I ran track in high school, but never was a fan of the stress that it induced. I liked running, however, not racing. I didn’t like the pre-race butterflies, the side aches or the high expectations that I set for myself. Some people are competitive by nature and love it, but I am not one of them.

So when my friend Lauren started talking about the local Tinman Triathlon — a 740-yard swim, 10-mile road ride and 4.5-mile run — I entertained the idea briefly, but shrugged it off. Not only did I dislike the thought of competing in a race, I am not a swimmer. The run and ride wouldn’t be bad, but I really don’t like swimming. The thought of swimming in a lake at eight-thirty in the morning with a horde of other people smashed around me was nauseating.

Somehow by early August, myself and most of our friends had been “talked into” the Tinman. Instead of lounging by the lake, we were practicing swimming and talking about technique — and still doing some lounging. I must say, with practice, swimming was not so terrible and was actually a bit relaxing and peaceful. That may have been due to my very slow pace and the beauty of the lake sitting under Mount Shasta.

The morning of the race it was 42 degrees — was I really going to jump in the lake in my swimsuit? I had a hard time getting into the lake when it was 65 degrees. Upon arriving at the lake, it wasn’t the temperature of the water that scared me; it was the number of people that were milling around the parking lot. The Tinman was supposedly a small-town, mellow, great first triathlon. However, the turnout for the Tinman was more than double than it was the year before; more than 600 competitors showed up. It was awesome seeing so many friends and familiar faces. However, I am not sure that small Dunsmuir Rotary Club was prepared for that number of competitors.

The race organizers only planned for three swimming heats, which meant that 140 women were all swimming at the same time. Now, I have never competed in a triathlon, but that seemed like a lot of bodies squeezed into a small area. And I was right; the swim turned out to be more horrifying than I imagined. It kind of reminded me of lemmings running all over each other only to jump of a cliff. The swimming techniques that I had practiced were out the door.

Doggy paddling and the backstroke became my new best friends and got me to the turnaround point, where the pack thinned and I actually was able to put my face in the water and swim. After what seemed like a few hours, I made it back to shore relieved that I was out of the water and wasn’t completely last.

Transitioning into my bike shoes and helmet was harder than I imagined. What once seemed like an easy task became confusing and difficult. However, once I got onto my bike and was on solid ground, I felt more at home. I had some serious catching up to do, so I put it into high gear and started racing. Once I started pedaling, and passing people, the fear lessened, the adrenaline pumped, and I think I actually started to enjoy the race.

I made some headway on the ride, but again felt a little lost at the running transition. Changing shoes was never so complicated, and my quads felt like to two ice blocks. The course was an out and back, so I saw all of my friends at some point during the run. Seeing everyone push it hard and still smiling was definitely the highlight of the triathlon.

Once it was over and we were all laughing and hanging out in the parking lot, I was glad I had done it. It was a beautiful morning and what a great event to share with friends. The Mount Shasta contingency did quite well in the race; everyone finished under an hour and 30 minutes. Lauren ended up being the second female finisher, and I even managed to finish sixth amongst the female competitors and first in my age group.

Maybe deep down inside there is a bit of a racer in me.

Mariah McPherson is a Cloudveil Inspired Mountain Athlete.

It’s a sweltering and humid 80 degrees in VT with Hurricane Bob kicking up epic surf just a few hours away on the coast, and that can only mean one thing:

Ski season is close!

OK, not too close, but we ought to start getting in shape because if you want to go down, you have to get UP!

For the past several seasons I’ve prepped for skinning by competing in a few hill climb races on bike and foot. The races are short, friendly, and most are charity events for a good cause.

On August 3o (TOMORROW), the Catamount Trail Association is hosting The Race to the Top of Vermont at Stowe Mountain Resort. The Catamount Trail is a great cause that all backcountry skiers in New England should support – 300+miles of free cross country skiing, but it’s not just meadow skipping. The public access trail they work to keep open just happens to provide easy access to some of the best powder filled glades in the state.

