AMERICAN BIRKEBEINER by Lindsey Addison
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ross-country skiing is my favorite way to get outside in the winter. Quietly gliding through a beautiful snowy forest can’t be beat. I grew up in Wisconsin and learned how to ski in elementary school. No formal lessons, no ski team–I just tried to keep up with my dad on winter outings to state and county parks. I’m grateful I learned at a young age, and today I love introducing newcomers to the sport. Teaching beginning Nordic skiing for the Mazamas with my co-instructor Larry Welsh is something I look forward to each year. Since the late '90s, my dad has capped off his ski season with the American Birkebeiner. Founded in 1973, the Birkie is the largest cross-country ski race in North America, with around 11,000 skiers each year. It’s named after the Norwegian Birkebeiner Rennet, and both races honor the soldiers who skied infant Prince Haakon to safety in the 1206 Norwegian civil war. They were called “birkebeiners” because of the birch-bark leggings they wore. Each year three skiers reenact the event on traditional wooden skis, dressed in full costume, carrying a baby. Okay, it’s actually a doll – they swap it for a real baby just before the finish line. There are two disciplines in cross-country skiing—the Birkie’s skate ( freestyle) course is the standard 50 km, and the classic (diagonal) course is 55 km. Both go from Cable to Hayward, Wisconsin. Over the years, my dad has asked me if I’d ever consider doing the Birkie with him, and I’d say sure, maybe someday. This year, I decided I was ready for a new challenge and said, “Yes, let’s do it!” Up until this past winter I’ve strictly been a recreational skier. I didn’t even know much about proper technique until I started teaching in 2019. The furthest I’d ever skied in a day was 13 miles, and now I’d signed myself up for 33! Oh, and just because there’s no mountains, you think Wisconsin is flat? The course’s total elevation gain is over 4,500 feet! I knew this was going to push my limits. I enjoy going uphill as much as the next mountaineer, and I consider myself to be in fairly good shape, but I’m not a runner, and definitely not a marathoner. The closest experience I’d had were some bicycle centuries, but that was a few years ago. Over the winter, my strategy was to spend as many days at Teacup as I could. I trained to put in more and more distance, focused on improving my technique, and upgraded my gear. Plenty of snow in December got my season off to a strong start. Unfortunately, a health issue sidelined me for two full weeks around the holidays, but I got right back out there. By late January I felt pretty dialed in. I’d teach class in the morning, go back out and ski 10–12 miles in the afternoon, head to Mazama Lodge for a hot shower and Kiki’s delicious food, and then I’d go out again the next day for as long as daylight allowed. As the big day approached, I did the math. My average pace would put me at the finish line between 7½–8 hours, so it was going to be close—the course closed 8 hours and 15 minutes after my wave’s start time! Was I as ready or as fit as I wanted to be? No. But it would have to do. I wrapped my skis
The author skiing through northwoods Wisconsin, about 30 km from the start of the 2022 Birkebeiner. and poles in multiple layers of cardboard and foam, prayed to the baggage handling gods, and boarded my plane. Happily my gear arrived unscathed. My dad and stepmom picked me up in Madison, and we drove north. Birkie morning dawned clear and cold with a beautiful pastel pink sunrise. Dad and I put on our gear and hopped in the car to catch a shuttle bus to the starting line. The local Ojibwe nation radio station was broadcasting live from the starting line, interviewing skiers, volunteers, and spectators, and playing Birkie songs with silly lyrics about the history of the race, ski waxing, and the course’s famous hills and landmarks.
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