You know how when the moon is low in the sky, behind buildings or trees, it looks huge. If you actually measure the degrees of sky the moon takes up it doesn’t change. Looking bigger is an illusion caused by having something to compare it too. The same goes for ultra running but in reverse. Today is only 42km, and flat, which is tiny because tomorrow is 65km. As the race director Kris puts it, “think of today as commuting to an Ultra tomorrow”.
The first half of the day the day alternates between lakes and wooded trail with a 4km climb 6km in, I set off at a steady pace and after the first 10 mins feel good, my bruised heel has quit protesting and accepted that they will be rubbed and braced against the snowshoes for the day again. I’m sitting in 3rd behind, behind Alex and George. CP 1 is in Will's ‘village’, one of the local Sami’s helping put the event on, it’s just collection of small log cabins but with a raging bonfire where the families are making coffee on a pot. Its nice see some life outside of the race.
The course changes at 20km, I’m still sitting 3rd but I’m fairly convinced I am going to be passed since I seemed to do well on the climbs but was definitely slower on the flats and now, for the rest of the course we are running down the middle of one massive frozen lake. The day has been a bit grey so far, made greyer still by the lenses on my sunglasses and there has been a little gentle snow fall. As I step onto the lake and turn a corner out past some trees to face west I’m hit by the wind. Its bitingly cold and goes straight through my layers. I decide to make good decision and put my wind/waterproof on before I get cold. This is where I learn a top tip for arctic running. When you put away your waterproof jacket previously always make sure the arms are right side out. I struggle in the wind with my liner and mid layer mitts on to get the arms the right way, terrified of letting go and having to chase my jacket on the wind the wrong way across the lake. Eventually I get myself zipped up and on the move again.
The snow is falling heavier now, blowing ferociously straight into me. And visibility is dropping. Before, you could see the trees and hills on either side of the lake but now the world is white with only the ghosts of the trees on the shores in sight. My hands are getting cold and it would be the perfect time to put my down mitts on but unfortunately I discovered the previous night that I only had one, the other escaping some point on the previous stage after lazily I stuffed them in a pocket. With the ski goggles obscuring my peripheral vision I must have missed it falling out. The ski goggles are the other thing I could do with right now. The snow is being blasted in my face, I have my neck gaiter pulled up and every now and then an escaping breath blows up on to my glasses with the fog immediately freezing in place. I have a buff covering my ears like a head band and my spare buff wrapped around my water bottle is no unusable as it is also frozen solid. After some deliberation I decide to put my hat on my frozen hair, over the buff, before that too becomes useless, but elect to push on to the CP to get my goggles whilst inside the teepee.
My fingers are really cold now. Cold enough that I’m starting get a little worried. It’s a feature of this race that you can be bumbling along along quite happy and with no real concerns about the cold and then in the next instance things have changed and you realise there is a very real risk of injury or death if you don’t give it the proper regard. With out my big down mitts I am left with liner gloves and my fairly thin innovate mitts which are no wet from the snow thawing on them. I decide to pull my fingers and thumbs out of their individual glove compartments and ball my fists in an effort to stop them getting even colder at the expense of being able to use my poles. I am now down to alternate walking and running, using the sticks that mark the course. Run 3, walk 2, run 3, walk 2 The lake seems endless with nothing to give any sense of movement. Even when you can see the trees on the shore they’re too far away, its just stick after stick after stick. I look at my watch - 26.5km - what feels like 3km later I look at my watch - 26.8km - I’m starting to pile in and decide I need a pick me up. Its time for the emergency pepperami.
It difficult to explain why some snacks work in an ultra and some don’t. I do know that as the race goes on its the savoury snack I crave the most. After the pepperoni I eat the two shortbread fingers I have for the stage. Shortbread wouldn’t be on my list of ultra running snack usually but that list had to be torn up months ago. As part of the preparation for the race everyone was advised to put their preferred snacks in the freezer overnight, then try and eat them the next day. Gels, gummy sweets, chocolate all freeze and cant easily be eaten. Shortbread, cakes, pepperami and kendal mint cake don’t freeze so these make up my running snacks along with the tailwind powder and some cliff books, which do freeze but can be kept warm next to my body. Whilst I’m eating and trying to climb out of the dark psychological home I’m in JJ passes me. I finish eating, pull my fingers back into fists in my gloves and go back to running and walking. Andre and Tarryn pass me. The food has made me feel slightly better and out of the gloom, both literal and figurative I can see a tent, the final CP of the day. I continue my run and walk but the tent doesn’t seem to get any closer. I decide to look at my feet until I am literally upon it, as this seems less demoralising.
