tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33937004427435028072024-02-21T06:57:31.048+07:00Carolyn and AnthonyAnthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-22689849299337384212011-10-01T02:29:00.004+07:002011-10-01T02:30:45.241+07:00Vassaloppet, 2010Anthony was wifed....by a lot. I blew-by him at around 35 kilometers of the 58 kilometer race...it was glorious. Beating the hubby made up for a not so great race results-wise. <br />Yes, that comment was intended to rub it in even more :)Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-31248100182233622172010-02-04T10:02:00.004+06:002010-02-04T10:13:23.053+06:00Boulder Lake 31km Skate Ski Race - 17 Jan 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0352-794903.jpg"><br /><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0352-794900.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Photo taken after the race. I maintained my very tenuous record of not being 'wifed' by only 50 seconds. The upcoming Mora Vasaloppet may be my undoing in the couple-competition.Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-47758075623475347152009-02-24T10:47:00.002+06:002009-02-24T10:55:54.937+06:00Camp Pendleton Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0020-714039.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0020-714026.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />The Dutchman Duck Pop-up Camper and the Honda Fit. Spacious accommodations out in the middle of Camp Pendleton.Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-88361379266216150632009-02-14T20:09:00.003+06:002009-02-14T20:18:10.694+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0075-733593.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0075-733195.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0105-722857.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0105-722306.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0103-771833.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0103-771474.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0098-731087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0098-730519.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>And there's cooked fish at the other end.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0099-782402.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0099-781989.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Rolled fish.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0101-738524.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0101-737649.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Not as raw fish.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0100-775421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0100-775042.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Fish--raw fish.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0091-711638.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0091-710940.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>There is fish at each and every meal! Fresh, raw fish!!!Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-29739226480794828232009-02-14T20:03:00.002+06:002009-02-14T20:08:27.393+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0051-767402.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0051-767078.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>This is the dining room--they have one big ballroom set aside for the athletes for the whole two weeks. It's buffet style, come when you want during each meal time. (each meal lasts 4 hours, so there's lots of time to eat as much as you could possibly want. especially if it includes fish)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0043-743385.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0043-742786.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>These piles of rocks are piles of wishes--people place rocks on the pile and make a wish!Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-59511089338139171382009-02-14T19:54:00.002+06:002009-02-14T20:01:42.936+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0065-706393.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0065-705895.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>The living room of our condo, the girls team and guys team each have their own condos.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0041-708789.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0041-708151.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Home Sweet Home for the next two weeks. This tower of condos is really nice, there's actually another 6 floors below this level. We have great rooms, it's really nice, it just takes forever on the elevators....f..o...r...e...v...e...r.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-88263606648144946522009-02-14T19:43:00.002+06:002009-02-14T19:53:19.062+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0035-794938.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0035-794617.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>The food-court at a wayside rest along the highway. There was English all over, starting in the airport. Even a small town near our venue had quite a few English signs.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0029-735424.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0029-734996.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>On the bus from Seoul to Peyong Chang. The event organizers did a great job of getting us where we had to be. There were several people waiting for me when I got off the plane, and it was the same for each athlete/group of athletes that trickled in. Rifle transport is a very serious issue--the rifles have to be transported in separate vehicles than their owners.