From the FasterSkier archive — posts syndicated from athletes’ and coaches’ own blogs between 2004 and 2012, kept online as published. Current coverage is at fasterskier.com.

Tag: cross-country ski waxing

  • Chris Hecker and the Moment the Sun Came Out

    Chris Hecker and the Moment the Sun Came Out

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers.  If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    If you are a parent or coach and have been responsible for waxing skis for an important race — a state championship, a Junior National Qualifier — you know how stressful that can be. Now imagine it’s the morning of the Team Sprint at the Olympics, and you are responsible for Gus Schumacher’s skis. Feel your blood pressure rising yet?

    Welcome to the life of Chris Hecker, the US Cross-Country Ski Team service tech who leads the glide program and is Schumacher’s personal tech. Hecker, at this point, knows Schumacher well and that he has logged nearly 1,000 hours of training annually for years, and that he has dreamed of this specific day since the end of last season.

    “One of the most stressful moments actually came [on race day], about 45 minutes before the Men’s Team Sprint. I had selected the race skis for Gus and felt confident in the decision. At the time, it was clearly the best pair for the conditions.”

    Everything seemed to be playing out as Hecker had hoped, but then everything changed.

    “Then, about five minutes later, the sun came out. The course started to break down and got noticeably wetter. I still had a few minutes before beginning to wax, so I decided to run one more quick test. In the ten minutes between tests, the two top pairs kept getting closer and closer in performance.”

    These are the moments when experience, confidence, and a little tech magic can make or break a race. “In the end, I chose what was technically Gus’s second-best pair at that moment,” Hecker recalled. “As more athletes skied and the temperature continued to rise, there’s a good chance those skis actually became the faster option anyway.”

    Hecker was quick to point out that “Gus and Ben were on another level. Regardless of which skis Gus raced on, I’m confident the result would have been the same. They were [racing] on another level.”

    We may never really know, but maybe that decision did have something to do with Schumacher and Ben Ogden winning silver in the Team Sprint? For Hecker, it was a choice that was actually years in the making.

    Guided by family and noted mentors

    Hecker grew up in a family of skiers; his father, Mike, was a Pelton ski and Exel pole rep in the Midwest and had Chris on skis when he was just nine months old, “shuffling around and falling down.” Mike and his wife would pack the entire family, including Chris and his older brother Jeremy, and spend weekends traveling to different ski shows and venues. The parents told Chris and Jeremy it was their ‘vacation’, but in reality, it was just a family deeply invested in both the industry and the lifestyle.

    “So we were skiing from a really, really early age, and then we got into racing,” said Chris. When Chris was in middle school and high school, he raced for Anoka High School, in Minnesota, a northern suburb of Minneapolis. After graduating in 2013, he headed to St. Scholastica in Duluth, where he raced for three years under Chad Salmela and, in his senior year, under Maria Stuber.

    After graduating from St. Scholastica in 2017, Hecker took a job with Rex Ski Wax for the 2018 / 2019 season.

    “I worked with them for a year, spent a year on the World Cup being their racing service manager and research and development, kind of lead testing for all the new products, testing all the old products, and then walking around and working with the teams and saying, What do you need from us?”

    Hecker made himself available to World Cup teams, asking which products he could help with and which they thought were working well and which needed improvement. He continued this work for three full seasons before starting with the US Ski Team in 2020; this is now his sixth full season with the team.

    Two brothers… “Give me something weird.”

    Chris’s older brother, Jeremy, has kept the family tradition alive too, serving as a full-time employee of Pioneer Midwest and, in addition, as the domestic rep and race service lead for Rex ski wax.

    “We talk multiple times a week, and we get really deep into the weeds,” says Chris, who gives his brother lots of respect and praise. “He’s a really good wax tech, and sometimes you just need an idea from an outside source.”

    So when waxing domestically, Jeremy will ask his brother at the World Cup, “Give me something weird, give me something random to go out and test,” because he has all the normal, routine choices down.

    “He’ll always ask me for one random suggestion to try out for some of those race weekends. And sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

    For the most part, the two brothers talk about local races and how Jeremy can better support local skiers, since the products Chris is working on for the World Cup aren’t available to domestic skiers.

    “But it is also fun to talk about, when we have a really good day, like in Goms, or a really good day, like in the Val de Fiemme, on the final hill climb.”

    When that happens, Jeremy can spot it on the livestream and will call up Chris and ask, “Oh, what’d you guys do differently!”

    A lot more than two pairs of skis… like over 100

    In addition to being Schumacher’s personal tech, Chris Hecker is also responsible for Novie McCabe when she is on the World Cup and when she raced at the Olympics.

    In addition, Hecker is responsible for managing both athletes’ ski fleets. For McCabe, that means 38 pairs of skis and another 65 pairs for Schumacher, but even that can be variable, “like, Gus gets a ski [from Rossignol] maybe every other weekend or every third weekend because they’re always coming out with new prototypes and new skis.”

    McCabe is a Fischer-sponsored athlete, and they are admittedly a bit more controlled on allocating skis, but if Hecker and McCabe decide to “knock out a bad ski,” they can give it back to them and get another for her quiver.

    The new Rossignol skis arriving can introduce many more variables for Schumacher and Hecker to consider. As Hecker says, “ it can be new base material, new grinds, new core materials… the construction of the ski can be different.”

    Every little tweak has a purpose, “maybe it’s an easier kicking classic ski, maybe it’s a faster base material on a state ski.” As Hecker continues… “Maybe it’s a different laminate on a zero ski,” and what becomes quickly obvious is that all of these subtle variations make for endless possibilities.

