The setting for today was not to be believed. Every time i looked out over the cove in which the ship was docked at the ring of snow-covered peaks, floating icebergs, and penguin colonies, it felt like I was watching a sci-fi or AI-generated movie of "most beautiful polar scene". The 5am breakfast and 6 am Zodiac usual drill was less fun for everyone today, because everyone seemed tired. But once we were on shore, spirits seemed to brighten. The course was short but challenging, basically a steep zig-zag up a snowy hill, a long traverse across the hill (slowly receding from the visual interest and olfactory offense) of many penguin colonies on the hill. Then, a left-right-left-right zig-zag down. The surfaces were irregular diagonals of 2 feet of softish snow, though over time single track formed, and the team tried to make it a little safer by snowshoeing the surface. The ascent felt more reliable over the day, though the descent torqued my knee quite a few times. Despite the prediction of -4°F below and moderate winds, there was little wind, and I overheated. I had to remove layers even in the middle of a circuit. Some shorts appeared and maybe a few short sleeve shirts. But it was also bright. People got a lot of sun today.

We ran the course for 9 hours, then some swimming, a briefing, dinner, and a gorgeous passage through floating ice. We are on our way to Deception Island.

5 am breakfast, packing, dressing, onto the Zodiacs. Cold temp and colder wind. We're off. A several km course over hills, plenty of elevation on the day, past penguin colonies. At the top, a 360-degree view that felt occasionally like Everest because it was only snow, and the rim around in every direction was ice and snow, and water, as far as the eye could see. The footing was uneven, 2 feet of snow, eventually a track, but it took several circuits for a discernable line to form. I never felt the surface reliable enough to get into any real kind of rhythm. The wind was everpresent. I was trying to avoid overheating and the accompanying goggle fogging, but as a consequence, any exposed flesh (like ears) got cold very quickly. The views were stunning,  but I spent a lot of time looking down to avoid turning my knee, which is still uncomfortable after my knee surgery earlier in the year. Stephen appeared on two circuits in snow shoes and accompanied me, which was nice for me, though I wasn't much of a conversationalist. Today, for me, was more of a 'one foot in front of the other' day, and persisting, and trying to avoid wind or sunburn. I kept moving the entire race period, so that was a victory on the day.

After breakfast, the usual drill, suit up, dry bags and backpacks and waterproof clothing an muck boots, a like jacket, and then stand in queue sweating because of all the warm gear. Finally to the side of the ship, swipe ID out, and down the gangway. With a light wind and snow, it felt colder than I remembered from the day before. I day dreamed about how cold it would be if we fell in, and wondered how long we would last. I guessed 1-2 hours, and we looked it up later - 15 to 90 minutes. Yikes! Though there a quick polar plunge option at the end of the trip I think. 15 seconds of cryotherapy, the new experience for health and longevity.

We sped across the water in our Zodiac, exited on shore, and a short walk to the start and drop bag tarp. Switch out of rubber boots to running shoes, gaiters, and microspikes. Pull the food bag out (i never touched it today). And waddle to the start. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Go! The course was a twisted loop, 1.3 k in length, just a loop up to the top of a hill, an then descend ,then ascend the opposite hill, and descend. The loop was a figure of 8 shape, but i thought of it as an infiniti loop. We had the option to run as many circuits as we could in the time allotted. The surface was several feet of snow, and the default step was 2 feet into the snow. After the crowd has been through once or twice there was usually a single track forming, but the footing was irregular and plenty of time people postholed right in the middle of the track. After a few circuits traffic control became a dance. The top dozen or so racers were having to negotiate past the rest of us on the single track, and either or both ended up in the no-man’s land of deep snow just inches off the track. Everyone worked hard to cooperate. The climbs were switchbacks, as were the descents. Turning was not necessarily natural.

