The Nordic Exploits of TeamNJS

Rollerskiing in the US is viewed more as an “off-season training tool” than a sport in its own right. As a result, sanctioned rollerski races tend to be a rarity. However, NENSA (New England Nordic Skiing Association) is trying to change the second-class status of rollerskiing with its Summer Rollerski Series.  

 

This marks the second year of the NENSA series. Last year’s inaugural season attracted some serious competitors, including Eli Enman, Kris Freeman, and Andrew Johnson. The NENSA races are sponsored by V2/Jenex which has donated evenly-matched rollerskis for the top athletes to race on. This feature forces parity and allows competitors to gauge their training progress against that of rival skiers. In a way, this irritatingly continues the “training tool” focus of American rollerskiing. However, NENSA also allows (and encourages) entrants to “run what you brung” on rollerskis of their own choosing. Thus, a plebian athlete on hopped-up rollerskis (like myself) has a fighting chance to hang with the big dogs (at least for the first few kilometers).  

 

The first race of this year's NENSA series was held in Chittenden, Vermont on an uphill course that climbs 1000 feet over a distance of about 11k (check out Andy’s profile map in the July 1, 2008 post). This was my first rollerski race and I was REALLY looking forward to it. If you follow this blog, I’m sure you noticed the various things we’ve been doing in preparation (training climbs of death, speed-infused rollerskis, etc.). With all of the anticipation, the fact that I totally screwed up the race stings even more than it normally would. 


TeamNJS in in pre-race warm-up mode.

 

The race plan was simple: Andy and I would push each other through the first 8k, and then engage in a death-brawl up the evil 3k climb that concludes the race. I warmed-up with pride in my official “TeamNJS” shirt and everything seemed to be in place when we were called to the start. As the countdown entered the final 10 seconds, a race official asked whether I was going to wear my “TeamNJS” shirt over my race bib. CRAP!! Like a total idiot, I had forgotten to take my warm-up shirt off!! 


Just prior to the start.  Note "Genius" with warm-up shirt still on.

 

I managed to un-strap my poles and remove the shirt just as the starter yelled “GO!” I started to free-skate and figured that strapping my poles back on wouldn’t be a big deal. Unfortunately, it would turn into a nightmare. I was using new poles with straps that were different than what I was used to. I got one pole on quickly enough, but in my haste, the other pole’s velcro strap came out of its retaining loop. Getting the strap back together on the fly was like threading a needle in a hurricane. Meanwhile, I kept thinking, “THIS is why you don’t try out new equipment on race-day.” 

 

Andy briefly hung back waiting for me to get myself together, but wisely abandoned the idea after recognizing the futility of my efforts. By the time I finally got my poles sorted out, the pack was more than 100 meters in front of me and the women racers (who started right behind us) were breathing down my neck.


Andy fixin' to put a beat-down on this guy...

 

After that, the race is mostly a blur. I spent most of it racing with some stragglers who fell from the men’s pack. I also spent some time pulling the group of incredibly talented women racers who entered the event. For a while, I seemed to be catching the men’s pack, but I never got close enough to mount a serious challenge.

 

Before long, I came to the final 3k and the course went steeply uphill. I was determined NOT to stop, but that determination would lead to my downfall. About a quarter of the way up the climb, I hit the wall harder than I ever have before. Before long, I had to stop – not because I wanted to, but because I literally HAD to. It was a strange experience. At times, I was stumbling like a drunk and wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to get going again. Mentally, I was still able to push myself, but physically, I was destroyed. 


Me struggling up the final climb.

 

Slowly but surely, no matter how hard I struggled, I got caught and passed by everyone behind me. I tried so hard to stay out of last place, but less than 1k from the top, I heard the safety truck creep up behind me as the final competitor went by with the following words of advice: “You made it this far, so you might as well keep going.”  I literally wanted to die. Eventually, I slogged my failed body across the finish line. Needless to say, I had nothing left. 
 

Bringing up the rear with the safety truck (though I like to think
of it as the "TeamNJS Support Vehicle")

I’ve somehow managed to finish DEAD LAST in the last two races that I completed (the Lake Placid Loppet being the other). This sort of reminds me of the definition of “insanity” (doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result). Of course, training-wise, I’m not doing the same thing as last year and I realize that this is a process. Also, given the difficulty of the Chittenden course and the strength of the competition, I realize that I may have bitten off a bit more than I could chew. In any event, despite the disastrous result of my first rollerski race, I can’t wait for the next NENSA event in August. 


The agony of defeat (I'm sure that belly helped a lot).