The race is open to mountain bikers and runners, had several hundred participants last year, and boasts big sponsorship dollars to provide a great after-party and prizes.

The Burke Mountain Bike Race is on September 5  in Burke, Vermont. This mass start paved road climb is one of the steepest and tallest in the East (~2,400’ gain in 4.7 miles, for an average pitch just under 10%, and a max pitch of ~18%). This race is part of the B.U.M.P.S Championship Series.

If you can’t make it to Burke, or want to ride more than 5 miles for your entry fee, consider showing up for the Green Mountain Stage Race. For those not capable of 4 straight days of racing, there’s a “citizens’” division one day Road Race on September 6 that’s 75 miles long including a climb over Middlebury Gap and a finish on top of the amazing Appalachian Gap.

On October 3 Mad River Glen and The Stark Mountain Foundation host the Stark Mountain Hill Climb as part of their Green&Gold Fall Foliage Celebration. The race is on foot up the slopes of the Mad River Glen ski resort. True to MRG’s ethos of “Ski It If you Can” you can choose any route you want up the mountain, which brings a fun element of strategy into the race. This is great training for dawn patrol skinning your favorite resort.

Combine the Stark Mountain run with a Appalachian Gap road bike time trial on October 4 to compete for duathlon points. The annual Allen Clark Hill Climb might seem like a grueling and serious event, but the participants make it really fun and low key with a big kids division and even several unicycles competing every year. My first year competing had warm sun and fall foliage at the start in the valley, but we climbed into thick and cold clouds high on the mountain pass – an amazing and dramatic race experience. I’ve got a duathlon title to “defend” this year, so I better start training.

It’s hot now, but we’ll be breaking trail and earning our turns soon enough. Are you ready? Gotta get up, for the down stroke.

Runners at the start of Speedgoat 50K held at Snowbird Resort

(All pics taken by cell phone.)

Just a humble plea to those who enjoy racing…whether it’s road or mountain running, adventure racing, riding road or mountain bikes, triathlon, Nordic or Alpine ski, endurance or sprint distance, summer or winter, it’s time to show our RDs some love. Many of us like to find the camaraderie of the race – it is a benchmark for our sports, which are often also our passions. We see old friends and make new ones and enjoy a good day’s challenge. These are great events which give us lasting memories, and they don’t just happen.

Race Directors are a special breed. Some are involved in larger scale productions and may even make some money off the deal, but so many of the local races we participate in are run on a simple grassroots philosophy. Initial motivation to create a race was an inspired moment wanting to design a special day of challenge and the details of the registration, permits, aid stations, medical, distribution of course information, tracking racers, timing and everything else were the reality someone had to wade through to make that inspired moment a reality.

Setting up the Aid Station on Hidden Peak

These guys need help! Probably all interpretations of that idea are correct, but the thing that RDs need most (after their morning coffee), are warm bodies. The longer the race course, the harder it is to control the elements along the way and the more important it is to have aid stations and volunteers to work them. Coordinating food and hydration to aid stations, having people to run the aid stations who can communicate problems or injuries along the course, marking the course and sweeping the end of the race, taking down the flagging or directions and cleaning up to leave things in the same condition they were found, all require manpower. I bet you have those skills!

Aid Station volunteers at The Tunnel station

I have volunteered in medical and non-medical capacities at a number of races and events over the past decade or so and have been the medical coordinator for the Speedgoat 50K Ultramarathon in Utah for the past three years. Seeing races from that side of the fence gives one a whole new appreciation for all the detail and worry that go into putting such an event on. It also gives an even greater appreciation of all those who take a day away from their favorite things to simply support others making a great effort. I probably have about a 4 or 5 to one ratio of events I race to events for which I volunteer, I don’t know that this is enough or too much for anybody else, but it seems to work for me.

A quick word about Race Directors.

