Notes
Wow, there's so much to say about this race. I'm not sure where to start.
I'll just start with the facts: Last year was my first Birkie and I skied out of wave 5. That race qualified me for wave 2 this year, and I skied out of wave 2 with the goal of skiing fast enough to make the women's elite wave for next year. And by golly, I did it :)
Pre race, Anders and I spent a lot of time talking about where and how I should start this race. After entertaining lots of different scenarios, we finally decided on me starting as far forward in the wave as I could (there were about 300 people in my wave), and also probably off to one side of the start line in order to avoid the chaos which is the center of a 300 person pack at the start of a ski race, with poles and skis flying every which way. I successfully did this, though it took some effort. As the wave in front of you gets cued up, your own wave is allowed to stand behind a second barrier that is up about 50m back. Each wave is not allowed into the start corral until the wave in front of it actually starts. And the waves go off every five minutes. As the start time for the wave in front of you approaches, people stand behind the barrier holding their skis and poles, and get ready to sprint the 50m from where they are standing to the actual start line. The picture of it is a little bit ridiculous. And then when the wave in front of you starts, your wave's barrier is simultaneously raised and 300 people sprint towards the start line while carrying skis and poles. (The most unfortunate skiers break their poles or skis in this mob- before the race even starts.)
Because I started so far back in wave 5 last year, people weren't as intense. I didn't really have to worry about this stress at the start. However, in wave 2, being read for that sprint and getting your skis and poles down on the start line is important. Anders had prepped me well, and I was poised and ready when the barrier went up. I took off with everyone else and sprinted across the snow, clumsily of course, because I was running in ski boots and carrying skis and poles, but successfully was one of the first to reach the start line and put down my skis, claiming my spot on the front line of wave 2. I was off to the very right of the start line where I had planned to be, and when I looked left I could see two other women in about the 50 people on the line, and the rest were men. I was happy with my spot, glad I still had all fully functioning equipment, and I started putting on my poles and clipping in my skis. The goings on at the start sound a little bit ridiculous, and they ARE a bit ridiculous. However, it make more sense when you think about the number of people in a wave. Does starting in the second row really matter that much off the line? No, probably not. However, when the trail shrinks from 70 people wide to about 2 people wide over the course of about a kilometer, and two trains start to form, the difference between being at the back of a 100 person train and the front of a 100 person train could be a couple minutes time depending upon how people move and how quickly or not the race spreads out. And I didn't have a couple minutes to spare.
The race got out hard, as I knew it would. I knew from others that fast people ski hard for he first few k in order to secure a spot and make sure they have clear space to ski. And thats exactly what happened. I was on the back end of the leading train of men from the start, and the pace was fast- way too fast for a 50k. However, I knew that this was the place I needed to be if I wanted space to ski and work as the race continued. So I just tried to hang on to that lead train for as long as I could. About 5k into the race I had a chance to look forward and backward, see that things had strung out a lot, and I made a conscious decision to pull back just a bit. Stepping off the gas just that little bit helped a lot. I felt awful about 4-5k into the race, and when I was able to relax just a touch, I felt better. I felt better at 15k than I did at 5.
The first 13k of the race is hard. The high point on the course actually comes at 13k, so there's a significant amount of climbing right off the bat. I tried to just climb efficiently and smoothly, and save some matches for later on. I know myself well enough and know ski marathons well enough to know that the climbs in the first quarter of the race are not where I shine, nor where I should shine if I'm distributing my energy or strengths well. I started working with two other men from my wave really well- and the three of us would end up skiing almost the entire race together- trading pulling and relaxing.
One of men's names was Bjorn, and we exchanged a little bit of conversation while we were out on the trail over the course of the day. We had very similar race tactics, so we worked well together. For the first 13k I tried to focus on taking in lots of nutrition and staying relaxed, and that's about all I remember. Oh, and that the snow was really powdery and had already been ripped apart by the hundreds of skiers in front of us. I was worried about my shin muscles and hip flexors early on because I was spending so much energy lifting my skis off the snow because of the powder.
