Tom FrenchAuthor | Mountaineer | Skier

Yesterday at 2:27pm, I crossed the finish line of the three-day, 160km Arctic Circle Race in Sisimiut, Greenland. The race ended up being more demanding than anticipated, but was a rich experience that I am deeply grateful for. The combination of spectacular arctic scenery, physical challenge, and camaraderie among racers and local residents was truly unique.

The race program began in earnest four days ago. The afternoon before the start, racers and local volunteers walked to the wooden town church for a traditional event blessing. It was a moving service, conducted entirely in Greenlandic, with the village choir singing hymns from a balcony overlooking simple, stately pews. Here is a photo of us approaching the church:

And here is a view out over the harbor from the church entrance:

The service embodied what I have come to appreciate about the entire Arctic Circle Race. The community pours its heart and soul into making the event happen, with local police, medics, and firemen patrolling the frigid back country on snowmobiles to monitor racer safety, and villagers manning the food stations and tented camp, offering unfailing good cheer and encouragement. More than any race I have participated in, the local volunteers are as much a part of it as the competitors. Residents and racers fuse into a single, shared experience. 

At the evening race briefing, some interesting facts were shared. Sisimiut is the second largest town in Greenland. Access is by plane, boat, snowmobile, and dogsled. It has 5,500 residents, 4,000 snowmobiles, and 1,500 sled dogs. In terms of the race itself, there were 196 participants. 129 would be attempting the full 160km, and 67 would be following the shorter but still challenging 100km option. Both cohorts would sleep each night at a common tented camp, located in a remote valley in the middle of the course. Of the 196 participants, 126 were from Greenland, 35 from Denmark, and the remainder from 13 other countries. Our group of eight were the only participants from the U.S. Six of us planned to pursue the 160 km route, and two the 100km route.

We were up early the following morning to drop off duffle bags containing sleeping gear, food, and warm clothes, where they would be transported to the tented camp by snow cat. Here is a photo of us walking back to the hotel after dropping our bags:

The race started at 10:00am, with the entire village cheering us on. The sun was shining and the temperature had warmed to almost 10 degrees F.  Here is a photo of friend Colin and me on the start line. We have skied a lot of races together over the years:

An announcer led the spectators in a communal countdown, (I failed to register if it was in Danish or Greenlandic), and we surged across the start line. Colin and I had secured starting spots near the front and we double poled hard to stay there before the course climbed a narrow uphill near the stadium. Then we we entered a broad valley and left the town behind, skiing off into frozen wilderness. Almost immediately, and to my surprise, I found myself having difficulty staying near the front of the pack. I was working harder than I should be that early in the race. I backed off, and watched Colin and the others grow further ahead. That was the last I saw of them until I skied into camp five hours later.

In advance of this race, I had a well-formulated plan in my head. I would “cruise” the first day, maintain momentum the second day, and then – if I was in contention for something meaningful, like winning my age group – I would increase pace on the final day. Funny how expectations don’t always mesh with reality. Early in Day One, I was far from “cruising.” I was skiing hard, I wasn’t as far up in the pack as I expected, and the effort being expended was much higher than anticipated. Another surprise was how long and steep the hills were. They ascended out of the valleys up the sides of mountains, and kept climbing as far as you could see. When you reached a level spot and thought you might be at the top, you looked up and saw small dots way above you: racers navigating terrain you still needed to climb to.

As the kilometers wore on, the field spread out. I skied together with Jan Guenther, a member of our group and one of the toughest endurance athletes you will find. She was great company and helped me stay committed to maintaining my pace. Here is a photo of us half way into Day One.  It captures some of the majesty we were moving through:

With ten kilometers to go, my legs started to cramp. Not a good sign, but I was able to keep moving. Finally, the camp appeared amid the whiteness.  Jan and I crossed the finish line. I gulped down two cups of warm drink offered by a race volunteer, took off my skis, and staggered off to locate my tent amid a large cluster of them. Here is a photo of the tent cluster:

And here is a photo of the two, large communal tents used for eating and drying clothes, taken after dinner as I headed back to my sleeping tent:

Colin and I shared a tent with an amiable Greenlander named Aannguaq, who had moved to Sisimiut several years ago from a village way north named Ikerasaarsuk. He said he loved living in Sisimuit, because of “all the beauty out the back door,” but had also enjoyed growing up in Ikerasaarsuk because he “liked watching all the icebergs out the front door.” When we crawled into our sleeping bags for the night, it became clear that Aannguaq snored like a walrus. After nudging him gently, to no avail, I shook him awake and explained that he was snoring. “Thank you so very much for sharing this with me, I truly appreciate it,” he responded gracefully. The he rolled over and continued snoring like a walrus.  Here is a photo of Aannguaq the next morning in the dining tent, (who I still liked a lot):

Standing on the start line for Day Two, I did a mental reset. My goal was simply to ski smoothly, absorb the experience, and appreciate the spectacular surroundings. My mantra became “no leg cramps”. It was a tough day, involving 60km and several extremely long climbs, but I succeeded. Cold but spectacularly clear weather made it even more beautiful. Seven hours and 20 minutes later, I was back at camp.  Exhausted, but happy.

Day Three was the final 50km stretch back to Sisimiut. Light snow, flat light, and whiteouts up high made it hard to see the tracks, and rendered the steep downhills even more hair raising. I maintained my “no cramps” mantra, and again succeeded, staying smooth and maintaining a good pace. Shockingly, I skied the final 6 km better, and more quickly, than any of the rest of the three days. Some combination of it being easy terrain, my wax working well, and knowing that I was almost there. I crossed the finish line, stopped, and looked around to soak it all in. Despite not being as high in the results as I might have liked, I felt as relaxed, rejuvenated, and content as I can recall ever feeling after a ski race. Here is a photo of me feeling exactly that:

This morning, I woke up with my body feeling like someone had beaten me with a two-by-four. But the contentment remained. A study of the results reveals that, out of 79 male participants in the 160km race, I placed 25th. In the 50 years and older bracket, Colin placed 2nd and I placed 5th. Had there been a 60 and older bracket, (or, dare I say it, 65 and older?), we would have placed 1st and 2nd. (You can prove anything you want if you massage the data.)

Tonight is a celebratory party for the racers and volunteers. Tomorrow, I fly back to Copenhagen via Kangerlussuaq, then the following day to Boston via Rejkavik. It has been a great experience, and time well spent with an amiable group of like-minded people.