The Longest 26.2 Miles on the Continent

The Marathon is almost as much of a holiday as Christmas or Thanksgiving. People have been training for it since they arrived on the Ice. Your intrepid author did not, in fact, participate in the Marathon (wouldn't you know it, I left my running shoes back in 2011) but I've spent a good while watching the dedication of those training to be a part of it, and I am truly impressed.

(Crossing the finish line)

For some, the Marathon is their big moment and they've been training for it both on and off the Ice. Others learned about it after coming down and began their training at the beginning of the season. And I know at least one of my buddies decided to do it a month before and crammed all his training into the final few weeks. On the day of, somewhere around 70 people participated in the run. Out of those, eight of my fellow galley people ran, so there were plenty to cheer for.

Despite all the space we have access to, the actual running trail was limited. Instead of beginning at the chapel and following a course in the surrounding area, as had been done for the Turkey Trot and 10k, the Marathon is set up so that two trips, there and back, from the Ice Road Intersection to Phoenix Airfield would constitute the distance. Like everything, there was a fair party atmosphere at the trek. While there might have been 70 people running, there were still plenty there to support the event as volunteers and more to just cheer on everyone participating.

The support came in a variety of ways. Racers were shuttled out and back in the vans, which I'm sure saved many a runner's legs. At mile three, there was a set-up for hotdogs and burgers to refuel with. Similar to at IceStock, a small grill was manned to provide nourishment to the runners. How much someone wants an all-beef hotdog while running a marathon is another matter that I'm not able to weigh in on. Of course, medical and support staff were there to watch out for everyone, and there was always a lookout along the track in case something happened beyond the turn around points. And also one Kiwi who hung around to "chase" some of the marathoners with his chainsaw. Probably best we don't think too hard about that one.

The whole day felt like a community event.  Plenty of friendly competition, sure, but also just everyone supporting each other as they went along. Many people were in costumes over their running gear. This year continues to be the Year of the Onesie, as they were the common tracksuit. One buddy of mine said that the guys he ran with kept gummy worms in their pockets—both as a boost of sugar when needed, and to pass out to people that they encountered along the run. He also said that he had to stop giving high-fives toward the end because of how tired he was and how it threw off his running groove. That interpersonal factor was super important to a lot of runners. I heard more than a few talk about how they were able to keep going because of the friends they were running with. It's a lot easier to give up when you're on your own.

(Even if you didn't have someone specifically for you)

There's apparently some very surreal experiences when it comes to a marathon in Antarctica. Running on ice was a new experience for many. While it wasn't slick like a skating rink, many noticed how different it was. Some parts were well-packed and easy to run on, while other stretches had divots and snowdrifts that you'd want to avoid. While a city marathon might feel similar, one runner noted how the sea ice looks the same all the way across, so sometimes it felt like running in place with how little the scenery changes. The fact that it was overcast didn't help, and while the wind wasn't terrible, I'm sure any runner you know can tell you how much fun running into the wind is. But considering it was at their backs the other way, I guess you can call it a wash.

Everyone, it seems, had their own goals for running the marathon. One ambitious man wanted to break the continental record. He came in at a time of 3 hours and 05 minutes. Certainly a solid finish for the first place runner, but the record is 2 hours and 47 minutes, so not this year. As for other runners, I'm very proud of my galley people. Of the 8 that ran, 4 ended up in the top 10. My eyes on the ground ended with a time of 3 hours and 58 minutes. I don't know much about marathons, so I'll just assume a sub 4 hour time is good.

The general sentiment seems to be that everyone who went to the Marathon got what they wanted out of it, at least in some way. For some, it's definitely the bragging rights. To go home and tell your friends, "Yeah, I ran a marathon in Antarctica," is certainly a sweet prospect. For others, it's just a case of proving it to yourself. The idea that "I did this" and the hard work paid off. It's something that'll be with you for the rest of your life. And while it feels like I'm hammering this point, the personal connections forged through it are amazing.

The story that sticks with me is from my kitchen buddy. He's never run a marathon before, but his mother is a fiend for them and has been running them most of her life. Well, he ran the Marathon and called his mom afterwards to tell her about it. Apparently she broke down in happy tears because now someone else in the family "gets it." It inspired a family connection that I don't think either knew would be so powerful.

Antarctica is the embodiment of overcoming obstacles. From the first explorers even getting here to living daily life down here, there are challenges and unexpected setbacks all the way. So for people to choose to take on even more and put themselves through this, they've earned my respect.

