Regaining health after a long-term funk

The form of this blog post was undecided for the longest of times. After returning west from Easterns at Nakkertok, I had a special opportunity to take part in some races at ex-US wax tech, Nat Brown's ranch, located near my girlfriend's cabin in Princeton, BC. There should have been a blog post devoted just to that weekend, but my body was in such a state of constant lethargy and sleepiness that I could hardly appreciate the spectacular venue and overall excitement surrounding the informal (yet extremely well-organized) races. I raced one day (nearly collapsed on course and then had a sudden urge to sleep upon crossing the finish line) and skipped the next.

The beginning of my staleness syndrome, but still enjoying the sunshine at Nat's ranch with the burly and highly academic Stef Sander-Green. 

Returning to Whistler, I took it very easy in training for the next two weeks leading up to Western Canadian Champs in hopes of turning things around. I did a set of short intervals the week before the races that felt pretty good, so I was off to race in Grande Prairie for the first time in my life (hard to believe, being from Yellowknife). Western Champs was a complete train wreck for me. I had a great pair of skis and felt surprisingly good in the skate sprint, but I crashed in qualifying and was unable to move through my quarter final. The next day was worse and even a little bit frightening.

Over the past 4 years I have been dealing with an unusual heart condition that comes and goes. At it's worst, during interval training my heart will start beating at up to 250 bpm, essentially just flapping and not pumping blood very effectively, and my workout would need to be adjusted. I have been able to control the racing heart rate by squatting down and taking a small break. This increased blood pressure somehow resets my heart into a normal rhythm and will remain so as long as I don't push it again that day. During these spells when my heart is acting up (usually a minimum of a week in length), I have limited the amount of intensity I do as much as possible to avoid triggering the arrhythmia. Because the tachycardia had always been triggered during the rest phase of hard intervals, I was surprised when it happened in a race for the first time at Westerns. In the 15 km classic race, I felt my heart start to flap midway through the race. I started to feel extremely terrible, my limbs and breathing started to seize up and refused to keep working. My race was done for the day. I also pulled the plug on the next day's 30 km. More on this heart condition at the end of the post...

Starting out my skate qualifier. The race was going well until I went over a section of ice on a corner and hit the deck.

15 km classic race at Western Canadian Championships

Back in Whistler, I was glad to have a month-long break before racing Nationals on my home course. This was a good time to feel things out and get the body back on track with some normal training, but to my frustration, I remained in this long-term funk. I had a couple okay races at Nationals and only one disappointing race. I failed to qualify for the sprint heats for the first time in my life, slipping and sliding all over the place as I struggled to get grip in the classic sprint qualifier. I switched my focus to a much anticipated trip to California with my girlfriend...

10 km skate at Canadian National Championships in Whistler

Believe it or not, we went to California for more ski racing. US Supertour Spring Series were taking place high up in the mountains in Truckee, California, racing high up at 2200 meters for better snow cover after the worst snow year in a century. I raced three races; a 3.3 km skate prologue, a 15 km classic mass start, and a classic sprint. The three races without a rest day in between and at that elevation made for some discomfort and tough mental battles out on course. Despite this, I skied to one of my best results of the year, a 16th place in the prologue in a tough field of Americans vying for positions on their Olympic team for next year. The next day's classic race was gruelling and I had difficulty getting purchase with the stiff skis I had selected. The final day's classic sprint was inclement weather, with rain and sleet and snow causing all sorts of ski and wax combinations to be tested on course. I opted for double poling on my race wax from Thursday's skate race since I couldn't get proper grip in warm-up and figured the course was moderately flat anyways. Aaaand for the second time in my life, I didn't qualify to race heats.

Honda Fit in its element. 2 road bikes, 3 people, racing gear and camping gear, driving from Whistler to California.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Kajsa and I visited the following places on our camping road trip vacation (there were a few days not camping too): Yosemite, Death Valley, Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, Monterey, San Francisco, Sonoma, and everywhere in between. A great way to unplug and unwind after a bit of a tumultuous season.

