Racing the Planet 250 Stage Race Review

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Racing the Planet: Iceland 250K Stage Race

-The Race Report

As many of you know, I began this journey over a year ago after linking up with the Runwell Foundation and joining one of two teams planning to cross the country of Iceland. There were to be eight of us –two teams of three members each, and two solo runners. All participating individuals were to raise a $10000 donation cap for the foundation, and travel, lodging and registration would be covered. All we needed to provide was travel to the West Coast [Seattle International] or East Coast [JFK International] airports leaving for Reykjavik, Iceland… and the gear we’d be carrying.

The immediate issue was fundraising. I abhor asking for money. Luckily [for this particular issue], I was relocated to San Antonio as part of a military move. This gave me the opportunity to stage two successful yard sales in preparation for the relocation through a local facility. The owners of the Black Belt Leadership Academy, in Tramway NC, gave me every resource required to sell my unneeded goods to help finance my goal. By the end of the second sale, roughly $7500 had already been raised. Between those proceeds and the ones brought in from a charity run on Runwell’s behalf –the Zombiegoaten 5K on Halloween 2012, I really only lacked about $1750. The people of Sanford NC provided those funds. In the end, it took less than six weeks to accrue the 10K limit. I thank everyone who helped me.

So now I lived in the vast state of Texas, and began focusing on my training and gear procurement. Racing the Planet sent a 21 page packing list to all the competitors. Even after stripping down the items into the most meager articles of frugality, the costs began to exceed $2000. Packs, bags, clothes, lights, shoes, socks, medical kits, food and myriad other items kept popping up. Three weeks before the race, a record cold summer actually caused a doubling of certain cold-weather items. Roughly $2200 of gear later, I had completed my required packing list. I should own stock in REI, as 90% of my gear came directly from the Cary NC and San Antonio TX branches.

And then by February 2013, the training that began so well began to falter. I had over competed, and was becoming more and more apathetic to exercise, running and the lifestyle that had guided me for three years. I struggled with maintaining my ideal race weight, and was plagued by several DNF [Did Not Finish] results at races I could not afford to miss. I became depressed, disinterested and even quite distant. Some of you that witnessed me racing during the February through July 2013 time frame can attest to the often mercurial disposition I possessed. It wasn’t until I had to get a mandatory physical release for the RTP Iceland trip that I found out, nearly by accident, that it wasn’t just a motivational collapse. I had developed Hypothyroidism. Perhaps as a result of maintaining such a high level of intensity through the 2012 calendar year, I had literally damaged my thyroid gland. So for the two weeks leading up to Iceland, my doctor [a runner] placed me on a non-invasive oral synthetic that regulated my glandular production levels. I rebounded almost immediately.

On August 1^st, I flew from SAX to JFK airport, to meet up with several members of the Runwell Team. I use team loosely, as both teams dissolved during the preceding months, and two members left the Iceland race, while a new member joined. Everyone would be competing as an individual. We loaded the vast hull of the Icelandair jet and began the 6-plus flight across Canada, Greenland and the Atlantic to Keflavik International Airport, 50km from our host hotel in Reykjavik. Once there on August 2nd, it was about six hours from the time we could check in, so we stored our baggage and walked the Capital city. Iceland, from top to bottom, is stunning. It is clean, well-organized and ranks as a world leader in Recycling/Conservation. Reykjavik is situated on the Southwest side of the island, which is opposite the Arctic cost where whale-watching and flocks of Puffin are routinely sought.

We finally checked in to the Grand Hotel, and immediately the pace picked up. We were given the itinerary for the following day and the Stage information. Each room was shared with another competitor, and although nice, these rooms felt a bit small once gear was spread out and we were forced to move about. Most people went to bed early, although several opted to explore the ‘night-life’ of Iceland. Keep in mind that at this point in the Icelandic summer, it is daylight 19 hours a day. It never really gets much darker than that near-illuminated “30 minutes from dawn” we see in the NC or TX mountains. At 6am, the following morning, though, it all got very real.

