XC Skiing with Mitch Mode
The Birkie challenge=
lies in
the heart of each skier
The back ro=
ads
leading to the Telemark Lodge were nearly aband=
oned
12 hours before the start of the 33rd American Birkebe=
iner
on February 25. Snow fell unexpectedly during the afternoon, covering the
roads. What traffic there was moved tentatively in the dark night and under
heavy clouds.
The forecast, however, included clearing skies and falling temperatures.
Daybreak would bring cold, near or below zero temperatures.
So, too, would come much activity. Near dawn the roads filled slowly and
steadily with cars and trucks and buses, with skiers and workers and
spectators, first a trickle, then a torrent.
Now, in the night the world is narrow and small. So too the width of the ro=
ad,
the length of the headlight beams, the height of the low-lying cloud. Then =
it
is easy to ponder things from a cocoon like perspective, ponder the irony of
snow and cold and skiing, and to think of all that and of the race, the fam=
ous
and celebrated Birkebeiner.
Snow is the base on which our sport is built, the literal foundation for al=
l we
do. So we crave it, we worship it, we need it as=
we
need life blood. Without snow there is no Birkebeiner<=
/span>.
But when it falls on the eve of the big event, it is something else. Fresh =
snow
leaves a slow and soft track. Skis sink in more and glide is reduced. Slower
track demands more effort. Over 51 kilometers, the extra demands add up,
draining reserves. It makes for a longer day.
That's not good news to the skier, not on the eve of a race, any race, let
alone the Birkie. When it comes, we are left wo=
rried
and fretful, with furrowed brows and a sense of unease at the impending eff=
ort,
now assuredly that much greater. Ironic, is it not, that after wishing for =
snow
from November on, that when we get it on the eve of the event, we are thrown
into worry?
Ironic also is the cold, for without cold snow will not hold and without the
snow we cannot ski. So we need the cold. Just not on race eve. Cold snow is=
dry
and abrasive. It drags at bases and slows skis down. It's the same result as
with fresh snow. Slower skis demand more effort to move forward. More effort
burns more energy, takes more time. So the cold we wish for becomes, on the=
day
of the race, something we fear.
So on that night with fresh snow on the ground and a forecast of colder wea=
ther
coming in, you can forgive the Birkie skiers for
being a bit fretful. The race is long enough under perfect conditions. Add =
cold
weather and fresh snow and it seems even longer.
So what does one do? You deal with it. You accept it as part of the game. Y=
ou
deal with it in the knowledge that conditions will not always be as you wis=
h.
You deal with by remembering the simple fact of distance races: It is all a=
bout
the challenge.
The challenge of the Birkebeiner lies in the
undeniable fact of distance and all that distance portends. Distance alone,=
51
kilometers, brings challenge. But distance alone does not tell the whole st=
ory.
Any event worth doing also has challenging terrain to cover at a given pace=
and
with strategy and tactics. So when the morning dawns bright with new snow a=
nd
cold temps, the challenge only increases.
At daybreak on Saturday, the snow squeaked underfoot. When you hear that so=
und,
you know the snow is cold. If there was anyone at the starting line who had
doubts that considerable effort lay ahead, they were in the minority.
The start area was once again a hubbub of activity and movement, seemingly
random to the uninitiated but familiar to those who've been there before. T=
here
was speechifying and declarations, music and song, an ongoing cacophony of
noise, and the feel in the air of energy building. The only calm was within
each skier as the time ran down to their start. But that calm was inside;
outside all seemed in chaos.
Each start wave at the Birkie gathers like a bu=
ilding
storm, fragmented at first with skiers off the back warming up, then moving together toward that line, toward that sta=
rt
banner, gathering together, coalescing. Extra movement ceases as if the ene=
rgy
of the individual, drawn inward and held, becomes the collective energy of =
the
group, stable but potent. In the seconds before the start there is very lit=
tle
movement, very little sound, only the group, gathered now as a storm gathers
and holds.
Then comes the start and the wave breaks for the open trail and everywhere
there is movement and sound and rushing color and energy as the group strin=
gs
out and fragments into countless individual races. In a minute the wave pas=
ses,
stretched out as you watch, the more powerful skiers at the fore and the
stragglers already beginning to drift back from the tight mass.
And so it began this year as it begins every year.
The fast skiers moved immediately to the front of each wave, driving hard a=
nd
efficiently. Packs formed and order, in the form of race hierarchy, was
restored after the burst of energy at the start. The fast skiers see the ra=
ce
in front of them, in the track and the trail, with skiers ahead to be
overtaken, with strategy and tactics based on all they can see; it is all in
front. Those skiers, the elite and those that would give their all to join
their ranks, ski a different race than the rank and file that follow.
For the weaker skiers, the race is behind them. A skier that looks back over
their shoulder is a skier in trouble for they are looking for what they fear
another skier or more overtaking them. When you see a skier look behind, th=
at
skier is telegraphing their fear; they know their position is in peril. In =
the
latter waves you see that a lot.
As much as the Birkebeiner is unique, it is als=
o the
same as every race held each weekend across the region. All are just
permutations of the spirit of the race. For if you cut deeper, if you delve=
far
at all into the heart and soul of a ski racer, you find a common truth: The
race is within.
Race results are a mere accounting in a ledgerlike
series of columns recording time and distance and place overall. Racing is
easily dismissed as mere time over distance, a function of digital timing a=
nd
computerized chips, of effort now measured on a wrist-mounted device and
downloaded to the computer at home.
All this merely blurs the true spirit of the race because fast or slow or in
between, everyone who steps to the line is skiing that day from the heart
within. Everyone has their own standards, their own goals, unique to their
references and special to their beliefs.
To pretend that the story of the race is written only in the results is to
obscure the true intent. A heart rate monitor tells one story; the true hea=
rt
is another matter. The Birkie provides the
opportunity each year for the skier to find their own truth.
It was a beautiful day to ski. There is no denying that. The snow was fresh=
and
cold and slow. But it was a wonderful day to ski. It was a day that classic
skiers may have held a slight advantage. In the cold weather, the differenc=
e in
glide between skate and stride is reduced and stride skiing seems to hold a
skier's heat better than skating. The skate lane, especially early in the r=
ace,
was soft and slow and striding skiers covered ground more easily than most
years.
It was not an easy day to ski distance, however. One unfailingly accurate
barometer of skier effort is in the amount of talking between skiers as the
race wears on. On a day when the snow is fast and the skis run easy there i=
s a
lot of ongoing banter even as the race hits the later stages. Not so this y=
ear.
This year it was quiet for most of the race. All energy was transferred to =
the
skis, all focus was on the trail, nothing was le=
ft for
casual chitchat as in some years. This Birkie, =
for
all the beauty the day held, was not an easy event to ski.
But the Birkie is not about doing things the ea=
sy
way. There are easier ways to cover 51K. Nobody said it would be easy. The =
Birkebeiner is and always has been about challenge an=
d how
we rise to that challenge.
The fast skiers won the day that Saturday. But the true results for each sk=
ier
were personal and not prone to display. That is the true reward of the Birkebeiner. That is what every skier, fast or slow, =
takes
from their day on the long trail from Telemark =
to
Mitch Mode started cross-country skiing with "proper" gear (wood
skis, leather 3-pin boots) probably 35 years ago. He has skied every Birkie since 1978 but no longer races. He is the co-o=
wner
of Mel's Trading Post, a sporting goods store in Rhinelander,
