Alex Pretti and Renee Good. May their names be eternal.

We were barely an hour outside the Twin Cities when my wife’s phone started getting texts from her friends about the second murder of an American citizen in Minneapolis by federal agents. She let me know what was going on as I continued to drive. When we stopped for snacks in Hinckley, MN I admitted that I almost turned the van around. My excitement for spending the next week walking through the woods felt vain and petty compared to what was happening back home.

However, I didn’t turn around. I knew that there was little that would be gained by going back home, especially with only the barest sliver of news about what had happened. So we kept going. The rest of the drive was weighty, but we did our best to distract ourselves with podcasts. Eventually we arrived in International Falls, MN and started seeing old and dear friends. At that moment there was no where I’d rather be. Even friends who skew to the opposite political spectrum as me were complaining about how insane the situation was and how much it needed to stop. It all helped me feel a bit more comfort with continuing on.

We spent Saturday evening hanging out with Angela, Jeff, and Josh, having a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant. It was a reminder that what makes the trail and ultra running community so strong is what also makes Minnesota strong. We take care of, and look out for, each other.

On Sunday I switched it into race mode and we hit the grocery store so I could prep my food for the week. I try to buy my perishable groceries local for these types of events, both as a way to support the local community, and to not have to deal with logistics of transporting more food than I need to. I buckled down over a desk in the hotel room and started spreading various fillings into tortillas.

I got my sled all packed and arranged, complete with Minnesota flag. Total weight, 35 lbs.

After some time relaxing it was time for the pre-race meeting and so back to the community center we went to surround ourselves with our community. I’ve been a part of this event as a volunteer for many years, and so there was little that was new to me in the meeting. But, it’s always good to get a fresh reminder of all the logistical details for an event as huge as this.

For those unfamiliar, the Arrowhead 135 is the toughest winter ultramarathon in the lower 48. Participants travel from International Falls to Tower, MN along the Arrowhead snowmobile trail, carrying all of their survival gear and food with them on either foot, bike, or ski. There are only three checkpoints on the course, and they are spaced at least 35 miles apart from each other. The course is remote with little cell signal, very few road crossings, and often unforgiving terrain.

Only 47% of foot participants who start the race have ever finished it. This is not for the faint hearted.

After the pre-race meeting we had a quick meal at the community center and then headed back to the hotel for desert and drinks. We bumped into Ben, Angela, and Jeff again and spent some more time hanging out and getting mentally prepared for what was to come.

I got to bed at a decent hour, but sleep was mixed. I woke up feeling a little draggy, but ready to give this a shot. We got dressed and got the van loaded and before I knew it I was at the start line with 4 minutes to go. Next thing I know I hear the starting cry of the race director and we’re off. The air temp was -15°F (-26°C) but was warming up rapidly. I had a good layering strategy right off the bat, but within a half a mile realized I had one too many layers and had to stop to shed a coat.

The pack had spread out quickly and I soon found myself alone towards the front of the ‘back of the pack’. I was moving really well at a sub-20 minute per mile pace and was feeling mostly good. Somewhere around mile 8 I ran into my friend Kari and we spent some time hiking together. She was incredibly positive and encouraging as I was lamenting that I didn’t feel like I trained enough. As we made the turn off the Wild Ox trail that we start on, and onto the Arrowhead Trail I felt a good burst of speed and move ahead to keep the momentum going.

Then around 5 hours everything started to fall apart. The legs got heavy and sluggish, and the sled felt like it weighed 10 lbs. heavier than when I started. I kept eating as normal to keep the energy levels up, but the body just kept pushing back, and it was here that I started to realize how unprepared I truly was for this adventure.

Not unprepared from a logistics and systems perspective though. One of the things that I was most proud of in this event was how well I had dialed in my support systems. My food was easy to reach, my sled was stocked appropriately and only weighed 35 lbs., and my clothing layering strategy was working perfectly. All my years of learning and exposure to these races was paying off.

