The Vasa-slush-it

Extract from the Vasaloppet web site:
“The snow’s consistency was the worst imaginable. The tracks had never frozen fast overnight, and the new snow together with the increasingly milder weather, meant that the course completely lost its firmness. The newly laid tracks held for only about 100 skiers, and then just loosened up again.”
Tommy Höglund, Sport Manager, Vasaloppet.
Kjell Johansson, Chief of Course, Vasaloppet.

The above extract says it all! - No use moaning about it. The day overall was one of frustration but the same for everyone except those in the elite groups I suspect. It was double pole to victory and the victory was the end of a nightmare scenario; that was the reward of all the months of training. Double pole of sorts because conditions dictated that even this was never executed properly. The saving grace was that we were up to the task - we had the fitness to get round the course - and so it was that we completed our first Vasa.

The organisers at Mora had reason to believe that they were in for a good race day - it was cold and the sun was shining - all the ingredients necessary for a superb day. They were unaware that 56 miles away it had begun to snow and temperatures were rising fast - making it the slowest race since 1991. The fastest lady finished just over four minutes behind the first male who took 4 hours 43 minutes to win. The winning time in my poor maths (and don’t ask me at some odd time to work it out again) was approximately 23% slower than the all time best of 3 hours 38 minutes – applying this formula by reducing our times by 23% showed we could have achieved a time of 7 hours 20 minutes or thereabouts?

To substantiate this claim - 2 weeks previously we had trained on the course culminating in a test run from Evertsberg to 2 kilometres short of the finish - this was achieved in 3 hours 5 minutes for 40 kilometres in reasonable to slow conditions. We still felt we had a lot left in the tank. This gave me a secret hope for around a 6 to 7 hours finish. Of course this was not to be. We did manage to pull a fast one by jumping up the groupings from 10 to group 8 (Alan was in group 9). Tee hee hee. The previous week I had sent a polite email to the organisers asking to be placed in a better group - it worked!

Lucy was the 384th female to cross the line. We had stayed together the whole way - it was only in the last few kilometres that she faltered and my alter ego pushed me on to finish ahead of her. I could argue that I was too exhausted and just wanted to finish – and that's the way I like to think of it. It is also true that tears do come when the church is in sight. In my case it was because I knew I had a further 2 kilometres to grovel signalling the end. Lucy was impressive throughout the whole day and at no time complained unlike myself.

Prior to the start I queued for the toilet – at a row of cubicles – I waited about 5 minutes and a queue three deep had formed up behind me – becoming impatient I hammered on the door – no reply – At that point the door creaked open – it was empty! Worse still there was no toilet inside either – I chuckled, in an attempt to pass it off as a joke but those behind gave me cadaverous looks. I eventually entered another cubicle and was presented with a square cardboard box, the size of a biscuit tin – I am not sitting on that, I thought – at this point I will leave the rest to your imagination. The reason I mention this is because if, I had had the misfortune to, let’s say, drop myself in it; I would most certainly have had a clear run (pun) for the first few kilometres up the hill. As it was the start was chaotic as expected – Lucy hanging on for grim death not through pace but fighting to keep with me through the melee – Alan's description from last year, of everyone being 'good natured and patient' was not borne out this year. Foul language from Lucy and a scuffle broke out behind me. I pretended she was not with me as a rough looking bunch of swarthy Italians closed in on us. She held her ground. After some deft stick work on her part and a couple of ouches later the attack was over the Italians thereafter kept us at a distance.

So it was a combination of poor double poling and shuffling along – Alan later described the tracks as being either 2 feet or 2 inches apart – just a snail trail to loosely follow as these so called tracks had no sidewall support of any substance. Arriving at the first checkpoint after 90 minutes it finally dawned that we would have to endure the next 79 kilometres on tracks of similar or worse condition.