Still not doing it if I come down here again though.

(Photos are from McMurdo public file sharing site and are from the 2023 marathon. 2024 won't be uploaded for a while it seems.)

By International Law, You Can't Touch the Penguins

Despite being separate from basically every form of civilization, Antarctica isn't totally a lawless wasteland where only the strong survive. At least not for the human population, at any rate. Most activity down here is governed by the laws of whatever country the base belongs to, but even more so under what is known as the Antarctic Treaty. I think I've joked about it in past articles, but there are actions and behaviors that could violate that treaty. I probably should have talked about what this treaty is earlier, but here we are.

(I wish to pet the bird)

First some history. The Antarctic Treaty was signed originally in 1959 by the twelve countries that had active scientific research on the Ice. It went into effect properly in 1961, and is still active today. Right now, some 56 nations have signed the treaty.

There's a lot to it, as one would expect with a government document, but the three main tenets of it are that Antarctica will remain a peaceful continent, scientific investigation will be done freely and shared willingly, utmost care for the environment will be maintained, and additional bits and bobs as the need arises--like for commercial tourism and other non-government agendas.

I think it's fair to call the Treaty something more like guidelines than hard and fast laws. For one, how much you can actually enforce "international law" is not something I'm willing to debate in these paragraphs; and two, at the lower levels, there's not much we can do one way or the other. We follow company policy, and company policy is dictated by the Treaty. So if we want to keep our job, I suppose we're technically aligned with the Treaty.

So messing with the animals is a no-go. And considering "messing with" isn't exactly a legal term, that generally means don't disrupt them in any way they wouldn't normally experience. We've been told that if an animal reacts to your presence, you're too close. Of course, that's unavoidable sometimes. If a skua flies down and starts pecking around your feet while you're taking the garbage out, there's not much you can really do. In fact, I think you'd be in violation if you tried to shoo it away.

Even the opportunity to bother the animals has to be thought about carefully. On one of the drives out to Willy Field, a seal pup was making its way across the ice. It was still a good fifty feet from our shuttle, but the driver had to stop and let it makes its full journey across the road and further to the other side before we could continue on. If we had kept driving and maybe spooked it by being too close, that would have been negligence of the Treaty on our driver's side. While I doubt that would have incurred any real fine or punishment, it's still something that we have to think about in our daily activities.

Of course, there are some times when you can't help it. Penguins are notoriously curious, and apparently at least once a year, some bird gets it in its head to investigate the strange tall beings wandering around and will waddle into McMurdo proper. So someone ends up accidentally close to the penguin, and of course you're going to take a picture. And when that picture ends up on social media, it becomes a headache that the National Science Foundation has to investigate and confirm that the bird was at fault, not the person. And I doubt they can get the penguin to pay a fine. (And in case you're wondering, wildlife infractions can end up with a fine somewhere around $30,000.)

But while the penguins and the seals are the starlets of Antarctica, they are far and away outnumbered by the micro life that lives here. Places like Dry Valley have their own unique and intricate microscopic web of life, and much of it has been uninterrupted by human activity for decades. So when excursions are offered to these remote locations, you have to go through a separate training to know how to interact with these precariously balanced locales. Even something as simple as leaving a footprint in the loose rock could have lasting consequences at the microscale. But again, while tripping and leaving a gravel angel might be frowned upon, it likely won't get you fined. Just remember to be aware of all your various liquids, lest you contaminate the environment in unseen ways.

(Everything is a sticker down here)

And then of course there's the souvenirs, or lack there of. You can't take things from Antarctica. If you came across a penguin skull out on a hike, it needs to stay right there. Find a cool object that could be historical? Got to call that in for official pickup and review. You can't even take a rock home, so clean your boots off before getting on your flight back home. For those of you who know about hiking and camping, Take Nothing, Leave Nothing is in effect down here as well. (Although that hasn't stopped people from stealing things from the Discovery Hut or other areas before; someone always has to ruin it for the rest of us.)

For most of us, the Treaty is more like a vague notion rather than an omnipresent overseer. We've got rules to follow and the sword of Damocles that our employment could be affected if we are unwise, but that's pretty standard stuff. I think the most interesting part of the Treaty as a regular Joe is that I am a representative of my country with it. I don't think I could do anything to truly damage the reputation of America in Antarctica, but in some small way, I'm part of the larger picture of the spirit of scientific inquiry that permeates this continent.

