How snow shoeing kicked my ass.

Every sport has its own cadence, technique, strength, and endurance requirements. And while cross over between sports exists, the only way to really excel at a sport is to train for the specifications demanded of that sport. Despite knowing that, I am amazed time and time again at how my fitness in one area, could be exposed as inconsequential in another.

Over the last few months I’ve been exercising 5 - 6 days per week. A combination of running, skiing, hiking, strength training, and kettlebell work. And I’ve been feeling strong and fit. However last week I attempted to snow shoe through deep powder with an overnight pack on my back and got my ass kicked.

My intended destination was a remote and primitive cabin ~5 miles and 2,000 ft from the trailhead. But I never made it. Which is perhaps not all that surprising considering the serious doubts I was having leading up to the trip.

I turned around at 3.5 miles, to total 7 miles on the day. By this point in my trip I had been breaking trail for 1.5 miles, and I was way more fatigued than I had expected to be. I also was starting to feel nervous about being deep in the woods alone. So, at around 1 pm I told myself I’d keep going until 2 pm, and then reevaluate the situation. At 1:30 pm I thought about taking a break for a drink and a bite to eat when I suddenly sank into a snow well that nearly buried me chest deep.

I was able to get out after a few minutes of struggle (if you’ve never been caught in a snow well, getting out is like fighting quick sand, you just make the situation worse), but it was enough of a sign to convince me to head back. The combination of the exhaustion I was feeling and the very real danger I had just experienced, decided my fate.

But I couldn’t believe how fatigued 3.5 miles of snow shoeing got me. I felt drained in a way that I haven’t felt in a very long time. To be sure, there were other factors at play other than just my fitness. Elevation had to have played a role. The trailhead starts at 9,000 feet and ascends to over 11,000. Hydration played a role. I planned on stopping every 1 mile for a proper break to drink and eat, but I kept blowing it off. With deep snow covering everything around me, I didn’t feel like I could rest anywhere, so I pushed on with dreams of relaxing once I hit the cabin. Lastly, breaking trail in knee deep snow with a 30 - 40 pound back on is not easy. It’s something I’ve never done before. And it’s definitely not something I was training for in the gym.

In the end it took me 5+ hours to travel 7 miles. A snails pace I’d never experienced before.

But that’s all kind of the point. Snow shoeing to a cabin at the top of an 11,000 foot mountain requires specific training, specific planning, and a specific mindset. It requires a comfortability with being out in the woods with no visible trail. None of which I had been preparing for this winter. And so, I got chewed up and spit out.

For sure my training in other disciplines helped me get as far as I did, and back to my car safely. As did the mindset I developed training for long distance endurance races. That’s the cross over. But the only way I was going to make it to that cabin was if I had someone with me to ease the uncertainty of being alone, and if I had been training for snow shoeing.

I like when I get humbled. With so much fitness experience under my belt I like to think I can jump in and do anything on the fly. Sometimes it works, other times it does not. And the older I get the more it seems to fall into the latter. Regardless, I’ve committed to myself that I will get back on this trail in the near future and conquer my fear and my fatigue.