I'm not really sure why, but I decided to ski Nordic Meisters this week. I guess it was a combination of peer pressure and the nice weather that I didn't listen to the little voice that was saying, "You have a bit of a cold. Skiing aggravates the pain in your leg. And, you have to run 10 miles at a not completely slow pace on Sunday. So, you should stay inside, dumbass." Yeah, that voice. I didn't listen. And, predictably, the result was less than stellar. I didn't ski well: flail-o-rama. I didn't feel great: pant n' wheeze-o-rama. And, I got smoked. However, I don't think I did any further damage. I don't feel any more sick, and, thanks to the massage from Shannon yesterday, my leg feels fine. Tight, but fine. So, I'm only 3 races away from qualifying for the prize raffle in which I will win socks. I always win socks. Yay, skiing.
I knew this before, but I've decided that ski racing is dumb. Skiing for me is just like golf. I don't play much golf, but I'm comfortable enough to go play with anyone when they suggest it. I generally hit a few good shots that draw oohs and ahs from the crowd, but I'm not lighting it up. I'm not embarrassing out there. If I tried to play in a tournament, though, I'd get laughed at. I could reach a tournament level, but I'm not going to put in the extra 15-20 hours a week to work on my swing. Skiing is just like that. Want to go for an easy ski? Sure, and I'll even look like I know what I'm doing. Put me in a race situation, even a small pond, and I get crushed because I'm not going to put in the extra 15-20 hours a week I need to work on my technique. And, I'm OK with that. As long as I get socks. But, it's still dumb.
So, the not taper continues tomorrow with snow shoveling. Oooh, cross training.
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