Greta's First Ski Race

All smiles before the race

Back in mid-March, on a sunny Saturday morning, my phone rang. It was a friend and mother to Greta's beste venn (best friend) at the barnehage. The little boy proudly told Greta he was going to do a ski race that day and would she like to do it too? With a personal invitation like that, how could she resist? She eagerly shouted "JA!" and we were off to the races. . . 


I was, myself, both skeptical and a bit worried about how the day might turn out. But the race was on our "home course", located on a farm a kilometer or so from our front door, and sponsored by the neighborhood ski club, so we felt compelled to get involved and perhaps meet some of our neighbors who had been hiding in their homes all winter long. Well, when they weren't out on the ski course, that is.


A little background before I continue. . . you may or may not know that Erik was, once up

A little chocolate and verbal encouragement
midway through from Pappa

on a time, a talented and competitive ski racer, training full time for over half a decade after his college career was over. And while I briefly competed in high school, I would never call myself a competitive nor talented cross country skier. That said, getting our 3 year old daughter on skis has never been with the intention or hope that she would someday be a superstar skier. Greta was a late crawler, a late walker, and even today struggles with tasks that demand leg strength, like climbing stairs. The fact that her barnehage focuses so much on outdoor play and activity in nature has been one of the things we appreciate most. Kids in other barnehages are outside a lot, too, but this particular barnehage takes the kids out hiking, skiing and biking nearly every day, in addition to regular outside play. And there is something about group mentality and being encouraged by a teacher (and not a parent) that encourages a 3-year old to ski/walk/hike/bike longer, farther, and more often than that 3-year old might be willing to do at home. 

At least the view was nice!

Greta had been skiing several times a week since the first snowfall in December, including an entire "ski week" at barnehage, where the kids learned how to get their boots into the bindings, how to stand up when they fall down, how to untwist their skis when they get crossed, how to go fiskebein (herringbone) up a hill and how to crouch and balance their weight down a hill. (Keep in mind that her barnehage is located next to the 1994 Olympic ski trails and continue to host elite level skiers from all over the world). However, the focus has all been about having FUN and the teachers emphasized that ski sessions with Greta should be short--10, 20 minutes max--and positive experiences. 


That's why I was worried about this ski "race" for our 3-year old. Would it be fun? And would it be short? 

Encouragement and company from a best friend

Thankfully, it was a short course: just 400 meters for the youngest kids. Unfortunately, it was not flat. After a brief flat start, the course gently sloped downhill--just enough to make Greta very uneasy, require physical support from her Pappa, and still manage to crash and burst into tears within the first 50 meters. The downhill continued for another 50 meters before it began to (gently) climb for the next 200 meters. Tears and complaints were met with encouragement and short goals rewarded with bites of chocolate. She was given the option to stop, telling her it should be fun. But she wouldn't quit. She knew if she didn't finish she couldn't "win" (her goal, not ours!!!). Her best friend, now finished with his 400 meter race, came to provide a little company and cheering half way through. After about 300 meters, the trail dropped quickly, twisting and turning back on itself before heading to the finish. By this point, the elementary and middle school kids were finishing their 1km and 3km races, sprinting past us (classic style). Even some adults, racing a 5km loop, were finishing. Greta finished in 35 minutes. (Or at least that's what the final results said. We actually think they stopped timing.)

Approaching the finish line with determination and a little help from Mamma

The organizers didn't hand out any prizes or even finishers ribbons that day, which I thought was really unfortunate. Greta was wiped out and brittle, and a medal or ribbon could have boosted her spirits immensely and really ended the whole experience on a high note. Instead, little shot-glass sized "trophies" were handed out at the annual awards night several weeks later, which we did not attend. A hug from her best friend and plenty of pølser (hot dogs--a staple at any event hosted by Norwegians) would have to suffice for her reward.

A job well-done pat on the back from a best friend

Despite the tears and complaints on her end, and that nagging feeling of did-we-push-too-much on my/our end, she was quite proud of herself afterwards. On Monday morning she proudly announced to her barnehage teachers that she had done a ski race, and being the professionals that they are, they responded with the appropriate level of surprise, praise and admiration.


If anything, it was a beautiful sunny spring day in Lillehammer. We met neighbors and folks who we'll likely be seeing in the school yard, at birthday parties and at the grocery store--not to mention the ski trails--in the years to come. And perhaps most interesting of all was participating in the most Norwegian of all possible activities--a ski race, this time on the local level where the indoctrination begins!

