The Rasta Mon's Birkie
(or what buying a Subaru can do to you)
by Barry Eliason  Every year it's the same thing. I dread the day I have to ski the Birkebeiner. It's not like I have to do it. I just can't make myself quit.
Part of the problem is the five free registrations I got for buying a Subaru in 2001. The special promotion seemed like
a good deal at the time. If I had to send in my registration every year I might just say "forget it." But they keep sending me those free ones. I really don't have a good excuse not to use them. Now every year that icy feeling in the pit of my stomach just gets worse and worse the closer we get to "B" day. Why do I hate the Birkie? Well, it's just so damn hard! The hills are relentless. Just when you think you are getting to the
top of one, you turn a corner and it keeps going. Or there's a short drop and another monster hill after that. I've seen the elevation profile of the course and know that in reality there is more downhill than uphill, but it sure doesn't feel that way. I admit there are some heart-stopping downhills, too. By the time my fellow third-wave skiers get to them, chutes are carved down the slopes that resemble luge runs. You choose
a lane, brace your ski against the chute and hold on for dear life. If neither you nor anyone nearby falls and takes down everybody on the hill, you're lucky. Those hills can look like a train wreck. To make matters worse, there are places along the course where spectators gather just to watch the carnage unfold. (These are probably the same freaks that like to slow down
as they pass traffic accidents or gather around house fires.) One of my primary missions when I ski the Birkie is to disappoint these sadists by not falling. So I was dreading the 2005 Birkie like every other. Once again we hadn't had enough snow to train on, meaning I was more out of shape than usual. At least the weather looked likely to cooperate on the day of the race. The night before temps in the 20s to low 30s were forecast. I put the appropriate wax on my skis Thursday and drove up with my friend Dick on Friday. After picking up our packets we went out for the traditional spaghetti feed where we started hearing the bad news: They were now predicting overnight lows as cold as minus 10! Panic set in. My wax was wrong and I hadn't brought clothing warm enough. I would ski so slowly I would freeze in my tracks, becoming another statue
memorializing those foolish enough to try this race. We went to bed with a clear sky and plummeting thermometer. After a fitful night of worry, we woke to 9 degrees below zero. It hadn't been that cold all winter except for a week or two in January. It had been so warm in the Twin Cities that all our snow had melted. I got into my racing uniform and lightweight long underwear. If I had to, I'd also ski in my warm-up suit. By
start time it had warmed up to 6 above still cold, but the sun was out and the wind was calm so it really didn't feel that bad. The elite waves started, then wave one. When the time came to put on my ski boots, I found out the timing chip strap was too short to clear my boot cuff. Dick gave me his extension strap since he wasn't starting until wave six.
Taking my place at the back of my wave, I waited for the gun to go off. I turned to the guys lined up at the front of wave four and told them that I didn't want to see them again until we got to Hayward. I have found humor makes the race more endurable, but those folks weren't laughing. I don't know why I was taken so seriously. My Rastafarian hat with the dreadlocks sewn in should have indicated I was funnier than I was fast.
The gun finally went off and we all started shuffling toward Hayward, 51 kilometers away. As the pack spread out, we advanced to double poling and then to a narrow V-1. It felt good to be moving and generating heat. We hadn't gone far when I heard someone in the striding track ask, "Barry?" It was Chris, a guy I know from Sisu Skiers Ski Club doing the Kortelopet. "Ya, mon. It's me," I said. "I'm letting my hair down today."
Chris has been gunning for me ever since I beat him by 30 seconds in the Seeley Classic last year. I told him I was too afraid to compete with him in the same race so that's why I was going the distance.
Before I knew it, we were at the 4.5K food stop. Other years I have skied right by this one. This time I decided to stay better hydrated so as to avoid the usual muscle cramping later in the race.
This is the part of the race I dread the most. For the next 10K there's a lot of climbing. After that there is a little downhill before more climbing just before the halfway point. As I trudged up the first big hill at the Powerlines, I heard the primal rhythm of the drummers at the top of the hill. When I reached them, I did a little reggae dance for their benefit. They laughed and hollered "Nice dreads, Rasta man!" I was pumped up now and I tried to pick up the pace.
Another food stop at 9K and then the march to the highest point the Seeley Fire Tower Hill. At the top another skier quipped, "Its all downhill from here!"
"Someone had to say that," I answered, having heard it every year here.
