Amy Reinink

Last time you heard from your favorite ski zombie, she was high on life after making a few little ski adjustments that made a big difference during her first weekend of ski-patrol ski-and-toboggan training. She was optimistic and enthusiastic. The best way to explain what has happened since then is in brief snapshots.

Tuesday night: I crash my OEC (ski-patrol medical) buddy Buck’s ski-patrol shift after two days of work in D.C. We take some runs, have some laughs and eat some dinner. Toward the end of the night, we help another patroller put an injured guest on a backboard, working together as if we were students again. “It’s like we didn’t skip a beat!” Buck says, and I agree.

Wednesday night: I am back on the mountain to work with one of the two main ski-and-toboggan instructors during his regular shift. It is pouring rain. The instructor eyes me warily. I glumly tell him I won’t ask him to ski with me, considering the weather. He suggests that we do some dryland exercises instead, hands me the two ends of a piece of rope, then proceeds to tug on the ropes as if they’re handles of a toboggan, so I get the feeling of being thrown off my balance while I’m steering it. A patroller I’ve never met before laughs as he watches us. “It’s like she’s a puppy, and you’re playing with her to tire her out,” he says. Later, I think about how I should have told him that like a puppy, I have tiny, sharp teeth that hurt like hell when I bite.

Thursday morning: I get some information that changes my understanding of how this year’s training will go for me—that it will be more rigorous and longer, and will require more time away from home, less of an accelerated program and more of a 2012 ski odyssey. Even as I realize this will ultimately make me a better ski patroller, I doubt for the first time my ability to get it done this season, or at all. I spend the rest of the day working on my snowplowing and side-slipping. I miss Steve. I miss home. I start wondering why this ever seemed like a good idea. Before he leaves for the day, the supervisor of the paid patrol gives me a concerned look and pats me on the back. “We’re going to get you there,” he says firmly. I try to believe him.

Thursday night: I join several other candidates in working with another ski-and-toboggan instructor on his regular shift. I am exhausted from the get-go after spending most of the day snowplowing and side-slipping, which is kind of like getting ready for an evening 5K by doing a speed workout the morning of the race. I feel like I’m struggling with even the most basic skills. Video analysis shows that I’m locking out my downhill leg during my turns, still sitting back in my skis. I spend the night willing my quads to work and willing my eyes not to tear up in frustration, succeeding at neither.

Friday night: I work the day shift in a Day-Quil haze, thanks to a cold I’ve caught while staying in the patrol’s bunk room, located in a ventilation-free room below the rental department. Steve drives up from Virginia Beach and arrives to find me curled up on the couch, fast asleep, while other patrollers’ kids watch “Snow Dogs” on the bunk room television. We go out for pizza. It is the first time I’ve left Whitetail for days, besides a few trips to the McDonald’s in Clear Spring, which has cell reception and WiFi for work sessions. I tell Steve about the week. He tells me I’ve lost perspective on the whole thing, and asks if I can hear how impatient, perfectionistic and self-deprecating I’m being, and how self-defeating that all is. I pout, and tell him to cut me a break. I know in the pit of my stomach that he’s right.

Saturday: I go through the second official S&T class still feeling terrible about myself, getting through all the drills but enjoying very few of them. This time, video analysis shows that I need to “loosen up.” In the afternoon, I ride the lift up with the instructor I’d worked with in the morning, who senses something’s wrong. He asks if I’ve been free-skiing at all since starting the training, knowing that I haven’t been. So we take turns following each other through some nice, soft bumps along the side of a run. It’s so much fun, I finish each section giggling. I have my best runs of the day, and manage to incorporate most of the skills I’ve been obsessing about. Turns out it’s much easier to ski well when you’re not in the middle of a nervous breakdown. I finish the day feeling hopeful and optimistic.

Once I accepted that there would be dark spots, everything seemed much brighter.

