Arrowhead 135 Race Report

By the Numbers:

$ 15,023.10 raised for the Special Operations Warrior Foundation

135 Miles

53 hours 27 minutes
2 hours of sleep

2 sleds

4 or 5 layers

3 checkpoints and 1 tepee

Countless powerbars and gu’s

4 days of school missed

40 hours of driving

1 race, 1 goal

This idea started out as little more than an over-zealous boast of testosterone- “How bout the Arrowhead 135? That looks pretty tough.” Looking back on that comment in the fall, I would never have predicted things would turn out this way. From that day, the pieces have fallen in place, not without some pushing and a lot of help from other people along the way. From talking to Blaine Tonking, at the time an acquaintance, to the completion of the race and more than 15 thousand dollars raised, it has been an exciting sequence of events. The initial high hopes for the race were dashed when we realized we would have to miss school in order to race, but hope lied in a rumor of some midshipmen taking a week off to do an adventure race in South America last year. Fortunately, we linked up with one of the guys who did this, Ryan Talmadge, and were guided in the process of getting the Academy’s approval. A large packet was submitted before Christmas break, describing the race, our intent, plans, reservations, ORM chit, and a paper reasoning why we should be allowed to do this. A big part of our completing this race had to do with the Special Operations Warrior Foundation. We got the idea from a Runner’s World article on David Goggins, the SEAL who runs ultra’s to raise money from SOWF. Both wanting to go special operations, we held him as a role model and thought that what we were doing could also help that foundation. From there, the rest is history. This is Luke Finney’s account of the Arrowhead.

Arriving in International Falls, we walked into the Holiday Inn, ready for whatever might be there. That we were excited was an understatement. We had the strained nervousness that usually comes before a race, except this time, it was a deeper feeling than I had felt before, more weight on my shoulders than I had felt before. Cheryl Ostor, the race co-director got us signed in and checked off. I met and spoke with Pierre Ostor, the founder of the race, who had approved us running in the race in early November. He was excited about us doing the race. The idea of the Naval Academy didn’t really register in most of these people’s minds. The group of racers as I would come to find out, was half local boys from Minnesota and Wisconsin with the other half being elite racers who came to set a record, or make the Arrowhead another notch in their ultra-running career. There was Stefano Miglietti, the Italian who had a record in the Yukon 350, John Holtkamp, finisher of Badwater, course record holder for the Arrowhead and 2 time winner of the race on foot, Iso Yucra 6^th place finisher of the national 100 mile championships. I started to feel even more like an outsider, the amateur. People were treating us with a cautionary attitude; we hadn’t been tested yet. Only time would tell, as we milled around, trying to grab pieces of advice from other people, asking questions where we could, meeting some of the other racers. There was a college student from Spain and a couple of racers from Brazil who I began to get to know, asking them about their previous experiences and races. It was interesting to see other racer’s equipment during the gear check, the contrast between the guy who has high-tech, expensive gear and the minimalist who has pieces of foam as insulation for his water. Learned a bunch from the different setups, but it looked like we chose the right setup, most people also had the toboggan sleds.

It was finally the morning of Feb. 2^nd, the day that we had been preparing for since before Christmas. The sleds were in the back, packed up with the hot water in the insulated nalgene containers. We were suited up in 4 layers each, insulated pants and tights, our snow running setup on our feet. This consisted of gore-tex trail running shoes, cut wool socks to fit over the shoe, and YAKTRAX traction over wool socks. We both wore wicking running shirts under a light fleece with thicker shells on top. Bandannas and beanies completed the get-up. We got out of the truck at the start line, the early morning lit up by blinking red lights, required on our sleds. The gear was a little heavier than we expected, which we contributed to our increased water. We stepped up to the starter, who checked our gear off, “number 42 and 62?” he said. “Good luck guys” and with that we were off, 7:17 Monday morning. It would be more than 2 full days before we would be done.

The first section of the race was deceptive. The sun was rising in the east, the temperatures warming up. Everybody was in high spirits and high energy. With a rested body full of food from the last two days of carb-loading, we felt great as we started off. Worried about burning out too early, we walked for the first half hour to get warmed up and comfortable with the layering and the sleds. We learned quickly that the bikers really compressed the snow, paving a solid path on the right side of the trail. All the runners were following in their path. The trail wound through forests of different size trees, across a couple marshy plains and finally to the turn around point 8 miles down the road. We reached this in good shape, and while some people were stopping and resting, I was so happy to reach this first checkpoint I yelled # 42 and # 62 and we turned around and started to head back. As we had approached the first checkpoint, we saw the front of the pack, led by the tall Italian striding out, really moving fast in his skintight apparel, the wicked sweat frosting on his clothes, almost creating a camouflage effect against the snow. Once we hit the turn around, we realized we weren’t that far behind the 2^nd place person, the previous year’s winner. This was a great source of motivation, I figured if we could stay up with him, we wouldn’t have a problem finishing and might even have a shot at placing. So we started the 5 min run, 10 min walk pace, sometimes pushing it to 7 and 10. We seemed to be eating up ground as we ran. We caught up to John Holtkamp around the start point, now mile 16 on our way to 135. Only 119 miles to go. My dad was waiting for us there, he congratulated us, but added that we were going too fast, we were going burn out if we kept up this pace. We needed to slow it down, conserve our energy for the last part of the race. It was tough to go slowly when we knew we could run at a faster pace. The idea of 135 miles was so foreign a concept to our heads it was hard to keep in perspective. So after some pictures and talking a bit, Blaine and I ran off, chomping at the bit. We kept up a good pace, striding out. This would be the method of choice for the rest of the race, and we were feeling good this afternoon. We stayed next to John Storkamp all the way to the convenience store, pushing our legs to move quicker, discussing ultra-running, marathons, and shitty desk jobs along the way. Heard some stories about wolves running along the trail, only 50 yards in front of the racers. Unfortunately, the extent of the wildlife we saw was a couple of birds. No wolves, no moose or any other creatures along the 135 mile stretch of wilderness we saw.