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-12555360827392625992009-02-14T19:35:00.003+06:002009-02-14T19:42:13.033+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0022-777810.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0022-776434.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>We found out afterward that these grass mounds are actually graves. The tradition is to cremate and then throw over water or bury like this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0016-733486.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0016-732791.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>I'm in S. Korea (Pyeong Yang) for Biathlon World Championships. I'll add a few pictures of all the neat things we've seen on this trip. Just outside Seoul there is not much snow....and things proves to be a theme for the the first weekend of races.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-18918151174729425662009-02-14T19:30:00.001+06:002009-02-14T19:34:03.942+06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0015-755430.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0015-755100.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-40139520519802441362007-07-14T02:55:00.002+07:002009-02-14T18:57:22.661+06:00Made It to Minnesota!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1642-756695.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1642-756221.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />This past weekend and early week we made the big move from New Hampshire to Minnesota. Our original plan had been to hook a trailer up to Snoopy the Subaru, but after a long saga of trying to get a hitch on, we ended up just renting a truck and leaving Monday afternoon, later than we had hoped. This arrangement meant we had to drive to whole way in two different cars, Snoopy and a large Yellow Penske Truck (see above). We stayed at my parents in Cleveland Monday night (getting in at 2 am) and took off the next morning. Using some creative navigation around Chicago, we avoided any major traffic (Carolyn was convinced I was lost as I hopped from freeway to freeway).<br /><br />After 23 hours of driving, we made it to Minneapolis. Our apartment is small, but we crammed all of our boxes of stuff inside. We may be switching apartments on August 1st, so we may wait until after then to fully unpack.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1652-771853.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1652-771406.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1654-743913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1654-743529.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-44388802794399413182007-07-04T16:00:00.000+07:002007-07-05T04:35:32.894+07:00A 50th Anniversary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1569-735129.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1569-734729.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>For the past week and a half, Carolyn and I have been in Vail, Colorado with my dad's whole extended family helping my grandparents celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. Even my grandpa's cousins from Italy and one of the sons came in for the event. The Alaskan contingent (John & Katie) made sure we had the obligatory family reunion t-shirts, and there were quite a few large family dinners an gatherings over the weekend. We even managed to drag almost the entire family up Vail Mountain for a hike with the aid of the gondola. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1614-729128.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1614-728556.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>In general, Carolyn and I have been caught up in the usual Colorado activities, hiking, rafting, and roller skiing. In particular, today my dad, Carolyn, Ana, and I hiked up Mount of the Holy Cross. It is one of Colorado's 14,000 footers, and was quite a long hike. However, the weather was beautiful and not too hot. We leave tomorrow to return to New Hampshire.Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-73004862343980521642007-05-30T14:41:00.000+07:002007-05-30T15:00:45.466+07:00The River Катун<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/P1020191-747845.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/P1020191-746912.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> A few weeks ago I had the chance to go rafting down the Катун (Katoon) river. The Катун is in the Altai, a mountainous region on the Russian-Mongolian border. Leaving from Манжерок (Manjerok), we headed up stream a few hours. Purple, lilac-like flowers were in bloom across the hills, creating a beautiful landscape. <br />Igor and I put together a Catamaran raft and pushed off into the water. Like any other raft, this type was almost impossible to flip, and afforded us amazing views while floating along through the rapids. The rapids themselves were a lot of fun - mostly long, large wave trains.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/P1020185-792537.jpg"><img style="width:85%; display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/P1020185-791762.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/file-750043.jpg"><img style="width:85%; display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/file-749076.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-83750891690687410182007-05-15T14:34:00.000+07:002007-05-30T14:35:55.324+07:00Столбы - The Pillars<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1195-786344.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1195-785870.