    Building a rapport

    Hecker and Schumacher have been working together for two years now. Last season, Hecker was not responsible for another athlete, so he could focus on Schumacher, and the two quickly bonded.

    From the beginning, “working with him was really fun,” said Hecker . “We were trying to build a rapport as a new athlete and tech combination between the two of us.”

    Schumacher’s previous tech had left for the Swiss Biathlon Team, but Hecker and Schumacher found a lot of success last season with several top 10s and a podium in Falun, Sweden. As they started this season, they got right back to work.

    “Then starting this year, it was like jumping right back into it.” The two had a full year of experience to build on, and the dialogue and descriptions began to get more dialed, which is critical in the relationship between a tech and an athlete.

    Hecker began to know what Schumacher “likes for kick in skis, what feeling and stability he likes on skate skis,” and the two have been able to build that “innate rapport” which leads to a trusting relationship.

    As Hecker puts it, “[Schumacher] is one of the most astute athletes that I’ve worked with. He always comes with a question or two on race day. ‘Do you think we should try testing over on this side of the course instead of that side of the course, because I’m really trying to execute a plan here. Can we try focusing on glide for this half of the course, and maybe do a couple of glide outs here?”

    Hecker continues to describe how impressed he is with Schumacher as an athlete:

    “And so he’s always equally thinking as a wax tech and as an athlete when we’re out skiing together, and he’s really trying to dissect where the best places to test are. And it’s not just my job to revive the skis for him, but it’s also his job to pick the correct skis for him. And so he needs to know almost as much as I do about his skis and what is working and why it’s working, because ultimately we have to come to the decision together. He is racing, not me, and so we have a really cool relationship together to kind of pick and choose what we want to race on as a team.”

    Learning what he likes instead of what you like

    At this level, picking the right ski for an athlete is not just about what is fastest. It is also about picking a ski that responds the way the athlete prefers, and that matches the way a skier races.

    For Schumacher, that means a ski that is “extremely stable and forward tracking.” Hecker knows the way Schumacher skis, and how “when he pushes off to the left or to the right, and he goes fully onto one ski, he wants it to go straight.”

    “He doesn’t want the tip to move at all. He just wants it to point and shoot straight.”

    That isn’t a characteristic Hecker is personally always looking for in a ski, but he knows that’s what Schumacher wants. “So when I’m looking and testing without him some days, I say, ‘Okay, this ski is for sure going to be moving on because this feels better for him.’ And so we kind of have differing opinions sometimes on feeling, because I like a slightly different ski.”

    For Hecker, though, what is most important is that he understands not just what will ski fast, but also what will work best for Schumacher in different conditions, based on how he will race.

    “On a really firm course, he’ll look for this ski that just goes straight. And I think the reason why he likes that is that he will free skate a lot and likes being able to just push with his legs. And he’s so strong at that, and so relaxed when he does it, and so he can conserve a lot of energy.

    So it’s a really cool technique change from him, because I don’t think a lot of people utilize that on the men’s field. You see a lot of people always V2ing, and you’ll see him kind of free skating in the middle of the pack, just relaxing his upper body and giving half of his body a rest.”

    Inside the wax truck: how race morning actually works

    On a stable day, glide testing is fairly methodical.

    “We usually have four fleets of skis that go out,” Hecker explained. “Eight structure skis, eight paraffin skis, eight topping skis, and four to six application skis.”

    Before any athlete even gets to the venue, there is what the service team calls a “thinking period.” Jason [Cork], Tim [Baucom], Hecker, and anyone else in the truck who wants to join in, gather around a table with wax options.

    “We’ll put maybe 10 to 12 waxes in,” Hecker said. “Eli [Brown] might give us a wax. Oleg [Ragilo], our head of service, might give us a wax. Bernie [Nelson] might give us a wax. Then at the end of the table, it’s on me to narrow it down.”

    Ten or twelve become eight after the team removes the overlapping options. Some are eliminated because something similar tested better earlier in the week. Predictability and durability matter as much as outright speed.

    Structure follows a similar pattern. Baucom pulls 10 or 12 patterns before narrowing to eight that fit the day’s snow. The brainstorming narrows the options, then the skis go outside for testing.

    When results come back, they’re measured in inches and sometimes just two or three separate first from third.

    “If there are three that are really close,” Hecker said, “we might race on third place. Even if it’s two inches behind.”

    Because two inches in early testing might not matter if the wax is more durable, safer, or better, as temperatures rise and the track grows glazy under the skis of a throng of World Cup skiers.

    “It’s up to us to make a call,” Hecker said. “This is the wax we’re going to run today, even though it may not have won.”

    Once the athletes start warming up and testing skis, the techs have to add that feedback to the equation as well. Often, Hecker has one ear tuned to Gus’s feedback and the other to the incoming results.

    “When Gus is racing, a lot of these tests are going on,” he said. “I have to have my head on both testing skis with Gus, but also on the results that are coming in.”

    A call might come mid-session: pair 47 instead of pair 45. At this level, it’s small changes, constant recalibration, and decisions layered on decisions.

    For spectators, the race begins at the gun. For the glide team, it began hours earlier — likely in the dark — and never really stops until the racers reach the first checkpoint in the race and the team knows whether their choices put them in the race or not.

    “It’s definitely the hardest part of this job.”

    For Hecker, this will be his last season as part of the US World Cup service team.

    “It’s been a thing that I decided at the end of the year last year,” Hecker said. “I gave a fairly big heads up to the team in Bend in April.”

    This season marks the end of a third Olympic cycle for Hecker, but it is not that moments like the Olympic Team Sprint are wearing him down. That is not the hardest part of the job. The hardest part of the job is being away from his wife, Katie, family, and his dog.

