Racing through Heaven and Hell at the Arrowhead 135
By John Storkamp
The Arrowhead Winter Ultra is an unsupported
135-mile race that takes place in Northern Minnesota near the Canadian border.
This year’s race was held on February 6.
In addition to doing it on foot, competitors can choose to attempt the
course on bike or skis and all racers are given 60 hours to complete the
course. All competitors are required to
carry with them mandatory survival gear, food and water. The race is held on a hilly, state
multi-purpose / snow machine trail and was created in the mold of such races as
the Susitna 100, Yukon Arctic Ultra and the Iditarod Trail Invitational. As anyone who runs ultras knows, it is nearly
impossible to describe the heaven and hell that we go through in these long
distance events. In a winter event, in
sub-zero temperatures, pulling a heavy sled full of gear, with little aid, this
becomes especially true.
Tricking myself
As the Arrowhead 135
approached, I had a good base of high mileage and strength from my 2005 running
season, plus several months of specialized training for the race. The Arrowhead
had been in the back of my mind ever since I first heard of it—as a dirty
little secret that I dare not tell anyone. My wife looked concerned when I first
mentioned it to her so I assured her I would not be doing it anytime soon. Meanwhile, I continued to entertain the idea
of running it “someday.” I have found
that saying “someday” is a way to trick myself into doing this kind of
thing. Length aside, the prospect of
competing was highly daunting due to the fact that the race, now in its second
year, had not yet been finished by a competitor in the foot / running
division.
But
this past fall, when I ran into a good
friend, experienced ultrarunner Scott Wagner, and he told me that he
would be attempting it, I decided to go for it as well. Scott is the kind of guy who is not afraid to
try anything; his lack of fear and his enthusiasm inspired me to go beyond my
perceived limits and to give it a try.
My hope was that my winter camping experience coupled with a handful of
ultras, over a decade of marathons, backpacking, strength training, knowledge
of gear, engineering aptitude and working a physical job would all add up to a
finish at the Arrowhead 135. I trained
long hours for this event: on the road, on the trail, on the hills, winter
camping, snowshoeing and, of course, pulling my pulk sled. The pulk sled is the preferred means of
carrying the mandatory survival gear required by the race directors. In addition to spending many hours building
the sled, I also devoted countless hours tweaking the gear and my methods and
then testing them over and over again.
Invaluable to my success was also the time spent talking to other
athletes, especially those who were experienced in this type of event.
Quiet before the cold
Scott Wagner and I left the
Twin Cities on the Saturday afternoon before the race. We stayed with a mutual friend in Duluth on
Saturday night. As we drove northeast
from Duluth to the race start in International Falls on Sunday, the temperature
started to drop quickly. When we left
Duluth at 6:00 a.m. the
temperature was -3 F degrees, but the closer we got to International Falls, the
colder it got. The thermometer in
Scott’s truck said -24 F at one point; later we heard that it had officially
gotten down to -15 F. We knew then that
the conditions for the next few days would be much colder than had been
forecasted.
Once
we arrived in International Falls, gear check went well: Don Clark and Bonnie
Sue Riley performed their jobs well and without apology. As Don knows (from his own winter racing
experience at the Susitna 100), proper equipment in this race can make the
difference between life and death—or frostbite and hypothermia at the very
least. The average weight of all the
runner’s sleds was somewhere in the 40-pound range. Some runners travel much lighter at races
like Susitna and the Yukon Ultra, but with only one gas station / general store
nearby (a quarter mile off the course) at mile 38 and one checkpoint at mile
67, you are forced to carry a substantial amount of food and water if you do
not want to mess around with melting snow for drinking later in the race. For
my first winter race of this kind it was not worth skimping on gear, even if it
meant traveling a little heavier as a result.
The
pre-race meeting was informative and was a good chance to meet the other
competitors. I have always known
mountain bikers were easier to take than road bikers but these “icebike” guys
are a different breed all together and I enjoyed talking to them. I had a lot of respect for everyone trying
this race, and especially for the 4 others who would be trying it on foot.