Sunday: On our way to dinner, Steve suggests I draw on sports-psychology lessons I’ve learned while training for various endurance events. As an example, he asks whether I ever doubted I’d finish my first marathon. He doesn’t expect me to say yes. I start thinking about how low I felt after my first-ever 17-miler, when I melted in the Florida heat and walked the last two miles, certain I could never finish a full 26.2. Then, I think about how I called my friend Sarah to tell her I wouldn’t be going to Nashville with her, and how she gently told me that it’s perfectly normal to feel awful during a long run, that the long run is sometimes just a dark point of training to be gotten through. I remember that a good training cycle isn’t about the absence of low points, but instead about how you handle those moments of intense self-doubt. When I start looking at some of the events of the past week as a perfectly normal dark point in training to be gotten through, everything ahead seems much brighter.

Monday: We stop at the DC Ski Center on our way out of town to shop for a new helmet and goggles for me. Steve suggests I stick around D.C. for the rest of the week to squeeze in a bit more training. I melt with gratitude, and take him up on it. So here I am.

Consider this a belated (mostly) Wordless Wednesday. I missed actual (mostly) Wordless Wednesday because I’ve been staying at Whitetail, alternating skiing with working with the occasional sleeping. More on that later.

For now, can I tell you about the best part of each day up here? It’s when we’re opening the mountain, and I get views like this pretty much all to myself. (See below).

Happy weekend!

First, a brief editor’s note: The editor did not mean to inspire alarm by mentioning her move to Virginia Beach in her last post. She would like to emphasize that she will still be living in the D.C. area for a large chunk of each month, and will be going back and forth between her temporary home there and the D.C. area, where she will continue writing what she hopes are compelling, interesting stories for her wonderful D.C.-area clients. She will continue to be available for swim dates, trail runs and other D.C. adventures, and will try not to brag too much about her long runs along the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia Beach. Also, the post-move chaos has mostly subsided now, and the editor will start communicating with the outside world again very soon.

One more brief editor’s note: If you’re new to this blog and aren’t already tired of hearing the editor whine about the ACL tear that derailed her ski training last winter after months of medical training, read about it here and here and here.

Now: The weekend. After getting our stuff semi-settled in Virginia Beach, Steve and I did the only sensible thing: Took off and drove up to Whitetail, which opened a bunch more terrain last week. We woke up at 6:30 a.m. to help open the mountain. Then, at 9 a.m., I joined this year’s ski-patrol candidate class on their first day of ski-and-toboggan (S&T) training.

Whitetail opened a few of its intermediate slopes last week—hooray! PHOTO CREDIT: Whitetail Resort webcam.

The class consisted of three hours of thigh-busting ski drills and skills, including a lot of snowplowing. A LOT of snowplowing. Do not underestimate the impact that snowplowing will have on your glutes.

My snowplowing buddies. I wonder if they're as sore as I am?

After a brief break for lunch, the rest of the class broke off to do mountain operations, which I limped through last year with my own candidate class. I asked the head S&T instructor, a former pro skier who’s known for transforming mediocre skiers into great ones, if he’d keep working with me in the afternoon. He agreed, and we started by working on my pole plants.

The thing I’ve done with my ski poles since I started skiing at age 7? That’s not what you’re supposed to do with poles. Previously, my poles (and therefore hands, and therefore upper body) were always lagging behind me—or worse, were held out absurdly far in front of me to compensate. So I worked on planting the pole downhill from me to unweight my edges each turn (don’t ask me where I was planting it, other than “the wrong place”). The first run I tried it, the change felt absurd and wrong. The second run felt good, except for the fact that every fiber of my being wanted to revert to my old, bad habit. The third run, I looked up at the instructor to see if I’d done good—and found him beaming.

The pole thing fixed, like, seven other bad habits I’ve been harboring. This will make sense to anyone who’s worked on their running or swimming form, or diagnosed a phantom overuse injury—our body parts don’t work in isolation, so of course changing one thing about your form will change everything! All because I fixed the dumb thing I was doing with my poles, I now finish my turns, lean forward rather than sitting back, engage both my edges. I have more balance and stability. We skied a few more runs to make sure I’d gotten it—I had.