Dante's view with Death Valley in the background.

Lowest point in North America!

San Francisco was the highlight of the trip. Can't wait to go back!

There are still good things to take from this past season. I qualified to race my first World Cup, which was my primary goal for the season. In the summer, I achieved the best shape of my life and set records in both of the CVTC uphill roller ski time trials (shape that was gradually subdued after a knee injury in July that I am still dealing with today).

Québec City World Cup and the highlight of my ski career.

But with less than optimal health heading into this next training season, I am changing things up a bit over the coming months in hopes of being able to complete 100% top-quality training come July. I just got heart surgery for my supraventricular tachycardia. The procedure was a routine and safe procedure that has a short recovery time of one week. I walked into the hospital with a heart that flaps erratically while doing intensity, and walked out at the end of the day with a heart that is ready to pump full strokes of blood. Let me tell you, being a young person with an unfortunate heart problem that prevents me from doing what I love to its full extent, I feel pretty fortunate to live somewhere where such a high-tech procedure can be performed by a very reassuring and young, highly specialized doctor, FOR FREE, and get me back in action fully recovered in a matter of mere days. I was also relieved to hear that my condition, although frightening, was never life-threatening - only performance limiting.

Directly in the centre of the shot is one of the four holes they went in through. Size of a black fly bite.

Here are the other three, located at the top of my leg. (bruising is from local anaesthetic needles)

As for my knee, I am awaiting an MRI that will shed light on the instability issue I have had since last summer. I also have a fantastic physio that I have been working with whose aggressive techniques are proving effective in relieving the knee and quite performance enhancing.


You may be starting to think that I sound like an old car that's past it's prime and is starting to have some major breakdowns. But truth is, my fitness and experience have only been improving each year and I feel that my best days and results are yet to come. I have a long-term focus in this sport and I hope to be training and racing at a high level for many more years.


With lower training volumes planned for May and June because of my focus on my health, I will be attending a couple classes at Quest University in Squamish. I look forward to this change of pace and the unique educational experience offered at the seminar-style liberal arts and sciences school. Ecology and Astrophysics, here I come!

A Callaghan Valley photo shoot with my friend, Jen Tabbernor.

Every day is a spring day in Whistler. 

About 5 blog posts worth

What have I been up to since Québec City World Cup, you ask? Well, the tail end of a lengthy 6-week travel stint that found me in a different locale each week (Canmore, Québec City, Canmore, Whistler, Yellowknife, Thunder Bay) was marred by illness. Returning from the excitement of the World Cup (week 2/6), I was decimated by a cold and spent the week languishing on Phil and Kate's futon in Canmore as I attempted to summon the strength to be one of the World Cup alternate starters for that weekend's Canmore World Cup. Despite the lure of a potential spot for me to pull on a race bib with the Canadian team not racing it's full quota on the sprint day, I returned back to Whistler early in hopes of quickly returning to health in my familiar home training base setting.

Vitality renewed and with the last few skate ski sessions under my belt, it was time to head North for the holidays and for the dark deep freeze that is Yellowknife in December, where it would take a small miracle for temperatures to warm to the skate ski temperature of -20.

Nostril hairs freezing as I climbed out of the airplane onto the windswept tarmac, I was shocked at how low the sun was at mid-day (extend your arm with your thumb sticking out sideways - that's how high above the flat horizon the sun makes it at noon). I am often asked whether people go crazy with the short daylight hours in Yellowknife. As a kid, I would go to school in the dark and get out of school in the dark. Growing up with that and it being all I knew, I made do. Soon after arriving home to YK, on my daily squeaky skis, the beauty of low angle sunlight found it's way back into my good books as I was treated to the sky's pale pinks and blues that glow softly above the frosty landscape.

Local keener, Donny Boake, on a ski out at the Tumchewics' cabin at Prelude Lake. A guerrilla grooming movement has taken hold in Yellowknife, with set tracks popping up all over different lakes. 