One skier dressed as a Red Indian chief was on fine form rousing the spectators into a frenzy, hollering and whooping as he passed – after about 30 minutes it wasn’t funny anymore but try as we might we couldn’t drop him – he eventually whooped off into the distance much to our relief – preferring to suffer in the relative quiet of heavy breathing and cursing skiers. A lady just in front tripped and clattered in a heap; she did not move as we skied round her. No one could help her – no one was sorry – it was just her turn to fall.

I remember a nattily dressed Italian dressed as only an Italian can – he dashed manfully past everyone, with aplomb up a long drag. Crikey, I thought he looks impressive – away he went double poling up the hill shouting encouragement back to everyone as he passed them. We caught him a little while later off to the side of the track – gasping for breath and trying to bring himself under control before his next impressive spurt.

Although Alan started behind us I thought he had slipped ahead of us whilst we were waxing off track. I have no qualms in saying this was my worst fear – if nothing else please let us finish quicker than him. In fact he was suffering much the same as us – even worse, he admitted later that he was unwell at the start. I remember seeing him slumped in the warm up tent by an overflowing rubbish bin – not a pretty sight. I say well done to him for his remarkable performance. Yes we have a friendly rivalry between us – I don't know how it started but deep down I think he knows who the better skier is!

The day before the three of us had skied to Eldris, 9 kilometres along the course – the return journey doing some technique training on double pole single leg kick, I expertly demonstrated how it should be done. "Even if you are completely knackered you should still be able to motor up these little rises", said I confidently; little realizing that those little rises, the next day would seem mountainous and only negotiable by herring boning.

Arriving at Evertsberg – the commentator announced Lucy’s name over the intercom and a photographer rushed over. Of course I pushed my nose in and we both managed a smile for the camera. Only 42 kilometres to go he said jovially – another 26 miles – a marathon!

Our routine would be to arrive at a checkpoint – get the skis off quick – dry them and then whilst Lucy went for the drinks I would try to get some wax onto the skis the whole procedure taking no more than 3 minutes. Apart from my trusted, but useless on this day, violet stick wax the best I had was spray on Toko grip (Universal) – as spotted in the Shepard wax box. Although Alan insisted on waxing his own skis for the race – I think he had gone round and asked every wax technician in Mora for advice. The wax was poor at best and was gone after a few minutes’ skiing. I grimaced as a fellow skier pulled up beside us and produced a new tube of red klister – was this the answer to our problems? Over rushed an eager official snatched it out of his hand and started to warm it up for him. So helpful I thought. But going through my mind were visions of mugging him for it and bungling his body over the hoardings where it could remain undetected for weeks – funny what goes through your mind at times!

Toko service stations, had queues ten deep and doing good business but faring no better as I found out later they had no answer for the snow conditions either. Herring Boning became an art form – we were able to hop uphill for ages – finding the best ground was the key as enormous ruts either side of the tracks had formed – the trick was to go up in between on a sort of hump that ran up the middle whilst everyone else struggled either side. This simple observation amazed me and I couldn’t figure out why others choose to grovel at the sides.

In spite of everything the event was extremely well organised and everyone so helpful and supportive along the route. The welcoming shower afterwards was heaven – situated in the local sports hall and supervised by young ladies – who without batting an eyelid directed naked men to the delights of the waters. As I passed along the line I fancy I saw a sly smile appear on one such young gal – or was I dreaming. Yes I was, she turned to her mate and started to titter.

That evening I announced to Lucy that I had already signed us up for 2008 – a tear came to her eyes and she turned pale – bad joke I thought, drop it. However, a few days later after broaching the subject again she readily agreed we should have another crack at it if only to satisfy ourselves that we can do better. This is rich as I distinctly remember vowing, on several occasions during the race – never to do it again!

Next year we will be better prepared as the following could have made a significant improvement to our circumstances; take more money (to buy wax on route); take more clothes to change into (I had to put some old sweaty stuff back on after the shower); definitely take more wax.

Coda

‘Better to travel hopefully – than to arrive’,
Is a saying that often runs through the mind,
T’is hard training that helps us survive,
And the hope that conditions will be kind,
But, if you want to perform at max,
Pray, pray, pray for a better wax.

author: David Stanton
publish date: March 2007

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