Purgatory
Race morning went well. Scott and I got up plenty early and got on
one of the shuttle buses arranged to take us to the start. It was a little chilly in the morning and the
National Weather Service reported that the morning’s low was -20 F. I stayed in the van until about 5 minutes
before the race started, as I was dressed too light to just stand around in the
cold. I needed to be moving in order to
generate body heat to stay warm.
When
we all finally got started it happened without much hype. Five runners, two skiers and 25 bikers had
begun this long journey. It felt good to
finally be starting the race but within a couple of hours we would all find ourselves challenged by
the conditions. It seemed
that within a few hours things started to go wrong for everyone. My first challenge was gear-related: My
hydration tube froze within the first half hour due to a leaking bite
valve. We heard that five people dropped
out within the first 15 miles.
As
Scott and I reached the 15 mile mark my right knee started getting sore, which
had also happened during my last long training session while pulling my
sled. Two other runners were already far
ahead of us. Scott and I kept the pace
sensible and stayed together until the 20th mile or so. We started to drift apart because I found
that increasing my pace seemed to help my knee.
At 5:10 p.m., as I reached
the Gateway General Store (mile 38), Jim Benike was just leaving. Jim, a tough and very experienced
ultrarunner, had finished in fifth place at the Badwater 135 in 2001. By that
point, my knee was still bad but my energy and attitude were good. Once in the General store I ate, drank and
filled my water bottles.
After
an hour at the store, I left by myself, prepared to push on all night
long. At one point I passed a shelter
and recognized another runner’s sled and tent—he had stopped to sleep for a
while. By mile 50 I was ready to sleep
as well, but I still pushed on, I was now in second place. By 3 o’clock in the morning I was getting
cold, I was limping on my knee and both of my Achilles were swollen and
painful. In addition to the pain, I was
having stomach problems and was not taking in much fluid or calories. I had begun dozing off to sleep while walking
and my eyes started playing tricks on me.
Adding to my difficulties, as I got closer to the halfway point,
Melgeorge Resort (mile 67), the trail got hillier. Within 5 miles of Melgeorge I was in so much
pain and so fatigued that I began thinking that upon my arrival I might have no
choice but to drop out of the race. At
7:30 a.m., I finally arrived at
Melgeorge where I met up with Jim Benike again.
He looked like he had had a hard night as well, but he was preparing to
go back out for more. Once in the cabin,
my speech was slurred when I spoke and I was confused. I was falling asleep at the table while
trying to eat. Over the previous 38
miles and 13-plus hours I had consumed less than 2 liters of fluid and hardly
any calories. I decided that the only
way I was to get going again was to sleep for a while. At 8:30 a.m.
I went to sleep, waking myself up at 9:30 for more fluid and food. At that point the pain had really taken hold
of me and it was hard just to move around the cabin—every part of me was
sore. Not sure what would happen when I
awoke the next time, I went back to sleep for another hour. When I woke up the cabin was quiet and I felt
slightly better. Gene Kurnow and his son were in charge of the checkpoint and
did a great job. With their help I was
ready to give the second half of the race a shot.
Solitude
Leaving the halfway
checkpoint was intimidating, as I knew that I would probably not see anyone
over the last 67 miles. More hills
greeted me after leaving Melgeorge, but with the light of the day and the
decision to get moving again I started to feel pretty good: Within a few hours
my endorphins kicked in and the pain started to subside. By the time I reached the Myrtle Lake shelter
(mile 85) it was starting to get dark and I started to feel even better. It was at that point that I started to do
some running, which I had hardly done up until then because of my knee
problems. By the middle of the night my
body still felt strong; however, I was starting to feel the effects of sleep
deprivation. Nevertheless, I pushed on.
