I’m sitting in a café, drinking an Americano fuerte, in Puerto Natales, Chile. Seeing
those words in front of me seems vaguely surreal…like I’ve stepped into someone
else’s life. I mean, what regular person actually travels to the Chilean
Antarctic to drink coffee and run a race? That kind of charmed life is for the
athletic elites, sponsored writers, and those with six and seven figure paychecks.
And yet, here I am, with the sore Achilles tendons and tight IT bands to prove
it.
Following the epic adventure of the Bigfoot 200, racing
internationally seemed the logical next step in my search for beautiful views
and life’s limits. After reading Candice Burt’s report on the Ultra Fiord 100 (
http://www.wilddefined.com/2015/04/on-becoming-conqueror-ultra-fiord-108-mi.html),
in which the High Priestess of 200s labels it the “
toughest, longest, and most dangerous race I have ever done,” the
wild grounds of Patagonia started calling. Pennies saved, entry accepted, passport
renewed, plane tickets and gear purchased, and enough Spanish reviewed to say “Hi,
I’m a mountain runner and a vegetarian who eats fish. Where’s the bathroom.
Thank you!” all that remained was to step into the unknown.
Amazing places and epic
adventures offer great highs but also the deepest lows. The beauty is in
feeling such a full spectrum of emotion, the entirety of your humanity, in such
a short time. And so, Patagonia and the Ultra Fiord 100 qualifies as an amazing
and epic adventure, because it certainly did not fail to provide a canvas for
that spectrum. Here is our story, as told through many pictures and a few
words.
Embarrassment/Confusion: Traveling in another country
is a good way to see how red you can turn while ordering a cup of coffee and
having your credit card declined. Always be kind to people who don’t speak your
language well. Actually, always be kind, but especially then. Being surrounded
by another language teaches you to build confidence over time, but you always
feel like you’re missing information. Information that may be critical to your
survival when entering a treacherous mountain course in bad weather, or to your
luggage getting to the right destination when switching from an international
to domestic flight area.
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| Fortunately, there weren't many wrong options to order once I got past the airport's Dunkin Donuts. |
Curiosity:
The plane ride from Santiago was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced.
The sky opened up to view massive lakes, white topped mountains, and glaciers.
Like a child with nose glued to the window, I could only wonder at what was to
come when I stood in this new land and not above it.
Anticipation:
Hurry up and wait was the early theme for our race. As the weather forecast
worsened, we knew that the course would be modified, but had few details to
offer friends and family until shortly before race start. We awoke on Thursday
and each made their own plans for how to pass the time until loading onto
shuttles at 10:00pm. Some tried to sleep, others ate as many small meals as
possible, a mixture of nervous and excited chatter balanced against silent
contemplation. Even after the buses were loaded, we drove to a small town and waited
again for 40 minutes at a small general store. Joviality covered the tense air,
with many videos and self-portraits taken to pass the time. The anticipation
continued to build, however, and when the Chileans finished their "Chi-Chi-Chi! Le-le-le!" chant at the start
line we shot off like a champagne cork into the night, seemingly heedless of
the fact that we had nearly 100 miles to run.
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Drop bag preparations for a yurt with eight runners somewhat resembles a tornado in a skittles factory.
Photo Credit: Jim Dees |
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| What do you eat during an Ultra? All the food. |
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| Photo Credit: Jim Dees |
Joy: Jim
and I agreed that our two days spent hiking 55 kilometers of “The W” in Torres
del Paine National Park were enough to make the trip to Patagonia worth the
time, regardless of how our race went. We enjoyed brilliant weather, perfect
avalanche views, and sunrises and sunsets that set the unique terrain on fire.
Joy came during the race as we reached our high mountain pass, revealing a wild
alpine field with enough wind and snow to remind you that you were alive and
accomplishing something big. It came again on the long road into town as snow
fell in clumps the size of silver dollars, causing me to stop and spin with my
arms in the air. And finally, it came as a young race volunteer ran with me up
the last hill into town, rain and sleet pouring down and obscuring all vision
but his blue coat in front of me.
Fear:
I say frequently that the only way to grow is to embrace fear. That does not
mean ignoring it or pushing it aside, but accepting it and denying it control
over your actions. Fear of failure. Fear of many people in tight spaces. Fear of a wild course with a weather
forecast so violent that the route must be modified. Fear of falling down the
side of a mountain in all that endless mud. Fear of predator eyes in the
headlamp glow. Fear that if you lay down to sleep you will be too cold to wake
up. Runners are not fearless; in fact, sometimes I think we are more aware of
our fears than others. It is simply that we live alongside those fears instead
of trying to avoid them at the cost of feeling less alive.
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| Aid station along the exposed glacier flat crossing. Photo Credit: Jim Dees |
Exhaustion:
The biggest battle in the Ultra Fiord, even more than the thigh deep mud, 35
mph winds, sleet, snow, rain, river crossings, exposed mountain crossings, and
treacherous climbs/descents, is simple exhaustion. The race starts at midnight
and guarantees that you will go through parts of at least two nights. For me,
that meant waking at 7:00 on Thursday morning, unsuccessfully attempting a mid-afternoon
nap, and finally meeting my bed again around 1:30 on Saturday afternoon. You
start the race tired, you finish exhausted. It’s still possible to move very
efficiently, if not so quickly, when injured. When exhausted, though, your pace
crawls and even the most determined minds eventually crack.
