Vasaloppet Race Report

I quite like the Mora.

It's sort of a little cousin to the Birkie, and a totally different race, but it feels, just, very Minnesotan. The race itself is unassuming—no big, named climbs, no world-class trail, no elite wave—just a lightly-rolling trail 58k (the longest major race in the country) from Salen, I mean, Warman to Mora. The country is beautiful, and, again, pure Minnesota. Mostly hardwood forest but several fields and prairies, some swamps—basically what you'd see if you drive across the central part of the state. And while the race doesn't seem hard, there are no real downhills—no rests—for thirty-five miles.

It's a lot of fun.

The trail itself is never really perfect, but was, this year, very good. The start was groomed not-that-great, as seems to generally be the case in this race, with a lot of ridges between the tracks. It was groomed quite well most of the way with a few minor issues: scattered dirt (rare and avoidable), a classic track, which wasn't really necessary for the skate race, and road crossings which could have used more snow. Otherwise, it was great. So goes the season.

We headed up 65 to Mora (no, Google Maps, it does not 1:51 and you should not take 35) and got to the gym, Collin cursing me because, apparently, he really did have to use the bathroom and there was nowhere along 65 to stop. We grabbed bibs and camped out in the high school for a while, and then jumped on a school bus up to the start. The Mora is about the only race I can think of where you ride from the finish to the start, and it's a rather long bus ride when you consider that the 35k skiers ski it in a straight line and the 58k is more than half again as long as the bus ride. (The same thing happened this fall when I ran a marathon and, on the bus to the start, thought "I have to race this?") But the start was warm and sunny and I skied out to the trail juncture (about 1k), stripped down, and waited for the national anthem (belting it out with Zach Handler) before the gun went off.

Actually, the gun went off, and then the gates went up. And several of us got tangled in the gates. It was not good. I caught a pole and finally got going, but by this point there were 100 skiers in front of me. Yes, many were doing the 35k, but many were not. I wended and double poled my way back towards the front pack, hoping to keep contact until Liebsch (no-poles skating—"That's not fair!" was my reaction) slowed it down.

Which happened. There was a bottleneck at the first little hill on the 58k, and I could see no one was pushing it. However, there was some concern—last year this pack had had about a dozen and a half skiers in it, this year it was easily triple that size. Race fields have been much deeper this year—which might not bode well for those of us at the bottom of the Birkie elite wave (however, my consolation/rationalization is that everyone who's anyone skis the Birkie). I should do a quick chart of the number of skiers within x% of the winner this year versus last—I'm sure it's significantly higher.

Now seems like a good time to talk about a few truths of Mora. If you are reading this and have skied it, or plan to ski it, please keep these in mind:

• The race goes out slow. It's a 58k and it's flat. No one is going to win in the first three kilometers. This means a couple of things: a) keep contact with the lead pack as long as possible and b) you didn't need those fluoros—they'll be gone by the time you'd need them to go fast.
• Once the pack thins, it thins fast. Someone at the front decides to put the hammer down, and it moves. So, try to get in to the pack where you think you'll be, but don't kill yourself. It's a 58k race. (With the bigger fields, yeah, you want to get where you think you should be. But try to do that before the trail narrows down.)
• Do not do anything stupid—or that you'd do in a 5k—to gain two or three spots. It's a 58k race. If you need to pass, double pole in the tracks, but not on hills. Hills will bottleneck. There are six of them on the whole course. Wait your turn. Don't try to pass on the hill, you are much more likely to fall down than you are to gain any meaningful time. I have a little remorse for the guy whose pole got stepped on and broken, because that sucks. I have no remorse for the guy who tried to pass me on a hill and fell down.
• If someone is letting gaps form, let them know about it. Don't passive-aggressively try to go around them. But don't let gaps form. Four hard V2s and you'll catch the folks in front of you. If someone tells you to close the gap, especially if they are the third woman in the race, close the gap.
• Once the big pack breaks up, it's a pack race. You are screwed if you ski the whole way on your own, unless your name is Matt Liebsch. If it is, hi Matt. If not, take it easy. There's no need to attack a pack at 11k unless you do plan to catch the on in front of you.
• If you want to try to break a group (and this doesn't really apply in the last 10k when the trail is wider), offer to take a pull. If you get in front, you'll be doing more work. If you want to push the tempo and see if you can break it, go for it. But if you can't see anyone ahead of you, you're not likely to get very far.
• Speaking of which, do not draft the whole way and expect me to let you in or be nice to you. Skiers could learn from cyclists. Everyone takes a pull. It's not cool to sit behind someone the whole way. Pull for two or three k, and then let someone else. With a pack of seven following me at one point, after I'd pulled for three k, I asked someone to take a pull. More than one guy—the only other guy to do the work—should have volunteered. I like setting the pace, but not the whole race.
• And finally, here's how to behave around the top women (I skied most of the race with women 1, 2 and 3). First of all, if they ask you to do something simple, like let them ski together, or not let gaps form, or let them pass on a flat (you can jump right behind them—and they like to take pulls), do it. They are the ones who are borderline olympians (Carolyn, 5th in this race, probably would be in Vancouver for biathlon—she went to Torino 2006—had her gun not malfunctioned). Not you. And—and take note number 299; yes I am calling you out here (the results don't have bib numbers; er, now they do, and I know who you are, and you are younger than me, and you have a lot to learn)—if I get to the side to double pole, I am doing so in order to let Anna and/or Jojo pass me. Not you. When the guy behind you has to say "hey he's letting the girls pass, not you" take a hint. Had you taken a single pull, I might let you by. You had not.