Race Directors are cool cats. They tend to be guys and gals that are genuinely just interested in you having a good day. Even though there tend to be restrictions set up for registration and fees go up if you are not registered by a certain date, and they can’t guarantee your shirt size if you are not on time, blah, blah, blah, which make it seem like RDs are militant, OCD freaks, most of that is just to keep things running in a somewhat organized fashion.
My favorite cool cat RD story from recent times is from the finish of a recent 50 miler which has a strict limit on runners due to permits and fills quickly, ends up with a wait-list, etc. At the end of the race, a couple of my buddies, who are brothers, came in to the finish, one with a number and one without. The race director asked my friend without the number what his number was so he could register his finish time, and he told RD that he was just pacing his brother.
“Oh, great! Where did you pace from?”

“Um…right about 500 feet over there.” Pointing to the start line for the loop course.

Now this could have gone either way, the harsh view is that he poached the course; paid no fee, utilized aid stations and ran the entire race (which had closed out runners due to limited space). Perhaps this is technically correct, but the RD looked at my bud, let the wheels turn for a minute registering what happened, smiled and congratulated him on a nice job finishing the 50M course and gave him a finisher’s medal.

Relating this story is certainly not an endorsement of poaching a race, and the reason I won’t mention the specific race is that I don’t want this to be thought of as a race to steal. Not every RD would be as mellow about ‘pacing’ for the entire course, but the reality is that these brothers just wanted to run together and the guy who was pacing truly was pacing not racing because he would have likely finished ahead of his brother if he was giving a race effort. Bottom line is that when you have a handful of reasons to feel like someone just stole something from you and your first response is to congratulate them and be happy they had a good day, you probably have a karmic reservoir somewhere the size of Lake Powell.

So give these slightly off-axis, but wonderful people a hand, and volunteer for a race this year. Who know what else you might volunteer for next!

Looking out over the course single-track in Mineral Basin. Volunteers were subjected to views like this all day.

Mark Scholl, M.D., is a Cloudveil Inspired Mountain Ambassador and an Orthopedic Surgeon. He is a team physician to ReAL Salt Lake of the MLS, the US Ski Team and Solitude Mountain Resort. When he is not volunteering for ultramarathons, he is running in them.

Four stages. Three days. One Kinetic Rock-n-Roll Road indoor trainer.

Yes, as its name implies, the “stage race” I did last week was totally and completely done indoors. Take that Tour de France riders. Who among you has the mental toughness to ride indoors? In perfectly beautiful weather? For over thirteen hours? Thirteen. Hours.

Give me Mont Ventoux any day. Please.

Now, I’ve proved — numerous times — my capacity for repetition and boredom exceeds that of a normal person (I submit my training sessions for the 24 Hours of Sunlight randonee race this past winter and the race itself as examples). Still, the Tour de Trainer took me to places I had never before gone. And hope to never again go. The 25-minute “time trial” and the 45-minute “crit” weren’t horrible, but the 75-mile road race (3:30 hours) the first day and the 105-mile road race (5:30) the last day rank amongst the longest hours of my life.

I didn’t devise the Tour de Trainer to see if I was capable of swallowing my own bile for hours on end, but because a broken collarbone has had me riding indoors since the middle of June. The first week-and-a-half weren’t horrible because 1.) Since I couldn’t weight the arm attached to the broken collarbone, the “workouts” were generally short and 2.) I discovered the first (and second) season(s) of The Wire at the Teton County Library.

Going into the second full week post-surgery though, I could weight the handlebars equally with both hands. Which, of course, to me, meant I was ready to ride outside. My doctor felt differently though. Trying – for once – to be a mostly compliant patient, I promised I’d keep my training indoors. He asked for a month. I told him I could give him another week.

The gears in my head immediately went into overdrive. What – besides watch episode after episode of The Wire — could I do to get myself through another week of indoor riding? Was there any way I could make it interesting? Is there anything I could do to make it a week that counted?

