Engadin

This is the second (for the first, click here) article that I wrote last year that I am reposting. I just received my itinerary for this year so the Engadin 2008 is a go! I hope this gets you fired up - stay tuned for this year's version!
________________________________

After the American Birkebeiner last year I was given the opportunity to fly to Switzerland and race the Engadin marathon. For ten days I was living life and loving it; which isn’t any different than what I normally do, except I was in SWITZERLAND! It doesn’t get better than this!

Have you ever flown anything but coach; the cheapest possible ticket you can buy? I had not until now. Let me just give you a little taste of what it is like beyond the crammed seats of economy.

They hang your jacket for you on a wooden coat hanger and bring you a glass of champagne before the other passengers even get on the plane. There is a bottle of water at your seat waiting for you and the seat is basically a love seat big enough for one and a half of me. A tablecloth is spread during meals and there is no plastic utensils or plastic cups involved, ever. The food is excellent (although I have to admit that I will eat anything) and the olive oil, for the bread, comes in a single-serving glass bottle. You get your own television (with remote) and the chairs actually recline to a comfortable sleeping position. They also give you a little bag with things like socks, an eyeshade, toothbrush and paste, Chap Stick and lotion within it. They even give you a shoehorn (if you’re into that kind of thing). I don’t even know how to use one. To say the least, I was having fun before I even stepped foot in Switzerland.

View from shotgun, driving to the Engadin Valley from Zurich.

The race was unreal. I get to the start line with plenty of time to spare. There are 10,000 people starting within an hour of me and the stadium is absolutely packed. It is not bitter freezing cold, but chilly enough that I am thankful that I do not have to leave my clothes in the truck. Each athlete is given a bag with their bib number on it and when you get to the start, you take your warm-ups off and leave them in the bag in the appropriate truck. The truck then meets you at the finish with your clothes. The catch, is that the trucks are about a kilometer from the start line. Luckily, a friend who lives locally, Max, did me and the other US athletes a huge favor by following us to the start-line to collect our clothes just minutes before we started (many thanks to Max!)

The trucks that carted the bags from start to finish (photograph: Remy Stinegger)

Max was an integral part of our success on race day. He picked us up at 6:30am and drove us to the start, collected our gear, drove to the finish, gave us back our gear and drove us home. The other 9,997 athletes had to ride the busses to the start, walk the cold kilometer to the start in their suit and then take the train back home. Ouch. Again, thanks Max!

Race organizers have it figure out, however. There are scaffolding towers throughout the starting arena with aerobics instructors leading the “warm-up” for everyone. Loud music with 10,000 people in spandex suits doing Jane Fonda moves; that must have been on my list of things to see in a lifetime. Check.

The dude leading the warm-up

There are two start lines, one for men and one for me. Oh-wait, there are no other women? It is a mystery until the finish when I realize that all of the women start with the men so they can draft from the very beginning. That is the first thing on my list of things to remember for next year. Learned.

The first stampede...I mean wave

There are 2,000 people in my wave and although I am one of two people on my half of the start line, I am soon enough engulfed in out of control skiers. Florescent colors that I did not even know existed, costumes…how did these people get in the first wave? I am being stepped on and pushed from all sides and I switch from skating to surviving. Strides become shortened to keep others from stepping on my skis. My poles come close to my body and I push about a foot before I pull them back to combat them from being broken. I have yet to reach anything close to race-pace and I look through the sea of craziness to try to find a clearing. Moving to the outside of the mass, I am free to double pole in the classic tracks, as many others have started doing. I am poling past hundreds of people and I stick with this strategy until I lose a tip in the ice. The first 10 kilometers are on a lake and my tip must have been loose. Maybe I loosened it with all of the ice, I am not sure; only that I am not getting purchase with my right pole after about 7k. I start to skate again, propelling myself with my legs so that I don’t have to use the broken pole.

Note the double poling going on, top left. That was me (Photo: Remy Steinegger)

After 4k or so, I come upon a pole station. The race organizers have huge racks set up every 5-10k on the course. These racks have hundreds of poles on them, ready for those in need. As I yell for a 155cm pole, to a guy who doesn’t speak English, I watch hundreds of people ski by. Maybe 35 seconds later, I am on my way with a bright orange, extra large strap, and extra heavy pole in hand. This one might bend, but it definitely won’t be breaking any time soon! I have lost the leaders. Gone. I am feeling great, however, and I set out to track them down. 2 kilometers later, I find myself on the ground being trampled. After picking myself up I realize that I feel a bit lighter. Immediately reaching around to where my water bottle once was, I am crushed. My pole is heavy, my knee is bleeding, my feed is gone, and I continue on. The win is not a possibility now, only to finish and to have a great adventure will be today’s prize.

