Who Doesn't Like Running on a Sheet of Ice in 12 Degrees?

For the past 7-8 Thanksgivings, I’ve woken up and headed to Washington Park in Denver for the annual Turkey Trot. It’s a fun four-mile run that makes most of us running feel just a little better about gouging ourselves at the dinner table a few hours later.

The north end of the race course a few days after Thanksgiving.

This year, though, I was heading to the Great Alaska Shootout with the University of Denver basketball team.

It’s hard to complain too much about going on a trip to watch three basketball games, but I was a little sad that my streak would end and that I wouldn’t get to meet up with friends before and after the race.

However, I quickly discovered that I wouldn’t have to miss out on Turkey Trotting entirely.

The Skinny Turkey Trot 5K in Anchorage was literally around the corner from my hotel, so I figured I would give it a shot.

What could possibly be the downside? I found out the moment our plane touched down on the runway.

Surprisingly, snow wasn’t expected while we were there, but the wheels touched down onto several inches, and the wind was howling.

Thirty-six hours later, I stepped outside the hotel to a crisp 12 degrees. Fortunately, my Brooks pants and Mizuno jacket did their jobs, along with a hat and gloves, and all 1,500 people at the starting line seemed to be moving just a little closer together than usual, trying to steal some body heat from everyone around them.

The streets were solid ice as we started the first of two loops. One man was taking a few steps at a time before sliding a good 5-6 feet, which seemed a bit strange but I try not to critique other people’s running form.

Although the race didn't get quite this close to the
Cook Inlet, we could see the ice floating in the water
during the race. This picture was taken a few days
later when I went out for a run at dusk around 4 p.m.

Most people were wearing Yaktrax or had studs in their shoes for added traction. Why I didn’t think to bring mine along is probably worth asking, unless you know me and the number of questionable, if not moronic, moves I make on a daily basis.

The street on the backstretch was snow-packed, but I remained hesitant to push it too much, fearing the images inside my head of seeing the inside of my head after it hit the ice.

Instead I relied on a shortened stride and allowed myself to take in the surroundings. On one side, I could see out to the partially frozen over Cook Inlet, while the Chugach Mountains appeared to be towering just a few miles ahead of us as we ran back the other way. Closer in, the snow covering Delaney Park appeared like a blank sheet, as though no one wanted to disturb it by walking on it. The trees all along the route were iced over and sparkling in sun that was finally peaking over the mountains when the race started at 11 a.m.

Because I had to get to the basketball team’s practice, I didn’t have time to hang around after the race, although I can’t really say I would have stuck around in the bitter cold anyway.

I would have liked to at least thanked the race organizers from Skinny Raven Running Store.

In a place like Anchorage, I wouldn’t blame anybody for spending the entire winter indoors, but Skinny Raven at least gives people the option to head out for some exercise, and based on the number of people I saw smiling (roughly 1,500 of them), I wasn’t the only one who was happy to spend part of my Thanksgiving out there.

This was the view of downtown Anchorage from my hotel just a few hours
after the race. Every street was a sheet of ice.

2013 Salmon Runs Marathon

We knew this was a different kind of race when Jay Coon, Michelle Wolcott and I signed up and started making plans to travel to Cordova, Alaska.

Although the clouds and rain were blocking much of the view
during the race (thankfully, since it kept the heat and bugs away),
this is part of the racecourse.

It sounded beautiful. It sounded tiny. And it sounded like nothing any of us had done previously. In a word, it sounded weird. We couldn’t wait.

I had never really considered carrying a camera with me during a marathon, but this time I founded the lightest one I could find on Amazon – a decision that probably cost us 30 minutes of race time, but a decision that none of us regretted.

I knew that I didn’t really care about my time in the race, and Michelle – in her first marathon since having two kids – said she only wanted to enjoy it.

We knew Jay was on board, too, when we were walking through Anchorage on Friday morning and he said, “The marathon is on Sunday, right?”

