My Hardest Day (off season race) part 1

The day started for me at 3:15 am. I had already been up several times in nervous anticipation of the upcoming day. I knew that any sleep that I received the night before the event was going to be restless. I wasn’t wrong. I awoke several times in panic to check over my gear and run mental checklists of things I might need. When the alarm went off I quickly dressed and made my way to the bus.

My breath was taken away when I walked outside the hotel to get on the bus to Montebello. The forecast temperature for this morning was only supposed to be -7 C, but instead it was -25C. It was much colder than I had prepared for, or I had ever trained in. It seems that the months of winter training in preparation for this was nothing but a cruel set up to lure me into a false sense of well being. I could feel my face tighten as I looked up at a cloudless sky and knew that this was going to be cold, and it was going to hurt.

My adventure for the Canadian Ski Marathon’s Coureur des Bois started during the week of Thanksgiving 2005. Someone at work told me that if I wanted a real challenge that I should try the CSM. I am a U.S. Marine, and an endurance athlete. I like a good challenge, so I went to a used sporting goods store and bought the biggest set of skis I could find. Exactly 12 weeks prior to the start of the event it snowed, and I put skis on for the first time in my life. I figured that I had run marathons and triathlons before, and that this shouldn’t be too bad.

The first of two bus rides and shuttles was uneventful; there were only 3 of us there that were staying at the Hotel Lac Carling and braving the Coureur des Bois. The man that sat in front me was the picture of confidence, and he could tell I was nervous. “You’ll do fine,” he told me, “Just put one ski in front of the other. Eat anything and everything you can get at an aid station, and don’t let the dark moments get to you.”

The bus arrived at Montebello, where we were placed on another bus full of athletes. The faces of these men and woman were different from what I was used to seeing at the start of cycling races, triathlons, and marathons. These faces were filled with grim determination, and a hardiness that permeated through the iced over windows of the bus. These Canadians and sprinkling of Americans came for a challenge and they meant business. My spirit found strength, as my flickering light of confidence was fed with new fuel. I sat down on the few open seats in the back that were not packed with gear and took a seat next to a man. He was a bit older than me, but he too could see that I was a bit nervous. He made the long ride into the starting area a little easier by taking my mind off of what was to come. He told me his name was Steve. I didn’t know it then, but Steve would become a big part of my little adventure.

The bus pulled into the starting area, and things were not going well. The Coureur des Bois Gold athletes had only five minutes to get to the start. Small luxuries like getting a last stop to use the bathroom or even one more application of the day’s wax were going to have to wait. I was lucky in that my start was not for another 10 minutes. I was shocked at the lights and the people. My mind tried to make sense of it all in the dark. I found my headlamp and turned it on. One last minute check of my gear, and I made my way to the starting ramp.
There were so many people it was amazing. I had never skied alongside another person before. In my hometown of Brunswick, Maine there hadn’t been any snow to speak of, and most of the skiers in my area just didn’t ski for fear of ruining equipment. The local course had been shut down several times during my training because of rain. Then, in mid January all of the snow melted away, and I had nothing to do but go running with ski poles in my hands. To think now that I was going to attempt a ski marathon was beginning to seem like a daunting task.

I don’t ever recall hearing a horn or whistle, but somewhere up ahead the Bronze skiers knew it was time to go, because they all surged forward, and I followed with them. One ski in front of the other we made our way through the forest. Hundreds of headlamps danced through the pine trees like fireflies on a warm summer night. Yet, these were not fire bugs, and it was most certainly not warm. In fact, it was -17.7C (0F) degrees outside, and my breath was quickly freezing my eyes shut. Those hardy souls about me with beards and mustaches looked like they had been flash froze by someone with super freeze powers. The marathon had begun, or rather the first of four marathons had begun, and I was a part of it.


Section 10. The madness begins.

The gentle forest path ended as soon as it had begun, and we were quickly sent screaming down a steep incline. Skier upon skier lined up like lemmings and hammered their way down the hill and into a steel culvert that ran under the highway inside the culvert it was dark, and covered in a sheet of ice. The sounds of waxed plastic and tungsten tipped ski poles echoed through the metal pipe. To those outside the tunnel it must have sounded like a legion of endurance athletes preparing for battle.
I made like a slice of pizza with my skis, and followed everyone else into the tunnel, and managed not to run into anyone. The course description for this section said “intermediate” with lots of ups and downs and a good downhill 1 kilometer from the checkpoint. This is a fair description if you are an experienced skier, but if you add in several hundred of your closest friends, and arctic temperatures on an icy track, you get a recipe for a very interesting first section. I don’t recall the scenery very well as it was dark out, and I couldn’t see anything, because my eyes were frozen shut. This turned out to be a good thing as the “good downhill” at the end turned into a real screamer. I did not know that you could go that fast on cross country skis, but I do now. After 12.1 kilometers, one hour and a half had passed, and I arrived at the Le Droit checkpoint, and the start of section 9.


Rest Stop:
The rule I had established for myself was that I was not going to let the checkpoints become a quagmire. I planned to spend no more than 10 minutes at any rest stop. I did not take into consideration however, that there would be lots and lots of other people there all competing for the same honey water, Gatorade, and bananas. Somehow I got my bottle filled back up. I also managed to eat a few bananas and some cookies before my gloves froze solid on my hands.
I had to apply another coat of wax to the kick zone of my skis, but touching a frozen ski with frozen gloves, to apply frozen wax was pure agony. I had to get moving again or hypothermia was going to set in. The volunteers around the checkpoint moved about in small circles to generate some body heat. Overhead the cloudless sky had turned from black to red to a promising orange. It was going to be a beautiful day, but at the moment I could already feel the shakes starting, and knew that it was just a matter of time before my own personal thermostat would register as too cold to continue. After 12 minutes in the rest stop, I put my skis back on and kicked out to start the next 15.3 km.