This cross country skier is back!

I have always loved cross country skiing. From my early beginnings, on wooden skis crossing Rush Lake to explore the mysteries of Heron Island, to my high school years, competing on my high school Nordic team although I didn't really know how to be an athlete, or didn't think I could be one, to my honeymoon and anniversaries at Gunflint Lodge, and early adult years getting to know the trails at Wild River State Park, skiing has been a part of me. But I never realized quite how much, until this winter.

Until the weekend after Christmas 2013, I had not skied for several years. This was a combination of my not making the time for it, a succession of winters with scant snowfall, and my having outgrown my old boots and having broken one of my fiberglass poles that had been with me since high school. I kept telling myself I would buy myself boots and poles if there was a winter when there was good snow, and I had time, etc. I see all of these now as nothing more than self defeating excuses.

As it turns out, this was a good winter for snow early on, and I received a sum of money on Christmas morning that would pay for boots. The day after Christmas I went to the nearest store, T & M Athletics in Willow River, who happened to have the exact boots and poles I needed. I am lucky to have a local store like that! I would have hit the trails that day, had it not been for a family Christmas gathering, and the Christmas Bird Count was the day after. I had promised my kids I would take them shopping to spend their Christmas dollars on Saturday, but not before I had a chance to try out my new boots and poles.

I was a bit awkward at first, and my skis could have used a fresh glide wax. But I skied a couple miles that first day back. I went back the next day, though it was below zero. I skied with a friend on New Year's Day. I started going to Banning State Park every chance I could get. I enjoyed seeing open water on the Kettle River when it was ten degrees below zero, I enjoyed gliding down slight inclines, I enjoyed finding the courage to ski down Skunk Cabbage hill and the Deadman's Trail both in the same day, without falling. But mostly I just enjoyed being out on the trails, my heart pounding and lungs bursting. Skiing.

In January I happened to hear about a ski race in Ashland, Wisconsin. 10 kilometers, flat course across Chequamegon Bay to Washburn, Wisconsin. I had a place to stay in Ashland, so I figured "Why not?" Yeah, why not ski my first, longest ever race in nearly thirty years?

The week before the race, I was home four days out of five with the kids and myself sharing a nasty stomach bug. The day of the race I decided I would not eat anything I would not want to see again hours later. But I felt pretty good.

The starting line was divided into areas where skiers were supposed to "seed" themselves by suggested times. I, not knowing what to expect for a time, hung out between the 45 minute and 1:15 signs. 

The start was like a freeway jam slowly freeing itself into motion. The first ten minutes of the race, I felt like I was inching along with the crowd, waiting for things to thin out. There were a couple bottlenecks where ice conditions forced everyone to merge into a small crossing area. I did not feel like I got up to speed until about the third kilometer. I started feeling confident. I started passing people. I was amazingly agile at changing lanes. With classic style cross country, there are a couple grooved tracks set in the snow. If you want to pass someone, you have to find an opportunity, and switch over to the passing lane. I only fell once while doing that. 

Even as the skiers along the course thinned out, I found myself pushing harder all the time and getting frustrated when I got caught behind slower skiers for any length of time. I though maybe it was good that I got behind people, to pace myself, but I realized two things: I felt good, and I felt competitive! I would push myself as long as I could, and pass people whenever the opportunity arose. 

There were rest stops set up every kilometer or so, with hot cider and water, maybe a bonfire, and maybe even live music, or a snow sculpture of a fire breathing dragon that breathed real fire. They go out of their way to make this race fun! That said, I only stopped at one rest stop, because I had this horrible gob of mucus in my throat and I needed water. Even so, I felt bad when I saw skiers passing me.

I had thought at first that the course would be a straight shot across the bay, with the lights of Washburn growing ever larger. Not so. The course, lit by thousands of candle luminaries, zigged and zagged in order to bring it up to 10 kilometers. Every time I rounded another bend I thought I was headed into the final stretch. The last hour of the race was a blur of dark, lights, staying on the trail, passing skiers, and thinking the next rest stop along the way was the finish line.

When the real finish line finally came into view, I was still amazingly not tired. In the last minute, I left the grooved track to pass a couple more skiers. Hey, I wasn't in this just to have a leisurely ski at this point. When I crossed the finish line, I was sprinting. So fast I missed the display that showed my time. 1:31:13. A bit longer than I thought, but hey, I finished! And I could have skied a lot harder, I felt so good!

