Cold Country Racing

The rules state, “The Engadin Ski Marathon is an endurance event and… only a physically fit and well trained skier can meet these requirements.”

Fit? Not exactly. Well-trained? Err… novice more like. After a week’s crash course with a specialist cross-country skitour operator, which involved heading off to the popular skiresort of Schladming in Austria to get some much needed tuition and practice, I still felt woefully under prepared for this event.

Especially compared to the majority of my fellow 12,000 racers, who, based in countries such as Switzerland, Germany, Italy, France and Austria where cross country skiing is a trendy and very popular sport, will have grown up both cross-country and downhill skiing from a very young age.

Catching a train from Zurich airport, I head for the glamorous skiresort of St Moritz. The airline has lost my bag, so with just a wash bag and T-shirt, both courtesy of Swissair, I check in to the plush four-star Hotel Monopol. With no real idea of the horrors that are in store the following day, I enjoy a relaxed evening, a stroll around town and a good night’s sleep.

St Moritz is one of Switzerland’s most famous and exclusive winter resorts. It is glitzy, outrageously expensive, fashionable and, above all, the place to be seen. Home to the infamous Cresta ice run, the town has long been a popular choice for upper-crust Brits who like to stay in the top hotels such as the Carlton, Suvretta, Kulm and Badrutts Palace.

St Moritz doesn’t have the chocolate-box image of a Swiss mountain village with wooden huts, having grown into an international playground where space is at a premium. It sits in an elevated position commanding views over the Engadin Valley, which tomorrow I will be skiing along.  

Only at 6.15 am do I start feeling nervous because no one is at breakfast, having already left for the start – over an hour before! Why the rush, I wonder, as the race doesn’t start until 9.20. At least my bag has arrived from the airport. I race to change, grab my borrowed skis and poles, waxes, bib number, camera and drink pack then catch a bus to the start at Maloja in the Upper Engadin.

It’s a chaotic scene. The weather is crisp and clear and down on the valley floor it is freezing. The Lycra-clad competitors in their pink and multi-coloured outfits are all bending, flexing and limbering up. Lines for the loos are at least 10 deep and getting through the crowds to the start line is painstakingly slow. Already, thousands of pairs of skis are waiting in the tracks, bagging places for their owners.Female competitors have the choice of joining the usual start line or starting in an all female section.

Not wanting to be sidelined, I join the main classic track line up – not a wise choice in retrospect. As helicopters fly overhead I chat to a few of my fellow racers, and when I mention my lack of experience on cross-country skis they are openly horrified: “You are very brave to take on the great Engadin cross country race with so little experience,” marvels Hans from Germany. “I wish you great luck and I hope you will finish.” His comments do little to boost my confidence. But just as I am wondering if I can sneak off and pretend I was never here, the horn blares and the race begins. It’s everyone for themselves; collisions are caused by skiers charging into the back of each other on the slick blue ice. Barging, pushing and even the odd punch thrown – it’s aggressive and competitive stuff. No wonder less than 20 percent of the entrants are female.

I forget my nervousness as I focus on just staying upright and keeping out of the way of numerous crashes. For every step forward I’m also sliding a little bit backwards; my skis are too slick. Preparing the bases of your skis is a fine art and one I’m yet to master. There are hundreds of different waxes and liquids to choose from, depending on the temperature, snow conditions, how long you will be skiing for etc etc.

Two miles done and ahead is a steep hill with huge crowds on either side enjoying the spectacle of skiers falling everywhere. Thankfully I ‘herringbone’ it to the top (a waddling walk with one’s skis out in front of you in a V-shape, that leaves a herringbone pattern behind in the snow) without falling or being caught by a crashing skier. It is seriously thirsty work and having a rucksack with a hands-free drinking system is a real boost.Just 23 miles to go and liquid-filled blisters have appeared on my hands; the result of struggling for grip on the inclines.

There is a drink station ahead and also a workbench for competitors to get their skibases revamped. Aggressive Germans are constantly charging in and demanding immediate service – it’s a battle just to get to the front.Finally, with lots of Klister (sticky glue-like grunge to give bases good grip) stuck all over my skis and me, I set off again. Another mile down the track and I join a large crowd of stationery skiers. Edging through to the front, I can see a steep downhill section that disappears around a sharp bend. An unexpected push from behind and I am off.

By Minnie Burlton

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Courtesy of lifestyleandtravel.com