Making Memories

Take the Challenge, Ski the Adventure, Live the Birkie

That's the slogan on the Birkie website and I think I accomplished that. If all else fails I certainly made some memories over the weekend. It all actually started on Thursday when I got to ski with Bjorn Daehlie as part of the MS Society's Ski for the Cure. We did some skiing and then adjourned to lunch together. Bjorn was super cool, very friendly, answered everyone's questions, posed for a million pictures and brought all of us hats from his clothing line.


Me and Bjorn post-ski (note the cute hat he gave me!)

However, the bigger story is about the actual Birkie and it is quite a story. The night before the race I finished my waxing and got out my sharpie marker to write something inspirational on the toe of my left ski boot. I wrote "do what you can do" based on something that Bjorn Daehlie said. For me it meant not to worry about what you can't do but instead focus on doing what you are personally capable of accomplishing. It seemed like a good fit with what I had written on the toe of my right ski boot - "believe".

Saturday morning came around much too soon and before I was truly ready we were out the door, in the car and on our way to Como Field. Once there we got in line for the bus, waited not very long and then were on the bus and on our way to Telemark Resort. We got there in a comfortable 40 minutes before the start of my race so I had plenty of time to change into my ski boots, hit the bathroom one last time, drink some energy drink, get to the start line, change out of my warm ups, get rid of my drop bag and be at the start with just the right amount of time.

Soon the gun fires and my wave is off and double poling. It's always a bit of mayhem at the start with all the nervous energy, poles flying and everyone jostling for position. I started on the left and double poles in the tracks for quite aways since I do okay with double poling. Everyone is always in a rush to skate but it is quite possible to keep up double poling and is less risk of having someone break your pole.

The first couple kilometers of the race are fairly flat but always congested. However, it isn't long before you start hitting the infamous powerline climbs. The first 9k are the same for the Kortie and the Birkie so I had done this section before. I just reminded myself that I just needed to survive the climbs on this section and that it would get better after the two races split and there was less congestion. At the first aid station at 4.5k I drank part of a cup of energy drink and most of a glass of water.

Through this section I felt pretty good or at least as good as you can when you see the big climbs looming in front of you. I never felt like I was holding up the lines of people climbing and was keeping pace well with the people lined up in front of me. I'm not going to claim the climbs were easy but I didn't feel totally spent. At the 9k aid station I had a Gu and a couple cups of water and was relieved to have that part of the race over and was looking forward to reduced congestion as the Kortie and Birkie split off.

The next section takes you up to the highest point on the course in the area of Firetower Hill. Through this section I'm feeling as well as I had hoped. It's hilly but I knew this would be the case as I knew there was some climbing to do after the race course split. I just keep plugging away and I'm feeling pretty like I'm holding my own with the other skiers around me. At the 13.7 km aid station I once again go for a cup of energy drink and a cup of water. The aid stations were total pandemonium with clear cups strewn everywhere that would invariably catch on your ski tip and then you'd have to get them off.

One of the things that I was worried about was the downhills on the course. However, things were going pretty well as although the downhills with corners were chewed up some and had some snow pile/luge run like characteristics they weren't as bad as some years. I successfully made it down "hecklers" hill where the snowmobilers hang out cheering all the crashes. I was nervous and I had one dare devil skier come flying by me at mach speed showing off but I made the corners successfully thus disappointing the skiers.

I think it was through the next section of hills that I started to notice that my right quad was painful on any steep hill. Knowing that I had a long ski still to go I just took it easy up the steep hills and just settled in behind other conservative skiers. I decided not to worry or even think much about the occasional sharp pain in my quad as I wasn't sure what it meant. I hoped it would go away eventually. As I was approaching the 4th aid station I was thinking maybe I was at "OO" but it was just the Boedecker road crossing. At this aid station I had another Gu and more water before setting off for "OO".

Finally I reached "OO" where a number of spectators gather since it is easy to reach. It's nice to see the crowds and the thinking is always that the course "gets easier" after "OO". I wish that I could concur with that statement but although the hills are not as bad it is negated by the fact that you are already really tired.

