Arrowhead 135 from the Feet of a Runner

by Daniel Probst

As I put one foot in front of the other on the first out and back section of the course, I thought to myself, “finally the race is on and what am I doing here”? I know this seems like a long way to go and an incredible thing to even start, but really for me, it was just a longer version of the sport I love. In my short running career, I’ve had the amazing opportunity to take on some of the toughest runs out there. And with my natural ability to endure punishing cold, I wasn’t one bit afraid of the miles before me. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see what lie on the far side of 100 miles.

Now back to the part about “What am I doing here”?-- I’m a mountain runner. I never run roads and I hate the flat. As I looked in front of me, I saw a whole lot of flat. Some how I had convinced myself the snow would make up for it. Adding to that, it was hot out! I mean, it was the same 35 degree weather I have back home in Washington. I would rather have had temps down at around -30 where I am comfortable. Let’s just say I was almost born in a snow drift in January in Illinois, so this was definitely going to be a challenge to stay dry.

I had come prepared, though, and when I saw the forecast on race day, I made sure my first layer was a pair of shorts. Yes, I’m the guy you saw running down the trail in shorts.

In fact, I had on the thinnest pair of smartwool sock they make and that proved to be too much even when it finally got down to below freezing.

The original plan to was to chase down the leader and die trying. That all went out the window when I saw John Storkamp blazing back down the trail after he had made the turn around and had at least a half hour on me. And with the warm temperatures and soft snow, I wasn’t about to spend the next ten miles trying to catch him. In fact I didn’t really feel the urge to race that morning, probably something to do with that flatness. Though I do remember counting everyone coming back from the turn around just to see who I had to hunt down later on.

I had stripped down to my shorts many miles ago and was now on my way to the Gateway Store check point. The day was kind of dark and dreary, but with all the good company and the bikes whizzing by, I had no problems keeping upbeat. I reached the Gateway Store just before dark. Hey, now I was only a hundred miles from the finish!

After spending much too long at the store, I strapped my sled back on and was off into the night on my way to Melgorges, the halfway point. The dark was a nice contrast to the dull gray of earlier that day. Now it was getting colder and the ground was firming up. It was snowing just so lightly and the trail had gone from flat to rolling. So I started running. I was running so fast things started flying. First it was my little red LED light. I had to sprint back about ten minutes where it was still blinking along side the trail. Then it was my thermos that went missing off my harness after a huge down hill section. So I back tracked and retrieved it from along side the trail, too, the whole time laughing at myself for how silly I was wasting time.

Although Pierre, the race director, and I would be playing tortoise and the hare the entire race, at around 4:00am, we found ourselves heading down the same road, side by side, following the tracks in front of us. I heard a voice from behind me. “I don’t remember this road being so long, I think we are going the wrong way,” in a heavy French accent. Oh no! We were following the tracks in front of us, so we couldn’t be that far off; everyone else had come down this way. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what do you do when you are with the race director and he thinks we’re going the wrong way? To put this in a little perspective, I had already found Pierre many miles ago falling asleep on his feet. I had given him about two cups of coffee in caffeine tablets, so I was just hoping he was tired and buzzed. After convincing him to keep going down the trail, we finally saw the sign for Melgeorges. We had only stopped a hundred yards from the sign.

The next five miles proved to one of the longest sections I can remember from the race. I was badly dehydrated and getting very, very cold. On top of that, the last mile was across the frozen Elephant Lake.

Arriving safely at the Melgeorges cabin, I was greeted by other fellow racers and a wonderful group of volunteers who kindly made me some scrambled eggs and hash browns. I drank as much water as I could and spent a good long time resting on the couch. Looking out through the window, I could see dawn approaching and with it the sun. Oh, how thankful I was to see that sun. With my stomach full and my thermoses filled up, I had no intention of stopping now. Pierre again rejoined me and we made our way out the door and back onto the trail. With the sun beaming though the trees, glistening off the snow, I was really enjoying being on such a grand adventure.

Usually when the sun comes up and the a new day begins, the sleepies go away and I’m good to go; not so this time. Not getting sleep for me usually isn’t a big deal, but this time it was different. The sun was now in the sky, high enough to be shining down on my face. Boy, did this feel good, in fact, it was making me tired. Back on a very flat part of the trail, I wasn’t running much. I thought, “Let me just rest here for a moment and then I’ll go again”. I pulled my sled off the trail and used it as a seat. I crossed my arms and lowered my head. With the sun radiating through my skin, I was in a very happy place.