Quickly, we broke the news that it was on Saturday. He shrugged, knowing it wasn’t really a problem.

That afternoon, we hopped on a flight from Anchorage to Cordova, and it proved to be one of the most scenic flights I’ve ever been on. The ocean was on one side of the plane, while jagged mountains and glaciers were on the other.

Jay walked into the “diner” across the street from the Mudhole Smith Airport and asked if there was a shuttle to town. The woman said we had just missed it, but she would drive us.

“Diner” is in quotes because there was a closed sign out front. We asked Becky, the woman driving us, when it was open, and she said, “October, when all the tourists leave.”

We questioned the logic, but she explained, “The only reason we open it at all is to keep the liquor license. You don’t want to take these things too seriously, you know.” We smiled and nodded because that’s what you do when someone ends a statement with, “You know.” Even if you don’t know.

The road to town, which is also the second half of the racecourse, is unbelievable. There were bald eagles soaring above the wetlands with mountains towering all around and glaciers sneaking their way through the valleys between.

Becky agreed that the area was beautiful, although her phrasing was much more poetic than I could ever be: “It’s a great setting with a shithole of a town.” Again, we smiled and nodded, only this time there was more puzzlement on our faces.

In most regards, Becky was probably right. Cordova is a town that time forgot. There is no road connecting it with any other town or highway, and not many tourists make it here.

The ones that do, however, are treated exceptionally well. The locals are welcoming and seem genuinely happy to welcome visitors to town.

That’s not to say that everyone was bending over backwards to help.

During dinner at Ambrosia – both the best and only Italian joint in town – I asked the waitress whether she would recommend the lasagna or the chicken parmesan. She stared at me, mouth gaping, for what seemed like minutes, leading me to believe that neither choice was particularly good. Finally, she said, “They’re both good. The lasagna is good.” I agreed to it quickly, making sure I added an Alaska Amber Ale in case the food needed a chaser.

A few minutes after we ordered, a young guy came in and sat down at a nearby table. Once we figured out that he was a runner in town by himself, we invited him to join us.

His name is Greg, and he traveled in from Juneau that morning. He was nice and engaging, and we fully expected him to whoop up on us in the race (he ran a 3:05 and 3:03 in his only other two marathons, both on a hilly course in Juneau, but a nagging injury would slow him down to about 3:30 and fourth place).

It didn’t take too long before I decided I liked the guy, especially when he said, “You guys seem like fun people to hang out with. Jay, you would really like this running club we have in Juneau. They call themselves the Smokin’, Old Geezers.”

I’m pretty sure he realized just how insulting that might have come across and tried to cover it up. Jay – an Ironman finisher just three weeks before – took it in stride, while Michelle and I enjoyed every second of it.

The bridge just past the starting line.

On the morning of the race, we met at the finish area – the parking lot of the Cordova Medical Center, which also bordered a park. It was drizzling rain, so we headed to a gazebo for shelter.

There was a tent set up, and a woman explained that she and her daughter had driven from Minnesota with her four other children. They dropped off the rest of the family in Anchorage and then caught a ferry to Cordova. Unfortunately, they hadn’t arranged lodging, so they slept in the park.

Of course, it was strange, but in a race like this, nothing really surprised me.

The Michelob Ultra team from St. Louis decided to make the trek to Cordova, increasing the field from about 29 to 41 and making it the biggest race the town has ever seen.

All of us gathered around as Kristin Carpenter, the race director, who gave us some final instructions, which may or may not have included what to do if we encountered moose or bears on the course.

Sheridan Glacier.

We hopped into five vans and headed 26.2 miles down the road. Clouds and fog came with the rain, creating an almost mythical haze in the early morning light. When our van stopped, we looked around and saw nothing but a few trees, and nearly everybody headed toward them for one last pit stop before the race.

In a race this small, the start time is a little flexible. We waited at the cone and balloon that marked the starting line, as one runner finished up his business and hurried over.