I had already made it down the first nasty downhill successfully. Now came the second. It always surprises me. Before I knew it, I was going faster than I'm comfortable going, caught in the sharply turning inside
chute and almost out of control. I thought it might help if I screamed, so I did.
One more bad one to go the one where the snowmobilers hang out to score the crashes. That one comes about 5K before Highway OO. As we approached the hill, I addressed the skiers around me. "OK, nobody fall now. Keep it together. Control your speed. Don't give them anything to cheer about!" My pack of skiers made it down just fine, although I did throw in another scream.
Another food stop approached. I had been in a zone for a few kilometers and wasn't sure where I was. I saw parked cars through the trees. Was I already at OO? Wow! An hour and a half and I was halfway. This could be a new record. Oh. No. Those parked cars are not the OO parking lot. Its just a fire road. Still 4K to go before I get there. OK, more water and energy drink and off we go again.
A guy with a rubber monkey pinned to his back skied past me. "Hey, mon!" I yelled.
"You have a monkey on your back!"
"Yeah," he said. "It's this damn Birkie. I just can't seem to shake it!"
"I know the feeling," I shout back, laughing.
I got to the food stop at OO and felt relieved. The hardest part of the race was over. From here on things spread out even more and seem more relaxed. I asked a volunteer to stick a banana piece in my mouth,
have another drink and ski on. Nobody is paying much attention to my dreads at this stop anyway because some woman in a cowgirl outfit is there at the same time. How silly can you be?
This stretch is the longest between food stops. It's almost 10K before we get there. There are more flat sections and gradual ascents and descents. I tried using my open field and V-2 techniques whenever
possible, just to break up the rhythm a bit and use different muscles. I was tiring and the cramping started in my calves. I tried to extend my legs to stretch them out with each kick.
When not thinking about the pain, it occurred to me what an absolutely perfect day it was to be out on skis. The sky cleared, air warmed up to near 20 degrees and the snow was good and fast without being icy. It's
about as good as it gets for skiing and I realize how lucky we were. I shared these thoughts with several skiers around me and found much agreement.
With two more food stops to go, I can no longer do the mental arithmetic to estimate my finishing time. It's all I can do to keep putting one leg in front of the other. Its warming up but my wax isn't working as well it should. It was too cold for my wax at the start of the race, so why isn't it faster at this point, I wonder.
Maybe it was but I am too tired to take advantage of it.
The 38K food stop is followed by a long, tough hill. It's late in the race and I pause for water and another Cliff Shot. It's murder getting started going up that hill. I saw a skier on his knees in the woods hurling. I told myself I didn't feel as bad as that guy.
Next up was the Birkie's most famous hill Bitch Hill. In reality, it's not all that bad of a hill. But it's tough
mentally. Instead of being half hidden by a turn in the trail, the whole thing is in full view. It seems to say, "So you think you're tired? Well, here's a little something else for you."
The famous Bitches of Bitch Hill are there, too with a boombox blaring. When I get to the top, I go over to one of them and pout, "I need a hug!" With her huge fake boobs she can hardly get her arms around me, but
hug me she does. She even gives me a little back rub and I melt. "OK, that's it. Get going now!" I am commanded.
As I approached the 44K food stop, I remembered fondly the year we finished the race at this point because there was not enough snow on the lake to make it all the way to Hayward. Sure would be nice to be done now, I thought. I am in the "Birkie Zone" now legs stiff and sore. I don't dare tuck on the downhills for fear I won't be able to stand up again.
Finally, the grove of pine trees. This was a happy sight because I knew Lake Hayward was just beyond them, and on the other side of the lake, the city of Hayward. I hit the lakeshore with something akin to joy.
A row of spectators made a lot of noise there they liked my hair. I held out my hand so they could slap it and encourage the Rasta Mon onward. I tried to V-2 across the lake but couldn't sustain it.
The wind was calm, the sun bright and the finish line was in my sights. I hit Main Street and the crowd cheered. I mustered the strength to V-2 to a good finish. I was extra careful not to plant a pole between my legs and end up on my face. I heard the announcer say my name and I raised my arms over my head as I crossed the finish line. Four hours and six minutes three minutes faster than the year before.
I got my pin and started the long hike to my warm-up bag. A guy pulling a flatbed trailer with a four-wheeler was giving skiers rides. I lay down on the trailer and let the vibrations massage my whole body. The sun shone down on me. Life was good.
I love this race. I can't wait until Birkie 2006.
Barry Eliason of New Brighton, Minnesota, is a veteran of 11 Birkies.
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