15 minute read
IN THE BALANCE
IN THE
Words by Kjartan Þorbjörnsson Translated by Jelena Ćirić
BALANCE
Photography by Golli
“Stigið!” calls the referee, and the two glíma wrestlers – who had just shaken hands, grabbed each other’s belts, and gotten into position, chin to cheek – start a sort of dance, their backs straight as arrows. After two or three steps, the referee blows his whistle. The fight may now begin. One of the wrestlers is at least 20 centimetres taller than the other and significantly heavier, hardly a fair match. No one else in the sports centre in Reyðarfjörður, East Iceland, seems concerned. In this Icelandic glíma wrestling championship, Íslandsglíman, everyone competes against everyone else, regardless of size, weight, or age, and each victory gives coveted points. Fifteen seconds later, the smaller wrestler is on the ground, and the larger one is celebrating. The next two wrestlers are up.
THE GLÍMA KING
We’re not in Reyðarfjörður’s new, state-of-the-art sports centre. The old one is typical for a small town. The swimming pool is hidden under the gymnasium floor, so it’s only possible to use one or the other at any given time – the pool or the small gym. A “deep end” sign hangs on the brown, woodpanelled walls by the narrow equipment room, from which the competitors of the 111th Íslandsglíman parade into the room to the applause of some 40 audience members. They’re led by the flagbearer, Ásmundur Hálfdán Ásmundsson, five-time Glíma Champion of Iceland. The locals refer to them as Glíma Kings. He’s clearly the largest of the 14 wrestlers who are here to compete for Grettir’s Belt and Freyja’s Chain, the trophies awarded to male and female champions, respectively. The competition is being held a couple of weeks later than usual, which means that many regular competitors couldn’t make it this year. Some are in the middle of school or university exams while others are up to their necks in the lambing season: glíma is most popular in the countryside.
Referees and staff show up early to measure out the playing field and mark it with tape, as well as set up flags and arrange the time-honoured trophies while competitors warm up. There’s an easy atmosphere within the group: most seem to know each other, and many of them quite well, not unlike at a family reunion. The largest group of participants is from the East Iceland Youth and Sports Association (UÍA): six competitors in the men’s division and one in the women’s. Two other competitors are from Njarðvík, Southwest Iceland, four women from Dalir, West Iceland, and one from Mývatn, North Iceland: Einar Eyþórsson. BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS
The 28-year-old Einar has big plans for this tournament. Sporting a dark hoodie and headphones, he keeps to himself, warming up alone in one corner of the gymnasium. Einar and Ásmundur the Glíma King are the same age and have been competing against each other since they started wrestling. “I was six when dad dragged me along to a practice. He was preparing the boys in the district for some competition. I haven’t taken off my belt since,” Einar says when I ask him how long he’s been practising glíma. “He comes from a great line of glíma wrestlers,” interrupts Jón M. Ívarsson, a man who knows everything about this sport, and has been the driving force in Iceland’s glíma community for decades. “His dad was a two-time Glíma King, and his brother Pétur won the title nine times. An extraordinary glíma lineage.” Despite this lineage and years of opportunities, Einar has yet to beat Ásmundur in a tournament. “You can start competing in glíma at the age of 10, in primary school tournaments. Since then, Ásmundur and I have generally been fighting each other for first and second place. It’s pretty rough that I still haven’t beat him.” But Einar is far from giving up. “I’ll win this belt if it’s the last thing I do,” he says, looking me firmly in the eyes. But the women are up first. Kristín Embla Guðjónsdóttir is the only one who warms up in Einar’s corner. They’ve been practice buddies since they both moved to Reykjavík. She is 21 years old, from Reyðarfjörður,
THE GLÍMA TRADITION
Iceland’s national sport, glíma has been practiced since settlement. It’s believed the first settlers brought it from Norway, possibly incorporating elements they had picked up from wrestling traditions in the British Isles. Icelandic glíma developed into a unique sport, described in the sagas as a show of strength and a source of entertainment. Icelandic folk tales feature many cases of glíma being used to defeat trolls and mythical creatures.
For centuries, glíma wrestlers’ grip was on each other’s trousers, but in 1905, the glíma belt was introduced, allowing wrestlers to have a firmer grip on each other. While the first competition for Grettir’s Belt was held in 1906, national championships have been held even longer – nearly uninterrupted since 1888.
and competes for UÍA. She started to practise glíma when she was 11 years old after her older cousin took her along to practice, but she says there aren’t many girls wrestling in Reyðarfjörður these days. She moved away many years ago, first to Akureyri, switching to judo because there was no one to practise glíma with, and then to Reykjavík for university, where she still lives. “We’re a group of four that meets regularly to practise together in Reykjavík. Two of us are from Reyðarfjörður, one from Ísafjörður, and one from Mývatn.” Kristín won Freyja’s Chain in 2018. Since then, one championship was cancelled due to COVID, and the other two were won by South Icelander Jana Lind Ellertsdóttir. “We’ve been competing against each other forever and basically took turns winning at all of the primary school competitions and in recent years at all the adult tournaments,” Kristín says, describing a pattern I’ve already heard today.