Birkebeinerrennet: The official Lillestange update

Greta "heia"ing Racer #625, with norsk 
og amerikansk flagger.

My apologies (mostly to my husband) on my delayed-by-a-week entry on the Birkebeinerrennet. I was all fired up about my own ski race, and pounded out a blog entry that very day. The Birkie is a much bigger deal than my measley 15K race attracting 4,000 women. This is a ski marathon, Norway's largest, one of the world's most well known races, 54km long, over a mountain, and attracting 16,000 racers! Yes, you read that right: 16,000 skiers. 

Just beyond the finish line.
Check out the bluebird skies! What a day.

I am not nearly nuts enough nor in shape enough to even dream about completing or competing in a Birkebeiner ski race. But Erik was, and reported that it was "fun". Also quite exhausting. And he's ready to do it again next year. And is dangerously close to becoming competitive about it. 


He woke at 3:20am, drove down the hill to Lillehammer, hopped on a bus at 4am, and was driven 2 hours to the start. Around 7am his wave (the 2nd wave of starters, based on qualifying race finishes) was allowed to place their skis at the start, and at 8:10am his wave started, just 5 minutes after the first wave. 


In the meantime, I was receiving text messages on my phone telling me what his times passed through a few checkpoints along the race. This was rather handy, as I was able to time our arrival at the finish rather well, as well as have a really accurate estimate of when we should be carefully watching for Erik to finish. 


Greta and I positioned ourselves about 400m from the finish line, complete with a small norsk flagg and a somewhat embarrassingly large amerikansk flagg (hey, it was all I had). It attracted some curious looks, which I admit was really kind of the point. We stood along a section of trail where the racers would first cross above us from right to left, then swing down a tight hill and pass in front of us again from left to right. This enabled me to spot Erik coming up a short hill, where we could cheer for him twice, then turn around, and sprint 100m through the snow carrying a 29lb kid + 10lbs of clothing, and cheer for him sprinting towards the finish. 

A slitten Pappa and a stolt Greta.

It was another beautiful day, with bright blue skis, temps hovering just around freezing. The snow and tracks were in excellent condition, according to Erik. And it was a well-timed race, as the next 4 days brought nothing but sunshine and above freezing temperatures. Spring had arrived (and none too soon, if you ask me).

First spring weekend

Our lunch spot by the riverside

 Spring has arrived in Lillehammer, and the locals were out on the ski trails in droves this past weekend, soaking up the sunshine and basking in the balmy 35F weather. This is a pretty common Norwegian spring custom: pack a matpakke (packed lunch), ski in to a sunny spot, maybe dig out a little bench from a snowpile, kick back and enjoy the sunshine, and ski back out again.

We joined the droves, packing up a lunch and some wood for a little bål (fire) to grill our pølse (hot dogs). We were not alone. A second family picnicked next to us, and we were joined by easily a dozen other ski/lunchers.

Tika licking her lips at lunchtime

As we skied home, we spotted a large group of students gathering at the riverside--all on skis--hanging out for an afternoon in the sunshine.

All in all, not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Students at the riverside 

Inga-Låmi (warning: i get a little babbly)

Today marked my triumphant return to ski racing, which has been mourning my absence for the last 18 years. Hard to believe my last ski race was when I was 5 years old, but it's true. . .


The Inga-Låmi ski race was held in Lillehammer today, and is Norway's largest women-only ski race, with generally around 4,000 women competing. There are two distances, 15km and 30km, both classic style. I opted for the slightly shorter 15km route.


The Inga-Låmi is the female version of the Birkebeiner ski race*, which I wrote about on August 28. Briefly, Inga was the single mother to Norway's infant King Håkon, who gave birth to her son in 1205 after his father, King Håkon Sverresson, had already died. The Birkebeiner ski, running and bike races commemorate the trip that the birkebeiner loyalists skied in 1206, as they rescued the infant King Håkon from the bad guys. Presumably, Inga skied much of the route along with the loyalists, because what mother would trust a bunch of cross-country skiers with her only child? The Inga-Låmi race was started in 1993 in order to celebrate and recognize Inga's role in Norwegian history. Want a not so brief history? Try here.