Luckily, the cold was not as bitter as it could have been. Each day that week was right around -30 Celsius, making for good classic skiing conditions. Until I moved south after high school I had pretty much never used anything other than Swix Polar grip wax (-10 to -30). I still don't really know what I'm doing with Klister since Whistler is usually hairies...

After much family time, no friend time (the one year I decide to come home for Christmas, all my friends choose to head south...), cold classic skis and a few pounds gained, it was off to Thunder Bay and the World Championships Trials.

The Thunder Bay World Championships Trials 2013 was a wretched chapter of my life and a complete nonstarter. Well, not a complete nonstarter, as I started and finished a 30 km skiathlon despite an unnatural heavy feeling in my limbs. Returning to my hotel room that day, I was levelled. And let me tell you, recovering from a 30 km race is hard enough on it's own. Without eating or drinking anything for the next 48 hours is another matter. Looking as woebegone as ever, at the first flicker of life I fled home to Whistler with my tail between my legs (Auntie Lori, your flight changing skills in a time of need are nothing short of life saving), hoping to get as much terrain as possible between me and that germ infested hotel where many a skier fell victim to the wrath of the bowel-scouring Norovirus.

Now, in my earlier days of blogging I was well-known for my 1000+ word epics. I try not to do that any more, but when you delay blogging for a good 2 months it leaves you few options. Onwards...

The particularly nasty bout of Norovirus took its time in leaving my system. I was left lethargic and wearied for a solid 10 days after acute symptoms had passed. At the tail end of these 10 days, I had the bright idea to race a BC Cup in Kelowna. I had been training that week, but sensations were far from optimal. With expectations adjusted, I lugged my sorry carcass around on a double pole classic sprint and a 10 km skate race on Telemark's nicely undulating trail system. Getting pummelled back onto the racing train in such a way ended up being a good thing, and I was back to feeling normal shortly thereafter. My mentor (and MD), Andrew, says that after such an intense flu, the return to skiing is much aided by some fast movements on snow, trying to regain proprioception. I think the weekend served that purpose. As always, the stay in Kelowna at The Cove resort didn't disappoint. I love racing in Kelowna, even when I feel like crap.

A week later saw me back on form in Coast Cup action. I managed to claim a victory against some dudes that are much, much taller than I am. The classic race course was nice and flat and the sun was out. What a joy to race at home in Whistler when the weather is nice.

A pic by JFK Cromwell, during the 13.2 km Coast Cup.

Just tiny!

I have managed to squeeze in a few short ski tours while in Whistler this year. This is taken from Gin Peak, above Whistler Olympic Park.

Getting high on Cayoosh Mountain on the Duffey Lake road. 

Towards the end of January, I hemmed and hawed for a considerable length of time about heading East for a NorAm double header, indecisive mostly because of the daunting last-minute logistical detail required. A cold call from my good buddy, Pate Neumann, handing me on a silver platter a fully organized first half to the trip sealed the deal and I was off to Toronto to participate in the Duntroon NorAm.

Skiing on a very thinly covered Mono Nordic in Orangeville, Ontario. Fun ski on narrow, winding trails.

Grinding up an unruly steep pitch in a rather good 15 km skate at Highlands in Duntroon, Ontario.

Pate excited about taking Gerard Garnier and I on a quad tour of his family's estate in Palgrave, Ontario.

With a solid classic sprint and skate 15 km under my belt, along with a weekend and a week of exceptional hospitality with the Greens and Neumann's family, respectively, we loaded the car and departed for Ottawa in a miserably tropical mid-winter +14 degrees Celsius.

The last night at the Neumann's place was a grand old time. Pond hockey and bonfire followed by a feast with old friends. 

Racing at the Eastern Canadian Champs in Nakkertok has always been a good set of races for me. Easier course, lower altitude... It makes for a more level playing field for us born and bred lowlanders. This year, each race was quite decent for me. Friday's classic sprint could have been really good but I made a tactical error in my quarter final and didn't advance to the next round. Saturday's 15 km skate was okay. Sunday's 30 km classic could have been my best distance race ever were it not for an untimely crash mid-way through that made me lose contact with the speedy group I'd been comfortably skiing with.

pic credit: Bernard Pigeon

Starting out the 30 km pursuit start with Geoffrey Richards

Having a good group to work with makes 30 km much more enjoyable. Unfortunately, I lost contact with this group after being caught up in someone else's untimely crash. 

