Karma at Arrowhead 135

 

I’ve been in a warm place for about 18 hours since finishing the Arrowhead 135 mile race in northern MN. I’m still wearing a few more layers than normal as I sit down to write this.

Arrowhead 135 is a point-to-point race from International Falls, MN (called the coldest city in the lower 48, and also, “the icebox”) to Fortune Bay near Tower, MN on the Arrowhead trail - a snowmobile route, groomed and maintained by local clubs. The race is held late in January, ideally when temperatures are the lowest. Race Directors are an odd bunch, aren’t they? 

I like to problem solve, and to plan, I like running in the cold (mostly) – and I like a challenge. Plus, pulling a sled for 135 miles just sounded silly.  So, I signed up. Twice actually, because 2021 was canceled. My lime green sled had been resting in a corner of the garage (getting the side eye from my husband who doesn’t like clutter) since Oct. 2020.

How does one train for a race like this? Looking at the finishing times, I clearly won’t be moving faster than 4 miles an hour. And what does it feel like to pull a sled? And what kind of cold specific training can I do in Albuquerque?

It was a test of my commitment and planning skills. 2022 wasn’t a great snow year for Albuquerque – no snow until late in December. I finally couldn’t wait any longer and started pulling the sled on grass with a 24 pack of pop loaded in it. I tried Hardin field on KAFB – it’s about 0.3 miles around and flat. BORING. Balloon Fiesta Park - the best place I found to pull - also featured a large fan base of geese that honked their encouragement (or were they laughing?) the entire time. I managed to break my sled twice (I think we’ll call this on-the-job training). Turns out that U-turns would break the fiberglass poles. Also, if the sled gets stuck on something, I can’t just yank on it.

Here’s what I learned about sled construction:

My set up:

Hiking pack hip belt
--> Connected to eyebolt via 3/8” bungee cording I cut and threaded through the hiking belt
-->Eyebolt screwed into female connector that was epoxied onto 3/8” fiberglass poles 6’ in length.
-->Heim tie-rod bolts (look like a hip socket) epoxied onto other end of pole
-->Hitch pin goes through the tie rod, and is bolted to the sled.

***The bungee cord was nice for a little give, otherwise the sled jerked against me uncomfortably with every step. I tried a stiff connection, and also a thicker bungee connection, and the 3/8” bungee connection with two very short lengths instead of one long continuous length. One long length was best.

***I learned nearly everyone at arrowhead uses a rope instead of my set up with fiberglass poles, so that when they get to a downhill, they don’t have to unclip the waist belt to sit on their sled like I did. The trail hardly has any sections of camber, so the fixed poles didn’t offer any advantage for side slipping. And not sledding easily is a disadvantage for sure.

***I tried putting metal “fins” on the bottom to keep the sled tracking, but they created way too much drag. And, as Arrowhead had no camber, this was not at all needed.

Pulling a sled is such an unknown – I obsessed about how I could train to be sure I could pull for two or more days straight – and I never felt completely confident about it. (Actually I still don’t.) I pulled the sled 5 times for about 12 hours total before the race. On the Sandia service road which is groomed for x-country ski, I had to wear snowshoes = 2.5 mph. Same for the x-country ski area near Pajarito – I could only average just over 2 mph. Ack!  Ken convinced me to drive to Chama with him, which I resisted because I didn’t know what kinds of trails would be up there. But he was 100% right, as the snowmobile packed trail there allowed me to pull for 3.5 hours and faster (>4mph!) and easier than any other outing. It was not really enough, not nearly enough, but it would have to do.