As I
became more tired, cold and depleted I became very confused. At one point I was convinced that I was
within 5 miles of the finish, I then ran into Jim Benike again. He was setting up his tent on the side of the
trail, which seemed strange to me. It
was about 2:00 a.m. Wednesday,
and my confusion grew deeper. My original estimates from earlier in the day put
me in at the finish around 1:00 p.m.
on Wednesday. But here I was at 2:00 in
the morning thinking I was 5 miles from the finish wondering why Jim would be
camping when so close to the end. I mumbled
a bunch of slurred nonsense at him and then asked if he had been to the finish
yet, at that point he probably knew I had lost it. My reasoning was that I thought we were at
the finish and Jim had come in first and now he was going to sleep in his tent
until morning before packing up and going home.
Jim told me we were a long way from the finish and offered for me to
bivy by him for the night. I told him I was going to push on and try to find
the finish. I learned later that I was
still around 30 or 35 miles from the end of the race at that point.
I
pushed on after that and was quickly overcome by bouts of sleepwalking and
hallucinations. By 5:00 a.m. I was a wreck. On top of my mental instability and inability
to stay awake I was also soaking wet from running throughout the night and from
the extra effort it took climbing over the 20 miles of hills around Myrtle
Lake. Half asleep and shivering in
15-below-zero temperatures, I stripped off all my wet clothes and put on dry
stuff. I got into my sleeping bag, set the alarm on my watch and was asleep by
5:30 a.m. At 8:00 a.m., just as my alarm
was going off Jim just happened to be walking by. By this time I knew my errors in judgment
from the night before. I checked and
found that I was still at least 20 miles plus from the finish. I quick got my things together and caught up
with Jim, hoping that maybe we could travel together for a few hours. Jim was having a hard time with his foot and
back; in addition his sled was giving him problems. I talked to him briefly and then pressed on,
assuming that he would need his energy to dig deep, not chitchat with me. As I warmed up I started to feel great and I
started running much of the time as I progressed toward the finish. The miles clicked off and I felt better with
each one.
Within
7 miles of the finish, Ron Kadera (one of the great volunteers on snowmobile
and a finisher on skis from last year) met me on the course and told me how far
I had to go. The last seven miles were a celebration—not a death march like the
end of some ultras—and it was an incredible feeling. Within a quarter mile of the finish, Scott
Wagner came up to meet me on a bike. I
got to the official finish and no one was out waiting for me, which seemed like
an appropriate end to a such a solo / self-supported race. Cheryl recorded my time and that was it, I
was done. I got a Coke and waited for
Jim to finish. Jim came in a while after
me and it was great to see him make it. Also I was happy for all the bikers who
made it and for my fellow runners and the skiers who did not make it to the
finish. All of the other runners made it
to the halfway point, which is a huge accomplishment in itself.
Next Year? Of
course.
The race was challenging and
the course was beautiful. A 60-hour
cutoff seemed generous at first but now I understand. I can’t thank Pierre and Cheryl Ostor enough
for putting this together and keeping it pure.
The fact that the race is self-supported combined with the hours of
isolation and cold made it especially challenging and, in turn, especially
rewarding to finish. I would also like
to thank all of the volunteers: Don Clark, Bonnie Sue Riley, Ron Kadera, Rayo,
Gene Kurnow and his son, the people at Gateway General Store and everyone else
who helped with the race. I am proud and
humbled to be the first one to ever cross the finish line of this race on
foot. My goal was to finish and not
worry about my time or place. If any
ultra can bring you through ups and downs than this event will drag you through
heaven and hell. Hope you can make it
next year. You’ll love it, I promise.
RESULTS
John Storkamp, MN [26 years old]
53 hours 5 minutes.
Jim Benike, MN [56 years
old] 54 hours 40 minutes
Nick Lowe, MN [26 years old] DNF
David Heitkamp, IN [55 years old] DNF
Scott Wagner, MN [40 years old] DNF