But the temptation to pet the penguins is still real.

Last Party at the Edge of the World

Happy New Year from Antarctica! Getting to be one of the first people to experience 2024 is a surreal experience, even if it's really no different to any other midnight. Still, the knowledge makes it an oddity. But it's an oddity that I wasn't allowed to dwell on too deeply, at least at the time. New Year's Eve is always a party, no matter where you are in the world. And for a place that will take any reason to party, it's fair to say that New Year's Eve is probably the biggest party of McMurdo's year.

It's not just a regular old party down at Gallagher's. For New Years, all the stops come out and McMurdo base is home to Ice Stock. Ice Stock is the biggest concert on the continent. (The fact that it's the only concert on the continent has no bearing on that statement.) The space between Building 155 and the Gerbil Gym is set up as a mini festival lot and the Ice Stock stage is built and wired. Along with the stage are two "concessions stands" where hot chocolate, coffee, and some simple grill food is served.

(Can't even tell this isn't in Jersey.)

The music is all volunteer based. We're not so lucky to get Allan Jackson to come down for a set, but we do have the musical stylings of The Steely Dan Experience or Dish Pit. For many who have come down before, Ice Stock is something they've been working toward all year. We've got people who come down, reconnect with buddies and are already practicing together by the first week. Others just want to get in on the action and throw together an ensemble of anyone who might have had piano lessons as a kid. The quality of performance is certainly a spectrum, but everyone is evenly matched on enthusiasm. Because it's not a contest; the fact that our fellow Ice dwellers are willing to get together and cast aside stage fright to perform their hearts out for us is worthy of respect. We're all there to have fun and we couldn't have Ice Stock without them.

(I'd buy any one of their t-shirts.)

The music was almost all covers—all the popular hits that get people pumped up and looking to party. So that means plenty of Taylor Swift, classic rock, club tracks, and the occasional off-kilter addition like Rage Against the Machine. I would say most of the songs were really singalongs, the popular ones that everyone in the mosh pit could scream along to. How much work the actual singers had to do over the crowd is up for debate.

While the star of the show was the music, everyone had plenty of other ways to have fun. Costumes were everywhere, maybe more so than Halloween. It seemed the outfit du jour for New Years was animal pajama onesies. (And wouldn't you know I left mine in my other closet.) We had a fair few penguins, Pokémon, wood land critters, and the significantly lost polar bears in the crowd. Face painting and glitter was also a common sight, as well as some apparently newly established cult that involved sticking a large googly eye to your forehead.

And of course, alcohol was aplenty. While bar service has stopped in most official capacities, as mentioned in a previous article, there was the option to add some Baileys to your coffee or hot chocolate. But the real libations were from those who had stocked up beforehand. Or that day—alcohol rations reset on Sunday, and wouldn't you just know what day New Year's Eve was. The party certainly had its flair for drink. Drinking games were set up, the ring toss and giant Jenga like you might find at any bar, but there were those who didn't need to be told how to have fun. I spent a good ten minutes watching people trying to pour shots from the second-story window into their friends' mouths below. I haven't heard any stories of serious injury, praise the Lord, so hopefully everyone was adult enough to take care of themselves. The only incident I did see was catching a buddy of mine in the hallway, desperately searching for the men's room—the door to which he was standing right next to at the time. It was certainly a jolly time.

The number of people outside swelled after 11 p.m. as we all waited for the clock to strike midnight. Some enterprising soul had taken a clock off of one of the walls and was periodically thrusting it into the air in the middle of the mosh pit (it didn't really help us keep track, but I admire the spirit). As the DJ spun more tracks, the energy of the crowd reach a fever pitch as we waited the last five minutes. One of the organizers was on stage, shouting out each minute closer. Then we counted down the last ten seconds together and rung in the new year in Antarctica. Lots of shouting and cheering, couples marking the occasion, and some who seemingly kept their rations solely to pop the Champaign and spray it over everyone.

So thus began 2024 in Antarctica. No ball to watch and no Frank Sinatra to sing along with, but we met the change in our own way. For those of us not wintering over, New Years marks the last big event and all that's left to look forward to now is our departure dates. Still, to experience the new year at the edge of the world and to band together for a night like that, it's something I'll remember for years to come.

Happy New Year to you all.