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.