Football, random pictures of Canmore, and links to more interesting things

So many times I have been asked what it was like to with an NCAA title, and so many times I have been asked where I think I'm taking the sport of biathlon, how long I'll stay, what I'm hoping to achieve.  This is my answer to both questions, in a long, drawn-out monologue.  

What I like about football is energy. Energy and fluidity. I know football is a "boring" American sport with a lot of stops and go's and changing of teams, but it is deeply fluid at its base. Four tries to go 10 yards. In essence, an extremely simple game, in practice a complex one. Momentum is a powerful force of nature, and momentum is the strongest force of football. A team driving forward, fighting to the last man to gain that last yard builds momentum.  And the fan base catches the momentum of the team and turns it to energy. Energy, in turn, drives more momentum. 

Consider the home of the Seattle Seahawks. The twelfth man of the Seattle Seahawks is their fan base. Eleven players on the field, and one measurably, scientifically deafening roar. The twelfth man is so loud that the actual decibel level in their home stadium is just barely under that of the deck of an active aircraft carrier.  The Seahawks so honored their beloved twelfth man that the number 12 is borne only on fan jerseys, and never on the field. Their gift in return? Energy. Ferocious, unbridled, passionate energy which aids the momentum of their beloved team. 

This I feel when I enter the active football stadium of my alma mater. I rarely (never) watched a game as an undergrad, but I always drifted by the chaos around and in the stadium just to witness it.  This is the case of any stadium of any sport with fans who love it. The absolute and overpowering passion makes the stadium electric. 

If I enter a stadium full of 10,000 Colorado Buffaloes, I feel who I am. The times I fought for my brothers and sisters in the black and gold echo within the roar. My path has turned away from being totally surrounded and immersed in University culture, living and breathing academia and team competition.  But I am still the person who did those things, who I am now was shaped by what I did then. And 10,000 people dressed in black, on their feet in salute of our real live buffalo who tramples the very grass of the football field, has a way of slamming that reminder into your face like an knockout punch. 

It is odd to look back. If I choose to give, I give my whole self. If you had cut me open, I would have truly bled black and gold.  For the eleven other members competing on the NCAA team, I would have done anything.  For those left behind, I would have done everything. 

What was it like to win an NCAA championship? This is what it was like. Six alpine skiers watching from the sides, exhausted. Their battle was over.  Three Norwegian men, clad in the Colorado black, silently watchful. Their battle was yet to come. Two of my sisters, next to me at the start. Our battle was now. I was the twelfth man.  I had a Buffalo sister at each shoulder.  Their gift to me? Energy.  

I didn't win because I needed to win, I won because they needed me to win. I simply became one name in a long legacy and history that stretches back before I was born and will continue on for decades.  Those were my brothers and sisters, my acquired family and my adopted heritage. All I could give them in this moment was a single victory, and lay it at their feet in offering. So I did. Those three Norwegians, it was their turn to go. My gift to them? Momentum. 

I don't exactly know where I'm going, but I know who I am, and where I was. Surely that is what is most important.  No one is their worst race any more than they are their best race, which is a truth few like to face.  You are simply the average of your races, barring outliers.  That's the mathematician in me.  The athlete in me has no other thought than a promise to give, to give my whole self until the numbers of the race results reflect what I believe I am capable of.  To do something so well that I can say I mastered it, and then, like my mother before me, turn down a new road with new challenges.  But most importantly, do it joyously, passionately, and with integrity.  

If you just can't get enough of my dithering on, you can find me on Fasterskier Here and the BNS magazine Here . 

 And without further ado, here's a whole bunch of pictures from Canmore in no particular order.

If you follow Susan Dunklee this'll be a repeat, but it was the best picture I took all camp.

Clare and I spent our off day in Calgary, and I wandered over to a park

Hanging out with the newest member of the Biathlon family, Ophelia Bailey

Clare and sports psychologist Sean McCann teaching Ophelia how to adjust for wind

Susan LOVES hiking, and here we are scaling the first mountain of the day

This was before I was totally exhausted,
because we got to the bottom and Susan goes: hey, let's climb that mountain too!

And so we did

Because we can

Two days ago at SMR- holy smokes it was hot out.  Trying to get my prone shooting under 30 seconds,
with moderate success- I'm plateauing at about 29.