    “It’s time to be at home with my wife and be more with my family and be back at home with my dog. And, yeah, right now it is time to retire after this year, and we’ll see what happens after that.”

    Like other staff and coaches on the US Ski Team, Hecker was able to sneak home twice so far this season, but those opportunities are few and far between.

    “Yeah, it’s, it’s definitely the hardest part of this job, not that waxing isn’t hard, but being away from your family, being away from loved ones for so long. It’s really hard.”

    This decision wasn’t made lightly because there are many things about being on the World Cup that Hecker will miss. Most significantly, the US Ski Team has done an amazing job creating a unified family.

    “It’s hard because this team is like a second family. Being away from these guys for long stretches is tough. I love working with them. When you like the person you’re rooming with every weekend, that means something. So leaving the team feels like leaving family.

    But I know it’s the right decision for me. I’m getting tired. There was a time when traveling to Europe was exciting, going to new venues, seeing new places. That was fun.

    Now it’s, ‘Okay, we’re going back to Val di Fiemme. We’re going back to Oberhof. We’re driving the wax truck to Oslo again.’ Last year, I realized I wasn’t looking forward to the travel anymore. I’d be excited once I got there, but the constant moving was wearing on me. That’s when I knew it might be time.”

    Gus Schumacher and Ben Ogden (USA), (l-r) celebrate their Olympic silver medal in the Team Sprint in Tesero, Italy. (Photo: Vanzetta/NordicFocus)
    On another level

    When the sun came out in Italy last Wednesday morning, it forced a decision. A choice was made to go with a slower pair of skis, but that decision was not a whim; it was not a swing for a bases-loaded grand slam to win the World Series. It was choosing an option that presented itself through a trusted process, through seasons of tested routines, and having the experience to trust instinct.

    By the time Gus Schumacher and Ben Ogden pushed off the line in the Team Sprint, the work had already been done, in the dark, in the truck, in inches measured on a test lane. Structures narrowed from twelve to eight, waxes debated and eliminated.

    The silver medal will always belong to the athletes. They were, as Hecker put it, “on another level.”

    But long before Schumacher chased down Johannes Høsflot Klæbo on the anchor leg, before the crowd roared in excitement, before the final sprint up the Zorzi Climb, there was a moment when the sun came out, and a technician had to make a decision.

    And one detail to remember when the story of the 2026 Olympic Team Sprint is retold for years to come is that the United States service team, on that day, was also ‘on another level.’

     

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  • Tim Baucom and the Art of Making Hand-Structured Skis

    Tim Baucom and the Art of Making Hand-Structured Skis

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers who have helped put our Nat Herz on the ground at the Olympics. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    Tim Baucom mountain biking with his parents on the Bangtail Divide Trail in Bozeman, Montana. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    After a historic day like yesterday, there are so many possible stories, some big, some smaller, but all important. It is easy to get lost in the moment, the history, and the meaning, but we also cannot forget about how it happened. Not just on the race course, but bigger than that, how did the team make it happen, specifically the service team?

    A lot of credit should be given to Eli Brown, who is the tech for both Ben Ogden and Julia Kern. Clearly, Brown, a self-proclaimed golf caddy for his athletes, provided some special magic, as did Oleg Ragilo, who leads the kick team, and Chris Hecker, who leads the glide team, but what makes the US Cross-Country Ski Team service team special is that they know they work best when all of their pistons are firing in sync.

    One of those pistons is their head of hand structure, Tim Baucom. His route to the wax truck bench was less predictable than you might expect.

    Baucom’s first ski race. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    Just a Kid Who Loved Sports

    Like many who stay in coaching and the industry, Baucom loved all sports growing up.

    “Sports were definitely my biggest focus when I was young. As soon as I started playing Little League baseball, soccer, and stuff, it was definitely all I thought about, in school too. Gym class and recess.”

    For a long time, Baucom played all the sports he could, but he was definitely into soccer, which was probably his favorite, and he played through high school.

    Middle School State Championships with his coaches Kate and Chris Northcott. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Baucom grew up in Walpole, a small town in southwest New Hampshire, but cross-country skiing wasn’t on his radar as a child. Though he tried it in fifth grade and continued through high school, he did not approach it with the passion one might expect from a story about someone at his current level.

    “I didn’t really have much of a community for it where I grew up. It’s funny because New England’s so small.”

    Little did Baucom know he was just across the Connecticut River from the epicenter of American Nordic skiing.

    “I was 15 or 20 minutes away from Putney… but the communities in New England are so removed from one another. My dad even worked in Putney, and I didn’t really know those kids or race against any of them, or know the coaches.”

    While he loved soccer and other ball sports, skiing seemed to fit best.

    “Once I started skiing, I realized it was probably my best sport, at least the one I was more naturally adapted to.”

    But that didn’t mean he was fully committed to training like the top juniors in the region.

    High School State Championships with teammates Brenden Short, Morgan Brown, and Tyler Westover. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    “The first time I roller skied was my freshman year at UNH… There were three or four of us who had grown up in the New Hampshire high school skiing world and played other sports and never thought about roller skiing.”

    And while that might sound surprising to some people, it is not something Baucom regrets at all.

    “In most ways, I’m super thankful that I had a very diverse sports background… competent at ball sports, and alpine skiing—I alpine skied a ton—and telemark skied and ice climbed, and rock climbed. I’m definitely thankful for that.”

