6633 Arctic Ultra
The 380-mile Arctic race
It’s Feb 20th at around 9pm in a hotel in Whitehorse, Canada, and I’m in my underwear (from sweating so much) trying to bend my sled back into shape to attach its wheels. We have our kit testing day in the morning and this is not how I envisaged the stat of my Arctic Ultra.
I’ll rewind back a bit so I can share with you the build-up and why I’m prancing around in my underwear. To properly do this I have to take you back to mid 2015 to truly start from the beginning. I had just completed Marathon des Sables (MdS) billed as ‘The Toughest Footrace in the World’ completing my first multi stage race and my first ultra marathon (56 miles on day 4). The sense of accomplishment from that race was unlike anything I had ever felt. I was back home still on such a high watching highlight videos the race organisers had uploaded to YouTube when a suggested video caught my eye. It involved 6633 racers comparing the big ultras to the Arctic race in terms of difficulty. The called MdS a ‘fun run’ compared to the 6633! That’s all I needed to hear to go down the rabbit hole of researching what this race was all about.
6633 is the latitude for the Arctic Circle in Canadian Yukon and the name of this epic Arctic Ultra. The race involves covering 120 miles or 380 miles from Eagle Plains to Fort McPherson (120) or all the way to the Arctic Ocean at Tuktoyaktuk (380). The race is classed as a self-sufficient event, so you must carry all you need to survive (minus a couple of drop bags) in a sled or pulk. Due to the race moving over ice roads and highways, the sled is on wheels and is attached to a waist harness so you can drag it with relative ease. The course is renowned for high winds and icy temps down to -40 degrees Celsius and in some cases even higher. You have 71 hours (3 days to complete the 120 or 215 hours (9 days) to complete the 380. Did I mention it was going to be cold? After consuming video after video, I knew I wanted to see how I’d stack up in this environment.
The race went onto the never-ending bucket list and to the back of my mind until Christmas 2020 when my wife Jayne got me the present of a lifetime. I was now entered into the 380-mile race for 2023. At this point I should add, I fucking hate the cold.
My Training
Training didn’t really begin until 2022. I had some plans to complete long back-to-back walks with a 25-30kg bergen until I got my sled alongside maintain some reasonable running mileage for overall fitness. Whilst training was going well, I regressed to pre MdS stress levels and mindset in which I thought I wasn’t good enough for such an endeavour and my 20+ years of running and 10+ years of military experience meant nothing. I stressed about kit and training everyday and every night from around June onwards. Fortunately for MdS, I shook out of that mindset pretty quickly, especially when some guy called Rory Coleman said I may as well book a hospital appointment for wearing my Asics road shoes (which I’d worn for almost 10 years without issue) for the race and not purchasing Brooks Cascadia’s which he was conveniently selling. I suppose it also helped I’d lived and operated in hot countries for many years so had that experience to snap me out of that funk and trust myself (and rightly so). However, I’d never operated in such extreme cold and the imposter syndrome and constant fretting wouldn’t truly leave me this time until I was standing on the start line.
Despite this, I trained with my sled, practiced my systems and setting up my tent with mitts on and ensured my rig was set up to make simple tasks such as eating as easy as possible. The sled training went great, the set-up felt great, and I had done what I needed physically to be prepared for this event.
The Journey
Now we get onto the series of unfortunate events that lead me to that night in the hotel room. Just over 2 weeks before I was due to fly, I went man down with flu/covid/who knows. It meant training ceased as I NEEDED to get healthy before getting in a metal tube and arriving to -20 degrees in Whitehorse. So, rest is what I did. I think I got 2 sled training sessions in before I left.
It was the Monday before I was due to fly on the Friday, and I’d thought I’d double check my flights were all in order as I’d booked them back in Sep 2022. My whole itinerary had been changed without any notification. I was now getting to Whitehorse a day later and over 3 flights instead of 2 and getting back to the UL a day later over 3 flights instead of 2. This also meant a 12-hour layover in Toronto both ways. Cheers Air Canada. I had to rebook my seats, my lounge access and organise hotels for the long layovers days before flying for a race I was shitting myself about. I have to say at this point if Jayne wasn’t there to keep me grounded and to listen to my constant worries over kit, I wouldn’t have made it to the airport, let alone Canada. She most definitely was and is, my rock.
My travel was relatively uneventful, and I had a small window of calm and relief as I saw the mountains around Whitehorse as we came into land, only to be quickly brought back down to earth when finding out my baggage didn’t make it with me. At this point it would be easy to start thinking this race wasn’t meant to be, however, I tried hard to keep falling back on the mindset I try and encourage others to follow, control the controllable. I couldn’t control the bag situation; all I could control was my emotional response and my own actions to the situation. So, I focused on getting all my food together, adjusting to -20 degrees by getting out for walks around Whitehorse and enjoying the start of my adventure. Does that mean I was Mr positive the whole time? Of course not, I’m an average human who like any other can fall into thoughts of negativity, but I did my best to just keep cracking on.
