I have to do this!

I've met Dwayne a couple of times now and he's nothing but trouble. :D He's full of beans and has a thing for tough runs as you'll see if you care to read his report.

He's an ultramarathon guy. He likes them long. Like 100 kilometers long.

The Polar Bear Run – My First Time
Dwayne Sandall

‘A one-of-a-kind 30-K straight across frozen-over, big-as-an-ocean Lake Winnipeg (the world's 13th largest). "If it's clear out, you can see the finish line from the start line!" says Hasher Denzil Feinberg, a.k.a. the Tin Man. But, he adds, "if there's a whiteout, you could get lost and die." ‘ (Runners World, January 2003)

So began my intrigue with this event.

It is now the evening before the 2004 Polar Bear Run; a wide range of thoughts bouncing around inside my head - Am I crazy?, What will the wind be like? What’s the compass bearing I need in case I get lost? This is going to be really cool! A call from Jeff Badger, the organizer, added to the mood of trepidation. He had somehow mistaken me for someone who had done this run before and was asking for my opinion on the trail conditions. He seemed concerned that the trail was going to be in bad shape because of the fresh snow that had been falling. I flashed back to the day before; me walking down Lombard Avenue at lunch time, slipping and sliding in all the now slushy fresh snow, thinking ‘I hope the run isn’t like this’. Jeff said it wasn’t slushy, just loose. My mind eased. I didn’t hear back from Jeff that night, so the race was on!

The morning of the run was intimidating right from the start. A late start out on the road, my intrepid support team (the lovely Julie G) trying to nap as I drove, waking up only when we came upon treacherous stretches of highway and I muttered various phrases under my breathe. The mix of sun then snow and cloud as we drove north was amazing foreshadowing to the 3 hours of running ahead of me.

Arriving in Gimli at about 8:50, it was the closest I have come to showing up within minutes of the start time. A quick walk around of the Gimli Lakeview Resort and we found a group of spandex encased souls milling about. A few hellos and introductions, payment of the modest $20 fee, and before I knew it, we were heading out the back towards the lake.

On the logistics note, there are two start times, one at 8:00 am, and a second at 9:00 am. If you can do 18 or so miles in under three hours, then the 9:00 start is for you. 8:00 if you need over three hours. I opted for the 9:00 start, figuring worst case scenario I would be slowed down to a 9:00 minute per mile pace if the conditions were tough, giving me a finish of about 2:40 – 2:45. We’ll come back to that prediction.

As the small gaggle of us wandered out to the shore, I was scanning the lake looking for the sign of a trail. None was apparent to me. There were faint signs of wind blown shoe tracks heading out onto the lake, but little more. As Julie and I walked out she gave me words of encouragement and with the ceremonial last kiss, I joined the others on the frozen span of this massive body of water.

An informal ‘I guess it’s go time’ from someone in the group, followed by the all familiar sound of chirping chronographs and off we went. Off into what appeared like a great void of white; snow, ice and sky, not much else in sight.

Within a few moments, there were a couple of clusters. Four of us surging out ahead (Dallas, Grant, Murray and myself). Dallas and Grant had done this run many times, so I figured I would try to hold onto their pace as they would know where to go. By this time the poles that marked the trail were passing with regularity.

In the first few kilometers we were all talking about the footing, or actually, the lack of footing. Jeff was right when he told me the night before that it wasn’t slushy. It was slightly crusty snow about two to four inches deep, mixed in with some drifts about a foot deep. Very occasionally, you would come to a stretch where the footing was solid and it felt like you could finally get going again. Those stretches usually lasted about five to twenty strides before you were back to sliding around in the loose stuff. Ironically, given that we were running on a lake, it was like running in sand. I’ll have to come back and run along the beaches in Gimil in the summer to see if there is any comparison.

After 2 km, Murray said our pace was 8:30 per mile. I noticed my heart rate was already getting into the high end of the zone I had set. This was going to be a long run.

The poles marking the trail were still passing with regularity. They were supposed to be one tenth of mile apart. I thought about counting them, but never did. Staying on my feet was a big enough challenge.

Somewhere around 40 minutes into it, we hit a slushy spot. I got wet. Really wet. My left leg went into the water to about half way up my calf. My right foot was just to the top of my shoe. I wasn’t worried about my feet getting cold, but already I was thinking back to my first marathon when my left foot got soaked at the very first water station and I finished with some amazing blisters and a black toenail.