    Racing for UNH in Houghton, Michigan. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    Moving West and Almost Choosing a Different Path

    After high school, Baucom chose to stay in-state and attend the University of New Hampshire, where he majored in anthropology and had minors in history and music. Skiing became a big part of his life through connections and friendships, but he admits he probably wasn’t fast enough to make the team now.

    After graduation, he spent the summer helping build houses up in North Conway, but as fall approached, he left Durham, North Conway, and southwest New Hampshire behind.

    “I moved out to Bozeman the year after graduating… planning on being a ski bum for a little bit and then probably going back to grad school. I was very interested in public health, and medical anthropology really interested me.”

    But Baucom needed to find a way to support his ski bum lifestyle:

    “I started coaching that winter for Bridger Ski Foundation because it was an easy job. I could go ice climb or ski all day, and then at 4:00 show up at Lindley Park and ski around with some kids for a little bit and get paid a little money.”

    He figured that, between the money he had saved that summer and what he was making as a coach, he would be able to make his lifestyle work financially, but he didn’t expect to enjoy coaching so much.

    “I started dryland training… working with younger kids who were just starting to roller ski and just starting to learn how to bound and ski walk. We played soccer and speedball, mostly, which [was] awesome.”

    Working in Quebec with fellow UNH alumni Nick Brown and Andrew Morehouse. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    First Real Exposure to Waxing

    At BSF, Baucom found mentors to guide him in waxing.

    “We had a few coaches and techs who were quite experienced… Floyd Rieshus… he was probably in his 70s when I was working with him, and he was so dialed.”

    But it wasn’t just the technical side of waxing that was appealing; there is something about the physical labor of being a cross-country ski coach that draws in a certain type of person.

    “We’d show up in West Yellowstone, and he’d have his big sled that he’d hauled his elk out of the woods with—still covered in blood—and we’d throw all the waxing tables and gear into that, and the generator, and he would slowly trudge from town all the way out to the stadium.”

    In addition to Rice, Bjorn Bakken was heavily involved in BSF, and Baucom was willing to take on whatever they suggested.

    Baucom must have been doing something right because when the opportunity presented itself, the head coaches threw him into the deep end of the pool to see if he could swim.

    “[U.S. Nationals] was in Rumford, and [my boss] called me, ‘one of the people couldn’t make it,’ and they were like, ‘We really need extra help.’ So I went there and really got thrown into it.”

    When he arrived in Maine, conditions were, to say the least, challenging, but the rest of the BSF service team didn’t question his ability. They put him in charge of kick, even though Baucom felt as if he had imposter syndrome.

    “I think I was honestly in charge of kick—which was a joke at the time—because I had no experience making skis for that quality of athlete and that high level of race.”

    Baucom knew the stakes were high and that he had better figure out what to do quickly, but then the weather of New England did what New England weather does in January and tossed a wintery mix classic race day at everyone.

    It was situations like that that Baucom loved, having to get creative when there was no other option.

    Baucom and Jason Cork on top of Stratton Mt. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    How He Made it to the World Cup

    As a parent, you try to teach your child to advocate for themselves, and clearly, Baucom was taught that lesson well.

    “For a few years, politely persistent. I emailed [Chris] Grover a few times, being like, ‘Hey, I’m interested in this job.’ I emailed [Jason] Cork [on the tech side] and was like, ‘Any advice if I want to be a tech on the World Cup?’”

    The message back was simple: keep doing what you are doing, it is really the only way. What Baucom may not have realized about the impression he was leaving wasn’t just that he was skilled when things got unpredictable, but that he brought the right ‘vibe’ with him to the wax trailer.

    “I think if you have the right personality, and enough people see that, I think that helps. That is huge for a team like this. We’re living together for four or five months… one of the most important aspects is to be able to work together.”

    Eventually, that persistence with the right vibe got Baucom to Europe to start lending a hand.

    Simi Hamilton and Baucom in Quebec. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    Baucom’s Role: Manual Structure

    For people who don’t know what manual structure is: basically, the base of any ski has structure in it, small etch marks that help move water through the base or over snow crystals, depending on the temperature and the sharpness of the crystal.

    When World Cup skis come from the factory or, more directly, from the brand reps at World Cup races, they are ground, which creates a more permanent structure cut by a machine. What Baucom and the rest of the team are trying to determine on race day is whether adding a different pattern over that grind with a hand tool improves speed compared to the structure already on the ski from the brand.

    “The idea is to find something that’s durable, lasts the duration of the race, doesn’t pick up excessive dirt, works well with the grind that’s under it, and works well with the base material.”

    The US Cross-Country Ski Team has five different ski brands represented, and “they all have factory grinds that are great, and we use them. So we need to find something that works well for everyone.”

    In the days leading up to a race, the team will run a structure test or two and another on race morning before both the men’s and women’s races, “depending on conditions, it could be eight pairs, it could be four,” said Baucom.

    “We’re trying to narrow a giant box of different hand structures down to eight on the morning of, and then from there down to one—or maybe two options—that could work with different grinds.”

    Hailey Swirbul and Baucom on a ski in China one of their first days on the ground OWG 2022. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    Trial, Error, and Evolution

    Not everything Baucom and the team do works, so they have to catalog the results and move on with that knowledge for the next time similar conditions arise.

    “There are certain structures we stay away from that we’ve had bad luck with… and there are certain grinds from different ski companies that we pretty much won’t ever put manual structure on.”

    That’s the tricky part: not all athletes ski the same way, are looking for the same feel from a ski, or ski on the same brand of skis.

    “The most important thing is for each individual tech to have an idea of what works with their athlete’s skis.”

