrolling is. Every day, patrollers are expected to perform at top level in a myriad of different disciplines. Peoples’ lives literally depend on their work. They analyze weather data and dig snow pits to determine the avalanche hazard. Most patrollers are certified blasters so they can throw explosives to set of avalanches before people arrive on the hill, thereby decreasing the risk that a skier will get caught and buried in a slide. They are EMTs, giving emergency medical care on the hill, often in challenging conditions. They are search and rescue experts, moving quickly over varying terrain, using avalanche beacons, setting up complex rope rescues, and training and handling search dogs. They are masters of grunt work to get the hill set up safely – shoveling snow, setting up rope lines and signs, moving tower pads. All the while, they are top notch customer servants – answering questions and providing assistance to skiers at the resort.

It also occurs to me that a great deal of what they do is unrecognized by many of the people they’re there to keep safe.

On this evening, however, that feeling is quite the opposite.

The ceremony ends and people rise from their seats, making their way slowly to the edges of the room. I see one thing: an absolute ocean of red. Everywhere I look, people wear red jackets, a large white cross emblazoned on the back of each – the uniform of a ski patroller.

They have come from resorts near and distant to show their support, their respect. I meet patrollers from all over California, from Oregon, Utah, Canada. My husband tells me he just met a patroller from Chamonix.

These men and women share something unique because they spend their days doing the same things at different mountains all over the world. While many people don’t understand how risky and how multi-faceted their job is, they stand right now in a room full of people who absolutely get it. Bill Foster made the ultimate sacrifice, and even if they have to shove that thought to the depths of their minds in order to do their jobs, these patrollers know they face the same risks he did every time they go out for avalanche control or on a dangerous rescue. I know it, too.

All around me friends greet each other with hugs. There is sadness, yes, but there are also smiles. The beer flows freely and the volume in the room grows. A rock band takes the stage. I, too, greet friends I haven’t seen in many months. We catch up on each others’ lives, happy to be together but wishing for better circumstances. I look around for my husband and quickly realize I will never find him with nearly everyone in the crowd wearing the same jacket.

More than any other emotion tonight, I am struck by the sense of community present, and I am humbled by it. I can’t think of many other professions where people feel this connected simply because of what they do for a living. I guess that’s because it’s one of those jobs that’s far more than just a job.

Thank you, ski patrollers. 

When There's no Snow in a Ski Town

It’s a glum aura hangs around this mountain town. December has come and gone (okay, almost) with nary a bit of the white stuff. We did not have a white Christmas. Already minimal operations at ski resorts are shrinking even further, kindling a firestorm of layoffs. No one is stoked.

Except for the trail runners.

In stark contrast to last year’s winter where I’d already had two months of backcountry powder glory on my skis by this point, we’re still running high country trails. It does a bit to make up for the fact that many trails didn’t open up until August last summer.

Is this what it’s like to live somewhere where it doesn’t snow? I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in for December.

And what do the ski bums do (besides shed a tear in their whiskey over their state of unemployment) when there’s no snow? Well, mountain biking is the obvious choice, and there’s plenty of that going on. Ice climbing conditions are better than they’ve been in a decade, but that only appeals to a select group of nut cases. I gave that up when I left Minnesota! You know what’s really all the rage in the Sierra right now?

Ice skating.

Frozen Echo Lake

Usually by the time it’s cold enough for anything to freeze, it’s all buried under 20 feet of snow. But people have been making the best of an unusual winter, and the skating is off the hook. I mean, have you seen any of those pictures of people skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite? How can you not want to skate across that glassy expanse surrounded by massive granite domes? I am not much of a skater, but to glide across the ice in an empty, beautiful, wilderness is pretty special.

There are four or five good lakes to skate in Truckee right now, but those Yosemite pictures I saw online really captured me. I wanted to skate the backcountry.

And who could I get to join me on a trail running/ice skating Desolation Wilderness adventure in late December? I knew before I asked that Jamie would come along for the ride – that girl is addicted to those trails.

She and Anthony joined me on Friday for a 12 mile run out to Lake Aloha, although I was the only goofball with ice skates strapped to my hydration pack.

Dear GoLite pack, you have passed the test. You're going to Hardrock, baby!

We all agreed that there was less snow than there had been out on that trail in July, and the amount of running we were able to do was wonderful.

There was still a bit of ice on the trail in places though.

We did hit some snow within about a mile of Aloha, but it was still incredibly reasonable running.

The skating on Aloha wasn’t quite the Tenaya Lake glory that I had envisioned. (There is WAY less water up there this time of year.) Although the actual skating in Truckee is better, the novelty of being out there sliding around on the ice was totally worth bringing the skates. So much fun!

Demonstrating exceptional skating technique.

This entire winter break has been somewhat of a novelty for me. My mileage has been fueled a bit by some anxiety over this 100 mile race I’ll be doing in July, but mostly it’s just been a matter of opportunity. When I think about the places I’ve run in the last four days, I can’t help but smile. Four completely different runs, in different weather and conditions. I’m blown away by the running available right now, and I’m taking advantage of every single bit.

Tuesday: Donner Lake, 10 miles on road, starry skies, 11 degrees F

Wednesday: Peavine, 14 miles on dirt, 4,000' vert, partly cloudy, 60 degrees F

Thursday: Desolation Wilderness, 12 miles on technical trail and snow, partly cloudy, 37 degrees F

Friday: Michigan Bluff to the swinging bridge and back, 21 miles on trail, light rain, 46 degrees F

Living and Training in Snow Country

I grew up in southern California, 20 minutes from the beach. With only a 20-degree temperature swing between summer and winter, I was a child without seasons.

