An Experience by Host Karl Traubel
March 8, 2015
12:30 a.m. Sleep is out of the question; I'm dozing.
1:00 a.m. I glance at the clock: “Two more hours,” I keep dozing...
2:00 a.m. Is this really necessary? “It’s just about time”—back to dozing…
3:00 a.m. Something’s rumbling somewhere in our building—the first one’s already up! Can’t doze anymore
Wasaloppet Morning
4:00 a. m. Departure from Mora (for non-enthusiasts). Mora is the finish line for the longest cross-country ski race. Thousands upon thousands are being hauled to Sälen, 90 kilometers away. On the way, in the middle of Dalarna province, there’s a traffic jam; the bus slowly starts moving, then stops again, and about 25 more cross-country skiers board. Their bus had come to a standstill. Fully loaded, dozing off, lying on the floor, we reach the starting point after 2 1/2 hours.
7:00 a.m. All hell breaks loose here at dawn. Ankle-deep mud, “flooded” starting areas in some spots. Now I have to quickly find my starting block and set my skis down. “But it’s too late.”—we’re standing all the way in the back of our starting area. Long lines in front of the dreadfully long portable toilets; I prefer the Swedish pine forest, but have to be extremely careful not to step in the “leftovers” of another starter who’s here for the same reason and looking for some privacy. DHL is handling the luggage transfer again. About 10 huge trucks with trailers are standing by. Here, I have to give the Swedish organizers—with their immense number of hardworking volunteers, ranging from young (about 6 years old) to old (I think over 80)—my utmost respect for how smoothly everything runs.
7:30 a.m. Thirty minutes to go until the start; helicopters are circling overhead—the Swedish police, the TV crew, and a few drones as well.
7:40 a.m. Getting ready; this year I’m not going to make the same mistake I made last year. No windbreaker. Shivering a little, I run to the drop-off point with my buddy Stephan. My shoes are already wet—there’s water standing in some spots. Dickie, aka James Bond—a childhood friend, colleague, and the owner of the Oberjoch mountain hut—gives us directions so we can find our way back.
7:50 a.m. In between, we move to the beat, led by Swedish blondes—it really gets us going and gets our blood pumping.
8:00 a.m.: The 91st Vasaloppet begins. The rear barriers go up, and the pressure from behind builds. 15,800 runners start moving. The world’s elite cause a false start and get stuck in the barriers. (You’d know all about that!) It just really bugs me! In fact, the first half hour is nothing but “stop and go!”
The first few kilometers are “So gmiatle das ma hoigadda ka...” (We’re moving so slowly that we can chat comfortably). There’s a real mix of people out here (40 nations). Over 2,000 women. 245 runners from Germany. The average age is 41.3 years. The youngest participant is 19, and the oldest is 89!
From Mängsbodarna (24 km) on, I know my way around well again. That’s because the five of us (Dicki, the lodge owner; Stefan, the professional hunter from Unterjoch; Thomas Hösles from Oy; Hubert from Wertach; and I) successfully completed the Vasaloppet relay the Friday before.
12:00 p.m., Kilometer 40 (Things are going fast today—the jersey choice was spot-on!) “A fresh breeze from behind or from the side.” (A fresh breeze is blowing from the right direction!) There are no rest stops along the way. (We stop wherever there’s something to eat or drink; there’s the Blubärsupa (blueberry juice) known to all Wasal runners, sports drinks, water, and at some stops, broth and bread rolls. National and international companies are also represented and provide refreshments for the thirsty and hungry runners.)
Here are some excerpts from my thoughts and reflections starting at kilometer 50: “Why on earth am I doing this voluntarily?” (shaking my head inwardly) “Who actually came up with this idea?” or “Who was the main organizer? Maybe it was me?” “Only 49 kilometers to go...” “That can’t be right. There’s no way...” and so on and so forth...
With every step, the kilometers seem to get longer.
Suddenly, a shout: "Hey, Traubel, you wanna run alone?" My friend Dickie, the voice of my inner thoughts, "I'm doing fine—how about you?" "Whose idea was this, you Traubel..." Apparently, he'd been thinking the same thing I had just a moment ago.
We keep running together, thinking every now and then that we’re about to pass someone, only to realize it was pointless after all, since eventually it’s always the same group moving toward the finish line. By now it’s late afternoon; the kilometers are dwindling, and any doubts about ever doing something like this again have vanished. “That’s enough!!! Never again, Wasalauf!”
Sometime after more than 10 hours of running, we reach the finish area at dusk. Together, we cross the finish line, happy and relieved.
Now we grab the bag of props; we arrive by bus, overjoyed and content, at a huge sports hall. The floor is covered with particleboard; hundreds or thousands of people are lying around on the floor—naked, half-dressed—some in the yoga pose. For 200 kroner, you can get a massage and relax, but wait—wasn’t there something else? “The log cabin get-together, beer, and wasabi burgers...”
...and at some point the next day, that "Oh my gosh, this feels so good—we should join in again!" feeling comes back.
Time is running out—registration opens at 9 a.m. on March 26, and all starting spots will be filled within 90 seconds.
Maybe I'll be there again.
THANKS: I’d like to thank everyone who supported us. Especially my HUBERTUS team, for the birthday gift that I put to good use, and Hans, for preparing my skis perfectly. My friends for an unforgettable week, and my family, who gave me the time and mental space I needed. And my hometown of Balderschwang, which offers one of the most beautiful cross-country skiing areas right on my doorstep.
