From the Ski for Light Bulletin - Spring 2011
Compiled By Vicki Post
Ski for Light 2011 on paper: 289 people, including 256 from the US, 68 first-timers, representatives from several foreign countries, a host of guide dogs - all gathering for a week of skiing and many other fun-filled activities.
Ski for Light 2011 in reality: All of the above, high altitude and all that came with it, challenging room arrangements, really, really cold weather, and triumph after triumph of the human spirit. For those who weren't there, this compilation of stories will stir your imagination and leave you with a real appreciation for our SFL family; for those who were there, may these stories remind you of your own courage and accomplishments, no matter how challenging the experience!
To set the scene, let's begin with the weather report, sent to me by past President, Larry Showalter:
Monday - about 20 with some sun. Tracks pretty slow, but everyone had a good time.
Tuesday - It was 40 below on the thermometer at the Commons when we walked over for breakfast. By afternoon it had warmed up to about minus 20. But the forecast was for warmer weather on Wednesday so we were encouraged.
Wednesday - They were right. It was only minus 25 at breakfast.
Thursday - Pretty much a repeat of Wednesday. By evening it had warmed up to zero.
Friday - The best day of the week. About 25 degrees, lots of sun, fast tracks. Everyone loved it.
Saturday - It had warmed up a bit more, but along with the increase in temps came a wind of about 25 mph and snow. The snow came sideways into your face and down your neck. The tracks were completely gone and drifted in within a few yards of the start line. For most of the 5k and 10k it was more like sliding on snow shoes, trying to get the direction right, than anything else.
Sunday, departure day, was, of course, beautiful. But an avalanche closed the pass for a while and played havoc with many people's travel arrangements. But as you will read, all this adversity brought out the best in so many people; congratulations to all who attended and endured and mastered this SFL experience, not soon to be forgotten. Here are some reflections and stories from guides and skiers who so clearly express the heart and spirit of Ski for Light:
I was a first time skier at the 2011 SFL event, and just wanted to thank you for the opportunity to share the fun and excitement of the week with such a great group of people. It was wonderful that so many guides were willing to give us a little push if we wanted it because in most places we don't have even the opportunity - let alone any expectations of excelling, especially in physical activities. Some of the nicest folks I have ever met were right there in that group, and I had an absolute blast skiing on the day of the blustery race/rally. I hope that many good things will continue to come out of SFL.
We were scuttling along the 1K loop, fed, fat, and happy...fresh from a festive lunch. I, a never-ever skier and Peggy Martin, a generous, articulate, compassionate forever-always skier. I was doing pretty swell, wobbly on the slickery snow, but had to stop for a breath. Peggy described the sky, beautiful as only high altitude blue can be. Then the approaching group, seven MIPs and fourteen guides. We were thrilled by the stunning show of spirit and participation. In the silent aftermath of their passing, I knew why I was there.
All the best from a woman turning her face towards Utah.
I had an incredible vacation/ski trip/volunteer experience with Ski for Light. It was a great week of skiing and meeting scores of people. I must mention Bob Hartt at the top. He is a wonderful person. I may know some about skiing and waxing and training but I knew nothing about guiding and Bob was extremely patient with me all week. He even had to make some comments just before the start of the race on Saturday to bring my focus back to where it needed to be. My roommates and I did well together in the Man Cave. Lots of talk about a lot of topics. Some of us found that we had many things in common. I grew up within 3 miles of one roommate and didn't meet him for the first time until the first Sunday night. Thank you to all who attended for talking to me and sharing comments about every topic imaginable. I'll do what I can to attend in Provo.
"Brutal" may be the word most used to describe this year's Olav Pedersen Memorial Race/Rally held at Snow Mountain Ranch in Colorado. Skiers and guides disappeared behind a veil of swirling snow as they left the start line leaning into a strong headwind. The communication skills developed by each skier/guide pair throughout the week would be tested to the fullest as the blowing snow covered the tracks and created near white out conditions.
Chris White and his guide David Baker were the first to cross the finish line, both doubling over trying to catch their breath as David panted that he had to break trail all the way because the tracks were virtually nonexistent.
Jerry King, the second man in with his guide Karen Ishibashi, said that he has only skied one other event in such difficult conditions.
