Race Lag

This is for all of you ski team parents who spend endless hours preparing for, waiting for and watching ski racing on the weekends.  I arrived home after a three-day race with what I am now calling “race lag”.  I felt strangely like I had been traveling on a long, multi-stop plane flight.  After further thought, I found several similarities between ski-race spectatorship and current airline travel.

Ski Race	Airline Travel
Pack all ski equipment, snacks and water for you and your racer.	Pack your clothes, snacks and 3 oz toiletries for airline travel.
Get up at 6 am to watch an 11 am race	Get up at 6 am to make a 10 am flight
Exceed the speed limit while driving to the mountain so your kid isn’t late to get their race bib	High tail it to the airport in case of long security lines
Wait in line to buy lift ticket	Wait in line at security
Because you still have 3.5 hours before you are technically required to do anything, try to sleep in the lodge.  Repulsed by breakfast remnants on the tables, and the smell of the bathroom wafting into the cafeteria/lodge.  Germs abound.	Get on the plane.  Sit on the tarmac for another 2 hours because of mechanical problems.  Repulsed by sticky seats and the person next to you eating smelly egg sandwich.  Germs abound.
After reading the NY Times cover to cover, having ten cups of expensive coffee, and deleting old emails from the last 6 months off of your phone, race time is finally here.  Watch your kid go too fast down a ski-hill with nothing to protect him but a helmet.  Annoyed listening to other parents talk about how great their kids are.  Feel nauseous and upset, can’t wait for the race to be over.	After reading the Delta Sky Journal cover to cover, dying of thirst because the flight attendant is ignoring you, and eating 10 packs of tiny pretzels, the flight finally takes off.  Annoyed by the people around you talking about how great their vacation was while you were at work.  You encounter turbulence, feel nauseous.  Can’t wait for the flight to end.
Your racer finishes safely, breathe a sigh of relief.  Hike back to the lodge (this is the only exercise you get).  Wait for the next run.  Brace yourself for more interaction with Johnny Q Public.	You land safely and do a silent prayer. Walk briskly through the terminal looking for your gate for the next leg of your flight (this is the only exercise you get).  Prepare yourself to be surrounded by coughing sneezing passengers again.
Repeat the last two steps	Repeat the last two steps
Assuming your kid doesn’t get an award, you finally make it home after ten hours of driving, watching races, and being grossed out in the lodge. *Note:  of that ten hours, your kid raced for exactly 92 seconds (both runs)	Assuming you didn’t get bumped off your last flight, you arrive at your destination after ten hours of travel, sitting, and being grossed out on the plane.
Tragedy strikes:  your kid makes the podium.  Get a beer while you wait another two hours for the awards ceremony.	Tragedy strikes:  they lost your luggage.  Get a beer while you wait for the enthusiastic baggage administrator to track down your belongings.
Feel strangely dirty even though you haven’t done anything.  Exhausted, jump in the shower and go to bed.	Feel strangely dirty even though you haven’t done anything.  Exhausted, jump in shower and go to bed.
You paid a lot of money to feel this way.	You paid a lot of money to feel this way.