Performance-wise for these two weeks out East, I have to be pleased with the level of consistency. Nothing fantastic, nothing dismal. A success on the whole.

This season I have had two of my most enjoyable ski trips ever. This recent trip out East was on par with my World Cup trip to Québec City despite being quite different from a racing stand point (lots of high level races vs. one single really, really high level race). Both trips were made unforgettable because of the people I met and got to spend time with. Being taken in by such gracious skiing families on this trip was a great opportunity to see small corners of the country not often seen (in the instance of Pate's little corner of the world in Palgrave, ON), and, chez les Bérubés, to experience the culture of the beautiful Gatineau area. I love skiing for many reasons, and interacting with and getting to know new people is definitely high up on that list.

Fantastic fondue and raclette with the Bérubés on my last day in Gatineau to cap off a great trip. 

The price you pay for jumping a stone wall to feed a donkey

No, the title is not a metaphor for anything. On my last day in Québec, Justine (one of my gracious hosts in Vieux Québec), Ian Murray (who was staying with Justine as well), and I went on an adventure to meet the one and only donkey in the entire Ville de Québec. Concealed beneath a small shelter in a stone courtyard behind a church, said donkey lives a meagre and secret existence as Justine's father, David, who is a lawyer, wages legal warfare with the town to allow the rearing of Aldo, the affable and shaggy donkey. Living off the charity of generous carrot-offering tourists, Aldo has gained a somewhat cult following within the community and is, among other things, launching a calendar for this year's holiday season.

Through a raging snowstorm, Justine, Ian and I approached the windswept courtyard that houses the timid donkey, and were confronted with a stone wall. Upon scaling and leaping over the wall our troupe was beset by the territorial chastisement of a lady who turned out to be the bishop's wife, whose property Aldo is housed on. With justified suspicion of donkey abuse, the bishop's wife was adamant. Adamant until she recognized Justine, whose aunt happens to be the proud owner of Aldo. With that, our unannounced visit to the donkey switched from chastisement to encouragement. This, however, was not the last we would see of the bishop's wife.

Aldo and his companion goat. 

After disheveled fur was patted and proffered carrots were gobbled up, it was time to climb back over the wall. My ungraceful struggle over was accompanied by a disheartening ripping sound. In one fateful motion, the jeans I was wearing were torn asunder. It quickly dawned on me that this was a pressing matter indeed as these were the only pants I had brought on my trip East other than spandex and warm-up pants. And our ride to the airport for our flight back west was scheduled to leave in the next 15 minutes...

Luckily, Simons was only a hop, skip and a jump away. Pressed for time, I quickly tried on several pairs of jeans, was able to select one (no small feat for my short legs, narrow waist and big butt), and we were off. Hustling back up the snowy streets of Vieux Québec we passed by a lady hauling a christmas tree through the snowdrifts. The stooped over bishop's wife was quick to conscript our labour to take a detour through the nearby German market to collect and haul back to the church the remaining few christmas trees that were being donated to refugee families for the holidays.

With hands frostbitten and abraded from the rough bark of les sapins, we couldn't help but laugh at the events of the last 20 minutes as we loaded our things into the car to begin our journey home.

Merry Christmas.

Through stone passageways to battle

The mood between the men milling around is quiet but anxious. Your number is called and the man ushers you forward through the stone tunnel. On the threshold of the wall you step on a platform and a squad of officials prop you up and brush the crud off of your boots before you step on the brilliant white surface. The crowd chants and cheers and you gain a sense of the sheer magnitude of human presence on this side of the wall. You shift in your armour and feel the weight of your weapons as you swing them through the air. You have done this hundreds of times before, but today is different. There is energy in the air.