OO (pronounced double oh) is roughly 20k into the race, its the first really iconic feed stop where there are lots of spectators, and its the first really big climb on the course. Anders and I did repeats on it earlier this year, I've skied from OO a number of times this year, and unlike last year, I was very aware of my surroundings and able to recognize lots of points on the trail. As we were approaching the climb to OO I recognized the large, familiar downhills that take you down into the valley before you come back out. I was leading Bjorn at this point, and I remember saying "alright, we're getting up to the OO climb. I'm going to try to climb it efficiently but not too hard".
And I think I did that pretty well. I climbed efficiently and moved through the field, and also didn't feel exploded by the time we reached the top. Over the bridge I saw my mom and dad and was able to throw them my first bottle and get my second one. I was quite proud of the fact that I had consumed the entire bottle before OO, especially because it seemed like lack of nutrition was such a problem for me a couple weeks ago. At this point in the race I was feeling good, ready for some of the nice, rolling terrain that was to come, and really happy that I was through OO without legs that were completely gone.
The things that stick out to me about the 10-15k after OO are the fact that we began catching the back of wave 1 and moving through that wave, and that Bjorn and moved fast over the rolling topography. Anders has taught me a lot about transitions and using energy efficiently over rolling hills and modest uphills and descents, and I think this was a good part of the course for me. I led about half the time, and Bjorn led about half the time, and we seemed to be moving up through both wave 1 and wave 2. I think overall the pace and the moving was good- there were a few times when I had to dial it back just a bit because I could feel myself starting to redline- and at 30-35k of a 50k race, it was too early for that. I don't remember a lot more about this portion of the course except for that I saw my parents again at misquito brook, threw another empty bottle at them and got another full one, and I still felt good. Misquito brook is at about 35k. Anders and I had talked about getting to misquito brook and hopefully still feeling good and being in a place to really start to push. I thought I was in that place, but I also knew there was still a lot of race to come. I tore out of the food station, caught up to Bjorn who hadn't slowed down at all, and the two of us started the descent into the last third of the race.
The last third of the race is defined by 4 iconic, really hard climbs, and then the 2k, flat, death march across lake hayward before you climb up onto land again and finish down mainstreet in downtown hayward.
All I really remember about this section is at some point it got hard, and ugly. Really hard and ugly. I remember climbing the 39k climb, which is the first of the 4 climbs, and feeling pretty good. A few minutes later Bjorn and I rounded a gradual, right hand turn, and before us was a short, steep descent, followed by what looked like a mountain. From experience and stories, I knew we had reached the notorious "bitch hill". I turned to Bjorn, I said "Its a Bitch", and he laughed, and we both tucked into the downhill and tried to carry as much speed as we could into the climb. The climb itself went okay- I don't think I climbed it particularly fast, however, I was able to crest it and instead of being absolutely gassed at the top, I was able to accelerate out of the climb and across the flats. This is always the goal, so given where I was in the race, I think I did an okay job.
The second to last climb is the climb right before fish hatchery, the last food station, and then after you've descended into fish hatchery the last, big climb on the course is the climb out of fish hatchery and across highway 77. And it hurt. BAD.
I think it hurt so badly because its 45k into the race, and because at that point there's no more holding back. Its time to burn matches and its time to make it hurt. Somewhere on this climb I sorta just forgot what was happening. I dropped Bjorn somewhere and I don't know where, I passed two of the women from wave 2 who had been ahead of me for the whole race, and I moved through lots of people. It was painful, but I just kept on pressing harder and harder because I knew that in just a few minutes, the climb would flatten out, descend a little big, and I would be dumped out onto Lake Hayward. When I go back and look at stats, this section of the course was one of my better sections relative to the field. And I'm glad it was, cause it hurt.
And Lake Hayward is a bur. All I remember is it was the longest 2k I've ever skied I think. Its deceivingly difficult because its entirely flat, however, that also means there is zero rest or recovery. Its just a 6-7 minute, all-out V2 sprint with whatever you have left in the tank. My glutes were cramping, my shoulders were cramping, and my back was cramping, and all I kept telling myself was that I was almost done, and once I hit the beach of downtown Hayward I only had about a third of a mile to go. I was proud of the fact that I did not get passed on the lake, and I passed 4 people over the course of those 2k.