I was overheated most of the morning. There was little wind on the course and i just felt hot, with only two layers. My glacier glasses kept fogging, which was annoying, because I couldn’t distinguish the track and kept slogging off course. Eventually I got my top unzipped and adjusted my desert hat, and cooled off a bit and my glasses eventually improved a bit. then the run started to feel fun.  A rhythm of up and down. The views at the top were stunning. We could see the kayakers in the water, I made out my son Stephen in the water and we waved to each other. I felt grateful for the moments of cresting at the top of the course twice a loop. The scenery didn't seem real. 

Before I wanted it to end, time was up, and we scrambled to convert all back to waterproof and board Zodiacs, and in a flash I was showering and eating lunch. 

We motored to our next site over the afternoon. We napped. The scenery changed yet again, and we were awoke, there were thousands of icebergs floating. A pod of ~ 8 bottlenosed whales passed close to the ship. 

We arrived to our destination a bit late, so the staff cancelled the evening run. But Stephen still joined the group to sleep outside on the ground in a bivy bag (loosely termed ‘digging your own grave’). 

We’ll be up at 5 am tomorrow for the next leg!

Jim

We slept through the night as the ship rocked left and right through the Drake Passage. There is nothing here but endless waves, and seabirds. Of course we’re all huddling inside and enjoying each others’ company. Its quite brisk out on deck.

The logistics and planning continue. We had yet another gear check today, bringing all our race clothing and backpacks and shoes for the biosecurity check. Brushing all fabrics and especially all the velcro, to remove stray threads or debris, and washing dirt or sand from shoes, pole tips, etc. Vacuuming all the fabrics. The idea is to keep nonnative seeds and microbiome elements out of the pristine Antarctica environment. I’m glad they are so compulsive about it. Good stewardship. But then unpacking and packing the race pack. I have done that too many times already!

The ship was really swaying over some large waves, and glasses and table ware tumbled and even two participants at my lunch table tipped over in chairs and hit the deck. Everything was ok.  

Overall though, the whole experience is pretty meditative, with little to do between meals, just stare at the endless ocean, endless waves, and get to know some new friends, and naps in our berths. It’s definitely restful. But also a little hard at the moment to envision transitioning abruptly tomorrow from restful rocking ship to high performance running in a hostile environment. I am sure we’ll all make the transition. But cognitively it feels a little hard to envision the switch today.

A couple more briefings today, and a dinner, and hopefully early to bed tonight. 

Stephen and I flew from Houston together to Buenos Aires and then to Usuaia (the end the world, Fin del Mundo) in te Tierra del Fuego. Our flights were on time and all luggage arrived, a miracle.

We spent a couple days at a quiet hotel overlooking the Beagle Canal (Darwin spent several years here). Eating Argentine beef or local seafood, and sitting in hot tubs and the heated pool. That part of the preparation was not onerous. We hiked one day up to the Martial Glacier, which was beautiful and some elevation, it was good to stretch legs and sweat some. The next day we did a similar hike to Laguna Esmeralda (Emerald Lake), very beautiful. Yesterday, last minute errands, the luggage drop, the race briefing.

I have so many friends here from previous desert races, it felt a bit like a college reunion. This crowd is optimistic and supportive. I love being part of this team, comprising racers and staff from all over the world.

We boarded the expedition ship about 4 pm. We did life jacket and emergency evacuation drills and then we were off by about 6 pm. A meal, briefing, the 100 point required item gear check, and then to bed. Around midnight we emerged from the relatively protected Beagle Canal into the ocean, the Drake Passage. The ship has been rocking back and forth ever since. Some folks are having seasickness but Stephen and I are ok, so far! 

It's been over 90 degrees here this week in Nashville, TN, and a little hard to imagine running in bitter cold. But I've started dreaming about it. Visualizing. 

Most of my exercise energy in the last month or so has been consumed by researching and assembling all of the required gear for this race. I did Atacama Oct 2023 and Gobi 2024, so I'm good on all the gear for a stage race in >100°F. But gathering the gear for this race has been a process marked by next-level complexity.

A special and gratifying part of this race is that my son is coming with me, and is preparing for the Antarctica Ultramarathon. I'm especially excited about that.