Hello, Vermont

I woke up this morning and it was 36 degrees. I had to fold the blanket over itself to keep my body from shivering. It was nearly freezing and I loved it. The cold stirs some sort of deep satisfaction in me. It's an adaptation I've come to acquire over the years: to me, cool fall temperatures have always meant fast.

It goes back to high school XC running and the transformation from summer to winter goes something like this. You come into the season with modest base fitness yet suffer through a hot and humid opening meet. It's a painful endeavor. Summer-trained muscles demand the highest oxygen-delivering capabilities from your heart and lungs, maybe for the first time since spring. It sounds like there is a base drum in your chest, and your lungs stretch to capacity and then beyond. You're drowning in sweat and swear someone is squeezing your head with hand warmers. Your brain is shockingly reminded of the pain of it all, and questions whether you can make it to the finish. It tells you that this hurts. And so you suffer. You cross the line in a stupor and pour four or six paper cones of water on your head. You wonder if you're cut out for this thing, but you go back to practice again tomorrow because why not. And as the leaves slowly turn colors and the weather cools, your brain is reminded that this endeavor in pain is nothing but a regular occurrence for an endurance athlete like yourself, and that, no, you will not die from this repeated exertion you call "race". You teach your brain that it can in fact make it to the finish line with less and less left in the tank and that you always survive to go to practice again tomorrow. And so it lets you push the limits of your heart and lungs a little further the next race. You set a personal best. You think you've given everything. But with each effort you find that you can push to another level, dig a deeper pain cave. Soon your legs can't spin fast enough to keep up with your desire to go faster and faster and you float through an interval session that crippled you three weeks ago. One day a light snow wisps in the air, teasing your skiing taste buds. You're fit. You're fast. You wake up shivering with nervous excitement and check the temperature. It's 36 degrees.

I trust in fall training. It always comes through. Falling temperatures, falling leaves, and falling times. They go hand in hand. That's why I'm excited that fall is here. So before the leaves change and I wake up to snow on the ground, here's a rundown of my summer in Vermont:

1. In May I joined the Craftsbury Green Racing Project (GRP) Biathlon Team

The team is supported by the Craftsbury Outdoor Center (COC), which exists to promote lifetime sports (especially rowing, skiing, biathlon, and running) and sustainable environmental practices. The COC runs all sorts of programs, from their famous sculling camps that draw visitors from around the nation to community-based programs like public rowing and fitness classes, bike club, and a weekly racing series; that's just scratching the surface. In exchange for the generous support that the COC provides its GRP racing teams, we as GRP athletes work a small number of hours for the center, which can take the form of anything from coaching to working the grounds to more specialized projects. I find that work projects provide a refreshing mental break from the focus and repetition of training - it helps give a good balance to life in Craftsbury. It would be remiss if I did not mention that the work is no match to the coaching, travel, ammunition, training support, food, and housing that the COC provides its athletes. I'm very lucky and thankful to have the opportunity to pursue my goals in biathlon with the GRP.

Morning fog in Craftsbury. God's artwork on display.

2. In June I joined the USBA development group for a training camp, made a quick visit to New Hampshire to watch my youngest brother graduate college, and ran up and down a handful of mountains.

Finishing up the Lake Placid camp in June with a skate TT on the roller loop, plus a 3k run on the track the following day.

Photo by Caitlin Nordgren.

Push-ups during a run of the "Pemi Loop", a 30-something mile loop in the Pemigewasset wilderness of New Hampshire's White Mountains, with a few of my GRP teammates

Photo by Heidi Caldwell

3. In July I worked on body cooling techniques as we rumbled in the jungle, training through a relentless heat wave.

Prepping for running-with-poles intervals on Cemetery Hill with teammate Adam Martin. It's a great day to be a Cedar Leaf when I have the honor of chasing after Marty, even if he crushes me on this road.

Photo by Pepa

Getting better. Prone shooting with Raleigh Goessling in Jericho.

Photo by Sam Dougherty

Another signature Vermont cool-down technique: Creemees with the crew.

Photo by Sam Dougherty

4. In August we raced the North American Biathlon Rollerski Championships in Jericho, Vermont and I was reminded that I have a lot of work to do this fall, as usual.

Excitement on the range after the first shooting in the 15km mass start in Jericho. A good test along to way toward winter.

Photo by Jen Forbes

Before I sign off, I'll leave you with one thought on mental perspective. As skiers many of us feel like our technique or how we train is something that is a part of who we are. When we are challenged (i.e. questioned about training or given constructive criticism on technique) it is easy to want to get defensive, even if only internally, as if the challenge is directed at our identity. This summer my coaches challenged me with a lot of critical, yet constructive, feedback. My technique was ripped apart all through May and June. My shooting position was twice dismantled and rebuilt from the left elbow on up. It hurt my ego a little as I reluctantly implemented the changes. Then one day I had a conversation with a teammate about how we respond to criticism, specifically with regard to technique. He made a point that we know how fast we already are - we know our results, our TT times, what we are capable of now - and any constructive criticism we receive doesn't change that. Rather, it opens the door to improvement. The thought should be: If I'm here with this current technique/ training/ strength plan/ etc., just imagine how much faster I can go when I implement and master something better. We shouldn't be averse to being challenged, but be open to it, even desire it. This has been an attitude I've been working to adopt this summer and am hoping that it allows me to quicken the process of adaptation. As with adversity in life, athletic challenges may set us back temporarily but are a necessary to achieve breakthrough.

Happy fall everyone and thanks for reading,

Jake

Moose it!

Caitlin and Akeo taking in the green of Vermont's Green Mountains during an overdistance run around Lake Willoughby. Finishing workouts in a lake became a must during July, and this one was no exception.