Written by: Margie Goldsmith
Posted: Tuesday, 07 October 2008
A woman wearing a Northern Village of Kangiqsujuaq
baseball cap handed me a cup of water and offered me a protein bar
halfway to the finish of the 26.2-mile out-and-back Arctic Marathon in
Nunavik, Canada. I was racing in a place you won’t find on a map, on a
plateau above a 3,000-foot fjord in Douglas Harbor, 61 degrees 49’N, 72
degrees 50W.
This being the Arctic, I’d figured on snow and sub-zero
temperatures and had packed enough fleece to outfit every Inuit who
lived within 50 miles. Instead, it was 85 degrees—an Arctic heat
wave—and I felt as though I were boiling in hot oil. I would have eaten
seal blubber if it would help get me to the finish line sooner.
The
sun beat down vindictively and there wasn’t a tree on the entire
plateau because we were above the tree line. The course, a seldom-used
mining road, was a carpet of stones ranging in size from cherries to
coconuts, which meant I had to keep my head down so I wouldn’t trip on
a rock. I was missing all the scenery—not that there was anything to
see. Except for a handful of Inuit volunteers at the infrequent water
stops, there wasn’t a house, car, telephone pole or another human being
in sight—not even a bird; just mile after dusty mile of winding dirt
roads, scorched earth, and boulders.
At the New York City
Marathon, there were more than 30,000 runners and thousands of
spectators. Here there were 34 runners and no spectators. The nine full
marathoners included six Canadians, one Englishman, one Inuit and me.
There were also two Inuits with shotguns who patrolled the course on
ATVs just in case a polar bear wondered by.
By the time we’d
barely gone a mile, the other runners were already little moving specks
in the distance. After a while, I couldn’t even see the specks. I was
completely alone. Why had I entered this forlorn event? Way in the
distance, the running specks, spaced about a half a mile apart, were
headed back towards me. As each one passed, we shouted encouragement to
each other. One high-fived me. The ATVs followed and the drivers gave
me a thumbs-up. Where was the eighth runner, the 21-year-old Inuit
Games champion who was expected to be first?
At around 13 miles,
I felt a sudden throbbing pain in the ball of my foot. It had to be the
rocks. Maybe it was an inflamed nerve? Each step on the uneven terrain
made it worse. I knew I should stop but thought of the countless
mornings I’d gotten up at sunrise to run endless laps in Central Park,
the hundreds of training hours I’d clocked. I refused to quit, but I
couldn’t run another step. And then it hit me—walk!
And so, in
almost bearable pain, I walked the second half. And because I no longer
had to watch for the rocks, I could now look at the landscape, which
wasn’t so desolate after all. Every mile or so was another
crater-shaped pond the color of the sky on a cloudless day, a mirage
against the sun-parched earth. And there were white quartz rocks that
looked like snow piles among the boulders. I’d been so busy looking
down that I’d missed everything.
Thirteen miles is a long haul
with no ipod, no other runners and no one to cheer me on. I tried to
relax and take pleasure from the eerie silence. All I had to do was
move one leg in front of the other just like mountain climbing.
Finally, I crossed the finish line. None of the other runners or
volunteers had left. They’d stayed and waited for me and cheered wildly
as a huge medal was hung around my neck. I won for my age group. This
was not surprising, as I’ve said before: Everyone else my age is dead.
And I placed eighth overall. I would have placed ninth (last), but the
Inuit Games champion quit early because his shoes were killing him.
That
night, we celebrated in the bar. One of the staff members onboard,
herself an Inuit Game competitor, taught us Inuit leg wrestling. You
lie down on the floor opposite each other, link arms, raise your leg
and try and push the other person over with your leg. I beat every
woman who took me on. No one could believe it, least of all, me. Then,
the Inuit bartender, with legs like tree trunks, challenged me. She
beat me easily but I didn’t care. I’d just run a 26.2-mile marathon;
that was victory enough for me.
The
2009 Arctic Marathon will take place aboard Cruise North’s July 22 to
31 2009 Arctic Odyssey Cruise at Douglas Harbour, the South shore of
the Hudson Strait in Nunavik, Canada. For more information, go to Torontomarathon.com
Its time to change the mindset. The opportunities to train outdoors will be limited over the next few months. This month we address fitness from two perspectives — Setting sport specific goals and using a fitness ball to stay in shape. In addition, you'll find the Metro Detroit Ski Council Ski Guide inside, filled with a ski club directory, a bunch of trips to try and information on skiing safely. 