Later at the apartment, I looked up my time and standing. Overall for skiers I placed 732nd out of 2266; I was in the top third of all skiers! That includes skate skiers, who are always faster! For women I placed 280th out of 1174; for my age class, 36th out of 180. Pretty darn good for a woman who had not skied in years until the weekend after Christmas. 

I will continue to ski this year as long as there is snow. This spring and summer I will run, keeping up fitness for skiing while training for a half marathon. Next winter, more ski races! Mora Vasaloppet 42k classic? We'll see. As long as it's fun. :)

easing back in to work

It felt surreal driving into the parking lot by the strange looking blue and white pole building that has been my workplace for the past eight years, and where I worked for seven years before that. Before children, before the tough decision to follow my husband's job opportunity in a different state, before all of the strange path that led me back here. I had been off work for nearly three weeks due to the state government shutdown, my longest break from work at any time that I have been actively employed. I had found myself enjoying the time off, not worrying about the money I was not making, not being ruled by a time clock.

As a rule, I rarely show up to work "on time". It drives my boss crazy sometimes, and I'm sure it annoys others, but I think there is more to life than being punctual. I showed up my usual ten minutes or so late, and did not miss a thing. As usual.

I did not have a hundred emails waiting for reply. I did not have a "to do" list a mile long. Pretty much as I had left my desk three weeks ago. My job is like that, I don't have responsibility for many urgent things, but what I do has value in the long run. My boss was on vacation, there were no immediate plans, so I decided to do something that might be of value somewhere down the road. I hopped in a truck, hooked up "my" boat, and headed for a lake to take a leisurely cruise around the shoreline.

Now that may sound kind of like a luxury job, but I had a reason for my choice. This lake, on the border of Pine and Carlton counties, has had Eurasian watermilfoil in it for about six years. Being the person in the office responsible for aquatic plants, I have followed the progress of this species, considered invasive in certain situations, in this lake for about four years now. What I have found has been interesting: while for a year or so there was considerable growth of Eurasian watermilfoil, and some control efforts were undertaken, the plant all but disappeared from the lake a couple of years ago. Since then it has appeared here and there, but nowhere at a level I would call "invasive". I had not heard anything about milfoil in the lake this year; I considered no news to be good news, but I wanted to check it out for myself.

I was alone, I had "my" boat, the weather was nice, and I was headed for a good day. The solo launch went well; I am one of those rare women who can back a boat down a ramp and launch it myself! I was sidetracked momentarily by a battery connection problem. It turned out the connectors were pretty corroded, so I filed them off and got the boat started. I like being able to solve problems.

It was a good day out. I found Eurasian watermilfoil in a few spots, mostly where it had been before and not growing in any quantity. I found more lush growth of native plants, such as whitestem pondweed, largeleaf pondweed, variable leaf pondweed, and others. I have found that when a lake has a lot of native vegetation like that, invasive species find it harder to take hold.

I also saw kids jumping of docks, smiling and laughing. I saw a dog swimming out to retrieve a tennis ball thrown by his human friend. I was reminded of my childhood days at the lake, swimming all afternoon and never getting tired. My job is a paradox: while "working" I experience all the fun things a Minnesota summer at the lake is supposed to be, but as an observer. I find myself wanting to be that girl on the sailboard again, finding joy on the water, on my own.

exterior stain: a preview

When I first saw it, I thought, "This is dark. And red!"

But I was used to the light natural color of pine siding, a color that I knew would not stand the test of time. And I had agreed, even enthusiatically, to the choice of California Rustic.

It's growing on me. I know we made the right choice, and it looks great with the blue roof, but I just have to bid farewell to "natural aging pine".

I've seen that color before. I think it was in Arches National Park in Utah, late January 21 years ago, the rocks were that color and the sky was just that blue. I'll scan and post a photo for comparison, when I dig that album out of storage.

the birth of Attitude

My baby, "Mr. Attitude", is four years old today. I know it's cliche to say how time flies and "it seems like only yesterday..." but it is all so very, very true. It does seem like only yesterday I was holding this tiny baby boy in my arms for the first time.