If there's one nice thing about the lake being so long, its that mainstreet is really short. You climb off the lake, turn left, ski about 100m, and then make the 90 degree turn which leads to the international bridge and the final, awful climb that takes you over the highway onto mainstreet. There's a video of me coming up mainstreet that my dad took, and it looks ugly, hah. But the good news is I had put space and time between me and anybody who mattered behind me.
I absolutely bonked on the finish line: perfect timing.
Takeaway #1: This was one of the hardest races I've ever raced- both skiing and running included. Because of the wave I started in and the skiers I was around, I was able to ski harder and faster than I was last year. Last year's race was also hard, but I spent so much time waiting behind skiers in front of me, or "stuck" in trains of skiers moving more slowly, that I didn't get to the place of fatigue and exertion that I did this year. In other words, last year I was not the limiting factor in my race performance/finish place/time, etc. And this year the nature of the race was such that I WAS the limiting factor. Of course, that should be the the case in almost every race ever, but it was a distinctly new experience for me in this year's birkie as compared to last year.
Takeaway #2: I'm proud of this one. A year and a half ago I hadn't really skied in 7 years, and I've worked hard at it over the last 18 months and now skied myself into the elite field of the Birkie. While there's still much work that needs to be done, when I take a minute to stop and step back and think, I'm so thrilled to be a skier again, to have found myself back in the ski community, and to be in a competitive place. I likely wouldn't have predicted that a couple years ago.
Takeaway #3: There's much work to do. Next year, I'll be in the elite wave. 60 women make it into the wave, and I was 52nd this year. I'll be at the very back of the women's field, and I have a lot of work to do and a lot to learn before I'm ready to mix it up with those women. Now the pressure comes to stay in that top 60, and to continue to improve. I have my sights set on a top 25 finish some day. And of course, I'm also just humbled to know that a year from now I get to toe the line with them. How cool.
Takeaway #3: I love the break from running that skiing gives me. Right now my body is tired, but I'm so ready to rock and roll and excited about running. The switch to skiing and the variation in training, racing, conditions, workouts, etc, that it brings, is so good and so welcomed. I love skiing, and I love running, and I enjoy them both more thoroughly because I get to take a break from each to invest in the other. Now I just have to tuck my excitement for skiing into my back pocket and let it resonate there for a few months. And I'll re-visit that excitement and those dreams come July or August. (Or maybe december, depending upon how running goes)
Takeaway #4: I need to be stronger. WAY stronger. When I look at my hear trate statistics from the race, the elevation charts, my speed over the course compared to other women, my race tactics vs. theirs, etc, its very clear that I need to be stronger. I need to be a better climber. And I need to put more time into the weight room and big weights than I did this year. Anders and I did a pretty good job, I'd give us a "B" if I had to grade it- but I think we can do way better. And I think that will be key for me over the course of the next year. And when I say stronger I don't mean bulkier, I mean strong and lean. Skiing is all about strength to weight and power to weight ratio, I knew that even before this year, but as you move up the ranks of skiing that ratio becomes even more apparent and even more important. I'm not quite sure exactly what that will look like, but I'm eager to do more research and find out. I think that's a variable that I can sink my teeth into and see lots of improvement.
Takeaway #5: I'm very thankful to my husband for teaching me to ski, and for instilling in me a love for skiing once again. I left it behind for almost 8 years (no regrets, wouldn't change a minute of how I spent my time), and now I'm so happy to be a skier again. Thanks Anders!
Takeaway #6: Done racing for the season. There's another race this coming weekend up in biwabik that Anders and I could go ski. However, neither one of us is really feeling the pull. Its another marathon, and I think I would rather end the season with the Birkie experience. There's just nothing like it. Additionally, its supposed to be -5, and I don't have a desire to go race the race if the conditions are going to be miserable this year. I've done that already this year when I needed to, and I don't have to anymore.