Sisu Lange: Still Gliding

Sisu Lange: Still Gliding

AMBASSADÖRK Sisu has been on skis since he was one and a half, or two, depending on which Lange sibling you ask. From moonlit laps in the back 40 of a Michigan property to a Vermont state title, this one is about the finish line, and why you don't have to be a racer to have one.

With that, let's get to it.

ambassadörks: Still Gliding

Hello, my name is Sisu Lange, and I would describe myself as a lifelong Nordic skier.

I started when I was about one and a half or two years old. If you ask my sister, I would have been two the first time I was on skis. This is because that would mean she was technically younger than me when she started skiing, but that's besides the point. From then on, skiing has been part of who I was. Every winter, when my family lived in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, we would take our skis out to the back 40 of our property and ski under the moonlight. Those were among the earliest skis of my life, and somehow I still remember exactly what it was like. Gliding (with very short glides and lots of puffy clothes) under the Balsam Firs and Butternuts in the moonlight, listening to the owls. Was I scared of the owls? Yes, yes, I was. Was it a reasonable thing to be afraid of? No, but that's ok, I still enjoyed the snow and the cold and the moon.

After a couple of years, my parents decided that my sister and I wouldn't absolutely mess up groomed trails with our antics and affinity for the ground, so we graduated to an actual Nordic center. That was when Valley Spur in Munising, Michigan, became my favorite ski place on the planet. I fell in love with the trails, the terrain, people, and, of course, the soup and bread in the lodge. Valley Spur is still my favorite Nordic center, even though I haven't been there in years. It was my home after swim lessons at the YMCA and on the weekends in their kids' ski program. To this date, if I close my eyes, I can still tell you where the trails go, how to get around them, and every little detail of the tracks and super-fast downhills that were a main feature of some of the advanced trails.

It was in their youth program where I truly fell in love with cross-country skiing. Before, it was just a fun way to get out with my family. But now it was more than that, and I unconsciously started thinking that this is something I could do for the rest of my life. I loved the freedom it gave me and the speed I could gain on the downhills. The ability to go places and truly enjoy the natural world around me.

It was in the Valley Spur kids program where I was introduced to racing. At the end of every season, all the kids would come together and wrap up the year with the Mini Snowman race. For me, this was the biggest day of the winter (besides Christmas, of course, and my sisters' and my birthdays). I loved racing, and it gave me so much joy to go as fast as I could against other kids. I also truly began to appreciate a nice cookie after a hard ski.

Another step in my skiing journey was the Great Bear Chase in Houghton, Michigan. For five years in a row, my sister and I would do the Junior Bear Chase, and the whole family would follow it up the next day with the 10km freestyle (the last year we did the 25km). Man, I loved that weekend so much, and I made so many lasting memories, like the time Deedra Irwin handed me a stuffed bear after I won the junior race (I also wear the headband I got my first year, 2015, in almost every race I have done to date).

For me, the Upper Peninsula has my soul of Nordic skiing. It's where I learned and where racing was just a fun thing with a cookie at the end. But New England has my heart.

My family moved to Vermont in 2020, and I took most of a year off from skiing.

Freshman year of high school, I picked the boards back up and started skiing again, but more importantly, racing. By the end of my freshman year, I climbed to the top of my team and stayed there for all four years (in my sophomore year, I held on to that lead by 0.04 of a second over my teammate). Eventually, I went on to win the Vermont Division One individual title my senior year, becoming the first male skier in St. Johnsbury Academy history to do so. During this time, I also raced in the NENSA (New England Nordic Ski Association) Eastern Cup Series, represented Vermont at the U16 Championships and the Eastern High School Championships multiple times, and was a member of the Craftsbury Ski Club.

Even though I am no longer gliding under the moonlight in the back 40, I'm still gliding.

But this isn't about all my race results, ever; no, it's about my love for the sport and racing. For me, skiing is a joy that I have held close to my heart, and that has been a part of who I am as a person for many years. It’s one of the few things I hold above all others in my life, and racing is an extension of that. Before I started racing in high school, I had no clue that people trained for skiing. I just thought it was something that you went out and did in the winter. But now it's something I devote an overwhelming amount of hours and energy to in the spring, summer, fall, and, of course, winter. If you told nine-year-old me that one day I would be going on three-hour OD sessions on roller skis in the rain of July, I would think you're crazy. But here I am, skiing in the summer and smiling the whole time (well, most of the time, training is hard).

Having the opportunity to watch the World Cup in Lake Placid this winter gave me a new yet familiar view of racing. Sure, I was watching literally the best in the world compete at this sport, but they were still doing the same thing I am doing, albeit much faster and better. It was a good reminder of why I love racing: I realized that others could truly feel joy when someone crossed the line first. And that gives me extra joy when I cross that finish line. Which is basically the whole underlying goal when I race.

When I stand at the start line, waiting for the gun or clock to go off, I forget everything else in the world. My poles and skis are part of me. Even though I am no longer gliding under the moonlight in the back 40, I'm still gliding. The only difference is that it's not the excess puff slowing me down anymore; it's the hills and my strength. No matter what happens between the start and the finish line, I still finished, and I still accomplished something very hard, even if the results aren't what I want.

So I train more. I spend hours making myself faster, stronger, and able to put up with more searing pain. Constantly chasing the rush of adrenaline when the gun goes off and the wave of emotion when I cross the finish line. It's those moments when everything is actually real. Joy and sadness are so real. So I keep training, constantly chasing that rush of emotion and sense of accomplishment. That's what racing is to me (also, cookies taste way better after a race).

I'm not saying that everyone should go and become a Nordic ski racer. It's hard, it's sooo hard. There are definitely times when I don't want to train, and sometimes I don't want to race. But I always remember that feeling of crossing that finish line. It's genuinely the greatest feeling and rush of dopamine that you can get. You just accomplished something really hard and demanding, you're out of breath, legs bulging with lactic acid, and sometimes the sun seems way too bright. Your vision is a little too narrow. But you did it. Now you get to laugh with your friends, fellow competitors, and reminisce on that one icy corner. That tree came a little too close for comfort.

But even if you don't race, that doesn't mean you can't have a finish line in your life. You can always have a goal that you work really hard for, whether it's learning to skate for the first time, buying a new, nicer set of skis, or learning to wax. It doesn't have to be ski-related at all. It can be work or household-related. No matter what it is, I think everyone should have a finish line that they should work for. Because when you finally cross it, for the first or the hundredth time, it's still the best feeling in the world. Because you can look back at all the time, effort, and sacrifice put in, great or small. And appreciate that you just did that really hard thing.

Authors Note: What's up Nordies of the world, my name is Sisu Lange! I am a passionate Nordic skier who really loves winter (I know, crazy). In my free time I love hiking, mountain biking, writing, filmmaking, and woodworking. I love racing, and you can find me before races listening to Viking inspired music and wearing my Stetson cowboy hat (you can also spot me sometimes with some glitter on my face)! Sisu can be found over on the grid @sisu_lange

the closer: What We're Thinking About.

That Sisu has a state title and a stack of results he could have written about, and what he chose instead was the soup at Valley Spur. The cookie at the end. The moon through the firs. Those are the things that kept him coming back, and they are the reason he is still out there now. So pick a finish line this winter. It does not have to be a race, and there is no rule against a cookie waiting on the other side. Takk, Sisu.