IN THE ARENA WITH TORIN

Billy Mills '68: The Most Inspiring Movie Out There?

2012-01-14T04:50:00.000-08:00

Way back in 1998, I ran at the U.S. short course national cross country championships. There, I got to meet Mr. Mills. It was like meeting royalty. Watch, and maybe see why.

D8

2012-01-08T15:16:00.000-08:00

New Article: The Sweet Science of Skiing

2011-12-30T12:20:00.000-08:00

Penned for SkiTrax Magazine: Visit SkiTrax Here

Riding the cable car up, up, up high into the high Austrian air to the Dachstein Glacier for the first time, I get the feeling Garrison Keillor echoes on his News from Lake Wobegon when he says “All the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.” Packed six tight into the tiny aluminum tin, you can’t help but look around and think all the young women around you are strong and good-looking and above average. Here, though, this isn’t some Lake Wobegon effect – our universal, natural tendency to overestimate one’s capabilities. Rather on that first ride up to the Dachstein Glacier, you know this is the big leagues. For good reason. Standing shoulder to shoulder to Axel Teichmann, Timmy Tschanke, or Justyna Kowalczyk, one gets the very real sense they are no longer skiing in the sandlot.

As a sometime writer, mornings begin with my mind wondering off to write stories about the people I meet. One morning it’s about the fifteen-year-old Finnish girl with her father and the improbably tall Thomas Algaard. It’s then when it hits me: the three of us – all of us, really – are writing our own unique chapters to the same book on our love affair with skiing. That same morning, the clouds and the setting and the sunrise are just perfect. Fortunately, I have my Canon G9 camera tucked away in the backpack with the change of clothes, Bartlett pear and thermos full of chalky chocolate flavored recovery drink. I snap the picture and send it off to the world.

When I get back to the hotel just over two hours later, former American World Cupper Dan Simoneau (World Cup Best: 2nd; 7th 1983 World Cup Overall) has left a message. Simoneau’s terse prose reads like poetry. “Great photo, Torin. I'm jealous that you are skiing on snow that has so many drops of gold medal sweat. Rub it well. Throw some over your shoulder. Burn some to the Gods. But most importantly, melt it with hard work, focus, and determination. I believe.” Reading these words the first time sends a shiver down my spine. I know what Dan says is true.

I’ve been to the area many times before, though only in the heart of winter. The Ramsau trails wind through valley, canyon and race loops from the 1999 World Championships for a total of 180 kilometers. I could easily work for the town’s media department: I wouldn’t trade one day of skiing Ramsau for anywhere else.

And yet somehow, coming to Ramsau in October is even more special. Maybe it’s because for most, October is the toughest time of the training year. You are still putting in big hours. You are a little sick of the dryland. There really isn’t any good or consistent skiing yet. As a racer you have the itch – and a little bit of anxious anticipation – to get on with the season, and visit with those friends for whom you only seem to meet up with along the trails.

Getting into Ramsau, I flew to Munich then took the train to a tiny town in Germany where I meet up with Swiss National Teamers Mauro Gruber, Eligious Tambornino, and Martin Jaeger, sprint specialists all. Over the next two weeks, I will meet up with the Swiss athletes from time to time, though rarely for the same on-snow workout. This can be chalked up to the sweet science of cross-country ski training. The Swiss athlete’s are in specific race sharpening training for the race season’s start, coming in two week’s time. The Swiss athletes also don’t believe in doing anything except low intensity long distance training on the glacier, due to its altitude 2700M (8,370ft). Instead, they distance ski in the mornings on Dachstein, then do intensity or strength or speed in the valley below. What they miss out on in real-snow feel they feel they make up in spades with the faster movements of speedy Marwe rollerskis with the low resistance zero wheels.

For Ramsau, I’m joining up with a Norwegian team comprised from the seven small towns that border the hills around Lillehammer. These Norwegians from Team Sjusjoen are more distance-oriented and believe in getting on-snow twice a day. Unlike the Swiss or the Germans, they believe in the trade-off of doing controlled threshold intensity at this high altitude. Most days I ski with the young up-and-comer Simen Sveen. You haven’t heard of him before, but you will soon enough. As a twenty-two year old in med school, Simen was 3rd in the Norwegian Cup Series and 4th at the Norwegian National 50 kilometer.

Simen’s motivation is the kind you rarely see. The young up and comer has just tasted success. He can only see himself getting better and achieving more in the ski tracks. The longer someone can keep this feeling burning bright inside their emotional engine can say more than technique or tactics or V02 max test scores. Right now, all are headed up, up, up for Mr. Simen. It is a wordless spectacle in itself. Like all extreme but perishable actions, watching skier find their inspiration, excites the writer. It also burnishes his instinct to bear witness.

It’s not altoghether different than slide down the window on the cable car, sticking your head out into the cold alpine air and breathe in the oxygen, the sights, and the opportunities that lie ahead for you. If you have the chance to ski the Dachstein, take it. Your love affair with skiing will only go stronger. Just remember that in this little corner of the world all the women really are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.

World Cup Eurosport Video Links

2011-12-24T15:11:00.001-08:00

With Universal Sports no longer showing World Cup ski videos to the U.S. intelligentsia this season, I've found a site that is. It just might be worth a look.

Subscribe to World Cup Ski Videos to get the latest action at: http://www.youtube.com/user/WorldCupSkiVideos?ob=video-mustangbase

Rogla Skate Sprint: Part I

Rogla Skate Sprint: Part II

Rogla Skate Sprint: Part III (Men's and Women's A Finals)

Heading Home

2011-12-17T20:46:00.000-08:00

After the ski racing scene made a stop in British Columbia's SilverStar Mountain, I headed six hours south down the Okanogan Valley to my old stomping grounds to the Wenatchee Valley. Highway 97 might not have the most recognizable name, but traveling the two lane road takes you through some of the finest agricultural country in the west. It's always interesting to head through mostly rural, largely geographically isolated towns, like those that trade in names such as Pintecton, Oroville, Brewster or Chela, where signs from a different era and brick storefronts replace the Chevron's and Golden Arches. The locales have a little more presence, a little more personality and I suspect reflect more the life people live there.

Heading home, though, has not brought an end to the mostly snowless winter. Snow is patchy at best. The first day I hit the trails I couldn't head to my familiar haunts like the little Ski Hill in Leavenworth or trails that meander along the Wenatchee River. That first day I skied the first day in an alfalfa field, rolled with an Arctic Cat snowmobile in Plain, Washington. For the meager amount of snow, and limited terrain, the skiing wasn't more than what one could expect. Also, it's always interesting to skate and glide in some new locale. That the Plain ski venue in the alfalfa fields sits next to the only road I've ever seen the backseat of a Crown Vic for - for rollerskiing outside the fogline up Beaver Hill - brought back some remembrances.

Getting back home also gave me the chance to catch up with Mr. Peck and his 5th grade class. With Chrismas Break now upon them, and the schoolwork assignments giving way to Christmas parties, the girls have told me they think I am their lucky rabbit's foot. It's been great to get back in the classroom - especially that I finished my own finals for the university learning - to catch up with Mr. Peck and connect with the kids. Yes, the days in Pacific Northwest are the perfect place to be, even if I wouldn't mind for a few more snowflakes to fall any day yet.

Until the next time. -T*

Park City to West Yellowstone to Bozeman, Montana

2011-12-04T21:27:00.000-08:00

The last days have been a bit of a whirlwind. Packing up the stuff of my life into boxes and moving out of my apartment.

Right after this, the racing got under way just on the outskirts of the Yellowstone National Park, the traditional opening spot for the sport in America. It'd been since all the way back in 2005 since I'd made an appearance in West. Heading back there reminded me of some of those earlier ski racing days from the days since past.

From there, it was off to my adopted team home of Bozeman, Montana for the second installment of the US Supertour. Despite still being pretty heavy - not necessarily on the bathroom scale but in the muscles - I got the quick twitch muscles firing enough for the second 2nd place in the sprint scene following the "Sprint Showdown" in West Yellowstone. Pretty much the coolest thing about the races was the hard work the race volunteers of Bozeman put in to make the race even happen. 50 degree days leading up to the races made for some hard labor of moving snow around the course. My hat goes off to the BSF crew for making even making it possible that we could race.

After a couple more days in Montana, Leif Zimmerman and a crew of other BSF athletes will light off for SilverStar, Canada and take on the Canadians on their home soil for a change.

After all this, it'll be back to visit the family for the holidays. Looking forward to a little time back in the old country and to say hi to my 5th grade class in Leavenworth taught by Mr. Peck. Should be good times.

Finally, I have to give a bon chapeau to my girlfriend for first making her way back to the big show by winning both Swiss qualifying races in Davos last weekend, then coming up even bigger on the World Cup in Dusseldorf, Germany where she left with a 4th and 15th for the weekend's efforts. Nothing like starting the off going better than ever. Maybe I should try that sometime. Least I know who to ask! All Best. Until next time. -T*

Best Ad in Some Time: Stockholm Open

2011-11-17T15:14:00.000-08:00

Baby Mac losing his cool while rocking a Swedish accent. Re-imagining Bjorn Borg and Arthur Ashe as uber-cool 8 year olds beside the baseline. Djokovik and his ball antics. Soderling pouting. Oh, those crafty Swedes.

The Final Movie, Now Back to the Books. And the Rollers.

2011-10-29T18:51:00.000-07:00

Last Day on the Dachstein

2011-10-22T04:21:00.001-07:00

Title #12, Sweetest of them all for Park City Miner XC?

2011-10-20T04:20:00.000-07:00

From the Deseret News By Steve Mundee
SALT LAKE CITY — Considering that Park City has now won nine out of the past 10 state titles in cross country it sounds weird to say that the Miners were surprised to win the title again this year. However, that is the case with nationally ranked, No. 13 Ogden, competing.

"Nobody believed we could do it. I'm not even sure I believed it," said Park City coach Jeff Wyant. "These girls rose up."

Wyant has led the Miners to 12 total state titles during his tenure at Park City, but says that this year was one of the sweetest because they weren't expected to win the race. Wyant is also quick to credit the athletes for the program's continued strength.

"We train hard and we've been lucky getting girls who want to win," he said.

Alisse Walker and Annie Orr finished ninth and 10th, respectively. All seven Park City runners finished in the top 20, and they all finished within a 34-second window.

Ogden's team fell to third place, behind Pine View.

However, the Tigers saw athletes finish one and two individually in the race. Jamie Stokes took first place by a comfortable margin with teammate Sarah Feeny crossing the line next.

"It's been my goal for a long time," said Stokes. "I can't believe it actually happened."

She was the leader for nearly the entire race, winning with a 23-second margin.

"I didn't want to leave the race up to chance," she said.

3A Boys

Ogden edged Park City to grab their first state title since 2007.

"There is not a senior in the group, and they were hungry," said Ogden coach Dan Hall.

The Tigers were comprised of two juniors, three sophomores, and a freshman. When asked the secret for getting such a young team ready to compete so effectively coach Hall said, "It's work ethic; they want it."

Ogden wanted it so much the boys have been talking for weeks about championship rings and telling Hall that they are going to give him a Gatorade bath. Hall finished his comments by saying that the boys' victory was a relief and that "it was a sweet comeback" after the disappointing meet the girls team endured.

Ben Saarel of Park City finished first place in what he called a "crazy race," but had nothing but compliments for Jordon Cross, the second-place finisher from Ogden.

"Gross is an incredible runner and a great pace-setter," said Saarel. "He ran an incredible race."

Saarel's strategy was to hang with Cross for the majority of the race and overtake him towards the end, which worked to perfection.

###

Congrats to the Miners. Look forward to getting in a few runs before Footlocker Regionals... -Torin

Life at the Dachstein

2011-10-16T02:00:00.000-07:00

You know how people talk about where they work? Well, not too many places can compare to the last days at the Dachstein. Might have something to do with snow, sun, and the place being a part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site, a place 'forming the cultural and natural heritage of the world.'

