Aspire & Expire

The news came when I was in the hamlet of Sjusjoen, in the hills above Lillehammer, Norway: Three Dead in Stevens Pass Avalanche

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Why the appeal of affixing clinging skins, clicking into rear-heal releasing bindings and heading into the backcountry? My ITA mentor Greg Peck says this gets back to the soul of sport. And the way he says it, you know it's true. Some of the last words Daniel Zimmerman, the closest person to me I've lost to winter's fury said to me was, "We got to get up in the mountains together again (pointing to the Enchantment Range of the Cascades just above) and receive their good tidings."


Dan leading the crew into his backyard playground.

I've never known another to be such a fun-hog as Dan. He had the ability to take the moment at hand and fill it to the brim with kinesthetic energy and conversation. I can see A.E. Housman penning the words that Dan, and now Chris and Jim Jack and John were the very ones able to fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds of distance run.

After you leave the hometown you grew up in, it's never quite the same to come back home to. I still feel a deep connection to the valley. But the parent's sold the house, and moved back to the city 30 miles away. More and more, I am left with memories. These mental etchings will be with well into my time as an elderly man sitting at a lunch counter ordering a ruben-and-rye at Rumplestilskin's Delicatessen. Thanks for the memories. You are missed. Profoundly.

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My connection to Chris Rudolph and Jim Jack didn't run back to the first day my family moved to 107 Mill Street in Leavenworth. But they were great friends of friends, the kind of people you look to get to know better if you were ever able to move out of the suitcase and settle back down in the Upper Valley. The best word to describe them would be characters. This is just how the Seattle Times reporter described those caught in the February avalanche - "Residents of the small town of Leavenworth mourned the loss of three "very beloved characters" who lived and breathed Leavenworth." Sometimes, a writer and a friend gets it just right. At Chris's memorial, one spoke about how Chris was an amplifier of life. The following are his words:

In a parallel universe, Chris, Jim Jack, Johnny and the rest of the crew skied safely and ecstatically down to the highway. The Stevens Pass van that Chris would surely have had en route would load them up and deliver them back to the resort in ecstasy and disbelief of how epic and how easy it all was. I know this, because I’ve been on that van ride. I’ve been at the bar afterwards as we all raised a glass to Chris for facilitating this finite slice of heaven. If we could only have realized how finite it would really be.

Chris and I shared many of these beautiful moments. Skiing, celebrating, making music, working, traveling, exploring, planning and giving freely of the gift of joy. He was a man with whom I had more in common than nearly anyone else in my life. Being around him gave me the feeling that my actions and motivations in life were of the highest tier, because the same actions and motivations were his.

My perspective on this is not unique. Chris served as an amplifier of life, in full support of anything positive, brave or inspired. For the people with whom he connected, Chris was a motivator, a collaborator and a model for fully living. A life more fully and joyfully lived creates stronger bonds. My dear friend Chris Rudolph created more of these bonds with more people than anyone I can think of.

Yesterday while in the midst of living his creed, Chris was killed. When he died he was in his element; on skis, in the mountains, on his favorite run, sharing the wealth with his close friends and a crew of people experiencing the place for the first time. This was Chris Rudolph at his finest.

What Chris has left for us is a profound sense of loss that is more burdensome and acute than many of us have experienced before. But more importantly, he’s left us a guide for interacting with the world around us. We’re left with the knowledge that we have a small window of opportunity in this life to forge friendships, to inspire, to live and to love. It’s time to open the floodgates and let it all fly. It’s what Chris would do.

Moscow WC Video: Part II

Moscow World Cup Video: Almost Like Racing Around The Red Square

Anchor Down: Trondheim, Norway

After a little xc race series back in the states, I packed up the bags, hopped a freighter and put the anchor down in the North Sea port of Trondheim, Norway. The locals here speak with the treacherous Trondersk accent. The morning's start with a bowl of Havregryn, topped with dried Washington cherries and maple syrup from my mom's family's little farm in Lost Lake, Minnesota. And the trails groomed for miles stretch far farther than the kilometers I've racked up.



My favorite section of the city sits on the banks of the Nidelva River. Former shipbuilding buildings now have given way to studios, studies, kafes and personal dwellings. Somedays, you can take your car across the bridge into downtown. Otherdays, you cannot. One street here is so steep and so many people ride bikes, there is lift (not unlike the alpine resort's magic carpet ride) to take one atop the hill to the university and the hill where the locals would bombard Swedish Vikings looking to pillage the place.



When the springtime comes, I hear the crust skiing is crazy good. Getting my first taste in the sun at Ski Stua.



I titled this photo, Trondheim's Splendor. I think the name should suffice. On a fine winter's day in Trondheim could you suffer from the spears and arrows of outrageous fortune?



In other news, 6/7th of the field at the SuperTour in Minneapolis had to be disqualified for obstruction for not completely clearing their tails from the tips of the skier they were overtaking.

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

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

New Article: The Sweet Science of Skiing

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.