The Birkie is a cultural phenomenon, started in 1973 at Telemark Lodge, where it is still hosted today. It draws 9,000 skiers, from elite European and Russian stars to citizen racers from all over the country. There are 10 start waves, with the fastest going first, and potentially finishing before the 10th wave begins. This was my 2nd Birkie (I did the half-Birkie, the Kortelopet, last year when Sylvie was 3 months old) and Kyle's 8th Birkie. The bib number you are given is lined with a color that denotes how many races you've done - it's not uncommon to see people who are part of the 'Birch Leggings Club', which means they have done at least 25 races. I met a guy on the trail who was doing his 29th race, and would be competing next year in his 30th when he would be 70 years old!
I was seriously nervous about this race because the 50 km represents more distance than I have skied cumulatively all winter long. In addition to that, the Birkie course is notoriously hilly, with about 4,000 feet of elevation gain, and I was worried that I might not be able to finish.
I started in Wave 4, based on my time from two years ago (all skiers with no qualifying time start in Wave 9 or 10 and then move up based on finish times). I started at the back of the wave, because I had no idea whether I could even hang with the Wave 4 skiers.
The race starts off with giddy traffic jams, herringboning up hills tightly packed behind other skiers. There is cheering when you reach 1km, and I was smiling at that point. After 1km, the uphill starts along the portion of the course called 'power lines' because the trail follows huge power lines up the hill. The hills roll, but the downhills are short and the climbs continue. At the top of the power line hill, around 5km or so, spectators beat on tom toms to let you know that you've made it.
Around 16 or 17 km, I had a crisis of confidence. My body was tired and I questioned whether I could finish the race. I was breathing hard and couldn't imagine another 35 km of up and down skiing. But I pushed through and ate more Gu and water and energy drink than I ever had before in a race, and maybe it worked. Or maybe the course flattened out a bit at a critical moment. Either way, between 20 km and 30 km, I felt relatively OK and I kept a good pace up, sticking with the Wave 4 people I had found along the way. About an hour after we started, the clouds cleared away and the blue sky also energized me. I'm a sucker for skiing under bluebird skies.
Aside from some painful climbs, the 30-37 kms passed relatively quickly. I stopped at feed stations, took some Gu, and even switched my skis at the halfway point, as suggested by a friend to benefit from the wax that hadn't been skied off yet. At 37 km, a long slow climb began. At 39 km, some spectators had a huge party going on the trail, and were blasting a song about red solo cups and how everyone should proceed to party. They were cheering us along and I watched them drink their beer as I struggled.
At 41km, I approached the legendary 'Bitch Hill', which is marked by signs and black balloons hanging from trees. The hill itself really isn't that bad, but the build-up can psych you out. The worst part about Bitch Hill is that it lulls you into believing that the hills are over, which they are most definitely not.
After Bitch Hill, and even more significantly, after the final aid station around 43km, were some long, slogging uphills that I imagine could make or break some of the skiers who cared more about their finish time than I did. Still, I pushed up those hills under a blue, blue sky and sun that was feeling warm on my back. And finally, at the top of a hill, I could see the water tower that marks the end of the race. It still seemed impossibly far away, but I knew that once it was in view, I only had to ski across a frozen lake to cross the finish line and stop moving.
Skiers get onto the lake and are greeted by ice fisherpeople camped out, yelling and offering shots of Jagermeister. I forewent the Jager, and continued skiing. The 4 km across the lake seemed to stretch forever because the snow was pretty slushy and I detected a headwind. I made it across the lake, without gaining much ground, onto the streets of Hayward. I turned right onto Main Street, and was very happy to see it lined with cheering people. I skied up the street, across the finish line and stood there while someone unhooked my skis and took off my timing chip.
Kyle appeared out of nowhere and I felt surprisingly good. We walked over to our friends Scott and Avery, who had Sylvie with them and I got to give her a squeeze before running off to change into dry clothes and to scarf down some chicken soup. Turns out, I had skied the course in exactly the same time (4 hours 2 minutes) that I had skied it in two years ago! Of course, the winners finished the course in half of that time, but I didn't really care. I was proud that somehow I had pulled it together in the face of very little preparation and had a great time.
I think, as of finishing this race, that I am officially hooked on the Birkie. It's so well organized; it's a challenging course; there are tons of skiers who are bound to be slower (and faster) than me, comfortably putting me in the middle; and it's fun to see so much excitement about cross country skiing. I look forward to when Sylvie can do her first Barnebirkie and I also look forward to seeing many of our friends come out to try the shorter races or the Birkie. I hope next year that we get a better winter and prioritize time management so that both Kyle and I can feel like we've adequately prepared for the race!
What a wonderful story, Ann -- I am so impressed with you! (But I have to say, this blog post is begging for a picture of you and the BG at the finish line.) Nice work, you!
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