The Austrian Alps are pretty crazy. Ramsau as a ski destination ranks at the top of my list. Now getting up in the morning and hopping on the 7:50 gondola that carries me to 2,700 meters to ski on the Dachstein glacier only confirms this.

I'm here with Team Sjusjoen. The vibe with the group is ideal. Everyday and every workout has a purpose and we're doing some real good work. At the same time, the mood and mileau is relaxed, encouraging, and really loving the opportunity we have here in Ramsau am Dachstein.

Team Sjusjoen Arrives at the Dachstein

2011-10-10T04:29:00.000-07:00

Team Sjusjoen arrived just in time for the big snows and wind atop the Dachstein Glacier. We've been here for two days and have another two weeks here living high in the Austrian Alps. It's going to be a great camp...

Other Kinds o' Racing

2011-10-05T17:07:00.000-07:00

Bike Magazine / Porsche Willow Springs Duathlon from Bike magazine on Vimeo.

I just finished a hi intensity training block... it's going to snow tomorrow in Park City. That should make cc practice with the high school interesting... heading to Austria in two days... yada, yada, yada. Why can't cross country skiers get in on this kind of racing action?

+Torin

Bolt: Small Story Behind the Story

2011-10-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

A little video I got from Ziola Gomez, three time USA World Championship Marathon team member and fellow ITA teammate that captures a little story behind the big story of the 2011 IAAF World Track Championships. After this tough night for Usain, he went on to set a world-record in the 4x100 and re-claim his 200M in 19.4 seconds, the 4th fastest time in history. I can't wait to see him and Blake and Dix and hopefully Tyson throwing down in the most epic of Olympic sprint finals next summer.

Hurry Home Early

2011-10-01T22:29:00.001-07:00

You can feel it in the air. The winter's a coming.
Soon you'll have to put away the running shoe.
For the cold wind, it's a calling for you.
Hey it's fall. You can't be blaming me at all.

Jack & Julie point out the constellations to me.
But the Big Dipper's all I could see.

Now don't go a drinking the clear Finnish turpentine.
It'll make you blind, burn you inside.

Oh, why do we do the things we do?
Some of us have the talent. But hard work will still have to get us through.

From the Hometown

2011-09-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

This video comes from the descent down the local ski area access road where I grew up. The kids ripping through some prime apple, pear and cherry orchards in the Wenatchee Valley.

wenatchee teaser from Curtis Onchi on Vimeo.

Mr. Peck's Lil Meteorologists

2011-09-20T22:05:00.000-07:00

Checking in with the Old Roommates

2011-09-19T15:43:00.001-07:00

About a year ago, I moved out from Bend, Oregon. For those of you who've never spent a day in this small city oasis by the Deschutes River, it's a pretty amazing place. Volcano-made mountains frame the West. Juniper and sage and open country to the east. It's a place where one can ski through June, on either early morning crust or groomed nordic trails. As the county seat, the city of 80,000 entices a unique collection of individuals to the eastern edge of the Cascade Mountains.

The other day I received a message from an old roommate. It seems Sara Salo finished up grad school in Community Wellness at Oregon State University - yeah, that's one really long commute - and decided to take what she learned on the road. Sara's one of those people who gets an idea in her head, then goes for it. And I mean 100%.

Last time I saw Sara, we met up at Rincon Point, just south of Santa Barbara, California. I had just finished up the ski season and needed a little time with old friends and in the ocean. Sara was down there, learning from the food guru Jamie Oliver how to encourage schools to create healthier school environments. I remember her saying something about an obesity issue in America, and how schools that embraced healthy eating were making a real, tangible difference in the health of America's young'ens.

Fast forward one year and Sara's now on a solo, self-supported six-thousand mile bicycle across the United States to do all she can to help create healthier school environments. If you're someone whose interested in reading this blog, I'd really encourage you to also check out what Ms. Salo is up to.

You can follow along at: http://schoolfoodtour.org

On another note, another old roommate by the name of Carl Decker is still making it in the mountain bike scene, while driving the Wheels of Teal as well. You can check out the '92 Subaru at the X-Games here:

Until the next time. +Torin

Perspective

2011-09-04T14:05:00.000-07:00

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Mr. Frost

Beginnings...

2011-08-21T20:32:00.000-07:00

In the morning hours, Bettina and I meet up with Zoe for a trek to the top of Mt. Olympus. While I don't meet Zeus at the top, the view suffices. It's then that the words from the morning's National Public Radio show "All Things Considered" come to life.

"Despite the headings and allure of some other place whose name I have now forgotten, I stay in Salt Lake. I try to leave but it seems like I have a rubber band attached. What is it that pulls me back? No place is more beautiful than the Salt Lake Valley. Other places are just as beautiful, but when it comes down to a contest, this place wins.

"Beauty is something that needs to be studied over a long period of time, and there needs to be some point of reference - these clouds over these mountains, compared to what? The city itself has the most admirable quality of a ghost town, dry as a bone and empty as a rattle. People are leaving for a better life on the Coast. I, however, wait for the coast to come to me. I get up in the hills behind my house, look out across the entire valley and see it covered by water, as it was only ten thousand years ago. I extend my arm and wave my hand across the inland sea and think, 'Someday my son, all of this will be yours.'" Right now, I can see the truth to Scott Carrier's words.

After a couple more minutes breathing in oxygen and the view, I open the mailbox, crack the cover open on a well-worn brown leather book left atop the mountain. Inside are literally a thousand different stories. Or at least five hundred. Reading gives me the idea to write. It will be a great story, with the words others leave behind in books like this weaving the fabric of the work.

Some of the writings are common and slightly scientific with the date, time and name of the summiteers and little else. Some others, like the one about running face to face with a Western Diamondback en route have a quality of humor that would make most essayists blush. The one I remember most is sad and spooky, though in the tenderest way.

Mr. B has made it to the top of the mountain, his final summit. Soon, Mr. B will be in a long slumber, dreaming of the lions. This isn't a sad story because Mr. B has lived a good life. He knows it and has shared his happiness with others. Like mud, Mr. B soon awaits his return to dust.

Afterwards, we jump a fence, then jump directly into a poorly attended hotel pool. The water's refreshing and much needed before tackling the concrete jungle that awaits.

In the Westminster College parking lot, it's decided. New Hampshire's Live Free or Die license plate has nothing on Wyoming's. The Lone Cowboy riding the bucking bronc, a black silouette on brown mountains and mesa's cannot be beat by the Granite State or any of the other forty-eight states. I stop by the university bookstore, pick up seven used books as Bettina and I get to witness the one true great American right of passage.

On campus, I'm greeted by student RN's in loud green shirts. Kids much too young to be heading off to college mill around, a look on their faces matched with the just realizing understanding Dad slipped them a couple Andrew Jackson's to hold them over before the college cafeteria opens on Monday. And no matter how many Hot Pockets they plan to consume from now until then, there will be plenty of extra bucks to blow on booze, if only they had a fake i.d. Or knew someone older, as just about everyone around them is eighteen as well. On the way to the bookstore, I swing through some social schindig, steal about a half a pineapple in slices and a cup of punch on a hot summer's day. Yes, it's the simple things in life.

Then it hits me. Five years and a couple more days ago, I started coaching these kids what I knew about track and field, but mostly track, at Eastmont Junior High School. Now those kids are either heading off to college or hitting hammer to nail. Hannah and Jake, Cristian and Khloe, all heading off into different directions throughout the west, like dust in the the wind, just waiting to be turned to mud.

High in the Canadian Rockies

2011-08-05T12:50:00.000-07:00

After a couple months of building websites and battling out ethical debates in the classroom with my Westminster classmates, the time finally came to make a ski pilgrimage up north with Leif Z, Bettina and a whole crew of Bozeman skiers. My first time heading to Canmore, Alberta was also my first ever NorAm race series. Since then, I've been back three times for World Cup comps. Every time, the trails and town has treated me well. Now, it's pretty special to spend a couple weeks in the less-snowy months and get to know the mountains, the trails and the town a little bit better.

After a four hour run up, over and around Sentinel Pass, the icy cool waters of Lake Louise were a perfect way to end the morning session. More than a couple tourists visiting the environs couldn't believe a crew of us would soak our bodies in the frigid waters for a quarter-hour.

At the top of Sentinel Pass, Bettina decided to try her best imitation of the white tailed ptarmigan flying over the mountain meadows.

Losing the arm brace has allowed me to get back into the running groove as well. It feels good to move via foot... and via rollerskis again.

Until the next time. +

Pioneer Days

2011-07-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

In Utah, this weekend is Pioneer Day. The Mormon pioneers were one of many groups of settlers that traveled West in the 1800’s. The 24th of July marks the day when Brigham and his brigade looked down Emigration Canyon onto the Great Salt Lake and proclaimed. "This is the place." Luckily for these pioneers, they found a freshwater stream to go along with a lake that's five times saltier than the sea.

In Utah, July 24th is kind of a big deal. So after climbing Mount Timponogos from the early morning through to the afternoon, I made my way down to celebrate with some friends at the S Bar Ranch in Birdseye, Utah. Open air, a field of horses, a herd of cattle, a plethora of ATVs, and apple pie and there is little doubt one is in America.

After turning in the medical books for the year, Bettina made an American reappearance last week. I tried telling her I got a great deal on this little former sheephearder house but after one night it was back to the city we went.

I never would have thought I'd see a Audi Q7 (msrp 59450) towing hay. I guess that's just how some newby Park City ranchers roll.

Judging by the hardpan clay dirt underneath, I'd say Park City Mountain is being a little overambitious, a little misleading with its ski report these days.

After seven weeks of constant use, my surgeon said the time was right to rid myself of the sling and to start getting the range of motion and the strength back in my right arm. During this time, I've been banking long hours, low in intensity, high in the mountains. Here, my old college roommate Colby Frazier joined me for trek up Mount Olympus in the Wasatch Range.

For me, the grad summer school days are just about at an end, and its off for a little training vacation to Alberta, Canada next week.

Much Respect

2011-06-26T20:25:00.000-07:00

Still looking up at that mountain, chopping it down with the side of my hand. Big congrats are in order for both the In The Arena roster athletes and ITA Team New Hampshire for the performances over the week at the toughest World Championship Trials in the World, the USA Track & Field National Championships on historic Hayward Field. I look forward to watching Mr. Hazle and Ziola in Daegu. If not in person, then at least on the flat screen. Much respect.

Summer Camp: Westminster College Style

2011-06-13T19:58:00.000-07:00

While school's just getting out for the kids in the classroom, I'm halfway through the summer semester, working on getting a little learning on these next few months and a little closer to earning my master's degree. And one of the summer endeavors - Intro to Teaching Writing - well, it might as well be an extension of the ITA spring days. The class has some reading and theory about the various modes of teaching writing. And you know there's some real lively class debates about the merits of social constructionism versus current-traditionalism as the ideal primary mode of teaching writing. But the real coup de grace of the class comes in our actual teaching. For three days, select students from three inner-city junior high school in Salt Lake City will be getting the real college experience - from dorms to dining hall to classroom instruction. Except, instead of having tenured professors giving the lecturers, it will be me and my classmates. Here's my first little piece I wrote for the class on how I hoped to use my In The Arena experience to effectively connect and teach junior highers who were previously labeled academically unable. Read on, if interested.

###

Skiers and Dreamers, to acquire excellence, must start young. There is, from my experience, no other way. What does this have to do with schooling and writing and teaching, you say? Read on, and in my rambling writing might become less grey.

For two summers of my youth, I did the Westminster MPC summer school gig. Then, I left Zion and headed back West. During this time, I kept the day job. Instead of summer school, though, I picked up a little something on the side – coaching junior high cross-country and track.

Before I jumped into coaching, I read up. I felt a duty to be an asset, not a thorn in these youngster’s development. I remembered my own early days of athletics, running into teammates overcome with fear of failing in competition, hiding out under the bathroom bleachers. I felt with my inexperience in coaching, reaching these kids, making them see competition as something in the words of the late great Steve Prefontaine – the opportunity “to make something beautiful when we run” instead of being near paralyzed by the fear of failure. I knew before I ever set foot on the track as a coach this was my greatest challenge, this would be my Moby Dick. Instead of reading books on training physiology, it was more psychology centered.

