3/12/2016
Runner’s Log – Supplemental – 6:55 AM
At the Marathon Tours course briefing, Paul also announced a contest to see how far we’ve run. The challenge is to guess-timate the total cumulative marathon mileage run by all the passengers, crew, and Marathon Tours team on the Ioffe. There’s been some debate as to whether ultra marathons counted or if half marathons should count. No one bothered to seek clarification from Paul that I’m aware of. It was just a topic of discussion amongst the runners.
At dinner, Gabe polled those of us sitting at his table to establish a sample for his “scientific” estimate. Some had done one or two, some none, Gabe had done 7, Mark had done 60 or so… Meg said she’d only done one (the NYC Marathon last year). And when Gabe asked me I smiled and laughed and stole a glance at Meg. He said it wasn’t a trick question that it was science, just a figure. I don’t really like saying the number aloud. I’ve been fortunate and privileged and healthy enough to run quite a few. I finally realized I couldn’t just get by with my usual, “I’ve run the 50 states…” as a means of deflecting the question. So I just said my number. There was a bit of a hush and lull and Gabe said, “You’re making that up.” I shrugged and smiled and said, “You asked. That’s the number.”
An unfortunate discussion followed over where I’d run, what was best or worst, people started doing the math and realizing I’d averaged one a week last year, etc. The quantity and the series are for me. I said to them all what I have always believed: I’m impressed with anyone who has done anything, be it a 5K or a 100 miler. Anyone who decides one day to get up and get out the door for any distance is impressive to me. Running for me is this wonderful individual experience in a supportive communal environment. Each runner just wants the other to have the best day possible – whatever that means. Be it a PR, a BQ, finishing, whatever. While there is a competitive aspect, more often than not the best way to look at it is a competition with yourself – could I do better? And better is relative. Could be clock time, could be finishing feeling ok to go grab a beer afterward, could be overcoming an injury.
I did my own calculations, picking an arbitrary, but informed guestimate for average number of marathons run. Gabe insists I’m way high. But this is a crazy group of runners down here. Maybe they haven’t run as many races as I think – this could be more of an adventure cruise for many, the chance to go someplace and run and be done. I get that. I do. But I think there’s higher total number runners here than people realize. Albeit based on Gabe’s table sample, I understand why he thinks I’m an outlier and beyond the standard deviation.
I myself am strange and unusual. Always have been, always will be. And kinda proud of that. But still too self-conscious to say my number aloud too often.
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Kevin’s Log – Supplemental – 7:08 AM
They’ve just announced the wakeup with weather conditions. It’s snowing! I tried to grab a few shots of this last night but it went… poorly.
This morning, the outer decks are apparently covered in white snow and quite slippery. The winds are 11 knots from the south, the outside temperature is -3.5 degrees Celsius (MINUS 3.5!) and the water temperature is 1 degree.
Today is my first day on a Zodiac. We’re off to Penguin Island. Yesterday we saw our first iceberg; we also got a glimpse of land, King George’s Island, the place where we’ll be running our marathon tomorrow. The Vavilov is there today. I wish them good times and better experiences.
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Kevin’s Log – Supplemental – 12:32 PM
I have set foot on Antarctica! This morning we visited Penguin Island. They announced at breakfast that the kayak trips were cancelled for today due to swells but things seemed calm as we kitted up for my first Zodiac ride. The crew warned us that the deck’s were very slippery due to the snow overnight and they weren’t kidding – even in my running shoes, I had zero traction on the deck and was slip sliding like I was on an ice rink. This seems like a poor design for a deck on an ice cutting research vessel but what do I know? I can say there have been more than a few instances where I’ve questioned the safety guidelines and manufacturing choices on this ship.
Meg and I grabbed a couple of quick pictures on the deck, in between our sliding, to capture the first close encounters with icebergs from the Ioffe. We also wanted to see if we had enough layers for our first excursion.