    Baucom and his partner Brooke Segerberg in Davos, Switzerland. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    A Historic Day

    Elite skiers train nearly a thousand hours a year, year after year, which is the required ante chip to line up at a race, especially an Olympic one. For Baucom and the rest of the US Ski Team service staff, the skis raced on World Cup weekends and at these Olympics did not come together the way you might prepare them for a Saturday morning ski. It, too, took thousands and thousands of hours of work over decades of involvement for the entire service team to put world-class skis in the athletes’ hands so they could realize their dreams.

    Another historic day might materialize at these games, and one thing we know for certain is that the service staff is working hard to make it happen.

    Help Support Our Olympic Coverage!

    FasterSkier has our own Nat Herz on the ground at the Olympics, which is a significant financial lift for us. If you value the thoughtful work and access FasterSkier provides at championships like this one, please consider becoming a Voluntary Subscriber. Your support directly fuels our work to cover the people, places, and moments that make our sport special.

    Join the FasterSkier community!

     

  • Bernie Nelson and When Control Changes Hands

    Bernie Nelson and When Control Changes Hands

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    Jack Young and Bernie Nelson testing in Toblach for this year’s Tour de Ski – they have a lot of fun. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    At some point before every race, there is a moment when the conversation ends.

    The skis are ready. All the questions have been answered. The athlete has described, more than once, how the ski felt through the camber, how it released, and how it held when needed. Their part is done. Then, they leave the wax truck.

    “There’s sort of like a Venn diagram of what the athlete controls and what the tech controls,” Bernie Nelson said. “And once the athlete leaves the room, that part is on us.”

    There is nothing dramatic about the exit. No speeches or big gestures. Jack Young doesn’t hand over responsibility; he simply sets it aside. But the change is instant. The skis, once a shared object, now become a problem to solve, a risk to manage, and a promise to keep.

    “They’ve done their part,” Nelson said. “They’ve told us what they need. And then they kind of have to let go.”

    Letting go is one of the least visible but most important exchanges in cross-country ski racing. Athletes are judged by what happens after the race starts, but long before that, control has already shifted. The responsibility for speed, traction, and how the ski handles changing surfaces moves to someone else.

    Nelson takes a selfie during the podium ceremony in Davos, Switzerland, from this year’s Tour de Ski when both Jack Young and Ben Ogden finished in the top six. (Photo: Bernie Nelson)

    For Nelson, that responsibility comes from familiarity, not theory. She works closely with Young, and their partnership is built on a shared language developed through repeated experience, not just formulas or measurements.

    “It’s a lot about feel,” she said. “Like, I know what Jack is looking for because we’ve spent so many hours testing together.”

    Here, testing isn’t about collecting data points. It’s about building a shared vocabulary. Over many training sessions and race weekends, Young has described what he feels underfoot—how the ski responds to pressure, how it releases as speed builds, and how it acts when conditions change. Nelson listens, tests, and learns these sensations until they become her own reference.

    “At this point,” she said, “I can get on a ski, and I know if it’s right or not for him.”

    This knowledge can’t be easily passed on or turned into a checklist. It comes from shared experience—hours spent skiing the same loops, talking about small differences, and learning what matters. Nelson isn’t trying to copy Young’s race; she wants to understand his expectations well enough to meet them when he’s not there.

    That is especially true in classic racing, where the margin between enough and too much is thin.

    “With classic, especially,” she said, “it’s about that balance. You want enough kick so it’s there when you need it, but you don’t want it to feel draggy.”

    The goal is not perfection, but confidence. When Young steps onto the start line, he needs to believe that the skis under him will do what they are supposed to do. That belief begins hours earlier, in the wax truck, where decisions are made quietly and are completely owned by someone else.

    It all started in the driveway for Bernie Nelson. As Nelson says, she has been playing outside in the snow ever since: Just part of growing up in Tahoe. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Nobody Owns the Speed Alone

    It might seem like the hand-off is a solitary moment—one technician, one set of skis, one athlete’s result. But Nelson quickly rejects that idea.

    “I think of it like a chain,” she said. “You know, you can replace any link in the chain, and it still works, as long as everything’s connected.”

    The metaphor is important because it shows how responsibility can be shared without becoming fragile. Nelson may be Young’s main contact, but she doesn’t work alone. Every decision she makes is shaped by a system that spreads out knowledge, work, and accountability.

    “Someone else can wax Jack’s skis,” she said, “and that’s totally fine, because we’re all communicating the same thing.”

    This is one of the quiet changes in modern service work. The old image of a single tech guarding secrets and working alone late at night has been replaced by a more collaborative and, surprisingly, more resilient approach. In the U.S. Cross-Country Ski Team’s service operation, having backup isn’t wasteful—it’s a form of insurance.

    The chain is made up of people with different specialties and overlapping skills. Some focus on glide, others on kick. Some handle structure decisions, while others work on wax application and testing. Information moves constantly between them—about snow, about feel, and about what worked earlier in the day and what didn’t.

    What holds it together is communication. Not just the volume of it, but its consistency.

    When the athlete leaves the room, the system doesn’t get smaller—it grows. Decisions that might seem individual from the outside are actually the result of many conversations layered together.

    Some of the US Service Team, including Jason Cork, Chris Hecker, Bernie Nelson, Tim Baucom, Eli Brown, and Paul Choudoir (l-r) in Ruka, Finland, this year. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Ten People, One Direction

    The rhythm of that system becomes most visible at the end of the day.

    “At the end of every day, we all sit down and talk about what worked and what didn’t,” Nelson said.

    It happens whether the races went well or not. The format doesn’t change. The expectation doesn’t either.

    “The meeting looks the same whether it was a great day or a terrible day,” she said.