It may have taken others longer than the walk through the waiting room at Teton Orthopaedics to come up with the idea – if they ever would — of taking their favorite stage race and bringing it inside, but, as I’ve already explained, when it comes to boredom and repetition in athletics, I’m a superstar. Idiotic ideas come to me naturally. Easily.

Tour de Trainer – based on The Elkhorn Classic — started the next day. The day after that, I had to hide all the knives and razor blades in the house. Still, I pushed on. Half-way through the final day (“half-way” being about 2 hours, 45 minutes), my eyes had rolled to the back of my head and I wanted it to be over more than I’ve ever wanted anything to be over before. (And that includes an Elk Mountain Grand Traverse in which, thanks to the first asthma attack of my life, the last eight miles took my teammate and myself as long to do as did the first 37 miles.)

But, because I am a—perhaps even the – Stubbornness Superstar, I didn’t end it, even though all I had to do was unclip and step down onto the floor of my office. I could have called it, stripped out of my bike shorts, and been lounging on my couch eating Reese’s Peanut Butter cups and Ben & Jerry’s in two minutes.

Now that it’s over and my eyes are back in their proper place, I realize that this particular silly idea did help me. The next time I’m doing something that seems to suck – say, skinning uphill for 24 hours, biking 115 miles and 15,000 vertical feet in one day, or riding up Mont Ventoux — I’ll think back on Tour de Trainer and realize it doesn’t suck. At all.

PS – Since I haven’t actually yet ridden up Mont Ventoux, I am only guessing that it can’t suck as badly as the Tour de Trainer. If anyone wants to further my quest to write on the finest investagatory journalism and fund my testing of this, give me a call.

In short:
Pros of Tour de Trainer

I didn’t get fat.
I won every stage. Off the front.
Feeds could include toasted Thomas’ English muffins with Nutella and peanut butter.
Renewed appreciation for riding outdoors, even in Biblical rain, hail and/or snow.

Cons of Tour de Trainer

You can feel the insanity as it sets in.
Talking to yourself.
Talking to the cats.
Hearing the cats talk back to you.
Having to hide all the sharp objects in the house.

No. They had lost their GPS doodad.

Jay and Tracey Petervary, a Jackson Hole couple, are riding a tandem mountain bike from Banff to the Mexican border. Last Friday at 10 a.m. in Banff, Alberta, Canada, the Petervary’s and 41 solo cyclists took off heading south to follow a 2,700 mile route to Antelope Wells, New Mexico along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

On Monday, Steve Romeo posted on Facebook a casual mention that the Petervary’s were running fourth. With that I instantly became addicted to tracking their progress, neatly packaged online with an elegant amalgam of Google Maps, Spot (a GPS tracking and messaging service) and all sorts of time-trial slice’n'dice computations.

Later Monday JayP and T-Race had dropped to fifth due to a 30-mile wrong turn. Then on early Tuesday, around Lincoln, Montana, they seemed to have come to a complete halt. I found it difficult to get any work done. After all, another couple had reported having to bully a grizzly and brown bear from the trail. Thankfully, JayP phoned from Helena, Montana at 3 pm to report they had lost their Spot handheld unit. Any panic was mine alone, fueled by incessant mouse-clicking.

The event is called Tour Divide. It’s not an official race so much as concurrent individual time trials, the cyclotourist’s version of the Cannonball Baker Sea-To-Shining Sea Memorial Trophy Dash. The rules are few, designed to add up to one thing: a lean, low-impact bike trip of pluck, luck and long-distance grace. No sag wagons. No caching food and supplies. No drafting. You feed and shelter yourself along the trail as you would on any bike tour.

As of Thursday evening, Matthew Lee, who set the record last year in 19 days, 12 hours, is leading the pack by a hefty margin. (Both Lee and Jay Petervary have set Tour Divide records.) The Petervary’s progress is back online and they’ve resumed fourth place, about a day behind Lee.