As for our first Zodiac ride, Cody took us out and while it was crazy climbing down the gangway and stepping into the rubber boat, there was a real thrill to the experience. The sea seemed calm to me and I wasn’t entirely sure why the kayak trips were cancelled; I felt bad for those that were signed up for today as due to the large numbers of us wanting to kayak, if you miss your slot, you miss your slot. We’ll see how March 15th afternoon treats Meg and me. We had promised each other not to go in a double kayak for fear of forever destroying our friendship… and we’re booked for a two-person kayak anyway.
But back to the excursion to Penguin Island. Cody gave us a mandatory Man Over Board (MOB) briefing. If someone goes over, the front passengers duck and cover, the last two are spotters for the driver, and the driver makes for them as best he can. Thanks to the wet skins and various other advice, a person should be fine for 5-10 minutes to be rescued despite the frigid arctic waters. Given the rising sun and the relatively calm seas, it seemed imminently safe… oh, how naïve we can be!
Once ashore, we were hustled past a large colony of fur seals. These fur seals can be aggressive and we were warned to make a lot of noise to scare them off if they start charging. Meg described them as adorable but apparently jerks due to their aggressive nature. We opted to turn left and follow Antje the penguin expert out to a large colony of chinstrap penguins. It was penguins as far as the eye could see and really something to behold.
To be honest, it reminded me of my experiences in Alaska in that every 10 feet was something I could easily describe as the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Antarctica’s Penguin Island has some of the most beautiful natural moments I’ve encountered in my travels. And this is only our first excursion.
After we all had spent some time with the penguins and seals, we trudged back to the fork in the trail and proceeded up to Deacon Peak. Amidst the switchbacks and inclines, the dirt and snow made for a slippery 170m ascent and Meg was gracious enough to let me use the walking stick. I wouldn’t have made it up and I definitely wouldn’t have made it down without it. I don’t know how she did it… especially what happened when we got to the top.
At Deacon Peak, we snapped some photos looking down on the Ioffe and looking back along the ridge line. It was beautiful but the natural views farther down were perhaps just as spectacular. Did we need to hike up this ridge the day before a marathon? Ultimately the answer was yes.
On the way back down, along what I’d consider a goal trail along the ridgeline, the sky darkened and the winds suddenly kicked up. What followed were gusts of wind that nearly blew me off the mountaintop. Without the walking stick, I wouldn’t have been able to keep upright, let alone descend. As it was, the rubber boots provided zero traction and I very nearly wiped out every few meters. How Meg was able to do it without a stabilizing walking stick I’m not sure. I was too focused on trying to save myself rather than her.
But the wind gusts and resulting blowing snow, the near white-out conditions that were seemingly conjured by malevolent forces, this was how I had imagined Antarctica. Prior to this moment, as we walked and hiked Penguin Island, I was actually a little warm in my many layers, pulling back my hood and hat, taking off my gloves, wondering why I thought a parka underneath the red One Ocean wet skin was a good idea. My arrogance and disrespect for the fluid conditions on the last continent were answered in kind tenfold by Antarctica. Slowly we descended to the zodiacs for the ride back to the Ioffe. Expedition guides were waving us down, turning back those souls who hadn’t yet made it to the top. And just as quickly, the winds seemed to die down and vanish. I don’t know if they reopened the peak as both Meg and I were ready to head back to the ship to ensure the 100 tourist limit on Antarctica was protected and anyone not yet on the shore could come ashore.
Our Zodiac ride back was a lot choppier than the ride out. We were given a reminder, refresher MOB talk and this time it seemed far more relevant as we cut through waves and avoided chunks of ice. Dana zipped us back and forth through the seas and suddenly the cancellation of the kayak excursion made perfect sense.