As I said, I haven't been in a cross country ski race for a number of years, the last time when I was a senior in high school. And since I had just learned to ski that year (joined the team, then learned to ski, in that order), I really only remember participating in one race. I've skied more this season than I've skied in probably the last 5 years combined, what with working full time, pregnancy, young baby, long drives to trails and shitty snow conditions. So, let's see this year: no job, not pregnant, child in nursery school, walk 3 minutes to the trails and best snow conditions EVER. I really have no excuse, other than sheer laziness and sometimes feeling like "I've had my fill of skiing for the year" (a feeling that could get me shot in Norway if I were to utter it out loud in March).

Erik waxing at the start.

So the day before the race, I decided to "race" the Inga-Låmi, if only for the cultural experience of skiing with 2,509 other Norwegian women. Turns out it was really fun.


While my race didn't begin until 11am, Erik had been volunteered (as part of his Lillehammer Ski Club duty) to wax skis at the race starting at 7:30am (the 30km race started at 9am). He reported being so busy that at one point each of the 30 waxers had 15 women in line, prompting Erik's table-mate to ask, "don't any women wax their own skis?" Other women, when asked by Erik what wax they currently had on their skis, would shrug and say, "whatever was on for last year's race," indicating that they hadn't skied since. . . last year's race.


This was, in part, why I felt comfortable deciding to do this race the night before. For many women, for most of the women I dare say, this was not a Race. This was an well-organized, popular ski tur. 


I walked to the race from our house, pushing Greta in her jogging stroller, feeling very norsk walking to a ski race, with my kiddo's own mini-skis sticking out of the stroller pocket. I arrived about 20 minutes before the race, found Erik frantically waxing a few skis, changed into ski boots, stripped off a few layers of clothing as the temps were quickly rising to high-20s (F), and decided to run to the porta-pottys.


Rookie mistake! I missed my 11am wave start (the first of the 15km timed-racers), and unnskyld-ed "sorry" my way towards the front of several hundred women waiting for their 11:10, 11:20, 11:30 start. A little unsure of what I should do, and who or how to even ask, I just told an official at the front, "Jeg er klokka 11!" (I'm 11 o'clock!) and since it was by then 11:05. . . I took off. . . by myself. Probably looking like a complete dork.


I had been getting a little nervous that morning as I gathered things together for the race, but then I thought, "what's the worse that could happen?" Aside from breaking a leg (highly unlikely), it was really just sheer exhaustion, and what's so bad about that? And I didn't think it was really all that possible in just a 15km race. So, my goal was to have fun and not be afraid to get a little tired; and about mid-way through the race I added a goal of "not falling".


Dumb. Shortly after that thought crossed my mind, I headed down a steep hill, gaining speed. I was also gaining on the woman in front of me, yet not able to move to either the left or the right due to other skiers. I attempted to snowplow, not terribly easy with one ski in a set track, and as soon as possible moved to the left-most track once it was clear, but didn't quite make it cleaning into the tracks, and crashed into the snow bank, a clearly American English expletive escaping my lips. I wanted to declare as I hopped back up, "Sorry, but I'm American! I don't know what the hell I'm doing!" Thankfully, I managed to avoid any other skiers, quite unlike another woman I saw 10 minutes later, who took out two women--one on either side of her--as she grabbed them to stabilize herself, heading down a hill.


By 13km I was feeling a little wobbly, hoping I could stay upright on the few short downhills we had left, because I wasn't sure I could correct and catch myself should I start to fall again. I pulled it off, and also managed to sprint to the finish, which I'm sure was a very impressive sight. . . 46 minutes after the race had been won. One hour, 29 minutes. 75th out of 160 in my age group. Not too shabby considering that at the beginning of the ski season I didn't even recognize my classic skis as being my own.

This kid's already so Euro: When told Mamma was going
to be in a ski race today, Greta asked, "On TV?"
Because every kid watches ski-racing on Saturday
mornings with their Pappas, right?

It was one of the more beautiful late winter days we've had--bright blue sunny skies--and Erik announced when I was finished "in all my years of ski racing, 99% of the races did not have weather like this." Next weekend is the Birkebeiner, a race in which Greta announced, "the pappas put the numbers on their legs and ski and the mammas stay home with the kids." We then decided that actually the mammas don't stay home, "they go to the race and hi-ya, hi-ya** the pappas."


So, sign me up for next year. It was great fun. And if I do it for 10 years, I get a cool statue of Inga herself.


* Yes, women are allowed to compete in the Birkebeiner races.


**Hi-ya! Hi-ya! is the most popular of Norwegian race chants, and is actually
used as a verb, as I was once asked--in English--"Did you hi-ya for Norway or USA?"


August 28