Pardon my indulgence but this is how I keep track of things. I like to do write-ups and they help me remember what happened and when. It’s like a photograph, except that 10,000 words is worth 10 pictures.
February 23rd, 2019, the 45th annual American Birkebeiner. This was to be number 16 for me, 31 for my mom. I have to keep doing them because I don’t want her to have twice as many. But this has been a tough year, throughout November, December, and January there was no snow. Then, like cramming for a test, we got hit by a record number of blizzards and have been shoveling ever since. I’ve never once wavered in my contempt for snowblowers, but this year, I didn’t protest when the neighbors offered to come by and clear off my sidewalk.
I’d spent most of the year running, I have a 6.5 mile loop that I do, then I’d go and jump in the pool for a half hour or so. Pretty decent ski specific training regimen. Sprinkled in there were two approximately 12 mile runs. By late January I’d only gotten on snow twice, two trips to OO to do the high point of the Birkie trail. Absolute bare minimum Birkie training is to do:
A. one 40+ km ski.
B. one trip from OO to the high point and back.
Failing at meeting those objectives means you have a less than 50% chance of completing the Birkie.
We finally got hit with snow in Eau Claire, so I went out for a ski. They’d groomed tower ridge up good except for the hills which all exist on optional loops that are easy to avoid. But with the Birkie imminent, I was feeling ambitious, and I headed out to do one of the hill loops. But the lack of grooming meant the base was soft beneath, so my ski caught something and I went flat down, BAM, on my face. I don’t think I’ve ever fallen flat downhill before and that hurt. So I got up, dusted myself off, and went home.
Things seemed fine that night, but I remember thinking, “I feel way more tired that I should considering I only did a low effort hour long ski.” I just finished reading a nighttime story to the kids when I began to get cold, then I started to shiver. I put on all my clothing, climbed into bed, and couldn’t get warm. My wife freaked out. I freaked out. I was quickly growing exhausted from the full body convulsions of shivering and I wasn’t warming up.
“What’s going on?”
I started to develop a pain in my knee that moved down to my calf, so I was thinking blood clot. I went into the ER. The guy said, “On a scale of one to ten how bad do you feel?” I said “4” because I wasn’t crying with pain. I think he took that to mean he didn’t have to take me seriously. For future reference, just say “10!” They checked me for a blood clot, not finding one, they sent me home. “You’re fine! That’ll be $2,000! If you don’t feel better in 3 days come back in.”
A day later my left calf was red like a boiled lobster. I had a fever. The wife called up the clinic and made an appointment, they seem to take her more seriously on the phone than me. At the doctor’s the guy took one look at my leg, “Oh, you have Cellulitis, that’s serious, I’m glad you came in.” If you don’t know what Cellulitis is, DON’T Google it, the pictures are gross. He put me on antibiotics, a 10 day treatment. I’m thinking, “Okay, I should be able to get through these, feel better, get my 40k ski in and still do the Birkie without feeling wiped out by the medication.” All was good.
A couple days later I was skiing… slow. I did a 24 k ski in 3 hours and was not confident. I hoped to be better with the antibiotics out of my system. I finished up the treatment. Two days later, the rash and fever were back. Back into the hospital, the doctor gave me ANOTHER 10 days worth of antibiotics. I took them and started to feel better. “Can I ski while I’m on this medication?” I asked. “Sure,” the doctor said.
On Thursday, February 14th, 9 days before the Birkie, I skied 40k in 4:15. Not fast, but the kilometers were now officially in my legs. I was hopeful, then, before I finished the treatment, the rash came back. Back to the doctor. “I think you’re cured,” the doctor said, “you’re probably just experiencing muscle fatigue. It’s all in your mind.”
“I know what muscle fatigue feels like, this isn’t muscle fatigue, the antibiotics aren’t working.”
“Want something else?”
“Yes.”
So, he put me on my third set of antibiotics. But now the doctor was worried that the antibiotics were as big a problem as the Cellulitis. He told me to take them through race day and then stop. I started in with the new set of antibiotics and began to feel a little bit better, but not all the way better. I felt fatigued and occasionally still had leg pain. I wasn’t at all sure as to whether I’d be able to do the Birkie. As the Birkie approached, my leg seemed to feel worse. Was it all in my mind? Didn’t seem like it.
