I only yesterday realized the difficulty of what I had done. I finally was able to get a 9 mile training run in outside (in hopes I don't keel over during my first half-marathon of the year in Waukesha next week.) I felt pretty good throughout, but started to feel a bit gassed at mile 8. I said to myself, this is exactly how I feel after a tough 5K on snowshoes.
I started snowshoeing last year for that famous reason women do so many foolish things: a dude. I hated it. Every race felt like a trail run, where you have to watch every step to avoid going butt over teakettle. Too stressful. But somehow I managed to complete 4 races last year, and just missed winning a series award by one race. That bugged me: it felt like unfinished business. I had always wanted to be in a series, but aside from a few virtual ones, there weren't any running series in my area.
But things changed in the short period between winter and winter (it ended in late April, and began again in mid-November.) The dude and I parted ways, and then he was severely injured in a logging accident in October. There would be no snowshoeing for him in 2014. Then it starting snowing. And snowing. This year the trails would not have menacing roots hiding just beneath the snowy surface. Unless it was a spectacularly epic fall, the only thing you would hurt is your pride.
So I began the season with two goals in mind: to win an award from the Braveheart Snowshoe Series and to prove that life goes on without the man. I actually accomplished two more things I didn't think were possible.
I actually started practicing right after the first snow. The first time out was very similar to the previous season, but by the second snowfall, we had plenty of the white stuff. I found that if I could snowshoe on the street for less than half a mile, I could snowshoe right to the village park. I was quite worried that the residents in that area would yell at me for messing up the streets with my crampons (one neighbor especially) but they were all quite supportive. While on Christmas vacation, I did a candlelight snowshoe hike, and a daylight hike on Rib Mountain the next day. So I was prepared when the season started in Rib Lake, the site of my first ever (bad) snowshoe experience the year before. That first race went fine, and the next weekend I doubled with races in Rhinelander and Minocqua. Fresh snow made Rhinelander very tough, and the course in Minocqua had some technical stuff in it that would have had me bawling the year before. But I survived.
Then a strange thing happened. I found myself actually enjoying it. Due to cold and snow, snowshoeing became the only way to get an outside workout. The peacefulness of the woods just did something to me. Jolly (ie drunken) locals made Perkinstown and Athens fun, and the beautifully groomed trails of Iola were a joy. While my friends were busy trying to qualify for the Nationals, I was busy having a few brewskis and collecting a few door prizes. I had given up on ever getting a medal, so I just tried to make sure I was doing better than the year before. Then word got out that because of the extreme cold, a person could qualify for the Nationals at the Phillips race with just a 5k (usually it requires a 10k.) I knew my chances of having enough $$$$ to go to Vermont were slim, but I thought, wouldn't it be a gas just to say I qualified for a national championship in ANYTHING?!?
The roads were bad the morning of that race, but thanks to a determined friend, we got there only a few minutes late. I was literally handing a gentleman my race form with one hand and putting the 'shoes on with the other. I had no idea if my qualifying information would go through or not. We finished the race respectably, and then we waited until Sunday night when the United States Snowshoe Association posted the "qualifying athletes" list on their website. Lo and behold, there was my name. Frankly, I was just overjoyed to be dubbed an "athlete." Even though it was a fluke, it was a redemption song for all the times I felt like my efforts were in vain.
The exact thing my mother predicted would happen did: I desperately wanted to go. But no rich benefactor came forward, and even a gambling junket didn't do the trick. Then we found out my mom was having surgery the day before the Nationals, so it was definitely out. Depression ensured, but I got through it thanks to the support of my friends. I got a t-shirt from the Nationals, which was very cool, and my friends even hugged a Revolutionary War monument for me (long story.) By that Sunday, mom was recuperating nicely, so I decided to do a new race in Neillsville by my little lonesome. Surprise! My first snowshoeing medal.
It was at the awards ceremony that I realized I had gained even something more. I was now part of the snowshoeing "family." I could tell that the regulars on the circuit were happy for me, as they knew I don't get many medals. I also found out that the 2015 Nationals will be in Eau Claire, home of my college alma mater. I know it's going to be much harder to qualify, but I am determined to make it there, and will at least do the Citizen's Race if all else fails.
The following weekend we had our last race in Cable. This is in the Lake Superior Snowbelt, making it serious snow country. People were asked to wear their biggest snowshoes, and the race was shortened slightly. This was the site of the 2011 Nationals, so it was tough going. At the banquet that night, I won the second highest award for doing 11 races. I received two handmade trivets and two coasters, all carved from the woodlot of the series founder. If I had done 12, I would have gotten two additional coasters, but I missed one race due to a funeral (and because I had such a hard time there last year!) But in the end, it didn't matter.
Of all the awards I have won, I am proudest of these. I believe that snowshoeing 3 miles is the effort equivalent of at least 6 on the road These hunks of wood stand for the ultimate in strength, stamina, and will, physically AND mentally. And for never giving up when you've stepped off the trail into snow up to your knees.
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