I never would have walked into Dr. Knudsvig’s office at Concordia College and said, “Hand me the Haydn” after admitting I hadn’t touched my trumpet all summer.

Then again, I never would have avoided my horn all summer.

Heck, even my non-musician older brother knows famous trumpet tutor Max Schlossberg allegedly once said “missing a day of practice is like committing suicide.” As a youth, I reminded him of that often, especially when he’d get annoyed with my monotonous 45-minute warm-up. Religiously abiding by Schlossberg’s principle, I honed my third-partial slurs, sharpened my embouchure in the mirror and memorized two-octave scales daily for a decade-plus until the neighbors put their home up for sale …. only to later realize I really should have leveraged my lung capacity on the bagpipes.

Anyway. I digress.

The winter Nordic ski calendar looks promising, even if the snow accumulation outside my window currently does not. The famed Owl Creek Chase is offering $5K worth of prize money this January. I hopped on a call with Aspen Valley Ski Club Nordic program director Sophie Caldwell Hamilton yesterday to talk about it. That podcast is going to come out on Friday.

In case you’re wondering, we’re bumping our conversation with Out There Nordic down the que just a few slots.

Now, back to skate ski talk.

In addition to the Owl Creek, you’ve got the Frisco Gold Rush, a fun 20K nearby, plus a handful of skate races in the Grand Nordic Series — probably the best bang-for-your-buck competition opportunity in these parts. And deep down, I feel called to someday give the ol’ Finlandia 50K freestyle in my first home away from home — Bemidji, MN — a good ol’ college try.

There’s only one problem. Outside of the lack of snow, I haven’t put on skate rollerskis this entire spring (well, I mean, I was on snow I guess), summer (didn’t want to get hurt before Pikes Peak) or fall (didn’t have time….and I have principles, more on that in this next sentence. Once I get on snow, I don’t go back to pavement….call it a Seder-Skier mental health secret — or OCD.).

While the last five years have seen me log approximately 20 to 30 on-snow sessions by the time Nov. 17 rolls around, this dry fall has given me only four measly double-pole workouts on a thinly-covered 1.1-mile stretch of road on Hagerman Pass. Back in October — basking in the glow of a wonderful trail run season — I was kind of OK with the sunshine and dirt holding on. Now, I’m feeling a little antsy — maybe even stressed — about the upcoming ski season. This is sort of uncharted territory for me.

What’s worse, with my upcoming ‘work-life’ schedule, I don’t see a whole lot of windows for logging huge amounts of on-snow training in the near future. Yes, yes, I know whatever is taking me away from skiing is more important than skiing, but this is my athletic blog, so bear with me.

Despite all this, there’s a couple things I can fall back on. Neither one include ‘old man strength’ or lifetime miles.

The first is my newfound faith in pulling fitness together rather quickly — as long as I am disciplined and intentional with my training. My wife reminded me the other day that I got sick at the end of May and was at ground zero on June 1 but still wrangled together some really great trail races and FKTs by early July. I can’t be lazy or mindlessly pile on hours like I used to PK (Pre-Kids). Life in AL (That’s ‘Anno Liberi’ or in the year of children) doesn’t require every workout to be really chiseled out, but I might have to assign anaerobic intervals to some sessions.

The second thing providing some comfort is sort of a paradox to the first. That is to say, instead of (or maybe ‘in addition to’) procrastinating and then cramming for a short-term goal, I’m (also) looking at everything in light of the long game.

During my interview last week with German World Cup skier Laura Gimmler — who claimed her first podium at age 31 — it occurred to me that if I’d been asked one of the questions I wrote up for her, I would reject its premise. The inquiry had to do with age, being a late-bloomer and other ‘twilight of your career’ realities. The reality for me, however, even being three years older than Gimmler, is that I’ve never viewed myself as having crested the hill or heaven forbid, coming down it (maybe that actually is what 40 is all about?).