I was finally here
48 hours later and we’re now back in that hotel room and I’ve managed to get the wheels on my sled as well as the metal shafts (although slightly out of alignment) and used good old duct tape to cover up the tears in my sled bag. Thankfully during the kit test day, everything looked good, my sled moved in a straight line, tent went up easily, I melted some snow with my stove and got my baseline of clothing layers to handle -20 to -25 degrees. The following day we had a 10-hour drive to Eagle Plains which is where we start the race and began to see the kind of landscape on offer over the course and it was truly stunning. I was finally here. 2 years after signing up, highs, lows, and everything in between I was standing on the start line. Everything else was forgotten, the nerves and the worries had gone, and I just soaked in the views waiting for the signal to start.
The Race Began
The first 6 miles or so were downhill and I’d paired up with Patrick who came 2nd in 2019. The downhill section was welcome to understand the environment, take in the views and see how the sled moved with relatively little physical effort. The long down soon gave way to rolling hills as the weather turned a little colder and snowier and I arrived at the 6633 sign and the border to the Arctic Circle 23 miles in. Everything was going great, pace was comfortable with Patrick, food was going down well (despite it all being frozen as excepted) and I was warm even though the zip on my jacket had snapped clean off earlier. I used this milestone to replace my jacket with my spare, top up my water from my flask and get a couple of photos before ploughing on.
The next 20ish miles went smoothly despite snow starting to accumulate on the roads making the sled tougher to drag behind me. Night came, headtorch went on and I arrived at CP1 at around 10:30pm, 2 hours earlier than I thought I would. CP1 was a heated trailer with a couple of camping chairs and the opportunity to top up water/get hot water for meals. My body felt good, no issues with feet and so I decided to eat and then carry on for a couple more hours before setting up camp for the night. I had my first freeze dried meal and some snacks and left CP1 at around 11:15pm (Patrick had left about 10 mins earlier so I was now on my own). This was an error. My plan was to always camp at the CPs and ignoring this made it tougher for me over the next couple of days.
The terrain was all good at first, but there was no safe area to come off the road and set up my tent. 1 hour passed, then 2, then 3 and I was starting to get really pissed off with myself that I didn’t just camp at CP1. The snow was well and truly coming down, the wind battering my face and the road had been closed meaning we had to go 22km out and then 22km back to CP1 to have covered the distance and technically arrive at CP2. The snow drifts got bigger, the wind got stronger, and it felt like I was dragging a 100kg sled straight into a gail burning my hamstrings.
I’d now been going for 4 hours when I hit the turnaround point at which the weather was that bad the race crew had decided I’d be the last one to go out that far and shortened the out and back for the remaining competitors behind me, avoiding the worst of the snow drifts. Still now where to camp. So, I turned around and headed back until I reached an abandoned building, I’d not noticed on the way out that was well off the trail and set up camp at 4am. I’d tried to eat as best I could, but my stomach was already kicking off, so struggled to take a decent amount on board after such a physically demanding section. I set my alarm for 2 hours and fell straight to sleep. 2 hours felt like 5 minutes as my alarm pulled me out of a deep slumber at 6am. 10 mins later, I was back on the road heading to CP1 (technically CP2). I tried to eat over the 3 hours it took me to get there, but my brain was making chewing laboured and difficult, so I just had little mouthfuls here and there. Daylight arrived and I tried to avoid just looking down and take in the views.
Back at CP1 I opted for another couple of hours in my tent after trying to eat some noodles and again, immediately fell asleep. The road was still closed so another out and back was on the cards, but this time heading back towards the start line and turning around at the Arctic Circle border before returning to CP1 which would take a big chunk of distance out of the 50 miles or so to CP3. This also meant going over some of the tougher terrain again. Now my stomach was starting to do the same as it had done to me on the Spine Challenger, dry heaving every hour, struggling to eat and the constant feeling of wanting to be sick, plagued me for the 6 hours it took to get to the turnaround point. Add to that the snow drifts and it was. A slog to say the least. I felt broken.
With no energy whatsoever I told the medic Jonny I was done. He encouraged me to sleep on it first and then make that call. I took his advice, managed 1 mouthful of my meal, and went to sleep for 5 hours. Jonny woke me up around 1am to ask if I was going back out and I just couldn’t face it so replied, ‘I’m out’. He accepted but then asked if I’d seen the Northern Lights before (which I hadn’t) and poked my head out of my tent and had my breath taken away.
My New Goal
It’s what I was here for, to experience such sights, to tread where few have been and learn about myself. I retired back to my tent as the wind came back to give us another beating and reflected on what I saw and the decision I had just made. I told myself ‘Just complete the 120 miles race’. So, I got up, asked Jonny if my withdrawal was official yet (it wasn’t) and began making my way back to CP1 again. My pace was great, as it had been throughout, but my stomach did exactly the same.
