The ski season in this tropical metropolis is starting to wrap up; last night was the last scored Tuesday night sprint at Weston, and the sugar-slush at Weston is starting to deteriorate faster than they can groom it back into uneven piles. The heavy rain last night and this morning didn't help matters, I give Weston another week or two before it transforms back to a driving range.
Anna didn't deign to show up last night, so I figured I would take it out about tempo pace since I definitely felt the effects of the hard marathon last saturday. A whopping 36 people came out in the chilly downpour, ready to fight for the last chance to win points. We start out double poling, I'm maybe in the sixth row back, when suddenly the guy in front of me leaps to the side, and I see a guy lying on the ground trying to not get totally killed. I make it far enough to the side to just ski over his pole and his ski, avoiding the body, but gliding over the ski takes me down, and I instantly go into protect-my-equipment-at-all-costs mode, with my poles sticking straight up in the air even as I'm trying to finish my tuck and roll and get back on my feet where its safe. Luckily, I didn't get trampled, all my equipment was intact, Jon (the guy who I almost skied over) was fine, and his poles withstood the trauma of me skiing over them.
That was the exciting part. The rest was me just picking it up to tempo and skiing. I have a newfound respect for people who start in the back and work their way up through a pack, especially when there are highschool boys involved. I passed people for two laps, and then it got more spread out as I got up to where I normally ski. It seemed like everyone was spread out, despite the warm rain-laden breeze coming up off the fairways, there weren't too many packs.
The rain didn't stop all night, and after getting a whole extra set of clothes wet from running this morning, I've now run out of hooks, doors, and chairs to hang wet clothes on. It better stop raining soon...