I thought about this yesterday as Erik drove me down the Seward Highway to the Crow Pass trail head for the start of the Crow Pass Crossing, an annual mountain race described by the Anchorage Daily News as "arduous and unpredictable." True.
The backcountry race covers 24 miles of wilderness, from Girdwood to the Eagle River Nature Center. There are a number of obstacles, from scary to life-threatening. First, runners ascend 2,200 feet in less than one hour (or be disqualified). Then, descending through rock, scree and snowfield to the Eagle River. Cross the glacial Eagle River (thigh-high or higher) then run another 12 miles to the nature center, trails covered in rocks, roots and brushy Cow Parsnip. The trail is not always obvious. People get lost, encounter bears and take serious slips and falls. There are no aid stations, no water and cell phones don't work. Racers must finish in 6 hours to be an official finisher.
The Crow Pass race has intrigued and terrified me ever since I learned of it. I'd day-hiked it with two friends several years ago, when I was a new Alaskan. I was unprepared for the speed and chill of the river. It was high that year, to my waist, and I truly believe I would have just sat down and abandoned hope if not for my hiking partner literally pulling me through it. I have never been so scared. Did I mention I'm kind of afraid of water?
Over the years, I've wavered back and forth about the race. Here's the other catch: you have to qualify to enter. You must be either a Crow Pass race veteran, or run a sub-4:00 marathon or a sub 1:45 half marathon or a sub 2:30 Lost Lake race. I've run several qualifying marathons over the years. Last fall when I completed the Twin Cities Marathon under 4:00 I thought about Crow Pass.
I signed up this year because a friend said she'd run it with me, helping me cross the river and sticking together if we got lost. Then she pulled a hamstring. And then there was one.
My fears were all over the place. I worried I'd encounter bear, get lost, be unable to cross the river, or not make it to the pass by the 1-hour time cut off. I also worried about taking a nasty fall and breaking something, like my head.
I showed up at the mandatory pre-race meeting. I'd heard the race director was merciless and tried to scare people out of doing the race. He wasn't so bad and I even met another girl who didn't have a running partner and we pledged to look for each other the next day.
I barely slept Friday night. As I woke up, stretched, ate and dressed, I felt like Katniss Everdeen in the Hunger Games, getting ready for the arena. As we drove down the highway to Girdwood, the wind picked up. It blew hard. It rained.
The scene at the starting line was subdued. Everyone looked very, very fit. People were jumping and jogging to stay warm. It was raining. I was panicking about last-minute gear decisions. I kissed Erik goodbye and the race started before I could think too much.
The scenery as we ran/hiked up the pass was incredible. Snow dappled the mountains and the valleys glistened with waterfalls. I barely noticed, though, intent as I was on making the top of the pass in one hour. About 2 miles into the uphill slog, the wind started up again and the rain intensified. Suddenly, there was someone yelling out my number, 87, and writing it down. I had made the first checkpoint with five minutes to spare. A few spectators cheered and one yelled out, "Pastor Lisa!" It was Karen Williams, from Central. I'd never been so glad for a friendly voice in my life. Because then it started to hail. Beads of ice fell from the sky. I was wearing shorts. My legs were turning red. I had the mandatory gear in my backpack (wind pants, long underwear) but I was too cold to stop so I kept moving.I descended rocky slopes and snow fields. There were amazing views of Raven Glacier, bright blue with the cloudy and dark sky. It was so beautiful. I thought about the wonder of God's creation, the kindness of people I know, the way I've seen the love of Jesus in so many people's faith. I thought about the people of God crossing the Red Sea and how God always makes a way, even when we can't see it. Still, I made sure there were several people just ahead and several people just beyond me. I did not want to cross that river alone. You know, pray like it depends on God, but act like it depends on you!
I was doing fine until I had to cross the descending snowfields. I could see that most other racers slid down on their feet or bottoms. I am no fan of glissading; it scares me to go downhill fast. So I picked my way down, crab-walking and spiderman style. The runners behind me passed me and disappeared. I wasn't sure if anyone was behind me.
So I just kept going, taking care not to fall. About 5 miles into the race, I saw a vision: a man ahead of me stopped briefly to pick his way through a creek. He pointed out the best way to go and then we started talking. His name was Thomas, a veteran of the race. He knew the way! As far as I was concerned, he was a gift from God. I followed him through brush higher than my head, trail littered with obstacles, and we safely crossed the river together.
Our biggest snafu (which may have cost me a timely finish) was that when we arrived at the river to ford it, we couldn't find the race officials who were supposed to be there to ensure we had crossed and who would give us a bracelet. We walked up and down the river banks yelling for them for a good 5-10 minutes, gave up and finally crossed on our own. We found the "bracelet people" a ways down the trail, telling us they'd left the river bank after 3 hours. We'd arrived at the bank in 3 hours and 8 minutes. Apparently, this was one of the policies that didn't make it into the race instructions.
We continued along the rocky trail, through brush, spotting bear scat, using ladders and ropes at times to help us navigate the rough terrain. I was getting tired, but pushed along to make the 6-hour time limit. I was worried but Thomas, my new running partner, was confident we'd just make it. But the rain kept falling, the brushy trail was hard to navigate, and once when the trail wound really close to the Eagle River, I slipped and fell into the river, up to my waist.
About 5 hours and 30 minutes into the race, I had to stop and eat. Thomas kept going. I found out later he finished in 6 hours and 50 seconds. Thankfully, the race director gave him credit and he was an official finisher. I wasn't so lucky. I pushed until the end, crossing the finish line in a triumphant yet disappointing 6 hours and 5 minutes. I woofed down the Snickers bar they handed me.
Today's paper has a great article about the race. The list of finishers doesn't have my name in it. I'm a little sad about it, but it was good to face a fear and come safely through the arena, whole and in one piece. Maybe more whole, in a way, for doing something I didn't know I could think I could, relying on strangers and seeing again the wonder of the world God made.
PS: I didn't think to have some photos taken until I was safely inside at the Eagle River Nature Center. It was still raining and my lips were turning blue.
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