The race to the race
begins on the way to my one long training race, the Jackson 30K classic. After
much packing and bustling about Newton, Alex and I are shooting up 95 heading
for 2 Santa Lane in Jackson NH. My phone rings. Sue is frantically telling me
about the frozen busted pipe spewing water into our basement crawlspace. Fast
forward to the flat double pole section of the 30K, approaching our last lap
around the wave. Instead of visualizing the course and skiing it well, I wonder
how deep our new “koi pond” is in the crawl space. Fast forward to the big
storm on Bill Koch Festival weekend, shoveling, coaching and herding lollipopers
instead of skiing. Then KABOOM! half a tree is knocked onto our 6 month old
minivan by a passing MasTec utility truck. The losers cut the part blocking the
road, but leave the one on our van pinning us in and then take off. After Ed, a
random orienteering skier and I heave the tree off our car, Sue dries her tears
and heads home. The long day ends with an abbreviated ski and some quality time
with broken glass, duct tape and a makeshift plastic van rear replacement
window. Two nights out to see our daughter in the middle school musical equal
two nights up till midnight, plus packing, waxing, coordinating car insurance.
Then sprinkle in a bit of ongoing home improvement construction and a crawlspace
spelunking adventure to find a similar pipe to the one that burst the week
before. Man I feel tapered and ready to rock a Birkie!
With the van in the
shop, my friend, officemate and fellow cheesehead Mike gives us a ride to Logan
Friday morning. We barely wedge into his Highlander with 4 huge just under 50lb
bags, plus 5 loaded backpacks plus a ski bag stuffed with 7 pairs of ski poles,
7 pairs of skis, 3 pairs of ski boots, 2 pairs of snow boots, a couple coats for
padding and a partridge in a pear tree. The trip to Logan and on to Minneapolis
are both pleasantly uneventful, and I even took the highly rare opportunity to
read for pleasure. I’m not talking computer screen, but a real bound paper
book, so old school! BUT before we can even sit down after unloading the rental
car at Sue’s sister’s in Minneapolis, our youngest son realizes he paid more
attention to the computer bag than his backpack. After driving back to the
airport and retrieving the abandoned bag from the friendly Minnesota State
Police, I sneak out for a quick sunset ski with brother in law Leif just before
the mercury drops into the single digits. Only 8 days to the Birkie and
counting.
After a crisp and
squeaky Minnesota am ski we load up the rental and head home down to Middleton a
close burb of Madison Wisconsin. After crossing the border the cheesehead state
of mind is evident. I see more drivers in their tuks, more people sportin their
winter camo gear and ice fishermen in their huts or just sittin on their 5
gallon buckets. We stop for gas and as I’m out stretching my legs and soaking
up the winter sunshine a local farmer in full overalls and mud boots remarks,
“That sun shore do feel good, maybe it’ll melt summa all this sno we ben
gittin.”, friendly as all get out he was. Yes we have arrived in America’s
Dairyland, where the cheesehead state of mind is contagious. We visit with my
parents and brother in Middleton, tour the Capital building, catch up with other
old friends and get in a couple skis at the local version of Weston, Black Hawk
Country Club. I’m feeling ok, but way south of chomping at the bit, so I guess
the Birkie fever hasn’t spiked yet. Of course it could be all the traveling,
plus the unfamiliar single digit weather, plus all the dinners out including the
local Culver’s for butter burgers, french fries, frozen custard and everyone’s
favorite fried cheese curds! All of a sudden it’s Wednesday and time to head
North to the wilds of Hayward Wisconsin, Musky Capital of the world and home to
the American Birkebeiner, 4 days to the Birkie.
After almost 5 hours
on the road we head off the main drag into the Lac Courte Oreilles region 15 or
so miles Southeast of Hayward, navigate an alphabet of county roads, E to N to
CC and finally arrive at our Birkie base camp for 2013 on Chief Lake. Sue’s
parents are already there and we are all pleased with the modern and spacious
accommodations this year. We go for a quick exploratory ski/hike on the lake
with the kids and come back pink cheeked and numb as the mercury drops with the
sun. Barnebirkie morning brings sun and 20’s, perfect for 1,000 kids to glom up
and ski 1, 3 or 5 K en mass to the hot chocolate and cookie tent. Kyler goes
big with the 3K, and despite his excellent start position in the 2nd
row, he gets tangled up multiple times with other skiers, costing him a sure
podium spot. After a couple cold ones including my favorite the Bitch Hill
Belgian Ale at the Angry Minnow Brewery, we grab our numbers at the expo and
head back to Birkie base camp. The rest of the Keeney/Carlson/McNatt clan
arrive until we number 12 plus 2 dogs, 2 days to the Birkie. Sue goes down for
a few hours spiking a true Birkie Fever, but manages to nap it away. After a
snowy Friday am ski on the trail, it’s time to wax 4 pairs of skis, carbo load
and try to hit the hay on the early side. I finally felt mildly fresh skiing
today, a good sign for the big race, but the snow continues relentlessly all
day. The last party member Peter arrives at base camp and immediately begins
waxing for the morning. Twas the night before Birkie and all through the house
not a creature was stirring except for me struggling with the usual pre-race
restless jitters before a gawd awful pre-dawn wake up.