I had also gotten REALLY sore, which the next 24 hours did not help with. A brief snapshot: I skied around a bit more, because although I was tired, the snow was so nice! I popped out of my skis and ran up one of the beginner slopes while wearing my ski boots with a few other patrollers to respond to an injured guest who needed to be put on a backboard. I hoofed around in ski boots a bit more after convincing a kid who was hopping around on one foot to come into the clinic and get his ankle checked out. I helped close the mountain at 10 p.m. that night, and woke up at 6:30 a.m. to help open it the next day. When I finally got home last night, I was beyond wrecked—like, post-marathon sore, the kind of sore in which you make funny noises when you have to stand up.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I realized my mentality had shifted. Last year, I was borderline obsessed with the coveted red coat, which you get after your training is totally complete and you’re a full ski patroller, and felt kind of pathetic and alone and absurd in my blue candidate coat after my classmates graduated. This year’s candidate coats are actually much more reasonable, and are simply regular red ski-patrol coats that have “candidate” written in the white cross. But as I was going through the class on Saturday morning, practicing the skiing techniques I’ll use once we’re in the handles of a toboggan, I realized the whole coat thing was kind of beside the point. I felt the same way in the afternoon, when I wasn’t thinking at all, but rather just focusing on each turn in that coveted state of flow. Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring around the end result, and stopped obsessing about whether I could do it, whether I was scared to do it, whether I’d be good enough at it … and started making like a Nike ad and just doing it.

Now, I’m not obsessed with when I’ll get the darn coat (which, for the record, I still want). Instead, I’m obsessed with when I’ll get to play with sleds, when I’ll get to transport my first patient, and when I’ll get to beat the pants off Steve while skiing with him.

At the end of the day, my cheeks were bright red—not from sunburn, but because I was smiling so big the whole day, my cheeks were sore from scraping the bottom of my sunglasses.

Better yet, as I write this, it’s snowing in Silver Spring!

So we moved. For at least the next several months, I’ll be splitting my time between Silver Spring and a cool duplex a block away from the beach in Virginia Beach, Va. (stay tuned for photos of my new daily run along the Chesapeake Bay).

As part of the move, I threw out a phenomenal amount of stuff I don’t need anymore: carefully-marked maps of Silver Spring running routes I now know by heart; a knee immobilizer from last year’s ACL tear; a hair-straightening iron from college; a dust-covered shot-glass collection from an unnamed period of time that certainly would not be high school. As I chucked each item in the “donate” and “recycle” boxes, I was grateful for the space each dismissal created—in our office, and in my life.

Of course, that makes room for the new: New challenges and adventures and goals that have no use for straighteners of any kind (knee or hair). In the spirit of that newness, I wanted to pass along the links to several new (or just new to me) running-health-wellness blogs I’ve stumbled upon recently:

• A new look for Nourishing The Soul, worth checking out for the pretty, quote-filled, warm-fuzzy-inducing homepage alone. It’s a blog about eating disorders and body image, but has great info and insights for anyone trying to live an active, healthy life
• Adam Goucher’s Run The Edge blog
• Nobody Cares About Your Run, a new running blog from a friend of a friend
• The lovely and talented District Chocaholic has started an Obligatory Tri Blog

Have you stumbled upon anything new and exciting recently? Or dismissed any relic of a past self from your current life?

Whitetail opened on Dec. 30. We were there Dec. 31-Jan. 2, and as luck would have it, so were a few of the ski patrol’s ski-and-toboggan instructors. So after months of waiting and weeks of obsessing about the stubbornly warm weather, I actually started the remainder of my ski patrol training, which I will finally finish this winter after an ACL tear derailed my training last winter.

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort webcam.

There weren’t many runs open, so I basically spent three days doing various drills—such as skiing on one leg to force myself to stop sitting back during my turns—on the slope pictured above. Much like running, it’s actually easier to practice good form when you’re going faster. So despite the fact that only beginner terrain was open, I left Whitetail feeling happily exhausted and sore—and ready to get into the meat of the training next weekend.

How did you spend your New Year’s Eve?

