As the sporting media focused on the FIS World Nordic Ski Championships in Oberstdorf, Germany this past winter, they watched youthful, well-tuned athletes doing their aerobic best.
Meanwhile, older and certainly less flexible—but no less competitive athletes—were doing their thing at the World Masters Nordic Championships Feb. 17-28 in Krasnogorsk near Moscow, Russia.
One of the U.S. athletes was Norm Clark, 75, for the last eight years a full-time resident of Ketchum's Warm Springs area.
Clark is a native of Aviemore, Scotland, located on the north-south railroad line at the foothills of Scotland's Cairngorms uplands between Pitlochry and Inverness. For years he was the CEO of a computer company in southern California's Orange County.
He hesitates to use the term "retired," to describe his current vocation, because Norm's interest in alpine ski racing and, for the last seven years, in Nordic skiing, keeps him very busy. He and his wife Joan have enjoyed the Sun Valley area since coming here in 1988.
Clark competed in the 2005 World Masters Nordic Championships. His abridged account of his trip and the event follows here, and the full version will be published in the April 13 edition of Local Life.
By NORM CLARK
For the Express
The Russian Airlines Aeroflot A319 airbus broke through the low-cloud layer and landed at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport in a bleak expanse of snow.
Moscow, to me, was always bleak, even though the radical political and economic changes in recent years have accounted for brighter times for many Russians.
Improvements in Russian life have been significant.
In the 90 minutes it took to negotiate the 25 kilometers of clogged roads to my destination of Krasnogorsk—site of the 2005 World Masters Nordic Championships—it became obvious to me that Russia was doing something right economically.
I learned that Russia was unique among emerging countries as a net creditor with almost $100 billion in foreign reserves, boasting a 7% GDP growth rate and a current budget surplus.
But I was in Russia to ski.
Over 900 athletes from 20 countries congregated in Krasnogorsk to check their skiing skills, handicapped by age categories.
The International Ski Federation (FIS), regulatory body for international skiing, had last September made a big adjustment reflecting the times.
Recognizing that people were living longer and more active lives, the FIS extended the upper age category limit from 79 to 89 years.
The annual event is held in various countries. Last year, some 30 Wood River Valley racers joined the 200 Americans for the world event at Lillehammer, Norway—and brought home 10 medals.
This year, in Russia, a mere 15 racers competed from the U.S., for reasons that the organizers have yet to figure out. That's because the American group has averaged 108 over the past 10 years.
As you might have guessed, the main topic of discussion among the non-Russians was the massive Russian participation. It has never been so out-of-balance. If you added in the former USSR republics, the number accounted for 80% of the competitors this year.
First races
The opening ceremonies are usually dull.
You get welcoming speeches by organizers and local dignitaries, all the speeches requiring translation into several languages. You get a presentation of teams, some brief cultural flashes like folk dances, and maybe fireworks and samplings of local libations.
The first races were held Sunday, Feb. 20, mostly 15k and 30k freestyle. Snow fell lightly for most of the day, on top of about 2 cm of new snow that fell after the tracks were groomed. By the time the last racers were on the course, there were berms of soft snow on most corners.
Usually, competitors who have previously raced in the World Masters Nordic Championships have FIS points that seed them somewhat, so a glance at the start list gives you an indication of your chances. This year, however, too many unknown Russians confused the issue.
In my group, there were 10 Russians, only one of whom I knew. I also knew he was probably unbeatable. I managed to get nine of these behind me, but number 10 won. A couple of wily old strategists, a Finn and a German, overtook me in the final 500 meters and I missed the bronze by less than four seconds. But the result was much better than I had thought possible.
I could now gauge the top five and plan a strategy.
My second race was 10k freestyle.
Knowing my likely competitors now and hoping not to get overtaken in the stretch going into the stadium, I decided to go out fast and try to hold it. I tucked in behind Akhamet Siraziev who must have accrued more gold medals over the years skiing for Russia than even he can remember.
