Visiting Santa

YUKON ARCTIC ULTRA

In order to train for the cold we'll encounter in the arctic, I recently competed in the Yukon Arctic Ultra, an insane 100 mile winter footrace near Whitehorse, Yukon Territories, Canada. It's always cold in the Yukon in the winter, but this time some records were set--it was -58F at the start of the race! About seven runners were hospitalized with severe frostbite, but I managed to get away with just a little frostnip on my fingers, nose, and earlobes. The photo below is of a fellow runner and experienced mountaineer whose fingers froze after three minutes trying to light his stove. He had glove liners on but the cold nearly took his fingers.

My frostnip just turned my skin red and then black; in about a week the skin just sloughed off. So it was just a very low-tech exfoliation. Otherwise I stayed warm and healthy and actually managed to win the race, thanks to Ray Zahab's fantastic coaching (http://www.rayzahab.com/).


I also have my longsuffering wife, Beth, to thank for always pushing past her anxiety to become a really brave and competent adventurer. She always does a great job at these events and takes on leadership roles among the staff and volunteers.

Quantum Leap was also a great support, paying my entry fee without even having met me. They provide computer-based safety systems for nuclear power plants, allowing us all to sleep a little better at night. Mountain High Outfitters did a great job of keeping me safe and warm with a great selection of gear. MHO has a website with really terrific gear for anyone who runs, hikes, climbs, or does anything outdoors. These guys get it!

Anyway, I've posted Beth's and my email updates from the race below. Hope you enjoy the adventure!


Yukon Arctic Ultra 2008

Place: 1st
Time: 31 hours
Conditions: low of -58F; snowing for most of the race; ankle to knee-deep snow

Friday, February 8; Will update

Hey, folks, just a quick update on the race.

We’re here in Whitehorse, Yukon, where temperatures have reached as low as -61 degrees in the last several days. For those of you who don’t know, we’re here for another race; this one is called the Yukon Arctic Ultra (http://www.arcticultra.de/ ) and includes a marathon, a 100 miler, and a 300 miler. On odd years, there’s even a 430 miler. I’m doing the 100 mile race.

This kind of race tends to attract a very small batch of hard-core ultra runners, so there are only about thirty of us milling about the High Country Inn lobby, nervously discussing gear and temperature and strategy in small groups of three or four. Despite what locals are calling a “cold snap,” the -60s are a thing of last week. When we arrived in White horse, the hotel thermometer registered balmy -49 degrees. Today it’s about -33 and that is the expected nighttime temp for the two days I’ll be racing.

Beth, as usual, has jumped into her volunteer role with humor, charm, and leadership. She can make the bleakest conditions not only bearable for those around her, but even pleasant—at least for the fleeting moments she interacts with you. I’m always incredibly proud of her at these things.

This morning the racers all met for a course briefing. It was the first time I’d seen the whole crew. The group consists mostly of hard-jawed men with tinges of silver at their temples. A number of them are special-forces soldiers from Europe, some are elite endurance athletes or mountaineers. The one female competitor I’ve met, Diane Van Deren, is a North Face sponsored athlete who has used extreme athletics to cope with her serious epilepsy. She has an amazing story. Google her. At any rate, the briefing was a rather grim affair. My friend Alex, a Frenchman I met in the Gobi Desert, commented that the meeting “really got me down. I just feel down after that.”

Why so grim? During last night’s training session, Matt, a British mountaineer turned ultra runner, developed severe frostbite in the few brief minutes it took him to demonstrate his stove-lighting skills. During the required drill, he took his outer gloves off, leaving on only his thin liners. He is now in the hospital and the prognosis for his fingers is uncertain, but his brother and mountaineering partner, Rob, will go on with the race. That unfortunate event, and the local’s understated description of this “cold spell,” led to a humorless meeting this morning with no smiles or joking—with the exception of Beth, who found humor in the ridiculousness of certain details the race director mentioned. Her occasional bursts of laughter in the briefing loosened the group up, but only a little. Some of the highlights of the briefing from Robert, the race director:

• “We’re having a bit of a cold spell.”
  


• Parts of the trail are -50C (-58F) today with chest-high snow drifts. (Beth got a giggle out of that.)
  


