We will be wearing our old shoes inside our rubber boots for the zodiac trip and landing, and will carry our race shoes and changes of clothing in sealed, zip-lock plastic dry bags, just in case the “wet landing” turns out to be too wet. (We were told that every shore landing out of the zodiacs would be a "wet landing", meaning that we would need to expect to have to walk through shallow water at the shoreline upon exit from the raft.) We have filled 4 water bottles each with our gatorade mixture, and are also each taking a 1 ½ liter bottle filled will plain water. We will take our good camera in the bag, as well as disposable cameras to carry on the run. And last but not least, we will take “Rocky”, our toy penguin mascot that the Wieczorek’s gave us a year ago. He of course needs to come on the run.
Outside the windows, it is dark, but I can see a few lights from the research stations on shore. To our far right is a bank of lights which I think must be our sister ship, the Vavilov. This is the 1st time on the trip that the two ships have been together.
I make another attempt at bed and sleep, but I can tell that the pre-race nerves are at play here. I cannot stop thinking and evaluating what tomorrow will be like. Sounds like the weather conditions will be as good as we could have hoped for, but I expect the course will be a challenge like none of the other marathons we have run. So yes, the pre-race thinking and jitters are definitely kicking in.
I do get to sleep at 4:30, and sleep until 6. Joan and I both get up then. Joan says she had a restless night too. We take showers and start getting ready. Wake up announcement comes at 6:30, breakfast at 7. Some people there are eating a lot. We just have our traditional oatmeal. They announce the weather conditions: 0 deg C, winds 5 mph. This is better than in Cincinnati!! We make the last minute decision to wear our lighter pants, instead of the heavy, wind-proof ones we bought for this occasion. We do our final dressing. Waterproof pants over our running pants, rubber boots under the waterproof pant cuffs, 2 cool-max longsleeve T-shirts and a running jacket, stocking caps, 3 sets of gloves, sunglasses, water proof coats over everything. We are ready!
(A word about sunglasses…. Neither of us is typically a sunglasses wearer, but we were instructed to be sure to bring ones with us, and ones that did good filtering of UV rays. Reason: 2 fold… first, it is possible to go snow-blind in certain circumstances, everything whiting out, and they say it is not only debilitating, but also painful. Second, we are in Antarctica, and above us is the largest hole in the ozone layer of anywhere on earth. So the sun’s rays can be dangerous here to the eyes. Therefore, we will wear them, and take on the “Joe Cool” appearance in all of our pictures, I guess.)
Because of the two separate starts, there will be two separate calls for loading the zodiacs. The first call comes at 8 am. Joan leaves in this group, so we wish each other luck and say we will look for each other out there. I stay with the guys who will be in the second start, and we stand around nervously, talking and waiting. At 8:30, the call comes for the second starting group. I grab my backpack and outer coat, and head for the mud room. I pick out a PFD (lifejacket), put it on with the backpack over it, and line up along the railing, waiting my turn to go down the gangway to the zodiac waiting in the water below.
There is a very specific procedure for leaving the ship and boarding the zodiacs. First of all, a Peregrine staff member stands at the entrance to the gangway, and does not let you off without capturing your name and cabin number, as a sign out procedure. Then you make your way down the gangway… only 3 permitted on at a time, due to weight limitations. At the bottom of the gangway is one staff member ready to help you off the gangway platform, and the zodiac driver is in the zodiac to help you in. You grab the driver in a sailor’s grip… each of you grab the forearm of the other. You stand on the side of the zodiac, then down to the floor, and either sit down immediately on the side if that is the side you will be on, or cross to the other side and sit down immediately. Then you slide down toward the back of the craft. The whole thing is designed to minimize the time spent standing up in the zodiac.
When it is my turn, I do this, remembering all the pointers from our “Zodiac training” from yesterday. This great caution helps out, I am sure, when you are doing this in real, rolling waves. Today, though, it is very calm, not a lot to worry about. As the final people come on board, it starts to snow lightly. How symbolic! Of what, we’re not sure, but we remember all the comments about how fast the conditions can change here, and wonder what we will be in for today.
Once we have our 12 passengers, we push off from the boat and start heading in toward the shore. We can tell immediately that these are pretty zippy little boats! Since this is our first time in one, our driver (Mo) gives us some more instructions about procedures… especially the “man overboard” procedures! Again, not likely today, but …. Going overboard here would not be just a wet floating experience. Water temperature here is just a few degrees above freezing, and a person can be in there only for a few minutes before they start getting hypothermic. So, this is not something to take lightly.