"This is definitely the blind leading the blind," said Cindy LaBon. "It was impossible for my guide to see. Her glasses were continually snow covered and we had volunteers out there pointing so that we knew where to turn. Would I do it again? ABSOLUTELY!!!!"
"There were barely any tracks because snow had filled them in during the near blizzard conditions," recalls Dave Thomas. "The skiing was slow and yet I had a terrific time with my guide. The course was challenging like the conditions and this made crossing the finish line while hearing my name and a lot of cheers feel all that much better."
First time participant Jonathon Nesbitt was the last to cross the finish line after having a ski binding freeze up near the end of the course. "I was determined to finish," smiles Jonathon. "When I got to the finish line everyone had come back out into the cold to cheer me on, which was really great and made the event so much more memorable. I'm glad I stuck with it till the end. It's definitely been an experience to remember."
Despite these difficult conditions, 93 participants and their guides accepted the challenge and completed the 2011 race/rally, sharing a well-deserved sense of pride and accomplishment. The participants in this year's race/rally exemplify Ski for Light's mission and motto.
Race/Rally Coordinator Rich Milsteadt perhaps says it best. "Although it has been said that 2011 was one of the more challenging years for skiing in a race/rally at SFL; I would like to congratulate all skiers, guides and volunteers on a great week. My heart was truly moved by examples of the true spirit of Ski for Light".
Clearly, this was not going to be as I'd envisioned. The first clue I had hit my boots and face simultaneously at about 6:45 a.m. that Saturday. Of course, no civilized person should have been outside at that hour, but I thought my dog guide would appreciate a bathroom break before the start of our big day. Race day. More accurately, my big day would be unfolding as he lay around doing nothing in our room. Granted, I knew it had started snowing the evening before, but this --- this was inches deep (judging by the distance my boots and support cane sank upon contact), and was getting deeper by the minute! As my hair and face grew wet with the falling snow, a rueful sigh escaped me, along with a little half-smile. So it was going to snow on us sit-skiers, huh? Well! My guide, Ted, and I had spent the entire week working toward this day, and I knew a little snow wasn't about to stop us now. As I geared up for the last time that week, I felt a sad-sweet exhilaration. Exchanging my every-day winter boots for my snow boots (good for keeping feet warm while not moving them much in a sit-ski), I felt sad that I wouldn't get to do this again at least for another whole year, and simultaneously excited about and proud of our achievements that week: Ted's easy, competent coaching, and my own determination and improved skiing technique. If it was still snowing at the start of the race, I knew everything I'd learned and honed in the last handful of days would be put to the test; however, after skiing Wednesday in 20 below (it may have been 28 below at one point) with a wind-chill that made it feel like 36 below, I knew Ted and I were more than ready to handle this!
Though it was called "race and rally" day, and I was competing against only my best estimate of my own time on the 5 K trail, it felt like every bit as much of a race as I'd ever done. As a recording of many national anthems heralded the commencement of the race, I sat, jittery with excitement, waiting to get closer to my start-time to get in my ski. Finally, the first of the MIP's (mobility impaired participants) took off, and I tensed with anticipation, and brought my poles into position. This was it! This was --- "119!" the announcer called out, and the rest of any introduction they may have given us was lost as I reached out, leaned forward, and began pushing snow with my poles... to find myself instantly skiing WITH NO TRACK! To add insult to injury, the wind had started up earlier that day, and it was near blizzard conditions! Blowing snow wet my knit cap and my face as Ted helped me do the work of navigating my sit-ski. When he finally said, "We've got tracks", I smiled. As we left the noise of the crowd further and further behind us, I thought: This is the life, man. Just me, my guide, his voice and mine trading directions and commentary, the chilling wind, and the sound of our skis pushing the softest, driest powder I'd ever been in. I could do this forever. No, I couldn't! My smile turned quickly to gritted teeth as the initial slight descent of the trail became a vicious "not downhill", the phrase Ted had used throughout the week once we agreed that, to a sit-skier with cerebral palsy, "uphill" is just plain a dirty word, and never to be used on the trail! At least this stretch of the 5 K presented itself at the beginning, when my stamina was up. It was about 20 degrees, with a wind-chill of 8. The snow showed no signs of abating, my whole body was singing with the challenge, the exertion, and the excitement of feeling at the top of my game. As we skied gentle and steeper downhills, leveled out, greeted other teams when they passed, I realized that I felt physically and otherwise better than I had in years; alive and attuned to the present moment, for there was nowhere else I'd rather have been, nothing else I'd rather have been doing, and no one else I'd rather have been skiing with. At one point about mid-way through the course, Ted and I stopped for one of my many breaks. Sit-skiing is rather exhausting, so I didn't mind a breather. I rested my poles in my lap, took a drink of icy water, and let out a contented sigh. We shared a companionable silence, then marveled together about how wonderfully, exquisitely quiet it was. The fresh, falling snow gave the spot a sacred feeling, and I just sat, drinking it all in, savoring this moment for the gift it was. I wished briefly that I could have visually enjoyed our surroundings, too, but the thought passed easily into the clear, deep stillness that held us spell-bound. With a smile in his voice, Ted told me that my scarf was frozen over. As I reached up to admire the near-blizzard's handiwork, Ted stepped to the side of the trail. He picked something up, and brought it to me. It was a pine cone that felt almost like a little, blooming flower. I thanked him, setting it in my lap as we got ready to start back. What a great memento it would make.
