Cross country skiing and birthday surprises

Since it is inevitable that I'll be turning 28 tomorrow, I have couldn't have asked for a better way to begin what is indisputably my late 20s.

My 30-kilometer Kristinaloppet cross country ski race was on Saturday, and I have to say, I was pretty nervous about it over the few days leading up to that cold, snowy morning. Friday night, NS & I rented a car and did our best to prepare for a hitch-less 6:30am departure for Norberg, about 2 hours northwest of Stockholm.

the start - trust me, I was far from up front

Late on Friday night, NS told me that I might want to bring my bathing suit, "just in case we come across a pool somewhere." I've made it my mantra to bring my bathing suit on every trip for fear of missing an opportunity to jump into whatever body of water we happen upon, but it didn't cross my mind for this particular adventure - it's tough to swim in lakes coated in thick sheets of ice.

"And maybe bring some other clothes, just in case we decide to stop for dinner somewhere," he added.

I was elated! I absolutely love surprises and couldn't wait to see what this one would be.

Our 6:30 departure was a bit delayed, but we still had plenty of time before the race's 10am start. That is, until we missed a turn (I can only blame myself, as the navigator, who needed a quick cat nap). Narrow, back-country roads wind-swept by mounds of light snow led us to our destination with 30 minutes to go go go! I made it to the start line just 20 seconds before the start gun sounded, without having waxed my skis (this is a crucial part of cross-country skiing, and one which I'm far from mastering) - ooops!

coming up on the finish!

The terrain of the Kristinaloppet is not particulary challenging - it's hilly, but nothing too extreme. However, for some reason, I didn't get in a good flow until kilometer 26. That means 26 kilometers of against the wind perseverance - snow in face - ache in lower back - fingers stuck in a grasp of my poles.  I struggled onward, propelled by dreams of blueberry soup (the traditional drink handed out to cross-country skiers at the hydration stations) only to be disappointed after a couple sips.

By the time I made it back to the finish line some 4 hours and 20 minutes after starting in the same spot, most of the spectators had gone home. I managed a strong finish, and passed a couple people on the way, but I have to say it wasn't a heroic performance by any means. Still, I did it! 458th out of 511.

After booking it to the car to salvage what was left of NS' frozen fingers, we headed to the surprise destination, which turned out be Friibergh herrgård. This beautiful hotel is located along the shores of a lake north of Stockholm in an estate dating back to 1329.  We made it just in time for afternoon tea, and nestled onto a comfy fireside couch with finger sandwiches, baked goods, and beers. It was heaven.

After eating a few too many skagen (a delicious shrimp mix) sandwiches, we relaxed in the hotel's basement pool and sauna before our 5-course dinner. The food was incredible - and we finished it all. Each course was paired with a specially selected drink - white wine, red wine, cognac, something else I'd never heard of. By the end, I was full beyond belief and could barely keep my eyes open. 30km + a 5-course meal will do that to you.

On Sunday morning, we awoke to see ice skaters fly by on the lake outside our window in the annual ice skating race from Uppsala to Stockholm - vikingarännet. We explored the grounds a bit before hopping back in the car and back home. It was an incredible weekend and the perfect start to my late 20s!

Cross Country Skiing through a Winter Wonderland

Last winter, I received my first pair of cross country skis, hand-me-downs from NS' dad's lovely wife. They were made in 1985 in Yugoslavia and I couldn't have been happier to have them! No matter that I had only been cross country skiing a total of 3 times in my life, if you count the time a friend and I duct-taped skiis to our shoes because we couldn't find the boots. Which makes me pretty much the most clueless country country skier in Sweden. No joke.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to test these beauties last year as there was too little snow, so this winter, I was excited to try them out. After a test run around the park by our apartment, I decided to register for a 30-kilometer race, the Kristinaloppet, on February 9. Why not? 

The race is part of a competition called the Tjejklassikern, or "Girl Classic." The Tjejklassikern is made up of 4 events - 30 km cross country skiing, 100km biking, 1 km swimming (thank God only 1), and 10 km running - which take place throughout the year.

I've been training over the last couple weeks, and I can tell you that it's been quite a steep learning curve. My first time involved taking a bus - metro - commuter train to one of Stockholm's wealthy northern suburbs, Täby, where I promptly wandered through neighborhoods and fields of horses in search of the alleged 5-kilometer track. No one seemed to know for sure where it was and, long story short, I ended up getting a ride from a sweet old lady off the side of the road. The 5 kilometers went pretty smoothly, albeit I was the slowest one there.

Last weekend's journey to another track - Ursviks Motionsgård - was thankfully less of a mission, but the 10 kilometers I finished may as well have been 100. The trail wound through forests, up and down hills, each downhill leaving me terrified. Having spent the last 20 years downhill sking, it is a huge adjustment getting used to the long, narrow cross country skis, and I couldn't seem to keep my balance, even on the slightest decline. This explains the monster of a bruise on my left hip.

Third time's a charm. This past Saturday, I met a friend and braved Ursviks Motionsgård again. I'm not sure how I summoned the courage to return, but I'm thankful I did. The day was clear, sunny, and about -10°F - the coldest day so far this winter.  We finished 15 kilometers, getting slightly lost on a supposed 7-kilometer trail, then tacking on a 5k to finish. 

It was incredible. Every branch of each tree was covered in a delicate layer of frost, as were our hair and eyelashes. Men whizzed by us looking like true Vikings, their beards a blotch of whiteness (to be honest, everyone whizzed by us, no surprises there). The air was full of tiny glimmering ice crystals, shining in the rays of sun. We passed dogs running through the snow, one pulling his own packed sled, and horses stomping through the powder. 

And the most incredible thing of all: I didn't fall once.