The Last Birkie: The Impact of One Man’s Journey

Marie Sumnicht

 

Editor’s Note: Marie Sumnicht, the third child of six born to John and Wendy McKenzie, married to Dan, is a mother of four children and grandmother of three. An educator, entrepreneur, runner, and skier, Marie has survived and continues to thrive beyond the unexpected loss of her daughter Julia. The fortitude and character exhibited by her father throughout his life greatly influenced her own ability to navigate life’s challenges. This is their story, together one last time, on the Birkie trail. And Marie has documented her experiences and recovery in order to fight back for all women in her book “Beyond Broken.” 

 

Some people quit living when they retire from their jobs. Then there are those who start.

John McKenzie, born in Appleton, Wisconsin, on September 25, 1931, was often seen with his four siblings at Jones Park, sledding, ice skating, or skiing down the hill on their Toe Strap Skis. Handmade by their father, Basil “Mac” McKenzie, Toe Strap Skis were a short piece of wood with a plastic toe piece at one end to insert your boot tip. Basil had picked up downhill skiing in his 50s. His jovial spirit and love for outdoor activity had a lasting impact on John, my dad.

Following his father’s example, my dad blessed his children with a childhood rich with downhill skiing. On early Saturday winter mornings, we piled into our station wagon and headed to Calumet County Park near Lake Winnebago. The night before, he would lead us to the basement where he fitted us with his dad-made limited selection of very used skis, poles, and boots. My youngest sister recalls them as “The old, red wooden skis with the manual bindings.”

When we each turned 4 years old, not ready to use the rope tow, Dad helped us up the ski hill for the first time. We stood between his legs, knee-high to our heads, holding on to him as he grabbed the tow rope. Up we went, grins wide on our faces, anticipating then feeling the pull up the hill. As we became more independent, Dad gave us free range on the hill and reminded us to be ready to leave at 4 p.m. He would then take on the duty of either ski patroller or instructor. Serving others came naturally to him; yet another quality that would shine especially bright in the latter part of his life.

 

Fortitude Within

Defined as “courage in pain or adversity,” fortitude was evident in my father’s life, especially noted at the end while he courageously battled colon cancer. He saw challenges in life not as obstacles to overcome but as opportunities for growth and adventures of discovery. While others may have struggled with self-worth after retirement, he enthusiastically planned bike and ski trips. Not waiting for retirement, at the age of 63, he headed to Norway to ski the Konig Ludwig Skilanglauf Oberammergau (Germany’s largest cross-country ski event) on February 5th, 1994.

Retiring at age 65 from his position as a bank president, Dad started living his best life on a full-time basis instead of squeezing it in during the work week. Included in a recognition document created by the Jefferson County HR board were these words: “John McKenzie rode his bicycle to approximately 43% of all board meetings, serving as an inspiration to everyone to be active, to take good care of themselves, and to be well.”

February 2010. Another American Birkebeiner was about to take place. My dad, his ski buddies, and I were heading up to Hayward together. Suddenly, my phone rang. “Mom, guess what?” my daughter Julia announced when I answered. “I’m coming home this weekend. I can’t wait to see you!” But her enthusiasm faced my reply: “I’m so sorry, but I’m heading to the Birkie now and won’t be back until Sunday.”

Little did I know that my worst nightmare would happen and I would lose Julia, a 21-year-old college student, to a date rape drug just 3 weeks after that phone call.

I will never ski another Birkie again, I repeatedly thought. I should have been home with her instead of selfishly skiing the Birkie. It took a number of years before I would see that “God never intended to punish me for my failures, and He used my pain to show me life truths.” (Beyond Broken, pp. 154.)