In coaching the seventh and eighth graders I wanted to build self-efficacy. I wanted to build within them the belief that they will be able to better handle whatever the future throws at them. My reasons for doing this were selfish. If I could connect with thirteen and fourteen year olds and get them to change their perception of their ability I would be reconstructing within myself these same beliefs.

The coach Jumbo Elliott liked to tell his troops at Villanova to “keep running until you can smell the roses.” That is, to get to a point of conditioning and callusing that strenuous physical exercise becomes more than sidestiches, soreness and six a.m. morning runs. When I read Hemingway write about writing, the man had to keep writing until he found his muse. He had a devotion to his craft. He had to head to the cafés and write, and write daily. Somedays he’d write 2,500 words, all for naught. But he still had to write them. The daily experience would finally awaken an explosion of interest and the writer would capture this with pen hitting paper. These are lines we’ve read then carry with us always. For me, one of these passages came from Norman McLean’s last lines of A River Runs Through It.

Eventually all things merge together and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops, under the rocks are words and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by these waters.

I felt the most important responsibility a coach has is building the team and environment the team inhabits. From here the athlete can chase peak experiences in the competition arena or come out for sport to be part of a social club that happens to exercise. A coach, in my opinion, cannot build another’s desire or toughness or resolve. But the coach can aid the athlete in cultivating these skills and help the channel it. When Bill Bowerman said, “Tigers are tigers” I believe he was expressing a similar sentiment.

So how do I help build the Cascade exercise-as-a-way-of-life movement? By tweaking what I see as the prevailing, and antiquated, American definition of success and failure in sports. Most people interpret winning as a standard for success. Instead, imagine if success - and its ancillary doppelganger, failure – became a psychological state, not an objective one. Success and failure no longer need express themselves merely in win-loss outcomes. Rather, performance becomes a series of process goals leading to personal accomplishment. No longer is anything less than winning a threat, a threat that increases a young athlete’s fear of failure.

“An avoidance of failure is a self- perpetuating process that serves to exacerbate the tendency to avoid failure, leading to more mistakes and failures,” is how a peer-reviewed article titled “Why Young Athletes Fear Failure: Consequences of Failure” puts it. To me, this says those who fear failure the most are also the most likely to experience it the most. And that’s not ideal. I feel writing is the same way, only instead of expressing oneself kinetically, it’s through words.

The normal reaction to threats, real or imagined, is fear. I wanted the young Cascade Mountain Lions to be part of a team burdened by simplistic definitions of success or of failure. I told myself, then the team, we will hold ourselves to a higher, more enlightened standard. The budding athletes will not toe the line in an emotional state defined by words like apprehensive or scared. With writing, it’s the same way. We all need the latitude to express ourselves and build up within us the capacity to not be confronted with a stimulus and see it endangering our values and goals. Instead, to help the three schools we have the opportunity to meet with and work with later this month, and help them get just that little bit closer to bask in the expressive beauty of writing.

In Motion

2011-05-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

After an extended tour of duty at the ITA's western-most outpost, it was time to hit the open roads for Park City, Utah and a summer stint of grad school at Westminster College.

Before leaving the Evergreen State behind, though, I had an appointment with the surgeon. Apparently, I'd been skiing the last part of the season with a shoulder in serious need of repair. Dr. Rossi ably sewed back up my shoulder. If my shoulder was a timepiece, it would have been sewn up from the 11 O'Clock to 7 O'Clock position. Now, I get to wear this instant conversation starter 24hours a day for six more weeks. At least Stein Erikson doesn't seem to mind. Being in Park City works great for this, as I can hike up the still snowy mountains, then download on the lifts back to where I began. Probably only endurance-minded athletes would be stoked to ride chairlifts down the mountain.

Clarence Clearwater may have never seen the good side of a city until he saw it from a riverboat. I think the same can be said for the view of the city from a mountain top. The air is cleaner, the blues are bluer, and the sound of silence is startling.

The leaves, they are a changing. Stay tuned for more updates through the summer months.

Just a Day at the Track: Lake Chelan Edition

2011-05-19T06:29:00.000-07:00

In the Wenatchee Valley: Live4Adventure

2011-05-15T18:19:00.000-07:00

Community Adventure Race Set for Apple Bowl
By Torin Koos

The Wenatchee Valley’s a buzz about a new race set to take place Saturday evening, May 21st in the Apple Bowl arena and adjacent parks.

If you ever turned the television to ABC’s Wipe Out and wanted to get off the couch to take on an obstacle course with the big balls and water and mayhem, the Live4Adventure organizers had you in mind.

Just like on the small screen, announcers will provide a running commentary of race proceedings from atop the Apple Bowl control tower. Also at the three stages of the relay event, course-side commentators will be out to provide a little color as the teams navigate through the course.

The first part of the three-leg relay tackles a hay-bail and foot high hurdle-adorned bike route. The flag-lined course snakes its way out through the grass fields of Triangle and Pioneer Parks. The cycling stage is hosted by Wenatchee Valley Medical Center who partnered with local biker John Scarfotti to design a course to test ten year olds, offers a something for elite bikers, and above all else is safe. “The seven-to-ten minute ride will give the racers a taste of the madness of cyclo-cross racing,” said local physician and Live4Adventure board member Stuart Freed. “For the experienced racer, this won’t be a significant cycling challenge. For this athlete, the event is about coming out and enjoying a big community event. For a ten year old, though, it might just open their eyes about what you can do on a bike.”

From here, teams hand off to the second racer for the Sport Skills & Games Stage. Combining elements inspired by NBC’s Minute to Win It, racers are told to expect the unexpected. “No one will be able to achieve a high level of expertise at all the venues,” said Dr. Freed.

Stemilt Growers hosts the Sport Games Stage. “At Stemilt, we’re all about promoting community, education and health. And the Live4Adventure hits a homerun in all these areas,” said Courtney Mathison. “It’s about getting kids and adults fired up for sport in a way that gives back to the schools.

“Its such a tragedy to see that happening with obesity taking so much of our kids life, said Mrs. Mathison, a former pediatric physical therapist. “My passion is health and fitness in children. Most won’t become an Olympic athlete. Yet everyone can be a participant, a player.

“For someone like me that grew up in Texas, the Ridge2River was a scary event. Even to watch was a challenge. I call the Live4Adventure the no excuses race.”

The third and final stage is the Biosports Strength and Agility Course. Physical therapist Michael Hanson has three decades worth of human movement expertise gained from helping to heal everyone from Joe Montana to the regular Joe. Whether it’s flipping combine tractor tires or navigating an aquatic course with kayaks in Pioneer Park’s 50 meter pool, look for the team at Biosport to set a new standard in obstacle courses.

“Sitting in the Apple Bowl, you’ll be able to see the whole race,” said Dr. Freed. “In the stands, it’s going to be a riot. This is the perfect race to take your place in the field. This is a race to wear a costume to.”

For more information visit: www.live4adventure.org or contact 509-885-4231. Scholarships to have the race fee waived are available by writing an essay on your greatest adventure. “We want to be inspired,” say race organizers.

Apple Blossom Run: In Images

2011-05-07T23:13:00.000-07:00

For Whom the Bell Tolls: A Story of Duty and Honor

2011-05-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

photo from USS Carl Vinson (CVN 70) Album. May 1, 2011

The moment arrives. At this moment both opportunity and duty collide. The bell tolls. Without having to ask, without hesitation or delay, you know its for you. You answer the call.

Its at this moment you have a destiny to fulfill. When Theodore Roosevelt said "The man in the arena... knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; he spends himself in a worthy cause" that's exactly what he's saying to me.

photo from USS Carl Vinson (CVN 70) Album. May 1, 2011

Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls opens with a John Donne poem of the same name. In it, he says:

any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore never send to know for whom the bells
tolls; it tolls for thee."

Just as any death diminishes, every act of of kindness or greatness enhances us; both as individuals and as a community. In sport, we continually redefine ourselves with every honest, taxing effort given. As a MH-60 Black Hawk or F/A-18C Hornet Pilot like my cousin Mike Shaughnessy provides close air support in last week's Pakistan theatre of operations they redefine what it means to be an American. I feel emboldened by their attainment of skill, sense of purpose and composure in answering an incredible call of duty.

As a token to the tenderest of debts, I hope in this small way today to honor those who have honored us all. By answering the call of duty, you have set a standard for us all to live up to. Bonne Chapeau.

same day at the track with the mountain lion distance crew.

"For whoever much is given, much is expected."
-Paul Tergat

After a short talk with Coach Peck and Coach Wolfman, 4x400m await the kids. Wait, what is that I hear ever so faintly in the distance?

Nordic Nomadic: A Book

2011-04-28T15:34:00.000-07:00

A book fresh from the Publishing House.

Nordic Nomadic by A Book by Torin Koos | Make Your Own Book

Old School Campiona

2011-04-26T21:58:00.000-07:00

In the days before index shifting and carbon fiber bike frames, the experimental Danish filmmaker Jorgen Leth turned his camera to cycling. Atypical to film making today, Leth films with wide angle, long duration shots that let the story come to you. In 1973, Leth made two transcendent cycling movies. Stars and Watercarriers captures the perfectionism of the professional peloton from the Giro d'Italia in a simpler time. There's a history and a certain beauty to the Grand Tours, three week affairs of attrition and resolve that trade in names like Giro, Vuelta, le Tour de France.

The Classics, though, are where its at. Instead of having to husband one's finite reserves over two-thousand miles of racing, the Classics come as a one day Dante's Inferno of martyrdom, as Leth tells it. Here, riding with heightened aggression and caginess are a prerequisite for a chance at the day's greatest rewards.

After the riders leave the hard early spring racing from Italy and Belgium behind, events that trade in names Fleche Wallonne or Amstel Gold arrive. The crown jewel of them all is the Paris Roubaix. The name denotes the race's 166 mile route from start to the finish north in Roubaix. This Classic presents a special challenge summed up in its alternate moniker, The Hell of the North. After 100 miles of mostly traditional riding, the roads give way to the Pave du Nord. These cobblestone pathways are so old - some trace back to the Romans - and so poor they are open only to farmers driving cattle, along with a certain bike race. It's a race exclusive only to the hardest of men. Leth captures a young Eddy Merckx. He looks so dapper driving up the day before the Roubaix in this baby-blue-on-blue travel suit. Then, the next morning you see why Mercx is still known as the Cannibal.

My introduction can only do it so much justice. Here's Jorgen Leth's A Sunday In Hell. It'll send shivers down your spine.

The History of Leavenworth Skiing

2011-04-25T10:40:00.001-07:00

Since 1928, the little mountain town of Leavenworth, Washington has played a role in America's nordic ski history. Hear Ski Hall of Famer Kjell Bakke tell stories about Ron Steele and Alf Engen to the 10th Mountain Division and the Apple Box Brigade here:

Leavenworth Ski Hill History from Skipow Visuals on Vimeo.

Scenes from the Road: NordKetten, Austria Edition

2011-04-23T14:29:00.001-07:00

The mountains outside Innsbruck got to be special. They played host to the 1964 and 1976 Olympic Games.

After climbing a mountain, the other side might offer a different view. Here, I'm focused on all the soft snow and steep angles I'm going to have to navigate to make it back home from this mountain tour. Somewhere in my relatively near future I would be really wishing I had some crampons and an ice axe.

Klettering along the top of the NordKetten's north face.

Surveying the scene, getting some sun. Yeah, not too bad a way to spend the day.

Summer + SLC = School?

2011-03-23T06:38:00.000-07:00

Scenes from the Road: Engadin Valley, Swiss Edition

2011-03-18T06:01:00.000-07:00

In the Engadin the Bernina mountains rise to the sky from the valley floor. Beside the River Inn, a number of villages lie along its banks. The houses here are amazing, with thick stone and masonry walls, funnel-shaped windows and streets that wind whimsically around. The houses are large and often shared by more than one family, with many also have a floor underneath for livestock.