The gas station was a welcome rest to our tired legs as the sun started to fade in the sky. We had both sweat too much, a result of our eagerness as well as our inexperience in layering for sub-zero temperatures. We ran into the store, and grabbed two steaming bowls of chili each, a couple hot dogs, cookies and hot chocolate/coffee mix. We wolfed it down in between changing layers and drying out wet clothes. The water bottles were refilled with hot water, bought some Vaseline for our faces and got ready to go back out. We took our time, leaving an hour and a half after we got there, but the time spent was well worth it. This was the critical stretch, the 30-odd miles to the Mel George’s halfway checkpoint was where the fate of many racers was decided. My dad told us as we took off not to push it too hard, to be careful and listen to our bodies. Shouting a “we will” back his way, we pressed on.

The night would prove to be long and delirious. The sleep deprivation didn’t begin to hit until around 10, but even before then the monotony of the trail and the quiet stillness of the air gave hints to the future struggles. A few hills broke up the path, the almost full moon casting shadows across the trail. The racers were still fairly close to each other, and we would pass one every now and then. The snowmobiles came by every 3 hours or so, checking on you, making sure that everything was good. Much of that night is a blurr; focused so intently on the path and keeping a good pace, I was blind to anything else except forward progress. What didn’t help was how heavy my eyelids felt, closing involuntarily, then popping back open a minute later when I realized that I was walking off the trail. Blaine and I tried to keep conversation open but besides a few comments now and then we walked in silence, deep in our own thoughts. We reached a temporary shelter around 2 or 3 in the morning. We had hoped that there would be a fire there, but what we found was one very frozen Brazilian and some frustrated Americans trying to communicate with him. Having lived in Brazil, I spoke the language and provided the interpretation necessary for the Brazilian to get into his sleeping bag, get him some food and extra clothes. He was shivering uncontrollably, and after some chocolate, a couple extra layers and some potato chips, we left him to continue on to Mel Georges.

Looking back now, it seems a short time until we hit Elephant Lake, but in reality it was around 3 or 4 hours in the dark of northern Minnesota. It was a constant struggle to stay alert; I had to have Blaine walk in front to lead the way, I just locked onto the blinking red light and followed that, even when I slipped into sleepwalking. The mile long trek across Elephant Lake was a welcome sight. The signs on the trail kept showering us with reminders of how far away from anything we were: “Joe’s outpost-14 miles” it would say. The 5 mile sign to Mel Georges was at the same time the best and worst news I had that night. We kept snacking on power bars, dried berries and nut mix, chocolate covered coffee beans to keep us awake and our water. The smooth surface of the snow covered lake seemed to stretch on til the small lights of the lakefront houses lit up patches of snow in the distance. We arrived at the lodge around 0630 that morning, hungry and eager to get some rest. My dad had a cabin, and after we both ate pancakes, donuts, trail mix, soup, bananas, and had some hot chocolate, we crawled into the beds at my dad’s cabin and slept for a good 2 ½ hours. It was a hard sleep, and when I woke up I was sweating under the blankets. My legs were tightening up, and all I could think about was getting our gear ready to go. My dad had dried all our clothes while we had slept, a gift that far surpassed anything I wanted at the time.

Day Two began without much fanfare, a handshake from my dad, a good luck from the racers who had dropped at this checkpoint and a wave from the Brazilian, Marcio who had just come in at 10 as we were leaving. The morning was bright, our spirits high again with food and sleep taken care of. We were more than half-way done, and ready to finish this thing. Realistically, we had more time left than we had just finished. We talked about country music, hunting, scuba diving, military life and our goals and dreams as walked along. When steep hills came we would slowly trudge up them, and take off the belts at the top, sitting on top of our gear and slide down the other side. It was a great way to break up the trail and a blast to get moving fast on some steep hills. At the last crossroads, my dad walked a ways with us, commenting on the race, the people ahead of us, and the terrain for the rest of the course. I was starting to get a tight hip flexor, and was limping a little bit, a point which he commented on. We parted ways, to see him at the finish line, more than 12 hours later.

