White Mountains 100 -- the official report

Perhaps because the White Mountains 100 took me nearly 46 hours, or perhaps because I tend to space out during these things, my memory of the race consists of a few isolated vignettes.  (Will this make my blog post arty?  I sure hope so).

            1.         Fran is famous.

My friend Fran, who lives in Bozeman and whom I paced at Wasatch this past summer, was the immediate topic of conversation with fellow racer Greg, who was reportedly angry until we started talking about Fran.  She is the person he knows from Montana.  He met Fran, and presumably me though I obviously left no impression on him, during Wasatch.  Or maybe he met her in Bozeman some years back, I forget.  What was clear is that Fran left a lasting impression and the invocation of Fran was all Greg needed to stop stressing about whatever gear issues delayed his race start and get a move on.  Greg finished pretty quickly, jump-started by the awesomeness that is Fran Zelenitz.

 

As an aside, I too spent the beginning of the race futzing with my stuff.  Rather than doing this before the race start, I sat in the car lazily drinking coffee and feeling totally relaxed, as if I was waiting to pick someone up from swim practice rather than waiting to walk 100 miles in the snow.  My new sled, while awesome, needed to be MacGyver’ed a bit and my many electronics needed to be turned on, readied and all that.  Knowing from experience that the 5 minutes it would take me to deal with these things would amount to nothing in the grand scheme of things, I stopped along the trail early on and got everything ready (which should have been done prior to the race obviously).  I assured Greg when he caught me that he need not stress about the time lost messing with his own gear.  And we agreed that Fran is awesome.

 

            2.         The first 17 miles are a total complete blur

It took me about 5 hours to do the first 17 miles, which thrilled me since I knew that was how long it took Beat last year and he finished very quickly in 33 hours or something like that.  Not that I expected to be as fast as Beat, but I always hold out this fantasy early in races that today will be my magical day.  Regardless, I remember nothing between chatting with Greg and rolling into the tent at mile 17, other than losing my camera and laughing since I’ve lost and found it so many times I think it’s stalking me.  Oh, and there were volunteers about 7 miles in who I now know are really cool since I’m Facebook friends with one of them.  They remarked on my super stylish outfit and took a picture of me with both their camera and mine.  Otherwise, I can only assume that the first 17 miles were pleasant, or that I was asleep, since I cannot tell you a thing about it. 

these guys returned my camera to me

 

            3.         The next 20 or so miles are also a blur

This next section, which included a section of reportedly “punchy soft snow” that was, as reported, punchy and soft, is best remembered as the “road to baked potato.”  The snow conditions made the going slower than my normal slow and was very slightly aggravating.  Truth be told, however, it was nothing compared to some trail conditions I’ve experienced elsewhere.  Snow shoes would have been superfluous, which is a good indication that the trail wasn’t that bad.  There was a section of steep downhill where I fell and my sled drug me down like a slide.  That was funny.  I laughed out loud, which startled me somewhat because until that point I had been fairly quiet out on the trail. 

I saw a lot of this

It started really snowing I think in this section which was not super awesome.  I was sort of bummed that I couldn’t see what I could only assume were stunning views all around me.

At some point on this section or the next I lost a giant bag of chocolate.  I felt like a loser litterer.  I learned that Moose do not eat Snickers’ bars and there was basically nothing that would touch my bag of chocolate.  Or was there? 

I thought often about how the next checkpoint had baked potatoes with cheese and sour cream.  I think there had earlier been bacon but the cyclists, who are obviously all assholes, probably ate all the bacon.

There was a great baked potato and good conversation in the well-heated cabin that ended this section.  I got to chat with a dropped cyclist who seemed like a neat guy, whose name I’ve already forgotten but is a friend of Jill and Beat’s (everyone in the middle of nowhere in Alaska seems to know them) and learned how to make an “Orangoutang” (you don’t want to know).  Eventually I knew I would have to leave so leave I did.  Onward.

            4.         The next section included the “ice lakes,” a foxy doctor and a mountain pass 

The temperatures during the race were consistently inconsistent.  As in, a matter of a mile might be the difference of 20 degrees.  I was comfortably dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a vest for the majority of the early miles, but at some point near the “ice lakes” the temperature dropped profoundly and I got really cold.  Like, too cold to stop and put my coat on.  The glare ice was covered in a blanket of snow so the going was not especially treacherous and the overflow was mostly frozen except for a few pools of shallow standing water.  I did get one shoe very slightly wet but mostly got super cold.  I warmed up after about an hour of lollygagging in the tent that was strategically set up at the end of the ice lakes.  I am very grateful for the gentle assistance and kindness of the guy who was manning that tent.  I was a little embarrassed to be anything but all smiles and gushing (if fake) enthusiasm.  I allowed myself to be miserable for a little while and felt like an infant.  The guy should have told me to cowgirl-up but instead he boiled water for me and stoked the fire until the temperature was unbearable for all except a very cold Danni.

Somewhere in this section was a very long uphill that took us over a mountain pass that was above treeline and really cool looking in the darkness.