The conundrum of how to get a sled from NM to MN was solved by my wonderful husband. He undertook a road trip in the truck to drive my sled up north with our friend Richard. AND he made it look like a blast, stopping to see friends in various places along the way. All so I could use a little less vacation and not be road weary at the start line. I flew up, watched him take on a 23K x-country ski race (which was awesome) on Saturday morning. Then Saturday night we got to International Falls. It’s cold but not frigid. It’s hard not to stand outside and test myself against it. At the Chocolate Moose restaurant, we eat a good, pretty standard Midwest family restaurant meal (no seared ahi tuna on mixed greens…. But decent chicken breast for me with wild rice and veggies.) A couple comes up to us as we are enjoying cheesecake for dessert, and she asks with a gleam in her eye – are you doing The Race? I get the swooping sensation in my stomach and look down at my plate, but Ken proclaims, “she is! It’s going to be great. It’s her first time….”  And we talk just a little about the weather forecast and running it versus ski or bike. She asks my name, and says that her house is just off the course and she will come out to cheer, maybe, she says, she’ll see me out there. As she waves goodbye, I realize I didn’t ask HER name – sheesh, what was I thinking? And also, it would be a lot to ask of a stranger to come out and cheer for someone they met at a restaurant.

The race can be done on fat tire bikes, skis, kicksleds, or on foot. I had written two plans, one for finishing in 49 hours, and one for 54 hours – but I really had no idea. Even though on some of my training pulls, I was barely able to move faster than 2 mph I just hoped I’d be able to move faster than that on the race course.  And if not, what could I do? If the trail was so soft I had to wear snowshoes, I likely would not be able to finish.

We lucked out with the weather - there was no Polar Vortex this year pushing the temperatures to -45 or lower. A small part of me was a bit disappointed that wind chill would bring our coldest temperatures down to only  -27 Tuesday night.  Race morning was about 9 F, with a 10 mph headwind. Maybe the threat of trenchfoot during the warmth of Monday would be enough of a challenge…. I just hoped the snow wouldn’t soften too much and slow things down.

 Two days earlier, I had bought a pair of wool leggings to wear under my insulated tights. So Sunday, the day before the race, I test them out on a little 1.5 mi run to get me away from organizing, making lists, packing food bags, and arranging my sled. The tights make me too warm by far, so I decide I will not wear them. And I will also not even bring them along. Because I know – if it gets cold out on the trail, I will NOT be stripping down to bare legs to put them on. My final starting clothes include smartwool Sport Fleece Wind Tight (awesome if a bit loose), wool sports bra that doubles as a soft flask holder, long sleeve wool shirt and windbreaker, plus a smartwool midweight jacket on top. Wool socks and gaiters. A Salomon hydration vest with soft flasks up front that fits under my jackets. A waist belt for my food, also under the jackets. A buff. Glove liners for my hands. And a warm hat with a bill, insulating fake fur and ear flaps, and a removable mask portion – ridiculously awesome.

Unsaid in all of this prep, is Ken. A foundation. Taking off my blinders. Reminding me of my strengths. A sounding board for silly decisions that don’t matter. Someone who appreciates the racing stripes I put on the back of my sled.

Pretty cool fireworks sent off the bikers at 7 AM down the still dark trail leading out of town. I had read that it would be 4 minutes til the skiers left, then another 4 minutes for the foot division to leave. Ken stood next to me -I had felt awkward getting my sled out of the truck. Awkward trying to attach the poles to the sled, and fumbled with the hip belt trying to clip it over my jacket. I was going to have this attached to me for the next 50 hours or so, maybe more. Probably more.  And now I felt awkward not knowing where I should stand in the small group of people, how to maneuver my sled around other sleds… And then I realize that all the people are moving away from me down the trail! “I guess I’m leaving” I said to Ken – kissed him once more and headed off. I think he reminded me to be smart, and to not go too fast for the first 100 miles.

I didn’t have my headlamp out, and used the lights of others for about 10 minutes. The trail was 12 ft wide, flat and firm for the first 18 miles, and the pulling was …easy.  I was trotting along easily. What a relief. Even if the hills in from miles 37 to 114 slowed me down, it felt so good to be able to move with some purpose, not reduced to trudging with snowshoes. (Which were packed in my sled on the bottom just in case.) On the side of the trail, there was typically a fast line of smoother packed snow while the middle was chewed up by snowmobiles. I started in the back, and passed people one after the other for the first 6 miles, and met Greg a friend of a friend. We trotted together for several miles exchanging stories. He’d done the race before, and let me know we were on course record pace. I wasn’t concerned, though, as I was keeping my effort very low, not sweating, beyond easy running pace. I focused on my posture, trying to make sure the sled didn’t drag my hips back.  We saw the sun’s glow breaking through the leafless brush on the side of the trail and stop to take a picture. Eventually Greg and I part, but not before he recounts to me seeing “dog” tracks on the trail. Thinking how nice that people come and walk their dogs out here. In the middle of nowhere. And then realizing that they were wolf tracks – no one is coming out miles from town to walk their dog on a snowmobile route.