Anyway, there's a lot in there about my race. I fell in to a sort of chase pack and, with a guy in a UNH suit, led a lot of the way. The elite women caught us around 20k but skied in the pack—which me and UNH were leading—until the halfway point. Being in a pack was very important. While the winds were generally a tail wind, the course winds around a lot, and there were a lot of points where the headwind was rather strong. We hit one section on a frozen lake/river and had a perfect tail wind, I exclaimed "this is what I'm talking about" and had a smile from ear to ear. Then there was a hill. I broke it some, UNH did some, we let the girls hang out in back, and it would have been nice for others to take a pull. We did catch a few guys, and were moving at a good, but not brutal, pace.

At 29k—or maybe a bit later; it was right after a feed—the girls took off. A few of us jumped on their tails—we'd done work for them after all. Kristina Owen jumped out to a lead and the pack didn't really follow. I skied with JoJo Winters for a while, and Anna McLoon was nearby most of the time. Kristina was gone, and for a while it was a pack of four or five of us, me, UNH, JoJo and Anna. JoJo later jumped behind a relay skier (the lead one) who was going a slightly shorter distance (oh, say, 10k) and rode him, and the pack was down to me, UNH (okay, his name is Philip) and Anna. The boys did most of the work, but Anna helped out, so, thanks.

Last year, I bonked at 52k, but this year I had goos and ate one on a long, gradual downhill (and the flats afterwards) and it went down pretty well. I'd had very minor dehydration cramps near the start, but they worked out—I felt good most of the way. There was one nasty section after a road crossing which required some double poling and fancy footwork; but with a couple experienced skiers we all took it easy—no one tried to jump anything in there.

We had to dodge some 35k skiers. Most were fine—we were going considerably faster having skied 48k in the time it took them to ski 25 (twice as fast) but a few needed a few yells of "on your left. On Your Left. ON YOUR LEFT!" before they got it. We headed through the last feed and there was a woman standing in the middle of the trail—back to the trail—taking pictures of … something. I lost it. "Get off the trail you're standing in the middle of the race!" I yelled in a very not-Minnesotan way. I was skiing with someone who, presumably, spent some time at UNH, and a woman who's in a Ph.D. program at Harvard (she went there undergrad) and my New England popped out. Come to think of it, instead of saying down the trail "I'm not an arsehole, I just get amped up sometimes" I should have said "I'm from Boston—sometimes it pops out like that." Then we told stories about stupid spectators and people who won't get out of the way.

Anyway, we caught another fellow who kind of messed with the little group. He was going slower but jumped on (nothing wrong there) but a) didn't really take pulls and b) was a chronic pole stepper-on-er. Now, everyone steps on poles. It happens, and it's not the end of the world. You take a stronger step than someone, you get to close, you nick their pole, you apologize, or if you have had your pole nicked, you say "no worries." It happens, especially in pack skiing.