Eventually I reached the cabin that had soup with meatballs and there was a foxy doctor who once worked in Butte (not as foxy as Ted obviously).  The meatball goddess told me that the next section was pretty fast and pointed out that if I made 3 mph I could finish the race in daylight (as in around 36 hours or so).  Elated by this dubious prospect, I set out with a skip in my step.  Only, the thing is, that next section was not fast.  It was basically all uphill.

            5.         The next section was uphill

The next section was not fast.  It was basically all uphill.  It took forever.  I got a giant snowball stuck to the bottom of my shoe (it was clinging to the cord of my gaiter) and had to march uphill.  Forever.  I started hallucinating.  The snow blobs all looked like animals, including dinosaurs and cats and other non-arctic animals.  I would get really close to tell my brain that it was just snow, but no matter how close I got or how long I stared I could still see the eyes, nose and other features of the animal.  It was really annoying.  Losing control of my brain was deeply uncomfortable.  I knew I was hallucinating, though others saw much of the same, and I was helpless to stop it.  So I just rolled with it.  Hello tree of puppies.  Hello elephant -- oh wait you are not an elephant you are a goat!  Hello basketball hoop.  Hello owl.  Oh, you are a real owl.  Creepy but cool.  Hello wooden cat.  I still do not know if that cat was a real chainsaw style cat or not.  Not sure why it would be there but you never know.

more like an iceball

A mile before each checkpoint there is a sign notifying you that you are a mile from the next checkpoint.  All the trees looked like this stupid sign.  That was very uncool.  Again, everyone seemed to be having the same problem.  (I was in close proximity to the same group of skiers for the latter part of the race and so we got to compare hallucinations and tribulations). 

real sign

I thought it was the sign.  Boo.

Getting frustrated with this section, I finally pulled out my secret weapon: my friend Brad’s iPod.  He generously (at my request) loaded some music for me so that I would have an iPod of surprise music to entertain me during any rough spots.  Indeed, it did the trick.  Mainly, I chuckled frequently realizing that Brad owned the music I was hearing.  He has excellent taste in music, but let’s just say he is clearly ten years older than I am...

look Keith and Meghan, I have a huge range of emotions -- I am grumpy!

Finally I saw the real sign and about cried with joy.  I made it.  I made it.  I made it.  There would be ramen noodles, which I love.  I love ramen.  I made it!  Yeah!

At this cabin, I went up to the loft, did “child’s pose” and tried to not have a tantrum.  I did not want to continue.  But, eventually, after socializing for awhile and eating ramen noodles, I was ready to go.  The skier I walked with near the end of my first Susitna was also racing, and there was some joking about how we swore “never again” but were both there.  I shared my memory of her and the fact that I had blogged about her, convincing everyone there that I was pathetic and geeky all rolled together.  I learned that Daniel, who wasn’t too far behind me, found my chocolate baggie and seemed to be enjoying it, so that made me happy.

            6.         That happy feeling section

Leaving this cabin began the last 20 or so miles of pure awesome.  The calm I feel sometimes out on the trail is indescribable.  Waves of contentment and satisfaction with the world, my place in it, all that has passed and all that is yet to come washed over me as I made my way down the trail, pulling my sled of snackage and rocking out to tunes, which are most delicious during these moments.  All the senses feed off each other, elevating me to a state of peaceful bliss.  The next eight miles, until I reached the trail shelter where we had the option of hanging out in warmth (which I did for at least an hour or more), were by far 8 of the best miles I’ve ever travelled by foot.  I chose to take a quick nap at the trail shelter, perversely wanting to prolong things.  With only ten more miles to go, it would soon be over.

Sun?

Intense feelings can only last so long.  While the remainder of the race did not reach the pitch those eight had, they were still good miles.  I drug my sled up the Wickersham Wall, wondering if my sled would pull me to the bottom if I fell or passed out.  I did think I was 100% on the wrong trail for the last two miles, but knew from my GPS that I was near the highway and could hitch a ride or walk to the actual finish.  The snow had blown over the tracks.  I won’t bother to explain why it was obvious that I was lost, but I did wonder who had been out skiing in the middle of the night when I saw some pole marks.  The wind was blowing in my face, blizzarding basically, but my stash of black olives got me though.  Eventually I reached a sign that said I was a mile from the finish and was pleased that I had not, after all, taken the wrong (imaginary) trail. 

            7.         The finish

Jill had sent up cookies baked by our friend Amy and milk which were waiting for me upon my arrival at the finish line.  I had an Indian Spinach Wrap and stupidly returned promptly to Fairbanks where I napped for a few hours then began a day of socializing with Fairbanks friends -- Mike and then Ti.  I have been reading Ti’s blog and was so stoked to meet her in person.  She’s an awesome woman and I really enjoyed having dinner with her.

            8.         Afterthoughts

It was fairly uneventful in light of the fact that I drug a sled 100 miles in the Alaskan interior.  I do recall thinking it was really hard while I was doing it, but when I would question myself more closely on these bold proclamations I would learn that I was basically full of it and trying to drum up drama.  I declared to myself that I will never go to Antarctica (better break it to Jill sooner than later) and would never do another 100, but we all know how these things go.

EDIT:  JILL'S COUNTERPOINT

I think the earth maybe shifted for me