But in place of chain mail and morning stars there are carbonlites and spandex. The course is a tunnel of waving flags and appendages and strained vocal chords.

The Québec City sprint World Cup was one of the best experiences of my life to date.

photo credit: Motion360

On the start line getting ready to break the wand.

One thing that made the week in Québec amazing, is the lodging provided to Ian Murray and I by my girlfriend's cousins. They live right in Vieux Québec about a 5 minute walk from the race's start line. Pictured here is Ian Murray fiddling a ditty with Louisa on guitar. Louisa is but one of the cousins and lives across the backyard from where we were staying with another cousin. The house that we stayed in is one of the oldest houses in Québec City, built in 1793. Never has there been such a joyous and convenient lodging at a race. The weekly 20-person family dinners/jam sessions are something out of a movie.

The morning commute through the streets of old town Québec.

The start line beneath ancient stonework and crenellations.

Taking it all in on a training day.

Team Sprint 

Warming up for the skate sprint.

Navigating the sloppy and soft conditions of the 2-lap 750 meter man-made snow course. On my first lap I was a little startled by the 30,000 hollering spectators on course. I was able to snap out of it a bit on my second lap and skied strong in to the line.

photo cred: Motion360. 

Rounding the corner into the finishing straight. On the day I was pretty stoked on my qualifier. I have never had that much fun cross country skiing! Next time I will know what to expect with the blaring racket of thousands of people.

For some more pictures that really capture the essence of Québec City this past weekend, check out Reese Hanneman's blog.

Thanks to all my sponsors and supporters who made this all possible!

Thomsen

Securing a World Cup berth

photo cred: James Cunningham

I wrote a previous blog draft to this, but after an emotional past few days all but the most ardent of my readership would be bored to tears due to the incoherent, mundane ramblings of a shocked, overexcited mind.

To avoid the mundane and incoherent, I will keep this short.

I just qualified for my first World Cup race. It is this Saturday, December 8th in downtown Québec City.

Thank you to all of my friends, family, supporters and sponsors. This result has been a long time in the coming after recent years of injuries and illness and a FIS point requirement holding me back from racing a World Cup back in 2008.

This was my number one goal for the year, and it has been accomplished. Time to set new goals. The season has only just begun!

Thank you,
Thomsen

I am in blue on the far left. This heat is an all-Canadian affair, with 5 provinces and territories represented. The day was dominated by the Swiss National Sprint team, claiming the top 4 spots in the A-final. (photo cred: David Greer)

There was some minor excitement when I found myself in the lead with 150 m to go. Alas, bridging the gap earlier in my quarter-final left me a little gassed in the finishing stretch. Photo cred: James Cunningham

Photo finish (via @rapidcampf) - I am in 4th.

Canmore: I never take any pictures cause I know I'll just be right back.

Funny how that works. Canmore, AB, despite being one of the most beautiful towns in Canada, surrounded by majestic Rocky Mountain peaks, is one of the few places that I have visited that I rarely feel compelled to snap any photos.

Truth is, Canmore is a 3rd home for me (behind Yellowknife and Whistler) and is a place that I return to so often (about 3 times per year) and spend so much time in (1-2 months per year), that pictures are hardly necessary to remind me of the natural beauty of the mountain town.

My arrival in Canmore this time around was to a season I did not expect. Sure, I expected to be skiing on snow on the fabled Frozen Thunder, but little did I know that the entire town would be under it's own kind of "Frozen Thunder" spell. My suitcase's wardrobe consisted of 80% summer clothing, reflecting partly my trip down south to the "warm" USA, and partly my expectation of some afternoons in Canmore spent mountain biking or roller skiing beneath an autumn sun after a morning ritual of slipping and sliding around a hamster death wheel of dirty slush. Rolling into town, the blizzard and biting windchill that greeted me had me mentally tallying the number of wind briefs that I had stashed away in the Fit. I felt a sinking feeling as the number "2" came to mind.