Unfortunately by the time I got there I realized that I was in trouble as my leg pain wasn't going away but instead was getting to be a more frequent problem. At this point you're 22.8km into a 50k race which is disconcerting when you're already suffering from leg pains. I did the only thing I could think of to do which was eat another Gu and drink more water and keep skiing.

Through the next sections I just kept taking it easy. My leg pain was more pronounced on steep hills. I did my best to take advantage of sections where you could V2 and also got into a good tuck and ride the glide up the rolling hills as best I could. However, every time I would come to a steep section requiring a good V1 my right quad muscle would have sharp digging pains.

At the 31.8k aid station I had another Gu and some more water and just kept moving forward. At this point my mind was a bit concerned with the pains but I just kept trying to tell myself that this part of the course was "easier" and the hills not as steep so as long as I took it really, really easy on the remaining steep parts surely I would be fine. Well, my mind was thinking that sometimes however my internal dialogue was a bit more dominated by -

• "I'm never doing this again."
• "What was I thinking signing up for this when I hate hilly races."
• "I'm so also never doing the Chequamgon 40 bike race again as I hate these hills."
• "Remember to never do this again."
• "And I mean NEVER AGAIN."
• "Where is the next d*amn kilometer sign? Surely I missed it because I've been skiing forever . . . oh wait there it is and it just took a lifetime to get 1k."
• "Remember never, never again sign up for this h@llish event."
  

Finally I got to the 38.1 km food station where once again I had some Gu and some water before trudging back out. I set out reminding myself that I only had 12k to go. That's not so far and surely I could get up B*tch hill somehow even with sharp shooting pains in my quad. So I set out again. However, as I started up the first sizable climb out from that food stop my quad was shooting with pain so I stopped about 1/4 way up the hill and pulled over to the side out of the way. I thought perhaps if I stretched it just a little it would be better.

HUGE mistake. As soon as I started to stretch my quad it started spasming uncontrollably. At this point I'm totally freaking out. I'm staring down at my quad muscle and I can see the spasms as my quad jumps up and down. It is horribly painful and I'm a 1/4 way up a hill with many more to come. I must have looked horrible as people were skiing by asking me if I was okay, if I needed help, if I need a Gu. All I wanted was for the race to be over. Having never before suffered from cramping during a race I wasn't really sure what to do. So I started to massage my quad and eventually that made it stop spasming.

There I was pulled over part way up a hill with intense pain in my leg and 12k still to go. I truly thought I could not go on and would not be able to finish the race. As I massaged my leg I could see the toe of my boot where it said "do what you can do." As skier after skier passed me by I realized that was exactly what I was going to have to do. I told myself that I was going to do what I could do even though it now looked like what I could do wasn't very much. I started back up the hill in a slow and awkward manner. I was doing some sort of strange blending of a V1 and a slow walk but I got to the top.

As I skied along massaging my quad as I tucked on every downhill and did my little ski walk up the hills I reminded myself that I was lucky to not live with pain all the time and that I was lucky to be doing this race (of course, at this point I was thinking of it as this f*cking race). My mental mantra truly was "do what you can do" interspersed with "finish this race so you don't have to ever do it again." Every chance I got I would V2 as that seemed to not hurt my quad. Every hill I would find someone going really slowly up the climb and just ease my way up behind them. The best part was the couple of times my left toes decided to cramp up at the same time my right quad was cramping up. However, I just kept plodding along cursing the kilometer signs that seemed to take forever to go by.


As I got to the bottom of B*tch hill I was really nervous about how painful it would be to ski up. I focused on the women at top who were dressed up in costumes for the occasion and just kept going one ski at a time. I made it to the top with no more or less pain than I had been suffering and headed off towards the last rest area.

I think as I skied along I was just sort of in my own private pain induced haze. I could see the Prince Haakon 8k skiers were now on the trail and I wanted to hate them. It's not that they were particularly in my way or anything but I hated them for skiing along so fresh and carefree while I was suffering my own private h*ll. Too bad they were so nice though as some of them would call out encouragement when they saw a full Birkie skier. I really couldn't hate them after that.