I am at the beginning of the hills now, which will continue for about 3k before some really fun, and potentially dangerous, down hills. I settle into a solid pace and climb. Off the lake, passing is not an easy option. The trail splits in some sections and I hammer around a few dozen folks but for the most part, I stay in my line and wait for the person in front of me to go. I am at a standstill a few times and all I can do is smile. I have never been skiing with this many people. They are all serious and they are all trying to get just one place ahead.

This was the scene (Photograph Andy Mettler)

The beautiful thing about marathon racing it that everyone challenges them self. From the elite who wants to win, the 70+ who’s goal is to finish and all of the athletes who want to ski well enough to move up a wave; we are out skiing and it is a challenge for all. We crest the hill and the snowplows, directional turning, you name it; ways to slow down are pulled out by virtually everyone, immediately! I sprint over the top and pass, maybe a hundred people over the next few down hills.

This was also a scene (Photo: Andy Mettler)

Coming into Pontresina, a town about 20k into the race, I am thankful for the feed station provided by the race. There are people yelling, holding out cups and I go for the nearest one. Apparently I did not understand German for beef broth, and I spit it out before it even hits the back of my throat. One gag reflex later and I am looking for another cup; this time, one that has light colored fluid within! Jackpot, Rivella, a Swiss drink that I had been warned about earlier in my trip. It tastes warm, it isn’t cow and I am thrilled! About a kilometer out of Pontresina, after the hills, the crowd starts to thin and break into packs of skiers. We are out of the woods and back into the wind. I find myself skiing at the front of a pack, I am racing now, drafting behind about 6 men. They are working together and pulling each other to catch the next pack. They are reluctant to let me into their coveted line at first and so I pull. Nobody rides for free, regardless of gender and I must pay my dues before they consider me in their gang. I give it my all out front, taking the wind; I pull them into the next pack. I receive a nod from one of the guys. In the international language of competition, that meant that I was welcome to ski with them.

Each pack is more like a lethargic swarm. Up to probably 200 people, the masses are less lively than they were on the lake. There is less pushing and pole breaking and more deep breathing going on. Folks are content to ski where they are and survive. Having a group of 7 ski through, however, stirs the swarm up a bit. I can only imagine what was being yelled; “lets go with them” or maybe more like “get out of my way, I am going with them”.

This is a pack. Catch it, draft it, then charge around the side and leave it. (Photo: Andy Mettler)

Pack after pack, we catch and release. The men are tolerant of me in their group now and we take turns pulling. One man and I are stronger than the rest, and we pull longer. We are a machine, each part taking it’s turn, catching swarms after swarm. I have my eyes open, scanning each pack for women. I may have lost time on the lake and on the ground and finding a feed but I am still a competitor. As I plan to beat every man in this machine to the finish, I am looking to pass some women as well. Two or three packs, none containing women. We have 6k to the finish and the hills begin again. Our group of 7 splits and it is every man for himself. Only the strong survive and I must survive. There has got to be a girl around her somewhere. At the top of the first big hill I receive a feed from a team support guy. Not my team, mind you.

As an elite athlete, I am drug tested randomly. The emotion after taking the foreign feed is not relief…it is panic. Not “yes, I was so thirsty, now I will make the finish” but “Kate, that was stupid, what are you doing!?” Thinking back on my spill just after the lake, where my water bottle was ejected from my belt, I make a mental note to rig some sort of a seatbelt for the bottle next year. 2k to go and I spot a few of the guys that I had been skiing with. We start our line again, charging on, trying to catch another pack before the finish. We do catch one more mass of people and I spot some pony-tales. Coming down the final hill and around through the stadium I lose track of my boys. There is a girl in the corner of my eye as I choose my lane to the finish and the rest is a mass of people. I don’t see the boys at the finish, I don’t see the girl at the finish; there are too many people in an unceremonious mass of tired skiers coming across the line.

The finish

Looking at the results now, I did beat that girl, along with the other 5 in that last pack. I finished in 1:58:20, 12th female and 225th overall. No bad out of 9,600 competitors from 33 nations. What a great day! I can’t wait to go back and give it another shot in 2008! Starting in the men’s wave, a seatbelt for my water bottle and extra glue on my poles, I will be ready. Game on!

The winner of the Engadin receives one of these bad-boys (a Steinbock skull). Imagine one mounted on the hood of my car….it could happen.