He began to pull away after about 4k, but by then we had created a fair space between he and I and the rest of the field. Then another Russian, who usually skis classic, passed me. I hung with him and when we climbed the last hill into the stadium, it was obvious that I made the bronze.
At the finish, Akhamet flashed a smile of gold teeth and shook my hand. I had beaten the Finn and German who had passed me in the last meters of the 15k freestyle back on Feb. 20.
It was the first medal ever won by a Brit male Nordic skier in an FIS-sanctioned World Championship.
While we weren't racing, we sampled Russian society and its changes. There have been winds of change in Russia. Moscow is one of five cities bidding on the 2012 Olympics. The city plans to spend $7 to $8 billion on new sports facilities.
We got a couple of glimpses of Russian health care.
One team member had a serious asthma attack late one evening. One of our guys spoke some Russian and we managed to raise a doctor. The doctor came to where we were staying, and got the patient stabilized and treated. He left, saying he was happy to help and didn't ask for any payment.
Another team member crashed and broke his shoulder. Fortunately there was a hospital adjacent to the stadium where he was plaster-casted and spent the night. The operation was scheduled for two days later. We visited him the next morning. The hospital was Spartan, up six flights of stone stairs.
The little old babushka custodian traded our skis for 20 rubles and gave us blue plastic booties, to place over our ski boots, and the booties were chewed up by the time we got up the stairs.
The room was very simple. On the walls was peeling paint that looked like it had been unaltered since its original off-white coverage many years ago. The windows didn't have curtains and the toilet didn't work. Neither did the TV.
A doctor came in, speaking only Russian. He showed us a couple of x-rays showing a fracture and gave us an operation and recovery schedule. I traded e-mails with the broken shoulder patient later and he said he had nothing but good things to say about his hospital stay.
But it's not easy for physicians in Russia. A friend said her father-in-law was a practicing physician in a Moscow hospital. He also had a second job, as a night watchman for a European company. Amazingly enough, he earned more doing the night watchman work than he did doctoring—a sad situation that hasn't changed for the betterment of certain professional classes.
During the event our hosts had interspersed some culture with the competitive activities.
One night there was a concert, commemorating the 25th anniversary of the World Masters Ski Association. We enjoyed some traditional Russian music, played by a balalaika orchestra, some ballet and some operatic arias.
The exposure to such well-known Russian culture was appreciated. You could have heard a pin clatter to the floor in an auditorium packed with over 1,000 people.
My last race was Friday.
I should have been relaxed but I wasn't. Stricken with a heavy cold, I might have been looking for an excuse in the event I had a less-than-expected performance.
The temperatures were cold (minus 12C) and they were made more uncomfortable because of the high humidity (90%).
It was early, the first race of the day.
I felt like hell.
Akhamet would win, but there would still be a scramble for the next three or four places. Once out of the stadium I settled in and stuck with Akhamet before he began to pull away at about 5k.
I felt comfortable coming into the stadium for a second lap. I realized that by the time I returned to the stadium, the medals would be decided. I ran into traffic in the last 4k or 5k from a confluence of other racers, not from my group.
The 1k and 500m signs eventually came up and then the time display at the finish.
I'd added silver to my bronze.
Summing it up, a consensus agreed that the challenging topography and track preparation had been good, and the race starts had been punctual. The transport logistics had been efficient. The skiing had been excellent, and this, after all, had been what we came for.
We had been fortunate with the weather. Although the sightseeing tours had been overpriced, we didn't have a lot of time to take advantage of the tours, with the way the race schedule was set up.
For Moscow first-timers, there had been lots of photo ops—the Kremlin, St. Basil's Cathedral and Red Square.
But at the end of the day, or 10 days, the expressions of interest in returning were singularly muted.
Norm Clark on the trails at Krasnogorsk?site of the 2005 World Masters Nordic Championships. Courtesy photo
