Eastern Cup review

The first Eastern Cups were a disaster for me. There were plenty of awesome races by SLUSKI, but there's also a lot to be taken from the off days as well. Saturday's classic sprint and Fridays skate race featured a huge field and plenty of snow. Wolcott was the only one to make the heats, and he was clearly fired up (when is he not?) about the head-to-head racing. Unfortunately a tangle on the downhill prematurely ended his racing. Some of the rest of us laughed off our own performances in the classic sprint too. We wanted to do well, for sure, but back at my house it was clear that we were all much more serious about throwing down in the 10k skate the next day. I wouldn't say my races leading up to the weekend were my best, but they weren't horrible per-say. This I needed something awesome. I was psyched to get out on the course and show what a summer of more training, better preparation and my most focused efforts could do. Wolcott avenged his unfair tangle (word is there was some offensive and aggressive moves) the previous day by storming to 15th and looking professional doing it. I ended up embarrassing myself. I never would've thought I'd see the day when I race better in a classic sprint than a 10k skate, but my placing (almost twice far back as my previous worst finish in an EC) didn't lie. After eating away our feelings in greasy pizza form at Piecasso down in the village, Steve and I drove back to my house in disgust. We hadn't even bothered to stay for the results to be tacked up. We just knew. After some time away and reflection, I know it's not the end of the world. I thought about the race reflection sheets, the conversations I had with other skiers, other times this had happened, and added up what went wrong and how to change it. The most important thing I did, however, was sit down and read.
Whenever racing is going on (and even when it's not), I find myself reaching for Momentum, Pete Vordenberg's book about ski racing. I read it in a day, and now it's full of notes, highlighted lines, rips and tears. I remember many parts word for word, and read certain sections before every race. No matter what I'm feeling, it seems there's always an answer in that book, my literal ski bible. After the race I found what I needed almost instantly.
“...when I found my rhythm and could match it to the terrain, I gained momentum and I flew. I found myself engaged in a sensation of utter enjoyment. But when my rhythm faltered, I labored. To regain it, I had to let go of the future, of how I was doing, of how the results would look when it was over, and focus on the present moment-on skiing perfectly...In this state I was not exempt from pain, but because I felt myself absorbed in the moment, skiing as well as I could, I was able to accept and even enjoy it” (35).
It's time to move on. To accept what happened. It is what it is, and its a learning experience more than anything else. Pain is going to happen, and sometimes it will be slow-going. Above all, you have to remember that bad days are going to be out there. If you don't take what you can from them and move on, they'll just show up a lot more. Take time to remember what the bad races feel like. It'll remind you of how much better great races feel, and it'll get you that much closer to them.


Piecasso-the best pizza East of Sergi's