• Because of the most extreme conditions in the race’s history, Mike, the course designer, has not made it back yet…so we’re unsure of conditions. It’s cold enough that his snowmobile may malfunction, but we hope he’ll make it back tonight.
  


• “If there is a hazard, such as overflow (open water or flooding from the river or a hotspring) and you have to go off course, use your poles to check for animal traps. There are lots of set traps in this area.” (Beth mimed getting her foot stuck in a trap and cracked herself up.)


• “Remember that there is no helicopter rescue at night, so be prepared to survive at least through the night if you get stranded…maybe longer.”
  
  Anyway, I’m very excited about this race and feel that my coach and friend, Ray Zahab, has given me the best preparation possible---both physical, tactical, and mental. Anything can happen in a race like this, but my preparation has been very good. Ray has the standing course record for this race. When I told him how cold it is here this week, he just laughed and said, “remember, Willy, it will be three times as cold in the North Pole. You’ll be fine. Just don’t embarrass me. Ha!” He and Beth seem to have the same sense of humor. For those of you who don’t know, I’m helping Ray with an expedition to the North Pole in 2009, hence the polar reference.
  
  My sponsors, Mountain High Outfitters (http://www.mountainhighoutfitters.com/) and Quantum Leap have been very generous in supporting me—thank you so much! Bro-in-law Wayne—thanks for all the help and assistance. Skip—thanks for the good luck watch that’s been through two tours in Iraq. Wes Hobson—I appreciate the last-minute strategic tips prior to leaving. Dennis—thanks for gear assistance from Christy Sports. Stephan, wish you were here to enjoy the cold and sing to me! Greg—I’ll think of you if I have to bivy with your super-duper Denali-tested sleeping bag.
  
  I’m psyched. Beth is psyched. Gotta go…time to demonstrate my stove-lighting skills.
  
  -Will
  
  
  Friday, February 8; Will update
  
  Actually, it’s worse than -50C (-58F) on the course…the -30 is just the temp at the starting line. Snowmobiles malfunction at -50 so there would be no way to rescue us on the course in those temps. We’ll start the race at 10:30 AM as planned, but may have to follow a spontaneously revised course to route us around the death zone as much as possible. Maybe we’ll just run 5000 times around the hotel. Keep you posted!
  
  
  
  Sunday, February 10; Beth update
  
  Hey everyone,
  
  Quick update before I head back out. The race started at 11:27 (after the snow mobiles finally got started). Because of the continued extreme cold the course was altered. The 100 miler course was out and back twice from the first check point to the start. The snow was knee deep for most of the course which made it incredibly difficult for the runners. Will came into the first check point in very good spirits and ready to head back out. I have attached a few photos of the checkpoint to give you a sense of where we are. We hope to have Will back by 5:00 p.m. this evening. He and Steve (300 miler) are the two front runners.
  
  Off I go again to support the racers.
  
  Beth
  
  Thursday, February 14; Will update—post race
  
  Hey folks. First of all, thanks again to my brilliant coach, Ray Zahab (http://www.rayzahab.com/), and my generous sponsors, Quantum Leap (http://www.quantumleap-online.com/) and Mountain High Outfitters (http://www.mountainhighoutfitters.com/).
  
  I know the stories of frostbite were scary, so I wanted to scribble a follow-up note to assure you that Beth and I returned safe and sound with all of our digits intact. We’re doing well and are back to life as usual. If it weren’t for certain aches and pains and the occasional drip of blood from cracked lips, I’d hardly believe that I was running in -50C degree weather on the Yukon River two days ago. It was a tough race but I had ample encouragement, advice, and prayers from all of you to keep moving. Thank you.
  
  Lots of runners did suffer varying degrees of frostbite. I’m fairly certain that no one will lose any appendages though some runners are still at the hospital. I’ve attached two disgusting photos; one is of the hands of the first runner to get frostbite, the second is a photo of my thawed and swollen nose, which has since turned a darker hue but is in no danger of falling off.
  