Beep beep beep argh!
Time to wake up and try to stuff in enough calories for 50K without too much
gagging, oatmeal and a bagel to start with. I feel like a small bag of doggie
poo poo, which is unfortunately normal for this witching hour time of day.
Leif, Marcia, Lars, Moe and Peter all end up in the Carlson Subaru, while Sue
and I roll in the rental out into the murk towards the 50K race start at Cable.
Sue’s parents, our kids and Anika will follow later and ski the Prince Haakon
12K, and we’ll all hook up later at the Main street finish in Hayward if all
goes as planned. The ride up Mosquito Brook road to the shuttle bus to Telemark
Lodge to the start line is smooth, and I’m left with an hour plus to warmup,
gear down and enter the starting corral system. I’m feel fine, just plain old
vanilla fine, still no fever, but the 2 stage race to the actual start line does
fire up some adrenaline, especially when some wave 1 hooligans are jumping the
gun and ducking under the gate even before it’s lifted. I finally get to put my
skis on in about the 3rd row. There really is no row order as we are
packed in like sardines, my tip sitting at boot level with the guy in front of
me and straddled by the guy behind me. An orderly NASCAR start is not in the
cards.
After 5 molasses
minutes the gun finally fires and we’re all off toward the finish in Hayward. I
have a good start and things sort out quickly. I only witnessed one boner move
this year with a guy inexplicably and instantly going from full speed V2
alternate to full body face plant at around 1K. The weather is a balmy low
20’s, but the inches of fresh snow from yesterday make for a soft and slow
track. I roll with the head of wave 1 heedless of the extra energy going into
each uphill stroke hitting 9K in 30:24 in 331st place overall. The 10K split is
slow, but I’m still skiing solid and staying with my group. The next 10K are
uneventful, just solid work getting up one soft, slow uphill after the next. My
skis are running well on the downhills, but I’m starting to bog down on the
ups. I grab GU #1 to ward off the bonk and hit OO at 22.8K in 394th place, but
things are slipping and I don’t mean my skis. My quads are starting to feel way
overcooked already, and I’m panting like a big dog on even the wimpiest uphill.
I try to meter out my efforts and manage the lethargy creeping into my body.
After 30K it starts to get ugly with my form breaking into a slog on every
incline. Appropriately, my watch is reading “Laps Full”, and with 15K left to
ski my race is indeed effectively over as the cramping starts. Starting as a 9V
zinger coming up my inner quad at the bottom of each hill and kicking out
spasmodic clenching if the hill is too long. I slam my final GU and creep past
the 39K snowmobile club party, scan the line of wound up woodsmen and women and
breathe in the alcohol laden atmosphere. Appropriately, they are CRANKING
Micheal Jackson’s mega hit Thriller as I slowly, stiffly and jerkily zombie V1
up the pre-bitch hill climbs. At 38.1K I’m in 487th place and
falling without a parachute watching conga train after conga train leave me in
their wake.
“And
though you fight to stay alive, Your body starts to shiver, For no mere mortal
can resist, The evil of the thriller”
video
(scary!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdL496Oc3VQ
Lurching up Bitch
Hill at 41K I’m on of those lameos who comes to a creaking halt just over
halfway as the quads melt down. Mercifully, the course offers some downhill
relief where I can lock in the tracks on moderate downhills and actually keep up
with the skiers around me. I’m feeling encouraged with only a few K to go and
only a flat lake to cross to get to the finish. I jump onto a passing few
skiers and match their tempo, bad idea. My right leg doesn’t just cramp, it
locks stiff, and I’m forced to double pole straight legged for almost half a K.
Only 2K to go and I once again manage to actually skate across the lake, past
the 1K to go. With only 500 meters now remaining we come off the lake and my
left quad locks on the miniscule shore bump. I double pole a few strokes, but
then hell bent to finish this race begin a grotesque V2 Franken Skate to the
finish line. Birkie 18 is finally, mercifully done and put down in the
books.