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>Carolyn and I just returned from a three day trip to the rock pillars of Krasnoyarsk, a neighboring Krai (province). A local friend of ours, Anatoly, agreed to take us and show us around. Though it took twelve hours by train, we traveled at night, sleeping on the way there and back. Krasnayarsk is a pretty city of about one million people, but we left it almost immediately to head about 15 km out to the famous <a href="http://www.stolby.ru/eng/">Столбы</a>, or Stolby Pillars. There are maybe five different pillar areas, the most popular of which is located in a national park frequented by as many hikers as climbers. Anatoly, a geologist by day, explained that the local rock is very coarse, alkaline granite, great for climbing. The pillars range from 50 to 150 m in height and are covered in a variety of routes, some which were easily scrambled up and others of which required creeping up smooth, overhung 100 m walls. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1219-766139.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1219-766092.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>The area has a climbing culture with its own explicit traditions and principles. The key facet of Stolbinism, the local culture, is complete concentration and focus when climbing, ignoring any and all distractions. Most notable to outsiders, this results in complete scorn towards any use of a rope; a true Stolbinist free solos all of his or her routes. As we walked around the pillars on our first day (no climbing because it was raining), Anatoly pointed out the several plaques at the base of some climbs memorializing a Stolbinist's fatal accident. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1153-741184.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1153-740591.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>Fortunately for us, though Anatoly had at one time been a local daredevil Stolbinist, he has since gained a healthy appreciation for safety as a father of high schoolers and a high-altitude mountaineering guide. That didn't stop him from climbing almost all of our routes without any roped protection, but he made sure we were on-belay whenever we were above a particularly dangerous fall. As Carolyn and my climbing experience is limited, we all stuck to relatively easy routes, occasionally setting up a top rope belay so that Anatoly could do something more challenging. <br /><br />The second day of our trip treated us to beautifully sunny weather, and we headed up and climbed a route or two on all of the Stolby in the central region. The toughest one for me was a chimney climb up the Feathers Pillar (photo to the left). It required rotating from one chimney up into the next while about 20 meters off the ground and at a point where the rope was not going to do me a whole lot of good if I fell. And, did I mention we only had sneakers, no climbing shoes? <span style="font-style:italic;">Shudder</span>. There are many reasons I am not cut out to be a serious climber, not the least of which is a fear of heights. <br /><br />Our final day we headed out from the central collection of pillars to Tak Mal, a region of pillars that only climbers visit. Because the day was extremely windy and slightly rainy, we were alone on the pillars. In the moments where the sun came out, we were treated to the most beautiful views of the surrounding hills peaking between the rock pillars.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1235-787049.JPG"><img style="width:85%; margin:5px auto 5px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN1235-786534.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a>Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-21443019657789633252007-04-28T22:09:00.000+07:002007-04-28T22:48:17.725+07:00Ob Sea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Ob_sea_1-791026.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Ob_sea_1-790694.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On April 1st we crammed on a bus with about 50 other eager skiers to be dropped off at the far end of the Ob Sea (a large, narrow lake near Akademgorodok.) I never thought I’d find myself waking up at 6:00am so that I wouldn’t miss the bus that was going to drop me off in the middle of no-where Siberia, from whence my only hope of returning to safety was by my own skiing. As it’s been said before though, there’s a first time for everything, so Anthony and I scrambled out the door to walk 45 minutes to where this bus was filling up. We were lucky—I thought—and arrived in time to get a seat. Within 10 minutes after our arrival, the bus (which was significantly smaller than a standard yellow school bus) was teaming with spandex clad skiers, skis, poles, and BO.<br /><br />Yes, it seemed that we were all wearing that long-underwear shirt that could go just one more workout before it ‘needed’ to be washed, and the merciless bus driver had the heat on full blast. This heat was blowing out from under our seat, and as the bus lurched its way into the Siberia wasteland, (fish-tailing on drifts of snow), I tried to stay desperately still because any movement meant my skin had to adjust again to the hot air and sweat in which it was surrounded. Some of this sweat seemed to be coming from the poor guy without a seat who’s only hope for stability was to lean over Anthony and me to grab at the side of the bus above our seat—the vehicle was so crowded that all those packed in the isle had run out of hand space on the subway-like bars above the isle.