After a hasty, and almost vegetarian-friendly breakfast, tent assignments were posted. 300+ competitors were placed 8-persons to a tent. RTP tried to keep languages common within the tent assignments, but with 60 countries and at least 40 forms of language being spoken, it was hit or miss. I had two other Runwell mates in my tent, although I did not know either of them. There was a couple comprised of a Swiss man and Filipino woman, and then the three-female “Icelandic Team.”  We were not to meet until later in the evening, as we were carted off to the base camp. But for now, it was time for the very stressful [and very mandatory] gear check. If you lacked anything, you were required to buy it or be disqualified. Luckily, my $2200 served me well, and I passed the layout. Upon clearance, we were to congregate and wait for the competitor briefing. It was long, hot and boring as sin. In RTP’s defense, though, it is really hard to make a syllabus of events and safety look and sound sexy. Now that the admin was done, we stored our non-race items in the baggage security room, and loaded on buses for transport out to Base Camp #1.

Our buses trekked roughly 150 kilometers into the center of the Icelandic Glacier country, where the base camp was a triple line of tents along a raging stream situated between two enormous glaciers. The temperature had dropped to within 10 degrees of freezing and a wet mist had settled into our valley. The tents were tall enough to stand in, but only had a footprint large enough for exactly 8 humans without any gear. They were canvas with a thick plastic-sheeted floor. Across the stream and away from the camp were 8 port-o-loos, for use when in camp only. No paper was provided, but they were undoubtedly the warmest shelters in the camp. Unfortunately, they were always about a quarter of a mile from the tent city, and always had a long line to occupy. Also, there was a hot water tent, where one could procure that very essential ingredient for coffee, tea or freeze-dried giblets.  And that was all there was. So we spoke a bit and provided introductions to our tent-mates, and ate a bit of food the Icelandic Team brought with them. It consisted of wine, cheeses, three types of bread, potato salad, cold-cuts and some prepackaged European pancakes.

At 5am August 4^th, we awoke, rechecked our gear and pushed into a heavy mist beside the raging stream. This Stage was titled “Between the Two Glaciers.” The unknown was about to become known. Due to a very cold night, around 28 degrees, and the fact that a storm was approaching rapidly, the course had been altered slightly. The river crossing was scrapped and we were routed onto the gravel road we had bussed in on the evening before. For the next 28.5 miles, we would be doing our bus commute in reverse -on foot. Within seconds of passing through a starting banner lined with 60 national flags, the bottom broke out of the sky. The winds exceeded 55 MPH and the rain struck the skin like buck shot. For approximately two more hours, we fought with the merciless winds, often being battered to and fro without much control. Our bags and clothes were like sails. And then, as quickly as it started, the wind died and a bit of sun pushed through. The remainder of the day was around 40-45 degrees and quite pleasant. We trudged along the road following the infamous “pink flags” until we found the Kerlingarfjoll campsite. Day #1 was finally over. For several competitors, it served to be the last complete day of the event…

Stage #2 was Langjokull (Long Glacier). It began as a cloudy, cold and generally miserable day. The soreness and pains of Day #1 were fully manifested in the hobbling “zombie-walk” many of the racers exhibited while making their way to the starting chute. It seemed like we were heading right back onto that hated gravel road from the bus ride out, but within a mile we veered off into the open ground. This was the first occurrence of what I will describe as ”fell flagging.” Similar to fell running in that we crossed ground regardless of terrain, but instead of following an “orienteering” route set by a compass, we mindlessly followed the pink flags up, over and under wherever they led us. We crossed a second raging river swollen from glacial runoff by way of a pedestrian bridge, and immediately began our first real mountain crossing. The wind was picking up and temperatures was dropping as the path kept leading up a 30-40 degree slope. Upon peaking the crest, we started down towards some of the most stunning scenery of the race. A large glacier, lake and waterfall lay before us. We trudged across its sandy shore before crossing a cracked plain resembling a barren desert framed by mountain peaks. Last, we linked up with a small jeep trail to “The Land of Trolls,” our Stage #2 campsite.