Canmore

Hi CBC,

It was eighty degrees when I left Colorado.  Packing for on-snow skiing when you've spent the last couple days with your air conditioning on and avoiding working out in the middle of the day is a weird feeling, one I haven't had often since I ventured out of the great state of California.

The Lady Fortune and me chilling on my front balcony.
It was actually too hot to be wearing this long sleeve shirt,
but the orange is too lovely to pass up

United delayed my flight (surprise), so I spent two hours sitting outside in the sunshine, watching the strange new artwork of the Denver airport, which has finished its new transit center and added "artwork."  Look at those klister scrapers billowing in the breeze...

But I get ahead of myself.  Remember my rear sight acting up?  Turns out that isn't super uncommon.  In flew the cavalry.

When your bullets are stuck on the left side and won't move right.

The Oppligers (Team Oppliger Biathlon) are close family friends from Houghton,
 and one of my major biathlon catalysts

My dad decided on Friday that he was showing up on a plane Saturday morning, so suddenly he was there.  Rather than tangle with my rear sight and its newly acquired attitude problem, we decided to swap it out entirely, and analyze the part later.  Apparently sometimes sights don't appreciate you asking them for clicks, and therefore just don't bother to move.  Mine actually had a major wobble where the aperture is inserted into the sight.  Odds are that I, the Human Hammer, as my dad has thus titled me, probably whacked it somehow.  I also whacked my snow cover, speaking of.

Human Hammer at SMR, wooden firing line vs. snow cover

I also became the new owner of this sweet one piece "whale tale," courtesy of my talented mother.  Yeah, my mom is cool enough to mold my rail and butthooks, and then recreate them in carbon fiber wrapped wood.

After some drilling and tapping, more drilling and tapping, reinforcing, stabilizing, and gluing, the required visit to McGuckin Hardware (greatest hardware store ever?) my dad flew out again on Sunday.  No daughter of his was going to go cavorting around the world with a wobbly cheekpiece.  How awesome is he?

What I would like to know, if any of you guys have done this, is if this Anschütz nameplate can be removed.  It's heavy and it's metal, and it's advertising a company that I had to give money to.  So really, why keep it?

this is actually Clare's new action-
 she swapped over to the sprint barrel

So delayed United flight notwithstanding, I arrived in Calgary and caught a ride with the rest of the team to Canmore.  We decided to go to Canmore because they have this early season situation they call "frozen thunder," where they take stored snow from the previous year, and roll it out on top of woodchips.  So yeah, we got on snow on October 25th- how cool is that?

If you haven't been to Canmore, I recommend you go.  Encircled by Canadian Rockies, bisected by the Bow River, and just to the southwest of the border of Banff National Park, Canmore is lovely.  I do recognize that everyone can't just spend their time traipsing about in pursuit of snow, but I imagine in the summer this place is even lovelier.  I would like to declare this one of the loveliest places I've ever been.

I present my argument as follows.

The rarely-captured smile of the elusive Russell Currier

Leif disappearing up the road to Lake Moraine.
This is actually natural snow, up higher in the mountains in Banff

The range on intensity day, otherwise known as:
get your butt mostly kicked by Susan Dunklee day

So, we spent Halloween here.  And between the three of us, Clare drew the most laughs.  Can't see her in the picture?  She actually is wearing a fake mustache and sporting a Ukrainian suit.  To get that, she actually went over to their hotel, used google translate and pantomime to try to explain Halloween, and managed to acquire the goods for that costume.  The Ukrainians were so excited by this they spent the whole day (which was interval day, mind you), cheering for her, and in one case actually pushing her uphill.  When they saw us taking the photos, they came over to join in.

But really, the best way to suffer through intervals is to follow Susan Dunklee's fake grass skirt around the ski trails.  In case you were wondering, our coaches were of course THRILLED that we showed up to intensity decked out in ridiculous attire and taking ourselves overly seriously.

#squad

There was too much snow to classic rollerski (oh darn),
so we suffered through this beautiful run instead

Susan really wanted to climb this rock, so she did

Susan and I just finished some of the slushiest, sloppiest intervals I've ever done (it was over fifty degrees and we were skiing on post-race snow), so I'm off to go faceplant on the couch.


-Joanne