As one of my friends says, "The mountains around here, they're just a reason for Swiss engineers to show off." Taking this cog train straight up a mountainside, first used in 1907, I certainly know what he means.

The view from above, looking down on the uber-lux mountain town of St. Moritz. Having hosted the Winter Olympics in 1928 and 1948, the towns of St. Moritz and Davos are bidding together for the rights to host the 2022 Winter Games. Since Lillehammer 1994, the Olympics have gone to big cities like Nagano, Salt Lake, Vancouver and Torino. Some people think it's time for a smaller, more intimate Games. What do you think?

A mountain resort with no road access, framed by the darkness of night.

Holmenkollen 2011 in Photos

2011-03-04T14:14:00.000-08:00

Bird's eye stadium view of Holmenkollen.

The crowds along Gratishaugen.

The sign translates "2012 Swedish Snowmobile Technology."

The trail Lars and I take back from a distance ski to Nordmarka is now overrun with crazy Norwegians winter camping for weeks along the course. For weeks. Seriously.

Scenes from the Road: Oslo, Norway Edition

2011-02-26T04:57:00.000-08:00

My sister Kari dances with the statues in Oslo's Vigeland Park. The park takes its name from Gustav Vigeland, who put in a couple decades making the 180 statues that fill the place. Interestingly, all the creations are naked, save for Gustav's image of himself, which is fully-clothed. In the winter's white with the flowers are far from being in full bloom the park feels stark, but still quite beautiful in it's own right.

The first nights in Norway's capital were marked by incredible cold, high pressure weather, complete with clear nights and both the sun and the moon making appearances throughout the day.

Now the city is cloaked in an impressive cloak of fog. The trees and shrubs are all painted in a wind-blown white, and the snow's gotten both warmer and greasier. This photo comes from a hall of the triple-decker corrugated steel containers the Americans and Italians are waxing out of.

insurmountable opportunities

2011-02-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

The last thing before walking out the cabin door for the race tracks in Beitostolen I found a parchment of paper and wrote the words "insurmountable opportunities." After the race ended with me fighting for the top spots at the Norwegian Cup and a dislocated shoulder, I've remembered these words. "Insurmountable Opportunities:" It's become a little mantra of mine.

After five days of lower-body centric skiing, today Scott and I headed to Sandvik, Norway for an appointment with the MRI machine some very nice people working for Norge's IdrettToppen- the country's high performance of sport center - helped set up for me. Ten minutes after I set foot in the hyper efficient clinic I was getting strapped down, and sent off on my way towards the blinking blue light of the several million dollar magnetic resonance imaging machine. For twenty minutes I lay there as motionless as possible while this giant white contraption whizzed and whirred, with sounds emanating around my head; the audio sounding a bit like a cross between a pinball machine and the old-school video game Astroid.

A couple minutes later I left with a CD for my doctor to look at. It seems the dislocation has caused a bit of fluid to enter the tendons surrounding my rotator cuff and there's bruising on the humurous head, but -and here's the beautiful part - there's been no tears in the ligament or tendons. I'm clear to race in a week's time at the World Championships in Holmenkollen.

"This is Great news!" writes my physical therapist Michael Hansen. "It is typical to see bone bruising like this after a dislocation on an MRI because they are so sensitive. And inflammation in the cuff is also normal being that those muscles hold the humeral head in the socket along with the ligaments. The key is no severe tearing or fracture of the bone. Yes, it is going to be sore, weak, and vunerable. But the good news is that it is a first time dislocation, it self reduced, you are young and healthy, and with proper taping/support, and avoidance of extreme positions, and rehab you can continue to compensate and compete. If you are too unstable, then stop. You will know. You are not going to loose much fitness in the next week for World’s. Train within your limits and go crazy when you compete. Let me know how you are doing. I want to help." Because of people like Michael Hansen, the MOD and people of this character and quality, I am doing a little better than alright.

Scenes from the Road: The Traveling Edition

2011-02-14T05:36:00.000-08:00

Before bouncing out from Davos, Switzerland and making my back to Norway and the upcoming 2011 World Championships in Oslo I had to say goodbye to Bettina one last time. While I'll be skiing in Scandinavia with my newest training compatriot, Seppi the marionette, Bettina's going to Nepal to climb around on some of the biggest mountains in the World. Everest, anyone?

Ah, the view from the road, via public transportation. Learning how to read bus and train schedules...

Welcome to Norway, the land of Vikings and cross country ski trails.
Until a later time...

Scenes From the Road: Steinkjer, Norway Edition

2011-01-30T08:25:00.000-08:00

Scenes from the Road: Davos, Suisse Edition

2011-01-16T05:41:00.000-08:00

In Davos the ski trails ramble off in three distinct directions. Up the Fluela Valley is home to the old-school World Cup trails, the steepest of the bunch. The Dischma Valley has been renamed Sunny Valley by many and holds the hearts of more than a few skiers. By my favorite valley in Davos on a classic distance day is hands down up the Sertig. The trails twisty and turns at a steady, unrelenting, if entirely skiable grade for a good hour straight up from my trailside home.

The tracks today were fast and bulletproof hard, making a layer of green klister covered by viola absolutely necessary. The sun was out, too. Ahh, yes, the days are good and only looking up, up, up.

After Nationals off to Winterwonderweg

2011-01-14T06:51:00.000-08:00

After the competitions ended and all the competitors headed for whiter pastures I bid farewell to Maine for a day along the Connecticut River. Before making my way to the state line towns of Lyme, New Hampshire and South Strattford, Vermont, I stopped off at the Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods to check out the scene by skis and get a little oxygen in the lungs.

Since my days studying a bit of economics at the University of Utah, I've been interested to one day check out the trails of Bretton Woods. Finally, the opportunity finally came. Way back in the summer of 1944 all forty-four of the Allied Nations came together for three weeks to hammer out how a system of monetary policies to help us from having more great wars. To schuss around on the 60 kilometers of immaculately buffed out trails, and at least get an idea of what its like to hop-nob with the elite - have you ever seen a hand-crafted mahogany clad ski locker room before? - made for an interesting diversion.

From Bretton Woods it was off to Bull Moose Acres. The farm sits three miles outside the classic, quaint New England town of Lyme, New Hampshire. After climbing for two miles up a meandering unlined country road, one reaches the former horse racing stables that now is home to the In The Arena world headquarters. I've heard awed rumblings about this place and its mission, but I still didn't know what to expect. Whether it was the alpen glow of the early evening or the wild turkeys scurrying about, I knew I was headed someplace special as I made my way up the maple-lined drive.

To one side rests the Dartmouth SkiWay, along with 20,000 acres of protected wilderness. To the other, clear views run to the peaks of the White Mountains fifty miles away. For someone who might use the word claustrophobic as one way to describe the East, this came as a most welcome surprise.

Soon though it was time to say goodbye to Amory and David, to Thea and little Torin as well and head across the Connecticut for a family dinner in Vermont. Six years had past since the last time I was here. It makes one think how time and opportunity can both pass far too quickly if we're not attuned to the world around us. If another six years must pass before I hit the the eastern backcountry with my cousins Casey and West and Jay, that many springs transpire before I tap another sugar maple tree, or that many classes of young athletes make their way through the ITA summer training&life camp experience before I return, well, it will be far too long.

Until then, I'm in the Alps of Switzerland, prepping for all the real races left before I call an end to this season. Until then, enjoy the days. I'll do the same.

( this photo by Bettina G.)

US Nationals 2011: Slush Cuppin'

2011-01-02T17:00:00.000-08:00

My weeklong domestic ski season kicked off today with the US Nationals Classic Sprint in scenic Rumford, Maine. With little snowpack and temperatures reaching up to 47 degrees, made for a unique battle between fatigue, technique, tactics and the elements. Fortunately, my coach Scotty J. and teammate Sam have been prepping for days exactly like this. In addition to long the expert help in the waxroom I got from Ben Husaby, Janice Sibilia and Justin Beckwith, this was all the measure I needed to come out on top today. To everyone, from the snow shovelers out on the trails of Black Mountain, to the fans and friends back home, thank you.

Through the rounds of racing it was really cool to see how well some of the young 'ens were skiing. Mikey Sinnott of Sun Valley made a beautiful move to splinter the final pairing to pieces. I was particularly impressed, though, with Erik Packer's stride-and-glide on the climbs. And from all those summer workouts back in the Methow Valley I knew the younder Bjornsen's got more than a little talent in this ski racing game.

Scenes From the Road: Rumford, Maine Edition

2010-12-31T17:34:00.000-08:00

In Washington, we have the towering Cascades to captivate the photographer's lens. In Utah, the deserts, the mesas, and the views that stretch for miles in every direction are certainly picture-worthy. With its four distinct seasons, the small towns of New England have their unique charm. From turn-of-the-century farmhouses to scenic schoolyards like the Lukin School House I pass everyday from the MOD's stay at the Inn at the Rustay to the race trails at Black Mountain.

My favorite sights stray a bit from the postcard-worthy, though. Like this one taken a little before noon on a Thursday, complete with a full rack of Natural Ice, minus eight empties. Hey, at least its five o'clock somewhere. Maybe Stockholm, Sweden.. Living the dream, South Maine style.

The Boys of MOD Back At It

2010-12-28T05:57:00.000-08:00

With my training compatriot Sam's mono-i-mono battle, followed by a NorAm throwdown in British Columbia, combined with my recent transatlantic adventures, the boys of MOD finally came together again for a good old fashioned throwdown on the trails of Sun Mountain. What follows in the video below is a couple of the scenes from the day.

From the Evergreen State, its now off to US Nationals in sunny Rumford, Maine. Racing kicks off on January 2nd with the sprint, classic style.

Old Skool Skiing - A Christmas Time Gift

2010-12-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

With school getting out for both Mrs. Beavon's class at Liberty Bell Junior High and Mr. Peck's 5th graders in Leavenworth, I thought the time couldn't be better for a little old school skiing from Billy Koch. I vividly remember watching this for the first time at my boyhood friend Scotty's house. He'd commandeered a copy and fired up the 16mm reel player, and seconds later I watched transfixed as the king of momentum did his thing on his skinny Silver 44s.

Adjø Norge, Hello Home

2010-12-15T16:42:00.000-08:00

After five weeks of practicing my rough Norwegian, eating brown cheese daily, along with a journey north of the Arctic Circle to Rovaniemi Finland, along with a trip for a little city sprint action in Dusseldorf, it's been nice to get back to the Northwest. Along with getting in a couple kilometers on the old familiar trails of Leavenworth, I dropped into Mr. Peck's class and caught up with Mr. Peck's class before heading a little farther North to the Methow Valley. Up here. I'm getting back in touch with the seventh and eighth graders in Mrs. Beavon's AVID class that looks to close the achievement gap of these talented and inspired, though sometimes sidetracked students. It's pretty cool to see how much progress the kids have made in class here. Also out the door here the snow is piled high, almost reaching the windowsills of my little cabin in the woods.

Beitostolen, Norway: The Season Starts

2010-11-16T03:57:00.001-08:00

Norway: The First Days On Snow

2010-11-08T10:09:00.000-08:00

For the past week I've been calling Sjusjoen, Norway home. The mountain town sits twenty kilometers outside Lillehammer. The place is pretty sweet, with incredible facilities, both from the long tradition of sport here, and the influx that came here for the 1994 Winter Olympics. The ex-pat Mike Meyers set me up with a nice little cabin by the lake beside the Rustad Hotell. If you're ever in this neighborhood, you should check this place out: http://www.rustadhotel.no

While in Norway I'll be racing with Team Sjusjoen. The team is a professional outfit, and is actually the oldest team of its kind in Norway. Former World Cup podium boy John Anders Gaustad took over the coaching duties this year for this team of ten. Here JA and I get in a couple hot laps around the tracks here. I also picked up a couple good pointers from the man himself. Good times, good stuff.

