To the End
“All the way,” he said, as the Nordic skiers lunged forward with whichever of their skis was closest to the finish line. He turned to me and said, “It’s the first boot across. Sometimes it’s decided by millimeters.” I wrote down the athlete’s bib number and the clock time – as close as I could approximate – and then looked for the next competitor.
I was helping with the finish line timing at a cross country ski race for 19 to 9 year old Nordic skiers at Soldier Hollow in Midway, Utah. The parking lot was full of team vans wrapped in sponsor logos with dozens of skis leaning on racks when not being waxed. Color-coordinated jackets abounded, cheeks were covered in glitter regardless of age or gender, fancy braids cascaded down athletic backs covered by multicolored race suits. Clots of competitors moved, giggled, and chatted in the way of the young and athletic.
This first day began with a sprint race where the athletes are released in a staggered start. This means a steady flow of finishers and that they raced the clock (only the top 30 advanced). Only about a 3k race, an all-out sprint, and you could taste the lactic acid in the finish line’s air.
“To the end,” he shouted. I poised my pencil over the sheet on the clipboard. By the time we would finish, over 500 athletes would pass next to me and the encourager (who was a finish line supervisor.)
Each athlete dealt with that final, slightly uphill straightaway differently. They would plant both their poles and use all the force from their core to push themselves forward over & over. Some looked up and you could see the determination – I’m finishing and that’s that. Some visibly crumpled and their poling rhythm faltered. Some gained and lost their confidence a few times in those final meters.
The faltering ones – with pinched eyes and grimacing mouths – made me pick up the chant. “All the way,” I found myself repeating.
I’ve been the person to see the finish line and crumple. I know just how much it crushes the soul to see another incline ahead. I also know what it is to rely on the power of loud, encouraging, excited humans to move my legs forward when I can’t do it by myself.
In a week, I’m going to make my first attempt at mountaineering: 2 dormant volcanoes in Mexico at 17-ish thousand feet. They are billed as perfect for first-timers.
I am not sure I’ll be able to make it “all the way” whether because of weather, an altitude-addled mind, cold toes, or a mountain that just doesn’t invite me in. And I certainly won’t have a finish line like that, or anyone cheering me towards the top.
But I hope that if the factor of whether I summit is within my control, I will be able to pull the same determination I saw in those Nordic skiers. The kind that comes from all that way inside and the kind that’s strong enough to show on my face.
All the way to the end.
Inspired by events at Soldier Hollow in Midway, Utah.