As we head to shore, the snow stops. We look back at the Ioffe, anchored in the bay, and see that the Vavilov is anchored even further out. Those lights we saw last night were not the Vavilov, I can see now, they were the Chilean station, I think. We slow down as we arrive at the landing point. The whole trip in took about 5 minutes. We again follow our specific procedure to exit. Slide to the front of the boat, nearest the shore. Swing your feet toward the rear and over the side of the boat, and down into the water at the shoreline. This is where you want to make sure it is not more than 12” deep, since that is the height of our boots. We’re fine…. I step out into about 6 inches of water. I stand up and move away from the zodiac, taking my first steps on Antarctic soil.
The first group had already deposited their things under one of the red buildings at the Russian station. Our group is directed to a silver building next to it, and we quickly set about organizing our stuff and getting ready for the race. Lifejacket off. Boots off. Waterproof pants off. Shoes off. Running shoes on. Coat off. Running jacket tied around my waist. Water bottles placed where I can easily get to them and identify them on each pass by here. (I place them up high on a corrugated set of steps on the back side of the building.) Oh, and of course, Rocky the penguin in my pocket. We have at most 10 minutes. They want to get this race started ASAP, while conditions remain good. I am just about ready when I hear the first group start. I’ve had no chance to find Joan, but she is off and running now. I finish positioning my water bottles, and get to the starting line with about 20 seconds to spare. Someone yells “go”, and we are off. It is 9:08 am.
Pictures from the start of the race. (All photos were taken from disposable cameras, and therefore are pretty low resolution.) Prior to the race, runners stashed their belongings underneath the raised buildings at Bellingshausen.
Joan poses in front of the post at Bellingshausen with mileage signs for locations all over the world. In Russian, of course, so we cannot tell what they are. The post is made out whale bones.
Race control staff are all in bright red coats. While there are a few service vehicles here, ATVs seem to be the most functional and convenient mode of transportation.
Joan, at the starting line.
William Tan, preparing to start. William is from Singapore, and on this day will be the first to attempt the Antarctic Marathon in a wheel chair. He successfully completes a grueling half-marathon on a course that had to be altered for him because of the number of obstacles on the regular course. Still, this would prove to be an amazing achievement.
The course largely follows the dirt and rocky “roads” that connect the research stations for the vehicles and 4-wheelers the researchers use to get around here. This is not the scenic part of Antarctica, we can tell that immediately. Looking around us, the land is dark, mud, rock and gravel-filled, absolutely no vegetation of any type, occasional patches of snow, otherwise looking like desolate moonscape. Within 50 paces beyond the starting line, we are in mud that sucks at our shoes with every step. We learn quickly that we will need to pick our way through, around where possible, this muddy route. We run on one side or the other of the muddy tire ruts, wherever it looks most passable. Being near the back of the pack, I also realize that I am also contending with the fact that hundreds of footsteps have already tread in this mush before me, and that it will only get worse as the runners pass by here 3 more times on this double-figure eight course. Dealing with this takes a lot of energy, right from the start, and I wonder immediately what 26 miles of this is going to be like. This is likely not going to be a lot of fun.
Within the first mile, we find ourselves in a dune-like area, with lots of steep, rolling hills. Not long hills, but very repetitive ups and downs, and quite steep. At least here, it is not quite so muddy, but the steepness of the hills is taxing, and I am glad to see that most people have decided to conserve their energy and just walk these uphills from the start. Everyone has agreed that time really does not matter today anyway, as long as we can finish before the 7 hour cutoff. Everyone around me, anyway! Those who really want to try to win this race are way ahead by now.
We continue through this area of rolling hills, and come across a couple of spots where we overlook some fairly dramatic scenery… rugged rock, snowy cliffs, and a calm, reflecting lake. Not exactly “beautiful”, but photogenic, and we stop and take pictures. Often, at such spots, one runner will ask a fellow runner to stop and take their picture with this or that particular backdrop. Everyone gladly does. Cannot imagine that sort of behavior or attitude in any other marathon where people are focused on the time of their runs. This feels more like a 26-mile adventure outing, as opposed to a marathon!
The race course stretches out over the most barren of landscapes.
In many places, the mud literally sucks at your shoes with every step.
The worst of spots require that one find a route around.
"Lake Uruguay", on the rolling hillside above the Uruguayan research station, is one of the few photogenic spots on the route.