After what seemed like days of winter harshness without relief, Stage #3 opened with sunny skies and warmer temperatures in the upper 40’s-50’s. This was also the first day that inclement weather had not forced a change to the planned route. It was nice to shed the waterproof pants, tights, heavy jacket, fleece, long-sleeve shirt, gloves, wool cap and buff for the first time while trekking. The terrain was mild, with the glaciers receding from view to our right and the mountains to our left. It seemed like the stage name of Black Sand Desert was pretty accurate. The surface was a moderately rocky path of ashy black sand. For the first twenty miles, it all looked the same, then the final miles took a sharp turn up and over a mountain range and ended in our camp, the Black Sand Paradise.

The competitor list had been shrinking steadily. What had started as 300 optimistic entrants had been sloughed by injury, demotivation or simply a waning will to continue. Each day presented more culling to our herd. By the start of Day #4, titled “Through the Lava Tube,” the camp was noticeably quieter and a bit more mundane. Less people joked around the early morning fire barrels. Fewer people ran around snapping off photos. Most just stood and shivered over coffee as the sunny yesterday was replaced with another cold, overcast today. And then we crossed the starting chute toward our subterranean destination –the Lava Caves.  After about a mile of running through a field covered in large rocks and deep, spongy moss, we were allowed to drop our gear and line up for entry into the caves. Upon completion of the 300 meter arced descent, we would wind back, reclaim our gear and continue on towards our final destination at the Geothermal area.

The caves were a pretty cool addition to race for two very different reasons. First, they were stunning, novel and  kept us out of the elements for a good 30-45 minutes. Secondly, and more importantly, it was the only period that we were in motion without our slowly lightening packs strapped to our backs. As we ate day after day, the loads would lighten –but that trend reversed at the end of Stage #4, as you will see. We popped out of the Lava Tube and trudged on through the agricultural area and birthplace of Icelandic Government in Thingvallavatn. The “path” was a very deep rut of horse-trail through miles of field. Up until this point, vegetation had not grown higher than ankle level. Now, reeds, grasses and small shrubs could be seen and we continued to the southwest. We passed through the Krokus farm area into the geothermic area, and began to see steam hovering over the plains. Seemingly everywhere deep holes were gurgling up boiling mud and a sulfuric stench. Lakes bubbled like spas. Volunteers offered soft-boiled eggs cooked in the geothermal ponds beside the course. That egg was one of the highlights of my trip to Iceland. I sat for a moment and savored my warm, soft egg. Those minutes would redefine the rest of my trip, as I did not notice a rapid drop in temperature and a darkening of already greyed skies.

I could see the Stage #4 camp, named “Mid-Atlantic Ridge.” I needed only to cross a three-quarter mile stretch of field and I was home free. You could now feel a thickening wet mist and I made the decision to race the storm rather than pull out all of my rain gear and waste time stumbling into it. I chose poorly. Within minutes the Icelandic god Odin punished me mercilessly for my time wasted with my egg. I was soaked through. Everything in my pack, everything on my back –all I owned soaked up buckets of rain water. Nothing made it but a single pair of tights and a long-sleeve tech tee. And tomorrow was the “Long March.”

So far, each day had been a little more than a marathon distance. Due to the lengthened legs of the opening days, the Long March continuously shortened to around 40 miles. That was the good news. The bad news was a forecast of near-freezing weather and a continuation of the rain storm that had soaked my gear. Spirits were low. I stared at my gear and wondered how I could do 40 miles in wet clothes. The final kicker was that my wet load now negated any benefits I had from a lighter pack due to food consumption. My pack felt heavier than on the first stage. Top that off with how cold I was and it made for a moment of reflection and doubt. More people had dropped; They were loading a bus back to Reykjvik. Back to heat. Back to showers. Back to Life.

We began the Long March by omitting our third river crossing due to freezing temperatures. I was testing a theory with my gear. I had put on the dry tights and tech tee directly under my waterproof pants and heavy jacket shell. Then I put the wet shirt and fleece on over the shell to keep the wet off of me, but hopefully it would still offer some warmth and protection from the wind. I had a dirty, but dry pair of socks that I slipped on and then placed in two unused bio-degradable poop-bags for course waste. Then I stuffed my plastic sheathed feet into my soaked shoes and they seemed to stay somewhat dry. I just wanted to end this day. The race began and we immediately cut through another section of the geothermal plant towards a fishing hamlet on the Arctic Ocean. Winds were high and rain unrelenting. We cut across mountain ridges until we linked up with the roads that carried us onto the black sand beaches. Time virtually stood still for miles as we leaned into the biting wind and trudged slowly across a never-ending expanse of beautiful, but energy-sapping semi-soft sand.

