The last couple of weeks have been fairly busy. A few long rides on the trainer. Well, long by my standards. And a few hours of skiing up at Hardwood hills.
Unfortunately my ski speed is pretty slow. I'm about 30% slower than I was "back in the day" and it makes me a little bit sad, and a bit worried about my Gatineau experience 2 weekends from now. Baring any miracles it's going to be a long weekend.
Today I was hoping to go for a 4 hour ski, to follow up on the 3 hours classic I did yesterday.
I woke up early, which means late to my lovely wife, grabbed a coffee and some Gatorade and headed for the snow belt north of Barrie.
With the ipod in I cruised along in a fairly uneventful manner, enjoying the scenery, which was easy at my speed.
All in all the day wouldn't be worth writing about but at 2 hours, 26 minutes, and 13 seconds, according to my handy dandy heart-rate monitor, I experienced a sensation that I won't forget for a very long time.
As I eased down a curving section of the trail, happy to be passing a few folks taking a quick break trail-side, I decided that it was time to take a drink.
Drinking fluids is a task that most humans can accomplish with ease. In fact, I believe that most people can accomplish the task while moving under their own power. Even though I'd had almost a full bottle by that time I proved that I am a danger to my self.
As I grabbed for the bottle, strapped around my waist I decided to reach around with the opposite hand, my left.
Now, any experienced, or not experienced, skier will tell you, you should never put the tips of your poles in front of you. They tend to get caught, and throw you off balance. Always keep them behind you and stop with your skis.
And so, it was with some nervousness that I saw my left pole swing around to my front. But I was not worried, I have a fair number of miles of skiing under my belt and rarely fall, except for yesterday when I stepped on a leaf and that and a combination of my grip wax which seemed tuned perfectly for "Oak leaves stuck in trail" sent me onto my face.
So I kept reaching for the sweet syrup that is Gatorade.
And then I heard, and felt, an explosion so powerful I thought I had been shot.
My feet flew forward, my upper body snapped in the same direction. And my groin stayed perfectly still.
Bang.
I felt like I had been shot back in time. Or hit by a cannon as in some twisted road-runner cartoon.
As I fell to the ground I remember seeing a piece of the pole flying, making it's escape.
And I stopped my watch, writhing on the ground, begging for death. I have not felt anywhere near that much pain since having a vasectomy, which is rather ironic.
I heard voices. Men squeamishly asking if I was ok. I was proud I did not vomit.
I got up after a few minutes and managed to ski back, fortunately mainly downhill.
The good news is that I got a new pair of poles out of the deal. The bad news is that my wife isn't happy that I got new pair of poles out of the deal, despite the fact that they aren't nearly top of the line, but more mid-grade.
So here's the damage. You'll notice it broke into 3 pieces which is probably a good thing as it meant I didn't skewer myself in the process.
I'm going to miss these poles. I don't know what they say. All I know is that they came out of Russia for a couple years in the '90's and they were a very affordable pair of carbon poles that carried me through many loppets and biathlon races.
I managed to ski another 12 km loop with my new poles, putting me up around 45 km for the day. Not what I wanted but a worthy effort.