At the top of what feels like the 50th steep hill in this 2-mile stretch, we come to the sign for the Uruguayan station, and then the buildings come into view. As we run through their complex we see a group of 7 scientists standing outside along the course, yelling, clapping, and cheering as each runner goes by, yelling “bravo” and other encouragements in Spanish. I yell “muchas gracias” back to them, and they respond happily. They are looking at us, I’m sure, as a pretty unique bunch of people to come here and run a marathon. However, I cannot help but think about them – especially those who will winter over here, working on their research projects, and I respectfully say that THEY are the pretty special breed!
Just past the Uruguayan buildings, the trail suddenly goes from dirt and mud to rocks. Big, round, baseball-sized rocks fill the path, as it heads down toward the shoreline. After trying to run for about 2 seconds on this new terrain, we stop and walk again. It would be far too easy to turn an ankle here. As we get to the shoreline, the course turns to the left. Out in the bay we see our ships. Closer in, there is a rock formation jutting out of the bay that resembles a turtle. The trail continues along the shoreline, and the heavy rock disappears, and the trail turns more to dirt and mud again. We run where we can, walk where we need to, but never find a stretch long enough to run for more than about 20 seconds or so at a time. Then up ahead on our right by the water, we see two penguins, just standing there. They are waddling around and seem unperturbed by our presence. Wow – penguins living here in the wild, on our race route. Pretty neat.
The sign for the Uruguayan Artigas research station must have been a good photo stop, because both Joan and Mike, running separately at this point, chose independently to have their photos taken here. Joan is posing here with Karen Utterbach, a life-long adventurer from Chicago, who we became friends with on this trip. Unfortunately, she passed away unexpectedly in 2009. But I know she would have appreciated being remembered here, doing something she loved.
Down the hillside we come to the buildings that make up the Artigas base. That is Collins Glacier rising up behind the base, where this route will soon be taking us.
Upon entering the base, we are greeted by station residents who cheer us on. Runners exchange greetings with them, understood in any language, and take their pictures.
Just past the Artigas buildings, we hit "The Rocks". The rocks are loose, roll under your feet, and are virtually impossible to run on. We choose to walk this section. Notice just offshore the rock that looks like a turtle. That became a landmark of sorts for me.
We pass a pair of penguins -- chinstraps, we are told later. They appear unconcerned about the line of runners that are passing by. Seeing them produced one of those moments when you had to pinch yourself to comprehend where you were and what you were doing.
We are headed to the foot of the Collins Glacier now… the big obstacle that we’ve all read and heard so much about, and so anticipated. As we get to the glacier’s base, we must pick our way across several streams that carry run-off waters from the glacier to the bay. And the entire area begins to get pretty muddy. Then we step onto the ice, and start to climb. It is VERY steep. 18% grade we are told. No one runs this. There is a ribbon of people in front of us going up, up, and into the fog that envelops the top of the glacier at this moment. To our left is another ribbon of people – the faster folks and those from the earlier starting group – who have already been up to the turnaround point and are now descending the glacier and passing us. They greet us and encourage us as they go by. The ice is crunchy in some spots, slushy in others. For the most part, you can dig in with your shoes and get decent traction, but it is just a lot of slow, steady climbing. Part way up, I stop and turn around and look down at the bay, with its blue waters spread out below. Snow capped mountains ring the bay and loom in the distance. Pretty impressive.
Climbing once more, I soon see Joan coming down past me – finally, we see each other! She is doing well. We take each other’s picture on our respective cameras, and then continue on in our respective directions. After a while, I finally come to the flags marking the turnaround point, and am greeted by the staff members who are manning that spot. It has been about ½ mile of running up from the base to this point, and took 10-15 minutes to get here. Now we turn around, and gratefully start heading down, enjoying the ease of going as gravity works in our favor for a change! We look at the faces of the people who are still trudging up and yell out our encouragements to them. We are down to the base of the glacier in 5 minutes, and then we must simply retrace our path all the way back to the starting point at Bellingshausen…. 7 miles completed.
Climbing once more, I soon see Joan coming down past me – finally, we see each other! She is doing well. We take each other’s picture on our respective cameras, and then continue on in our respective directions. After a while, I finally come to the flags marking the turnaround point, and am greeted by the staff members who are manning that spot. It has been about ½ mile of running up from the base to this point, and took 10-15 minutes to get here. Now we turn around, and gratefully start heading down, enjoying the ease of going as gravity works in our favor for a change! We look at the faces of the people who are still trudging up and yell out our encouragements to them. We are down to the base of the glacier in 5 minutes, and then we must simply retrace our path all the way back to the starting point at Bellingshausen…. 7 miles completed.