Seeing him gave us both energy, and we took on the trail like never before. We kept snacking on our diet of protein bars and gu’s, trying to keep our energy up through the cold. The hills hit us then, as the sun was going down. They continued to test our strength as the night set in. Our legs weren’t feeling bad at this point, just sore and overused. My hip flexor tightness was gone, to be replaced by shin splint feeling in my left leg but overall good to go. Blaine’s knees were hurting, but not significantly. The hills took it out of both of us, and by 10 that night we were both breathing hard, me more than Blaine. I started to get really short of breath as we climbed the hills, and as we continued, it began to get worse. I started to get scared, I had no idea what was going on or why I suddenly couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. I threw on a handkerchief over my mouth on top of the ski mask. When I still couldn’t catch my breath, I started to flip out. The very completion of the race was at stake, and I would rather have died than not finished. I then started running according to Blaine, wheezing through my masks. I don’t remember how long I ran, or what direction the trail curved. I was so angry that this unknown affliction was overpowering me I blindly pushed on. Blaine stopped me, making the smart point that we can’t burn up energy.

So he led the way, setting the pace and letting me stop after the hills to try and catch my breath. We would stop for 5 – 10 min at a time, sitting on our sleds, me stretching and breathing, him sleeping for a little bit. We continued like that, slightly delirious, falling asleep at times on the trail, hoping for the tepee which seemed to never come. It would signal the 105 mile mark, less than a quarter left to go. We were both plodding along, lost in our thoughts, buoyed by the image of a fire in front of the tepee where we could warm up. I didn’t notice then, but the temperature had been dropping steadily throughout the night. We reached the huge hill, at the top of which sat the tepee and fire. After the tough haul up there, we finally got to the tepee. Our hearts sank when we realized the fire was small and inside, not a raging bonfire. We warmed quickly, Blaine took a 15 minute nap and I dried some clothes, thawing a PB&J to eat. I was worried about finishing in the time allotted, if there were more hills, our going would be much slower. I woke Blain up and urged him to get out of this smoke and heat and start moving. Both of us pretty stiff now, we climbed to our feet and descended the steep hill to the bottom.

The home stretch.

We started off good, walking quickly but right off the start Blaine was really sleepy. I had to go in front so he didn’t walk off the trail when he fell asleep. We tried to start up our run/walk cycle but our legs were too stiff and tired. So we walked that way for a couple of hours, pushing it until the daylight, when we could see the sun, warm up and wake up. About this time, things started to get hairy. Blaine was not very responsive, because of sleep deprivation or cold I didn’t know, but it surpassed any other sleep deprivation I had ever seen. About this time 0400, he fell asleep standing up when we stopped once, and continued to sleep for 3 minutes, a feat only replicated by horses. I began to get worried when he wouldn’t answer my questions fully. I think I was pushing on too hard, because when he asked to stop and sleep, I said that we shouldn’t, we didn’t have the time to. Besides, the sun was only 3 hours away. Little did I know. Then his lungs started to freeze up, much like mine earlier in the night. He couldn’t catch his breath, and was breathing hard just walking. When we stopped, he turned to me and said that I looked blurry. That scared me, I had never seen these symptoms before and I didn’t know if I could do anything to fix them. I got Blaine into his sleeping bag with a couple extra layers of clothes and pulled out my phone to call the race directors. I had reached the end of my medical knowledge and was seriously worried for him. Taking no chances, the ambulance was sent to our location, which fortunately was near a road. So many conflicting messages were whirling through my mind, it was hard to decide what to do. Ultimately I realized that I didn’t know enough to deal with the problem on my own, and if it was life-threatening, I didn’t want to ruin the race. I was fully prepared to go with him as the ambulance came and the snow mobile loaded him. I asked him about going on, and he replied, GO….. FINISH STRONG. So I did just that. The last 20 miles of the race were different. They were solitary, fueled by my anger at the situation and questions, second-guessing myself the whole way. It was flat, no hills to worry about, just the never-ending scraggly pine forest, planted by loggers after a clear cut. I knew that there was no option for not finishing. Each step was a tribute to those who had supported us, put their faith in us. It ended as it had started, a line in the snow, no crowds, no cheering, a quiet, silent acceptance of a challenge met in the face, a purely internal mental and physical battle, intensely personal. I felt light on my feet as I crossed, and was overwhelmed with the realization that it was over. I had completed it. This was instantly hit by the absence of Blaine, creating a bittersweet feeling. My dad ran out of the casino where the rest of the race crew was, almost jumping up and down.

There were many people who supported us in this expedition. Major Weis was instrumental in presenting our case and guiding us through the approval process. CAPT Klunder was critical in giving us the thumbs up to complete this. We are both very grateful for the trust they put in us. Both of our families supported us all the way, encouraging us and were a huge source of strength, especially my dad Troy during the race. To the people who have donated, we cannot express how much it means to us and everybody involved your willingness to help the families of these operators.

I had never felt such a sense of accomplishment, not entirely personal, but for a greater cause, as a tribute to something bigger.