Boulder Mtn Tour, take 2

It wasn’t a terrible day, but it felt like it.

After hanging on to a group of talented skiers through the Senate Meadows loop, I hoped the race would settle once we were on the other side of the highway.  I was patient on the hills and tried to make my passes definitive to keep myself out of trouble.  The gals I most wanted to ski with were pulling ahead a bit but I stayed confident, keying on their moves and just maintaining a place in the pack.   I am pretty sure my lack of racing skills were holding me back more than technical ski skills or my endurance.  Shortly after Hawk Hill I caught an edge and plunged into the snow bank.  I popped back up and worked my way back to my group, quickly bridging the gap.  Again, I tried to be patient but I could see the racers stringing out and it felt like I was now at the back of the green wave.  What happened next is beyond me- I have reviewed again and again but have no idea.  One minute I was up and the next I was hitting the ground hard, a guy was flying over me and my pole snapped.  I couldn’t believe it!  I was instantly so sad as the racers disappeared around the corner, while I gathered myself and my pieces.   I felt ashamed for taking out another racer.  I was disappointed that my pole was broken, and so early in the race.  All the stress and insecurity and doubt I’d carried into the day came out in the following 2k as I cried my way into the Prairie Creek aid station.  

Last year I raced the Boulder from Wave 6- quickly working my way through the crowd to a respectable time and place.  I had so much fun from start to finish, enjoying the race and the opportunity to be out on the snow with a fun community.  Almost as soon as I was back in cell service, I realized that people were watching and told me that my time was really quite good.  Admittedly, I enjoyed the attention;  but as the year wore on the doubts began to creep in.  Was it a fluke or did I have some grain of talent?  

I spent the last month working on my skate technique, gaining confidence, feeling ready.  But the night before the race my stomach started to gurgle and all of the doubt crept in.  I didn’t sleep well, didn’t enjoy the race morning, found it hard to socialize, and felt sick to the start of the race.  I kept telling myself that once the gun went off, I would get in the groove. That feeling wasn’t fully actualized, but I did gain confidence simply by keeping contact with the women I knew.  Everything changed when I fell.  Falling- twice!- felt like a verdict from the ski gods: you are out of your league, go home.  

I would be lying if I said I bounced back quickly. With my short replacement pole I skied on, but my heart wasn’t in it again for awhile.  24K is a long way to “jog it in”; and I was recently reminded that approach doesn't feel all that good either.  So I started working the hills again, focused on my form, and slowly worked myself back into the field.  By Frostbite Flats, I caught many of the skiers I was with right before my fall.  I never found my friends again, but simply working back from that emotional low was a silver lining for the day.  In the end, my time wasn’t terrible and I unbelievably found myself ahead of skiers I respect and look up to.  I had no idea that the green wave had stretched out that much and can only attribute my placing to better luck through Senate Meadows.  The 2023 BMT wasn’t the race or experience I’d hoped for, but the overall time and the strava segments in the latter half gave back a bit of the confidence I'd lost in the emotions of the day.   Maybe last year wasn’t a fluke.  Maybe I can maintain that pace, as long as I keep myself out of trouble.  I guess I’ll keep skiing.  

Next up, Birkie!

That's me, just off the hotdog's elbow, in the pink Betties buff!