Here Team Sjusjoen gathers around the training table. This evening, though, was a bit more special. As the last night of the last training camp before the racing season kicks off in Beitostolen, Norway we had a julbordet, or Christmas Table. You know, eating all those delicious Scandinavian specialties like rotten fish, salted pork and lefsa. I know your jealous...

And a lil quick viv for you interested ski fans out there:

Stripped down to bare steel...

2010-10-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

... then building it back up again.

The old air-cooled bike might not yet quite be road-worthy, but the CB750 Tourer is no longer the oily, dirty rheumatoid tosser purchased earlier this fall. In the last days it's become an avenging angel of misery; only of the prettiest kind.

That's all the motorcycle is, a system of concepts worked out in steel. ~Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

FInal Rollerski of the Year

2010-10-28T15:02:00.000-07:00

Power Training, XC Ski StyLe

2010-10-26T20:45:00.000-07:00

With snowy mountains in the horizon and the days down to the single digits before I'm waking up to stride-and-glide most every morning, my power training has been changing with the season. And while Mr. Hazle or Karl Erickson or Mustafa might call into question my defining this as "power," the time has come for me as a more endurance-oriented athlete to turn gains in the squat and clean into something I can use in the ski tracks. If you got a minute, check it out ...

Winter Approaches

2010-10-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

With winter approaching, I thought it might not hurt to convince the junior high cross runners to help stack a cord of wood. I tried telling them this made for a great core strength. I think they were a bit more motivated by the ice cream that awaited after.

The last two weekends I've also pinned on the racing number, for a very low-key farmer's market 5 km in the heart of the Okanogan Valle, and this four mile hill climb last Sunday, on the eastern edge of the North Cascades National Park.

In just over a week, though comes the time to say goodbye to the Evergreen State. It's winter and skiing - and ski racing - that I'm after. The stoke is high. The form feels solid. I have a ticket saying I'm headed to Oslo next Saturday, and a cabin in the woods of Sjusjoen, Norway that awaits. The adventure continues...

...next time, from one North Country to Another. This time the Norwegian Ski Scene - and the days of midnight darkness await. And I can hardly wait.

Progressive Weight Vest Training

2010-10-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

Adventures in Sunny Valley

2010-09-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

MOD Squad

2010-09-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

"Poppa said 'Son you're going to drive me to drinking if you don't stop driving that hotrod Lincoln."'

I rolled into Sun Valley for a little mix in the training scene. I had to visit my friend Max, who has just begun to call the Wood River Valley home. Heading into the drive I ran into Max and this sweet '63 Lincoln. The old school Continentals have always had a certain appeal. I couldn't resist getting behind the wheel of this 4,500 pound beauty of Detroit chrome, steel, suicide-door style and big block muscle.

Racing & Grinding

2010-08-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

It might still feel like summer, but I'm already starting to dial in the little parts of the ski racing equasion. Mark Waechter of Ultra-Tune has been showing me the ropes in getting a better handle on my racing boards. Between the morning and afternoon sessions my coach Scott Johnston and I were cranking on my fleet of skis; first scraping, followed by flex testing, then finishing with waxing. At the next Ultra-Tune session I'll take this information and plan out a lil grinding plan with Mark to have both my old and new Rossignol's running better than my competitors. Watch out...

The past weekend made for an altogether different kind of grind - the 11.5mile Cutthroat Classic. It's a classic trail run that crosses from Rainy Pass on the Western side of the North Cascades, that then drops down from the high alpine setting into the sunny side of the state. With three miles of climbing remaining, I decided to set off solo and put about four minutes on the closest pursuer by the time we reached the valley on the other side, who came all the way from Track Town USA (Eugene, OR) to defend his Northwest trail running title. It felt good to race and be so in control, especially in longest running race of my life.

Getting Strong with the Methow Olympic Development Program

2010-08-23T14:39:00.000-07:00

A Sunday afternoon with the MOD Squad

2010-08-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Trout Lake, Washington

2010-07-30T12:39:00.000-07:00

Perhaps its not surprising some of the best skiing in America can be found beside a volcano stretching 12,276 into the sky. What might be surprising, though, is this underground mecca for ski training is used near exclusively in the summer months, and, even though one can see hundreds of acres of terrain on the upper reaches of Mt. Adams, all the skiing is done on paved logging roads put in years ago to haul out the resident Ponderosa, White Pine and Doug Firs. All it takes to put a smile on this skier's face in the summer months is smooth pavement that meanders through the Cascade foothill. To have all this in a sleepy town that sparingly shares the road with fossil fueled BMW R75's and mid-nineties Chevy Silverados makes it even better.

We saw the hottest days of the summer yet at this camp. Fortunately swimming holes abound around Trout Lake, making the plunge into the icy waters running off Mt. Adam's glaciers an easy detour before rolling back to camp and filling up on Taco Stand inspired food.

The kids were working hard all week. I don't think they were too used to putting in two tough workouts a day, but I never heard the young'ens complain. I was pretty impressed, especially when we finished the last two days of camp off with a time trial, a max strength session and a fast trek to the top of Mt. Adams. It was pretty sweet to see this long thin line of raucous skiers blowing by these slow moving, overburdened climbers, puffing away in their full GoreTex kits, headlamps and ice axes in tow.

$320,000 Kindergarten Teachers, worth the short read: here

Birthday Ski

2010-07-19T13:50:00.000-07:00

Self-portrait from the top of Mount Bachey.

Waking up this morning, I thought I'd treat myself to a final morning on the slopes. So I - slowly - rolled out of bed, then loaded up my skis, a brand new pair of the beefy Sin 6's Rossignol sent me at season's end, skins, boots and headed twenty miles up to the base of Mt. Bachelor. A little over an hour of solid skinning and bootpacking later I was at the top looking down a chute for the final schussing of the season.

The climb to the sky's final steps.

The perspective from the top. Definitely worth it. And though this picture doesn't do it justice, the skiing just below in the cinder cone was top-notch, not too sun cupped at all and the new skis ripped.

McKenzie Pass

2010-07-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

I’m all about tradition. And if there’s a singular custom that holds true for the endurance athlete – whether they be skiers, cyclists, paddlers, whatever – it’s the Sunday long workout. This week was no different. Only today, instead of heading out for a semi-epic crust cruise that circumnavigated either Moon Mountain and Broken Top, or hitting all the neighborhood streets from West Bend to Tumalo, today it was time to get out on the road bike.

The past couple seasons I worked with a coach who didn’t really believe in cycling. With mountain biking, he thought the chance of injury too high. With road biking, that it wasn’t sport specific enough. To mention the desire to get out and spin on the S-Works would invariably be met with a variation of the theme, “Skiers ski.” Anyways, today brought back how much I missed getting out on the roads and watching the miles click by while being powered solely on muscles, powerbars and the desire of a gluttonous feast consisting of cheese and bacon and guacamole topped hamburgers and greasy onion rings, all washed down with a chocolate-banana malted shake.

With my Bend days now down to single digits, I knew I needed to get in a least one decent ride in Bike Town USA. Sunday morning a group of seven professional athletes of either cycling, triathlon or skiing descent rolled out on the roads to the cowboy town of Sisters, Oregon. From here we made our way up McKenzie Pass. As the pace picked up and the gradient steepened, I was a tidbit nervous with my serious lack of cycling miles and with both the eastern and western climbs of McKenzie Pass looming. McKenzie is a fabled road here in Oregon, the original pass through the Cascades that connects the high desert of the East with the wetter West. Being so oldschool the postman used to have to traverse it on skis at the turn of the century, the road snakes and weaves its way along the mountainside, a two-lane path matching nature. It stands so much in contrast to modern road straightened through dynamite and man’s might. Certainly better for quicker driving from point A to B, but it’s like a friend of mine says, “Take the interstate if you want to go from one place to the next and get there absolutely as fast as possible, and see absolutely nothing.” Both have their place. I just seem to overemphasize speed and miss out on taking in roads that roll along with lava fields and country estates.

Getting back into town, ravished, its time to slide into Sno-Cap for the aforementioned all-American culinary experience. But it’s a hot Sunday afternoon and the line stretches straight out the mom-and-pop burgershack to the street. We’re hungry, real hungry, so we head down the street to a café that specializes in all-natural vegan food. The wait was non-existent, but so was that malted milk shake.

Tour de Northwest

2010-07-13T14:32:00.000-07:00

It's July. And in the tradition of the 97th edition of the Tour de France, I've spent my last days out on the roads with no two days alike.

First, I left Bend for Portland; then the City of Roses gave way to the port town of Astoria, Oregon.

My gypsy in arms came all the way from across the Atlantic to take in America, experience the 4th of July and to touch the Pacific for the first time. Forget Swatch watches or Swiss chocolate, this is the finest of Schweiz's imports.

Just as this tour came to end, so soon shall my time in Bend. Next week I load up the truck for good, leave the House of Fun solely in the hands of Decker and Lieto, and trade it in for some quality time up in the north country. Before arriving in Mazama I have one more stopover, though. I've been invited to lend a hand coaching the young up-and-comers at the PNSA ski camp at Trout Lake, Washington next week.

Bend Camp 2010: Fire & Ice

2010-06-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

The Fire and Ice Ski Camp on the trails of Mt. Bachelor has come to an end. With it, so has the last day of groomed skiing here in Bend. Putting on the camp was a bit of work, but the skiers, from young to old, were super stoked so this made it all worth it.

Annika and a big crew from one of my old haunts, the big city streets of Salt Lake City, came out west for the camp. If you knew that some of the U.S.'s best up and coming nordic skiers might come from the downtown SLC West High School you too might be impressed.

The campers posing with the alpine slopes of Mt. Bachelor as a backdrop. Finally, the warm sunny days of summer seem to making more than just a cameo appearance out here in the west.

Schooling & Educating

2010-06-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

Nothing quite like kids celebrating school getting out for summer. I'd like to send out a special shout out to Mr. Gottschalk and all the kids in class for the great year.

Now that's school's out, another education is in session. Summer Camp, skiing in Bend. Here I lead a train of highly motivated young rubes up the trails of Mt. Bachelor.

Lars Flora and I racing through the slalom course. We're trying to mix skills challenges within the technique and endurance sessions. The snow's still good, but now it's going fast.

Taking Skiing to the Schoolyards: The Latest Project

2010-06-06T17:52:00.000-07:00

El Nino

2010-05-21T15:01:00.000-07:00

El Nino Winters might start late. But the winter days last long into the usual days of sun. Today I woke up, hoping to put on my skate skis and scramble up to the top of the Cinder Cone at Mount Bachelor, then point them straight down the hill to the faithful truck waiting below. I got a report from my training mate Lars saying we might be in for some powder and decided to throw the heavy metal gear into the back. Good choice.

The tools of the trade: Lightweight backpack with electrolyte-filled beverages, poles, skins and skis.

The Chairlifts might be overhead, but with the mountain closing down last weekend, it makes for quiet trails. While this certainly equates to fewer gravity assisted turns, it also means fresher stashes of pow and no worries about getting in the way of paying customers if you want to trek to the top.

Turn it around, and head back up one more time? Why not. It's the time to earn some hours and build that base for the next time.

Until next time.
-Torin

Beyond the Abrasive Edge

2010-05-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

The unmistakable percussion of David Groll opens Nirvana’s You Know You’re Right as I slide my Toyota onto the highway, headed south. Outside, an epic spring storm blankets the Northwest in snow. My eyes tire in minutes trying to decipher the contrast of white on white, negotiating the roads that have left big rigs jack-knifed, Dodge Caravans abandoned and so many other autos in various states of deserted disrepair.

Outside Mt. Shasta the snows give way to rain, a pelting Cain & Able kind of rain. I slow down to take a photograph. I’m not using and controlling all the tools necessary - the f-stop, the aperature, the film speed, and thus taking, not making the photo. I’d much rather do the latter, though circumstance does not allow for making, only taking. Sometimes all you can do is put the fancy camera with all its complex programmed settings on autopilot and steal a snapshot here or there.

