With my Sibley ski suit on ...
... I fall in love with this sport season after season
by Joanna Kramer Fanney |
Wearing her first ski racing suit,
Joanna Kramer Fanney soaks in the completion
of her first Kortelopet on February 24, 2001. |
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Six winters ago, my husband and I made a trip to Thunder Bay, Ontario, for a week of cross-country skiing. To our joy, we discovered a winter paradise with well-developed
and exquisitely groomed trails, friendly skiers of all ages and a jewel of a race the Sibley Ski Tour all of which have drawn us north every year since.A few days before the Sibley race we visited Fresh Air Experience, a retail store that caters to silent sports enthusiasts in the Thunder Bay area. The name sums up perfectly why I prefer living in the country and being in the great outdoors to the hustle and bustle of city life. I'm
addicted to fresh air. When out on the trail be it laced up in hiking boots, clipped into cross-country skis or strapped into snowshoes fresh air expands and contracts my lungs bringing every cell in my body to life. A girl like me spends a lot of time outside in all kinds of weather. So proper apparel to survive the elements is a must. Thus the shopping expedition. Wandering around the store was almost as much fun as
skiing (especially since the majority of winter-related items were half-price). En route to the upper level, I spied hanging on the wall the most incredible ski racing suit I had ever seen. It literally took my breath away.
I came to find out it was the only one of its kind in the store, it happened to be my size, and thanks to the end-of-the-season sale, I had enough money to take it home.
Oh, but I don't race ...
There was one problem, however. I was convinced that racing suits were reserved for elite athletes those fast, graceful skiers always passing me on the trail. If I wore this thing to a race, people would think I was fast. They would notice me.
While I was definitely a skiing fanatic, moments of feeling graceful were few and far between for me. After strapping cross-country skis on for the first time at age 35, I spent a couple of years unwinding my legs and
skis from positions never intended for the human body. I took my fair share of face plants in the snow. But that didn't stop me from being crazy about the sport, dreaming of ski trails at night, and searching them out by day.
I focused on developing technique and getting my three young children out on skis as much as possible. I loved the addicting high energy of races, but I remained on the sidelines cheering as family and friends
competed. When asked why I wasn't joining in, my emphatic reply was always the same: "I'm not fast enough to race yet." To tell the truth, I was secretly afraid of coming in dead last or crumpled in a heap at the bottom of a hill.
My skiing community persisted with encouragement, reminding me that racing was meant for every level of ability and would only help improve my skill and confidence.
OK, I'll try one race ...
I finally decided to "do or die" and tried a 10K classical ski race in Iola, Wisconsin. As predicted, I fell a few times, but no one heckled. So I brushed off the snow and plunged ahead. Much to my delight, I was spared the worst of my racing fears: plowing into a tree or ending up in last place. Surviving that first 10K empowered me to try another, and sure enough, just as everyone had said, racing turned out to be great fun. I was hooked.
The following year I was ready to try a half-marathon. I figured I still didn't have enough control on skis to brave the Birkie trail, so I chose the Sibley Ski Tour for its family-friendly atmosphere and forgiving course that winds around the Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. For reasons too complicated to divulge at the moment, I found great comfort in the fact that the Sibley Peninsula juts out over my favorite body of water in the entire world: Lake Superior. I felt safe on that trail.
But back to the racing suit. Shopping at Fresh Air Experience a few days before the Sibley was like adding fuel to the fire. Conditions were ripe for a racing suit to catch my eye and I found myself in a dressing room in front of a mirror just staring at an amazing looking skier. I couldn't believe my eyes. The fit was perfect and the material felt cool and silky smooth against my skin. The bold design of black and bright amber must
have triggered a surge of adrenalin. I felt beautiful and fast. I showed myself off to my husband who gave me a big thumbs up.
I then proceeded to ask everyone on duty if the suit was intended for elite skiers only. The unanimous reply was "No." The store staff members do not work on commission, so I took them at their word and walked out of the store with my first racing suit.