I have nothing against this guy, but he stepped on my poles a couple of times. At one point he got enough of it to actually rip it off my hand (but not break it, although I may need a new grip—this will be assessed soon). He apologized, and everyone waited for me, but, come on. Nicking a pole is one thing. That's inexcusable. And a k later it happened again. There was no wind—he was too close. And I'd tired out from circling back and sprinting back to the group, so both guys beat me in the sprint up the hill (we had to circumnavigate some 35kers coming off the lake, too). Anna was back a bit. I came down Main Street (or whatever street it is) with no one to catch, and no one catching me, and didn't have to kill myself.

I grabbed snacks and gabbed some, and then got my clothes and waited for Hans, who was grabbing the van (thanks, Hans). A guy walked by (not a skier) and said "oh, so did you do the 52k?" I looked up and said, "yeah, and then tacked on an extra 6k for good measure—and so I'd get to the finish line." In any case, it was a good time. Collin and I blasted down 65, grabbed lunch at Culvers, and, while it was sunny during the whole race (thank goodness for sunglasses) it was snowing in Saint Paul.

And how did I do? Last year, I finished in 2:38, 20 minutes off of Matt Liebsch. This year, I finished in 2:35, 19 minutes off of Liebsch. So, just about the same. I was eight places back of last year, but the fields are deeper. In any case, I felt good and had fun, so what more can I ask for?

Mora

Of the big races around, the only ones I hadn't skied up to this year were Seeley, Pepsi and the Mora (and the Noque, but that is not really "around" since it is seven hours away). And I guess the Finlandia, but that's not a "big" race. When I'd been in college we generally headed up to the Pre-Birkie/North End in Birkieland this weekend and since college I was in Maine (2007) and indoors (2008, when the temperature was -10 and the wind chill pushing -40). But this year, we'd make the Mora.

Like the Seeley Classic, the undertaking of the Mora only set in a day or two before the race. Sure it's notoriously flat (two not-even-major, uh, noticeable climbs), but it is 58k long. It's just like the Swedish version except it starts in Warman, not Salen, is skate, not classic, is 2/3 the distance and has, oh, 1/15th the participants. But I ate well and was ready to go on Sunday morning.

Saturday evening, with my skis waxed, I left the ski team to finish their waxing (This was after telling them that, when waxing, you don't need to hold [the wax on the iron], you just need to touch [the wax to the iron]. Or as it came out, "you don't need to hold it, just touch it. See, you don't need to hold it, just touch it." Which was followed by the obligatory "that's what she said.") and they were promptly kicked out of the athletic facility and finished waxing in dorm rooms. I made the 6:45 van call and we headed up the lonely highway to Mora.

We rolled in to Mora, and through Mora, and then realised that, uh, we had rolled through Mora, so we rolled back to Mora, and all was well. It would have been nice to have, you know, some signs, but at least, after passing the wide spot in the road that is Mora, we figured it out quickly. We checked in at the high school, complete with pictures of their graduating classes from the 50s (full of -sens, -sons and -nens) and boarded the buses to the start.

The Mora start is a big field. Luckily it was 25 above—I can't imagine what the year before was like with the wind howling up the start with temperatures way below zero. They had these nice fires built which were probably a godsend last year and this year were not really necessary. (Last year's start pictures, and other pictures, look a lot like this year's, except in last year's you can't see any exposed skin on people's faces.) I skied out the start—there was a little dirt but it was very wide—picked a lane, realised that I hadn't taken off my pants, put them in the bag, and ran back to my skis on the front line on the left. I'd take a wider turn outside but hopefully with fewer people.

The anthem was sung and at the "home of the brave" we were off. The leaders went out pretty fast, and we rounded the corner, making a 180 to another field. The lead pack was getting away but as I was about to let them do so Zach Handler skied by. I said hi to him, and he passed me, and then I said to him, "I'm skiing with you" and we started pounding. We were at the front of the second group, busted up to jump on to the tail end of the lead pack, got in to a draft and settled in.

And then, everything slowed down. John Swain at one point took a spill on a kind of nasty downhill, but was able to get up and ski right back in to the pack. Everyone was having conversations. From about 2k to 14k, no one went hard. At one point, the top two women skied in to the back of the pack yelling "elite women, elite women" as if the red sea should part for them, and then saw that they were maybe 50m behind Liebsch, Giese and others and just settled in. Collin, in his Mac pants, took the lead for a couple kilometers. No one was pushing anything. We skied 1/4 of the race at a relaxed pace, with about 20 of us just V2ing along, doing out best not to draft in to each other on the downhills.