    There are no major celebrations on good days and no blame on bad ones. Each technician shares what they saw, what they tried, and what they would change. The goal isn’t to assign blame, but to build a clearer picture of the conditions and the choices that followed.

    “It’s never about pointing fingers,” Nelson said. “It’s about figuring out what we can do better.”

    Being curious instead of defensive is what helps the chain work under pressure. Speed in cross-country skiing depends on many factors, most beyond anyone’s control. What the service team can control is how they respond: how they share information, admit mistakes, and carry lessons forward.

    The meetings turn the day’s work into preparation for the next. They also reinforce trust—not just between techs, but between the system and the people who depend on it.

    Because tomorrow, another athlete will leave the wax truck. Another set of skis will change hands. And the chain will tighten again, ready to carry the weight.

    The US Service Team in Engadin, Switzerland, last year on the porch of their wax truck, Yolanda. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Question the Skis, Not the People

    Pressure has a way of revealing culture.

    In a service room, pressure can show up as defensiveness, silence, or people sticking to their roles. But it can also appear as humor, rituals, and a shared understanding that mistakes will happen, but negative reactions are a choice.

    Over time, the U.S. team has built its own mechanisms for navigating that pressure. They are small, almost absurd on their face, but they carry real weight.

    “We have this thing called the Try Hard Trophy,” Bernie Nelson said. “And it’s basically for whoever just put everything they had into the day.”

    The trophy, one of many, isn’t for perfect decisions or the fastest skis. It’s for effort—for staying engaged when conditions are tough, when answers aren’t clear, and when the work is demanding. In a job where results depend on many things no one can control, effort is the only steady measure.

    There are other objects, too.

    “If someone messes up,” Nelson said, “there’s an ‘I’m Sorry’ mouse. You own it, you apologize, and then we move on.”

    The ritual is deliberate. The mistake isn’t ignored or softened. It’s acknowledged publicly, quickly, and without spectacle. The apology clears the air so the work can continue. There is no dragging of guilt into the next race.

    “We say brothers and sisters fight,” Nelson added, “but you still have to come back together.”

    These rituals aren’t just about morale. They’re about making things work. In a system where speed relies on teamwork, unresolved tension isn’t just personal—it’s a risk to performance. The culture is there to keep the chain strong when pressure rises.

    And pressure always spikes.

    Bernie Nelson in Lillehammer, Norway, in 2025. Course bibs are a finite resource, but FIS provides two red bibs, which can only be used by women. The US Cross-Country Ski Team takes full advantage of them, and the team even shared and coordinated the women’s bibs for this race, with more than 2 female staff on site (AWESOME). The Team bib is purple under the radio harness. (Photo: Gretchen Powers)

    When the Skis Aren’t Fast Enough

    Not every race goes well. Sometimes the skis aren’t competitive. Sometimes the margin is so small that you question everything.

    What happens next matters more than what went wrong.

    “We question the speed,” Nelson said. “We don’t question the effort or the intent.”

    That difference is key to how the service team gets through a long season, especially during the Olympics. Speed can be questioned. Decisions can be reviewed. Processes can be improved. But questioning intent damages trust, and once trust is lost, the hand-off becomes fragile.

    After a difficult race, the work looks much the same as it does after a good one. The team sits down. They talk through what they saw. They compare notes. They stay curious.

    “You still have to be curious,” Nelson said, “even when it didn’t go well.”

    Curiosity keeps the system open. It lets technicians adjust without becoming defensive or making enemies. It also means that when responsibility is shared and the chain works, failure is handled together, not blamed on one person.

    For the athlete, that matters. The race may already be over, but the relationship isn’t. Trust has to survive the bad days if it’s going to mean anything on the good ones.

    Nelson with her partner, Dakota Blackhorse-von Jess, in Falun, Sweden, in 2015 for World Champs. Dakota was racing in the sprint for Team USA. Qualified in 30th and was trending on Twitter/X in Sweden because of his last name. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    This Isn’t CPR

    Nelson hasn’t always worked in ski service. For a while, she left the sport and became a nurse. This decision was partly influenced by losing her mother and wanting to understand pressure in a new way.

    “I worked as a nurse for a while,” she said, “and it really changed how I think about pressure.”

    The comparison isn’t rhetorical. Nursing recalibrated what urgency looks like, what stakes feel like, and what consequences truly mean.

    “At the end of the day,” Nelson said, “this isn’t CPR. It’s ski racing.”

    The line isn’t meant to dismiss the sport. It’s a reminder to stay grounded. Cross-country skiing at the Olympic level is intense, career-changing, and deeply important to those involved. But it’s not a medical emergency. No one’s life depends on picking the perfect ski flex or structure.

    That perspective doesn’t lessen commitment; it makes it sharper. Without panic, Nelson can stay focused when conditions change and quick decisions are needed. Calm is an advantage, not a sign of not caring.

    Leanne Bentley, the team’s Press Officer, reinforces that calibration.

    “Leanne always says, ‘It’s just ski racing,’” Nelson said. “And that really sticks with me.”

    The phrase circulates not as a joke, but as a reminder: urgency without clarity helps no one.

    Dakota and Bernie in Falun for the World Cup in 2025. Exactly 10 years after the previous photo. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    No Home Runs in February

    The Olympics compress everything.

    “They’re career-changing for athletes,” Nelson said. “There’s no getting around that.”

    Four years of preparation come down to just a few races. Weather windows get smaller. Snow conditions change by the hour. In that environment, it’s tempting to look for something extraordinary—a new structure, a wax combination, or a last-minute change that makes everything certain.