Shortly after the soaking, the group I had started with started spreading out. With Grant and Dallas slowing getting further ahead. By about half way, they were still visible in the distance, with Murray about 3 poles ahead of me. I thought I was keeping a steady pace, but it was impossible to really tell. I had long shut off the tone on my heart rate monitor that told me I was over the top limit of my zone. I had set an upper limit 175, the thinking was that my average in last years Manitoba Marathon was 176 bpm, and I wasn’t going to be running as hard today as I did then. Was I ever wrong. At an hour and a half into the run my heart rate was 183. I was wondering if the footing was ever going to improve. It was also about this time that one of the whiteouts started.

Imagine looking ahead and seeing nothing by white, with the distant shape of another in front of you. Look back and see nobody. Look left, look right and see nothing but white. It was both serene and surreal at the same time. The only constant was the marker poles, the line they created receding into the distance. They were still passing with regularity, albeit, a bit slower.

It was around this time when the effects of the wet shoes were starting to be felt. In an odd twist, the solid footing was no longer as welcome, as the harder surface put much more pressure on the blister now growing on the ball of my left foot.

As the visibility cleared I could see more people ahead of me, and I was gaining on them! It was the tail end of the early group. As I caught up to them, we chatted for a bit, wished each other well and off I went. My mental game was now to count the number of early starters that I would pass. I do the majority of my running alone, but with the constant flow of runners on Wellington Crescent I am never really ‘alone’. Today, I realized how alone it could really get. The casual hellos to other runners and the occasional chat with a friend made those runs less solitary than this one. A few moments later, these two that I just passed slowly slipped into the oblivion that was the whiteout behind me.

Although I have painted a somewhat solitary scene, I never was truly on my own. The other person that was always around was the guy running the water station. This was the first event I’ve ever taken part in where the water station came to you. There were two snowmobiles constantly going back and forth providing fluids when flagged. They were also there to give you a ride if you couldn’t keep going. On an additional logistics note, there is a warm up hut about half way across the lake. I didn’t slow down and take a look, but I am guessing there wasn’t a porta-potty in there.

If you recall, I had predicted that I would do this run in about 2:45. At about 2:10 or so, I could see the first glimpse of the Belair shore line. My spirits were lifted, I thought maybe, just maybe, I would make it. Then some more snow and wind gusts, and as quickly as the shore came into view, it was gone again. This peek-a-boo game would continue for the next 45 minutes.

I remember reading about European sailors searching for the New World and how excited they would get when they saw a bird, because it was a sign that land was somewhere near. At 2:55 into the run, I saw a bird. I too got excited. Although the shore had been somewhat visible for a few minutes now, the bird seemed to validate that it was really close. My excitement was only slightly diminished when I realized that this bird was a big crow. I tried to imagine the beauty of the dove bringing the branch to Noah and his zoo crew instead of this big black crow looking like he wanted to dive bomb me.

I passed the tenth person (yes, I did keep counting) and I was into the final stretch. I could see a slight curve in the maker poles, the small crowd on the shore, even hear some cheering as another brave soul again set foot on land. I somehow found that little bit of energy we always seem to keep in reserve and I tried to get my finishing kick going. My feet, now numb from the pain of the blisters, hesitated a bit, but cooperated long enough to get me to the other side in 3:04:44. What a feeling to get there. Looking back, I could see nothing but white and the one person I had passed a few hundred metres back.

A few handshakes, a big hug from Julie and then I attempted to climb the hill up to where the parking and my thermos of hot chocolate was. My quads began a protest nearly the moment I stopped running, this hill seemed to be nearly impossible. I made a few stops as I climbed to take pictures and allow my legs to rest.

This was the hardest run I had ever done. Although 8 miles shorter than a marathon, the lack of solid footing made this a physical challenge. On the other side, it was also mentally challenging as the sheer vastness and emptiness seemed almost overwhelming at times. I don’t think it would have been as hard mentally if I had ran with someone else. The physical challenge was bore out by the numbers as well. For comparison, I ran the 2003 Manitoba Marathon at an average pace of 8:29 per mile with an average heart rate of 176. For the Polar Bear, my average HR was 183, the pace 10:13 per mile.

As tough as it was, I will be back. This is definitely a run that hooks you in. The group was a great mix of people, a microcosm of the diversity of the people that get hooked on running in the first place.

Although I have always loved being outdoors, (part of the reason I love running) being out in the middle of that vast frozen sea made me appreciate the wonders of the world just a little bit more.

Polar Bear Run
March 7, 2004
18.1 (approximately) mile point to point course, across frozen Lake Winnipeg along the Snowman Trail that runs from Gimli to the end of the Yellow Brick Road in Belair.