Recently, I shared a photo of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich safely ensconced in this giant Swiss cowbell, which takes up an inordinate amount of space in my backpack. I joked that it would never be squished surrounded by the hard metal and love of a race parent. When our kids were younger racers, there were cow bells at every race venue; but last year, my first as a U16 parent, there were noticeably less. Our son, aptly named Carver, long before we knew if he would love ski racing, never asked me not to ring my bell– he just wanted me to understand that the older age groups were more serious and, therefore, had fewer bells. But race mom and dad friends stood the course with me– literally and figuratively– with our bells ringing.
Besides the bell, we race parents must carry only positive vibes in our backpacks. Like in every damn zippered pocket and pouch– good mojo for whatever the day brings. There will be days they fall, hike, crash, finish– and in every combination. There will be gear issues like broken poles or bindings or skis which choose the very worst times to delaminate. That means shoving in a fair amount of patience in and among the positive vibes wherever there is extra room amid protein pocket snacks, bits of chocolate, and water.
Besides the cow bell, copious patience, and positive vibes, another essential race parent element includes micro spikes. There are the “two wheel” options, lower profile, good for parking lots and driveways most days. But, there are also the “four wheel- off road” options, which include actual metal spikes to dig in and grip as race parents find their way uphill to the finish line. Race parents come in all shapes, sizes, athletic abilities, fitness levels, etc. Some use poles also to hike up, while others snowshoes, big boots, little boots, snow boots, rain boots. I sound like a Dr. Seuss book, but depending on the mountain, getting to the finish line can be as much of an endeavor for the parent as it is for the racer.
Did I mention snacks? Extra mittens? A warmer coat than one thinks is necessary. Layers. Loads of layers as sometimes lodges can be hot. The expedition level puffy blue sleeping bag jacket (for when I summit Everest) is always part of the back pack quiver, even if just left in the car. The last few winters, I have only needed that once or twice during the race season; however, this year with our colder than usual temperatures, I’ve become unrecognizable without it.
Also necessary for surviving the race season, even when they don’t fit in one’s back pack, are the race coaches, parents, gurus like Dr. Jim Taylor, whose column (here is my most recent read) my friend and one of our kids’ longtime coaches, Aaron Loukes, introduced me to years ago, along with their wide experience. I am lucky at the Loon Race Team to have my kids’ own advisory team of excellent communicators to help me to help my kids make decisions about what races we go to, when training becomes too much, when they need a day out of boots, or when they need a day to hike a mountain or rip around on twin tips. They do not fit in my car, but every day they are with me in spirit, even if they are actually with my children at the top of the race course or midway on coaches’ knoll or cheering them on at the finish.
We carry the reality check that this sport is ridiculously expensive, and we honestly can’t afford it; however, we are fullsend. There is no going back now because our kids are passionate about sliding down hills– they have happy places wherever there are rope tows and chairlifts and training blocks and snow days. They carry their local friends AND their weekend club friends through adolescence. They understand that they are LUCKY to spend their winters skiing, even though that means they have to work actual jobs in the off season and likely won’t have a car to share when they get their drivers license.
But what I’m learning is that the most important tool to carry in my pack doesn’t actually require any room at all. The best gift I can give either of my children after a race, regardless of how their runs went, besides a hot chocolate or a hug at the finish, is a safe space to process their own experience. I ask no questions beyond, “But could you hear my bell,” which generally makes my daughter smile and say, “Mom, I hear nothing when I’m on course. You know that.” Yes, yet I continue to ask mostly because my cow bell is ginormous and everyone else can hear it– and this question is a grounding one because it has nothing to do with how she raced. Normally, they want to know their time– they want to know if any of their grandparents filmed because I don’t film. I don’t pretend to film. I tell them I want to watch them ski, even when I want to close my eyes tightly because watching one’s kid fall or crash going mach speed down a mountain is a terrible feeling. But we have to pack that too. We pack it along with a compassionate smile for the parent whose kid might choose today to be an asshole to them in the parking lot. We pack an extra smile for the kid who always arrives late– and also for the one whose parent wants to be their coach when it’s not their job.
We carry a lot. And so do our kids. If we can take a little weight out of their backpacks and a little pressure off what they are carrying– then they can fly down any mountain, arms widespread like they did when they were little. Best of luck. May you pack wisely in the years ahead.
For those of you who like reading my work, please check out earlier race mom writing:
Heather Ehrman Krill: The "Write" Kind of Coach 