  Kevin Vallely, one of the runners on the 2009 Polar Run I’m helping put together, advised me to insulate that most important of appendages—the fleshy ambassador of manhood and the key resident of one’s trousers. Thanks, Kevin. He survived. My nose, earlobes, and fingertips did, however, get mildly frostbitten, leading to some swelling, blisters, discoloration, and skin slippage. When we woke up the morning after the race, Beth said, “Will, your nose is even bigger than usual!” She is deeply committed to my humility. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that my nose was, indeed, fat and discolored; I looked like Rudolph, with my nose so bright. I joked that this might be just the excuse I need to go under the knife for that aquiline nose I’ve always wanted!
  
  Anyway we survived, had a great time, learned a lot, made new friends, and created another epic memory. For those of you who are interested, I’ll give you a little blow by blow of the race, below. I feel a little funny writing so much about, well, myself, but many of you have requested it, so here goes. For those of you who are not interested, please feel no compulsion to read on!
  
  Since I plan to keep running, this will partly be an analysis of what went right and what went wrong so that my next race is faster and stronger. I’m happy to have won, but I made lots of mistakes in this race and want to learn from them so that I can become a better competitor.
  
  Miles 1 – 26
  
  I started in front of everyone but the marathoners, as Ray advised, and felt very strong and relaxed. It started snowing early on in this stage and didn’t stop for about fifteen hours. The trail snow was very soft, slow, and deep, so I knew early on to forget about racing for time and to just focus on placement.
  
  This was a real diddley-dinking stage; even though my pace was fast, I had to stop a lot, which degraded my overall pace. Because of the extreme cold nothing worked properly. My snowshoe bindings froze stiff and it took me four attempts and about thirty minutes to get them on. I lost two places diddley-dinking around with them. Marcus, the second guy to pass me while I messed with my snowshoes, stopped and offered to help. Very generous of him, though there was not much he could do. The calm he demonstrated in stopping to help calmed me, and I finally muscled the snowshoes on with frozen hands and got moving again.
  
  The next malfunction was my self-heating meal. This was my one meal for the whole leg and it was nearly inedible. The heater pack thawed about half of the chili, leaving the rest frozen solid. I quickly mixed the frozen and thawed parts together while I walked and shoveled the bean-slush into my mouth as fast as could. By the end, I was literally picking up solid chunks of hardened chili and chewing them up—I actually got an ice-cream headache eating my dinner.
  
  Finally, my gloves malfunctioned. Because of my sweating, they iced up and froze solid. I had to ball up my fingers in a fist and shove them into the palm area of the gloves because the fingers were frozen shut.
  
  Despite the diddley-dinking and the delays, it was a good stage. Once I got the snowshoes figured out, I started motoring again and got into first place among the 100 milers.
  
  Miles 26 – 52
  
  The first checkpoint slowed me down quite a bit. With the exception of Beth, the volunteers all seemed a bit dazed and confused—perhaps overwhelmed by the conditions; it was a very inefficient process to get water bottles filled, gear organized, and balaclava thawed (it had frozen into a stiff and painful helmet on my head and neck). What should have taken three minutes took close to thirty. I learned at that checkpoint that I really need to run these races as if there is no support. Beth was a star and did a great job of organizing everyone else. Without her there, it would have been scary for me and a lot of people.
  
  This stage was all run in the dark. I really enjoyed the solitude and the beauty of the night. Early in the morning, well before sunrise, the clouds cleared and I could see the bluish, iridescent ribbons of the Aurora Borealis. Wow! I didn’t even need a headlamp because of the light the Aurora Borealis threw off.
  
  Miles 52 – 78
  
  At the second checkpoint I was informed that there was no food available, despite the fact that there was supposed to be food at every checkpoint. I did as my friend, former world-class triathlete Wes Hobson, advised me just prior to the race; “Will,” he said, “whenever a negative thought comes into your head, chase it out. There’s no room for that.” So I worked to stay positive, treating this setback as another part of the adventure—a problem to be either shrugged off or solved. I dug out my reserve snack-food—peanut butter crackers and potato chips—and made these my meal replacement. The crackers were the most amazing tasting food EVER. I was that hungry. Unfortunately, they fell off of my sled about ¾ of the way through the leg, so had to survive on Accelerade gels (the only brand that did not freeze solid) and chips for most of the stage.
  