Finally I got to Rosie's field and I knew I was getting close. Right after Rosie's field you get to Hwy 77 and the 44.3 km aid station where I downed an Espresso Love gu and water with hopes that the caffeine would somehow see me through to the end. I psyched myself up for the climbs that Dave told me come right after that and set out. At this point I knew I would make it one way or another but I really wanted it to be over. I also was finding that no matter what technique I used I was having cramping in my right quad and I could feel my left quad starting to consider cramping as well.


I just kept plugging away and hoping that I would soon get to the infamous lake crossing that leads to town. However, first it was up and up and up to the top of the hill outside town. I had a passing thought that we had probably reached a very scenic overlook but I was too tired to care. Finally you're dropping down and you know you're heading toward the lake.


Once I got to the lake I remembered my bold statement that I would V2 across the lake. I feel a slight resurgence of energy as I realize that I've only got a 2k before I get into town. However, it was a short spurt of energy as I realize that my quad no longer likes to V2. I try alternating V1 and V2 but the wind is killing the small amount of energy I have left. I realize that I need to draft and I see a guy not too far in front of me who looks like he would have broad enough shoulders to pull me along. I psych up to catch him and throw down the best V2 I've got left in me to pull up behind him.


Sweet relief! I tuck in as tight as I can without being a total jerk and alternate strong double-poling with no-pole skating to stay right on him. At one point he's passing several skiers and I think about drafting someone else but realize my mistake and have to give a little bit of V2 to stay with him. I feel bad for not working with him but I just can't. I tell myself that when we get off the lake I will be polite and not pass him going up Main Street.


What a liar I am though. He pulls me the entire 2k across the lake and I contribute nothing but supreme annoyance as I desperately hold on to his draft right off the back of the tails of his skis. Then the minute we get off the lake he slows down from the effort and I go by him in my desperate attempt to reach the finish line. Instead I focus all my attention on getting into town, through all the sugary snow and onto Main Street. Once there I feel nothing but sweet relief as I alternate V2 and V1 up the street as I listen for the announcer to say "Renee Callaway from Madison, WI". I even hear a few Madnorskis call out my name.


I cross the finish line and try to comprehend how to exit the finish area. There are all these little lanes marked with numbers. I'm standing in front of a lane numbered 11/12. My brain is foggy and I can't decide where to go so I just stand there. Finally I have an epiphany that the numbers relate to how many Birkies you've completed. I slowly shuffle over towards the lane marked "1" and get my medal. I notice that at this point many people have removed their skis but I just pole through the lane and finally after that I contemplate if I can bend down and undo my skis and still stand back up. It seems like a 50/50 chance that if I bend down I won't get back up. I wonder if any of the people milling around would notice or even help me back up. Finally I just decide to risk it and I bend down and take off my skis. Luckily I am able to pick them up and stand up afterwards. As I start to wonder where I need to go now Dave arrives and helps steer me towards the bag pickup.

Luckily Dave was there as he takes my skis and poles and helps me navigate the finish area. He steers me towards the bags and finally I get to the Wave 5 bags. Then I get steered towards the changing tent where finally I get to sit down. I think it took me a lifetime to change my clothes as I was moving so slowly. Dave is waiting when I come out and he steers me towards the finisher's tent and he gets me some energy drink, rolls and bananas. I finally tell him I need sugar so he gets me a soda. The whole time I'm sitting there basically totally zoned out a very nice older couple are trying to converse with me. He did the 8k race and he seems excited to talk to a Birkie finisher. I hope that I made some sense. In reality it wasn't until Dave and I went to the coffee shop where I got some bean soup and a Chai tea that I was able to again function like a normal human being again.

And since many of you are probably curious I actually did not cry at the finish line. It was close but the moment was just never right. However, I was on the verge of crying several times . . . either from the exhaustion or the drama of things not going as I had hoped . . . but I remained surprisingly composed and slightly delirious.

And because I don't have the good sense to listen to myself I plan to ski the full Birkie again next year. I guess I've got the "Birkie Fever" . . . . I wonder if you can get immunized against that?