Pushing Under Duress
First foray into Ski-Mo Racing
The only consolation for the 4:30 alarm is a big bowl of rice krispies and coffee. Outside it is dumping rain. We pin the bibs and push out the door tapping the pavement in our patent carbon boots.
An hour of hair-pin turns the bus arrives at the ski station of Luz Ardiden. We unload into the cold sleeting dark. Up mountain piston bullies tow their halos of light and Boom goes an explosive to clear avalanche prone slopes. I stretch the skins over the skis for a warm-up lap.
Soon the start is imminent and Gautier and I hustle down. We line up for the avalanche beacon control but mine is out of battery. I unclip and rush from tent to tent asking volunteers if someone has a battery. No and no. Departure in 1 minute. I find the microphone guy and he asks on the loud-speakers if anyone has a spare.
Yes, I have. I run over, jam it in. Sprint to Gautier, shaking his head, clip in, pass through the control at the back of a pack as the race gets underway and we are tasked with overtaking the mob. Rain becomes snow as we ascend and after 10’ of running up the slope we catch the leaders.
Feeling confident I pass them jogging. We hit snow drifts and the group accordions together. Snow is clumping to my skins and yes, that was a grievous waste of energy. The wind hits and swirls snow around us. We top the climb with first place and launch into the descent.
With our composite competitive mentality Gautier and I pursue the leaders. We lose bits of time here and there, namely in transitions changing vertical direction.
The first day of work ends at the top of the mountain, hike-jogging up a steep slope. Gravity has recruited its friends wind, altitude and driving snow to slow us down, but the lungs and legs won’t have it and we top out in 6th place, 3 minutes off the podium.
We ski down half-frozen and follow several cups of soup with another warm-up to prevent frost bite then its down to the village to be with the wives and kids.
So goes my first ski-mountaineering race. A sport where logistic and equipment and conditions are the ultimate arbiters. Where fitness is important but experience key.
At least we are in the game and already made a host of debutant errors, which can now be avoided. The revised parcours has everyone down as we originally hoped for some technical mountain climbs and descents, but weather is king and a similar course is announced for Sunday. We are encouraged by the addition of 2 more climbs and a long off-piste descent to the finish line.
Same drill Sunday morning, except it is only drizzling and my avalanche beacon is charged. We sit on the tail of the lead pack to save energy. On the descents, I feel on the verge of escape velocity and brave some close calls blazing across moguls with little visibility. Madness.
We hang on for the most part and are better positioned. We work into fourth place on the penultimate climb, rip the skins and blast down to the last uphill transition with hopes of reining in third place.
I get a skin all snowy and have to retrieve a spare, then my boot won’t clip in. The binding is iced up and not closing firmly. I kick and curse. The fucking thing won’t work! It’s not me its the fucking binding! Gautier stands by offering suggestions. Two teams slip by in the midst of the chaos and I fume. Finally the pins bite and we attack the last climb in a rampage.
Coming down the last descent, we throw caution to the wind and attack the blue-outfits in front. The snow is heavy then thin, line of sight obscured by fog and wet sunglasses. My quads are on fire but we catch them and point the skis straight, making a B-line for the finish, taking 5th place.
As soon as you cross that line with the shot-quads and head-full-of-adrenaline there is a complete amnesia for the brutality of the effort. Aside from the numb hands we are warm with camaraderie and gratitude. The volunteers are cheerful despite the weather and I rue my behavior up high.
Freshly initiated into this world of ski-mountaineering I can report that it lives up to its reputation as potentially the hardest of endurance sports—coupling skills with speed and colossal aerobic charge.
If you kick a rock and fall while trail running, injuries remain mild, here at 90 kph a mistake has real consequences. The climbing effort is multiplied by weight underfoot, altitude, and technique and in between these moments fluidity and composure handling equipment quickly sort the bunch.
On one hand I got humbled (as I knew I would), on another proved capable. I started practicing a bit of ski-mo in 2023, racking up 20000m of climbing, then last year hit 65000, and in 2025 I logged 100k vertical meters.
I did 95% of volume at an easy or endurance effort and found race intensity a world of pain. The heart rate does not rise as high as running, but the type of effort correlates to a half-marathon, where you wonder if you are going to crack.
I did not crack but left Gautier to lead most climbs. We topped out together or separated by a couple seconds. We descended at the same pace, criss-crossing over technical terrain or following the tucked figure in front to go as fast as possible.
The most interesting piece of this experience was recovery. I am habituated to nursing my legs back to health after intense effort, but my body felt good as new come Monday.
Ski-mo racing is an attractive tool to build and sharpen fitness before the running calendar kicks off. It’s a dam hard sport with plenty to whine about, but when its good, man is it good.
Well represented. Enjoyed listening along