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.