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
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| Course Photo: Jim Dees |
Pride:
While I can’t say that I felt joy for long after finishing the race in 36 hours
and 48 minutes, due to the immediate and tragic news of a then unidentified fallen runner,
there is always pride that comes with surviving a test of will with good humor
and determination. As always, I am proud to say that I am part of a community
that builds up the best in each other. And finally, I was pretty proud of my
ability to order coffee and pay appropriately in Spanish without saying “I’m
sorry” by the time it came to depart. Sometimes you have to appreciate the
small goals.
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| 7th Female Award, 3rd Age Group, and Finisher Medal. |
Sorrow:
Perhaps the most potent and unexpected emotion for this adventure. The loss of our friend and fellow runner, Arturo Hector Martinez Rueda to hypothermia approximately 65 kilometers into
the 100-mile route, and less than two miles from an aid station was a crushing blow to all who had the blessing of spending
time with this kind and special man. His spirit truly embodies all the great
potential of the human species. I wish I could share some of the pictures we took together in our bunks, with his "Leoncito", and at the race start, but they may be forever lost with him.
Anger:
Anger is a rare emotion for me. I tend to move quickly to resignation and
acceptance of a situation instead of wasting energy on passionate discourse.
When the race failed to recognize my finish in time for the awards ceremony (8
hours later), however, I was angry. When the organization gave us mixed reports
over and over about Arturo’s condition and whereabouts, I was angry. When I waited at one
location for two hours for someone to come to fix the results, only to be told
that I should walk across town, I was angry enough to be in tears. You should
not constantly wonder whether your friend is alive or not. You should not have
to wonder what the race organization is doing. You should not have to present
your medal and prove that you finished a course in the freezing sleet, be told
that it had been recorded manually even if the electronic timer had failed,
then sit in the stands as the only female athlete not recognized for surviving
36 hours of extreme conditions.
Love/Togetherness/Friendship:
For someone who typically runs alone, I am continuously more blessed by my
companions and world running community. We are bound by a love for the
mountains, the challenge, and the identification of our “true” selves in a way
that transcends language barriers. Jim, my fellow Bigfoot 200 finisher,
provided steady companionship throughout the days leading up to and following
the race. We shared stories and meals with German, Irish, and American hiking
friends while in Torres del Paine National Park. There was Arturo, a 100-mile
runner from Mexico, who shared our yurt and gave me hours of laughter and
conversation that eased my nerves before the race start. Yitka, who shared the
first hour of the course with me before going on to a win and sub 24-hour
finish. Steve and Harry, who kept a great rhythm in the dark morning hours of
our first 50k. Andrea, who yo-yoed back and forth with me across the grueling
middle section and patiently translated for my weary brain when aid workers
gave information. The 70k Chilean runner who kept conversation flowing and
stayed with me for 6 kilometers on the second night so I wouldn’t fall asleep
on my feet, even with his own finish line so close, and assured me that I had
helped him just as much when I tried to offer my profuse and nearly incoherent
thanks. Gaby, the aid station worker who not only made special effort during
the race to always give a smile and reassurance but helped time and again after
the race to translate information and get my official finish recognition. Adrian,
our fabulous and compassionate host at Domos House (
www.domoshouse.com)
, who worked tirelessly to
find our more information about our fallen runner and planned a traditional
celebration meal for us after the finish. And yes, even the Japanese film crew
who met me for a small part of each segment…they offered me something to look
for and a reason to wake up and increase my pace to the finish.
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| Jim, Arturo, and Oscar just before loading the buses to the start. Photo Credit: Jim Dees |
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| Our "yurt-mates" at the fabulous Domos House in Puerto Natales. Photo Credit: Adrian Rubio |
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Japanese documentary crew doing interviews in Tucson.
These intrepid folks actually made it out to every segment of the course for the sake of their film. |
And so, in close, instead of summarizing a race or breaking down what should have been done differently, I ask you to treat every conversation as though you have one day to impact them. Sometimes one conversation, one smile is enough to change a person's life forever. Run free and happy trails, Arturo!
Years ago, I stood on top of a pinnacle of rock, searching
for signs of a trail that I had lost an hour before. A loose piece of debris
slid off the steep formation; I watched it fall until it disappeared in the
mess of desert brush below. It occurred to me as a dispassionate observation
that while I would never intentionally jump to follow the rock’s path, that
whether I fell or not didn’t really matter. When I finally returned to the
trailhead after discovering that the desert moon illuminates a trail so well
that a headlamp isn’t necessary, I sat in my car and decided that regardless of
what day was my last, I wanted to die on a great day. The problem was, I didn’t
know (or perhaps didn’t remember), how to make great days for myself, let alone
how to make every day a great one.
A great day is not a day where everything is perfect. We
need pain to make us see joy, darkness to see light, sickness to see health, disappointment
to make us see success, tears to make us see laughter. Avoiding those negative pieces
of life just dims the other side of the spectrum. All things change. 
