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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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).
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| 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...
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| 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.
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| 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
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| I think the earth maybe shifted for me |
