Running in a Winter Wonderland, in snowshoes!

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about the Jeremy Wright North American Snowshoe Championships snowshoe race on March 6, 2011, in Beaver Creek, Colorado.

I was in Colorado in March, and a major snowshoe race was taking place at the resort where I was skiing. I like to run. I like activities with the potential for cold toes. Perfect. I was in pretty good shape this winter, yet I had never snowshoed before. How hard could it be? It wasn’t dangerous. What did I have to lose? Wouldn’t it be a nice break from skiing? Why of course! And so I entered the Jeremy Wright North American Snowshoe Championships snowshoe race.

The March 6 race was the last of three in the Beaver Creek Snowshoe Adventure Series, the winner of which would be crowned North American Snowshoe champion. The series boasted a $15,000 purse and attracted world-class snowshoe racers from across the country, including many accomplished trail runners and mountain athletes (like Josiah Middaugh, Bernie Boettcher, Peter Maksimow, Brandy Erholz, Travis Macy, to name a few). The races were held at McCoy Park, a beautiful Nordic area with miles of trails for snowshoers and crosscountry skiers perched at 10,000 feet. The 10K race was filled with serious competitors, but the more casual 5K race made a point of welcoming the rest of us.

Snow was falling fast in thick tufts on race day, after several inches of powder had blanketed the mountain the night before. We rode up a ski lift to the start and hunkered in the warming hut, filled with everything familiar to a runner: shelves of drop bags, racers suiting up, tables filled with bananas, cookies, energy bars, Gatorade, hot tea, and cocoa. The snowshoers were a friendly bunch to hang out with, and I was surprised that there were three times as many women as men in the 5K.

There are many types of terrain-specific snowshoes, and I took advantage of the free running demos offered at the site. Typical running snowshoes have aluminum frames, are about 7–8 inches wide and 22–25 inches long, and have crampon-like teeth that bite into the snow for traction. My snowshoes were about 1.5 pounds each, and I wore trail running shoes with them. Like every snowshoe, they sink a little, and so you drag some snow with every step. Hence the going is slow, and it’s very much a strength activity: a quad-burning, lung-searing, heart-pounding workout, especially if you’re not acclimatized to the high altitude. How nice.

McCoy Park offered breathtaking views of three different mountain ranges, but they were invisible through the fog of heavy snow. Trails wound up and down, through meadows, thick pine forests, and aspen groves typical of the Rocky Mountains. The course comprised groomed snow (tilled by a snow cat), single-track, and off-track sections (called powder zones). I heard that at some points along the 10K course, the women had to branch off from the men and run a separate path so that their leaders had to break their own trail. Otherwise, the leading women would be following the tracks of the top men. No one is spared.

More than 350 racers competed in both races, and we all started at the same time, with a gradual ascent that very quickly separated the seasoned snowshoe athletes from the rest of us. The race began with a gradual ascent up a groomed section. Even the groomed surface had plenty of snow on it, and as I started to run, the snow kicked up behind me, throwing it onto my backside. Within the first half mile, I was already reduced to walking. I had plenty of company.

Running in snowshoes requires launching up and forward, lifting each foot so it clears the snow and adjusting your gait so that your snowshoe doesn’t whack into your other leg. The motion becomes especially exaggerated in fresh snow. The time to run was on the downhills, but these were tricky because you had to maintain your balance. Your foot is not striking a predictable surface, and in areas of fluffy snow, you don’t get much traction. In the singletrack sections, you found yourself running in a narrow trench, compressed by the footfalls from those ahead of you. Losing your balance could mean planting yourself. If this sounds dangerous, though, it’s not. Again, we’re talking about slomo and soft landings.

Most of the pack I was with trudged the uphills, jogged and then briskly walked the flats, and trotted the downhills. Very little talking took place. The snow absorbed most sound beyond one’s own cocoon—a world of labored breaths and muffled crunching of snowshoes packing snow crystals. Beaver Creek’s tagline is “Not Exactly Roughing It,” but here we were.

Near the end, I could hear music booming and a voice announcing the name of each finisher. As I kicked it into gear for a “strong finish,” I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline, which gave way to a flood of happiness as I crossed the finish line. I was the 59th female in the 5K with a time of 1:03:41. The first place female for the 10K did it in 1:02:11.

Better technique and lots of practice will improve my snowshoeing. And no doubt, adding snowshoeing to the mix will improve my running. Next winter, when the snows return to Illinois, instead of heading out on the slippery streets and partially shoveled sidewalks, I’ll be strapping on my new set of snowshoes and reliving my Rocky Mountain high.

Lessons learned from a short race

I ran the Buffalo Trace race on Saturday. This is on the same course that I run every Thursday. The Thursday before, I was reduced to walking a good part of the way. I was just beat from running that week, including a Burrito Loco run.

Note for those unfamiliar with the Burrito Loco run. We have moon runs on the Buffalo Trace trail every month under a full moon. We run the course backwards from usual, by moonlight, usually starting around 9 pm. If you bring a light of any kind, you will be ridiculed. We have fun runs at Meadowbrook every Tuesday. If a full moon happens to be on a Tuesday, it's a throwdown for the Burrito Loco. You run to fun run, then hop on over to El Toro II, where you must consume a Burrito Loco and a minimum of two bears, then drive to Mahomet for the moon run. I did not go to El Toro (due to a bathroom remodel at home, I opted to take a shower at my gym, to at least get the first layer of grime off), but I did consume the required two beers.

Okay, so I've gotten complacent about short runs, which to me are now anything less than about 5 miles. Funny how that line gets moved the more you hang out with the Buffalo, our trailrunning group composed mostly of ultrarunners and their peculiar friends. I came in second (age group, of course) last time I ran it , which was year before last. Last year, I sat out due to a calf tear. The woman I was runner-up to was not running it this year. Plus, a herd member threatened to nickname me Baseball if I didn't beat a certain runner, whose nickname is Slugger (as in Louisville). So I did want to run it. But still, I did not prepare properly.

Here's how: For breakfast, I had coffee and fresh pineapple. That's it.

I ran a fast pace in the beginning and I thought I'd lose it, but it felt comfortable and I kept it up until... mile 4.5 or so, finish line practically in sight, crowd noise crystal clear. My friend B. had already passed me about half a mile ago and was going to take first. That was never a doubt. But then I heard heavy female breathing down my neck. Convinced I was going to be saddled with the shame of being called Baseball, I picked up the pace. Alas, it was too early to do so, as I would find out. I began to heave with every step. I slowed it down only to be passed by someone decades younger than I. I should have run my race on my own terms. Things were getting worse and I had to come to a complete halt, bend over, and puke my brains out. Coffee and pineapple.

"As I lay dying," at least eight people passed me, including --- no doubt --- the woman who would take second. I took third and retained my non-nickname.

Lessons learned (I hope): Run the race on my own terms at my own pace. Kick it up only when close to the finish (I'm still figuring out the equation involving the variables p=pace, t-zero=time to start running faster, n-heave=number of heaves per set distance, t-puke=time to puke, d=distance to finish line). Eat smart: standard carb breakfast (bread) with low acid fruit (banana) and less coffee. Adjust attitude: Running a short distance is a big deal if you run it faster than you're used to, and just because you run a course every week doesn't mean you know anything!