Along the way, I see an insulated metal water flask in the middle of the trail that someone must have lost – slipped right out of their sled. That could be race ending to not have liquid water available! I pick it up and run some of the cording on my sled around it tightly. I remember wondering if I would notice the weight increase (it’s full) but I don’t think I can. Eight miles later I come up on Pam Reed who has done this race a few times, and it was her bottle. She was so happy to get it back and we shared a few miles on the trail. She thanked me several times, and I just thought, “Good Karma – some time I’ll be the one needing help!”

 

A few bends later, I see a woman bundled up on the side of the trail, just standing. As I get closer, she calls out – Margaret?  I couldn’t believe it – the woman from the restaurant! I stopped and thanked her for coming out, and asked her name – Elayne. She had been tracking me, so she knew right when to come out on the course. That had me smiling for several miles. I couldn’t believe she would do that and it made such a difference to me – otherwise there were no people around. And after about 25 miles, there weren’t even other racers near me. A few snowmobiles passed me, giving me plenty of room and I waved. I could feel now that my feet were wet, and wondered if these “Snowbug” shoes were not letting my feet breath enough since the weather was warm. They felt a bit odd, sensitive almost. Otherwise I felt fine – pulling was still easy, no chafing from the belt, I was doing a good job of getting 250-300 calories per hour in. Easy to do when you are moving so slowly!

Getting to the first aid station at the Gateway convenience store at mile 37 in 9 hours I was well ahead of schedule. Ken and Richard met me here, but the race doesn’t allow crew, pacers or any outside help. They couldn’t get me anything, but it seeing them was great.  The only worry was that the warm temperatures made trenchfoot and overall wet feet a real problem. I pulled off my shoes – which were soaking wet, stripped off the socks and my feet had white patches of saturated calluses. While I considered what to do about that, I bought soup, chips, Rice Krispy treats, Junior Mints, and a Reese’s candy bar. And Coke. I started eating and dug out the notecard that detailed what I was supposed to do at this aid station. Trash – check. Water – check. Feet? Hmm. Just then, the store owner wanders by. “I’m not telling you what to do or anything but there are socks down that aisle…”   I blinked twice – looked at Ken nodding his head. Down that aisle there were actually merino wool socks – so I bought a pair. Size 6-12 the package said, but at this point, who needs sizes? I had two more pairs of socks in my sled, but I wanted them for later. I eat as much as I can, save the rice krispy bar and the junior mints for later, keep the chip bag in my hand to finish off as I go. I stuff my too large socks into my still wet shoes, and get myself back outside. I leave my gaiters up around my calves to let my feet breathe as much as possible. The volunteers remind me to check out, and Ken walks a few steps with me, reminding me that the race doesn’t start for another 24 hours. 

The trail is getting dark now, and I challenge myself to get as far as I can before turning on the headlamp. Mostly because I don’t want to have to deal with changing batteries if I don’t have to; but it’s going to be dark for 15 hours. There’s a been a bit of a headwind all day, but now it starts to bite. I flip down my ear flaps. Finally, I realize I need the light, but also I should get my cold avenger (neck gaiter + silicone cup cover for nose and mouth) and my windproof mittens out. I remember carefully considering what I was going to do during the stop, the order of steps, where everything was in my sled so that I would be stopped for as short a time as possible. Not because I was racing, but because the cold would be worse if I stopped moving. The course was a sinuous ribbon of small gentle rollers trailing off into the darkness ahead. And darkness behind. No headlamps in sight, but snowflakes start to swirl. Each downhill made me smile, unclipping my belt, flipping the sled poles and belt back, then sitting on the sled with the poles resting on my shoulder. Then I’d use my heels and my poles – kicking and pushing like mad till I got up to speed. Then, Whoosh! Not always going straight, giggling and whooping occasionally. I figure I got in about 2.5 miles of sledding during the race, sitting on top of my gear, squinting against the snowflakes in the wind and dark.