The beach terminated at a fishing harbor and wound through a small town to the next trial of the day, the Lava Fields. These former flows of erupted magma bordered the ocean for miles. It was more of a climb than a hike, with a constant barrage of sea foam and biting wind making balance on the slick rocks difficult. Three miles of lava rocks brought us into a rocky sand expanse leading to a coastal lighthouse, and then on to the final Aid Station called the “Tunnel of Love.” I mention this particular stop because the two miles leading up to it were the hardest of the entire Icelandic Race. The winds tipped Gale Force level and actually brought me to a complete stop several times. I literally couldn’t push forward until a lapse occurred. Smaller competitors were battered from side to side, front to back and many were brought to their knees in this stretch. Luckily, the tunnel led to a sharp turn and the final miles of the Long March had the wind at our backs. I literally ran the final seven miles like I had wings. And then, there it was. The Stage Finish. We loaded buses and were transported to a gymnasium renamed the “Thousand River Haven,” as this was another last minute campsite change due to harsh weather. We had dry floors, hot showers and access (for a small fee) to the heated pool, steam room and hot tubs.

The Long March is unique in that you had roughly 10-12 miles more than the usual miles to cover, but were given 24-hours instead of the normal 12 to complete the stage. Then you are given roughly one single day of recuperation before beginning Stage #6, “The Final Footsteps to the Blue Lagoon.” So the remaining 250-ish competitors spent a day in the Gymnasium, either trading food, swapping blister remedies or trying to remove the black sand from every orifice, garment or bag. Shoes were left by the front entrance, and the entire facility rapidly began to reek of drying laundry, funky bodies and rotting shoes. Most people slept, but several found the wait restless and longed to finish the final six miles and be done with the event. I waffled between the two, as I was restless but also appreciated the break. Some folks snuck out to visit the local bakery, bar and pizzeria, but most resisted the temptation by the threat of time penalties for those transgressional behaviors. I slept and did a short swim in the heated pool, dried all of my gear and repacked for the final day. I awoke feeling rested, relaxed and ready.

We were bussed back out to the final start point. The terrain was rocky and presented more elevation than most of us expected this close to the coast. The heavy mist was back, but temperature was a bit warmer than usual. Rain was probable, but did not manifest. We ran through the final set of mountains and descended into Iceland’s National Forest, which amounted to about one acre of Christmas trees. From there we wound through a stunning rock field on a crushed gravel path and then faced an iridescent lake next to yet another geothermal plant. This was the infamous Blue Lagoon. The double line of competitor country flags lined the way to the finish arch, although everything was partially obscured by the geothermal steam hovering over the blue waters. I crossed the finish amid a swirl of familiar faces and near-maniacal smiles. It was over. The race was complete.

After photo opportunities and collaboration with new friends, I munched down some fresh bread and vegetarian broth. The path to the Blue Lagoon “bathing area” was a 600 meter winding path of the same crushed gravel we finished on. Racing the Planet had reserved an entire wing of the Lagoon, and we all settled into the steaming hot waters for a long relaxing dip. A small cabana-style bar made some serious bank off of the bone weary competitors, as the lagoon bobbers soon soaked with mojitos, champagne and  golden beers. After about an hour, we began loading the busses for the ride back to the Grand Hotel in Reykjavik. We had the afternoon to relax, pack for return voyages home, and clean ourselves up before the awards banquet.

Racing the Planet is a top-notch organization and provides for every contingency. Their ability to apply effective contingencies while conducting the race was impressive. Planning a race of this magnitude is difficult in itself. RTP is a Hong Kong company and still manages to arrange, plan and administer international races with unrivalled efficiency. I have already committed to participate in the 2014 4-Deserts Race at the Atacama Pass in Chili. I have every faith that RTP will once again exceed all of my expectations. Iceland 2013 will remain one of the best experiences I have ever suffered through.

I have provided a few more photos below.