"Frozen sweat and amazing crowd"

As a student in Amsterdam, I learned to skate on noren (type of skates). In 1996, I became a member. On Monday, November 25 of that year, I received news that I was one of the 4,200 lucky people with a starting card for the next Elfstedentocht. In 1997, I returned early from vacation. Using sandpaper, I removed the rust from my skates, which I had bought for five guilders. Wearing woollen underwear and three sweaters layered over each other, I armed myself against the cold. With an old ice hat over my ears and a banana in my back pocket, I was ready. Around 10:30 a.m., skaters like Angenent and Hulzebosch prepared for the final stretch. Meanwhile, I stood in the starting pen with the very last group, ready to begin the journey of journeys.

The start

The gate opens. We jog two kilometres to the ice and start skating. Across the Slotermeer, with the wind at our backs, there was a huge crowd along the banks. After Sloten, we headed westward toward Stavoren. As we passed Workum, dusk began to fall, and the wind was now strongly against us. A brass band in Bolsward cheered on all the skaters. That kind of support warms your heart. The walking stretches (kluunplaatsen) became wetter, and slowly my feet turned into ice blocks.

 Dry clothes in Harlingen

By the time I reached Harlingen, my sweaters had turned into icy planks from sweat. Further on, I knocked on a door. A woman answered, and I asked if she had a dry sweater for me. She gave me bread, a warm bowl of soup, and dry sweaters. When I tried to get back onto the ice, a policeman stopped me. I protested, and after some convincing, I was allowed to continue. In the dark and alone, I skated toward Franeker. Outside Franeker, it was pitch black. Men with bloodied faces lay groaning in the reeds. This was the Hell of the North.

There was more and more of a crowd along the route. Slowly but surely, we pushed forward. By now, it was past 10:30 p.m. Suddenly, festive music could be heard in the distance. What a reception! Someone offered me a drink and an orange. But we had to keep going. The Dokkumer Ee now felt like a highway, as we were blown toward Bartlehiem.

Blacking out

Leeuwarden was now in sight. With a few others, I skated back into the night. My sole focus was finishing the race. Behind us, a moped appeared on the ice. The driver stayed alongside us for a while. The beam from his headlight revealed the cracks in the ice. Everything went almost black before my eyes. If I fell now, I wouldn’t get back up.

The finish

The last kilometres passed in a blur. With tears in my eyes, I saw the bright lights of the Bonkevaart in the distance. The crowd sang us toward the finish line. What a sea of people! A warm feeling swept over me. One last time, the few remaining men from the large group since Franeker looked at each other. We raised our arms in triumph. Then, just before midnight, we disappeared under the finish banner into a crowd of cheering people.