The Sibley lived up to its reputation and every moment was a total blast. Crossing the finish line, my spirits were flying high, not because of what I was wearing, but rather because of the entire experience. I had worked hard, ended with a decent time, and was surrounded by friendly ski lovers who were just as caught up in the moment as I was. Returning home to Lodi, Wisconsin, I was sitting on top of the world.
The following season I resolved to get serious about training. Most of my skiing friends trained year-round, and after all, I had a beautiful racing suit to live up to. I wore that suit again for several more half-marathons, and had great fun skiing the Seeley Hills Classic and the Kortelopet both held on a trail that once had frightened me. My times started to improve and my confidence blossomed.
Slowed by shoulder pain
Everything seemed to be going as planned until I started experiencing shoulder trouble. Instead of progressing up the line, I skied with increasing frustration and became cautious and tense on the trails. The injury left me feeling vulnerable; pain sucked the joy out of skiing as well as other treasured activities such as canoeing, yoga and even chopping vegetables. I began to lose confidence in myself as a person and as an athlete.
I was convinced that the pain was a result of poor technique and lack of upper body strength, so I kept working out. But no matter how hard I tried, the problem persisted.
The racing suit hung unused in my closet for three years as I journeyed through the world of physical therapy and chronic pain. An internal dread took over; a nagging worry that I would be dealing with pain and limited
activity for the rest of my life. With this in mind, I finally visited an orthopedic surgeon. Together we developed a plan that would include surgery if the pain continued.
When the snow started to fall, I did a few races with the goal of finishing happy. Nonetheless, I felt disappointed with my times. A couple cortisone shots helped pull me through the winter, skiing usually without poles and on easier trails.
An unseasonably warm 45 degrees was forecast for my race at the 2005 Winter Badger State Games. The day before I stood before a mirror in my racing suit once again, but this time the familiar surge of adrenaline didn't come. I wondered if I'd ever wear that thing with confidence again.
The Sibley suit rides again
The next morning, however, that old forgotten enthusiasm rose in my chest as I slipped into the silky smooth
garment. During the race, every muscle in my body worked hard, fresh air moved deeply in and out through my lungs, and gratitude did its healing work. As I rounded the final corner, spectators and racers cheered me on: "Great job, keep going, you're almost done!" I crossed the finish line with spirits flying high.
To my surprise, I placed second in my age group in the 10K classic race, winning my first Badger State
Games medal. Granted, there were only five skiers in my age group, but out of all the eligible women in Wisconsin, I was there.
A few weeks later, we made our yearly family pilgrimage for the Sibley Ski Tour. At the start, my husband and two daughters took off like a bolt, leaving me to ski alone, content to use one pole for most of the race. It didn't take long to realize I wasn't alone. There were happy skiers all around me.
Nineteen kilometers later I could hear the announcer and cheering fans, sounds that quickened my pace and widened the grin on my face. I crossed the finish line feeling radiant and light, wearing my cherished racing suit. I wanted to kiss the trail and felt like hugging the race director and everyone else in sight. Once again, I was sitting on top of the world.
I'm happy to report that last April the source of my shoulder pain and frustration was brought to light. A
good-sized bone spur was surgically removed from my right subachromial space, freeing my shoulder to do its job. I had lost much of my upper body strength but gained valuable information along the way, reinforcing my belief that it's the journey, not the destination that matters most. I learned to trust the process.
I'm here to tell you that hard times can turn to gold. I'll be back on the trails with renewed strength and
confidence this season and every season thereafter, I hope. I want to be cross-country skiing when I'm 80 years old. I doubt my racing suit will last that long, but I'm sure my thirst for fresh air will.
I'll encounter more challenges along the way. That's just how life is. As long as I keep moving and breathing, taking what comes with an open heart, I'll be a winner no matter what place I'm in when I cross the finish line.
Joanna Kramer Fanney lives in Lodi, Wisconsin, with her husband and two daughters. A retired registered nurse who teaches preschool, she can be found out on the trail In every season and in any type of weather.
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