Any stinging of frost nipped appendages over the course of the week was soon assuaged by how mind-bogglingly good the skiing was. I put down a solid 18-hour training week and skied over 300 km over the course of my 10 days in Canmore. Hard wax and solid tracks were the order of the day, every day.

While one of my focuses of the camp, the Frozen Thunder Classic sprint race, didn't go as well as I had hoped due to some borrowed race skis that I could not kick, the quality of other sessions and the jump start on winter in October was very productive and just downright fun.

A huge thank you to former Yellowknifers, Linda and Blair Dunbar, who hosted me while in Canmore.

I am now 4 weeks out of the ever important season opening races (again, in Canmore) and am back in Whistler to make final preparations. It is warm and wet and will likely be at least another week of dryland training (as much as you can call Whistler "dry" at this time of year) before any signs of skiing higher up in the Callaghan Valley.

This is seriously the only picture I took while in Canmore. Graham Nishikawa skiing on Frozen Thunder. 

Visiting an extraordinary athlete in the high country

Last year I had big plans of training at high altitude a few times during the year, both in Whistler and down at my friend Marshall's place in Colorado. Both plans were quelled with a mononucleosis diagnosis last August (you have to wait until August for the snow to melt on the mountains around Whistler). This year I wanted to put my previous plans into action. All of the top cross country skiers spend bouts at altitude throughout the year. With that, I bought a $60 unlimited gondola-use hiking pass for Whistler, and contacted my buddy Marshall Ulrich, who I met as a youth ambassador on impossible2Possible's inaugural youth expedition to Baffin Island in 2009 when he was an inspirational ambassador and guide on the trip. Being more than accommodating to my ambitions for an altitude camp this fall, Marshall invited me to make his home, nestled high in the mountains above Idaho Springs, Co, my training base for a few weeks this October. 

Marshall and his wife are some of a small handful of folks who live above 3000 meters of elevation here in North America. The altitude allows for easy acclimation for Marshall's mountaineering trips and offers great training for Marshall's ultrarunning. For me, the high altitude was a stress on the body simply sitting on the couch, not to mention how it reduced some training sessions to feeble, gasping carcass drags. Luckily, I had the option of training down at 2300 meters, which over the course of my two weeks at Marshall's came to feel "low" despite being a vertical kilometre higher than Canmore, AB, a place where I normally struggle with the thin air. During the final 4 days of my stay, I finally noticed a change in my hemoglobin's oxygen saturation levels. At rest, it finally jumped up from 90 to 94%. Training session sensations never truly improved.

My gracious host for the week, the indomitable Marshall Ulrich (his wife, Heather, is also gracious and indomitable). Marshall's feats of endurance are truly mind boggling. Just look him up on Wikipedia. 

Scouting up in the high country for biking and running routes. The Ulrich's place has easy access to running terrain above 3500 meters, as well as some of Colorado's fabled 14,000'ers (alas, a nagging knee problem inhibited me from summiting one)

Many of my days were spent toiling up the 15 km, 800 m vertical Fall River Road that leads up to the Ulrich's. Some pitches are 16%!

I swear I didn't photoshop this. A looming storm front moves in over Lake Quivara, up by St. Mary's Glacier.

Very characteristic fall Colorado colours. Browns and dark greens. This is just up above Marshall's place. The lake is fed by the meager snow patch that is St. Mary's Glacier (out of frame). 

Am I happy that I completed this stint of altitude down in Colorado? Part of me says yes: it was a great opportunity to visit some beautiful states on my 3,000 km drive down there, and to get to know Marshall and his family. But at the same time, I experienced solitude and loneliness on the 5-day drive down to Colorado, camping and roughing it every night. And even though the training down there was very good and challenging due to the somewhat extreme altitude, I am not yet noticing any huge changes in how training feels. I guess that comes after this next period of hard, intense work. The increased hemoglobin mass and other improved parameters will shorten recovery time after hard sessions and will help me maximize the higher intensity training of the coming weeks. Any gains will take a bit of time to materialize and present themselves. Racing season is a little over a month away. The gains should be showing by then. Keep the nose to the grindstone...

T