We are greeted on a very rocky shore by seals & penguins. It’s a fair walk over the beach, up a cliff, across a very unstable looking bridge to the starting point. It’s not very cold, about 30 degrees with a light wind factor.
All of our gear must be stowed into large red plastic bags for several reasons; it might rain/snow at some point and everything must be labeled with our race number or it will be hauled away & dumped. The group anxiously gets ready, peeling off layers of outerwear, boots, stowing our gear. We are ready and finally, off we go!
The first mile or so isn’t bad, dirt road, some hills, nothing too challenging. Then, we hit the area known as the “Upson Downs” where there are quite a few very steep hills, but at least they are not too long. The mud flats are pretty bad and I am not talking wet and sloppy, I am talking thick, gooey, shoe sucking, huge expanses of gunk – think the La Brea tar pits and extinct dinosaurs. Running through this is horrible and I find it’s better to walk, less of a chance to lose a shoe.
We are also warned to be aware of the Sku’s – large birds that have a nasty habit of ‘buzzing’ runners and stealing the course flag markers. Several of us look pretty goofy flailing our arms above our heads as we run in the mud, trying to scare off the birds. At about mile three, here come the rocks. Lots of them and all sizes. It’s slow going as I imagine turning an ankle and having to take a DNF.
At the base of the Collin’s Glacier, the rocks are big enough that we sit down to put on our Stabilicers. I am so ready for this, having practiced in them on many runs in 20 degree weather, ice/snow terrain and hills. One thing I didn’t count on was
the inch thick mud caked on my shoes. I put on my Stabilicers. Off I go and two steps later, the left one pops off. I pick it up, turn around, sit down and put it back on. As I stand, the right one goes flying.
They just aren’t going to stay and after about ten minutes of futile effort, I give up and carry them up and down the Glacier. It’s slick and very slow going, both up and down. Very few people are moving at anything resembling a run. Some are holding hands – one guy has ski poles. Finally, I am down and carefully stepping my way through the rocks. I look at my watch – this was a 19:16 minute mile!
Back at the
mile two starting point, I decide I need to use the tent. The tent is the only potty facility on the course; it’s in a bright yellow but small tent with a flap in the front and a bucket kind of contraption which serves at the ‘toilet’. The wait to get in was short; however, the event took 10 minutes. I start to realize I may be overdressed for the conditions. I have a running tank under a cold weather long sleeved shirt & a water/wind resistant light jacket, which I am ready to shed. I have on a thin silk under layer over long running pants. I am already sweating. It’s difficult to get everything undone and down, but getting it put back in place is even harder.
The next 3 miles are amazingly easy; dirt roads, downhill, minimal mud and no rocks. I pass the Ioffe start/finish amid encouraging cheers from the very few friends & family of the other runners.
Up next is Bellingshausen, the rather large Russian base. I am taking pictures all along the course – my digital camera fits perfectly into my cell phone case which attaches to my water b
elt.
Past the Chilean base and the infamous blue church, I am now headed up a really tough, long upgrade, watching closely for the hairpin turn. Missing it will lead you onto the airstrip, something a prior runner managed to accomplish and something highly frowned upon by everyone, runner included. In fact, they have a person posted at this location so we don’t miss it. I now know why it's easy to miss, with my head down, breathing hard, struggling to make it to the top.
I make the turn and head for China! Before I arrive, I must cross the Fur Seal Highway and a stream, which is more mud than water, but I didn’t see any seals. The final half mile or so before the turn around point is very rocky, but manageable. While there are no official aid stations, a small group of the guys from the Chinese base have set up a table with various liquid refreshments – water, soda, juice and Chinese beer.
It’s impolite not to stop and have at least a sip with them, which I do. More than the aid, their hospitality and friendly smiling faces are a welcome site.
The turn is close to mile 10 for me and I am already starting to drag. These next three miles are extremely hard for me, mentally as well as physically. Those easy miles earlier are now hills and I am going up. I run for a bit with a lady who is doing the half. It’s a struggle and I grumble. She keeps telling me ‘you don’t have to run the full, just stop at the half, you’re almost there, that’s good enough”. While I know she is trying to provide encouragement, I am getting really frustrated. I….DON’T….QUIT! But, then again, I have never had a DNF in any event I have begun and I am really starting to worry if I have enough in me to do the entire loop over again. Is a half better than a DNF? Well, I am not running a half on every continent, I am running a full. [Editorial note – keep in mind what I am now doing is not running, some of my mile splits are slower than I can walk!].
At the half point, I meet up with Ben, who didn’t stop to visit the tent, or have beer with the Chinese. He is done, I am not, I am not very happy, I am grumpy, I am impatient as he helps me refill my water bottle, I am tired. The decision to keep going was the hardest thing I have ever done, but just the simple act of taking the next step was a huge psychological milestone for me mentally. Once I did that, I was committed and knew I would finish. So, off I go for the second half, a repeat of the first two loops.