At one of the few road crossings, I spot a figure. Must be a volunteer to make sure we get across the traffic ok. But then I hear, “Venga!” and the figure resolves into Ken. A few encouraging words and I scoot off the road down the trail.

I’m still eating and drinking like a champ. After one stop as I’m getting some more food, another foot person passes me. I’m glad to see someone else, and also impressed at his ground-eating strides. I start trotting again, and sledding. My lack of sled control is a little obvious when I pass him a short while later on a downhill, perhaps a little too closely. Ooops.

A snowmobiler passes me, then stops and talks – he says I’m not far to the AS at mile 72. I thought crossing the lake would be so cool! I was a bit disappointed to find it just a flat expanse, with few markers on it. No creaking. No exposed ice. But I could see some lights in the distance and headed for them.

Just like the previous stop, I dug out my notecard and read off what I needed to do. Get my one drop bag of food, Eat, change socks, charge my watch, and load food into my pack. My clothes were fine. Make mashed potatoes to eat around mile 86. I set my shoes and socks next to the wood stove and let my feet air out. They weren’t worse, maybe a little less white and less wet now that it was colder. I restocked my pack, and the volunteers asked if I wasn’t going to plan on sleeping? There was another cabin set aside for racers to sleep in. But I felt good, wide awake and ready to keep going. This was my plan, what I do at 100 mile races, and didn’t see a reason to change it. (Still don’t – this was the right choice for me.) I reviewed the course (I had taped the elevation profile to the back of my bib in segments). The next AS was 42 miles away, and between here and there were more hills. I planned to stop and eat at mile 86, then again at mile 98 before the AS at mile 110 where there was no food, just water. Racers had to be self sufficient after the mile 72 AS, no more drop bags, no outside food or gear.

My food was separated into 3 ziplock bags. I loaded as much as I could out of the mile 72 bag into my waist belt, and a few gels into the pockets of the hydration pack. The insulated container with the hot mashed potatoes went into a duffle. There was still some food left in the mile 72 bag, and I nestled all three in my sled and tucked the burrito wrap around it all, strapped it down with the bungee cords, and headed out close to 4 am.

I had on an additional puffy jacket now as the temperature had dropped some more, but while moving I was very comfortable. I still took every opportunity to sled downhill, sometimes trying it on hills that weren’t really long enough. I found another heavy insulated metal water container on the trail and picked it up. Somewhere around mile 76, I stopped eating as much as I had been. I felt good, I was happy with being still an hour ahead of schedule. It was still dark – darkness lasts about 15 hours up here. And I started thinking – ok, 60 miles left, I’ll probably slow down some…. Maybe 2.5 to 3 mph… running numbers in my head. I was going to be out here another 22 hours?? Ooof. Maybe that’s not right. Try it again. 60 miles, 3 miles an hour, is 20 hours or 2.5 miles an hour is 24 hours…. I started to get down. “I’ve been out nearly 24 hours, and I have that many still to go. And it’s not like I can go any faster.” I’ve never allowed myself down this rabbit hole before – I think because other 100 mile races don’t have 42 mile gaps between aid stations. I made myself eat something – always step #1 in a low spot. Then I focused on the next milestone – my planned food stop in 8 miles. That’s only 2.5 hours away. Lift up your head and look around – clouds obscured the stars, but snow and shadows playing among the trees quieted my grumbling. I came to a road crossing… and stopped. On the other side, the trail split 3 ways. There was no reflective marker. I double checked the trail crossing. Nope no markers. Finally I dug out my phone on airplane mode, pulled open Gaia, and started moving down the correct trail.  Even that small problem solving took energy, but also being successful renewed my focus and determination.

