The 5 Stages of a Training Camp

The Team: from left to right, Gordo, Karsten, me, 4 nordic combiners, Leah, Drew, Julia, Lane, Sydney, Tate, and Lindsey
(photo courtesy of Robert Lazzaroni)

As the reality of life outside of winter fantasies, fresh corduroy and frozen fingertips comes crashing back in, I sit here mourning the death of a great Thanksgiving Break. This was the first year I really participated the annual West Yellowstone Ski Festival. The first time I went to a real live nordic ski camp. It was also the third time I've raced on the rendezvous ski trails. As I write this, I am both exhausted and exhilarated. And as always, looking forward to some great ski days up ahead!

Training camps, for me at least, are like a long game of emotional tug-a-war. The kind of tug-a-war you play with a small yappy dog to keep it entertained for a few minutes. Me, being the yappy dog, it’s head being thrown widely in every direction as it tries desperately to get its toy….and training camps being the dog-owner, thinking it’s all fun and games. This phenomenon can be organized into the five stages.

Stage One: Euphoria

Best. Classic. Ski. Ever. *runs away screaming…*

Considering it’s November, and I'd only been on one classic ski this season (the previous classic ski being the ski that I broke my pole basket and skied for an hour no-pole and barely moving…) you are probably wondering how I can make such a bold statement with most of the winter ahead of us. But it really was euphoric. 

It’s one of those days where you just feel like a champion. Everything is just going perfectly. The track is perfectly groomed, it’s snowing, your grip wax is working, you managed to dress 100% perfectly for the weather, your technique is en pointe and you feel effortlessly fast. 

Stage Two: Regret

I’m stupid, I am so freaking stupid…

Second training of the day rolls around…you are dead tired. Suddenly it takes a Herculean effort just to move you skis forward. What were minor bumps in your momentum this morning, are now impossible mountains that take hours to summit. You start to question your sanity. How could you have wasted all your energy on the first ski? How could you be so shortsighted? Now you are having to pay for your own ignorance in sweat and tears…

Stage Three: Delusion

I don't really have to get up early to ski tomorrow, I need to save my energy…

You try to talk yourself out of ever moving, not to mention training, again. Training isn’t nearly as important as baking pumpkin pie or perfecting your headstand abilities…right? Besides, you could use some rest, considering the challenging days ahead of you. It is actually probably foolish of you to go to training during times like these. Besides, it’s cold out…and it’s Thanksgiving. 

Stage Four: Desperation

This is race day, put your head down and get it together…

You came here for this. You realize with a sudden twinge of guilt that you are racing in one hour. Racing. As in first race of the year, racing. Oh, you're tired? Good, it will be all that more dramatic if you faint from exhaustion at the finish line. You've been training all summer for this, pull yourself together because if your technique slips...or you faceplant right out of the starting gate...or your brother beats you in a race for the sixth time in a row...how will you live with yourself?

Stage Five: Determination

It’s almost over. I can do this. I can do this as long as it’s over in 32 minutes and 6 seconds…

It's fifteen below at the trailhead, the trails are all in the shade, and you are wearing your thinnest pair of leggings. Oh yeah, and the older ski jumpers are coming along too, so everyone will be going three times as fast. You have to do this. You don't care that you're tired, you don't care that your toes are numb, you don't care that you are going almost race pace. You can do it. Your eyelashes are frozen together with frost....this is actually really fun.

Claire and I (photo courtesy of my mom)

And....you're done. As terrible as it is, you are now heading back into a world where your geography textbook keeps an iron grip on your life. 

Ski fast,

Victoria