    The service team resists that impulse deliberately.

    “You don’t want to be trying something totally new on race day,” Nelson said.

    At the Olympic level, restraint is a strategy. Big changes bring risk, and risk adds up fast when conditions are already unstable. The goal isn’t perfection, but to be consistently competitive.

    “We’re not looking for home runs,” Nelson said. “We’re looking to be competitive.”

    That approach comes from experience, including in Italy, where the team has usually felt confident in its preparation. But confidence isn’t the same as complacency. Every race still needs attention, testing, and communication. Past success doesn’t replace current effort.

    The chain is strongest at times like these. Decisions are double-checked. Ideas are discussed. No one person carries all the weight, even when the responsibility feels heavier than ever.

    Dakota, Bernie, Bernie’s late mom, Noelle. Noelle was a longtime coach for Stanford Field Hockey and played goalie for the US Field Hockey Team. Bernie credits many of her life (and coaching) lessons to her mom. The Nelsons were a big sports family – always outside playing games. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Tomorrow, It Happens Again

    After the race, the skis come back. They are cleaned, evaluated, and re-prepped. Notes are taken. Meetings happen. The process resets.

    “The process doesn’t really change,” Nelson said. “You just do it again the next day.”

    Trust isn’t earned once and saved. It’s built again and again through consistency and follow-through.

    “That trust gets rebuilt every single race,” she said.

    Tomorrow, another athlete will sit in the service room. Another conversation about feel will take place. Another set of skis will be chosen. And at some point, quietly, control will change hands again.

    “You show up,” Nelson said. “You do the work, and you hope you gave them what they needed.”

    The athlete will leave the truck. The chain will hold. And the work—unseen, essential, and rarely recognized—will go on.

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    Eli Brown gave Nelson this shirt. Feel the Burn. Frequent in the rotation. “It’s an honor to share a bench with Eli Brown, he’s full of stories,” Nelson says. “We have a blast together. His feet still hit the floor with the same level of enthusiasm every day.” (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
    Service Truck snack haul – Oslo, Norway, edition. Nelson says, “This is a weekly event, we ski a lot!” (Photo: Courtesy Photo)
  • Calculations and Consequences: The Men’s Classic Sprint at U.S. Nationals

    Calculations and Consequences: The Men’s Classic Sprint at U.S. Nationals

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    The men’s Classic Sprint heats got started with quarterfinal number one at the US Nationals Cross-Country Ski Championship at Mt Vanhoevenberg in Lake Placid NY. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    The last day of the U.S. National Cross-Country Ski Championships in Lake Placid arrived the way honest days in this sport often do. The snow at Mt. Van Hoevenberg had been churned and scoured by a week of racing and changing weather, its surface no longer pristine but revealing, the kind that gives little for free. Legs were tired. Arms were tender. Expectations had been trimmed back by accumulated kilometers and decisions already made.

    For the men lining up for the classic sprint, this was not simply a final chance at a national title. In an Olympic winter, nothing is ever only what it claims to be. The sprint was an audition—not necessarily for Olympic selection, but for relevance. For future start rights. For the ability to say, credibly, that range still exists.

    Sprint qualification, in particular, has a way of stripping sport down to its essentials. No drafting. No hiding. One lap to explain yourself. As has been said all week about sprints, it does not matter how clever you are in the heats if you cannot arrive there in the first place. In Lake Placid, that truth shaped the day from the first starter onward.

    Fin Bailey (UVM) makes his way up the Lake Placid sprint course’s signature climb. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    Qualification: where the day declares itself

    Qualification mattered here in a way that went beyond podiums and medals. With sprint start rights in the World Cup largely determined by qualification speed, the men knew exactly what was at stake. If this were a sorting mechanism, it was a blunt one.

    The fastest man through the course was John Schwinghamer, whose time at the top of the board set the early benchmark. But the story quickly widened. Pierre Grall-Johnson followed closely, and then Will Koch, who would soon become central to the day’s most unusual tactical thread, placed third.

    A few seconds farther back sat a cluster of names that told a deeper story: athletes with distance pedigrees, athletes chasing U23 selection, athletes managing fatigue from a long week and still trying to produce speed on demand.

    Among them was Zanden McMullen, who qualified tenth, solid but not dominant. “The qualifier felt a little off,” McMullen admitted. “I didn’t feel smooth and thought I skied poorly through the terrain. I was happy to qualify and have another chance to improve on the day.”

    That, in retrospect, was the quiet warning shot.

    Classic striding versus powerful double poling was one of the key storylines in the men’s Classic Sprint. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    A decision made in minutes

    If qualification is the most honest part of sprinting, it is also where improvisation sometimes reveals itself. Koch arrived at the start line with little margin and even less certainty.

    “I was already pretty tired going into the classic sprint,” Koch said. A bonk midway through the 20-kilometer freestyle earlier in the week had drained his reserves, and classic sprint had never been his strength. “With about ten minutes to go before my qualifier, I still couldn’t get my classic skis to kick.”

    The decision that followed was not theoretical. Koch asked his coach to prepare a pair of skate skis — not as a backup, but as a commitment. He reached the start with roughly 90 seconds to spare, hoping that strength alone might be enough to advance.

    Third in the qualifier erased doubt immediately. “When I ended up third, I knew it was the right call,” he said. “I never even tested a classic ski the rest of the day.”

    The gamble would ripple through every round that followed.

    Will Koch (SVSEF) powered through the qualification and heats, double poling on skate skis. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    Heats: when fatigue starts to speak

    Classic sprint heats at Mt. Van Hoevenberg reward clarity. The course offers opportunities, but they are conditional. Mistime a move, and the course and competition punish hesitation. Get trapped behind the wrong skis, and speed evaporates.