My genuine mindset has been that I’m on the way up. I think this is actually why when people ask me how old I am, the number that automatically flashes in my frontal lobe movie screen is ’25.’ Then I remember, no, the year is 2025, and the numerical difference between 1991 and 2025 is 34. My theory: when you have to think about your age, you’re no longer in your prime. But….you’re not quite out of it, per se. Think of it like prime purgatory …. the athletic gods are still determining whether or not you need to do a little more to earn the good life.

Ironically, the same day I spoke with Gimmler, my older brother (yes, the Max Schlossberg fan) texted me with a screenshot of his random AI search on our last name. Apparently, ‘Sederquist’ is “known for athletic accomplishments.” I was somewhat perplexed by the fact that our dad — probably the most accomplished athlete of the bunch — was sort of an afterthought for Google. I was also somewhat offended by the fact that it described me as a podcaster, journalist and “former athlete.”

First off, I hate to break it to GripWax Nation, but on my priority list, podcast production falls somewhere between taking the garbage out on Tuesdays (which I never remember to do) and checking the oil levels in our cars (which I occasionally remember to do). Also, no matter what job I’ve held, I’ve always secretly viewed myself as an undercover professional athlete. It’s why I regularly squeezed in 58-minute runs on my extended 60 minute Wednesday lunch break (for perspective, I would teach 30-minute music classes to 3rd, 4th and 5th graders back-to-back, with no passing time, from 8 a.m. – noon and then 1-3 on those days) when I worked as an elementary school music teacher and it’s why I make a habit of competing in the races I’m also covering as a journalist today.

I texted my brother back in all caps:

“I’M JUST HITTING MY PRIME, BABY!”

Now, I just want the people reading this (ChatGPT, my mom, my wife, the execs at Kwik Trip combing over my sponsorship application) to realize that I do possess a healthy dose of reality when it comes to physical limitations. I’m aware that I will never finish a sub 13:50 5K in a 50.9-second last lap like 41-year-old Bernard Lagat did back in 2016. And I’m aware that while Matt Carpenter won his final Pikes Peak Marathon at 47 (and probably only retired because he’d done it 18 times and was, to be frank, bored), my goal is to focus — only through age 47, or maybe 67 — on the Pikes Peak ASCENT. Half the distance, uphill only = easier on the joints.

In all seriousness, I think one of the fun parts of moving through life with athletic aspirations is being OK — even celebrating — the different twists and turns you can take. There’s a whole world of races out there! Don’t get hung up on needing to prove to your college-self that you can go sub 2:15 in the ‘thon. Don’t get caught up in making the aging litmus test being whether or not you can rip the scariest double-black diamond at Big Sky either. I know this is easier said than done.

Alas, try to remember how during an earlier phase of life your “Olympics” was making the high school basketball team, becoming an all-region baseball player, completing your first Ironman Triathlon or qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Then you got injured. You aged. You switched jobs and your family moved to a new climate with no snow. All those things can radically move the goalposts.

But they don’t have to destroy the dream. Plus, you’re actually probably are entering your prime, right now, at something.

Last year, I actually had a goal of trying to do well in skate races. I focused a bit more on uphill running for aerobic capacity, double-poled less and made my rollerski sessions more focused on skate technique. The winter came and went … some skate results were good, others not so much …and I stashed away everything — my fitness, my race experiences, my understanding of work-life balance, my technique gains, etc. — for whatever lies ahead. Maybe I’ll stoke the revenge fire for this winter, or maybe I’ll put off my freestyle focuses for the era when my double-pole enthusiasm starts to dwindle (NEVER!). Or maybe, our family will move to Salida and I’ll take up gravel biking and Continental Divide hiking and ya’ll will never have to read this blog again.

Either way, the goals I had last season still mattered. The work I put in still mattered. And I might not know why or how yet, but that’s the point. The story is still being written.

