2019 ITI Failed Ski Attempt

This was not a super easy report to write.

On February 24, 2019 at 2pm, I found myself at the start line of the Iditarod Trail Invitational, a race on the Iditarod Trail in which competitors on foot, ski, or bike go from Knik, Alaska to either McGrath (300 miles) or Nome (about 950 miles).  I was signed up to attempt to ski to McGrath.  I was in a good mental state, but it was not enough.

In my successful attempt on foot I had done a few 100 mile weeks, many 40 mile days, and at least one weekend of back to back 30-mile days.  I had accomplished none of those training milestones in my ski training.  My longest week had been about 65 miles, my longest day at been 36 miles and I hadn't done a single significant back-to-back sequence.  I was without a doubt under-trained.

How had I gotten to the start in such a sorry state?  The answer is simple, after finishing my foot effort in 2018 I decided to try for the tri-fecta and entered as a ski competitor for 2019.  There was only one small problem.  I didn't know how to cross-country ski. Two years later, as I write this, I am still not a great skier but my balance has improved and, in good conditions and terrain, I can maintain a reasonable stride.  But in February of 2019, I was still learning and hadn't really gotten good enough to be able to put in the training that the ITI requires.  Even putting aside training issues, I also made a number of gear mistakes that made the race even harder than it needed to be.

So how did the race go?

Sunday:

Race day started at about 11am in Anchorage where I elected to join the group transportation to Knik.  This gave me plenty of time to socialize with my fellow racers, old friends and new ones.

   I had a nice lunch at the Knik bar where the race starts and spent some time looking at everyone's setup. 

Soon enough it was 2pm and time for the start.  Within 200 feet I had fallen for the first time.  Within the first few miles I realized that a lot of the small rolling hills were just slightly too steep to ski up normally, but the trail was too narrow to herringbone up.  As a result, I had to take off my skis repeatedly.  Unfortunately, I had manual bindings, this meant that each time I had to take off the skis and put them back on, I had to bend over four times: to release the bindings, to pick up the skis, to put the skis back down and then to reengage the bindings.  The fact that I had elected to pull a pulk rather than wear a backpack reduced my ski's effective grip and served to further increase the number of hills I needed to walk up.  These small issues combined with the fact that my back has never been super strong turned what should have been a fun ski over gentle hills into an exhausting battle.  Manual bindings and a pulk might be fine for other skiers--everyone is different--but for me they just weren't the right equipment.   

As I continued on the temperature dropped, eventually reaching -20*F.  My wax, rated only for -5*F, lost all glide at this point and by a little after mid-night I was spent, cold, and miserable.  I set up a bivy well short of my minimum goal of reaching the Susitna before stopping.  I had also made the mistake of bringing a -20*F sleeping  bag which just wasn't warm enough.  Instead of resting nicely in a -40*F bag (which I'd foolishly left at home to save weight) I shivered for 5 hours before getting up and moving on.

 Monday:

As I started off on my skis, I was still exhausted from the night before and had no glide.  After dragging my skis for 7 miles to confluence with the Yentna River, I took them off and walked the final 16 miles to the first checkpoint at Yentna Station in exhaustion and disgust.  I reached Yentna Station at about 2pm--the prior year, fully on foot, I had gotten their at 7am, seven hours earlier.

Dan and Jean, the owners of Yentna Station, were great hosts as usual, but the night before had been tough on the racers.  Many had suffered various frostbite injuries, including one who had been evacuated by flight.  There were a lot of drops and I considered joining them.  I was already exhausted and defeated.  Instead, I decided to take a break at the Station, have a good dinner and rest and see how I felt in the morning.

Tuesday:

I woke up tired and sore.  I put on my skis and did a short test ski in front of the Station.  I felt a little better and had adequate glide again.  I decided to push on to the next checkpoint, Skwentna.  This section is flat and, with warmer temperatures, I managed to make somewhat better progress than the day before. I arrived at Skwentna in time for a late dinner.  I decided to pay for a room at the lodge and showered and turned in for a restful night.   

Wednesday:

The next checkpoint after Skwentna is Finger Lake.  It's about 39 miles.  It would be a long day, but if I could make it, I would be somewhat back on track.  The first 7 miles or so is through the woods surrounding Skwentna then a large, sometimes windy swamp.  That section went pretty well and I made good progress, but then I entered the Shell Hills, a beautiful and gradual climb towards Shell Lake.  But just like on Sunday narrow trails and poor equipment choices made it much harder than it should have been.  I made it to the charming Shell Lake Lodge in the early evening, tired and still with 22 miles to go for the day.  After a nice dinner, I pushed on.  Fortunately, the stretch from Shell Lake to Finger Lake is pretty flat and the weather was cooperating.  I made it to the third checkpoint at Finger Lake late in the night, but glad I'd have a comfortable place to stay until the morning.

Thursday:

The stretch from Finger Lake to the fourth checkpoint at Puntilla Lake is one of the hardest in the whole race with  a lot of climbing, descents, and narrow trails.  It's only about 30 miles, but in my depleted state it was a huge effort.  I arrived after dark at Rainy Pass Lodge, which houses the checkpoint completely exhausted despite great weather and having taken long breaks at each checkpoint.  After a dinner of soup, crackers, and potato chips, I collapsed into one of the bunks uncertain of whether I would be able to continue.

Friday:

I slept late and headed over to the main lodge for breakfast with the Perrin family, who owns the Lodge.  I was hopeful that a good meal and plenty of coffee would give me the boost I needed to continue.  It was not to be.  After breakfast I attempted to ski across Puntilla Lake without my pulk to see if I had enough energy to continue.  I barely made it an 1/8th of a mile before it was obvious that I could not safely continue.  I went back to the main lodge and scratched.  I spent another day at the lodge waiting for a flight back to Anchorage.  It's a lovely place and I was glad I had a bit of time to recover there before returning home.

Even though the effort wasn't successful, I learned a lot and knew I'd be back to try again.  As detailed here, the next year I would be successful and it was largely due to what I'd learned in this first effort.