    Koch’s plan was simple and exhausting: lead early, create space before the climb, and survive long enough for glide to matter again. “If I could crest the climb with the group, my skis would be fast enough to carry me through,” he explained.

    For a time, it worked exactly as intended.

    But others were playing different games.

    Zach Jayne arrived at the sprint with a different set of calculations. Already qualified for U23 Worlds and carrying a narrow SuperTour points lead, his goals were layered. “I wanted to finish strong,” Jayne said. “I also wanted to make the final so I could displace other U23 athletes and help ensure my teammate Max Kluck made the trip.”

    Jayne, Koch, and teammate Carl Rune all opted to double-pole the heats on skate skis, a choice that paid dividends early. “It worked really well in the quarterfinal,” Jayne said. “But as the rounds went on and fatigue built, I was definitely wishing I’d brought a pair of klister skis.”

    That fatigue — cumulative, unrelenting — became the quiet theme of the afternoon.

    Zanden McMullen (APU) showed he had made the right calculations for himself in the final, creating a gap on the large climb, which he was able to maintain on the final downhill. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    Trusting kick in uncertain snow

    While some chased glide, Max Kluck made a different bet. His week had been defined by nerves more than novelty. “I was more nervous than I’ve been in years,” Kluck said. “I knew my U23 spot was on the line.”

    The snow tempted experimentation, but Kluck resisted. “I was pretty certain I wanted to stay on classic skis unless the weather took a major turn,” he explained. “I stuck with my gut.”

    The reward came immediately. In the quarterfinals, Kluck ran the climb with confidence, kick biting cleanly while others labored, arms already beginning to pay the price. “I figured I might be able to make double-poling work once,” he said. “But I didn’t think I could personally do it four times.”

    His solution was economy. By trusting his wax and striding more often, Kluck preserved his upper body for the finishing straight — a detail that would matter later.

    UVM’s Fin Bailey was showing he was on form and a threat for the podium throughout the heats, but his final got off to an unlucky start with a broken pole. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    The final: legs versus arms

    By the time the final assembly was complete, the calculus was visible even from the sidelines. The men who had double-poled all day carried speed — and fatigue. Those who had relied on kick carried legs.

    McMullen understood the equation precisely. “Going into the final, I knew the few boys that double-poled all day would be tired,” he said. “My plan was to keep them in reach before the final climb and then gap them.”

    Snow conditions had continued to degrade, wind and rain complicating grip and timing. McMullen’s classic skis, however, remained reliable. “Our classic skis felt good,” he said. “I didn’t think there was a need to try and double-pole the race.”

    When the decisive climb arrived, McMullen did not hesitate. He strung together clean transitions, trusted his kick, and separated decisively. “I felt really fresh still at the start of the final,” he said. “I knew I would be able to run away with it.”

    Behind him, the chase unfolded exactly as predicted. Koch’s glide carried him, but the cost of four rounds of double-poling showed. Kluck’s restraint paid dividends, his saved arms helping him close strongly. Jayne fought valiantly through fatigue, his earlier work for teammates already done.

    McMullen crossed the line alone — a national champion not because he had chased novelty, but because he had waited for the moment that mattered.

    Zanden McMullen (APU) comes to the finish of the Classic Sprint with his second national title in as many days at the US Nationals Cross-Country Ski Championship at Mt Van Hoevenberg in Lake Placid, NY. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    What the result actually means

    The men’s classic sprint did not reshape Olympic selection overnight. Sprint specialists were unlikely to be named from Nationals alone. But the race clarified something subtler and perhaps more important.

    It showed who can adapt under stress. Who can make decisions when plans unravel? Who understands that qualification speed opens doors long before medals do?

    For Koch, the day was a revelation. “The classic sprint was a really pleasant surprise to end the week,” he said, even as he acknowledged that broader goals remained unmet.

    For Jayne, consistency mattered more than headlines. “I don’t race to prove people right or wrong,” he said. “I know what I’m capable of.”

    For Kluck, the outcome was tangible. “Securing my U23 spot was the biggest goal of my season,” he said. “Locking it down here feels incredible.”

    And for McMullen, the victory was both affirmation and invitation. “I hope people know now that I’m an all-around skier,” he said. “And I hope the Olympic selection committee knows I have a lot of potential to succeed at the Olympics.”

    Zanden McMullen (APU) first place, Will Koch (SVSEF) second place, and Max Kluck (UU) third place at the US Nationals Cross-Country Ski Championship Classic Sprint at Mt Vanhoevenberg in Lake Placid NY. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)

    A quiet ending, honestly earned

    As the course emptied and the equipment was packed away, Mt. Van Hoevenberg returned to stillness. Another Nationals was complete. Another set of arguments had been made — not loudly, not always cleanly, but honestly.

    Sprint racing, especially in January of an Olympic year, has a way of revealing truths athletes might prefer to delay. Qualification does not negotiate. Fatigue does not compromise. Decisions, once made, echo through every climb and corner that follows.

    On this final day in Lake Placid, the men who listened closely to their bodies, their skis, and the snow underfoot, were the ones who left with something lasting.

     

    RESULTS:

    US Nationals Men’s Classic Sprint Qualification Results

    US Nationals Men’s Classic Sprint Overall Heat Results

     

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    What was truly on display this week at the US Nationals Cross-Country Ski Championship at Mt Van Hoevenberg in Lake Placid, NY was not only that cross-country skiing is an awesome sport, but the community that embodies it is something worth celebrating. (Photo Nancie Battaglia)