Ride of A Lifetime
There are some experiences that will change a man forever
Simon Pinchin won his trip to the North Pole Marathon in a Runner’s World short story competition. The next North Pole Marathon will take place on April 7 2007, for details on how to win a place, click here.
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Wow, what a ride!’ My companion yelled in my ear to drown out the rotor noise in the old Russian helicopter on its way to the Pole. Teeth gritted and freely perspiring I nodded my agreement as the vibration made my mother’s old twin tub seem like a racing machine.
But it was true; what a ride, what an adventure! The whole experience of The North Pole Marathon is like an adventure comic strip from beginning to end. An adventure that sees you landing on a makeshift ice runway while stowed away on a Russian cargo plane, of rattling away in the bowels of a Sikorwsky helicopter and of falling out of a heated tent on hands and knees after partaking in too much post-race Russian vodka. The trip is as much about the challenges you face and the people you meet as the actual Marathon itself. That is not to belittle the Marathon, but, as my American companion shouted at me in the helicopter: “Wow, what a ride!”
It was only as we landed at Camp Barneo, a floating Russian ice camp close to geographical North Pole, that the true reality of the adventure struck home. As we disembarked, I was immediately struck by two things: the cold, and the beautiful but brooding hostility of the environment. There was little time to admire the scenery, however, within a couple of hours I was lining up at the start of the 2006 North Pole Marathon and then we were off.
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An unfortunate combination of size 12 feet and size 15 trainers (to accommodate multiple layers of socks) made it impossible for me to wear the racing snowshoes worn by most of my fellow adventurers in the soft snow conditions. This did not diminish my entertainment value on the circular course as I flapped and fell about like a pelican on ice. But this is a marathon defined by camaraderie and a group ethos not by the speed with which you cover the distance. Countless times I reached down to assist a competitor who had tripped on an ice mound or fallen down a hole and in return was rescued by firm hands on my frequent explorations into the powdery snow.
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I blame many of my accidents on the event’s official photographer. Taking advantage of my gullible and trusting nature, he explained to me prior to the race how polar bears hunt with one paw covering their black noses, which would be the only part of their anatomy that might otherwise give them away. I therefore spent much of the race straining my eyes into the white glare petrified of succumbing to a three-legged stealth attack by a cunning polar bear instead of looking where I was putting my feet.
The sense of achievement as I staggered over the finish line almost eight hours after setting out will stay with me forever. I had pitted myself against this wild environment and somehow managed to slip, fall and run my way around the 26.2 miles of the multiple-lap course. Later that day as I lay in my sleeping bag in the heated tent (shared with fifteen or so of my companions), I listened in wonder to tales of ultra-marathons run in the heat of the desert, of others that pass through the thick jungle and rainforest of the Amazon and even to the pleasures and pitfalls of running in New York’s Central Park.
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Once again the feeling that this is a once in a lifetime experience rather than simply a race swept over me. By entering this marathon you are going to a unique place, one of the last true wildernesses on earth and an environment where everything is subject to change.
The course of the race is determined by breaks in the ice, the weather, the likelihood of a polar bear encounter, and the mood and flexibility of the Russian staff manning the camp. In fact one of my most enduring memories of the whole trip was an extra day spent at camp Barneo during a break in the weather and an impromptu and slightly surreal game of football played in deep snow. The only injury that I sustained on the whole trip was a large bruise to my left shin caused by a wicked tackle from a nameless city gent.
As I flew back over London after an extraordinary few days I reflected on the whole adventure. I can honestly say that for me, the trip was a life-changing experience from which I have made life-long friends. The only problem is that it has created an unquenchable thirst for adventure. It was left to my long-suffering wife to point out that my new-found champagne tastes do not match my beery income.
Wow, what a ride. |
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