FROM PAGE B2

because, even utilizing other
internal organs besides my
lungs, I could not get enough

oxygen and I was sure I was”

going to faint.

My face was just a sheen
of sweat and my eyesight
dulled and made the snow
look grey, an unhealthy
colour which it proceded to
retain for the rest of the
course.

It took fifteen minutes of
contemplation and deep
breathing before I could
begin to start moving again.

From then on I gave up
racing and concentrated on
finishing.

My companions
much smarter.

By design or because of
bad timing they started one
half hour behind everybody
else and completely ignored
the fact that it was a race.

So while I was staggering
along like an injured baton-

were

twirling seal, they were
casually strolling along
enjoying the beautiful
scenery.

However 20 kilometres is
a long’ casual _ stroll,

especially when you are not
used to exersise.

HIGHLIGHTS

From my viewpoint there
were a few noteworthy
points on the rest of the race
after kilometre one.

Such as the foresight of
those wonderful people from
the Capilano College Nordic
Ski Society, who sponsored
the race along with Labatts,
in placing an aid station with
juice and cookies, about half
way along the course.

REING KESKI-SALMI

14 OZ. TUMBLER

Offer good while glussa supply lasts

SMUG SATISFACTION is the best way to describe
Donald McVicker's expression as he crosses the finish

line.

And the six-year-old kid
who restored my faith in
human nature by, when I
asked him how he was doing
as I passed him he replied
“bad.”

Before that point I had
begun to believe all of the
rest of the competitors were
super-human Swedes who
did not feel pain at all.

(I began to believe this
again when I discovered that
an eight-year-old named Ben
Bass finished the 20
kilometre course and
decided to go around again -
which he did)

And the time I was
sprawled half way up a hill
with one foot stuck in a hole
and one pole lying across the
course and another skier
came by and informed that I]
would have to move out of
the way quicker than that
when the front-runners came
by on the second lap.

But surely the most
outstanding feature of the
race has to have been Reing
Keski-Salmi who completed
all 40 kilometres in one hour
and 42 minutes, far ahead of

any other competitors.

It was not surprising to
find out that he would have
been a member of the
Canadian men’s olympic
cross-country ski team if
they had decided to send
one.

I finished the 20 kilometre
course in 2 hours and 9
minutes, behind about seven
eighths of the competitors.

Towards the end of the
course I was frequently
running into trees and
preparing to give myself up
to the spectral hoard of snow
dwarves that seemed to
follow in my footsteps.

For three days afterwards
my legs refused to come
together and I felt like a
saddle-sore cowboy.

Not only did I finish but
the three other people I
came to Manning with all
finished, which is_ truly
remarkable.

Not because I didn’t think
they could doit, but because
they even dared to take part
in, what on the surface,
appeared to be a real cross-
country skirace.

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True, it took them over
three and over four hours
respectively to finish, and
the hidden prizes of beer
mugs and ski boots were
almost all given away by the
time Don and Roz swept
over the finish line.

But they did it and I’m
sure they had more fun than
Thad. . ,

I now realize how totally
unprepared I was to actually
race in the competition.

IDIOT MITTENS

For a start
were all wrong.

Even if I didn’t have a
skin-tight Adidas racing suits
like the real competitors, I
should at least have had the
sense to have not worn my
idiot mittens.

There are few things more
frustrating than trying to
keep up a steady rhythmic
pace while your idiot mittens
shde out of yoursleeves -and
wrap themselves around
your wrists.

And a nylon shirt that
becomes soaked with sweat
after the first ten minutes is
not the ideal undergarment
for cold snowy days.

However all these minor
points and others untouched
upon, pale in comparison to
the technique of proper
waxing.

To a person who doesn't
know how to wax, cross-
country skis are just pairs of
horizontal stilts.

But to those who know
when and where to place the
klister, skis become poetic
devices that sweep one along
trails on wings of gossamer.

I thought a lot about that
as I slid backwards on hill
after hill ... kilometre after
kilometre.

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