The route dips into Jackson Hole via the Ashton-Flagg road, follows a good chunk of pavement to Moran Junction, heads over Togwotee Pass and heads south along the Union Pass Road. The Petervary’s should hit this section over the weekend. Cheering section, anyone?

As of 4:44 a.m. Friday, Matthew Lee was on the the move into Jackson Hole. Jay and Tracey Petervary, on a tandem mountain bike, are about a day behind Lee:

David J. Swift is a photographer, writer and now, filmmaker. He’s also an excellent cheerleader.

The gullies are full of corn, ripe for the picking. Another banner year of snowfall has giving us a bit longer of a spring ski season up in the ravines. Most of the classic ski runs that don’t face south are still skiing top to bottom, and as always Tuckerman Ravine is still packing in crowds. Mid-April is usually prime time to be in the Presidential Range, with plenty of snow down into the lower reaches of the valleys so skiing all the way out to the car is an real option, not a base ripping mud-fest.

There’s always one crazy weekend up on Mount Washington, it’s called the Son of Inferno Race. Some locals love it, others could do without it, but either way it’s a rugged race. It involves five legs, so I guess that makes it a pentathlon, but not the kind you see at the Olympics.

The legs include, biking, kayaking, running, hiking, and the final leg is a ski race, complete with gates, somewhere in Tuckerman Ravine.

The idea for the race spawned from the original “Inferno Race” which was the mother all ski races back in the 1930’s. A four-mile, 4,000 vertical foot course from the summit of Mount Washington to the Pinkham Notch. Some crazy Austrian named Toni Matt burned down the course in six minutes, 29 seconds.

I’m guessing on a pair of wooden skis that, today you’d be hard pressed to find anyone to even ski from the summit, let alone straight-line it to the parking lot. Hats off to the Austrian for setting the bar so high 75 years ago.

It seems that each year more people come up to watch the skiers up in “Tucks.” I’m not sure if it’s pure fascination watching out-of-control skiers cartwheeling down a steep slope or if it’s just a really really unique place to hang out on a spring day. I’m guessing it’s a little of both.

The great part about the mountains here in New England is that there’s always somewhere that you go an find a little slice of solitude. Maybe somewhere only a few folks know about, perhaps a north facing chute that stays in until June, or a ephemeral line that only comes in after some rare combination of weather patterns. You know, the spots that creep into your daydreams during the hottest months of summer when blowing snow and freezing temps are the farthest from your mind.

Joe Klementovich is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors. He also edits NH Adventures and shoots outdoor lifestyle photography (Klementovichphoto.com).

The organizers call the Extreme a “show,” highlighting the best skiers in the world on the most difficult competition face in the world.

As a competitor, I see the Extreme as a competition and more. I wanted to choose a winning line, but I also wanted to make it to the bottom of the Bec de Rosses unscathed. It was difficult to make a choice between a winning line and possibly getting hurt or skiing for the rest of the season.

A winning line includes: exposure, big airs, fast skiing, and pushing yourself to the edge.

I spent two days and two sleepless nights trying to decide if it was worth skiing the winning line or skiing a less exposed line and giving up the win. The other thought I couldn’t get out of my mind was; if I don’t ski the winning line, will someone else ski it?

The winning line was obvious. It was over heavy exposure (if you fall you will most definitely get hurt), included two 20-foot airs, and had the worst snow conditions on the face. The more appealing line began over heavy exposure into a chute that had a mandatory 20-foot air in the middle. This line was more appealing because once you made it into the chute you were relatively safe. If you were to fall, you would be okay.

The more appealing line.

My goal this season was to win the Freeride World Tour. My season started off great winning Russia and then I was off to Japan. After Japan, my body was beat up and my mind needed a break, but there was no time.

I pushed on to Squaw and Tignes moving from 1st on the FWT to 6th. The Verbier Extreme would be my last opportunity to insure myself a spot on the FWT for the 2010 season. I needed to finish in the top four. It was hard to decide what to ski. Should I ski for the win, risking injury and not making the tour next year. Or ski a second place line which was safer and would probably put me in the top four for next year.