<br /><br />We finally arrived though and, after everyone else had evacuated we were able to slide our way out of the seat and into breathable air. The weather was great though—sunny, warm, but cool enough to be refreshing and provide a tiny bit of a crust for skiing. We were assured over and over again that the ice was still over a meter thick, and I believed it because of the numerous little ice-fishing conventions set up on the lake.<br /><br />The pilgrimage wound its way through some woods and abandoned buildings and vehicles until it reached the lake, ab<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea2-727000.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea2-726546.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>out 2k from being dropped off. Anthony and I joined up with some of the skiers from the University, many of whom are grad students. We’ve been really lucky to find this group of wonderful young folks who are just as in love with the sport as we are. However—for them, just skiing the 35 kilometers back to town was not enough, we had to go island hopping to several chunks of frozen taiga in the middle of this huge lake. It was a blast though, and we were glad to be out on a sunny 4-hour ski.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea3-766962.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea3-766952.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Anthony and Peter. How's the weight-shift?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea4-780233.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/obsea4-779629.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Carolyn, Sonya, and some shirt-less skiers. Anthony's taking the picture.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-12940412798952458652007-04-28T21:41:00.000+07:002007-04-28T21:59:22.146+07:00Sergei<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/sergei_climbing2-735991.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/sergei_climbing2-735971.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/sergei2-793120.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/sergei2-793100.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /> A few pictures of our friend, Sergei, whose birthday party we were able to attend, skiing in one of the local 10k races.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-74668473238329476162007-04-21T11:40:00.000+07:002007-04-21T12:06:30.983+07:00Winter walking picturesHere are a few pictures of the daily walks we had while there was snow on the ground (the skiing ended around April 17th.) These pictures were taken on March 3rd.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN0744-719625.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 428px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN0744-719155.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style=""><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >We were walking home from the ski trails, but another skier was much smarter and faster than we were</span><span style="font-family:arial;">.</span><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN0750-717714.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 413px; height: 310px;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/DSCN0750-717230.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Anthony walking in the forest 500 meters from our apartment. He's carrying one of the wonderful prizes they routinely give away at ski races here (through the course of the winter our collective winnings included: a lot of chocolate; this giant trophy; champagne; cognac; special bungee cord for doing arm strength; Tupperware; a picture frame; a 3-Disc DVD player/Karaoke Machine (yes, really); and most recently a really nice pair of avanti ski poles.) We look forward to re-gifting some of these prizes because they probably wouldn't travel well back to the US.Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-72066873165925004762007-04-21T11:29:00.000+07:002007-04-21T11:39:07.524+07:005k Birthday, February<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Cair-with-Sergei-Nickoliavich-Marose-762614.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Cair-with-Sergei-Nickoliavich-Marose-762274.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>(We have had some troubles with internet here, but now we're able to post pictures and blogs, like this one written March 1st!)<br /><br />Anthony and I participated in a 5k ski race yesterday, scheduled to be under the lights at 18:30.<span style=""> </span>(It actually stays quite light here until about 18:15, then gets dark quite quickly.)<span style=""> </span>When we walked into the parking lot at 18:00 there was only one car.<span style=""> </span>One car?<span style=""> </span>Surely Siberians couldn’t be canceling the race because of a mere -20.2°C and falling.<span style=""> </span>(I believe this is under the legal limit for races I’ve done anywhere other than <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.)<span style=""> </span>This temp was without windchill of course, they don’t believe in that here.<span style=""> </span>There was a huge brick building that seemed to be the chalet, so Anthony and I waltzed up to the 2<sup>nd</sup> floor and registered with the help of a young guy who spoke broken English.<span style=""> </span>Eventually more people showed up, and the race got under way at about 18:42.<span style=""> </span> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>It was definitely the coldest race I’ve ever done, as mentioned earlier, and for the first few kilometers I only wanted my fingers to feel like separate digits, not one frozen mass; and for the last few kilometers I couldn’t tell if it was better to have my “buff” (little, thin, neck-warmer thing) pulled up to protect my frozen nose and warm the air I was breathing, or better to be pulled down so that my throat and neck would not be immediately numb with cold.