Just as I was dozing off, a biker stopped in front of me and asked if I was alright. I had not heard him sneak up on me and it jolted me from my rest. I had to think for a second “Yes, I’m alright”, but “Boy, how long had I been sitting here”? I didn’t quite know. That got me up and moving again, and thankfully, just a few miles down the trail I found Scott and Pierre. Again I would play tortoise and the hare with Pierre all day. I don’t think he ran one mile in the whole race but he kept catching me.

With the setting of the sun came the beginning of the hills. I was so looking forward to the hills. I can run and I can climb, but the flat had just been killing me. The sunset that second night was really beautiful and I enjoyed every minute of it, as well as being part of this whole experience.

Into the darkness again and into the cold, I was really starting to notice that the air was slowly getting colder and colder. You can tell how cold it gets by the way things start to freeze around your face and things were starting to freeze. The hills were doing a good job of keeping me warm, but I knew that at some point I’d have to stop and put on another layer. Also concerning me were my wet socks. My shoes were starting to freeze and getting hard. I knew it was only a matter of time until my feet started freezing, too.

Pierre caught up with me again and said we were somewhere in between the two shelters. It seemed that the last shelter had been a while ago, so I decided to run until I reached the next shelter where I could regroup. I ran and ran and ran some more. This section of the trail was endless and each turn looked just like the last. It would go up a turn, then dip back down, then go up and turn and on and on and on. I started noticing that sure enough my shoes were really starting to freeze. My feet were not cold yet, but still wet and I knew not to wait until they got cold. After miles and miles of endless trail, I finally made the decision to stop right where I was on the trail and deal with my shoes.

When it’s minus twenty and you’ve been running for miles, you just can’t stop. I knew it wouldn’t be a quick stop, but I had no choice. I pulled my sled to the side of the trail and started getting done what had to be done. I pulled out my sleeping bag and pad, ripped off my shoes and climbed in. Next came thawing my shoes. There was only one thing I could do-- melt them over my stove. So I spent about twenty minutes trying to get every last bit of ice melted off with out melting to much of the shoes. It worked well and I tossed them in my sleeping bag to stay warm until I had to put them back on again. By this time, I was pretty cold even in my bag and feeling tired. So I pulled out all the hand warmers I had left and tossed them in my bag and closed my eyes for a little sleep.

In a dream-like state, I would awaken every so often to see someone pass. Pierre again passes me and say’s he’s going on until he gets to the road. I guess that Scott had passed me there at some point and yelled at me to see if he could wake me up, but I was sound asleep and didn’t move an inch. Later on, he told me that the only thing that made him think that I was alive was a string near my mouth that would move in and out as I breathed.

I have no idea how long I had stopped or how much I had slept, but I was able to get back up just before sun up and was feeling great. I hastily packed everything back into my sled and started down the trail. I saw someone just yards down the trail from me. It’s Bria in her sleeping bag. She said I had inspired her to get some sleep, also. Just another hundred yards down the trial, I saw Pierre in his bag also getting some rest. I gave him a shout and he replied “ I guess I should get going.”

Now to all that that finished before us. I’m sure you didn’t miss the snowmobilers the second day, but we sure did. It seemed very odd that the first day and night we had seen the support crew every two to four hours but the second day and night we did not see one.

I just couldn’t think or didn’t want to think of what happened that we would not see them for such a long period of time. Well, I was able to answer my own question in just a few steps when out of the dark I see the abandoned snowmobile. Oh, That’s where he’s been. It must have been a cold walk out for him. I also found the shelter that we had all been seeking. It was just a mile from where we had all stopped and slept.

With the sun just rising, I knew that once I hit the road, I was just fifteen miles to the finish. It was another beautiful sunny day. Pierre caught up with me again and we stopped to melt snow one last time. I tried not to look at the things floating around in the pot as I melted the snow from along side the trail.

This last section was very, very flat but the snow was hard and I could taste the finish. Feeling strong, I started running and just kept feeling better as the morning went on. Somewhere around five miles from the finish, Bria came zipping along gracefully on her skies. Now that I had someone to chase, I geared up and was at a full run. Nothing was going to stop me now, that is, until I started overheating, so back down to the shorts I went, back to the chase. By this time, Bria had skied out of sight. It felt so good to be able to run this last stretch with so much energy.

At last, I saw the sign for the Bay View Lodge and I started sprinting. To aid in my sprint, the last few hundred yards were all down hill. I flew into the lodge with such a fury that I did not even know where I was supposed to go. Looking frantically all around, I could not see any kind of finish line. So I yelled, “Where’s the finish line”? Someone replied, “Drop your sled and go into the cabin”. I dropped my sled and raced into the cabin. “Hello, I’m here”, making sure someone wrote down my time.