My pursuit of the American Birkebeiner started on a snowy February day in 1992. It began during my first year of teaching in Medford, Wi when some friends invited me to Hayward for Birkie weekend. I did not know what the weekend would bring. I knew there was going to be several thousand skiers hanging around this small northern town. I was mainly along for the party. I didn't know people were this crazy about cross-country skiing.
Growing up I was a downhill skier. Grabbed a tow rope, held on tight, and went to the top - Headwall - that's what the locals called it. Then pointed the skis down hill and went as fast as I could. Probably took about 15 - 20 seconds to get to the bottom, maybe less. Then did it over again. All day long. It was all about speed. As far as cross-country skiing went, I had skied a bit during the college and Colorado years, all classical, mainly moving slowly through the woods. Mainly taking girls on dates. These Medford friends however were hardcore. Every weekend they were out on the trails...training for the race, something I just didn't understand. Until the moment the race began.
I had moved to a spot on a hill, right on the edge of the woods, and about a half mile from the start. The gun sounded and the Elite skiers started attacking, literally flying right by me. I was stunned. In about 2 hours and ten minutes the best skiers would arrive in Hayward - 30 hilly miles away. Then for the next 45 minutes or so I stood there and watched wave after wave of skiers going by. Many classical skiers and even more skate skiers. Never had I seen such a symmetrically intriguing sporting event.
About four hours later my friends were skiing down Main Street in Hayward, names broadcast as they made their way to the finish line. I was standing on the sidewalk, along with many new found friends, cheering and toasting the name and city of the finishers. Drinking beer and cheering from the sidewalk was quite unique in its own way, but I wanted my name called.
December 1992:
I bought a pair of skating skis and bindings, some boots, and a couple of poles. Almost every weekend I was on the trails with friends training for the Birkie. I received continual lessons, built up some stamina, and signed up for the Kortelopet. The Kort is 23 km's long. I knew I was going to be placed in the last wave, had never skied in a race, and saw no sensible reason to ski the entire 50 km Berkie.
February 1993:
I skied in the Badger State Games in Wausau: a 10k and a 20k; The next weekend I then skied the Pre-Berkie (the Kortelopet course), and even skied well enough to move up to the 7th wave. Dave pushed me to change my registration to the Birkie. I didn't think I was ready. Maybe I didn't want to be ready. Then on Birkie Saturday I hammered the Kortelopet, beat my time from the Pre-Birkie by several minutes, and finished the race feeling fresh and strong. Had I trusted my fitness I probably could have finished the big one. But I didn't care. This year I stood on the Hayward sidewalk with several well-earned beers, a new story, and a new belief: Next year for sure!
February 1994:
I signed up for the Birkie in September. I was in good shape and knew I was ready to finish the entire race. But early in the ski season I got hurt. My shin started bothering me, and I had great difficulty training as much as I wanted. My stamina level suffered, and I never got close to the level I was at the year before. On this Birkie Saturday I set off determined to ski to Hayward: but bad preparation, and a poor fitness level kept me from going past the Kortelopet. The year before I skied the Kortelopet and felt on top of the world. This year I skied the Kortelopet and felt awful. Next year for sure!
June 1994:
I had moved to a spot on a hill, right on the edge of the woods, and about a half mile from the start. The gun sounded and the Elite skiers started attacking, literally flying right by me. I was stunned. In about 2 hours and ten minutes the best skiers would arrive in Hayward - 30 hilly miles away. Then for the next 45 minutes or so I stood there and watched wave after wave of skiers going by. Many classical skiers and even more skate skiers. Never had I seen such a symmetrically intriguing sporting event.
About four hours later my friends were skiing down Main Street in Hayward, names broadcast as they made their way to the finish line. I was standing on the sidewalk, along with many new found friends, cheering and toasting the name and city of the finishers. Drinking beer and cheering from the sidewalk was quite unique in its own way, but I wanted my name called.
December 1992:
I bought a pair of skating skis and bindings, some boots, and a couple of poles. Almost every weekend I was on the trails with friends training for the Birkie. I received continual lessons, built up some stamina, and signed up for the Kortelopet. The Kort is 23 km's long. I knew I was going to be placed in the last wave, had never skied in a race, and saw no sensible reason to ski the entire 50 km Berkie.
February 1993:
I skied in the Badger State Games in Wausau: a 10k and a 20k; The next weekend I then skied the Pre-Berkie (the Kortelopet course), and even skied well enough to move up to the 7th wave. Dave pushed me to change my registration to the Birkie. I didn't think I was ready. Maybe I didn't want to be ready. Then on Birkie Saturday I hammered the Kortelopet, beat my time from the Pre-Birkie by several minutes, and finished the race feeling fresh and strong. Had I trusted my fitness I probably could have finished the big one. But I didn't care. This year I stood on the Hayward sidewalk with several well-earned beers, a new story, and a new belief: Next year for sure!
February 1994:
I signed up for the Birkie in September. I was in good shape and knew I was ready to finish the entire race. But early in the ski season I got hurt. My shin started bothering me, and I had great difficulty training as much as I wanted. My stamina level suffered, and I never got close to the level I was at the year before. On this Birkie Saturday I set off determined to ski to Hayward: but bad preparation, and a poor fitness level kept me from going past the Kortelopet. The year before I skied the Kortelopet and felt on top of the world. This year I skied the Kortelopet and felt awful. Next year for sure!
June 1994:
I moved to Madison, became a head coach of a Varsity basketball team, got married, had kids, and ever so slowly stopped skiing. Next year is now 16 years later.
Thought I posted something, but it seems to have disappeared? Drat!
ReplyDeleteLife goes so fast. And "next year" often never comes. Good luck with this endeavor. I'll be cheering you on!
Allan
I have trained casually all winter, trying simply to maintain the wee bit of fitness I attained last year. As the weather warms around here I will hit the running, biking, and canoeing trails, trying to cross train my way to the Birkie.
ReplyDeleteThis has been on my radar for several months and I finally decided to pull the trigger.
Larry