I pass by Monterey and do not slow down. But I can’t help thinking of what John Steinbeck wrote about it. “Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses.” It makes me want to stop. I tell myself I will on the drive back north. I know way will lead onto way and I’ll feel the pull of the road to race on home in a week’s time. So long Monterey Bay. I missed that turn, I missed that chance. Now is not the time for regrets.

With the morning light, I stop off in Salinas, “Lettuce Capitol of the World.” I stop. At a roadside farm to buy a bundle of Swiss Chard. I also pick up some white orchids. Peeling out and onto the highway, I put on the White Stripes. The first song to play? Blue Orchid.
You’re given a flower / But I guess there’s no pleasing you / You took a white orchid, turned it blue

The miles click by until at last the Pacific comes into view. I stop, walk down to the water’s edge, jump in, feel its ebb and flow. I half notice a group of fisherman wading out. I begin to think of my grandfather and about character. I think of how he made his flies, not from following the directions in some book, but by personal experience, trial and error, the testing of his assumptions. I can see him casting his spey rod into the willows, softly telling me that it’s not fly fishing if you aren’t looking for answers to questions.

At the same time, I can see him telling me, “Look, you trained like a man possessed. You went up against the best. You laid it on the line, quite literally. And it wasn’t good enough. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. One day it will be more than just good and you will be all the better for all of this. Just as you can win and not succeed at all, you can lose without failing. And to all those naysayers, giving up on you now? They were never there to help you in the first place.

“I know this is a time of self-reflection and performance assessment. But you know that Teddy Roosevelt speech you love so much? You know the one about how it’s not the critics who count? Its the man in the arena, the one covered in dust and mud, the one who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up again and again, but who, in the end, knows the triumph of high achievement? That critic - the toughest, most ruthless one, the only critic who really matters in the end - is the internal one. You’ve ridden the ups-and-downs of three consecutive Games and I know the following act does not come easy: be gentle with yourself – at least for a little bit.”

roadtripping

2010-04-05T12:13:00.000-07:00

From Bend, with its 25" of pillowy powder days in the high Cascade Cinder Cones...

To the verdant valleys of Steinbeck and Co along the California Coast.

Coming To A School Near You

2010-03-25T16:47:00.000-07:00

Stop! The season's not done quite yet, as it's time to shake out yesterday's 50km race and begin the first ever North American Tour de Ski tomorrow.

Then, it's off, with a return to the Great Northwest to come.

And soon to a school near you.

Beginnings & Endings

2010-03-15T21:22:00.000-07:00

I wonder what I will remember. Not now, but years from now. Settling down by the water's edge at the family cabin, watching the alpenglow slowly fade away, I wonder then what I'll take - what I'll feel the most - from these last days. The days and reminiscences under the banner Vancouver 2010. The highs. The lows. The gutters and strikes, peaks and valleys. A question whose answers can come only full with the perspective of time. My hope is that the good memories outshine the rest, and I'll be able to pick up all the pieces from the rest, and, to steal a line from Jimi Hendrix, make an island / might even raise a little sand

Seeing Bill and Johnny race away from their final pursuer up the final climb into the Olympic stadium, the rest of the world's best nordic combined skiers strewn somewhere behind sent shivers up my spine. To see my old roommate headed to the finishline, arms overhead, taking America's first ever Olympic gold in the nordic disciplines is the kind of moment I can only hope lands these boys on the front cover of the Wheaties box, and inspires many other Americans to get out and inhale and exhale a little oxygen. Especially in the cold of winter.

The feeling of equipping oneself well, to laying out the performance I could on a big day - even if it wasn't up to the standard that gets one's name etched into the annals of time, that's up there with seeing so many family and friends coming from near and afar to pack the sidelines, and cheer me and my competitors on live trailside. Thanks. Sometimes its the grandest of gestures and the simplest of words that mean the most.

Then there's the image etched in my mind of walking to the front doors of Osborn Elementary a group of fifth graders steal a couple glances back before breaking into a giggle, then running into the building and down the hallways to announce their penpal's unannounced arrival back in class. Thanks girls, that made me smile then as it does now to retell the tale.

Is it one of these I will remember? Only time will tell.

The Family out on Course

2010-02-17T18:41:00.000-08:00

Like a Thunderbolt,

2010-02-10T22:04:00.000-08:00

the Olympics are almost here!

To Seek...

2010-02-04T10:13:00.000-08:00

It's on the outskirts of the Banff National Park where I find myself for the last days of preparation before West to Whistler. Isn't this the way it always is, headed West, leaving the stepping stones behind for the land of new adventures and experiences. In my mind's eye I can see the big mountains as I can breathe in the wet, slightly salty maritime air. Ah, sometimes life's too good, isn't it?

Writing these last lines reminds me about what it's all about - the universal appeal of sport and the Olympian's quest. It's to fully inhabit the most traditional and hallowed sense of the world amateur; a lover of. What a feeling it is to wake up every morning, pop out of bed, let out a big, boisterous Shazaam! and get right to it, loving every minute of the process. Maybe it's encouraging to know (somehow, it is for me anyways) that this state of perfection is beyond most Olympian's daily way and means. This, though, is the personal standard. The one most worth striving for.
When you get to this level, hold it, cherish it, nourish it, share it and carry it's memory with you always. I'll try to do the same.

A friend says, "It's so easy to die before the fact of it." This reminds me of the Jack London penned poem, the work urging one to be the spark that burns out in a brilliant blaze, to be that meteor, every atom in magnificent glow.

To this I say, raise high that roof beam, carpenters! To use every fibre of our bodies in taxing effort, to beat back the deadening effect of habit, to abhor merely existing and instead shine, shine, shine like that exploding star shooting across the dark night sky.

Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters

2010-02-01T14:09:00.000-08:00

It's a quiet Sunday night as I begin to write. At first it's all stuttering and stopping, cross and erasing. The creative complexity of writing, of making language flow from thought, escapes me. I'm trying too hard. I'm thinking too grand.

I go back to the basics. Write about what you know. Use single, short declarative sentences. Always seek the active voice. Show, don't tell. Write. Put pen to paper. Then, only then, let the inner copy writer's voice come out.

Finally it comes. Yes, this is. If I had to compose a group of words to live by, these might be mine.

<< To Seek, To Strive, To Find, and To Never Yield >>

Racing

2010-01-18T14:34:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow, the big announcement: Olympic Team will be chosen.

The New Year

2010-01-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

Coming across this image reminded me that Christmas is right around the corner.

The winter's upon us. The snow in the lowlands of Washington is finally coming, too.

The racing continues. Just not for me at the moment. Recharging the body for later in the season.

Until a later time.
-Torin

World Cup Dusseldorf

2009-12-08T04:47:00.000-08:00

Racing the Final, in the midst of two Ruskies. Tight racing, and plenty of carnage out there on the snow covered cobbles of Old Dusseldorf.

Long Hours. Lousy Pay. Hard work. Thanks to the US ServiceTeam for getting my Rossi's rolling in Dusseldorf. 6th place, 3.8sec from the win.

Photos from the Road

2009-11-26T09:49:00.000-08:00

The stark landscape, the white trees and dark days in Scandinavia's northlands make for some unique perspectives. I took this photo on the walk from the cabin to the stadium in Beitostolen, Norway.

More of the Norwegian woods. This, though, is a little rarer sight. Due to the sun. The glimpses have been fleeting but welcomed.

With the alpine resort of Ruka in the background, the ladies of the US Ski Team do a little posing en route to the dinner table.

Rolling the rock. In Finland no less. We dominated against the swiss and our rivals from just north of us.

The Fight Of Our Lives

2009-11-20T08:50:00.000-08:00

The Fight Of Our Lives, an article written for SkiTrax Magazine

I remember the call. No, not the call, not the one announcing cancer’s finality. No, I’m talking about the one that comes before, telling of cancer’s arrival. The call hits just as hard as being blindsided by a big rig. Scientific-sounding words dazing my mind much as a backyard brawler’s flurry of jabs and punches might. Undifferentiated anaplastic carcinoma… rectum cancer… highly malignant… massive, aggressive growth… At the start, as in the end, these words make little sense as we hear our friends and family given their chances to keep on eating, breathing, loving life and loving one another distilled into the cold, clinical, exacting nature of numerology.

First I think, no, this can’t be. Then, wait, what does this mean? Sure the odds aren’t so good, but miracles happen everyday, right? Then, I become numb – not knowing how to think or to feel or to react. Then comes the guilt. When did I last see them? When did I last tell them what they mean to my life? When did we last share a simple moment, a good conversation, enough time and the presence to soak it all in?

Twice my grandmother’s been given a Russian roulette’s chance at life because of cancer. Twice my Dad told me, “It doesn’t look good. But your Grandmother’s a fighter. She’s not going to give in to this.” Twice my Dad’s been right. Twice my grandmother’s beaten the odds. Twice she’s beaten cancer back.

Four years ago, Vidar Loefshus was my ski coach. Then, after the 2006 Torino Olympics, Vidar moved back to Norway. In the spring of 2008, at the urging of his girlfriend, Vidar went to the doctor where he was diagnosed with rectum cancer. Vidar is the kind of coach you hope one day you get the chance to work with. Because of Vidar, I am a better skier. Because of Vidar’s influence and example, I’m a better person. I cannot think of higher praise to give my friend.

I try to get a handle on cancer by thinking about it as a pie. I slice the pie in thirds. One of those slices, the biggest of the three slices, represents those of us today, statistically speaking, who will get cancer. My generation, the statistics are even more sobering. Flip a coin. Tails you’re lucky. Heads you’ve got a date with cancer, with chemo, with radiation, a dance with death. I can’t help but think there’s probably nobody reading this who hasn’t been directly affected by cancer.
I also can’t help but think about this as Vidar and I sit down at a hotel lobby in Beitostolen, Norway with the World Cup opener around the corner. “It came as a kind of shock – a real shock,” says Vidar as he tells me about his fight with cancer, which left him pooping into a bag and physically scarred, if not psychologically. “I think if this is the way I’m to end my life, I had a good life. I was thinking like this.”

During his six-week chemo and radiation course, Vidar road his bike, standing on the pedals the whole way because he couldn’t sit down on the plushest couch, let alone his bike seat. Five kilometers to the hospital; chemotherapy and radiation; five kilometers back home. Vidar’s personal way of showing the middle finger to the big C.

“There’s quite a bit of psychology in this. I think many people in athletics are strong-minded in meeting challenges. I don’t know. This is my feeling. I’ve always felt I’m strong in the mind. When this came around, I said, ‘I’m going to fight this.” I didn’t read much about the cancer or nothing. I put my trust in my doctors and hospitals that they were going to help me and I’m going to fight this as hard as I can the whole way. I was not going to give into the cancer. I didn’t ever surrender. I never gave up. I’d like to think this made a difference. But we are not created equal. Nor do we all face the same obstacles. Sometimes we have an unlucky lottery ticket. Sometimes we’re not in a position to fight it.”

Sean McCabe was one of these unlucky lottery ticket holders. “My, my, hey, hey, the king is gone,” goes the radio song. But Sean, you’re far from forgotten. I remember picking up the telephone, talking to you about going to the University of Utah. Thanks for the advice. I appreciated it then. I appreciate it now. I also remember staying in the studio above your workshop last Christmas, the low rumble and humm of woodworking machines putting me to sleep between training sessions. Or the little daily conversations we’d have – about art, sport or otherwise. You said, “In my life, I’ve been blessed to see color.” When I take in the colors of a pretty sunset or bask in the alpenglow at the end of a winter’s day, I’m the one blessed; that got to know you. I’m sorry that when you gave cancer a big middle finger, instead of getting the life you knew back you got six months. It just doesn’t seem right. But like my Grandmother and Vidar, you’ve molded others into a better shape. For this and more, thank you Sean. Your memory lives on.

