2022 Skimo National Championships

Last week, I spent a few days driving to Colorado to compete in the US Ski Mountaineering Association’s National Championships. After a month and a half of racing short (<1 hour) races in Montana, I was eager to jump into a full length skimo race. I was also very excited to see how I stacked up against some of the best skimo racers in the country. So off to Vail I went!

Individual Race - 4,700’ climbing, 10 miles, 3 climbs

The first challenge to overcome in this race was to figure out how to park. I drove around Vail nervously, never having been to a ski “resort”. I don’t think Montana ski hills count as resorts. At least, in Montana there aren’t bejeweled people walking around with platinum hair and skin tight leather jeans. I did my best not to plow down all of the pedestrians wandering about and managed to only accidentally pat $20 extra in parking. I eventually found a nice spot in a very damp parking garage and called it home.

My coach told me “don’t go out too fast in the first five minutes”. I lined up with that being my intention. Naturally, the race started and I absolutely hammered for the first five minutes. I led the race those glorious five minutes, before my body realized I was at 8,000’ and it had no oxygen. Cam and John cruised past me and I decided I should probably slow down. The first climb was uneventful, as climbs probably should be (as opposed to skiing downhill, which is usually rather eventful). I noticed I wasn’t very efficient on tight skin tracks, and my kick turns still need a lot of work. Aside from that, I ripped skins in fourth place and descending down a very bumpy, skied out gully. I had one frontflip over a mogul that I managed to keep my skis on for before arriving at the first bottom transition.

The second climb went by without anything exciting happening, except for being passed and fading to 5th. Thankfully the descent down Prima Cornice brought some thrills. The descent started with a narrow, bumpy traverse around a cliffy area. Whoever had recently passed me flew off a mogul and got stuck on the edge of the woods, and I was able to slip by before dropping into the main run. Here, my honed skiing ability shone as I catapulted off a mogul and tomahawked down the run. It was perhaps the best, most complete head-assisted front flip I’ve ever done. Most impressively, my skis stayed attached to my feet. And by golly someone was right behind me to watch my glorious fall. We skied out of the moguls together and straightlined down to the next transition.

On this third and final climb, I attempted to eat food. I should have eaten long before. But in my parking haste, I forgot my water bottle, which made gels a less than appealing notion. I tried to force a gel down anyway, but it was semi-frozen and so viscous I only choked down a quarter of it before I gagged. Nothing quite like eating food while redlining uphill at 9000’ in 20 degree weather. With more food, I like to think I wouldn't have slowed down so precipitously (we’ll see what happens next time when I consume calories). I was passed twice, and came to the final top transition in 7th. 

To finish off the race, we all just had to ski down a heinously long, steep mogul field by headlamp. Skiing at night, I’m used to - but those moguls?! I don’t know what evil magic Vail skiers do to make moguls so massive. I was hungry and exhausted and not stoked to descend 1000’ of the biggest moguls I’d ever skied. I managed, and skied out without another heels-over-head flip (honestly very stoked on that). Skied in for 7th place, which given everything that happened and my relative newness to the sport, I am super happy with!

Sprint Race - 200’ climbing, <.4 miles

I signed up for this race without a damn clue what a skimo sprint was. I quickly learned: skin on flat ground for 20 meters, do 3-4 steep kickturns, bootpack, kickturn, rip skins, descend down a sheet of ice through gates. All said and done, about four minutes of anaerobic hell. An event like this is so wildly out of the norm for me I couldn’t wait to give it a try. 

On my qualifying run, everything happened the way it should, and I qualified! By “happened the way it should”, I mean I made no egregious errors that would cost me the race. The same thing can’t be said for the semi-final round. I went into the kickturns in second. I got to the bootpack in second and went to take off my skis. Except, I didn’t. I found myself putting my boots into ski mode. I quickly corrected this unfathomable error and got my skis on my pack. I entered and exited the bootpack tied for third. Top three make the finals. 

Literally all I had to do was put my skis on and make it out of the transition in third and I’d make the final (it’s super hard to pass people). But alas, my skis went on the ground, and my boots did not go in my bindings. I fumbled, fumbled, and fumbled some more. I left the transition in fifth. I managed to fumble ripping my skins too. While all of this was a bummer, I can’t be too upset. These sprints are wild and hysterical and I was excited to give one a try. They’re kind of like doing an all-out 800 meter run, but stopping twice to untie and retie your shoes, then continuing on. And at then end, skiing downhill as hard as you can.

Vertical Race - 2000’ climbing, 4.7 miles

I went to bed the night before this race telling myself I would get on the podium. Even though I was tired from two days of racing and the altitude was making my middle school asthma come back, I wanted it bad. I was tied for fourth about two thirds of the way up the 2000’ climb when I went around a turn. I knew the course would flatten after this turn, and that I excelled at flatter cat-track skinning. I decided to make my move and gun for third. A few steps later, I slipped. Then I slipped again. I looked down and saw my skin in a sad pile 10 tragic feet behind me.

I was devastated. My mind exploded. Was this it? What had happened? Without my skin on my ski, I couldn’t go uphill. I scooted back down to it and tried to clean the snow off. It was around 0 degrees, so the snow was stubborn. I tried putting the skin on my ski and ended up cleaning it twice before it stuck. While this was going on, a bunch of people stormed past me, a few mumbling “so so sorry dude”. Eventually it held, and I took off. I was able to claw my way back to sixth place. I probably lost 30-60 seconds with that fiasco. Third place was just about 60 seconds in front of me. It was a tough pill to swallow.

What happened out there? I think the tip of my ski bumped my competitor’s ski or pole going around the corner. I think the hard speed tip on the new Dynafit race skins knocked out of the notch in my ski, then in the few steps that followed I peeled the skin right off. While this is a super big bummer, for two thirds of the race I was right in it. I can’t wait to get back and have another crack at a vertical race!