As we neared the Ioffe, the swells and wind only seemed to increase yet again. The gangway was tossed against the Ioffe, metal clanging on metal, and the sailor assisting passengers back on board was flung through the air like a trapeze artist. He held on… albeit as Dana lashed our zodiac to the rickety free stairs of the gangway, an errant wave struck and the sailor fell into our boat, banging his head on the metal railing of the stairs, his blood dribbling down his chin. He recovered, with some help from Dana and another passenger but he looked dazed and winded, like a prize fighter struck by an underdog’s unexpectedly powerful uppercut. Slowly the zodiac passengers scooted around the pontoon base and were helped onboard via the three-steps process: Shoulder assist from Zodiac driver while standing and one step on a wooden stool, sailor’s grip with the now profusely bleeding sailor and second step onto the rubber zodiac pontoon, and the third step onto the moving target of a free floating gangway. A lot of us skipped the second step and took a lunge onto the walkway, yells of “three steps!” not registering as the waves lashed the ship and zodiac and stairs, sending three points in various directions, not all of them favorable to those in motion or stationary. It was a hairy, precarious process that got more intimidating as passengers before you exited. Somehow or other, first I and then Meg made it onto the gangway and stumbled our way up the gangway stairs.
Later, just before lunch, a lot of us were talking about the odd design and safety precautions. The sailor had no life vest, wasn’t hooked onto the ship, and was just being pummeled by the waves and the moving gangway. We wondered why the stairs weren’t welded onto the Ioffe at least to provide one less variable of motion and why the sailor didn’t have a tether. The crewmember told us you wanted the stairs to be moving relative to the zodiac and that the sailor couldn’t be tethered for safety reasons in case he had to run up the gangway. I suppose the tether length necessary to do this could cause him to get caught, strangled, or crushed if an errant wave hit but it still felt unsafe the way they were currently doing it. To the sailor’s credit, he carried on but he wasn’t looking so good, blood drops hitting the water, his eyes a bit clouded. I couldn’t remember if Orcas smelled blood in the water but I did check the horizon as we entered the mud room to doff our boots and wet skin gear.
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Kevin’s Log Supplemental – 3:44 PM
Two quick notes on the pasta buffet lunch:
They delayed lunch to 1 PM to allow the zodiacs to return. We were the second boat to get back and apparently the swells only got worse as time went by. Sitting in the lobby, I noticed as passengers returned ever increasing degrees of soaking wetness to those returning passengers that would pass by on their way to their cabins.
Second, and more importantly, the dessert was a giant bowl of chocolate mousse that was, as most desserts crafted by the pastry chef onboard, delicious. It was so delicious that I snapped this photo on the way out of the dining room – desperate runners trying to get the very last ounce of confectionary from the huge bowl.
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Runner’s Log – Supplemental – 3:46 PM
I’ve gotten my bib for tomorrow’s race!
They were also having a water bottle decoration party as we are all self-sufficient once ashore. Any hydration or sustenance we take ashore is all we’ll have – Marathon Tours does not provide water or aid stations per se. So 100+ runners’ water bottles are all going to be in one spot and for ease of recognition, they brought out a large box of ribbon, tape, and markers to decorate your bottles for easy identification. I’m not quite sure how this will work but I’m willing to roll with it. Disappointingly there were no bedazzlers, glitter, or hot glue guns to use.
I half-heartedly taped a K on my three water bottles until I realized that grouped together it created an unfortunate message. I redid them to be KHs and tied an orange ribbon around each. I have a bad feeling about this. But I’m sure it will all work out. What could possibly go wrong?
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Runner’s Log – Supplemental – 8:24 PM
At the final briefing tonight just before dinner, Thom Gilligan zodiac’d over from the Vavilov to give us a tantalizing summation of the day’s race and what we can expect for tomorrow.
If forecasts hold, we should be looking at just above freezing temperatures, very light winds (4 knots at the start) that die out as the day progresses, but a strong possibility of light rain. To sum up, Thom advised, “Rainy, cold, or windy… it’ll be at least one of those.”
Good ol’ Thom. A fountain of information and support! I love the guy but he can be a bit of a character.
On the plus side, everybody finished today off the Vavilov and Thom felt the conditions for our race were even more favorable. But as Meg and I found out atop Deacon Peak, the weather can change in an instant.
Early to bed and early to rise makes this marathoner ready to run in Antarctica!
The seventh continent awaits…