The Fool on the Hill

(5 of 5)

The next race is on Saturday, and it does not involve nearly the drama of the 20k. It is shorter, for one thing (12.5k), it does not involve the hill of death, and my body feels like it has actually acclimated slightly. The format is also different, and from my standpoint psychologically favors the shooting component more. During the first race, every missed shot translated into a one-minute time penalty. This format provides an enormous incentive to shoot well, but does not really give the same mental boost as the penalty lap format used during the second race. In the penalty lap format, there is no time penalty, but you must ski an extra 150-meter loop for every shot missed. Since I am a better shooter than skier, the shooting range becomes my only place of potential glory in this kind of race. I hit all five targets during my first prone shooting bout during the race, and get the thrill of skiing past the penalty area knowing that clean shooting had just bumped me up eight places in the standings. This is the nearest thing to actual "victory" I feel during the entire competition (of course, this feeling fades quickly as my slow skiing allows all those people to pass me easily once back out on the course and thoroughly kick my ass).

When the results go up I see that despite feeling so much better during the race I finished 40th again. Everyone else must have felt better too, and it all evens out with the same result. My shooting was much better the second day and I actually ended up being tied for fifth place for overall best shooter. This is just the scrap of success that I need to turn this whole thing into a fantastic victory. A little number-crunching and I see that I outshot two of the three members of the U.S. National team and four of the five members of the Army World Class Athlete Program. Both these teams train full-time and compete internationally, so beating them in any aspect of the race (despite the overall mammoth margin of loss) is a huge boost. This shooting performance (hitting 14 of 20) becomes the high point of the whole series for me.

We return to our lodgings, eat an improbably large meal and talk over the events of the day and our training plans to get faster over the summer. The conversation inevitably turns to the Salt Lake Olympics and the next series of dates marked in red on all of our calendars. The trials start on December 26 at the Soldier Hollow venue in Utah. I still haven't exactly figured out how to "qualify" for the trials (aren't they supposed to be open to everyone?) and this is one of my projects for the summer. There is some kind of points system involved, but it is unclear if it is related to this season or next season (by the time the trials arrive, there will have only been two sanctioned races in the U.S.). There is also some sort of petition that needs to be submitted, so I need to figure that out as well. I think back to last year and the insane battle of red tape it took to get a rifle permit in Jersey City and feel some confidence. If I can convince the Jersey City police to let me have a gun, I can do anything.

And then it is over. We all begin packing, and I once again load my huge pile of stuff into my tiny car in preparation for heading back to Jackson Hole. It is at this point that my thoughts turn back to the tri-state area for the first time in several days. I start thinking about my family and my job, heading back to the mayhem of life in the web-lane. I realize how much time I was spending fighting to control the future in my day to day life. In a ski race there are so many factors that are obviously out of your control, that you've just got let go, do the best you can, and accept things as they come. This is a very healthy attitude to have towards life, and five days of racing and training has pummeled it firmly in my skull. I think if I can hold that thought, I'll be in great shape back at home.

Its all about the here and now, baby. Just don't pass out before you hit the top of the hill.