What’s your Fever? Mine is Birkie Fever!

Someone once told me, “Every skier has to ski the Birkie at least once in his or her life!” Well, this past February I took this comment to heart when I traveled to the Midwest to race in the Nation’s largest cross country ski race. The American Birkebeiner (named after the infamous Norwegian Birkebeiner) is not just a race but, as many would describe, it’s a way or life or right of passage. This year there were 7,590 racers – many of who skied 50 treacherous kilometers, and many that experienced a strong case of “Birkie Fever.” I was one of them…

Birkie Fever, as so many skiers affectionately call it, is a healthy obsession with the race. Some compare it to coming down with the flu in the sense that it temporarily takes over your life. Before the race people obsess over reports on weather.com, they voraciously discuss ski wax options, consider 10 different clothing options and layering techniques, and wonder what to eat, and when to eat it. At bib pick up the day prior to the race I could feel a healthy buzz of nerves and excitement as racers entered the Telemark Lodge. The hallway leading to bib pick up took us past the wall of pictures with every Birkie winner, female and male, for the past 36 years of the race.

The Birkie was to be my first race outside of Alaska in a long time. I knew I had lots of time on skis through numerous coaching sessions (where I was working) and a handful of other quality workouts with my local friends and training partners. I had done well in local citizens races but didn’t know how I would fare in a much more competitive ski marathon environment.

My nerves before the competition left me with butterflies in my stomach and the night before my race I woke up every ½ hour. As I lined up in the women’s elite wave I looked left and right at my competitors standing on either side of me and then allowed one glance back at the thousands of skiers that were to start behind us at two minute wave increments. It was time for the moment that I had anticipated the last few months. The gun went off and “boom” – we double poled off the line and transitioned into our skating technique.

Despite my anxiety, the race went surprisingly well. I paced myself correctly and ended up skiing 35 kilometers of the race with a lead pack of three other women. We took turns “pulling the pack” (similar to drafting on a bike) and took necessary feeds of sports drink, energy gels, and towards the end of the race, Coca Cola. The last two kilometers of the race crossed Lake Hayward and I knew that whoever wanted to win the race would have to make their move there. Being the only racer that didn’t officially race for the Saab-Salomon Factory Team, I was worried about team tactics. Sure enough, we hit the lake and the other three called me forward to lead the group through the headwind en route to the finish line. Reluctantly, I skied to the front and tried to conserve my energy for the sprint that was sure to determine the outcome of the race.

Once I saw the ’500 meters to go’ sign, I knew it was time to make a move. I was aware that the other women were skiing behind me but I didn’t know who it was or how strong they appeared to be. I accelerated, skiing my hardest and was the first female skier to make the ninety-degree turn onto Main Street Hayward. (Once a year, for the finish of the Birkie, race organizers truck snow onto downtown streets for the end of the race. Spectators line the finish chute, sometimes six or seven people deep. They honk horns, ring bells, and yell and shout for their favorite skiers.) All of a sudden my mind started working in slow motion. I remember thinking, What am I doing LEADING the American Birkebeiner! I chose a finish lane and skated as hard as I possibly could with my focus on the paper tape stretched across the finish line. Five feet from the finish I realized that there was a skier directly to my left and that I would have to lunge for the line and overall female title. I pushed my foot forward with every ounce of the energy and flexibility that I could muster and landed in an exhausted pile on the other side of the line.

Photo courtesy of Andy Canniff/Swix Sports

Face to the snow, with my heart beating out of my chest, I knew that Rebecca’s toe had crossed the line first. I knew that I had lost the American Birkebeiner by three inches after 50 kilometers of racing. I was upset to loose by such a small margin but at the same time, I was elated to be on the podium at the end of the day.

Watch Holly get “edged out” at the finish line…

Birkie Fever doesn’t end when you cross the finish line. In my unique experience, the fever only became stronger. If I had won the race, I might not have a reason to go back next year. However, my three-inch deficit left me hungry and more motivated than ever before. Perhaps the “fever” will trigger my memory on a cold, rainy day when I want to stay inside rather than go out and train. One of my old coaches used to tell me, “When you are lying in bed thinking of excuses, your competitors are out training!”

If there is a message in all of this, I suppose I would like to urge you to find your athletic vice; your “Birkie fever.” Whether it’s a single event like or a regular training group, or simply the fact that you reward yourself with fancy coffee after a long weekend run – get after it! Think of your “fever” as “preventative health care” or an all-natural diet pill, anti-depressants, and caffeine boast all in one! On those rainy cold days, you can be assured that I will be out training too!

Good luck and have fun!

HOLLY BROOKS is a Nordic ski coach at Alaska Pacific University in Anchorage where she coaches junior and master athletes for competition and to support a healthy lifestyle. She's also an active competitor in cross country skiing and mountain running events... {more»}