I kept plugging on, and saw Ken at a road crossing just after dawn, which was uplifting. He still couldn’t help me with anything, but seeing him on the now windy and colder trail was great. A little while later I sat and ate at my first break – mashed potatoes! They were cool now, but still tasty. I reloaded out of the next food bag and pushed on, aiming for mile 98. The wind, cutting through my gloves, drove me to get some handwarmers out of my gear. I was a little sloppy packing up the sled, but the bungee cords were tight. I was alone on the trail, plenty of time to admire nature’s snow sculptures. The hills were more constant now. Some felt too short to sled down. I was getting tired of unclipping my belt all the time. Large painted signs would appear advertising food and gas for snowmobilers – just 2 miles down this path!  Not for me. My eyes started playing tricks on me – an evergreen decked out with small Norweigan flags on each branch slowly resolved into dollops of snow on each branch. Branches close to the ground made outlines of carnival ride animals against the snow. Weird. And every straight, angled downed tree looked like a shelter roof. On and on the trail went, and it seemed like the day wasn’t progressing – no bright sunshine, just a whole day of diffuse light.

At my next break at mile 98, time for a food reload. Standing over my sled slack-jawed, I was stunned to find that two bags of food, for the last two chunks (37 miles) of the race, had slipped out of my sled at some point in the last 11 miles. I walked back along the trail to the top of the last hill I’d crossed, but saw nothing. What was I going to do? The next aid station at mile 110 was 3 hours away, and they didn’t have food for racers, just water. I had a few things left in the mile 72 bag, and whatever was left in my hydration pack and waist belt. For 37 miles.

There’s no way. I’m not going to be able to finish.

I was stumped. I decided to keep moving until the shelter that I knew was coming up, and take stock. When I got there, a pair of bikers were fixing a meal, their bikes propped up in the shelter. There didn’t seem to be much room. I told them what had happened, and they reminded me that the upcoming Aid station wouldn’t have any food, just water. There was nothing really left for me to do – I didn’t want to spend 20 minutes inventorying what I had left with an audience. I walked back to my sled, and decided to ration what I had. I could make it 12 miles. And then figure out how to do the last 25 miles. In the cloudy fog of being awake for 30+ hours, this turned into not eating anything at all for 3 hours. I was focused on getting to the aid station. I stopped sledding downhill – wrestling with the belt clip was too much work. Just keep moving. One or two people passed me, and I asked them if they had seen any gallon ziplocks filled with gels? But no luck.

I hung with Nathan, an unsupported racer, for a mile or two just before the aid station, the wind now had picked up and I could see it was getting close to dusk. I was tensed against the cold, but to stop NOW for another jacket?!? The aid station had to be around the next corner. Or the next one….

By the time I got to the aid station I had let myself get cold, I was drained, and wasn’t sure I would even have enough food to continue.

Ken and Richard were there and they had heard from a guy that passed me that I had lost my food. The amazing aid station captain, it turned out, had started a new energy gel brand called Embark based on his organic maple syrup farm. He pointed me into the warming hut, and I started pulling all the food I had (except the emergency 3000 calorie stash I had to finish with) and laying it out. There was more than I thought, about 1200 calories. I started eating the mashed potatoes I had forgotten existed – cold now, but still good. The aid station captain gave me two samples (600 calories) which with what I still had left would be enough for the last 25 miles. I could keep going. I couldn’t thank him enough. I didn’t have anything caffeinated, which was going to be an issue, but at least that was something I could face. Counting the hours – 10 hours left, that means I need roughly 2000 calories, though 3000 would be better. I figured I could eat a granola bar from my stash now as well as the mashed potatoes. It was hard to get warm even huddled next to the stove radiating heat.

I dug out my notecard and followed the instructions. I pulled off my socks and shoes, got on a new pair of socks, and set about reloading my pack. The night was supposed to get cold, -27 F, so I also decided now was the time to put on all my layers: 2 shirts, 4 jackets, and wind pants over my tights. I changed the batteries in my headlamp, and put it around my neck.  