I looked at the forecast. The Birkie was supposed to be a nice, warm 30+ degree day. That was positive. Had it been -10, I wouldn’t have even considered it. But on a 30 degree day you can use the full allotment of time and not freeze to death.
On Friday, February 22nd, we went up to Spooner to enjoy the frantic, pre-Birkie hysteria that is known as Birkie Fever. My wife was becoming worried about me. She could tell I was sick and wondered whether I might hurt myself by skiing. At the neighborhood spaghetti feed, there were a bunch of doctors present. These were all Birkie skiing doctors who know how hard the Birkie is and whether skiing it with Cellulitis while jacked up on antibiotics was a real health risk. So I asked them. The consensus was that if I woke up on Birkie morning and I didn’t have a fever, I had permission to give it a try.
“But take it easy out there!”
We laughed as we said that. Anybody who has ever skied the Birkie knows you can’t take it easy. The hills are too big. If you’re moving at all, your heart rate is going at near maximum.
Our friends Ben and Starr came to stay with us at my Mom’s house, it had been too long since I’d seen them. My mom always gets psyched up for the Birkie, even after doing 30 of them. I spent the night thinking I wasn’t going to even attempt the race, my leg hurt. I thought it was foolish. But the thought of not doing it was depressing. I had to at least put on my ski clothing, put on my bib and go to the start. There were places to drop out of the race if it wasn’t going well. You never know how you’re going to feel until after the race actually starts.
The alarm went off at 4 in the morning, we were up and out the door by 5. We’re almost always on the first bus on the way up to Cable, and almost always all our old Birkie skiing friends also make that first bus. There we were, sitting in the darkness, waiting for the shuttle to take off, and on came Tommy and Kevin and Greg and Ryan. All these awesome people that I never see enough of. Ryan is Kevin’s son and Kevin just beamed with pride to have his son skiing the great race with him. They finished within a minute of each other, both around 3 hours, the son just ahead of his dad. What could make a father prouder than that? What a memory!
We made our way into the building at the start area and more Cyclova friends came out of the woodwork, Dave and Jim and Steve and Kettula (who showed us pictures of his new Granddaughter). Outside I saw Eric and Greg and Laurie. Everybody was happy. I fished into my gear bag and took the first antibiotic I needed for the day.
The precipitation changed from freezing drizzle to big fluffy snowflakes. It was going to be slow. That was OK, less of a chance to crash on the 3 heckler turns I always worry about. My mom was skiing for the first time in Wave 70, so she was leaving before me. I went to the starting pin and wished her well, then stripped off my warm-ups and waited for my race to start. I was hoping to catch up to my mom on the trail and take a Birkie selfie, how many folks have a picture of themselves skiing the Birkie with their 70 year old mother? Not too many.
I got bumped back to wave 5 this year, which is fine. The wave was packed and I started toward the back. Gun went off, the skiers made their way through the windy, hilly, mashed potatoes. There were so many people in wave 5 that we had to stand around and wait at the base of every hill. We averaged 12 minutes each for the first 2 kilometers. The first 12 km of the race is a climb. We climbed and climbed and climbed, I felt OK and was relieved that my leg didn’t hurt.
Starr passed me just before Boedeker, she smiled but neither of us could breathe. Climbing up that hill, some guy called out to his wife.
“Honey, climbing this hill would be easier if you held your arms closer together.”
“Thanks dear,” the woman replied.
I thought it would be funny to call out, “Honey…I want a divorce,” but I didn’t have any wind.
At OO there is a new hill in the form of a bridge over the road. They always seem to add new hills, they never take any away. From OO to Gravel Pit is the last section where you still have a bit of energy. After Gravel Pit you are very tired, and you still have 20 km to go. I saw Del out there, he was one of the doctors who said I should go ahead and try to ski. I also talked with Kevin and Roxy. I asked if they’d seen my mom and they hadn’t. It turned out I’d passed her at a feed station. It was a good thing I asked because she asked about me when she came through and Roxy told her she’d seen me, so mom didn’t have to worry. I’m 44, mom still worries.
From Gravel Pit to Mosquito Brook is “no man’s land,” you’re really tired and it’s still a LONG way to go. This is why you need to do that 40km training ski, because when it’s only 10km to go you know you can make it.