"Mr. Attitude" came into this world in much the same way as he approaches anything in his young life...with attitude. Headstrong. Impatient. And confident. The Hermit and I are puzzled as to how he ended up with these qualities.

We were living in a suburb of Minneapolis at the time, one of several stops on the wild and crazy journey that was our life before we landed here. I was pregnant when we moved there, and dreading the thought of having to search for a new doctor. I also didn't like the idea of giving birth at a big urban hospital where babies are born about every ten minutes. Calvin and Starflower had both been born at a smaller hospital some thirty miles away from where we were, with a wonderful family doctor who would get up in the middle of the night for a delivery rather than leaving it to the doctor on call. So I chose to see him for prenatal appointments; the extra distance driving was worth it. I never gave much thought as to how the driving distance would seem when I was actually in labor.

I wasn't completely certain about the due date; I had a feeling it would be mid December, which shows I can't completely rely on my gut feelings. An ultrasound predicted December 4th or thereabouts; although a bit more scientific, I now realize that predicting a due date is far from an exact science. So when I woke up early on Thursday morning, November 29th, to the somewhat familiar sensation of early labor contractions, I didn't quite get it through my head that by mid afternoon I could very well be a new mother again. Somehow I also forgot that my previous labors had been relatively short, 7 hours and 4 hours.

I called in to work, saying something vague like "things may be starting to happen", then got the idea that if I went about my usual housework, maybe these pesky contractions would go away. I washed a couple of loads of hand-me-down baby clothes that I hadn't gotten to yet. I straightened up Calvin's and Starflower's rooms. I swept cobwebs off the basement ceiling. Definite nesting activity going on there! Of course, the contractions did not go away; at about eleven I decided to lie down for a while because things were getting a bit uncomfortable. (Clear indication that I should have been on the road) The Hermit, who worked from home at the time, suggested we get ready to go; his older son, 22 at the time, was coming over to watch Calvin and Starflower. I hadn't even packed a bag yet. I slowly poked around, not making a fast attempt at getting ready. Finally at something like 12:30, he said "The car's warmed up. Let's go!"

We were two miles from home when I realized maybe I had waited a bit too long. I was in transition labor.

If you've never experienced it or witnessed it, transition labor is the shortest, most intense part of the labor process. I wasn't in a state to ponder things too much, but I did realize that 1) I was all alone in dealing with this. No drugs, no annoying nurses trying to tell me how to breathe, and The Hermit had to drive. 2) This part would be over quickly. I could be pushing by the time we got there...or else... and 3) I would feel much, much better if I screamed a bit. I calmly told The Hermit "I NEED to scream. Consider yourself warned." He jumped and pressed a bit harder on the accelerator every time I let out a scream, which was once a minute or less.

I never had a chance to look at the speedometer, but I do know we were making record time. The Hermit called the hospital from the cell phone while we were doing at least 120 mph, telling them to have someone please meet us at the door of the ER. I do not recommend anyone doing it this way in the future. I screamed, he drove and called, and my water broke some 8 miles from our destination. I started feeling the urge to push then. It is very difficult to resist that urge, but I tried my best to keep The Attitude's head inside at least until we arrived.

We finally arrived, and it felt like I had half delivered Attitude Boy already. They met me with a wheelchair at the door--what a joke, I could not sit for fear of crushing my newborn offspring's head. We got up into the delivery room, and I anxiously asked "Can I push NOW?" A minute later an OB doctor was asking me to hold off for a minute; something about the cord around the neck. She cut it while he was still inside. The I pushed, and he was out. A moment of silence; he did not draw his first breath immediately, and he was very blue. They rushed him over to a table, pumping his little lungs, whispering quiet prayers. "He looks just like his brother and sister!" The Hermit told me. I just wanted to hold him.

A minute later, a cry, and they rushed him over to me, to hold him close and warm him up. He did indeed look like his brother and sister. He was born at 1:30 in the afternoon, the first of my offspring to arrive in full daylight.

I sometimes wonder about the effect of being the youngest; I can't help but treat him differently. When his older brother was doing what he did, I thought he was advanced; when Attitude does the same thing, I say "Well, it's about time!" He is every bit as smart as his brother and sister, who are a pair of tigers to be drawn to, but somehow I can't get over the idea that Attitude is my baby. I intend to keep it that way, but we all know how God laughs at our plans.