Simulated blizzards

The first Tuesday night race was last night. Tuesday night world championships! Intelligent people were suggesting that it would be good to stay inside, because of the "arctic vortex" whipping around. It was indeed chilly, eight degrees or so with 30mph gusts. Because it's finally cold, Weston had all the guns going, full blast making some fake snow. Skiing through snow guns means your face gets blasted with little ice pellets, that freeze to the first thing they hit. The fresh snow out of the guns is wet and slow, deep and lumpy. Everywhere else, glare ice. 

I had second thoughts about coming to race. Even third thoughts. I got home, and knew if I went in the door I wouldn't come back out. Somehow I got in the car and drove to Weston. I certainly didn't have the right racing mindset; I knew I didn't want to be there and my body was tired and not looking forward to a hard effort. But habit is a hard thing to break, as is peer pressure - everyone else looked ready to race, therefore we race. Sixty three nutcases were out there battling the simulated blizzard, ice pellets whipping into bare skin and finding any gaps in the clothing layers. 

I couldn't find it in myself to shift gears into race pace.  I skied hard, but was unwilling to ski alone, chasing the leaders, so ended up in a pack of guys, playing the tactical game. I couldn't come around Victor at the finish, and ended up second in the pack, for 9th overall. It was fun, after the fact, to ski around in silly serpentines with sixty two other whackos! What a crazy sport...