In the end, my decision was made with my heart. I have always told myself to ski the line that looks like the most fun. The winning line didn’t look like fun at all and the other line looked like a lot of fun.

Bad Snow and a Not So Fun Line

Standing in the starting gate for my final competition run in 2010, I knew I was not going to ski a winning line. It is one of the strangest feelings I have ever had.

I have never not skied to win, but I didn’t know if someone else would attempt the winning line and if it would work out well for her. As I left the starting gate, I decided to rip my chosen line as fast and flawlessly as possible. And I did. I ripped my line with no hesitation off the mandatory 20-foot air and into two more airs. I was at the bottom in under 30 seconds. It was a beautiful line. I skied into second and finished third overall on the Freeride World Tour.

Awards Ceremony, Verbier Extreme

It feels really good to be Back in Jackson. My goal is still to win the Freeride World Tour and I will have the opportunity in 2010.

Cloudveil congratulates Jess McMillan on another incredible season. Welcome home, Jess!

Actually, that last one is more a term of endearment … at least I hope so, as it comes out of my husband’s mouth several times an hour whenever we’re together. Anyway, looking at the first two, you should notice they both hint at a one particular quality of mine: whether I’m going for 24 hours or two, my speed is the same.

Or so I had thought.

To invigorate my skinning up Snow King, as well as to support the burgeoning local rando racing scene, I – along with between 30 and 40 others (!) — have been doing the Heather Paul Memorial Rando Races at the King the past few weeks. And they’ve been awesome. Well, except for the green phlegmballs I was coughing up for a few hours after each one.

It turns out I was able to find slightly more than one gear. Let’s say my usual gearing – the gear I used in the 24 Hours of Sunlight – is a 34/25. In the Heather Paul races, I was able to find perhaps a 34/21. I mean, this past Thursday night, it only took me 10 minutes longer to reach the summit than it did my mutant husband and the rest of the race leaders.

But it wasn’t the fact that I found gear 1.5 that made the “races” awesome. It’s a totally informal scene. No Le Mans Start. Just a count down from five for the start. No awards ceremony. Heck, there aren’t even any times unless you remember to ask Forest Dramis as you pass him just before the Panorama House at the top. Everyone’s there for fun. There are a few of us in full rando race get-ups; others are on mid-weight (think Dynafit bindings on fat skis) backcountry set-ups; still others are on split boards; and there are even some Fritschi bindings on super-fat boards out there. (This last one is the only one I don’t understand. With Dynafit around – and having added some totally huck-yourself-off-anything-you-want bindings-and-it’s-all-good to its lineup – why is anyone on Fritschis anymore?)

It’s like cats and dogs playing together. All the different subcategories of our backcountry community are coming together in peace and harmony.

But I digress. If you haven’t yet made it over to the King on a Thursday night at 5:45 (registration starts at 5:30; “race” starts at 6:00) get there this Thursday. It’s the last race of the four-race series. Most likely you’ll know more than a few people swarming around the starting line. Oh, and did I mention the post-race free beer? And the awesome sammies provided so kindly by Backcountry Provisions (thanks guys!)? And the raffle in which nearly everyone wins something? (Last week I won something I hadn’t realized was missing from my life: a snow-leopard-faced Dynafit belt buckle that doubles as a bottle opener. Really, are there any two functions – holding your pants up and opening a beer bottle – that could so seamlessly be combined in one stylish product?)

With all this, how can it not be super fun, even if you decide to go so hard as to cough up green phlegmballs afterwards?

Author’s Note: For those of you who didn’t know her, Heather Paul was an all-around groovy, kick-ass Jackson mountain chick who died on Cloudveil Peak. She’d have totally approved of these races. And probably not needed 10 minutes more than my husband to reach the summit.