A racer comes in, and holds out something toward me – “Are these yours?” He had picked up my two food bags, and carried them for miles! Karma – that was a pretty quick turn-around!! I was so relieved to have the caffeinated gels and everything back. I thanked him over and over again.  I repacked my hydration pack with a few caffeinated things, and caffeine pills, making sure I knew where they were. I kept the energy gels the AS captain had given me, I felt like they were now part of my gear. I did take a long time in that aid station to warm up and to eat as much as I could before heading out 1h 25 min.

It took me several trips in and out of the warming tent to get everything reloaded, and I really didn’t want to forget anything. I couldn’t find my headlamp until I remembered it was around my neck.

Ken told me I was second woman which I had a hard time believing – I was moving so slowly. He watched me helplessly fumble with my belt clip. I was so happy to be leaving for the last section, knowing I had everything I needed. It was nearly dark and I wanted to be down the trail before turning on my headlamp – it’s the small goals that you hold on to. Off I went, after a quick picture.

There’s a renowned hill, “Wake ‘em Up” hill just after the AS, supposedly wickedly steep. As I was tromping up it, sure I could feel the weight of my sled, but it was still only 150 yards long – really not bad. And the downhill was awesome!! I skidded recklessly through the night, feeling the cold nip at my eyes – the only thing exposed. It was over too soon, and that would be the last sledding adventure with my trusty, racing striped sled.

I was with another runner, back and forth. We crossed a road, and the markers were confusing. There was one marking the straight-ahead direction, and one marking a right turn that paralleled the road. The other runner made the right turn, but after a minute or two, I felt doubtful – there were not a lot of tracks. I stopped and pulled out my phone – hand getting very cold – and yelled out. We doubled back to the straight ahead path, and got on course. There were drifts here for the first time – pulling the sled up a drift, feeling it slump down the drift, up and down, almost enough to make you queasy. I yo-yoed with that racer for a bit, feeling good. I had the Embark salted maple syrup energy gel – ooo, tasty! And not at all too thick when cold. I would run for 15 minutes, walk for 10, start to feel tired, have some more maple syrup – repeat.   

The last 25 miles were flat, and seemingly never-ending straightaways. It was dark again, and here I am still trudging and trotting through the snow pulling a sled. What absurd things we do. My yo-yo partner finally leaves me behind as I’m pausing more and more trying to get to food. A shooting star streaked across the night, just before the last road crossing where Ken was waiting to cheer me on one last time around midnight.

The -24 with wind chill made getting a gel, or getting a caffeine pill into a project – propping my poles on a near by tree or snowdrift, taking off gloves, unzipping 3 jackets, poking around in my vest until my fingers got too cold to feel. After the 4^th or 5^th try, I gave up. I was not going to be able to get to any of my caffeinated products without taking my jackets off completely – the pocket they were in was too hard to get to. And that was just not going to happen. I had my Embark maple syrup gels, and some non-caffeinated gels, and some beef jerky sticks. Nothing sounded appetizing – I was fighting against being sleepy so much, that I ate less.

My feet were hurting (blisters and heel rubbing), but I kept moving as well as I could. I talked to myself to keep awake, sang a few songs, and worked at solving the world’s problems. I believe I solved them too, if only I could remember what I was thinking…

The trail narrowed a bit after crossing another trail, and there’s a sign for the Thunder Bay resort – the finish line. I’m close. I had to untie my shoes because the pain of the heel cup digging into my Achilles was so bad. I’d spent several hours in the space where I would walk until that made my heels hurt so much that I’d groan, then I’d run/trot until the blisters on the balls of my feet would get so painful I’d have to walk again. I remember clearly the moment when the heel pain was getting so bad that I just decided I was going to have to trot the rest of the way. The trees seem to crowd the trail here, but I see snow fencing, and the glow of lights over a hill - I finally round the last corner and see the finish line. I wish I could say I picked it up and sprinted across the line, but I was happy to trot across it, period. I finished 2^nd woman in 44:15, very happy, very tired, and a little cold.