A BALANCING ACT
The competition in the women’s division turns out to be fairly even. Each match lasts two minutes, so the competition progresses quickly and energetically, and the fighting is constant. Very little time is given between matches. With such a small group of competitors, some wrestlers have to fight a new opponent every few minutes and barely have time to catch their breath. With a victory in the last bout, Kristín secures Freyja’s Chain for a second time, with four and a half victories – one tie more than the runner-up. “It wasn’t until after the second-last match that I felt I could do it, that I was getting there,” Kristín tells me after the competition. She plans to give it another go next year. “It would be fun to win a few years in a row, of course, but let’s start by taking one year at a time.” Kristín also won another award at the end of the competition, the annual award for “Most Beautiful Glíma,” granted to the most graceful wrestler. “It means that you step gracefully between manoeuvres and into them. It’s very much about doing the right thing at the right time. This sport is all about balance. You have to keep your balance no matter what,” Kristín explains. She has faith that glíma will continue to be practised by future generations. “There’s a good group of young people who are competing in their first National Glíma Championship, a strong group of boys from here in Reyðarfjörður, and a good group of girls from Dalir. It’s on the rise again.”
SIZE MATTERS NOT
There is no break or halftime in the National Glíma Competition, so now it’s the men’s turn. The men – clad in leather-soled trainers, sleeveless spandex jerseys, and black pants under their glíma belts – are ready. The vast majority
are bearded and could pass as grown-up farmers, but most are between 16 and 20 and are competing in the National Championship for the first or second time.
All except two are wearing red-and-blue jerseys resembling a poor man’s Spiderman costume: the locals that compete for UÍA. Einar of Mývatn, who has held his focus throughout the entire warmup and the women’s tournament, is ready for action.
The championship organisers know how to build the tension and excitement, setting the schedule up so that Einar and Ásmundur fight in the last match of the tournament – the match that everyone expects will determine the winner. These two do not let other glíma wrestlers best them.
But a new generation of wrestlers threatens the status quo. Einar’s first step toward the much-coveted Belt of Grettir suddenly becomes a step backwards, when the 16-year-old Þórður Páll (who nevertheless looks 30) knocks him unexpectedly to the ground. The audience in the old Reyðarfjörður sports centre breaks into cheers. Þórður’s teammates scream and hug each other. Einar is not amused. In order to have a chance at beating Ásmundur and winning Grettir’s Belt, he has to beat all the other competitors first.
Einar wants his name on Grettir’s Belt, next to his father’s and brother’s. Though Ásmundur is bigger and heavier, his brothers have taught him that it’s technique, and not size, that matters. “I’m between them in size. My brother Pétur is very agile and fine-boned but still strong as a bull. In his competing years, he was around 85 kilos, while my brother Jón is much bigger and more broad-shouldered and weighs 110 kilos. Yet it’s Pétur who’s the nine-time Glíma King.” Einar is determined to beat Ásmundur for Grettir’s Belt. “I’ve felled him a few times, but we either both went down, or I was disqualified.”
HEAD GAMES
The result of the championship seems to be fixed after the first match. It’s been smooth sailing for Ásmundur, who fells one opponent after another without much trouble. Einar follows close behind, already a victory short. He’s still got a chance: if he beats Ásmundur in the final match, they finish with equal points and have to fight a second match to determine the champion. But would he even be able to beat the Glíma King twice in a row? Einar stays focused: there’s always hope. The thumps of backs hitting the wood floor echo through the old sports centre. Children compete on mats, but there’s
no such mercy granted to adult competitors, and it can be truly painful to lose a bout. Þórður, the wrestler who beat Einar in his first match of the championship, is felled and hits his head hard. He tries to start the next match but appears to have a mild concussion and is forced to resign from the championship. That means that all of his match results are wiped out – and Einar is suddenly even with Ásmundur. The tension builds as the final match approaches. An ambulance is called for Þórður.
ROYAL FAMILY
Ásmundur is not worried. In a half superhero costume, with a glíma belt stretched over his hips and thighs, he’s one-part oversized teddy bear, one-part Mr. Incredible. His girlfriend, Marín Laufey, encourages him from the stands. She knows the sport well: she’s practised it herself since she was a kid and won Glíma Queen five times, the same number of times Ásmundur has won Glíma King. This is the second championship in a row in which she hasn’t been able to compete: first, because she was pregnant with their son, Glíma Prince Kristján Sverrir, now seven months old; and this year, because she’s still getting back in shape. She plans to make a strong comeback next year.
