I woke up to heavy snowfall. Warm, thick flakes settling over everything. The average person might look out on such a scene and think, "wow, Steamboat is turning into a beautiful winter wonderland." Not us nordic skiers. It was 0° and still snowing heavily when I started skiing this morning. Even if you weren't a skier, you would be able to tell that that was bad news just by being at the race venue. You might also observe that nordic skiers appear to be a glum, serious lot. No one smiles, no one jokes, there's no small talk between teams, coaches are snappy with their assistant coaches and their athletes. Coaches hunch over their wax benches, waxing furiously. They dig through to the bottom of their wax boxes, trying to find something, anything that will provide both kick and glide in the wet, soft, new-snow tracks. Athletes pull out there "Zeroes," skis designed specifically for new snow at 0°, skis they haven't used all year, maybe for several years, maybe ever. "Zeroes" are last resort skis and only a few people own pairs. I've only raced on them once, at the 2005 Sr. Nationals during the classic sprint, borrowed from someone. They were perfect for one of my heats, but by the next heat they were no longer the right ski.

The other word that gets bandied about on days like this is "hairies" (hairys? I've never actually seen it written). It's said, always, with a slight pause before the word. Like whoever is speaking hopes that something will happen during that pause, their intake of breath, that will save them from needing to bring it up. Using hairys (Is it a verb? a noun? I don't think anyone knows.) means that you permenantly alter your ski bases by chopping up the kick zone with rough sand paper and sharp metal objects, so that the little hairs that compose your base stick out. The end result is to turn your race skis into fish scales, essentially waxless classic skis. By creating a rough surface you hope to be able to physically mesh the ski into the snow when you kick, providing grip. No one wants to do this to their beloved race skis. It's a sacrifice, forcing you to dedicate a pair of classic skis to snowing at 0° race days in exchange for, possibly, good kick in the race at hand. This is why hairys rarely happen except at important races, where sacrificing a pair of skis might be worth a slightly better finish.

Here's to hoping tomorrow is a better day!