Yep the seasons have changed and dayum it is cold!

I’ve been in Canmore for one week now and I keep asking myself… “why is this my first time here!?!?!”

Last week I got picked up after a painless flight from Minneapolis to Calgary and off we went towards the mountains towards Canmore.  …and let me tell you, it was love at first sight!  Canmore is nestled in a valley with the Canadian Rockies on all sides (and we all know what a sucker I am for some mountains).  Although there was little snow when I arrived some of the peaks were covered with a dusting from the previous two nights and that was all I needed to continue my dreams of snow.

The first few days up at the venue were mostly on foot and rollerskis but the temperatures were continuing to drop and there were crews out in force getting the snow blowing operation under way once again.  (the canucks attempt to reverse project “frozen blunder” which had since melted off to a track of sawdust, gravel, ice, and dirt)

Alot of people hate the inbetween season.  The season of not enough snow to ski bur too much snow to rollerski safely… however I love running and have always excelled at the art of dryland training especially when the weather takes a turn for the worst.  Generally the inbetween season last a few weeks with warmer days you dare to rollerski or an extra dusting that you can rock ski on but this year, this year has been different.  Here in canmore we have managed to almost seamlessly merge from one season into the other with limited casualties and almost no “plan to ski be prepared to run”.    It was as simple as one day I was running around and the next minute I was being handed new skis and being pushed out onto a man made loop of white stuff.

What followed was several days of skiing and waxing and skiing and waxing the new fleet while dodging flocks of small canadian children on an 800 meter loop.  It was definitely too many people for me in such a little space but I managed to pull it together, not run anyone over, and remember what real skis are suppose to feel like…sort of.

After a few days on skis, and one attempt at going hard (while not falling over) I jumped into the race with the Senior Women’s team yesterday.  It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either.  My skis felt fast and asides from a windy stretch into the range the 1.2kms they put together for us skied really nicely.  I still felt pretty awkward on my skis and so concentrated on skiing relaxed and calm.  What that translated to was me enjoying myself far too much instead of skiing fast and shooting well below average.  However, its my second time shooting on skis this year, my fourth biathlon “race” ever, and I’ve got five more months of racing infront of me.  With each race and time trial I hope to gain experience and confidence in my abilities to be a competitive biathlete.

As for right now.  I will continue to sit in the front window of Beamer’s in downtown Canmore drinking more coffee than one person should and trying desperately to coax life back into my brutally thrashed lifeless hands after this mornings ski. (thank you winter?)

We race again tomorrow and friday.  The goal.  Hit more targets. Ski more faster? sure.

I’ve been inspired over the last few days out on the roads and trails and have decided there are a few people that need some recognition for everything they do…

First I would like to give a shout out to the truck driver with the bushy beard who not only honked but waved and smiled as he tried to run me off the road yesterday.  Seriously, thank you there is no other way I would rather start my workout…ditch diving.  “Perfecting my form”  That’s actually why I wear neon when I rollerski, so that the gravel knows I’m coming.  And when I finally got myself back on the road and I waved after you and let out a few choice words I was not being cordial.  Don’t get any funny ideas buddy we are not friends. really.

On another note.  I saw three rollerskiers out on the road today.  Three!!!  …and here’s the kicker, I did not know any of them!  Way to go Hayward, congrats on the eagerness to be out on your skis, I’m both proud and impressed.  Keep up the good work, I know you guys will do your very best to congregate at any and all major intersections in West Yellowstone in a few weeks.

Finally.  I would like to give a shout out to Day Light Savings.  You tricked me again you little bugger!  Although I did greatly appreciate the extra hour of sleep last night you still managed to do your best to creep up on me!  The day was beautiful it was sunny and warm and ever since I left the West coast I’ve really been running on Mountain time anyway so the change really wasn’t anything new…  However you do make my afternoon workouts a little darker than they used to be.  I’m not prepared and won’t get tricked into starting a workout at 3:45.  You may have tricked me once good friend but I will not be suckered into unknowingly finishing my rollerskis in the dark anymore.  Pebbles are much more frightening when you can’t see them coming…

My life as a semi professional/currently meandering non student athlete is a work in progress.  baby steps.

itty bitty baby steps:

-drop out of school

-move across the country

-get set up with a rifle that works better…better than the old russian thing

-decide that I don’t need a man sized rifle

-live in a world of hand-me-downs and buy a better stock off a older/wiser lefty.

