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Hayley Peterson was enjoying a few beers at Gottscheer Hall in Queens when a staffer asked if her table wanted to participate in the bar’s steinholding competition.
She’d never held a stein — competitively, that is — but the concept isn’t too tough to grasp: Participants must hold a 5-pound liter of beer with their arm extended, parallel to the floor, for as long as they can.
Bending the elbow or leaning too far back can get you in trouble. Spilling the beer is an automatic out. Drinking it is a (warm, flat) afterthought.
“We’re young and hot,” Peterson, 28, told The Post. “We might as well.”
Little did she know that 3 minutes and 21 seconds later, she’d be the last woman standing — and receive the honor of representing the venue at the US HB Masskrugstemmen Finals in Central Park the next week. (HB is the organizer and sponsor, Hofbräu USA, and masskrugstemmen is the German term for steinholding.)
“We had no idea what we were getting into,” said Peterson, who lives in Brooklyn.
Here’s what: a boisterous, mildly ridiculous spectacle that helped mark the end of the German-American Steuben Parade and the start of Munich’s Oktoberfest.
Held Sept. 20 on Central Park’s Summer Stage, the competition featured 21 men and 14 women who’d strong-armed their way to qualification at various Hofbräu-affiliated bars around the country.
Fueled by cheers from lager-loaded fans, they faced off for the national title — and the grand prize of a four-day, three-night trip to Munich.
“It is a subculture that exists, and there’s nothing like it,” the emcee boomed before the showdown. “If you’ve not seen it, buckle in: You’ve got a paradigm shift coming. You’re about to see true greatness.”
Stiff competition — and a real show of strength
Steinholding is a Bavarian tradition that attracts a certain kind of “maniac” who “wants to experience the thrill of holding a beer stein further from [their] mouth and for a longer amount of time than nature ever intended,” the US Steinholding Association, said.
Interest has been brewing in the US in large part to the association, which is growing its own circuit of country-wide competitions. While the Hofbräu USA league hosting the standoff limits qualifying venues to those that sell its beer, the newer USSA invites any joint to join the party.
This year, for the first time, it will host its own national championship — and offer a $4,000 prize. Unlike the masskrugstemmen finals, which has a win-and-done policy, USSA victors will be allowed to return to reclaim their reign.
Steinholding “is just getting bigger and better,” Kim Planert, a 71-year-old four-time masskrugstemmen entrant from Ohio, told The Post. “The prize money is going up, the competition is getting stronger.”
Case in pint — er, point: When he entered his first steinholding competition on a dare from his granddaughter in 2011, top male times were around 12 minutes. Now, they’re topping 20.
The field is expanding “because it seems so simple and it seems so easy,” USSA Commissioner and founder Jim Banko told The Post. “And it is simple, but it’s certainly not easy.”
Indeed, successful steinholding is a full-body festivity, Jen Widerstrom, who was not involved in the competition, told The Post. “People think: This is just about grip strength, this is just about arm strength,” she said. In reality, the arm will fail if the shoulders, core, glutes and even legs are, well, tapped.
Widerstrom would know: She entered a local challenge last year near LA and won. “I just squeezed my butt and I stayed even on my legs and I let my body be the foundation,” she said.
Steinholding is a mental undertaking, too. Sure, the setting is joyous — think ladies in lederhosen, crowds bursting out in spontaneous Bavarian ballads, and lots and lots of free-flowing beer — but there’s no question that the act itself hurts.
That’s why shape, size and age don’t predict who will prevail.
“I think anybody has what it takes to be up on that stage. You just have to believe in yourself,” Chelsea Wycoff, a 25-year-old participant from Peoria, Illinois, told The Post. The CrossFit regular qualified for Saturday’s showdown with a time of 6:20 — enough to beat, if replicated, the women’s national record.
“My daughter is autistic, and so she spent a lot of her life being ridiculed and put down,” Wycoff’s mom, Sandy, told The Post. “She had a lot of rough times, and this is an area where she has exceeded and succeeded. Look around: She’s one of the top in the United States.”
Wycoff’s bullies can’t say the same. “Where are they? Are any of them on this stage?” Sandy said. “No.”
The road to Central Park
Most steinholding masters’ origin stories follow a similar arc: They were at a bar, festival or, in one case, on a cruise, when they learned a steinholding contest was about to take place. They threw their trachtenhut in the ring, and got hooked.
“The first time you do it, it’s fun,” Sydnie Mauch, a 31-year-old competitor from Texas, told Peterson. But when people start noticing your potential, you think: “I’ve got to take this seriously! We’re in it now,’” she said.
Henry Thomason, of Texas, trained for 40 weeks leading up to Saturday. After coming in second and third at various local bars, the forklift driver and powerlifter added stein holds to the end of his regular lifting routine. This year, he won all the qualifiers in Texas. “No one’s done that before because no one is stupid enough,” he said.
But not all scenarios can be trained for.
In Central Park, there can be heat, rain or distracting camera crews. Nerves compound shaky arms. Cross-country participants face jet lag and hangovers. Why wouldn’t they let loose at the welcome party at Bierhaus NYC the night before? They are, after all, in New York City with the jolliest community on a beer brand’s dime.
Then, there’s the judges, who are sometimes accused of bias and inconsistency. Even at the highest level, the rules can be challenging to standardize.
“We’ve tried to zero in on what we think is an acceptable amount of lean,” Banko, a judge and 2015 US HB Masskrugstemmen champion, said. “But it’s still kind of subjective.”
Going for gold
Backstage, Planert finished his single beer. “If you’re too ‘up,’ you’re gonna start shaking and spill the beer,” said the goateed Ohioan, who credits his decades as a household mover for his steinholding prowess. “And of course, if you don’t have enough energy, you’re gonna go out real quick.”
Mauch practiced deep breathing. “Getting oxygen to your muscles right before you go onstage gives me a little extra push,” she said. She also competes shoe-less for the best alignment.
When they took the stage — first women, then men — the crowd roared. “Hold that beer! Hold that beer! Hold that beer!” it chanted.
Competitors grimaced, teetered and held on for beer life. One by one, they spilled or received their third strike for a backward lean or elbow dip. The eliminated sipped their consolation mug and rooted on their peers.
“Who do you like? Let them know!” the emcee shouted. “This ain’t easy, folks!”
On the women’s side, Mauch emerged victorious with a time of 5:20. While the entrepreneur and volleyball coach was aiming for a record-breaking seven minutes after finishing second on this stage last year, the win marks her first national championship of something — a lifelong goal.
As a college athlete, she said, “I’d always come so close, but I could never do it.”
In the men’s division, Bob Shalack, of New Jersey, out-held Thomason, snatching a new record of 24:14. It was his first time on the national stage. “I told you he’d win!” his wife, a fellow competitor, cheered.
Back in the VIP section, Peterson, who’d tapped out first, pondered her experience. “We’ve talked to a lot of people, and they’re like: ‘You’ll get addicted to it,’ ” she said. Did she? Time will tell. “Ask me after a couple of beers.”