Approaching Collins Glacier, we feel like we are in a line of ants, working our way to the base of the ice field, and then up.
Once on the glacier, it is a steady, steep climb up.
As you trudge your way up, you see the line of runners who have already reached the turnaround point up ahead almost scampering down. It gives those of us still climbing something to look forward to!
Turning around to look behind us, one sees just how much altitude we are gaining. An unidentified runner behind me stops to catch his breath. He's not the only one to assume this pose.
Then, Joan and I pass each other, me going up, she coming down. We stop to take each other's picture with our respective cameras.
Once reaching the turnaround point, we start heading down. Much easier, but still requiring some effort to keep from sliding. The view this way is much nicer, too!
On our second pass of the course, when we are running together, Joan and I have someone snap our photo at the top of the glacier. This became one of those special pictures we refer to when representing this event. Note that we made sure that Rocky got into this one, too.
As I come into Bellingshausen, there is Joan waiting for me. She had pulled in 10 minutes ago and had decided to wait. That gives you an idea of the relative strength of our running, She had a 3 minute head start, but was 10 minutes ahead at mile 7. I must have stopped for more pictures! :)
Mike coming back into Bellingshausen to change water bottles at mile 7.
We switch water bottles, head back out, and will run the rest of the way together. (We compared notes on our separate experiences during the first part of the run. Very similar, except that Joan had the pleasure of being dive-bombed at one point by a skua, a large gull-like bird found here that can get pretty territorial! She did as we were taught for such an instance -- she held her hand high above her head to keep her head from becoming the target.)
From here, we run the other side of the figure 8. The course winds its way through the streets of the Chilean “town” immediately adjacent to the Russian base. We get a few pleasant greetings here from people standing in their doorways. The road then goes up the significant hill toward the shared air strip (i.e., a small airplane landing strip used by all nationalities here on the island), then turns left toward the Chinese station. We pass the new Russian Orthodox church that has been built on the ridge top, and which is a visible landmark from the bay. The building is just a year or two old, and it is very small. As we move away from the Russian/Chilean area, we are back into a series of frequent, steep hills, some areas of significant mud, and a number of streams where we must find the right rocks to carefully pick our way over to get across. This side is not quite as scenic as the other side, and so we just try to get down to business and get through it. As we near the Chinese station, the way is once again covered in large rock, and we are forced to walk. We cross a final stream and then go uphill and into the Chinese complex, marked by a distinctive, large, bright blue building with large English letters and Chinese characters. The English part proclaims “China Great Wall Station”. We run through their complex, carefully (over more rock) work our way down to the shoreline and then back up a hill to a turn-around point just past a set of what look like fuel storage tanks. (We find out later that these were water tanks.) This is about the 10 mile point in the run. We turn around, and retrace our steps once again back to the Russian station. And that completes the 13.1 mile half-marathon. Now all we need to do is to run the whole thing again.
Joan, posing in front of the Chinese "Great Wall" research station
We reach the half-way point at about 3 hours into the race. The official half-marathon cutoff was 3:30, but conditions are still good, and no one is going to be stopped. We have now seen the whole course, and know what is ahead of us now. There are a few moments of dread here, wondering if we can endure a second time around. When we were training and wondering how my knee or Joan’s back was going to handle this, we figured this was the point we could stop if we were having problems. Now, though, the knee, while a bit sore, is hanging in there well, as is Joan’s back, and there is no way we’re going to stop. We change water bottles at our respective caches, take a packet of GU (high protein gellatin product often used by runners for an energy boost during long races) and I take 2 quinine tablets (prescribed for cramps), and we are off again.
The notable events in the second half:
-On the way out of Bellingshausen, a runner ahead of us misses a turn in the course, and suddenly finds himself up almost to his knees in a quicksand-like, sucking mud. We stop to help. He gingerly moves, one slow, labored, tall step after another toward me, and I move as close to the muddy area as I dare without risking going in myself, until I can grab his hand and pull him out. Wow, cannot remember that on any of our past marathons! He was lucky to have not lost his shoes.
-As we get going on this second half, the weather changes. The wind picks up, and it gets noticeably colder. We also get some occasional periods of snow, but nothing that lasts or accumulates.