The pair met through glíma as teenagers but always lived on opposite ends of the country. Now they’ve both finished their studies in Reykjavík and moved to Reyðarfjörður together. “We started talking on a competition trip in 2015 in Scotland when we were around 20. The chairman of the Icelandic Glíma Association saw to it that we got together,” Ásmundur laughs. “It was a very determined act on his part; we thank him for it now. He was in the breeding business: figured we were sure to produce exceptional glíma offspring!”
Einar knows a thing or two about family pressure, but it takes more than blood to maintain a glíma tradition. “There
THREE THINGS DISTINGUISH GLÍMA FROM OTHER TYPES OF TRADITIONAL WRESTLING.
THE UPRIGHT STANCE
Glíma wrestlers must always stand erect, unlike in other traditional wrestling practices such as sumo.
STEPPING
Glíma is characterised by a clockwise, back and forth step, something like a box step, intended to create opportunities for offence and defence and prevent a stalemate.
THE CODE OF CONDUCT
There is a strict code of conduct in glíma that bans níð, or forcefully pushing an opponent to the ground. A match is won by throwing or tripping an opponent so they fall to the ground gracefully.
was always a group of young and impressive men meeting and wrestling in the Mývatn area, preparing for competitions and the like. I was by far the youngest, then the others started getting older and stopped practising, and no young people joined,” Einar says. “Now I’m the only glíma wrestler in the whole Þingeyjarsýsla region.”
FACE-OFF
It’s time for the final match. Einar versus Ásmundur. Two minutes.
“Stigið!”
Cheers and yells fill the stadium: this is Ásmundur’s home turf, and the audience is on his side. With a throw known as a klofbragð, he fells Einar, who manages to hold himself off the ground with his hands: as long as the torso, head, thighs, and upper arms don’t touch the ground, it’s not a defeat. Glíma is all about balance.
The clock ticks. They take their positions again, grabbing each other’s belts tightly, and step, each muscle ready for action. Numerous throws, trips, and lifts are available to them: hælkrókur, krækja, hnéhnykkur, sniðglíma, mjaðmahnykkur, klofbragð, and so on. Ásmundur employs the klofbragð again, felling Einar, to the audience’s great delight.
The time is stopped, and the three referees compare notes. They flash a yellow card. Ásmundur is charged with níð, forcefully knocking his opponent to the ground, forbidden in glíma. Another penalty would mean a red card and losing the match – and the championship. It’s an opportunity for Einar, who is still defending well, but Ásmundur is stronger and fells Einar for the third time. Elbow on the ground, Einar holds himself up in a side plank: fantastic defence.
The two minutes are quickly running out. If they end with a tie, Einar and Ásmundur will have the same number of points and will have to fight a second match to determine the championship winner, this time with no time limit. The one time Ásmundur managed to beat Einar’s older brother, the nine-time Glíma King Pétur, it was in such a match. “I got him huffing and puffing in the ninth minute. I don’t think he ever competed again after that.”
Ásmundur loses focus for a moment and steps into Einar’s manoeuvre, an outside hook with the left leg. Ásmundur loses his balance and hits the ground. Einar also loses his, falling on top of Ásmundur but immediately springing up in celebration. The time is stopped, and the referees put their heads together once more. Has Einar’s long-awaited dream become a reality, or does Ásmundur still have a chance of keeping Grettir’s Belt?
One minute feels like ten while the referees deliberate. Another yellow card is lifted: this time in Einar’s direction. He had pushed Ásmundur out of his defensive position. Einar’s disappointment is palpable, but Ásmundur is determined to not be felled again, for in his words, “The Glíma King isn’t used to sweeping the floor.” As soon as the whistle is blown,
Ásmundur uses one of his favourite manoeuvres, which he’d been saving until now: hælkrók. “It’s a question of dexterity, not strength or power,” he explains. Einar is defenceless, and both of them know it’s over. Einar crouches on the ground while Ásmundur gestures to the clapping audience in the stands, a smile on his face.
“Ásmundur wins!” calls the head referee, Atli Már Sigmarsson, defeatedly. “That was a very difficult competition,” he tells me later, over a slice of cake. “Hopefully, it all went right in the end.” Marín Laufey celebrates her man’s sixth national title. “Now he’s overtaken me,” the five-time Glíma Queen says, grinning. Their plan for the evening is to take it easy, go out to eat or maybe to Vök Baths since the Glíma Prince is with a babysitter tonight. Life, like glíma, is all about balance.
“I’LL WIN THIS BELT IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO.”
A folktale from Northwest Iceland tells of a group of men travelling along the coast, when they suddenly heard voices emanating from a haunted cave, where the tide was said to have deposited drowned sailors’ corpses. Suddenly, a ghostly voice emerged from the opening, reciting:
“I’m bored of lying here in hell;
It’s better home in Helgafell
Where dance and glíma dwell.”