There’s a shot ski at what used to be km 39, but is no longer km 39. They still call themselves that. I ran into Andrea there, she offered me a can of Coke, but I had my own. Coke is the magical elixir that allows you to finish marathon events. I wanted a shot ski but couldn’t because of the antibiotics. Then came Bitch hill. It took me so long to climb it that Father Bitch went through his litany of jokes four times. I was tempted to stop and tell him a joke I’d just heard that I figured he could add to his routine:
“Mickey Mouse is in divorce court, the judge says, ‘I understand your wife is a little crazy,’ Mickey replies, ‘No, I said she’s f#@$ing Goofy!’”
That’s the kind of joke that’s hilarious when you’ve just skied 40km. At the top of the hill, a nun whacked me on the butt with a ruler.
After Bitch hill you get to go downhill a bit, then it’s into the Fish Hatchery rest station which is the last rest station of the race. I was eating bananas to keep from cramping. You pass the 8km to go sign and it’s a solid climb for a kilometer and a half. There are banners listing lots for sale on that climb, somebody said, “That’s bad advertising, this is one of the toughest hills at the most brutal parts of the race.” There might be some truth to that, those lots have been available for several years.
At 7km to go it’s down and over and up, up, up the hill after highway 77. Then there’s the hill with the Dave Landgraf statue, Stamper was out there making noise, once you descend from that hill, you have only the lake to go.
Out on the lake, this skier came up to me who hadn’t missed a shot ski the whole race. He was up to 3 or 4 shots and was telling me that he should have turned the last couple down, “But the girl’s eyes were so blue, how could I say no?” He came up to me and said:
“Hey! Your hat matches your suit, and your suit matches your poles! You look so good, women will be throwing themselves at you all the way up Main Street! I’ll just hang back here and gather up the ones that tumble off the table!”
“It’s better to look good than to feel good,” I said.
But this guy was just getting started. “Obviously,” he said, “I was looking for something a little better to ski behind, but you’re breaking the wind good for me!” I’m kind of glad that guy ended up skiing behind me instead of some poor young woman who just wanted to finish her Birkie in peace. I mean, seriously, if old, overweight, me has to endure that, imagine what kind of crap attractive young women have to put up with! Then again, I do look pretty good in a ski suit, who can blame a guy? Note to self, limit the shot skis to one.
In sight of the International bridge, you know you’re going to finish, although a guy in front of me tried to climb it and flipped all the way over on his back. “You okay?” I asked. “Yup, just cramping up.” I wasn’t in a position to help. Up and over the bridge and down Main Street where I saw Kathie, and then, looking to the left, there was my wife and two daughters. Then done! The leg had held up.
As I got changed into new clothing up came Mark, another doctor who had given me the health go-ahead. “Made it!” I said. “Excellent!” he looked like he’d come through it well. Then Dan showed up and we resolved to get in shape next year. It’s amazing how in a crowd of thousands of people, you see everyone you know. On the way to the car I ran into Tony and Neil and we swapped stories. In the car my wife handed me a Big Mac.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“What?” I asked, the last crumbs of the Big Mac falling gently to the floor. Food doesn’t last too long around a skier after the Birkie. On the way home, Neal texted me to say he’d picked up mom, Birkie 31 in the books for her. She had rave reviews about Wave 70, all the young people came by and congratulated her on her achievement and made her feel like a rock star. “There are some very nice young people out there,” she said.
Hot shower, clean clothing, sitting on a sofa, more food. You start to feel human again. Ben finished 200th overall, which should qualify him for the elite wave next year, but there is always a little bit of politics involved in the wave seeding. Maybe if they don’t let him in, I’ll have my wife call up the Birkie office and she can give them the same stern tone that seemed to get a result from the doctors.
We slept, and returned to Chippewa Falls the next day for a fun 2 hours of shoveling a foot of new fallen snow. Another Birkie done, but business remains to be completed out on the Birkie trail. I want that race selfie with my mom, I plan on getting it in 2020.
If you enjoyed this and would like to read a bit more of a coherent Birkie narrative, check out Beyond Birkie Fever. Congratulations to all finishers, and a sincere thank you to all volunteers!
[…] year was a much better year for preparation than 2019. In 2019 we got so much snow in February that many people forget we didn’t get ANY snow all through […]