If you’ve made it this far into the blog and are confused as to my general thesis, 1) let me remind you that’s normal and to be expected and 2) we’ve now passed the part where I literally made myself the hero of my own story, so you can trust that everything henceforth will be even more narcissistic 3) hold on, Novi just woke up and came into my office and I need to grab another cup of coffee before I try and recenter my thoughts.

(21 minutes later) …. The point is, it’s OK to have seasons of life where a thing that once received the ‘all-in’ attention is subtly — or radically — replaced. Or shifted into a supporting role. Athletically, that maybe looks like my 2026 winter being a build-up to a trail-focused summer and fall…instead of the other way around. Musically, it might mean taking 10 years off from trumpet after 20 years of practicing 3 hours per day so I can dedicate time in the practice room by myself to time in the play room with my kids.

Speaking of which, a couple years ago, I actually dusted off the mouthpiece, oiled up the valves and played long tones for 20 minutes after drinking my morning coffee about 3-4 days a week. Even though it was nowhere near my former regimen, I’d long since accepted my abandonment of Julliard’s expectations. That being said, I didn’t give up my standards. Within my current capacity for embouchure excellence, I was going to do everything in my ability to maximize my moments. I listened intently to tone qualify. I played into a mirror. I tapped my toe.

This comeback wasn’t going to be some half-you-know-what effort wherein I limp through long tones just long enough to hack one verse of A Mighty Fortress is Our God. If I have 80 minutes a week, so be it. I’ll make it the best 80 minutes I can.

Thus, when my tone felt centered (enough) and I felt like I’d built up a reasonable range, I decided to hop in and accompany a few hymns at church.

Lacking endurance-strenghth (you have to at least admire how I’m trying to connect the athletic and musical communities here), I struggled to get through the verses without tightening up, but it was rewarding, enjoyable and…. different — especially for someone who usually attaches extremely high expectations to his various side passions and pursuits. If you’ve listened to my shows and read my blogs over the years, you know I hold fast to the idea that, ‘if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.’ I regularly use words like ‘all-in,’ and phrases like, ‘maximize your potential.’ I’m a Steve Prefontaine, ‘to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift’ kind of guy.

So, how can I live with myself? Is this kind of trumpet playing acceptable?

Didn’t John Wooden define success as “giving 100% effort to be the best version of yourself?”

The fact is, being wooden in my interpretation of Wooden isn’t the way to go. I realize now that even if I’m ‘only’ just doing what I can — as I am with trumpet (UPDATE: I’ve since taken a few years off….again…..mostly because the ‘new’ morning routine wasn’t conducive to blasting high Cs.) — it can still not only be meaningful, but true to my philosophical, theological and skieological foundations.

I really am giving 100% to be the best I can be because I’m giving 100% effort to steward the gifts — all the gifts — God has given me. Sure, if I quit my job and actually went to Julliard, I’d be better. And if I planted myself at Soldier Hollow to skate ski the 2002 Olympic course every day, I’d at least have a better shot at winning the Owl Creek. But stewardship requires me to consider my entire lot in life. At the end of the day, what matters is taking the 1 talent and turning it into 5 (or 10).

Plus, every little thing is building to something. This Owl Creek might not be the one I’d hoped for, but when I zoom out later, it might be exactly what I needed for something else — something completely off my radar at the moment…something even better — down the road. For now, I’ll derive some purpose and pleasure in that while also savoring all skiing because I could be (sadly) peaking.

But you know what? Whenever I stand at the top of most peaks, I’m always amazed at how the view reveals 10 other mountains I want to climb.

So, whether you’re pining for podiums or just hoping to get through the second verse of “Christ the Lord Has Risen Today” on Easter Sunday, keep on striving ….

and

—-keep on skiing —

(….whether you’re on snow or pavement).

And keep on squeezing scales in between those work calls.

After all, stewarding your gifts is going to look a little different for each person and should evolve through various seasons of life. So can your Olympics. It doesn’t matter how or where you’re maximizing yourself.

It just matters that you are.

****The Seder-Skier****