  I encountered Marcus, the second place runner (a German living in Montreal), about thirty minutes after leaving the checkpoint. “I’m really hammered,” he said, “I need to rest.” It was good that he rested at the checkpoint, because he had developed frostbite on his fingers and toes, which he detected only after he’d slept a bit at the checkpoint. He was transported to the hospital and will be okay.
  
  This leg involved more diddley-dinking on my part. I did not have a good system for finding things in my sled, despite the fact that the items were well organized. This cost me time. Ray told me never to stop and he’s absolutely right…the little pauses really added up and cost me dearly in terms of overall time. I have some good ideas for how to avoid this next time.
  
  It snowed some more during this stage and the trail continued to be very soft. Occasionally I would come across a patch of trail where the snow was blown clean away and I was standing on clear blue ice, looking down into the Yukon River. That was creepy.
  
  I still felt strong at this point in the race, though I had begun to cough quite a bit. My only concern with the coughing was that it would give other runners a feel for where I was, which was not good from a tactical perspective.
  
  Miles 78 – 104
  
  Checkpoint three was a disaster. There were fresh volunteers who had absolutely no clue. The water was not heated when I arrived so they put cold water in my freeze-dried meal. I crunched through about half of the meal and finally had to stop and toss it. Since I’d been living on peanut butter crackers and chips, I needed some nourishment, but there was no food at the checkpoint other than freeze dried meals. So I waited for the volunteers to try to light the stove, which they flooded it to the point that fuel was pouring onto the floor right next to the little generator-powered electric blast heater with its red-hot coils. I decided to wait outside the hut.
  
  When the water was finally heated, I poured some into another freeze-dried lasagna, stuck it in my sled, and took off. Another thirty minutes wasted! Positive thoughts, positive thoughts, positive thoughts.
  
  Soon after I left the checkpoint, my coughing worsened, my lungs began to whistle loudly with each breath and, very suddenly, began to seize up. Within a few minutes I felt panic creeping up from my stomach to my chest and swirling into my head; I thought I might soon lose my capacity to breathe. I seriously considered backtracking to the checkpoint and pulling out of the race, since I knew that I would not have any assistance out on the course. Instead, I slowed my pace significantly and focused on breathing by exhaling rather than inhaling. It worked somewhat, though the wheezing increased over time and I had to be very attentive to my effort; every time I increased my pace, my lungs were simply unable to keep up and would become more irritated; they felt about the size of grapes. It was claustrophobic and scary, but I did some praying, searched around for my sense of humor, and, once again, just decided to treat this as part of the adventure. “There are worse ways to die than suffocating,” I said out loud, “even though I can’t think of any at the moment.” I recorded a message on my little voice recorder in case I did get in trouble and couldn’t talk. It was a ridiculous message, but was probably a good idea: “Hi, uh, if I’m having trouble breathing, (wheeze, cough) please get me to the doctor immediately for a nor-epinephrine inhaler.” It’s fortunate that I didn’t need the recorder, because I don’t even know what nor-epinephrine is; I meant to say Albuterol, which saved me during the mountain stage in China. My lungs did yield up some horrifying black gremlins throughout that night and the next day, but things have calmed down considerably and I’m breathing fine now.
  
  By the time I grabbed the meal from my sled to eat, it was frozen solid. Useless. Fortunately, I came across my little pack of forlorn peanut butter crackers lying right where they’d dropped on the trail and munched these instead. So I was somewhat undernourished, but somehow my body found its own fuel—sometimes a little body fat pays off.
  
  My final challenge, and one of the toughest, was getting lost for about thirty minutes near the finish line. I actually passed the finish line in Whitehorse without seeing it and wandered through town dragging my sled around; even in Whitehorse this looked ridiculous and I got lots of baffled stares (does that guy think he’s a dog?). Mentally, I was so prepared for the race to be over that I went a little nutty and started ranting and raving out loud, swearing at myself, at the stupid people who didn’t mark the course clearly (actually, it was quite well marked), at the stupid finish line for not being where it was suppose to be, etc. Expecting me earlier and hearing reports of my lung issues, Beth got worried and went out to get me! I finally found the finish line and Beth showed up about an hour later (the medic went searching for her). So…all’s well that ends well.
  
  Anyway, just wanted to fill you in. Thanks so much for following the race and supporting Beth and me in our adventure.
  
  Lots of love,
  
  Will