I plant my poles outside the teepee and enter, slightly surprised to see Andre and Tarryn still there. If they spent less time at checkpoints they would be absolutely destroying me in the race I think to myself. With my bottles refilled with hot water to protect against freezing and ski goggles extracted from my bag I’m about to set off. Tarryn leaves the tent and I follow. As I exit I realise I have interrupted a call of nature and decide I it would be better to stride off rather than make a scene and go back in the tent. Slightly embarrassed I stride off without my poles and after 5 steps have to stop and awkwardly walk back to retrieve them.
There is 12ish km to go, the magic tape on my right leg would seem to be working, placebo or not I’m pain free but feeling pretty tired, I decide that with the long day tomorrow I won’t push it. I’m down to running 2 poles, walking 2 poles now. Tarryn and Andre pass me again and I can see JJ in the distance as the snow starts to clear some. The end of the lake is in sight but doesn’t appear to be getting any closer. At the last checkpoint Kris had remarked that he didn’t what was worse, the conditions we were in or clear conditions where you could see the CP from the beginning of the lake but never seem to reach it.
The cabins at Laxholmen, our home for the night, come in to the view and the course mockingly turns out to the right away from them, I can’t see the course markers but I can see JJ making a left up ahead so at least this detour isn’t too big. We round the bend and onto the island. Jenny is there with a hug (but still no finish line) and takes Andre, Tarryn and myself up to our cabins. Again I have a cabin to myself for a while. Here the cabins sleep 3, the first cabin is Alex, George and JJ, the first 3 in. I’m 6th but the saffa’s head off to there own to stay together.
This cabin is more of an igloo, with one window covered in snow and 3 beds spaced out around a stove in the centre. When I enter one of the Sami’s is stoking the fire and refilling the firewood. He also brings me a tank of water for the night. We have a chat about his reindeer, he offers up that he has around 8-900 ( I didn’t ask as we were told this was a huge faux pa!) And that he moves them by truck to Lulea on the (frozen) coast for the winter.
Its tempting at the end of a stage to just lie back and shut your eyes. I know better though and get started on my admin, recovery shake first, then check feet and get kit drying. Its especially important to get kit drying when arriving first so that you can make room for the others when the arrive. I take my food out for the night and morning and sort my running snack pack. The more you can do in the afternoon the better. Everyone has pretty much the same kit, water bottles, socks etc. Come the morning you don’t want to be stressing out trying to find your stuff.
The Sami guide has stoked my fire a little too well and I’m now hanging out the door as inside is a sauna. Daryl trudges in off the lake and comes to join my cabin. He’s had a good day but complains that his feet are sore. One of his shoes, usually white, has dyed a peculiar pink and Daryl wonders if the colour has leached from the thermal insoles. Upon removing his shoes, further inspection would show that actually the dying agent was blood from his de-roofed heel blisters. He asks me my opinion and I tell him that on the balance of probability, looking at his destroyed heels, I would probably visit the medics.
Kyle arrives to complete our cabin for the night. We have the fire going and water boiling on the the stove top. The only window in the igloos is covered in a thick layer of snow so I have lit some tea lights found in the wood store for light. It’s the first time I’ve bunked with Kyle having only met briefly at the kit check after answering his SOS for Tailwind since the airline lost his bag. He managed to replace his kit at local stores in Gallivare, no mean feat as it is a very small town. He seems a bit down on his performance so far in the race. I tell him that his achievement so far is incredible. People spend months, maybe even years planning their kit and nutrition for a race like this. Trainers are tried and discarded, tried and eventually trusted. Backpacks are tested, then once chosen, are adjusted to within an inch of their lives. Nutrition is eaten in race conditions to make sure it goes, and stays down. To turn up one day before the race and have to start again takes a huge amount of resilience and adaptability. I think there are plenty of people who would have used it as an excuse to throw in the towel when feet start to hurt, backpacks rub or their struggling to chow down an 800 calorie breakfast at 4:30am, which is where I find myself the next morning.
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