A Mountain Too Far?

A Mountain Too Far?

No, not the capsule summary of this year's Race Across the West for the Wildcats Four Brett – cynic! Instead, it's a recollection of what might have been one of Brett's finest hours in sports, our adventure in the Norwegian Birkebeiner a few years back. Brett was short in stature but long on toughness – which the Birkebeiner amply demonstrated. With shortened training time for the Race Across the West due to illness, I am hoping that recalling and writing about Brett will inspire me to the same sort of effort in a few weeks.

For those not familiar with it, the Birkebeiner (http://epi.birkebeiner.no/English/Rennet) is a cross-country ski marathon that essentially goes from one side of a mountain to the other to end up in Lillehammer, Norway. For the history behind the Birkebeiner, including why you have to carry a 7 pound backpack, read http://epi.birkebeiner.no/English/Birkebeiner-history. Those who live in the Midwest or who cross country ski might know of the American Birkebeiner, which takes place every February from Cable to Heyward, Wisconsin. Having done that one a couple of times, I wanted to try the original.

When I decided to go do the Birkebeiner, I cast about in my mind for the most gullible, er, adventurous of my friends with whom to go. It did not take long to set my targets on Brett, who made a habit of running up and down the Grand Canyon and other nonsense. Of course, he readily agreed and even talked his wife Sarah into coming along for support. Living in Colorado at the time, I had easy access to corduroy trails at cross country ski areas like Eldora and Frisco, and had no trouble getting in some good on-snow training. Surprisingly for a denizen of St. Paul, Minnesota, though, Brett had no such luck – it was a dry winter. So he showed up in Oslo generally fit but with no skilometers in his legs.

Now, the American Birkebeiner is no ski in the park. It's held on an undulating 50km trail through the glacier-carved moraines of Wisconsin. With 7,500 participants, it's the largest annual gathering of Minnesotans out in the woods, not counting the flies in the summertime.

Though it shares the name, the original Birkebeiner in Norway has a completely different topographical profile. Briefly, you go up about 3,000 feet and then come down over the course of 54 km (about 34 miles) with 14,000 of your closest friends and 28,000 skis to get tangled up with. In short, it’s an event only for the toughest Viking tough-guys (and -girls).

Well, the whistle blew at 7:00 am sharp in the start town of Rena and we were on our way. Brett’s wife Sarah was to meet us at the 40 km mark in case we wanted to change gloves, hats, etc., which would no doubt be soaked with sweat, before the descent to Lillehammer. You can see from the profile (read right to left) that the course goes up right from the start. Hey, thanks for the warm-up! With adrenaline from the spectacle coursing through our veins, we took off up the hill. After about 5 km, Brett was cooked. I was just getting warm. I half-heartedly mentioned the possibility of turning around and catching a ride back to Lillehammer. Brett would have none of it. In his trademark defiant style (athletically speaking), he said, “5 k downhill or 35 k more uphill? Dude!”

At the 10 km mark, he broke down crying. Not really, but he was not entirely unlike burnt toast. I helpfully used one of his favorite quips: “Sucks to be you!” [Note to team and readers – please add your favorite Brett-quote to the blog.] For the next 20-30 km, Brett kept soldiering on while I made sure we stopped at every refreshment stand to refuel with bananas, oranges and boller (bread rolls). Over the next hour or so towards our meeting spot with Sarah, there was little if any talking as we slogged up and down the hills. Even with good ski fitness, I was starting to get tired myself. Meanwhile, Brett was hanging tough, seemingly not getting any more tired. By the time we met Sarah at the 40 km mark, I was ready for a couch and a pillow while Brett got more energized. As we changed into dry tops, gloves and hats out there on the snow, Brett was bubbling effusively, “All downhill from here, dude!”

Snow conditions had been good to us to that point. The Swix race techs had picked the right grip wax for that side of the mountains. On the west (finishing) side of the mountain, though, there had not been any fresh snow in days. Together with the number of skiers that had already gone down the trail, what we faced was a rutted, icy descent. Rather than the expected leisurely saunter to Lillehammer, we got a terrifying, white-knuckle ride through hell.

Looking at the course profile, you might be thinking that at least you guys had the last, flat part of the course profile – nice way to finish. Without getting into too much detail about ski wax, it turns out that the wax that worked on the east side of the mountain did not work on the west side. For a skier, having wax that doesn’t grip means you can’t use your legs. We could have experimented with other waxes we were carrying in our backpacks, but the thought of stopping and digging through our backpacks, pulling off our skis, etc. was only slightly less appealing than jabbing our ski poles in our eyes. When you can't kick with your legs, all you're left with is your arms, using a technique called double-poling. For non-Vikings, it’s best done in small doses, not full-time for the last 8 to 10 kilometers of a 54 kilometer race. After fifteen minutes, our elbow tendons and muscles were shredded. In fact, I feel a twinge in my elbow again right now as I recall that section. I don’t know how long it took to do those last few bits of trail but it seemed an eternity.

By this time, we were both totally spent. How Brett pulled off the last 49 km of the Birkebeiner, I really don’t know. What I do know is that his sunny optimism and perseverance made for a memorable event I’ll never forget. What I hope is that I can call on those same qualities to get me through my 250-mile share of the Race Across the West.