This time I was sick but just kept putting 1 foot in front of the other whilst trying to eat the odd mouthful of nuts or smarties. Sunrise came again and as much as I was hurting, I looked around and had a huge smile on my face as I got to soak in my surroundings which was soon followed up by snow ploughs! They were clearing the road making it so much easier to pull my sled and a huge morale boost to keep pushing on.
6 hours later I was back at CP1, I had some crisps and a can of coke kindly donated by a racer who had already withdrawn and got the good news that the road was still closed, and I’d be heading out on the out and back I did on the first day. However, the road was likely to open at some point that day so more than likely I’d get picked up on the way out and moved onto CP3. I was out for around 90 minutes when I got picked up and take to Fort McPherson (CP3) and the 120-mile point.
This CP was in a school gym hall and the organisers had made the decision to give us all a 2-hour reset whilst they figured out what distance everyone had covered on their various out and backs. The plan was to then drive us all back from CP3 whatever distance we were short to officially complete that leg and reach the 120-mile point. I was 11 miles short. By this point I’d had about 1000 calories over the last 48 hours and was running on fumes. I’d tried noodles, freeze dried meals, porridge and nuts but couldn’t manage any of it. But 11 miles was all that stood between me and my new goal.
The End Of My Race
Again, I’d go through moments of feeling amazing and saying to myself, we can keep going beyond 120 miles, to then dry heaving and feeling like death and questioning whether I could even complete this last leg. I was sick again which was the food I ate on this stint and just did my best to keep going. I saw the lights of Fort McPherson (or so I thought) miles away only to realise it was a truck stop when I finally reached it. Talk about false summits! Anyway, I finally got to CP3 around 11pm and was told I look like death from one of the race crew. I knew I was done, but like before I wanted to sleep on it before making it official.
I woke up around 6am and was surprised to see so many others still there and turns out I wasn’t the only one who had decided to end the journey here. I had tried to eat again and managed one mouthful of noodles which confirmed the 380 was out of my reach and made it official I would DNF at the 120-mile point. I felt relieved more than anything. I’d had a lot of time to come to terms with this outcome and certainly didn’t feel like I’d failed especially with the experience I gained, the lessons I’d learnt along the way and the plans I’d made in my head during the lonely hours I spent on those roads. I opted to stay with the race for the next 6 days rather than flying home early to let it all sink in and experience the rest of the Yukon/Northwest Territories including the Arctic Ocean at Tuk. I’d also got a minor bout of frost nip on my left hand and some pretty bad butt chafe, so it was also good to overcome all that before almost 2 days of travel home. It took me a couple of days before I could eat properly and feel anything other than fatigue.
So, what did I learn?
What takeaways did I have from such an epic adventure?
In terms of race prep, my pace didn’t really slow at all. At one point I was in 4th place and my body had no issues with the physicality of the event at all. I had trained correctly.
I need to trust my own abilities and believe in myself more. I went through almost a year of mental torture because I thought I wasn’t good enough for this environment. Other than the food issue I held my own out there. I’ve operated successfully in many hostile environments, and it all comes down to being switched on and have good admin. This environment was no different. I was never suffering with the cold, my systems worked perfectly (even when sleep deprived) and I was slick at setting up and taking down my camp. I ‘am good enough to turn up to the start line of such endeavours. I need to tell myself that more often.
I really need to understand how my body reacts to certain foods. Race nutrition has always been a struggle for me. I also suffer with stomach issues at home (less regularly since reducing meat consumption), so I’m going to get tested for allergies/intolerances and truly get to grips with nutrition. I can’t have my efforts derailed again by seemingly something so simple to avoid.
Spending over 48 hours on my own and with my own thoughts, I realised that I don’t want to do such epic adventures on my own again. I just kept thinking how much better this would be if I was with my wife Jayne. I still have my own fitness aspirations over shorter distances such as 50k/50 miles, the longer stuff I do for the experiences, the sense of adventure and explore parts of a country few get to. These adventures I’ll only do with Jayne in the future.
My full-time job is as a running coach. I’ve been a coach for over 10 years. However, social media has always been a struggle for me. I hate endless scrolling; I don’t enjoy using it and I all too easily let it frustrate me with the content I see being put out there. This is a sign that I’m again falling away from the control the controllable. I can’t control if another ‘coach’ is still telling everyone that heel striking is wrong or that you need to go ‘keto’ to be a good runner and so should not waste my emotional energy getting frustrated by it. I should also look at the kind of content/people I allow into my feed by unfollowing anyone that gives me any sort of negative emotion. So, I made a promise to myself to make it work for me and not against me. I’ll just keep being me trying to help people and steer clear of anything that I deem toxic. It’s not worth my time or emotions.
Finally, I learnt that my Arctic racing days are over! It was a truly epic adventure and I have no regrets but give me +40 degrees any day! Thank you to Martin, Stuart, Sue and all the crew at 6633 for such a special experience. A huge thanks to Jonny for keeping me in the race and to James for all the help and advice pre-race. I’ll do a kit review post in the next week or so, but I did a video laying out what I took out there here.