Succinct

2009-11-08T11:24:00.000-08:00

"Everything is your own damned fault if you're any good."
-Ernest Hemingway in Green Hills of Africa

2009/2010 Race Schedule
Date City Country Race Series
11/13 Beitostolen Norway Scandinavian Cup
11/15 Beitostolen Norway Scandinavian Cup
11/22 Beitostolen Norway World Cup
11/28 Kuusamo Finland World Cup
11/29 Kuusamo Finland World Cup
12/12 Davos Switzerland World Cup
12/13 Davos Switzerland World Cup
12/19 Rogla Slovenia World Cup
12/20 Rogla Slovenia World Cup
12/27 Mazama Washington Regional
1/16 Otepaa Estonia World Cup
1/23 Rybinsk Russia World Cup
1/24 Rybinsk Russia World Cup
2/6 Canmore Canada World Cup
2/17 Whistler Canada Olympics
2/21 Whistler Canada Olympics
2/28 Whistler Canada Olympics
3/6 Lahti Finland World Cup
3/7 Lahti Finland World Cup
3/11 Dramman Norway World Cup
3/14 Oslo Norway World Cup
3/17 Stockholm Sweden World Cup Final Tour
3/18 Falun Sweden World Cup Final Tour
3/19 Falun Sweden World Cup Final Tour
3/20 Falun Sweden World Cup Final Tour
3/24 Fort Kent Maine US Nationals
3/26 Fort Kent Maine US Nationals
3/27 Fort Kent Maine US SuperTour
3/28 Fort Kent Maine US SuperTour

The season's new racing armour.

You Are Your Own Final Measure

2009-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

When the time comes to hang up the racing skis, when my days are no longer driven by the constant pursuit of teasing performance out of talent and desire, when the arc of my career as a professional athlete has passed, I want to be proud that I took the time and seized the opportunity and had a lasting and meaningful impact on a group of America’s youth.

Today this means getting into Mr. Gottschalk's classroom at Miller Elementary in Bend, Oregon. Mentoring's most rewarding part comes in getting to know the kids in class at a personal level. In the classroom, I have a whole new crew of kids at a brand new school I'm getting to know.

In two weeks, having an impact on America's youth means keeping up correspondence with the kids while on the road in Europe as I chase World Cup wins and a place on the U.S Olympic Team. This spring this means getting back to my roots in Mr. Peck's 5th grade classroom, in my old hometown of Leavenworth, Washington.

I want to watch kids from Bend and Leavenworth to go beyond labels and excuses, to follow their passions and discover what they can do. To help instill the belief that every one of them has the ability to handle whatever the future throws at them, is what I'm after.

I want more kids to steal a pearl of wisdom from Joseph Campbell and follow their bliss. I want them to know that when you do this, you put yourself on a path that has been there cutting through the deep, dark woods all the time, just waiting for you, and the life you ought to be living is the very one you are living. I’ve had this feeling. I’ve lost this feeling. And also found it again.

When I get angry, discouraged or indifferent it helps to remember that I choose this path and their will be trials and tribulations along the way. Just as there were for Jesse Owens or Odysseus. This is all part of the adventure. Just days ago I ran into Dan Jansen, a titan of the speed skating's yesteryear. I remember the '88 Olympics, watching Dan slam into the boards, hands overhead, the look of abject loss vividly burned into my memory. I also remember watching the Olympic 1,000 meter final from Lillehammer, when Dan won his Olympic Gold. We chatted for a minute, he signed two pieces of paper, one to Mr.Peck's 5th grade class, another to Miller Elementary. He left me with these words, "Remember, You are the only one who knows if you have given everything you had. You are your own final measure." Words to live by. Thanks for the memories Dan, both young and old.

I want to do more than talk about change. I'm getting my hands dirty. I love the wide-eyed excitement I see in the classroom. I can't wait to get back in there Monday. The students of Miller Elementary are fortunate to have teachers like Mr. Gottschalk, just as I was fortunate to have a teacher like Mr. Peck.

I want to run in the mountains with my young runners this spring. I want to throw heavy objects with my throwers after the ski season. I want to pick wildflowers with fifth graders just as I want to pick the perfect word to describe the scene of my time with America’s youth.

I remember a coach telling me, "If you want it that badly, you'll find a way." I want to be that person in the community others look up to and say, “Torin wanted it that badly. He found a way. You can, too,” just as I want to be the coach that instills this same belief in his young troops. For this, as in all things in life, I will be the only one who really knows if I gave everything I had. I will be my final measure. I intend to succeed.

Eric Heiden's Playground

2009-10-13T12:54:00.001-07:00

With the national team training camp in Lake Placid coming to a close, I finally took the opportunity to walk upon some hallowed ground. Like this concrete oval where Eric Heiden took speed skating into uncharted territory. In 1980, Heiden won every race, from 500 to 10,000 meters in convincing Olympic to World Record setting fashion.

While Michael Phelps might have more golds, all his races came in relays and different strokes from 100 to 200 meters in distance. The range in Heiden's accomplishment still very much stands as the undisputed golden standard of athletic greatness. At least that's my opinion.

The Hills. Of Lake Placid.

2009-10-11T05:44:00.000-07:00

Autumn

2009-09-24T20:33:00.000-07:00

You either love every minute it ~ or you are expecting rain.

Water and waves. There's something so special about the ocean. You can head out into it with a certain attitude. You leave with another. This reminds me of the Mahatma's saying. "Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn."

The green hills of California. West of Hemingway, South of Steinbeck country.

But where will these tracks lead me? Like Odysseus. Out on an odyssey, headed, but not yet ready to head home. With 'no direction home.'

Skiing and Skating

2009-09-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

From SoHo to NorCo. That is, images from New Zealand to Whistler, British Columbia.

physical poverty

2009-08-30T15:09:00.000-07:00

Flew into a Canadian airport. Hopped a ride. Drove through the city. Passed a sign counting down the days. 168 until the opening of the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. A Bob Roll written article titled "The Beautiful Therapy of Bike Racing" rests in my lap.

"When I was a young person, you could not reach me. You couldn't communicate with me, reason with me, drown me out with freezing rain or run me over with a train to keep me from riding. Everyday the miles I rode reduced me to ashes and dust but I was relentlessly reconstituted overnight by a seething, white-hot rage on slow boil...

"I began my riding career as a block of cement. I finished as a brand-new baby boy, all soft and gooey. I needed the miles, I needed the pain, I needed the ruin to become a more reasonable man."

168 more days of Bob Roll-esque chiseling. 168 more days to answer, "What will I do with my talent?" 168 days made up of specific moments where I'll be asked - if by nobody but myself - "What am I doing this moment to get better?" 168 days to come back back from adversity and shine, shine, shine.

I need the miles. I need a recommitment to cultivating a more robust mental outlook, where adversity is not a brake but an engine pushing me forward. I need to get to the point where I blush just reminiscing about the suffering and striving, the fitness building and the form-topping coming. I can do this. This better start... now. Time has a way of not putting itself in reverse.

Summer Striding - My First Foray into Movie Making

2009-08-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

Life on the 'Farm

2009-08-07T23:28:00.000-07:00

In New Zealand, we live up atop the Pisa Mountain Range at the Waiorau Snow Farm. Now, I'm on my way back to the U.S.A. Before I lift off over the Pacific, here are a couple of the pictures from the last days here.

Kristina Strandberg striding it out with a background that makes me think of skiing on the moon.

Chris Klebl putting the kilometers in. It's cool to share the trails here with athletes who overcome unique challenges everytime they hit the cordoroy.

Chemical soon-to-be-nighttime Sky above the Southern Alps.

Ahh, nothing like an underpowered ten passenger van with bald tires on snowy, curvy dirt roads. Makes getting to town a bit of an adventure. Also makes learning how to put on chains a necessity.

I"m off. First to Southern California for a couple days in the Santa Ynez Valley sun, then back home to the Pacific Northwest...

South Island in Pictures

2009-08-01T21:41:00.001-07:00

(Photo by Justin Wadsworth).

Every year, for the last eight years, I've made a southern trek to New Zealand's South Island to find some time on the magic white stuff. The training load during my days here always tilts a bit to the side of volume. As a coach of mine use to say, "There's a certain quality to quantity."

(Photo by Justin Wadsworth).

Since I'm down in the country of Murray Halberg, Peter Snell and Co. it might be apt to steal a line, or at least paraphrase, a thought of Arthur Lydiard's - from distance work comes speed. Speed training has been far from a focus so far this season. Still, the speed over the snow feels good.

Run to the Top... Ski to the Top...

(Photo by Torin.)

Living above the treeline atop a mountain, weather moves in easily at the Wairaou SnowFarm. And sometimes with a nasty disposition. Other days, it's just beautiful. With a combination of snowfences and sunshine, this counts as one of the latter.

N.Zed

2009-07-24T19:36:00.000-07:00

Putting the hours in on day job. 4 min double pole intervals followed by a long distance warmdown. Clear, cold weather and hard classic tracks a perk of the job somedays here on the South Island.

Short Summer Story

2009-07-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

planned a trip
skiers in trusty subaru
salty water
surfboard rails soon in my grip

olympic day
could it be, a memory?
what'll I say
after the summer's all gone?

pacific city
imaginary white snow
along I roll
on highway one-oh-one

king of spade
consult with my chambermaid
says go forth
knows perfecting skills take work

breathe it in
sweet smell of life in full bloom
hebo awaits
nine mile hill climb time trial loom

cascade head
dragontail and ocean views
like one says,
"seek out and follow your muse"

new zealand
closes fast in frontview mirror
salt and sand,
any better way to say goodbye?

The End.

Carnaby Street

2009-06-20T12:28:00.000-07:00

"It ain't the melodies that are important, man, it's the words," Bob Dylan once said. Out along the roads of Central Oregon, sometimes training alone, sometimes in the company of others, it's words and not melodies that rush through my mind. These mix and match, sometimes meshing, sometimes mashing - providing an image, matching a mood, to the moment.

Like the time high above pinyon and ponderosa Eddie told me to...
Rise Up, Find my direction magnetically.
Rise Up, Throw down my ace in the hole.

Or like the time Kim softly whispered the words to Bull in the Heather into my ear.

tell me that yr burning for me
tell me that you can't afford me
time to tell your r dirty story
time f'r turning over and over
time f'r turning four leaf clover

betting on the bull in the heather

Or that time Bobby sang that song to Woody:

'Bout a funny old world that's coming along.
Seems sick, and it's tired, it's hungry and it's torn
I looks like it's a dying and it's hardly been born

Arresting artwork stolen from Shepard Fairey's personal collection.

Or like the time cruising the back roads out to Jackson's Bay on the Western Coast of New Zealand's South Island when Jack let out his secret,

"You see, the whole world is out there, like an oyster for me to open. And the pearl is there, the pearl is there!"

Or like the time Dylan kept talking on and on in riddles about a friend of his. He not busy being born, Is busy dying.

Then he left, just like that. Only his final words hung around. If you see her, say hello.

These words kept will remind me, Eddie.

Oregon Trail

2009-05-23T11:49:00.000-07:00

Back in the day, heading off on the Oregon Trail might have been a two-thousand mile journey from the backwaters of the Missouri. Oregonian old-timers also might have taken the oxen-driven farm wagon instead of an air-conditioned, four wheel drive Toyota Tacoma but, still, I'd like to think there's semblance to the same adventure - a jumping off into great wide unknown. Washington will always be where I grew up; I can't imagine calling anywhere but Leavenworth my hometown. Later, Utah, the University, and the snowy Wasatch Mountains form an indelible part of my past. But it's the raw, burly backdrop of Bend, Oregon where I'm now home.

From the fertile Columbia River Valley, to the Cascade Mountains, the Goldendale scenescape you see here below, it's time to shake hands and say goodbye to Washington. In the distance, if you look closely, white windmills tilt to the sky. I hope Cervantes would be proud.

Grass Valley. Moro. Shaniko. All small towns I pass along the way, holding stories of commerce and community I can only guess at.