-have a boyfriend who has a father who is very crafty and has a woodshop.

and….PRESTO! one “custom” stalk!

Its now “corrine-sized” I can reach the bolt, the thumb piece, and the trigger!  The pistol grip is no longer gianormous and my standing extension perfect, i shot like a normal person again!  Life is good, and my rifle looks like it was never sawed, chopped, sanded, and widdled into its current state.

Thanks to “Carl and Son” custom rifles I couldn’t be happier.

isn’t she a beaut?

…maybe I should rephrase that.  Back in the midwet.  That’s right the midWET.  I left sunny beautiful Utah and returned to Minnesota just in time for a category 3 non-oceanic hurricane.  We experienced three straight days of wind and rain, it sounded like I was living in a washing machine!  When it was all said and done trees were down but the sun was out and although the temperatures are a little colder its beautiful again.

I’m back in Wisconsin and will be until I leave for Canmore on the 9th of November in the pursuit of snow, or where snow should hopefully potentially be in the near future…  I love coming home.  I had missed all of the local trails I normally spend my entire summer romping around!  Training in Hayward makes me feel spoiled.  Although there aren’t mountains everything else is pretty amazing.  I can run from my house onto the birkie trail, there are miles and miles of single track, and some of best roads in the country for rollerskiing.  Heck I don’t even like rollerskiing, especially after spending a summer going in loops, but coming home to Old OO was just what I needed.

I borrowed a mountain bike from the Joel, the owner of my favorite bike and ski shop New Moon, and plowed around through the leaves from Hayward to Seeley.  I time trialed on my home cross country course and PR’d by 1:20 over a rough 5kms.  Another great thing about being home is finding people to train with.  Old coaches, old training partners, some of my favorite juniors, and of course the high school team.  They got me out of bed and onto the trail at 6:30 in the morning, and I got them out of work or onto their rollerskis.

The last couple of years I’ve always talked about running a long point to point run on the Birkie trail, and this past weekend I finally got around to it!  I got dropped off at OO and ran the 16-ish miles all the way back into town to my mom’s house.  It was perfect, and with a little more company I would gladly do it again, perhaps from even further north next time!

Its officially November and getting to be that time of year where all we can think about it snow.   I’ve gotten so far past the point of wanting to burn my rollerskis that I want to rollerski again just so I can pretend its the real thing.  The leaves have changed and dropped, there is a thick frost over everything each morning, halloween has past and we are moving steadily towards thanksgiving.

Mmmmmmm utah, warm, sunny beautiful utah!

Alot has happened since I last wrote.  I trained at home for a little bit and then I packed my bags and bid the wet midwest ado.  With a ski bag, a rifle case, and a backpack I set off across the country via airoplane and landed promptly, heck even early, in Salt Lake City.  I’ve done my fair share of flying through SLC over the past few years but this would be my first time with it as my final destination.  I was thrilled and was greeted by the most amazing weather!

We saw the sun every day during our stay in utah up until our final afternoon, you could say we left just in time, the day after we left it snowed in park city.  We basked in the sunshine every day with perfect temperatures during workouts on and off the range.  The morning workouts would start out a little chilly for those brave enough to wear their short spandies to practice instead of ankle hugging tights.  …but as soon as the sun came into the valley it would warm up pretty quickly with clothing being dropped left and right all over the range by more appropriately, warily clothed team mates.

With constant adjusts being made to my rifle and our teams arrangements it was an occasionally mentally draining two weeks.  However looking back on our experiences out west I think we all grew alot from what we have each had to struggle through and will be a stronger team because of it.  I now have a firmer grasp on my own role in my pursuits and I’m ready to take on the season.  My sights line up, I know radical new idea, which will really help my prone shooting percentage!

All in all camp was a success.  I love training, I love mountains, hills, and valleys…I love challenges, and being apart of a team that is looking forward to an incredible season.  Utah showed me a good time and for that I am grateful.