What was unprepared was my body. As I’ve lamented in some previous posts, the last two years have been a slow decline in my overall fitness output, both in mileage/duration and in intensity. My preparation for this event was no different, and now I was paying the price. The slow plod of my feet kept me moving forward, but the pace had come to a crawl compared to what I’ve been capable in the past (such as at Tuscobia 80 a few years ago).

One of the difficulties with Arrowhead for me is the timing. Trying to sustain a training block through the holidays is difficult, but then when you compound it with volunteering at Tuscobia, and then putting on St Croix 40… it becomes an incredible challenge. Because it’s winter there’s also a good chance that I’ll have at least one week of being sick in the middle of it as well. All of this combined means that training for Arrowhead needs to happen throughout the entire year, building up a strong enough base to sustain the down time in January. That just hasn’t been the reality of my last couple years of training.

Back on trail I was plodding along and facing the reality that I was going to start pushing cutoffs at the checkpoints at the rate I was going. By the time I hit mile 18 and was crossing Highway 53 I was resigning myself to what would probably end up being a DNF. However, despite the very real opportunity to stop and quit at Highway 53, I committed to getting myself to the checkpoint under my own power. I wanted to see how far I could actually take this.

Around mile 20 I had to stop and take care of a blister on the side of my heel. Despite my pride in my systems, there were still a couple things I could have done better, and putting my blister kit somewhere other than in the very back of my hydration vest would have been a good choice. I had to strip off multiple coats to get the vest off, deal with the blister, and then get dressed and moving again. That is something I could have made a lot easier on myself.

By mile 25 my lower back started to scream at me, another sign that I didn’t do enough work in training to keep it healthy. I decided that since my day was 99% ending at the checkpoint to start popping ibuprofen. I avoid taking ibuprofen during events as it can cause real damage to bodily systems, but since I knew it would only be temporary I decided to do what I could to make things better while I was out there.

Sure enough when the ibuprofen kicked in I felt like my old self again and my pace significantly improved. I wasn’t moving sub-20 anymore, but I was actually starting to see people again in the distance and gain on them. This gave me a bit of a motivational boost and I decided to see what I could do in these last 12 miles before the checkpoint.

As darkness hit, I got closer and closer to lights in front of me. First I passed one person, then another, and finally two more. The magic of drugs, and pain free hiking, make the miles pass by much quicker. I chatted with each of the folks I passed, and offered encouragement, hoping some of them would keep going. I had called Lisa and she was planning to pick me up when I got to the Gateway store (mile 37 checkpoint). The idea of being able to stop the pain also gave me a little bit of a boost and I felt like I was flying. In reality it was barely a 20 minute mile, but it felt like I was really cruising.

I arrived at Gateway a little after 8pm, and though I had until 9 to head back out, I turned in my tracker and called it a day. Sustaining myself with doses of painkillers was not something I was willing to do, just to try and chase cutoffs for two more days. Lisa was just arriving as I got there and so we loaded up the sled and headed back to the hotel.

Despite the day not turning out the way that I wanted, I have no regrets. That is due to the fact that this was one of the most beautiful days I have ever spent in the woods in winter. The trail was stunningly beautiful with mixes of young and old growth forests. There was a light snowfall for part of the day that gave the entire scene a magical quality.

As I walked through some of the most remote areas of the state, hearing nothing but the wind in the treetops I was hit with an immense gratitude for the opportunity to experience this. I looked around me and saw nothing but natural beauty. The quiet stillness of the forest floor was disturbed only by a giant snowshoe hare that darted across the trail in front of me. I could have stayed walking the trail forever.

Granted, I would have much rather had a hot tent in my sled, set up a little wood stove, and watched the woods with a cup of hot cocoa in my hand. But that’s not the reason for Arrowhead, and so I just kept moving forward. It does make me think some winter camping might be in my future though.

We’re safely back home and I’m recovering from the adventure. Mostly just stiff and sore, and nursing a bad blister, but otherwise unscathed. I promised the race directors of Arrowhead that I’d be back next year as a volunteer again, and I’m looking forward to stepping back into that role. I’m grateful I had the opportunity to try this race, and I have mad respect for everyone who completes it, or even toes the starting line.

This is a special place, and I hold this race, and it’s community dear to my heart.