Just before I hit the mud fields again, I come up a little hill and right in front of me is a Chinstrap penguin. The rule is that we are not to approach any animal closer than 5 meters. I stop. He is right in the middle of the course. I am not permitted to go around him and running on the course by him would be closer than 5 meters.
However, if the animals approach you, that’s okay. So, I just stand there but think to get out the camera and put it in video mode. After a bit, I am rewarded with the penguin deciding I am nothing to be concerned about and he picks up speed, coming right by me, inches away and off down the road. I laugh as I think about how I have been lapped at the MCM by Kermit the Frog, left in the dirt by Dorothy at the Flying Monkey and now trounced by a penguin in Antarctica. I gotta train harder, man!
Over the rocks, I don’t even stop, having left the Stabilicers behind in my red garbage bag, the second trip up the glacier is a bit easier as the surface is more chopped up by all the runners. However, going down is slicker as it’s a bit warmer and the surface is wet.
Whew, I make it down safely and begin to gingerly take on the rocks when BAM! Down I go with a hard fall, my face hitting the rocks. Immediately, my left calf seizes up and while I know I hit my face, my first thought is ‘crap, if I have pulled a muscle, it’s over’. A runner from the other ship stops to offer me a hand and as he is asking if I am okay, I can feel the blood start to run down my chin. I put my gloved hand to my face and try to catch any drips – all I can think about is if I drip blood on these rocks, it will be a treaty violation and they will never be allowed to hold another marathon here, ever again and it will be all my fault. I will be the pariah of the running community, blackballed by race directors across the world. Mind you this is all happening in a split second. As I reach for his hand and turn to get up I answer “yeah, thanks I am okay” and then I see the look of horror on his face, he states “I don’t think you are okay”, ‘Yeah, I am really okay…do I still have all my teeth?” I asked. “I think so” comes the reply. I realize that in my attempt to catch the blood, I probably smeared it all over my face and what looked like a horrible injury, wasn’t. I had some abrasions on my chin, a split lip and what looked to be a botched Botox treatment. I was fine; the calf was just a cramp.
Back to the start I go, now having finish about 17 miles and as I come up over the rim, I see Ben in the distance, waving. He was supposed to go back to the ship, but out of his concern for me knowing I was tired, he waited to provide encouragement – what a nice guy! But then, as I draw closer and he catches sight of me and greets me with “Oh, my God, you fell again”. [Editorial note – I tend to fall, a lot – this isn’t the first time I have fallen and been injured in a race or just training – my local nickname is getting to be Crash]. I assure him I am fine, direct him to go to the ship to get warm and eat, and head off down the hill.
It’s getting windy, very windy – 28 knots. I am now glad I kept my jacket tied on my waist. I don’t know how windy that is, but know it’s hard and I don’t like wind. Just after the turn at Bellingshausen, running uphill toward the hairpin turn, going very slowly with the wind against me, I fall again. How do you fall running that slow, uphill you might wonder? Me too. I am just tired, my feet don’t want to go any more, but I don’t quit – I start walking a lot more so I don’t really do major damage on a possible third fall, but I don’t quit.
As I make my way to the China base, one lone guy is still out there with the aid table. This time, I drink water & juice. I realize that I have probably consumed only the equivalent of two ounces of Hammer Gel in 20+ miles, it’s practically frozen in my gel bottle and hard to squeeze out. It’s no wonder I am dragging. That juice really helped with a quick boost. It's a long way back . The wind never seems to provide relief, always seeming to shift and be against rather than with me.
I get to the 26 mile marker and it's a huge bummer - I still have two more to go.
The final miles are very slow with a great deal of walking, resting and self encouragement. There are a lot of hills.
It’s slow, but I keep going and eventually, after 6 hours, 34 minutes 15 seconds, I am finished. My fastest mile, 11:45 going downhill at mile 8 – the slowest, 23:04 the mile I sucked rocks. I am cold, wet, tired, hungry, battered, bloody and bruised – all over. But, I am done.
One of the Quark crew helps me get my shoes untied – they are so trashed, that’s where they end up. My hands are numb and I can’t zip my waterproof pants or jacket, so she helps me dress and get my boots on. I slowly trudge over the hill, back down across the rickety bridge, not caring if I fell in, over the rocky flats to the shore where I find that all of the medium PFD’s (personal floatation devices) are gone. I am helped into an extra large, the only size left and into the Zodiac. Ben is waiting on deck for me as I climb up the stairs. After going through the process of rinsing and disinfecting the boots and hanging up the gear, we go back to the cabin. It’s here that I finally break down. I am really not sure why I am crying – sense of relief, satisfaction, frustration, maybe all of those feelings, I just know that I am done, didn’t quit and didn’t DNF. I took a long hot shower; maybe the best ever had, drank a latte, ate a muffin and joined my fellow shipmates and runners in the lounge to celebrate. It was a very long day, a hard day but a very good day.