In 2012, two years after Julia’s death, my 80-year-old dad decided it would be his last full Birkie. I knew I had to be there by his side. “You will become keenly aware of the preciousness of family. In your awareness, find gratitude and treasure those who are still near and dear to you.” (Beyond Broken, pp. 155)

 

The Last Birkie

On the drive to Hayward, Dad and I wore personalized shirts I had created. With a photo of us on front, my shirt read: “My dad, my inspiration, my friend.” My father’s: “80 and still doing Birkie hills.” We kept tradition by eating a spaghetti dinner at a local restaurant before heading back to the hotel to prepare for the big event.

After organizing our gear before bed, we set the alarm for Birkie morning. It seemed as though our heads had barely hit our pillows when the lights turned on. 5 a.m. Time for action. We methodically put on our ski clothes and bibs. Then, grabbing our ski boots, poles, and skis, we loaded the car in the cold, dark early morning in the company of a few of Dad’s friends, including the driver, Dean, who had a parking spot not far from the start line. We huddled in the warmth of the car until our wave was called over the loudspeaker.

“Wave three now lining up!”

Dad and I jumped out of the car, put our skis and poles over our shoulders, and walked toward our corral after a quick pit stop at the porta potties. We put our skis in position on a set of well-groomed tracks for double poling. A glorious day to ski the Birkie.

When the horn sounded, my eyes locked onto Dad, determined not to lose him in the frenzy of skiers poling frantically as they vied for position. Getting through that first kilometer without falling, breaking a pole, or being separated from a comrade presented the first challenge for every Birkie skier. Then came the Power Lines, the first of an unending series of hills. Dad put one ski in front of the other in herringbone fashion, which worked best for him.

“You got this, Dad,” I cheered as he began the climb. “Great job!” But soon we came upon one of a few steep and technically challenging downhills. Some skiers took off their skis and walked down. Not my father. Even at 80 years old, he still had his base of alpine skiing experience, which allowed him to skillfully navigate the deep, icy tracks. All that skiing on Toe Strap Skis as a child paid off.

Then came the halfway point highlight. Waiting at OO was Dad’s bride of over 50 years. With a smile on his face, he slowed to a stop for a kiss, with a crowd of spectator cowbells ringing like a bridal announcement. With that, he continued re-energized for the second half.

The hills started taking a toll. Fatigue began showing over Dad’s face, yet he still managed to smile when our eyes connected. “Dad,” I said. “You’re doing amazing. We’re almost to the lake.” And although Lake Hayward signaled the final stretch, its openness allowed a continuous uphill-feeling headwind with blowing snow. Telling him, “We’re so close, Dad. You can do it,” he powered on.

Finally off the lake, turning a corner, we gratefully looked down Main Street lined with international flags and cheering spectators. We skied together through the downtown, filled with pride and joy. Crossing the finish line, I looked to find tears running down Dad’s cheeks.

Never before had I seen him cry. No doubt they were bittersweet tears mixed with joy and sadness that signified the closing of a chapter and a farewell to an event that had become part of his identity.

 

A Reflection From the Heart

Dad conquered life in the same way he took on the Birkie: with integrity, work ethic, character, and class. A Life is Good shirt we found in his drawer read, “Where there’s a hill, there’s a way.” Skiing the Birkie with my dad gave me renewed confidence that I could conquer the uphill battles I struggled with since losing my daughter.

After finding cancer at age 87, Dad endured two surgeries and chemo in the following year. Initial results from the surgeries showed him to be cancer free, but a scan in August of 2020 showed ‘suspicious lining’ in his lymph system.  He acknowledged out loud, “Well, I guess every good life must come to an end.”

In his much weakened condition, his body couldn’t handle the chemo and he passed on October 22, 2020. As he crossed his last finish line into heaven, I knew it was just a OO point. The best was yet to come.

To Dad: Thank you for showing me that skiing the Birkie is not a selfish activity but rather a training ground to build endurance, relationships, and hope. I look forward to joining you in that place that “no eye has seen, and no ear has heard, a place that ‘God has prepared for those who love Him.’” (1 Corinthians 2:9)

Enjoy the hills, Dad!