Highlights include racing Andy Newell up a hill and winning (I may have had a head start and he didn’t know we were racing but a victory is a victory right?), chasing little nordic combiners around and around on their wicked fast skis, making my team mate wear a tiara for his birthday cake, double time trialing, sucking during said double time trial and being okay with it, hiking and running anywhere anytime, teasing the mens national team whilst eating their dessert, having a stellar last intensity combo in which I rocked it and got to touch down dance four times.

I love puddles.

Mud puddles, little puddles, big puddles, deep puddles, surprisingly deep puddles… I love them.  I go out of my way to go through them.  If I had a list of my favorite things they would be at the top.  No matter how I’m feeling, give me a few puddles and I’m a child again.

A while ago my team mate and I went on an amazing mountain bike ride!  We left the lodge on a perfect clear fall morning.  Cold. Clear. Crisp.  We took off down one of the ski trails, and down down down we bounced and yelped until we hit the four-wheeler trail system at the bottom.  Like every other activity from the lodge you have to get to the bottom of the hill somehow.  From there we took off on a 3 hour adventure in the sunshine.

The heritage trail runs along much of fort kent and is used mostly by, what else, fourwheelers and snowmobiles.  We cruised along soaking in the sun shine and laughing, this would be the driest, warmest I would be for the next three hours.  Finally Kat veered off to the right and followed enthusiastically.  Much of the trails from there on out would be mostly one giant puddle.  I zig zagged my way back and forth across the trail, not to “pick the best line”, but rather to hit as many puddles as physically possible!  I squealed with delight with each new puddle.  I was soaked.  Covered in mud from head to toe and loving every moment of it.

I had been sick much of the week leading into this ride but my body felt fine…felt fine until about 2 hours into the ride.  And there, nestled two thirds into our loop and seemingly a million miles away from the lodge the wheels fell off.  I was creeping into the land of being toasted.  My legs were wobbly, pedaling was much harder than it should be…but I put my head down, focused on the sunshine and pedaled.  My feet were turning into little toe-iscles.  I was so dirty that my bike decided that mechanical failure would make the rest of the ride that much more enjoyable.

I love going up hill, climbing, there is nothing I would rather do.  Truth be told I would rather go up hill twice than down hill ever!  However each uphill would have me cranking away so hard that my chain would skip and get pinned between my gears and the frame.  Each time a few choice words would coming slammering (yes that is a combination of hammering and slamming) out of my mouth as I frantically tried to unclip before I toppled over.  At one point I got so frustrated that my team mate had to bike away so she wouldn’t laugh in my face!  But it was good.  As I pedaled after her into a sunny field it gave me a moment to regain my composure and remind myself what an incredible day it was.

We made it back to the lodge in one piece, covered in mud, but smiling.  Walking up the stairs my feet were useless clubs.  As i peeled off my layers I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous I looked.  I had mud every where, in my nose, my ears, my arms, legs, front, back, side, even my elbow pits!  …I had made sure I was throughly soaked and covered out there that morning.

Although I almost hucked my bike into the forest at one point I was content.  Blissfully content in my own muddy euphoria.  Another good day in the office.

Ew.

Ew. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew.

I don’t get sick….right?  Atleast thats what I like to tell myself.  I’ve watched team mates in the past make themselves sick by worrying.  I avoid disease, I wash my hands, I don’t lick table tops.  I do my best to try to avoid packs and mobs of sniffling, hacking, woozy looking people.  I survived my entire freshmen year at school in a 13 story dorm building jam packed full of every sort of walking epidemic imaginable.  …but occasionally my body breaks down, it gives up, and I fall apart.

One thing just ran right into another. On our rollerski I felt a little lethargic.  My muscles were tired from the beating we had given them the day before, but this was more than just being sore.  I slowed down and crawled forward at my own pace.  By that afternoon my head felt like a brick and by that evening I knew I was done.  I’ve never been sick quite like this until now. My forehead throbs un-relentlessly…and when I cough it feels like my temples are going to explode.  I’m wheezy and my lungs feel heavy.