Here's the lead pack about 10k in. About one skier is out of the shot. Note that the train just keeps on going. And no one looks tired.

And then at the 14k, someone decided that this was actually a ski race. Someone made a move, someone responded, and the pack disintegrated. Actually, it sounds like some guys (Liebsch) took it really fast for about 10k, until they'd shaken the pack down to about a half dozen, and then Matt attacked, and kept thinking people were behind him, and kept skiing faster and faster, and won by four minutes or something.

I, on the other hand, fell in to the second group of skiers, who (big surprise) were right behind us. With some breeze, it was important to be in a pack. So for, oh, 30k, we all skied together. I was in front and me and about three other folks took turns leading, and there were definitely some freeloaders. I'd rather be an honest racer than freeload and win, although it probably sapped some energy I could have used later. The course is really quite nice. Some of the road crossings were iffy, but most of it was in nice, flat, beautiful hardwood forests, with sections out on the Knife River, across marshes, and maybe two hills of note.

Feeds were imperative, but whilst I knew there was blueberry soup at the end, I did not know there was blueberry soup at feeds. Maybe it works for folks doing a more of a tour, but I didn't want to experiment with blueberry soup 20k in to a 60k race. I grabbed one feed of luke-warm blueberry soup feed, poured it in my mouth, realised what it was, swallowed a little and spit most of it out. All over my number. Which is actually appropriate; most of the finishers had blueberry soup stains on their bibs at the end.

Also, because the Mora crosses a ton of roads, I kept seeing the same people at each crossing (using their fancy ICEs to get to the next road faster than us on our skis). Hey look there's Diana Trembley's support dude. Again. There's John Swain's dad taking pictures. Again. I did not have a support team, for what it's worth, and made do with feed-food.

We skied on. All the kilometers are marked with weathered, yellow signs, and when we crossed a road at 29k I realised that we were half way. I was feeling pretty good, but we still had 29k to go. That's a pretty good distance. Around 40k, maybe a bit further along, we saw some skiers way beyond us. In the Bear Chase last year, I had started off pretty slow and led my (small) pack on the final sprints to catch (and pass) several folks, but this would not be. It was probably several hundred meters, and I'd take my turn pulling, but we never got going too fast.

I was pretty thirsty between food stops and kept wondering if it would be bad manners to ask someone who had a drink belt for a drink. My decision was that it was. However, going down a hill a guy in front of me took a drink and dropped his water bottle, and cursed. That's why I don't bring a bottle—ski with it for 40k, try to take a drink, drop the thing, and get angry. Not worth the trouble. However, in this case, I reached down and snagged it, and yelled "I got it, I got it!" I skied up next to him and as I did I said "hey do you mind if I take a drink?" I assumed the answer was no—I'm pretty sure it was—when he got it back it was going to still have infinitely more liquid than if it had rolled to the side of the trail for all eternity. I assume he was grateful.

Finally, around 52k (6k to go) someone decided to attack the group. My first thought was to jump on to the attack—I was sitting about third out of nine so I just had to jump on their tail. It took me about four hard V2 strokes to realise that I was done. A shame, too, I was sitting in about 17th and must have bonked pretty hard. I don't remember much about the last five k—crossing a frozen river was cool, going through some folks' backyards was fun as well, the lake was nice, the climb off the lake wasn't bad and I finished all alone. In 26th place.

Still, it was a good race. I finished 14% back of Matt Liebsch, and since he is insane and won by four of five minutes, 10% off of anyone else. Oh, and I have his boots (I bought classic boots off him a couple years back, and no I am not winning classic races). I skied a strong race with a bunch of elite wave types, and was less than two minutes out of 17th. Which means I lost two minutes in the last six or seven k—that's pretty awful. Oh, well.

The feed at the end was rather large and very welcome. I ate a bunch of oreos, drank a bunch of gatorade and blueberry soup, ate more food, drank more, and then, with everyone else done (Collin had finished five minutes ahead of me, and a tenth of a second beyond John Swain, and the girls had skied the 35k). Next time I will be bringing some goo along, so I don't bonk again.

Results

I guess I was happy. Then I lost to pretty much everyone in this pack.

John and Collin sprint to the finish. Sprints are fun.