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.

The Beginning

Hey Colorado Biathlon,

As your only club member on the World Cup (though I fully expect this to change any year now- I'm looking at you, Walter), I'm trying to keep you all up to speed on my doings, so you can make sure I'm representing you appropriately.

I just landed back in our colorful state last night, fresh in from Jericho and Lake Placid, and a brutal test week with U.S. Biathlon.  The sharpness is back in the air, the light has turned from the softer yellow of summer to the whiter, harsher light of fall.  I have been away from Colorado too long, and September has already passed.

What I like about fall is all of its beginnings.  Boulder exists quite independent of our university, and most of my daily life no longer interacts with it. Still though, the 30,000 students who return for the semester changes the cadence of the city.  This I love. 

Education is a lifelong process. It is accelerated by the halls of great universities, and slowed by the grinding repetition of life itself. Fall will always be the start of a fresh round of learning, from the youngest children to the oldest professors. Education is the very foundation on which humanity stands. In many places in our union it is crumbling and it is faulty, but still it stands. It is the nature of humans to learn, it is why we came into being and why we build great cities, create beautiful artwork, accomplish great feats, love, hope, and dream. 

To some people, fall is colors, the rising dark, and the cold of rain. To me, looking down from my balcony at the matching roofs of our state's flagship university, it is a new beginning.  It is passed from the old generation to the new, whether forcibly or voluntarily, whether in the classroom, the practices of professionals, or out in the open air.  It is a time of introspection, because in the end, no one can teach you to grow, or change, or learn. These things you must do yourself, and it is your duty, your honor, your heritage, and your privilege to do so. 

After attending this University for the last six years, I have less than ten photos of it.  How sad is that? 

She (Ralphie, the buffalo) faces East because Nebraska used to be our big rival, but I guess now she's just catching the sunrise.  This was about 20 minutes before I gave myself a nasty shoulder injury on the bench press that's still healing.  All I think when I see this is,  DON'T GO TO THE GYM, YOU IDIOT.

I told you I looked down on campus.

That's probably not what you wanted to hear from me.  You wanted me to tell you what test week is, and all the secrets of USBA training (so you can outshoot Lowell next year), and what Susan's favorite color is, is it true that it's always hot and wet in Jericho (yes!), and Joanne, do you REALLY have a naked lady on your rifle? 

See, it's not as blasphemous as you thought.

Test week is a whole bunch of intervals, rollerski time trials, running time trials, biathlon time trials, shooting tests, shooting drills, and general mayhem.  Jennie Bender and I did some brutal intervals up the toll road on Whiteface Mountain before it even started, and then pretended we weren't tired at all. 

Jennie: Joanne, do a superman pose.  Me: Looks indecisive instead.

We ran up some huge hill (Jennie won).  We rollerskied up some not very long hill (Jennie and I tied), we did a mini-biathlon time trial (I won), we shot at things (Maddie definitely won), then we went to Jericho for a full length time trial (Susan finally showed up and made us all look pathetic).  Guess what? I cleaned some stages!

It was wet.

Be brave!

-Joanne

P.S. I started a gofundme for my commuting back and forth between Colorado and Lake Placid, a lifestyle choice that USBA isn't overly thrilled about.  I haven't decided if that's an appropriate fundraising reason. But really.... our state is better, right?

https://www.gofundme.com/JFiresteel