When
our Russian ship, the Ioffe, anchored off the shore of the Russian camp
Bellingshausen on King George island last night around 5pm, we were all
on deck straining for a view of the marathon course. It was the most forlorn,
desolate, alien looking landscape I've seen - snow and ice and glaciers
and mud and black rock and hills and hills and more hills. The ship grew
quiet as we filed into the dining room for our briefing for the marathon.
We were told to expect conditions that would be unusual - from mud from
glacial runoff to a half-mile incline up a glacier. We would need to carry
our own water and drop the bottles at assigned areas in order to keep
hydrated during the race. Antarctica is the most arid climate on earth
- its actually a desert - so water is important. More than half of the
ship had been seasick, some violently, as we made the two day crossing
of the Drake Passage. I lucked out and felt OK. We all went through our
pre-marathon rituals - laying out the right clothes and liquids - and
tried to get to bed early.
We awoke
this morning to a gray day, and as we boarded the inflatable Zodiacs for
the trip across the bay to the race start, it started snowing. We huddled
under a building while we tried get properly dressed for the race. It
was impossible to stay warm. Soon it was 9am and the race started with
a half-hearted "Go!" from the race director.
To say this was the most grueling, physically challenging thing I've ever
done would be an understatement. There was mud alright - so deep it literally
sucked the shoes off some runners. In no time our shoes and feet were
soaked. When we weren't running through mud or trying to dodge it, we
were running up or down rock-strewn hills, and that was before we got
to the bottom of the glacier, where it was a half mile climb - you couldn't
really call it a run - to the top of this slab of ice. And get this -
there were penguins on the course that you had to be careful to dodge!
Coming down the glacier was even more harrowing as you continually tried
to prevent yourself from slipping when you weren't hopping over small
crevasses.
There
were few spectators on the course - eight Chileans who staff their research
station and thought this was the most exciting thing that had happened
in months (and it probably was!) to the Chinese contingent at their camp.
It was a double loop course, so once we passed the 13.1 mile mark, we
knew we had to repeat the fun. Talk about drawing from inner strength.
And of course by that point the wind had picked up considerably and it
was sleeting - sideways, into your face. My ankles hurt because my feet
were constantly on the rocks around the shoreline and my hamstring hurt
because I couldn't let go and really run down the hills because the footing
was so unsure.
I ran the slowest marathon I've ever run, over 6 hours, and have never
felt so good about finishing a race. It was an anticlimactic finish to
say the least since there were only 150 runners and we were so spread
out on the course. Not a lot of finish line hoopla. And once you finished,
all you wanted to do was get some dry clothes on and get the hot soup
offered at the Russian camp. Then it was back into the Zodiac for the
cold, windswept, ocean-sprayed trip to the Ioffe.
I am so glad this race was over because I had dreaded the unknown. But
I was also proud to have finished it. It gave me a confidence that I can
actually complete this crazy plan I've devised. Now what do I do to prepare
for the next marathon....in 8 days? I'm going to begin by celebrating
with a glass of wine...
When
our Russian ship, the Ioffe, anchored off the shore of the Russian camp
Bellingshausen on King George island last night around 5pm, we were all
on deck straining for a view of the marathon course. It was the most forlorn,
desolate, alien looking landscape I've seen - snow and ice and glaciers
and mud and black rock and hills and hills and more hills. The ship grew
quiet as we filed into the dining room for our briefing for the marathon.
We were told to expect conditions that would be unusual - from mud from
glacial runoff to a half-mile incline up a glacier. We would need to carry
our own water and drop the bottles at assigned areas in order to keep
hydrated during the race. Antarctica is the most arid climate on earth
- its actually a desert - so water is important. More than half of the
ship had been seasick, some violently, as we made the two day crossing
of the Drake Passage. I lucked out and felt OK. We all went through our
pre-marathon rituals - laying out the right clothes and liquids - and
tried to get to bed early. 
We awoke
this morning to a gray day, and as we boarded the inflatable Zodiacs for
the trip across the bay to the race start, it started snowing. We huddled
under a building while we tried get properly dressed for the race. It
was impossible to stay warm. Soon it was 9am and the race started with
a half-hearted "Go!" from the race director.
There
were few spectators on the course - eight Chileans who staff their research
station and thought this was the most exciting thing that had happened
in months (and it probably was!) to the Chinese contingent at their camp.
It was a double loop course, so once we passed the 13.1 mile mark, we
knew we had to repeat the fun. Talk about drawing from inner strength.
And of course by that point the wind had picked up considerably and it
was sleeting - sideways, into your face. My ankles hurt because my feet
were constantly on the rocks around the shoreline and my hamstring hurt
because I couldn't let go and really run down the hills because the footing
was so unsure. 