I round a corner. Just a stone's throw to the east rests the town of Terrebonne and the towering red spires - Smith Rock, the birthplace of U.S. sport climbing. Or so I'm told.

To the west, angry clouds collect above the Cascades. I try to remember the exact words the free-skier Doug Coombs said about listening to mountains. Something about tuning into and heeding what the mountains have to say today.

I arrive in Bend. My roommate Carl wrenches on his turbo-hopped rally car with the help of his dad. Mr. Dekker is not only a fossil-fuel fun seeker. He earns his wages riding mountain bikes for a living. He's not the only one in Bend that can seriously say this is their primary occupation.

The spelunker's view from inside a Central Oregon lava tube.

My playground. From left: Mt. Bachelor, Broken Top, South Sister, Middle Sister, North Sister.

The US Ski Team getting together for a national team camp on the cross country trails of Mt. Bachelor. To the best of times. And those that will be. Ciao.

Springtime Outside the Schoolyard

2009-05-06T15:49:00.000-07:00

Just before heading off to Whistler in search of snow on the 2010 Olympic trails, I joined Mr. Peck's fifth grade class for another kind of search. We were on the lookout for wildflowers.

Chino and Kobe among the arrowleaf balsomroot.

Here my lil armada take in the view from the outrun of the K70 ski jump.

In time, identifying and drawing yellow bells and forget-me-nots were no match to the allure of boys hucking themselves off the jumps.

Here, Jaxon soars.

The girls were just a little more committed to the task at hand. Here, Kristin compiles the pertinent data from the chocolate lilies in bloom.

In all, the kids have to identify, draw, and write about at least fifty wildflowers.

From cultivating gardens and breeding quails in the fall, digging snow caves and learning about snow science in the winter, to frolicking in fields full of wildflowers in the spring, the fifth graders in Leavenworth experience a little science outside the domain of textbooks, lectures and classrooms.

Until the next time, -T

around the corner

2009-04-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, you have no idea what's around the corner. This came oh so clear to me in the exam room of an urgent care center in Surprise, Arizona.

After leaving Alaska following long distance nationals and an end-of-season backcountry ski trip, I headed down to Arizona for some days in the sun, on the golf course, with the grandparents. Setting foot in Arizona, I felt a little pain in my lower leg. But it was nothing, especially compared to taking in the sights of arriving back to the continental United States after three months abroad. Soon, in the comfort of family, talking motorcycles with Uncle Shane and the prospect of having a handful of unstructured, relaxing days ahead, the little leg pain I felt soon melted away.

A day later, I'm in a medical center waiting room, wondering what I'm doing here. In several directions my focus is interrupted by the deep, almost sinister, coughs of young'ens and elders battling bronchitis. "If I don't need to be here now, I'll probably need to be back here in a couple days" I remember thinking before getting agitated about whether my insurance would cover this little visit to the doctor.

In time, the doctor arrives. "I don't think it's much of anything but.." I begin to say but don't finish. Just the look on the doctor's face tells me its more than nothing. "It's good you're here right now," he begins. "It's real good this looks contained. You have cellulitis. This is a skin infection that starts with a scrape, a cut, insect bite or hair follicle that becomes infected by bacteria. This might not sound like much but this is serious stuff. Because it's in the lower leg where blood flow is low we need to hit this hard. I'm putting you on two very powerful antibiotics. We'll get this cleared up in a week. Ten days maybe. Call me in three days, tell me how the treatment's coming along."

Three days go by. In these three days I get a little worried. The leg doesn't look better. I've got the swelling of edema going on, the pain's still there, the redness hasn't gone away. Once again, I head to urgent care. It's Easter morning. The bronchitis patients must be hunting easter eggs or sleeping in. Either way, they're not here. But my doctor is. This time I don't say anything. He doesn't say anything. I know this isn't good.

That morning the culture results come in from the lab. They read, "explosive growth." The big needles come out, as do the liquid antibiotic. If we weren't messing around before, we really aren't now.

Two days later, I'm back in Washington. The liquid Rocephin seems to be working. I stop in to see my primary care doctor. He wants to have my leg opened up, and "irrigate it out." I almost thought he was talking about the acres of apple orchards in blossom around town.

The coolest part of surgery came in getting injected with linocain and getting to watch the surgeon cut into my leg. Very rarely do you get to see a professional ply their trade with a real, meaningful outcome depended on the volitional skill of another; both Dr. Rossi's and my attention singularely centered on the task at hand.

And the worst part. That's easy. It's came in making sure the wound, the hole in my leg, heals from the inside out. Twice a day I pack into the wound as much medicated ribbon into my leg. This ribbon acts like a wick, drawing out the bacterial evilness from my body. Medical professionals call this tunneling. I call it a disgusting process that leaves me feeling a little nauseous and dreading wound dressing change time.

Now, life is trending back to normalcy. First, I just rested. Then I started kayaking in the Columbia River. Then came running on the underwater treadmill and cycling. Now I'm back jogging with the middle school tracksters. This weekend I'm headed up to Whistler for a week of skiing at the Olympic venues. It hasn't been the April I envisioned. But you know what? Sometimes you have no idea what's around the corner.

Concluding

2009-04-12T17:51:00.000-07:00

The Season's Done.

The skinny race skis have been replaced by bigger, heavier, more shapely, boards.

In morning, the paths heads in one general direction. That is up.

If lucky by night the peak nears.

Blooming

2009-03-28T12:57:00.000-07:00

Some weeks ago ITA alum Matt Chisam posed a question on the nature-versus-nature debate. At the time I was away on a self-prescribed week long internet and telephone exodus in Rybinsk, Russia. Mr. Chisam's question was, "What do you believe had the most influence on your athletic career - nature or nurture?"

Since then, I've had time to ponder this and today is as good as any to put these musings to print. Initially, I thought the point mute and as I work my way through the question I keep coming back to one idea, that nature and nurture work in concert together, not in opposition or at the expense of the other. Our genes expressing themselves accordingly to the environment and opportunities one finds them exposed to. This is my interpretation. This is my belief. You can call it Torin's Theorem of Gene Expression. Now let me make you a believer.

Look, I get it. Alice In Chain's Layne Staley might have said "deny your maker" in an anthem from my youth, but that doesn't mean I have to believe in all he's selling. The way I see it, our genetic make-up plays a part in perhaps every single interaction in every single person's life. Nature's backers will point out the prodigies. No matter how much I enmesh myself in the world of virtuoso piano competition, I'd play chopsticks to Frederic Chopin's compositions. But most prodigies are likely found in chess, music, pure mathematics. These domains draw upon a specific, singular, delimited skillset. Gary Kasparov didn't need to attend chess school to kill your queen, conquer your king. But I'm sure it didn't hurt to learn from a couple of grandmasters of chess, either.

I'm sorry. Even after all this being said, in sport and in life, is there nothing surer than wasted talent? For every Michael Johnson, there's ten, twenty, (a hundred?)Obree Moore's.

And it seems everywhere you want to look, you can find an excuse. Freud tells us to blame our parents. Marx, our society. Wrong neighborhood, wrong side of the tracks, too rich, too poor... It's as if personal responsibility no longer, if ever, exists.

If I see any message in this, it is - do not buy the label. The moment we believe in our hearts success is determined by an ingrained level of ability - free and independent of determination and resilience and hardwork - we become brittle in the face of adversity. When someone says, "I'm just not talented enough," maybe that's the least of the problem. Because what is talent is not elusive? If not fleeting? If not collaborative?

among ocean and mountain

2009-03-15T12:37:00.000-07:00

With a glance back, time's march forward hinges halt. In the post-Lahti Ski Games race analysis, the final words read, "Find a way to win. I can. I know this. I know this better today than yesterday. I need to know this just as well tomorrow as today. Now it's how I can make this happen."

From Finland, I take away another sight. It comes from the ski jumps in Lahti. On a hill visible throughout the town, a progression of six ski jumps rest, a reminder to the young Lahti jumper where the ultimate goal lies. And this goal, to fly through the air far past the big hill 130 meter K-mark as forty thousand rowdy, stumblingly intoxicated countrymen cheer you on at the Lahti Ski Games.

Skiing by, I see kids five or six years old heading off the 25 meter hill. The jump, comparative to last night's big hill competition, makes for a short flight. But still, for one revealing moment, the young jumper gets into the full flight before touching back upon earth with a telemark landing. Icarus would like the effort. So would Janne Ahonen. Or America's Billy Demong.

From Lahti, I head west to Trondheim, Norway. Walking along the Nidelva river, heading to the open ocean fjords of downtown Trondheim, I'm taken aback by the cityscape scene. Cobble stone walkways and wooden bridges give way to the Atlantic. The sky is clearing and the last rays of day's sun make a final appearance. It's March, yet drifting piles of whiteness from yesterday's snow collect on the ocean front docks, yet there's only open water in the harbor. Ah, to take in the beautiful incongruity of a 64 degree latitude matched with a zero foot starting elevation.

First I pass by the Nidaros Cathedral - a tower of granite and craftmanship and copper seen from every house and hamlet, built in 1152 in this onetime pagan Viking land.

On the hill overlooking city and fjord, an austere white castle looms. It's the Kristiansten Fortress, built to keep out Swedes with a thirst for conquest.

On the aquatic side of the street, reclaimed old brick buildings that once hosted maritime dry-dock operators and ship builders now house college students, cafes, corner markets and small boutique shops.

It's then I have the thought. All cities are built along some source of liquid, with perhaps the better measure given to those residing along an expanse of salty ocean water. But the best of cities? The ones atop my list have but one requirement - a place where ocean and mountain meet.

Raceday came yesterday. Instead of using gooey klister or a purple-hued hard wax concoction in the wax pocket - the centermost part of my classic skis - I go on my "zeros." The name comes from the conditions the ski works best in; that is, fresh snow falling within a degree or two from zero centrigrate. Zero skis are made by taking sixty grit sandpaper and roughing up ski's wax pocket. This operation leaves micro-hairs of flourinated polyurethane that cling to the snow when compressed against it, then release when the compression ends.

Not everyone likes the feeling of skiing sandpapered skis. Not everyone can change their technique to make zeros a viable raceday option. For this very reason perhaps I love racing on "zeros".

And yet, as in everything in life, there's two distinct areas of enterprise: There's things you can control. And there's the things you cannot.

In Trondheim, I drew starting position number one for the interval start, race-against-the-clock, prologue. Normally this would be fine. Today, though, a just before raceday snow storm settled in, blanketing the race loop with a layer of wet, slow, suctiony powder I got to plow through. In the race against the clock, this was an added challenge.

I layed it out on the course. Fifteen seconds later, Fabio Pasini of Italy finished. We're within a tenth. Next, two-time World sprint medalist Johann Kjoelstad crosses the line, half a second back. Then comes, Nokolay Morilov, fresh off a bronze at Worlds, +4.5 in arrears.

Okay, I've done what I need to do. Now it's off to get the effort out of my body and to get ready for the head-to-head racing that'll determine first to thirtieth. Only, it's not to be today. The once powdery tracks soon glaze. Gliding velocity speeds up. I finish 37th, my racing day ending early. All that awaits me today is hard intensity, away from the nine thousand spectators lining the course.

Next week, racing around the King's Castle in downtown, Sweden awaits. Another opportunity. Not losing the feeling I had in Lahti, going out and skiing strong and big and fast in Stockholm is totally, 100%, within my control. The King of Sweden will be there. So too, will be, Princess Madeleine. A personality of intrigue, to be sure.

Wait, what's that I hear in the distance? Could it be? Yes, it is. The bells of Nidaros Cathedral ring. They ring for you. They ring for me. I'm coming Miss Madeleine...

Still among the shadows

2009-03-01T12:42:00.000-08:00

"Even though the sport inspires magic, it's magicians need the latitude to be human." -A friend after a hard day.

"For I fancy I do know the nature of courage, but somehow or another, she has slipped away from me and I cannot get a hold of her and tell her nature." - Plato

Ciao for now. -Tk