<span style=""> </span>It was so cold that my body couldn’t feel that it was tired or working hard.<span style=""> </span>Also, skiing at night—on trails where there is at least several hundred dark meters between lights—was a surreal experience.<span style=""> </span>It’s as if you’re more aware of the trail and snow, and less of your body, as you’re trying to float your way down the trail.<span style=""> </span>It’s hard to describe; you’ll have to try it sometime.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Anyway, I was the female champion for the day…and also the only female participant.<span style=""> </span>Anthony beat me, I’m sorry to say, but I would’ve been 3<sup>rd</sup> in the men’s field of about 20—most of whom were older than my Dad, though. <span style=""> </span>Not that that means anything, Dad.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>When I finished, I started talking to a nice couple who was there to cheer and congratulate their friend who was turning 70.<span style=""> </span>They were proud to point out that their son is currently doing his post-doc at Princeton after studying at Stanford on an amazing scholarship because he won <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s highest honors in physics as a university student.<span style=""> </span>They ushered us in to get warm after everyone had finished, and we were invited to stay for “awards.”<span style=""> </span>We each won a nice big bar of chocolate and a bottle of alcohol of our choice—I chose champagne and Anthony chose cognac.<span style=""> </span>(<st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Champagne</st1:place></st1:state>, Russian champagne, is really big here.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>We were then ushered into the birthday part for Sergei Nickolaivich.<span style=""> </span>He is a jolly 70-yr-old who has legs skinnier than Anthony’s and a pot belly to rival most 3<sup>rd</sup> term pregnancies.<span style=""> </span>Most of the racers joined in and we settled in for a grand little birthday party: there were 24 of us around a long table, with Sergei at the head, and 12 bottles of cognac.<span style=""> </span>We were told that cognac is actually more common than Vodka, especially this cognac, which was made in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Chechnya</st1:country-region></st1:place>. <span style=""> </span>I was told to drink “cognac for health” because I had been a bit chilled after the race and it would be the best way to warm me up. <span style=""> </span>As we sat trying to keep our glasses from continually being refilled, our plates were continually refilled with hot, sausage-filled pierogies by the woman who seems in charge of this brick ski complex.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Birthday-party-728590.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.carolynandanthony.com/uploaded_images/Birthday-party-728213.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was later informed that this brick chalet was built by the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Institute</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Nuclear Physics</st1:placename></st1:place>, one of the many institutes here in Akademgorodok.<span style=""> </span>The INP paid for the entire project and pays for its upkeep, which includes 24-7 monitoring and food/tea after races.<span style=""> </span>The first floor was intended for general public use, and the second floor—where Anthony and I had routinely been changing and leaving our things—was meant for the INP and other institutes.<span style=""> </span>Everyone there was quite welcoming and hospitable though, so us using the 2<sup>nd</sup> floor was no big deal. <span style=""> </span>The group was also intimidatingly well educated; most of them there worked at INP as particle physicists.<span style=""> </span>The young MC giving out the awards just spent some time at Stanford’s horizontal accelerator.<span style=""> </span>Apparently Stanford routinely exchanges people and ideas with INP here in Akademgorodok.<span style=""> </span>Akademgorodok is also home to one of the largest wind-tunnels in the world and has contracts with many international engineering groups (I guess Boeing sends many projects here.) </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Sergei Nickoliavich Marose, the man who was turning 70, is nuclear physicist and was really proud to have an international birthday party on this frosty birthday.<span style=""> </span>His last name, Marose, means frost in Russian, which he found very amusing and appropriate on this very cold evening.<span style=""> </span>And he was even more tickled that these crazy American kids were there to make his frosty birthday an international one.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>A</o:p><span style="">fter the party one man, who changed into full-body tan polyester after the race, kindly gave us the racing schedule for the rest of the winter.<span style=""> </span>We’re very excited for the upcoming marathons, one almost every weekend, and a biathlon relay to be held later in March. </span></p>Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-18486543311015495582007-03-27T00:21:00.000+07:002007-03-27T00:25:32.257+07:00Akademgorodok on CNNHey, Академгородок made it into <a href="http://money.cnn.com/2007/03/23/technology/silicon_siberia.fortune/index.htm">CNN Money</a>.Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-70493238891723487792007-02-26T21:05:00.000+06:002007-02-26T21:32:04.965+06:00A Trip to NovosibirskYesterday Anthony and I decided to go to mass at the cathedral in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:City></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>We actually live in Akademgorodok (roughly translates to “small academic community”), which is about 30 kilometers outside of the big city <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:place></st1:City>—a metropolitan area of about 2 million.<span style=""> </span>I actually hadn’t been to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:place></st1:City> yet, except for arriving at the airport in the wee hours of the morning, and we were both excited to see the city and the architecture of the cathedral.<span style=""> </span>To make the 9am mass we had to leave our apartment at 8am on a particularly crisp Siberian morning.<span style=""> </span>While eating breakfast, my culturally sensitive husband half jokingly pointed out that I might want to wear a skirt, as the Lonely Planet Guide book recommended it at the Novosibirsk Cathedral.<span style=""> </span>Skirt?<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>It was -22.6° C at that moment (a mere -8.7° F, sans windchill).<span style=""> </span>Not wanting to be a rude foreigner, I donned my thickest long underwear, the one skirt I brought, and my boots—though they were not Uggs…I might have looked fashionable if you squinted your eyes and ran by very quickly. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Quick movements seemed to be the MO for the day.<span style=""> </span>As we walked the 10 minutes to the bus stop, even stoic Siberians were steeling themselves against the abrasive wind that quickly found its way through my long underwear.<span style=""> </span>Pedestrians walked with great speed and swing of appendages to keep them filled with as blood as long as possible.<span style=""> </span>Everyone’s eyes quickly filled with the tears from the wind, as if a cold front were meeting a warm in the mountains of the cornea.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>After a numbing 12 minute wait, bus route number 8 swung through our stop and we jumped on.<span style=""> </span>The bus system here seems to be quite good.<span style=""> </span>At least ten buses came to the stop before number 8, but only this route takes you all the way into <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:place></st1:City>, through all the other outlying towns on the way there.<span style=""> </span>On the bus, I sat down in a comfy chair only to realize at the next stop that I should give up my seat for some older women who had joined the trip.<span style=""> </span>Anthony did the same, but I noticed that young local men did not think twice about leaving their warm reclines.<span style=""> </span>I suppose that perhaps Anthony and I had actually insulted these tough older folks, implied that they needed to sit and could not stand.<span style=""> </span>They were clearly experienced at bus travel and seemed to walk around with great ease as we jolted down the frost-heaved highway.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>If it weren’t for a thankful smile from one older lady, I would’ve been very sorry for giving up my seat because our new location had us standing directly in front of the door, getting blasted with cold air at each of the many stops we made before <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>When we finally arrived in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Novosibirsk</st1:place></st1:City>, we were cold but still functioning and decided to walk to the cathedral rather than taking an in-town bus.<span style=""> </span>Walking would obviously warm us up, and figuring out which bus to take would’ve meant a painfully cold moment of looking through the map and guidebook.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>It’s a rare case when vigorous exercise can’t warm you up.<span style=""> </span>Walking up the hill from the main bus station was one of the coldest experiences of my life.<span style=""> </span>The vast street we were following was a giant wind tunnel, though the explosions of wind seemed to come from every direction.<span style=""> </span>After a dreadfully long 20 minutes of walking, we felt we were honing in on the cathedral and turned off onto a side street.<span style=""> </span>This street was amazingly warmer because of its relative shelter from the wind.<span style=""> </span>My calves were still anesthetized with cold though, which I don’t think I’ve ever felt before, and poor Anthony was wearing sneakers (the only shoes he brought to <st1:place st="on">Siberia</st1:place>), so his toes were quite painful.<span style=""> </span>For the record, I told him to bring boots many times.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>We finally spotted the cathedral and arrived there at a timely 9:42am.<span style=""> </span>9am mass was coming to a close, and during the “kiss of peace” I noticed that I was in fact the only one there in a skirt, or a least a skirt that was not hidden by layers of coats.<span style=""> </span>We stayed a little while after mass was over to pray/prepare ourselves for the elements, and on the way out I realized that chairs along the sides of the church were placed right above the heating vents.<span style=""> </span>I decided we should sit and pray a little more.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Finally, still quite cold, we got up for the return journey.<span style=""> </span>Sight seeing was out of the question.<span style=""> </span>We hopped on a trolley, thank goodness, to get most of the way back to the central bus station.