About the Photos: Sorry I don’t have any photos of the actual race. When I asked Forest D. if he had any he looked at me like I had two heads, “Dude, we’re writing raffle numbers on pieces of toilet paper,” he said. “We don’t have any photos.”

About the Author: Freelance writer Dina Mishev wrote this while sitting on a beach in Belize.

Sari and I are in France where she’s racing in the 24th annual Pierra Menta, an infamous, four-day randonee stage race, where 180 teams of two will skin up and ski down over 10,000 meters (32,000 feet) before the finish on Sunday.

And, because Sari seems to love any kind of race that involves an obscure sport, loads of expensive gear, days of suffering and virtually no prize money, this was a race she couldn’t miss.

I’m here as a cheerleader and I’ll do my best to blog updates on Sari and all of Team America each night.

So, here goes. …

Team America is present and accounted for – 12 boisterous Yankees that stick out like sore thumbs in this tiny town of Areches, tucked away deep in the French Alps where no one speaks any English and it’s perfectly normal to run around in a one-piece, skin tight ski suit and lime green boots all day.

Sari is racing with her Nike teammate Monique Merrill (Mona), joining four other American teams who’ve made the trek here, plus one more team of American ex-pats who live in Chamonix. It’s an impressive showing for the US, where only a handful of people even know what a randonee race is.

Team America consists of:
Pete Swenson and Cary Smith
Monique Merrill and Sari Anderson
Jared Inouye and Brandon French
Jason McGowin and Brad LaRochelle
Nina Slitich and Lynsay Myer (from Chamonix)
Katie French and Ian Anderson (coaches/cheerleaders)

Sari and I arrived in Geneva on Monday morning after successfully completing an almost dry-eyed handoff of our 20-month-old daughter to my parents at the Dulles airport. In Geneva, we met the other American teams and planned our assault on Areches. It required two-trains, an overnight in Albertville (site of the ‘92 winter Olympics) and a couple of taxis loaded the the gills for the final push to Areches.

The race starts tomorrow at 7 a.m., much to the disappointment of Sari and Mona, who were excited about the originally planned 10 a.m. start. Apparently, it snowed 80 cm above 2,500 meters here yesterday and the avalanche danger is pretty high. We watched a helicopter throw dozens of bombs around the surrounding peaks this afternoon. So, the race is starting early in the hopes that conditions stay firm and safe. Regardless, all racers are required to carry a beacon, shovel and probe, just in case.

After registration, we all met back up for dinner. According to the race organizers, tomorrow should be relatively short, about three hours for the top teams, with about 2,500 meters (gulp!) of total climbing. Team Captain Pete Swenson thinks it’s the downhills that’ll be the hardest part of the day. The snow conditions are likely to be super variable – soft at the top, to bulletproof in the middle, to slush at the bottom. Pete, who has raced in Europe a bunch, says that the Italians and the French are the teams to watch. Not only do they go up fast and transition quickly, but they’re experts at the high-speed ‘wedge’ technique on the downhills, which most Americans are too prideful to adopt. It should be interesting to watch.

Anyway, Katie and I are getting up early tomorrow in hopes of catching our team at the top of one of the climbs. I’m going to try and post photos and blog updates each night, so stay tuned and cheer on Team America!

When not Woot-Wooting, Ian Anderson works for Backbone Media.

When his Brown University football buddies visit each year from the east coast, Stefan Fodor makes gives them the full western treatment. They shoot guns, shotgun beers, race snowmobiles, ski and compete in physical challenges. These guys – one from New York, one from Massachusetts – had just walked off the plane when Stefan made them compete in what he calls the annual Uncle Fodor’s Toughen Up Camp. (UFTUC is modeled after Rob Shaul’s Mountain Athlete.)

They never declared the Toughest or Strongest Man, just talked shit, cheered each other on and wheezed, grunted and laughed their way through the sandbag get-ups and carries, leg blasters, tire drags and the finale goal line jump-roll-tackle.