By Matthew Keeshan/Gator Galaxy Contributor

“Hey crazy!” My mind would love to process that statement, but it (with all other liquid matter in my body) seems to be frozen solid. O-dark thirty, six degrees. Self inflicted wind chill. I stammer out a frozen greeting to Mr. Blake, who seems to have confused me with his shadow. Why else would he be saying, “Hey crazy?” If this is the case, however, a talking shadow doesn’t seem to bother him. He launches into a conversation as if this were the most normal setting to be having a talk, when in reality, I’m pretty sure that less than one percent of the world’s population has ever had a conversation at six am on a bike in the middle of a Nebraska winter.  Actually I’m fairly certain that less than one percent of Nebraska’s population would even willingly step outside on a morning as bitter as this one. I can almost hear the thoughts of the motorists driving down 84th – cyclists? This morning? They’re insane!
Such is the public’s opinion of the Snow Pack, a group of athletes that either work or train at Lincoln North Star High School. It has been said that Alaska is the final frontier so it would only seem appropriate that at this time of year, Nebraska is considered (at least) an untamed territory. Well, untamed to most, at least. Runners training for the track season routinely take on the freezing wind and unpredictable conditions that come with the area. Mr. Blake, a biology teacher and avid cyclist tackles the snow and ice with spiked tires on his mountain bike. Soccer teams brave the track when it’s clear of snow and basketball teams are known to do the same. But the question arises, why? Nebraska winters are the definition of frightful and the general consensus is that they’re better experienced from behind solid, insulated walls.
“For me, it’s a challenge thing,” Says Mr. Wandzilak, an economics teacher and distance running coach, of his wintery runs. “When it comes time to compete, I know that work (that I’ve done) will allow me to do my best.” For Mohammed Hamdan (10), it’s all about getting ready for track. “I’ve got goals I plan to achieve,” says the runner who as a sophomore placed fourth in the state for cross country’s grueling five kilometer run. Both Phillip Troung (10) and Jordan Harper (12) say they brave the elements for the fitness benefits. These reasons still leave some people wondering. Why go out there, you ask? Isn’t it miserable?
The answer can be, quite simply, yes. Very much so. Mr. Blake can attest to the agony that extremist athletes such as himself and other Snow Pack members endure. Blake has made a habit of biking from his home in south Lincoln to the school, a measured 14 some miles one way, most everyday since midway through the 2008-2009 school year. He averages somewhere around five thousand miles in a school year. This is a fact that has me wondering as I hunker down and focus on cranking out the next mile while my body’s baser instincts focus on survival. I’ve caught up to Mr. Blake on one of his morning rides and we’re now attacking the last five miles into the school. It is bitterly cold and he’s come prepared, layered up like the Michelin man’s cousin. He’s talking about a 150 mile race and the best ways to employ ice into the survival of such an ordeal. My mind sets about trying to comprehend a race 150 miles long but there’s still too much ice blockage to think straight. When asked why he willingly climbs onto a bike every winter morning before the sun has even bothered to rise, Blake didn’t hesitate with his answer. “When sports are done, you’re not. It doesn’t feel right to be done.”
Other athletes take a slightly less intense view. “I like it. I like the sport, I like the people I’m doing it with. I like it,” states Janice Wienhold (12). For some Snow Packers it’s just that simple. Blake agrees, “Life’s not as enjoyable without it.” It’s a strange bit of irony that connects the ultimate drawn out discomfort with an enjoyable life but at the end of every run, ride or workout it’s the apparent truth. What’s more, it boosts confidence. “If you can do this,” muses Wandzilak, “You can do anything.”