<span style=""> </span>Once there we had to wait a grueling 20+ minutes in the cold.<span style=""> </span>We were not alone in misery, there was a lot of pacing and purchasing of warm “chai” by the locals to stay warm.<span style=""> </span>One woman with the tell-tale Russian plastic zip up shopping bag was constantly tapping her boots together.<span style=""> </span>I was a bit comforted that many weather-worn Siberians clearly regarded this as uncomfortably cold, not just we green Americans.<span style=""> </span>We were all allies against the artic.<span style=""> </span>Amazingly though, some travelers looked quite at ease even with fewer clothes on than most.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Bus route 8 again came infrequently, so we had to wait while numerous other buses tortuously came and left.<span style=""> </span>Finally it arrived and people pushed and shoved their way onto the bus.<span style=""> </span>This rush of activity and body contact was like the secret way to warm each other up.<span style=""> </span>We got shoved towards the front of the bus, and seeing as there were several open seats there we gladly settled in for the farthest destination of route 8.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Apparently being seated and not next to a door makes little difference—I did not warm up one iota for the entire ride (during which the driver was driving <i style="">excruciatingly</i> slowly).<span style=""> </span>When we arrived at our stop, I started a stiff awkward walk then run back to the apartment.<span style=""> </span>We made it, and after some warm food while sitting on top of the heater, my body temperature felt somewhat normal.<span style=""> </span>I then went skiing and actually was quite warm the whole workout.<span style=""> </span>Apparently sitting, standing, and even walking in the cold are just not sufficient for generating warmth.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Most days have not been that cold.<span style=""> </span>We’ve enjoyed temps between 0 and 20° F for the most part, so it really has not been unbearable.<span style=""> </span>Today was a balmy -10 C, about 14° F.<span style=""> </span>I hope you all had a wonderful and warm weekend.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Carolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10908330275222914314noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-26444847744662663512007-02-14T23:14:00.000+06:002007-02-28T08:07:56.401+06:00Plane, Train, and AutomobileI arrived at Домодедово (Domodedovo Airport) late on a Tuesday evening, a day later than I had planned due to some frustrating and expensive visa snafu's. I got off the plane, found my ski bag (which made it!) and headed for the exit. I talked some taxi driver down from $100 to about $70, still about two times what I should have paid, for the 60 minute ride to the train station. All well, I seem to be starting a tradition of horribly overpaying a taxi driver my first time in a country. (Three years ago in Rome I paid some bloke 40 euro to take me what turned out to be 4 blocks.) On our way out of the airport parking lot I sat and watched as he stopped a 100 meters before the automated toll gates. As soon as the police officer monitoring the area had walked to the other end of the exit area, we pulled right up to the nearest gate, to the point that we were hitting it with the car. The driver reached his hand out his window, lifted the gate until it was over the roof of the car, and sped away. I'm going to have to see if this trick works in the United States.<br /><br />He was actually quite friendly, and we had fun talking to each other in broken Russian / English. As soon as I had communicated that I liked hard rock, he looked at me excitedly and popped in a cassette. Out came good 70's American and British rock. For the rest of the ride, I think we were both relieved that we didn't have to listen to the nauseating mix of Russian and American pop coming out of the radio. So maybe the $70 was worth it. <div><br />Because of my delayed arrival, I did not have train tickets from Moscow to Novosibirsk. At the Ярославский Вокзал (Yaroslavsky train station) I discovered that not only was the first train to Novosibirsk all booked up in плацкарт (3rd class), but also the next train, and every train until the next night. So, without much else to do, I bought a ticket for a train leaving the next night at 10pm and prepared myself to spend the night in a Russian train station.<br /><br />The train station is on a main square in Moscow with two other train stations and a major Metro stop. All together, they make up one of Moscow's "busiest and hairiest centers' according to <span style="font-style: italic;">Lonely Planet</span>. Having abandoned my large ski bag and backpack in the center of the main hall full of people, where I hoped they wouldn't be rifled through, I headed out to explore the area and quickly confirmed my guidebook's assessment. Even inside of the train station, there were quite a few stumbling drunks and other harmless, homeless-looking types, but I can't say it felt much different than Port Authority or even the Cleveland Greyhound Station.