A young volunteer
thankfully removes my skis for me as I stand there afraid to reach down or bend
my legs at all. After changing I cheer in our gang one by one. First Sue with
the race of the day, a first ever top 100 women finish, less than 10 minutes
behind me. Then Maureen, Marcia. Then Sue’s parents arrive with Carson, Lucy,
Kyler and Anika. Then Leif skiing his first classic Birkie. Lars unfortunately
ended up yiffing at halfway hanging with Jaime Doucett of all people who was
also under the weather. With Peter is closing in on Hayward Sue and I begin the
bus shuttle and drive back to Birkie base camp on Chief Lake. Race stories,
beers and carbs are cycled though until we all succumb to sleep. Sunday morning
after blueberry pancakes, packing and one last car pushing out, we drive back to
Minneapolis and back to Boston. Driving back home wedged into our Smurfs
Transport minivan the snow is falling lightly. I watch the flakes drifting
though the Mass Pike lighting and vow that next year my quads will be ready for
Birkie 19.
Epilogue: Back to
Reality
Monday morning Sue
retrieves our now fixed minivan only to learn that neither the MasTec insurance
company or ours have done diddly squat while we were gone and it’s still unclear
how this will all get paid for. Uff Da! Those stinkers! Tuesday driving in to
work I’m stopped in traffic and get rear ended and slammed into the car in front
of me. One car out of the shop, the other in, at least my skis and I escaped
damage, and I was able to race at Weston that night. Double Uff Da! doncha
kno!
And Bob Burnham's
 |
| Anne finishing 2nd from the 9th wave in her age group! |
 |
| Bob, Anne, Lisa, Jamie, Evan and Jimmy at the finish on Main St, Hayward |
Epic
: Ann, Jim and I loved skiing at the Birkie and the race shows that the Midwest
has over 10,000 touring skiers they can get to do 25 and 50 KM of skiing. That
is a remarkable concept that we need more of in New England. Think if they
converted some of that energy into JO skiing. Wow – the machine might make CSU
look small. New England has really high quality races and racers and lots of
junior / college racing, but at the touring level, the Midwest has really
achieved something in their dozen marathons with the Birkie as the king! As for
the Burnham clan, Jim was 106, Bob 218, Ann was 426, but 55th women
and the big news was 2nd in her age group while starting with bib
19286 (which is not quite that many skiers).
So
what is this all mean. So for Ann 1 equals classic 9
equals wave 9 – or the back – and there are about 400 between Korte (25K and
Birkie 50K in classic and maybe 850 in the corresponding skate waves? With
elite waves, there are 21 waves I think. Oh Joy. See the photo – of 1 wave!
And you get the concept. So we estimated that Family Burnham with Birkie, Korte
classic and after 28 K Birkie skate, passed between 4000 and 5000 total skiers.
I passed the fewest as Jim and I were with Jamie in wave 5. Note that with the
exception and me and Jamie for 25K, Jim probably won his wave by an hour...
So
what is it like to pass 10 skiers a minute for over 3 hours. Well in classic,
it is daunting. You get to a hill with 3 lanes wide of touring herring bone
skiers all splayed out and deep light powder on the sides. You guess where the
spots will align, because track is not really effective. Also, how many people
asked us, why are you going so fast, what is the rush, it is 54 KM. Of course
you nicely go by and say I have a lot of people to pass, hunt for the harder
spots of trounced track or sometimes double pole the herring bone. The Midwest
is flat, but the Birkie is a bit on the relentless side. Alex warned us that it
is glacial with 50 feet up, 50 feet down for the whole race. Still not say
Trapp, but lots of hills. Hence, passing does get exhausting both mentally and
physically, but we had an objective. Finish the race, without really risking a
terrific hurt dance, and have a time that moves us way up next year if we choose
to return. We all accomplished that pretty well. Note that I did get passed,
two Russian Men, who clearly were elite passed me from 20 minutes back. The
fastest was about 18 min out of first and I would argue from wave seven he lost
more than 18 min. So it is not just New Englanders that get stuck in the back
on year 1! Note that V2 alternate was invented by Gunde Sven, who in my day was
the dominant skier probably more so than anyone today. He came to the Birkie,
got stuck back from the elite wave and may have skied fast enough to win, but
the winner is who crosses the finish line and not the “chip time”, so he did not
win.
Once
you accept that then you will have a really fun time. The classic is easier to
pass than the skate as I spoke with Nat Lucy in the finish… Believe it or not,
the Midwestern skaters did NOT trash the last 26 KM of the classic tracks!
Herring bones were trampled, but the tracks were ok for soft snow – back to
Ann! Bravo Midwest – would we be so nice? So try the Birkie someday and
encourage some of the better touring folks to try one of our half marathons in
the east! If you want more, you can always camp at the Canadian Ski Marathon -)
Bob
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