Considering this, I think I've adapted fairly well to a climate which receives an average of 30 feet of snowfall per year. To be sure, I love the mountains. We get very little rain (most of our precip comes as snow), and if it's not absolutely dumping outside, it's sunny. Friends in the valley complain of the fog and how they haven't seen the sun in weeks, while I wouldn't dare leave the house without my sunglasses for fear of snow blindness.


Here in the Sierra, we lack the frigid temps of the midwest. Even in summer we're absent the heat of the desert and the humidity of the coast. The only real challenge we have is vast quantities of snow. With last week's storm dumping five feet in four days, and today's storm already totaling two feet at my house, I wanted to share a few of my strategies for running through a winter of snow.

Crosstrain

Some days, my house looks like this:

When that happens, I generally don't run. Trails are chest-deep in powder, making snowshoeing and cross country skiing ridiculous endeavors, and roads are full of cars sliding around with drivers who can't see - not a good scenario for running.

If getting to the resort is a viable option (taking road conditions into account), then powder skiing is the best crosstraining around. (I don't recommend backcountry skiing on big storm days!) Think a gravity sport like skiing isn't a good workout? I dare you to try doing it all day in deep powder.

Other good options for big storm days include shoveling, snowblowing, snowball fights, and carving out sled runs in the neighborhood.   

Andrew gets his snowblower on, along with all the neighbors.

After the driveway is cleared, head inside for some yoga and strength training. This is a great time to do some serious stretching!

On non-storm days, snowshoeing, skate skiing, and telemark skiing all make for excellent crosstraining.

Skinning up and skiing down is a serious workout for me!

Snowshoeing!

Drive for Dirt

Getting tired of running the roads or snowshoeing? If you're lucky enough to live within driving distance of snow-free trails (like I am) then take your Saturday to drive somewhere that you can get in a long run on dirt. It's a welcome respite!

When the Storm Breaks, Go Big

I took five days off during our last storm. I actually needed the rest, but when a clear day coincided with a day off work, I made the most of it. Not only did I drive for dirt, taking an hour to get to Auburn and the Western States trail, but I joined a friend for a 36-mile day. It was wonderful, and I'm glad I did since I'm back to crosstraining for the next couple of days.

Embrace the Life

When people complain about the snow, I often wonder why they live here. This is what you get in the Sierra! If ultrarunning were my highest priority, maybe I would live elsewhere. I find, however, that doing multiple sports early in the season not only helps prevent injury, but it also helps prevent burnout later in the season. I haven't been running like a madwoman all year long, and that is a good thing.

I guess embracing the life is about attitude. I make the most of good weather, and I don't let myself get frustrated if mother nature throws a wrench in my training plan. I simply adapt.

I also recognize that there are a myriad of wonderful things about life that have nothing to do with running. Crazy, I know.

Here's one way the people in my neighborhood embrace the life. At the moment, our street looks like this:

After the blower plow comes through, the snow banks become sheer, white walls. And what do you do with a blank white canvas? You draw on it, of course!

Some of the snow bank art on my street:

Peace, and a flower.

Smiley face and "Hi."

Flower. Someone is ready for spring!

I think maybe this poor guy got run over by the snow plow.

More smiley faces.

Apparently we're a happy neighborhood.

Patriotic!

Your standard pooping duck. Clearly we have children living in our hood. :)

And of course, declarations of love. Aww.

I'm excited about my upcoming races, and I have been training hard. A six-week spell of warm, sunny weather in January and February allowed me to get a solid early-season base. Now that I'm back to winter-style training though, I'm enjoying the pleasures of winter in the mountains. I make the most of my running days, and play hard in other arenas. I think, for me, this is the best approach, as I have a tendency to get obsessively focused on things if given the chance.

As spring approaches, I know my training will increase in intensity and mileage. For now, I'm content with a "quality over quantity" approach.

How do you deal with the training challenges presented in your neck of the woods? 

June-uary

Winter in the mountains can have its harsh moments - snowfall measured in feet rather than inches, and sub-zero mornings. But a little known fact of life in the Sierra is that there is often more respite from the weather than there is actual weather. These spring-like days in the middle of winter bring about a condition known around here as Juneuary.

Remember this picture?

Today marked the third Saturday in a row that Gus and I walked up the hill, settled onto our favorite rock to look at the view, and I found myself happy and warm in a tank top. The sensation of sunshine on bare shoulders was so vivid, it was almost a tangible caress. The heat reflected off the surrounding snowpack was a blinding, bright oven, making 50 degrees feel like 70.

Ah, summer in winter.

These are the days we ski in our t-shirts. We take the canoe out on Donner Lake and have it all to ourselves - the water blissfully calm without the hordes of ski boats that summer brings. We sit out on the deck in the afternoon to split a beer or read a book. We take the dogs for long walks across expanses of sun drenched snow.

Another bonus of these weeks of warm weather is what they have done for my training. Normally mileage this time of year hovers in the 30-40 per week range. Not this January. With no forced "weather days," hitting the 50-60 range has not been an issue. Roads are clear, trails in Reno are dry, and even local, snowy trails are hard-packed enough for great morning runs with Yak-Traks. Yesterday's 10-miler on the trails of Peavine was mid-day perfection in shorts and a t-shirt.

I'm sharing my current appreciation for these beautiful mid-winter days because the forecast shows they're just about over. As January comes to a close, so too does Juneuary. Next week I'll be wearing hat and gloves again on my daily runs, and dreaming about the real beginning of spring. Dreaming about the real June of this year.