We just went through the biggest seasonal change we’ve had yet as the days went from sunny and 75 to rainy and 50.  I suppose I was just one of the many victims of the weather change this time around.  My body might have not known how to respond to the abrupt change and everything just kind of ran array?

We are going on day number two now of feeling a disease-ridden shell of myself.  I’m staying warm, sleeping alot (10hours last night), drinking tea and water until I could burst, and filling myself up to the brim with cold eezzzzz.  I would like to think my body is well on its way to mending itself but I guess all I can do is wait.

Yes sir, thats right, mind bullets.

Now I know what you’re thinking… Mind bullets what kind of super hero has becoming a biathlete made corrine!?!?  Wrong.  Unfortunately its not quite as cool as it sounds. …not even a little bit. but its part of my life now.  Most biathletes refer to it as “dry-firing” but for my sake I find making it sound as cool as possible helps me get by.

Dry-firing is the act of going through the motions of shooting with out any bullets.  It helps work on the procedure of getting the rifle on and off as efficiently and smoothly as possible.  This is an area I struggle in, I am slow, I am clumsy, and any coordination I might posses seems to go right out the window as soon as I try to go fast.  I throw and drop clips, I can never quite get my sling to hook into my cuff, and on a fairly frequent basis I manage to get tangled in my own harness.  So much for looking cool I guess.  Dry-firing allows us to work on our bolting, our trigger squeeze, our breathing cadence, but most importantly (especially for me) our ability to hold on the target.  What do you mean?  Don’t you just point the barrel at the target and BAM?  If only it was that simple.  The pros make it look easy.

So I practice.  I have to practice alot…well atleast I’m suppose to practice alot.  I struggle with dry firing.  I have to remind myself how important it is before I let myself slack off horribly.  Its a daily battle to make sure I “get the job done”.  Sometimes I’m given reminders.  On the days when I can’t seem to put actual bullets on the target, when no white paddles go up, when I’m pretty sure I must be shooting rabbits instead…  On those days I know I must work harder.  Try harder.  try harder to be more consistent.  I know I’m going to have bad days and good days.  Days where I feel like I’m on fire…and days when I might as well be shooting into the dirt.

I’ve learned to take a step back.  To see how much I’ve improved and take note on what I need to work harder on.  And although dry-firing might not be super fun or exciting or on the top of my list of things I like to do in my spare time I remind myself even the pros shoot mind bullets.

This past week I took advantage of my recovery week packed up my honda with camping gear and mountain bikes and journeyed off to Mont-Sainte-Anne.  Canada was chosen to host this years Mountain Bike and Trials World Championships and they picked an absolutely incredible venue.  Mont-Sainte-Anne is located about an hour outside of Quebec City with the races taking place all over the mountain.  They had camping right at the race venue which was convenient and made it easy to cram spectating into every waking hour of my days there.

A few of my friends from MSU happen to be incredible mountain bikers as well as full time students and when they were named to the team this summer  I knew there was no way I could miss getting to watch them race.  The best part is that even though Fort Kent is inconveniently located from just about everything it happens to be practically in Canada and only 3 hours from the races!

Starting Wednesday morning I was ready to be a super fan and dragged Leif all over the mountain from sun up to dinner time cheering, yelling, hooting, and hollering for whoever was unfortunate enough to get within ear shot.  I applauded as the trials riders bunny hoped their bicycles over seemingly mountainous rocks and backwards down tiny wooden ramps.  I yelled “run run run run!” at the xc riders as they got jostled out of their saddles on descents that made even the downhill riders cringe.  I hollered “USA USA USA USA!” at any and all of the 4cross riders and gasped as they chose lines through the chaos that would put me on my butt without a bike under me.  I screamed until I was hoarse as guys and gals from all sorts of countries gutted it out.  There were pain faces a plenty all over the course.  Conditions were anywhere from dusty sand pits to tacky to muddy and wet.  Sunshine, fog, rain, mist, or the dark of night.

