Tomorrow I’m off to Sweden, to take part in the 500k Lapland Arctic Ultra. I’ve wanted to do a multi-day Arctic ultra for more than a decade, and I’ve finally managed to arrange things at work so I can. Training and organising kit and logistics have taken a lot of time and energy in the last six months. It feels strange that it’s now so close. I’m alternating between excited and worried. This blog is an attempt to gather and park my thoughts.

Arctic ultras first came onto my radar in 2011, when I read Mark Hines’ classic Yukon Arctic ultra book on the train to and from that year’s LDWA 100. At that point, I didn’t want to do one myself; I was struggling to finish 100 milers with trashed feet and stomach issues. That changed 3 years later when I finished the (full Winter…) Spine and realised that multi-day ultras were my thing. The difficulty is that Arctic ultras take place in February and March, when I can’t usually take time off work. In 2020, I squeezed in a long weekend trip to Finland for the Rovaniemi 150. But it wasn’t until I got a research fellowship (which ‘buys out’ a large fraction of my lecturing) that taking 2-3 weeks’ annual leave in term time became viable.

I’ve never been fast. Physical and mental robustness are, or were, my strengths. As medical and fitness professionals like to remind me, I am now in my 50s. And my body is showing signs of the years and miles on the clock. A minor niggle, which first showed up in Spring last year, escalated to a significant injury in Summer, just after I’d entered the Arctic ultra. The 8 months since have involved lots of physio exercises, strength and conditioning work at the gym, and increasing my tyre pulling mileage very carefully. The injury has largely faded. But after a long walk, my leg aches more than it should, and in everyday life, I occasionally get twinges of pain if I put weight through it at an odd angle.

A muddy trip to the Miner with Tyree

A very ill guinea pig prevented the really long back-to-back days I’d been planning over Christmas. Nonetheless, in early January, I was fairly happy with my fitness and feeling optimistic about the final month or so of training. I went to Aviemore for an Arctic skills training course run by Mark Hines (the aforementioned Arctic ultra expert). It was fun and informative (and it was neat that half the participants were 50-something women). A few days after I got home, I got a cold. It wasn’t too bad, and I took it easy and backed off my training for 2 weeks. However, over a month later, I’m still coughing occasionally, which is a bit worrying.

Arctic skills training weekend in Aviemore

More generally, I’ve been finding lots of things to worry about. Over the years, I’ve learnt to manage my stress-muppet tendencies, largely by being organised. However, long Arctic ultras involve lots of logistics. And multiple major work stresses have elevated my baseline stress levels. (Now is not a good time to be working at a UK University, in particular the one I’m employed by, and things are particularly bad for astro- and particle physics.) Various things that shouldn’t have been too complicated (medical certificate, getting my gear to Sweden,…) have turned into significant headaches.

At Rovaniemi, the rental sledges weren’t great, and (IIRC) no one who rented one finished the longer 300k race. So, when a Finnish outdoor gear shop had a sale a couple of years ago, I bought myself a Fjellpulk, not realising how difficult getting it to Sweden would be. After a frustrating phone call to SAS customer services, where I was initially told that pulks/sledges weren’t on their long list of allowed special sports baggage, it’s added to my booking but not yet paid for. Hopefully, SAS will let it on my flight tomorrow; if not, I’ll have to try to rent or borrow one.

In general, I hadn’t realised how heavy and bulky all the kit was going to be. I’m now wishing I’d rented at least some of it, instead of buying it in sales over the years. Getting my bags under the weight limits has involved a lot of repacking and standing on scales, holding things. I’m sad to be leaving some of my M&S Colin the caterpillar sour foot stomps at home. But on the other hand, I don’t know why I thought taking 1.5kg of cashew nuts to Sweden (rather than buying them there) was a good idea.

from L to R: thermos flask and fuel bottle wrapped in (purple…) Duck tape, 1 page of my 5 page kit list, loaded pulk, packed pulk and gear

Another worry has been my toes getting cold (and the risk of frostbite). Keeping myself, and in particular my extremities, warm has got harder over the last few years. When battered old waterproof socks leaked on the Aviemore trip, I ended up with cold feet. I’ve bought toe warmers, but my feet are so wide that finding footwear that has room for them and multiple pairs of socks has been tricky. I decided to do the Lapland event rather than one in the Yukon, since really cold temperatures (i.e. below -30C) are usually rarer in Lapland. This winter in Lapland has been really cold, however. Temperatures have now risen, but will potentially rise too much (cold, wet snow is slow and hard to move through, and also increases the risk of hypothermia).

On a more positive note, I’m happy that I’ve got to grips with using a liquid fuel stove. The stove was one of the first bits of kit I bought, back in 2014. But every time I got it out and read the instructions (in particular the bits about football-sized flames), my childhood fear of fire resurfaced. Over Christmas, I knew I had to face and overcome the fear. My initial attempts at lighting it failed as I was too cautious and didn’t let enough fuel into the primer cup. I then got the OH to give it a go. He went to the other extreme, and we ended up with a pool of fuel on fire on our garden table. But somewhat paradoxically, this actually helped disperse my fear. Trying to get to grips with using a she-wee while wearing multiple layers of clothes also led to several ‘fluid where it shouldn’t be’ incidents. The she-wee is not coming with me to the Arctic.

I’m hoping that once my pulk and I are safely at race HQ in Jockfall, I’ll feel calmer. Closing my email and disconnecting from work should help. Completing events is usually my goal. In this case, my aim is to embrace and, as much as possible, enjoy the adventure. My body (in particular, the leg and cough) may or may not be up to finishing. But all I can do is play the cards I’m dealt.