A Birkie Primer -
Here's the Skinny on What to Expect (I'm proud to point out that if you look at last year's Birkie results, you'll see my name last. I had the pleasure of skiing along with my dad, founder Karl Andresen, as he skied his 30th
Birkie. This was a great experience, but the following story more accurately depicts my several other Birkie experiences.) By Will Andresen If you let it, racing the American Birkebeiner will consume you. The training isn't so bad, but the four W's can kill you: wishing, waxing, worrying and waiting.
After months of preparation and weeks of anticipation, race day finally arrives. To avoid getting tangled in a flurry of skis, poles and fallen skiers, you need to claim a good starting position. So you pull yourself out of bed bright and early, which is no problem since you haven't slept for two nights anyway.
Waiting at the starting line is a great time to assure yourself that you have a good base of training and racing behind you, that you are well-rested and well-fed, that
you have fast skis under your feet, and that you are still sane.
Waiting for the race to start is also a good time to get cold, real cold. But once the cannon goes off, you no longer worry about keeping warm. Now you worry about keeping up.
The start of a ski marathon is nothing like the start of a running marathon. In a running marathon, the start is intelligent and composed, the competitors being fully aware of the long road ahead. The start of a ski marathon is the complete
opposite. Confusion and mania reign. It doesn't matter that there are over 30 miles to go as you take off in an adrenaline-fueled sprint, fighting for every inch and any possible competitive advantage.
After a little while, the pace grows more comfortable as you enter your marathon "zone" along a nice, flat section of Telemark property. You begin to believe that this race isn't so bad after all. You wonder what all the fuss is about. You think anybody can do this. This won't
be the first time that you'll be wrong today.
At 2 kilometers, you discover a series of steep "power line" hills. In a normal race, these hills would be the most challenging section of the course. In the Birkie, they're just a warm-up.
After the power line, you enter a beautiful forest full of snow-covered evergreens that belong on the cover of a magazine. You won't notice that, but you will notice more hills. This is where you begin the long ascent to the top of the
Seeley Fire Tower Hill, the highest point on the course. This is also where you begin to wonder why you're doing this. In the next 9 kilometers, you will climb over 200 feet. There will be 11 more hills to conquer, each one bringing you, stride by grueling stride, closer to the top. Finally you make it. Congratulations! You've finally made it to the middle of nowhere.
When you reach this point, you can relax. The hardest part of the race is over, you're almost done, it's all downhill
from here and it can't get any worse. You keep telling yourself these things with the hope that maybe this year they'll be true. But, of course, you're wrong again. You still have 38K to go!
The course quickly loses all the elevation you worked so hard to gain. The next couple of kilometers drop you 300 feet. Skinny legs on skinny skis flying down skinny trails crowded with other skinny skiers is a lot of fun. Not much fun for you. But the snowmobilers waiting and watching for a good
pile-up sure look like they're having a good time.
Another 9 kilometers of hills and you arrive at the half-way point. Skiing through the crowd at "00" gives you another rush of adrenaline.You're riding high, feeling good. You start looking ahead for the leaders to see if you can catch them.
After the noise of the crowd turns into the silence of the woods, you find a friendly stretch of course. Over the next 15 kilometers there are more downhills than uphills. The
crowd of skiers has thinned out. You start to think that this is too good to be true. This time, you're right.
The uphills are happy to greet you at 38 kilometers. You now realize that this will be tough. You also realize that the adrenaline you enjoyed at "00" has expended your remaining glycogen reserves. You're not riding so high or feeling so good anymore. And you certainly aren't looking for the leaders. Now, you're looking over your shoulder hoping you're not the only
one out in these Godforsaken woods. You're starting to think that you will never do this again.
Soon, you start watching for "it." You know "it" is coming. But for some unfathomable reason, you're hoping "it" won't be there this year. If you're an experienced Birkie skier, you know what "it" is the hill that rhymes with "witch." One single, long, steep uphill strategically placed at the worst possible spot on the course. The spot where
you begin to doubt there is a finish line. The spot where you wonder if you're an unwitting character on some sick new reality show.
You make it to the top only because it's a long ski back if you don't. You reach the top and start thinking about how great it will be to make it to Hayward Lake. You're thinking about skiing on the nice flat lake when somebody throws another endless hill at you. You are now quite sure that you will never do this again.
At 47 kilometers you
finally begin the descent onto Hayward Lake. Life is good again. You ski onto the lake and quickly realize that somebody tilted the lake up at a 10-degree angle. What was supposed to be 2 kilometers of relaxed, flat victory skiing turns into a struggle to move forward. The ice fishermen sitting nearby begin to pass you. The reality show idea keeps running through your mind. There is no way you're even going to think about doing this again next year.
Thankfully, you find yourself
skiing on the mushy snow hauled onto the streets of Hayward. For some reason, you don't mind that it would be easier to ski in sand. You are almost done. You can hear the roar of the crowd. Once you turn onto Main Street and see the finish line, goose bumps jump out all over your body. The adrenaline rush returns once again. You turn into Superman for the last two blocks of the race, absorbing the cheers of the crowd.
Crossing the finish line, you can think of only one thing: "I
can't wait for next year."
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