<br /><br />I found the baggage storage area in the basement, checked my bags, and headed to the second-floor hall, a somewhat larger, warmer, and cleaner area. There most people were laid out on benches sleeping, and soon was among them. Around 1:00 am, however, we were all woken up and quickly shooed into a much smaller room adjacent to the second floor hall. Initially confused, I realized the handful of police officers and station attendants were systematically checking everyone and kicking out those that didn't measure up, separating the bums from the upstanding passengers I guess. I wasn't really sure into which category I fit as all I had was a ticket for a train that didn't leave for another 21 hours. Watching carefully as the more sober and clever homeless types were cleared despite their clearly invalid tickets by approaching the young, bored, and tired police officers rather than the mean and vindictive station attendant babushkas, I quickly handed my ticket and photocopy of my passport to the youngest, most friendly looking Moscow policeman. He looked at my ticket and passport, and with a bewildered amusement, looked at me and said, "Ты Американец?" (Are you an American?) I confirmed that I was, and shaking his head, he handed me my documents, and walked off. Other than a few arguments spiraling into minor fights and a few more people getting thrown out of the room, the next few hours were pretty dull. Around 3:00am they let us all back into the larger room and I slept for the rest of the night. Also, as an aside, they weren't completely throwing out the poor homeless folks, just making them go down to the first floor where it wasn't quite as warm.<br /><br />I spent some of the next day wandering around Moscow and Red Square, seeing some churches, etc. That evening I (finally) got on mine train, managing to drag my ski bag and find a place to put it without upsetting anyone. I was traveling плацкарт (3rd class), meaning that my ticket for 55 hours of travel across thousands of kilometers of Russia was only about $50. It also meant that I got to travel in conditions that make most Russians <a href="http://russiantruth.blogspot.com/2006/12/surviving-train.html%27">shudder</a>. To be honest, it really wasn't that bad. Half of my nearest compartment-mates were always kind and generous, sharing their food and stories with me. I got to impress them by explaining that my wife wasn't with me because she was competing at Biathlon World Championships, and they got to impress me by being able to recall exactly how the American women, including Carolyn, placed in the relay at the Olympics last year (15th, at 3rd to last, their best finish ever). It was true that the other half of the people on the train were in various states of drunkenness, but they kept to themselves for the most part and didn't bother me too much. To be honest, most of the train ride was just boring, passing endless snow covered forests, fields, and semi-abandoned villages.<br /><br />I arrived at the train station at 5am in Novosibirsk to be greeted by two fur-clad and chipper twenty-year-old girls, two of my students.<br /></div>Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3393700442743502807.post-73176148840929116242007-02-13T22:45:00.000+06:002007-02-18T23:09:57.187+06:00A Russian Ski Race<div>This past Sunday was the All Russia Ski Day (<em>Лыжня России)</em>, which consisted of ski races happening all over Russia, all at the same time. There were over 4000 racers competing in Novosibirsk. It was likely one of the most intense races I've ever skied with some VERY serious and competitive masters men and women. In the US we have "master-blasters," those 40-60 year-olds who are constantly out to prove something in their midlife crisis. In Russia, it seemed like there were hundreds of them, all far fiercer than their American counterparts.<br /><br />The competitive wave included all bibs less than 1000 (probably about 300 people), and my bib was 8000-something. Not to worry, I just hopped the fence into the starting pen like all of the other greater-than-one-thousand bibs who wanted to be in the real race. Since plenty of the ten-thousand-plus folks had Russian National Team suits of a late 90's vintage, I figured no one would say anything and fell in behind them at the start line. When the race organizers began to yell at us about our improper bib numbers, they all just started yelled back. When the organizers started to yell at us for creeping over the start line, the racers didn't yell back. They just false-started. Causing the entire wave to trample those same race organizers. All of this happened a full three minutes before the race was actually supposed to start, and there was no stopping and restarting this bunch. It was amazing.<br /><br /> </div> <div> </div> The race was only 10km long (skate), and the wave stayed as one drawn out pack. It was really just a 30 minute long mass start. We were all constantly passing and being passed by other racers with lots of shouting, pushing, and stepping on each other's equipment. The course looped around through the woods, making a few dips into and climbs out of a gully. It finished with a 3km trek around a giant, normally windswept field. Fortunately, on the day of the race the sky was clear and the air perfectly still at a cold 5 deg F. The highlight of the race was definitely the LARGE military helicopter which buzzed the open field as we skied by so its cameraman could get a good shot of the race from eye-level. I've had to ski in a lot of conditions before, but icy, exhaust-filled helicopter rotor-wash has not been been one of them.<br /><br />In the end, I finished 44th (or 144th?). I'm unsure of what the guy yelled at me as I finished and with the false-start and wave-jumping that was going on, I'm not sure anyone kept track of results. As I didn't get kicked out of the start pen, trampled by far the most furious mass start I've ever seen, or blown over by the helicopter, I was pretty happy with my result, whatever it was.Anthonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808873419353930657noreply@blogger.com1