Listening to Gary Wallin give a Utah Winter Games biathlon clinic recently at Wasatch Mountain State Park brought back memories.
    Gary's father, Rune, was one of the more friendly members of the Utah National Guard when I used to put on a uniform once a month to play soldier.  He knew a lot about soccer, shooting and cross country skiing.  So did Gary, who I quickly learned was not a bad basketball player. I had to play center more than once against the much younger, taller and stronger Wallin in the weekly Gard basketball league. Having just graduated from high school, he was also in shape. That gave him even more of an advantage.
    As a public-affairs officer, I covered the exploits of the Utah National Guard biathlon team. I soon learned this was a physically difficult sport combining the diametrically opposed disciplines of cross country skiing and rifle shooting. I also discovered that, in the United States, most Olympic biathletes come out of a National Guard program which affords them support.

    I did not realize how difficult the sport was, though, until I tried it.
    Faced with the prospect of spending another long day sitting through training briefings at the armory or attending a guard-sponsored citizen's cup biathlon race, I opted for the latter. I liked to ski. And I liked to shoot. How tough could this be?
    Packing my all-purpose nordic skis into my old van, I drove to Mountain Dell golf course. I knew immediately that I was out of my league when I realized I was probably the only competitor wearing wool knickers. Most were decked out in tight spandex outfits revealing bulging muscles and little body fat. If I wore one of those things, I would look like an overstuffed sausage.
    The second indication I was in over my head came when the competitors began talking about what ski wax to use. I never paid much attention to waxing. I usually tried one of the three or four sticks of wax I carried in my ski bag, figuring it was no big deal to not use the exact wax.
    The Wasatch Citizens Cup competitors knew their waxes like a French chef knows fine wines.
As will be the case for the Utah Winter Games biathlon competition Jan. 9 and 10 [1999] at the Soldier Hollow site this year, rifles and ammunition were supplied. But novice biathletes would not be allowed to carry the rifles. They just had to ski and shoot.
    This sounded easy.
    Then the race started.
    Skiing as hard as I could, I soon realized waxing was important, especially when trying to go uphill. So was wearing light clothing and not wool knickers and long johns. Within minutes, I was sweating profusely and breathing hard.
Other competitors, usually much older than I, passed as if I were standing still.
    ``The idea of biathlon is to ski as fast as you can and then shoot straight,'' says Wallin.
    Right.  By the time I hit the first shooting station, I was breathing so hard I was almost convulsed. Trying to shoot straight in this situation is a bit like threading a needle after a few stiff drinks. I would have had better luck firing five rounds into the air and throwing the rifle at the target. What's more, you had to leave your skis on while firing from the prone position. I strained five muscles just trying to lie down while wearing skis.
    In biathlon, you ski a penalty lap for every shot missed. By the time I shot from a standing position -- missing all five targets -- I never wanted to even see a set of skis or a rifle again. But I did not want to quit. I still had a chance to beat a 67-year-old woman in the race, thus saving face. It was close.
    It was also the most difficult sport I have ever tried. How biathletes can calm down enough after skiing hard in order to hit a tiny target 50 meters away is beyond comprehension.
    I am going to try biathlon again Jan. 10.[1999] And I fully expect to see Gary Wallin shaking his head when I miss all five shots.
    Fortunately, Gary has a sense of humor. So do I. You need one to be a biathlete.