In the past, I never saw the need to combine my charitable giving with my recreational racing. I thought the two were best kept separate, and as a result, never used my various races as a way to raise money for causes I believed in.

Then, my mother-in-law got sick. Steve and I launched into a campaign to run the Bolder Boulder 10K as a fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society in her honor, and found it to be one of the most fulfilling experiences of our lives. Asking our friends and family members to support us in a cause we felt so passionate about lit a new kind of fire under us. It didn’t result in stellar times for either of us, thanks to such factors as high altitudes and new ACLs, but it did result in us raising $3,000 for the American Cancer Society.

A side note: It also resulted in what might be the most amazing, pained race photo of all time (see above). On so many levels, it actually hurts to look at that picture.

I still don’t totally feel comfortable asking others to lend financial support to my personal causes. But I’m OK with making exceptions in some very special cases. Today, in this season of giving, I’m bringing another very special case to your attention.

On Jan. 9, Steve and I (along with 23 other crazies) will be participating in an endurance event at Whitetail Resort called the 100K Vertical Challenge, in which we will attempt to ski 100,000 vertical feet in one day—roughly 107 runs at Whitetail. The event aims to raise funds for and awareness of the Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, a nonprofit adaptive sports program for people with disabilities. This rapidly growing program services wounded troops in the nearby Baltimore/Washington region, as well as civilian athletes with a wide range of disabilities.

Do this, and benefit a great cause at the same time? Yes, please!

I feel a personal connection to this cause on many levels, but at the core, I’m taking part in this event because I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the wounded warriors who receive lessons through Two Top, who have taken the burden of war upon their own shoulders so the rest of us can continue living our lives unscathed. I’m grateful that my own husband, and many of our dear friends, have returned from their deployments healthy and safe. I’m grateful that my own injuries have been the minor, fixable sort, and grateful I’m able to experience the freedom, joy and exhilaration of skiing at all. Given all that I have, participating in this challenge, and thereby helping others experience the same sense of freedom, joy and exhilaration, seems like the least I can do.

If you’re looking for opportunities to give this holiday season, please consider donating to this incredible cause. There are two ways you can donate to my campaign: by pledging a certain amount for each run I complete (I will let you know that number after the race), or by donating a fixed amount ahead of time via Two Top’s website (be sure to let me know via comment or via email at amy.reinink (at) gmail.com, so I can thank you—and brag to my fellow participants). Donations can also be made via check to: Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, Inc., 10914 Claylick Rd. Mercersburg, PA 17236

Thanks for any support you can offer, either financial or emotional. This will be my last post before Christmas; I will return to regular posting in 2012. Until then, may your holiday season be full of family and love, and may your new year be full of fun and adventure!

Have you ever had a totally perfect training cycle? One where you didn’t have to postpone any long runs for weather or a bad cold (or an awesome tailgater, for that matter)? Or didn’t have to spend a week in the pool with a sore IT band? Or didn’t have to swim with a pull buoy because of a twisted ankle, or with a kickboard after tweaking your shoulder picking up a suitcase? Or didn’t make it to the pool at all because it was randomly closed for maintenance the very week you were supposed to swim your hardest sets, or because your toddler got sick?

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

I ask because I realized that the reason I’ve been so cranky about the postponement of my ski patrol training thanks to a warm-weather-induced late start to the season is because THIS WASN’T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO. I was supposed to be on the snow by mid-December! But then the weather got all warm, and Whitetail couldn’t make snow! And I don’t WANT to wait anymore, because I had to wait LAST season after I got hurt , and it’s not fair!

All that whining and pouting makes it seem like I haven’t been through this before. I’ve taken month-long hiatuses in the middle of marathon training to accommodate a sore hip. I’ve amended my training schedules for open-water swims to suit my travel and work conflicts. I’ve done speed workouts on the treadmill when it’s simply un-runnable outside. In short, I’ve accepted the fact that life isn’t perfect, which means my training won’t be perfect, either—and I’ve found a way to get it done, anyway.

We're smiling because there's snow, actual snow, falling on us at Seven Springs!

