There's a tradition, in certain circles, of doing "race reports" after, you know, doing a cyclocross or road or running or ski race. Some of these - like those written by Colin R. or Kikkan Randall or Laura Valaas - are really informative and even engrossing pieces of sportswriting. I don't get to do much racing, but what the hell? I'm sure the internets would love to read the gripping tale of how I raced my headlamp beam on Wednesday night.
The venue for this showdown was the Ann Sipfle Memorial Ski Trail (recently blogged), at the western edge of Carleton's Cowling Arboretum. From its southern start at the parking lot for Carleton's West Gym, the trail runs northeast and then east for 2.12 miles (3.42 kilometers), partly along the Cannon River. The trail is mostly flat for the first 1.2 miles. Just short of the Millpond Dike trail, it turns upwards, gaining about 55 feet in elevation over the next half-mile (the "steepest" pitch being a not-quite-Alpine 4% grade). There's a short false flat on the way up, another flat at the top of the ridge, and then a long straight downhill that runs almost to the northern trailhead to Canada Avenue, near the fabled (and falling-down) Waterford Iron Bridge. On the way back, that half-mile climb is a nice descent, but you have to fight over a steep little ramp (about 7% grade, but maybe 100 feet long) before you get there. The trail is very narrow and not so much groomed (though someone ran a snowmobile along it earlier this week) as allowed to develop a nice classic track - perfect for a double-pole workout on my waxless Fischer Supercrowns. The lime-green Alpina classic boots are just a bonus, something for the kids.
I knew the night was going to be good when the last song on the radio was the Smith's "William, It Was Really Nothing." I don't dream about anyone except myself, you know. I warmed up by skiing the route back and forth once, trying to stay stable on the ice, accelerate up the hills, and get the blood pumping. Other animals' blood was pumping too: just as I hit the Millpond Dike trail hill, I whipped past a snowshoer and her two dogs, then skied right through a big patch of bright red blood. Apparently one of the doggies had caught a squirrel or rabbit. Anybody know how to wax for blood? I tried to gun it over the top of the hill and then recover on the backside. I stopped my watch at 13:28 at the first turnaround. Apart from punching it up the short hill, I went pretty easy on the way back to the start, clocking 14:26. Both ways, though, the semicircle of headlamp light stayed ahead of me the whole way. The only spots where I almost caught it were on the hills when I bent my head to really bear down.
A few deep breaths, and I was off on the main event: as fast as I could go over th3400 meters between West Gym and Canada Avenue. The early flat was easy and quick, and I felt like I had some good pop in my double-pole - not U.S. Ski Team pop, but more than I had this summer on my rollerskis. Coming toward the blood, I really focused on sharp, rapid movements, keeping the turnover high to maintain my speed onto the slope. I felt like I zoomed up the first bit of the hill without a problem, but when I checked, my headlamp beam was still out front, no more than six feet away.
That gap stayed steady over the false flat, then narrowed a bit as we rounded the corners and hit the second half of the climb. Up the last bit of uphill, I nearly caught the beam when I looked straight down to keep my skis in the badly crowned track, but then I fell behind again over the top of the course and stayed six feet back on the long ski-rattling downhill toward the finish. I made one last push, hammering the final straightaway toward Canada Avenue as hard as I could. My heart rate went up past 165, and and hit the finish line in 12:21, a PR for this route by 3:37. Even so, that damn lamp beam did it faster by about a half second. Next time, I'll get those photons. I know right where the off switch is.