-The “crowds” of spectators at the research stations are gone. Guess they got cold. Occasionally we are greeted by an individual we pass, but no one is out there specifically to watch us now. Crowd support is obviously not going to carry us over this last leg! Also, the line of runners has dramatically thinned out. There are a few times on this circuit when Joan and I find ourselves the only human beings in sight.
-The glacier on the 2nd time up is pretty slushy and mucky in many spots, showing the impact of the many footsteps on it.
-As we passed “Chile” and were heading back toward “China”, we heard a roar behind us, and saw a medium-sized 4-prop airplane just taking off from the airstrip behind us. A number of runners later talked about “getting buzzed” by that plane.
Coming back from Great Wall to Bellingshausen on the home stretch, we monitor our watches, our objective to beat the 7 hour official cutoff time. This is the only time where we really push ourselves from a time standpoint. We run as much of the hills as we can handle in those last few miles, and once we hit the ridge top we cruise downhill through the Chilean base and to the Finish Line. We cross the line at 6:49:31, hands clasped and raised together. WE DID IT!! We are official finishers of the Antarctic Marathon. After 18 months of anticipation and wondering, we now know the course first hand. We have accomplished what at times has seemed like an impossible goal. We have pretty big smiles on our faces for the Finish Line camera!
(The final results had Joan at 6:49:31, and me at 6:46:31 due to the different starting times. Given that Joan had waited for me at mile 7, no telling what she could have really done on her own. But we are using the 6:46 time for both of us as our “talking finishing time”. Not bad, given the difficult terrain, the picture stops, the self-maintenance we had to do with water, the fact that there was no place on the course where we were ever able to get into a running rhythm for more than a couple of minutes at a time, due to obstacles to address, etc., etc.
In terms of placement, I was officially #138, and Joan #140, out of a total of 176 full marathon finishers. Again, not bad, given that we had often, in our more tremulous moments prior to today, imagined ourselves bringing up a distant rear in a group of near professional runners who all had literally scores of marathons under their belts. As it turned out, there were a lot of those runners out here, but a lot of others with whom we fit in pretty well. So, all told, we felt we had made a very respectable showing.)
So we are done, and we have about 60 seconds to bask in the glory. Then the basking stops, and we realize that now that we have stopped running, it is colder than hell out here! Time to get down to business, and get back to the boat. We are tired, and the winds are really blowing now. My fingers are going numb inside my gloves, and are just not working well. It is very hard to maneuver as we change our shoes, put our water pants and boots and coats and lifejackets on, and get ourselves packed up. We go inside one of the Russian buildings where we drop off our “thank you” gift of candy. We would have loved to have spent some time in there, but not now. We leave the candy on the table in their kitchen area, and then leave and make a dash to the shoreline and the zodiacs, for the trip “home”.
Unfortunately, we have just missed a zodiac that left moments earlier, so we are the first two in the next one, and must sit and wait until we get another full load. Geez, it is cold, just sitting here, the sweat still underneath our clothes, and our body’s resources just about completely drained. Eventually, the zodiac is full, but the last person on is William, the disabled man from Singapore who today had become the first to attempt this marathon in a wheelchair. (Turned out he was unable to negotiate the rocky areas, and they needed to alter the course for him. He successfully completed a legitimate half-marathon, but not the full. Still an amazing feat, and a first in the history of this event.) It takes a little extra time getting William on, but then we are on our way. As we make our way across the water, the wind chill now, in this open moving boat, is really bad. These are probably the most uncomfortable moments of the entire day, right here. We go to the Vavilov first, where we deliver William and one other person. (Again, some extra time and care needed to get William out of the zodiac and up onto the ship.) Then, back to the Ioffe. Never did this boat look so good! We are delighted to be here!!! We get back up onto the ship (checking in by name and cabin number again with the staff at the head of the gangway), get our lifejackets and boots off in the mud room, and then head upstairs to our cabin. After a hot shower, we start to feel human again.
After showering and changing we go back downstairs to the dining room, where there has been a terrific hot food buffet going on all afternoon. We are able to eat well, but we are among the last there, and the buffet closes up soon after. It is about 6 pm now. At 7:30, it is dinner time, and we go back and eat some more, but not too much. Everyone is just very happy at this point. Some stay up and party, but we head for our cabin and sleep. February 26, 2005, the day that has been highlighted on our calendar for the last 18 months, is over. We did it.
Hand-drawn map of the race course provided to us by Marathon Tours
Completion certificates and race medals
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