Birkie Fever

Hannah Shepard
Sun, 20 Nov 2011 12:10:26 +0000
Adventure, Explore, Birkie, explore, Northeast, Shepard, ski, sport

By Hannah Shepard

Jesse Coenen is currently saving his money for some top-notch wax. His closet boasts a collection of 11 ski bibs, each with a personalized story stapled inside. He is already planning the day he’ll start growing out his beard. And this year, as is his tradition, Coenen transformed the outgoing message on his answering machine into a countdown clock:

A combination of warm breath and freezing temperatures creates a "beardcicle." Photo by Brett Morgan.

“Hey! You’ve reached Jesse. I just want you to realize, and be certain, because this is awfully important. The Birkie is in 158 days. GET READY.”

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The Birkebeiner, affectionately nicknamed “The Birkie” by its passionate participants, is the largest cross-country ski marathon in North America. It spans 54 kilometers from Cable, Wis., to Hayward, Wis., and attracts 20,000 spectators, as well as more than 9,400 skiers at all experience levels.

Although the American Birkebeiner will celebrate its 39th anniversary this February, the race actually commemorates a trip made in 1206 by Norwegian rebels. These soldiers skied to safety with the rightful infant heir to the Norwegian throne on their backs.

To honor this journey, three volunteers dressed in traditional Norwegian apparel — fur-lined boots, helmets with horns, wooden skis — are always among the 6,000 Birkie skiers. The fur-clad heroes, called “Birkie Warriors,” carry a baby doll strapped on their backs for most of the race to symbolize the young prince. Near the end, they trade the doll in for a real baby and carry him to the finish line.

For those who live the “Birkie life,” it is difficult to imagine that these rituals might seem foreign to the unfortunate souls who weren’t born in northern Wisconsin. Their friends all participate in the Birkie, as do their children, spouses and even their dogs. For them, the Birkie is a lifestyle, and its traditions make it remarkable.

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Peter Coenen, Jesse’s brother, truly devotes himself to living the “Birkie Life.” Although he is a UW-Madison student in the middle of medical school, he manages to focus the rest of his life around the Birkie.

“It’s not just an event, it’s a lifestyle,” he says “The Birkie is the most important day of the year for me. It drives everything else that I do. School, work, the Birkie is off to the side motivating me in whatever I do.”

The two brothers grew up about a mile from cross-country ski trails in Iola, Wis. Nordic skiing and the Birkie have always been a part of their lives. Jesse calls it his “healthy obsession.” Although the brothers skied together at several Birkies, they say there isn’t much competition between them. In fact, the brothers hardly talk at all during the race.

That is, unless they’re talking about “beardcicles.”

If a skier has enough facial hair and it’s cold enough, the moisture he breathes out will stick to his beard and cover his face in a frosty layer. On the list of odd-yet-endearing Birkie traditions, beardcicles rank right above fur-clad warriors. Men who are willing and able may begin growing their beards months in advance. Jesse admits that although he generally doesn’t talk to other skiers during the race, a good, traditional beardcicle is worth a comment.

“It’s just a fun sight. I think that causes a lot of men at the Birkie to try to achieve the same image.”

Although beardcicles are a planned event for many men at the Birkie, one glance around at the spectators reveals several participating dogs achieving the look quite effortlessly.

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A group shot of the skiers. Photo by Kelly Randolph.

Leslie Hamp, former PR and media director for the Birkie, has been involved with the race since 1984. She says that the costumes, facial hair and every other ritual can be explained by one phenomenon: Birkie Fever.

“Every year when the weather starts changing you start thinking about skiing and doing the race. This whole lifestyle evolved around the American Birkebeiner. It gets in your blood.”

Jennifer Sereno, elite skier and veteran Birkie participant, classifies Birkie Fever as the anxious feeling skiers begin to detect months before the race. Sereno is proof that Birkie Fever can affect even the most seasoned skiers.

“Birkie Fever doesn’t really set in until the snow falls. That’s when you start feeling the cold chills and the night sweats. You wake up thinking about the race, and then you start looking at the calendar,” Sereno says.

Even though Birkie Fever sounds remarkably similar to a bad stomach bug, Jesse insists that he enjoys it. He readily admits that his countdown voicemail is a symptom of Birkie Fever. Like many Birkie regulars, he begins thinking about new skis, trips to practice trails and fancier ski wax almost as soon as the first snowflake falls.

“That’s another oddity about Wisconsin,” Sereno says of Birkie skiers affected by Birkie Fever. “They don’t want to spend more than four or five dollars on a hamburger, they bristle at that, but they’ll spend a lot of money on a nice pair of skis and some expensive wax.”

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Tradition drives the Birkebeiner. Every cold Birkie morning, families wake up, choke down some oatmeal, eat some bananas for those impending leg cramps, wax their skis, pile into their salt-smeared mini vans and enjoy their last moments of artificial heat. They will spend the next 12 hours convincing their bodies that a thin layer of polyester and two flimsy hand warmers are enough to block the freezing wind.