World champions were named, podium places filled, jerseys and medals awarded, battles fought, dreams realized and crushed.  After spending so much of my own time training and racing it was nice to be a spectator this time around.  I was treated to a truly incredible experience by the athletes throughout the week.  These athletes put it all out there and it was inspiring to watch them leave whatever they had out on the course.  As they crossed the line battered, banged up, and covered in sweat and dirt they reminded me how much I enjoy suffering from the gun to the bell lap to the finish line.  They gave me butterflies as I waited anxiously for them to come through the finishing shoot.  They reminded me that what we do is fun and amazing and the best job on earth!  I felt their enthusiasm as they made a pass by a fellow competitor, rode a good line, or pushed through the top of an uphill…and I felt their disappointment when they crashed or when their legs gave out.  They rekindled my enthusiasm for what lays ahead of me this season, and I can’t thank them enough for allowing me into their world for the week. Congratulations to all those riders who finished out seasons this past week, well deserved rest waits ahead!

We’ve moved into fall here in Fort Kent as we finished up period 5 of the year.  We’ve been greeted with cooler days and longer nights.  The leaves are changing and I’m excited to embark into the next phase of training.  Its a little strange to not be headed back into classes as school started up for the most part around the country this past week.  Its weird to not be out west running between class and practice and living partially out of a backpack and partially out of the ski room but its getting easier each day.  I know what I am doing is different than the average American college aged kid but I also knowing I am doing the right thing for me right now.  This will be the first fall in 6 years that I am not racing cross country running!  Its odd that my spikes lay lonely and abandoned in the bottom of my closet… but when I get to go romp around in the woods through the leaves everything is put back into balance once again.

Heres to continuing the plunge!

enjoy the photos from World Championships

When bounding intervals come up, and they do come up, the term is synonymous in my mind with Jello.  Yes jello.  Mushy, slimy, wiggly, unstable jello.  Intensity, going hard, is part of my life and I don’t mind that.  We like to say if racing is the hardest thing I do then I’m not ready to race.  And so just like taking my vitamins I do intensity atleast once a week.  Yesterday was one of those days.

The scene was set perfectly for the sludge I compare bounding intervals to.  I woke up to a glum overcast sky and the continuous patter of rain hitting the lodge roof.  Perfect.  We headed out into what seemed to be our first cold misty fall morning of the season and began our warm up. Winding our way through the intersecting ski trails our shoes were wet within seconds.  Finally we made our way to the bottom of the ski hill to begin what would be an hour of throwing my body up the hill over and over again.

Nine times, nine times up the hill, nine mind numbing leg wobbling repeats.  At the end of each one I hang myself over my poles panting, trying desperately to force oxygen back into my body.  My whole torso shuddering at the attempt to fill my lungs to the top.  The sudden rush of oxygen would make my head feel disconnected from my body.  Then I would head back down the hill to the bottom so I could repeat it all over again. 1, 2, 3, 4…by number 4 I could no longer feel my legs.  Instead I relied on my bodies own ability to catch itself as I would bound away.  One foot after the other.  Up and up. 5….5 half way done. 6…by number 6 I start making myself promises to make it through the last few intervals.  I promised myself if I could make it through all 9 that I could sit down.  That was it, that was all I needed.

After the final time up the hill I collapsed over my poles.  Rolling over onto my back, my arms and legs limp all around me, I closed my eyes.  I can’t even imagine what I must of looked like if someone had been there to watch me.  This crumpled rag doll, a dejected mess on the side of the alpine slope.  It didn’t matter, the grass was cold and wet and finally my breathing slowed down to a normal rate.

I picked myself up and smiled.  That was hard, but I had done it, I made it through all my intervals.  I hadn’t faded, I didn’t quit…I had gotten stronger, I had gotten a little tougher.  As I headed home, one foot in front of the other.  Tired but content.

Bounding may have turned my body and mind into jello that morning but I kept moving.  I kept pushing, charging, pounding.  Every time we push ourselves we challenge our bodies and minds.  To dig a little deeper.  Its my way of asking myself, “What you got?” and hopefully my body and mind responds “More than you think.”  I know there will be days when I don’t have anything more to give, when I’m drained and tired and weak.  …but as much as I am training my body to go harder I’m also training my mind to give me that extra push when I think I’m done.  Sometimes its not our fitness that holds us back.

Time trials are a good “gut check”.  This is in Bozeman at the finish of our uphill time trial last fall…feeling like jello.