As we approached the last leg of the trail, one of the other guides (David) joined us for a while. I don't remember just when it happened, but I must have hit a bumpy patch of snow or been trying to slow my ski on one of the downhills, - one second I was fine, the next, feeling my ski tipping all too quickly to the right. Of course, I was powerless to stop it at that point and, for the second time that week, I landed hard in the waiting, soft snowdrift. Anyone within earshot could've heard what I said then: a very passionate four-letter word, the first letter of which is found near the beginning of the alphabet, and the rest of which I'll leave to your imagination! Poor David had just discovered what Ted had come to know early on that week: if one were strongly opposed to hearing occasional profanity, they shouldn't ski with me!
After I was comfortably sitting on two skis again, we began the home stretch. As we worked our way forward on a "not downhill" nearing the end of the course, the cheering of the distant crowd caught my attention. "I can do this," I kept telling myself, even though the hardest part of that whole trail was still to come. "Just breathe slow and easy, and keep doing what you've been doing all week." The monologue in my head continued as the last little bit of going got harder and harder; the hill so steep that I was practically reclining in my sit-ski, my effort focused on pacing myself so I could have the strong finish I wanted. Finally, with one last stroke of the poles and guidance from Ted, we crossed the finish line. The cheering was loud in my ears as we received our medals, and as I got out of my ski. "Great job!" Ted said. "You rocked!" I responded. I was so giddy that I found myself giggling helplessly at intermittent intervals, and grinning like an idiot for the next couple hours.
That afternoon, packing for the trip home (which is a story in its own right), I took a minute to savor the feel of the medal I'd received before folding it carefully in a bundle of clothes. It meant as much to me as any award I could recall winning. We'd done some amazing teamwork, and the snowflake-shaped medal would be a tangible reminder not only of race-day weather conditions, but that feeling this good about something I'd worked hard for was possible.
After the awards ceremony, I wanted to thank my guide somehow for making it such an enjoyable, productive, spirited week. The only thing I could think to say was awkwardly sappy, and solidly true: "It's been years since I've met anyone who knew how to bring the best out of me, and you did." As we made our way from the dining hall to the building that housed important things (like our rooms and the bar), my musings were punctuated by the squeaky crunch of boots in the snow, and the distant sounds of talking and laughter. "I can't wait for next year," I thought. "After all, if I can ski in this, I can ski in anything!"
Despite all the brutal ski conditions during this SFL week, I'm sure that this Snow Mountain Ranch Epic will live on in our memories for quite a few years. Once again most, if not all, participants did either the Race or Rally and never gave up (tracks or no tracks). More than one newer guide came up and told me what a wonderful time they had!
So, does adversity bring us closer together? I think so! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank ABSOLUTELY everyone in the SFL family for the part they played in my fabulous Snow Mountain Ranch Epic this year. Do you know that we've never had so many people consistently up for early A.M. Yoga and Stretching? I already look forward to seeing ALL of you in Provo next year!!!
And now, stay tuned for all the details about Ski for Light 2012. For all the latest information, you can check out the Ski for Light website; you can also join one or both of the Ski for Light e-mail lists; you will find instructions for joining on the website.
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