After the starter said, “Go” – which really was awesomely how the race started, with not so much as a megaphone, I might add – we headed over a bridge and could barely see the water below through the mist.

Michelle, Jay and I had decided that we were going to run the race together, since nobody was worried about time goals.

We started over a gravel-filled dirt road through a forest, over rivers and next to mountains that flirted through the fog.

Michelle took advantage of the first aid station.

We were told that there would be two “aid stations” in the first half of the race, which meant there was a water bottle, Powerade bottle and a few cups sitting on the side of the road. They were there, and they were very much appreciated, as we filled our cups.

About 10 miles in, we looked over and had a great view of Sheridan Glacier snaking through the mountains to our right, and the wetlands provided a peaceful backdrop as our footsteps provided the only soundtrack to that part of the race.

To Michelle’s great relief and the secret disappointment of Jay and me, we saw no wild animals along the course, aside from a few bald eagles and some insane humans who thought running 26.2 miles was somehow fun (yes, that included us).

Although the road was in good shape, the dirt and gravel beat up my legs, and I was already feeling pain by the 16-mile point, when dirt turned to asphalt for the final 10 miles.

We passed the Mudhole Smith Airport. It was just the three of us, which is how it had been for the previous 10 miles or so. This is not a marathon for those that want the crowds of the New York Marathon.

Michelle and Jay just before the halfway point.

However, I will say that the fan on the course was great. He was part of Cordova’s radio club, so he was relaying information on runners’ progress back to the starting line. I asked if maybe he should be cheering for the few runners out there. He opted instead to conduct his radio duties. We thanked him for being out there anyway.

Both Michelle and I were having back issues during the race. Hers were probably related to the two kids she had within the last three years or so. Mine were due to an obvious lack of core training and general wussiness.

I took periodic walk breaks, which are a lot more enjoyable when you’re circling Eyak Lake, easily the most scenic view I’ve ever had during a race with multiple shades of blue water beneath jagged mountains.

The final few miles were tough for both of us, but Jay helped pull us both to the end.

Me, Michelle and Jay still smiling just after our finish.

We ascended the only real hill on the course and passed the town’s graveyard on our left, and finally I spotted the medical center on the other side of a pond.

We circled back around and ran past a dozen or so large salmon cutouts until we crossed the finish line.

It was not even close to any of our fastest times, but we got some great pictures and thoroughly enjoyed the run.

Certainly, it was like none we had ever had before. And it was well worth the experience.

Notes: I can't recommend this race enough, as long as you go in expecting a small, unique experience.

We stayed at the Cordova Rose, a quirky bed and breakfast just down the road from the finish line. We stayed in the Gear Shed, which provided us each with a room/bathroom, and there was a living room that we shared. You aren't going to get a Four Seasons in Cordova, but we enjoyed our stay, and the included breakfast each morning was good.

The Prince William Sound is full of sea otters and seals, which we saw while sea kayaking the next day with Orca Adventure Lodge. Our guide Chris was young, but knowledgeable about the area. The lodge itself seemed slightly more upscale than most of the other places in town, and they offered a lot of tours and general adventure options. It's worth a look if you don't mind staying a few miles away from town.

After the marathon, go straight to Baja Taco for a fish taco and milkshake. In fact, do it even if you don't run the race. You can thank me later.

Regardless of how tired you are, make a point to head out to Sheridan Glacier a day or two after the race. The hike is only about a mile each way, and you can walk onto the glacier itself. It's beautiful, and it's an experience most of us don't get to enjoy often, if ever. 

There is a Salmon Jam concert in conjunction with the postrace dinner at the ski area just above town. The salmon was good, the Alaska brew was flowing, and the conversations with fellow runners and townspeople were enjoyable. Well, except maybe the uncomfortable moment when someone asked a local retired nurse whether people trusted the medical center in case of emergencies.