So last weekend, rather than sit home and pout about our home mountain not being open, Steve, our favorite ski-patrol buddy and I decided to drive a bit farther west to play on a different mountain that *was* open. Obviously, I didn’t do any training at Seven Springs, located about an hour and a half past Whitetail in Pennsylvania. But I’ve got to believe that getting two additional days under my skis certainly doesn’t hurt my training. And, you know … it didn’t suck, either.

We woke at a B&B near Seven Springs ski resort to find our car, and the world, covered with white stuff. Score!

Have you recently worked around a glitch in a training cycle? Tell me how you managed to get it done by posting a comment below!

A funny thing happened at the beginning of my lifting session on Wednesday. I went through the beginning of my pre-ski/post-physical-therapy workout as I always do, stacking up 50 pounds on the quad-extension machine for single-leg quad extensions.

I did my first rep … and double-checked to make sure the weight was correct. It felt jokey-light, like I had accidentally stacked 15 pounds instead of 50. The weight was correct. Well, hello, quad! Welcome back!

Longtime readers of this blog know that quad strength was a huge challenge in my post- ACL tear comeback. A quick recap: My right quadricep muscle fell asleep after surgery, woke up after weeks of electronic stimulation in physical therapy, got strong enough to start playing my sports again, got lazy on hills and forgot to hold my patella in place, got strong enough to hold my patella at all times … but never felt as solid as it did before the injury.

For the past several weeks, increasing quad strength (in addition to overall strength and agility) before the ski season has been my main workout focus, and I’d started to think that I had reached my limit around 50 pound for single-leg quad extensions—arguably the most important and most annoying exercise in my current lineup. But there it was Wednesday, when I least expected it: Evidence that I have grown stronger.

This elicited another pleasant feeling, one I haven’t experienced since the Bay Bridge Swim in June: the feeling that the hay is in the barn, that I’ve prepared for an athletic challenge to the best of my ability. Can I tell you how much nicer it is to feel this way than to think: “Huh. It’ll be interesting to see if I can pull this off?”

The best part: This isn’t just about the ski season. I’ve been training for distance events for long enough to know that ignoring even the slightest of muscle imbalances is a one-way ticket to an overuse injury. Knowing that I am past the “grossly imbalanced” phase makes me feel much better about increasing my running mileage.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the current state of skiing, too, since I’ve been blathering about Whitetail’s snowmaking all week. The absurdly warm weather has obviously halted snowmaking in its tracks, leaving me feeling not only disappointed, but kind of stupid, like a kid who’s been overexcited about Santa’s impending arrival only to learn on Christmas Eve that he doesn’t exist. Keep thinking snow; I’ll keep my mouth shut to avoid jinxing things again. In the meantime, I’m finding comfort in the fact that my quads are both ready to go.

Happy weekend!

The last time I was this fixated on the weather was before my first marathon, when I obsessively checked the race-day forecast in Nashville, hoping that by hitting “refresh” one more time, I would reach a screen announcing: “Weather will be optimal and performance-boosting for marathon runners, especially Amy.”

I’ve been doing the same thing with the weather forecast for Mercersburg, Penn., where below-freezing temps at night mean snow-makers can create more of a base for our little ski resort. Of course, the more snow they can make, the quicker Whitetail can open. And the quicker they open, the quicker I can get into the remainder of my ski-patrol training. And the quicker I can do that, the quicker you can stop listen to me blathering about it.

Tonight’s 36-degree forecast and tomorrow’s forecasted rain are kind of a kick in the pants … but doesn’t the snow look pretty in this webcam shot from this morning?

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

My motivation this week focuses on one thing: As you can see in the web cam photo below, they’re making snow at Whitetail!

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

Why do I care so much? Please see previous posts about the ACL tear that halted my ski-patrol training last season, and about failing to let go of a goal I can’t go a day without thinking about.

Whitetail’s opening day still isn’t clear. But the fact that snowmaking is well underway give me hope and motivation that it’s coming very, very soon.

What’s motivating you this week?