How I helped a blind marathon runner navigate permafrost and bears

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This was published 6 years ago

How I helped a blind marathon runner navigate permafrost and bears

By Andrew W Lehren
Updated

Longyearbyen, Norway: The starting gun was about to go off and I was looking down. Ruts pocked the permafrost gravel road, scars from dark brutal winters. I was trying to figure how to navigate these gouges.

Not for myself - for Eline Oidvin, a compact 40-year-old marathoner. Part of my job as her running guide was making sure she did not trip on the arctic roads. She has been blind since birth.

Eline Oidvin runs the 2017 Spitsbergen Marathon in Norway between Hakon Fram Stokka, left, Andrew W. Lehren.

Eline Oidvin runs the 2017 Spitsbergen Marathon in Norway between Hakon Fram Stokka, left, Andrew W. Lehren.Credit: Runner's World Norway/New York Times

How we got here is a tale of a friendship forged from the New York City Marathon that was cancelled because of Hurricane Sandy. It led to a major marathon podium finish. And now, further north than Alaska, near the top of the world, we were ready to conquer the Spitsbergen Marathon.

To get to the starting line that June morning, we passed a bridge where a polar bear and her cubs had encamped a few months before, forcing villagers to reroute their walks. We were told we didn't need to worry about bears on the 42.1-kilometre course. The race organisers stationed armed guards to prevent attacks.

The 2017 Spitsbergen Marathon in Norway is billed as the world's most northern marathon on land.

The 2017 Spitsbergen Marathon in Norway is billed as the world's most northern marathon on land.Credit: Runner's World Norway/New York Times

Oidvin says you can tell this part of the world feels different the moment you walk off the plane, with the air cool, crisp and dry. I stole a quick glance at the snow arching up the jagged mountains that surrounded us, and at the sun that would not go lower in the sky.

Before the race, she asked casually how I had slept. The truth? The perpetual daylight in this land of the midnight sun left me sleep deprived.

"Blind people have that problem all the time," she said. They do not have the visual cues to induce melatonin​ for sleep. She fights that by trying to go to sleep at the same time each night, but knows it is a struggle for many.

We got closer to the start. Dwarf-like reindeer loped on the snow. We checked our gear. Gone were the shorts I wore while training in New Jersey leading up to the race. We were in polyester blends from top to bottom. Gloves and skull-tight hats. With no arctic running experience, we wondered whether we had enough.

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A polar bear, Ursus maritimus, on sea ice north of Spitsbergen. Just another factor on the mind of marathon runners.

A polar bear, Ursus maritimus, on sea ice north of Spitsbergen. Just another factor on the mind of marathon runners.Credit: Ariadne Van Zandbergen

The gun fired and we were off, in a race billed as the world's most northern marathon on land.

Our sneakers joined the patter of about 100 marathoners. Quiet rhythmic drumming. We turned toward downtown Longyearbyen, home to about 2000 people, the biggest town on Spitsbergen Island. I navigated Oidvin to the left, where the road seemed smoother. We passed colourful homes, built on stilts so their heat would not soften the permafrost underneath and make the structures unstable.

The tundra-inspired colours of Longyearbyen's wooden houses.

The tundra-inspired colours of Longyearbyen's wooden houses.Credit: Kerry van der Jagt

About half the runners were from Scandinavia. Some had come from as far away as China and Vietnam. I was among several Americans.

One participant said these kinds of marathons spurred her to explore less-travelled parts of the world. Journeys to unusual destinations for endurance sports are a growing business. You can race in Antarctica, along the base of Mount Everest, and through a South African wild-game preserve.

The remote town of Longyearbyen, located in an archipelago  in the high Arctic, in the Svalbard territory of Norway.

The remote town of Longyearbyen, located in an archipelago in the high Arctic, in the Svalbard territory of Norway.Credit: New York Times

My journey began closer to home, with the New York City Marathon in which I was first supposed to guide Oidvin.

Achilles International is a non-profit that matches guides with disabled athletes. You can get paired just for race day. Becoming a guide is a bit like applying for college. Write an essay. Instead of test scores, you submit race results. Then, a few months beforehand, you may get matched. I was selected as one of several guides for Oidvin.

We exchanged countless emails leading up to the race. The benefits of technology: Oidvin relies on an iPhone voice-recognition app for messaging.

She was born in South Korea, and adopted by a family living by one of Norway's picture-postcard fjords. Her family raised her to believe that she could do anything. She went to college, became a physical therapist, and now lives with her husband and two daughters near where she was raised.

She began running longer distances after she met a veteran guide who persuaded her to try.

"For the first time in my life, I felt I could do sports," she said. "The feeling was amazing."

Oidvin has since relied on dozens of guides, including a doctor, a scientist and a pastor, to compete in races.

She dislikes the tethers preferred by some blind runners. Instead, she wants guides to run beside her and describe what lies ahead. As I prepared for the big day, I found myself looking at roads differently, thinking how I could quickly tell her what she needed to know, hoping I didn't get tongue-tied as fatigue set in.

New York was her dream marathon, and she invested her savings to make the trip.

Then Hurricane Sandy struck. She understood that the race might need to be cancelled. But Mayor Michael Bloomberg insisted it would go on, so she flew to New York.

Less than two days before the start, the mayor finally cancelled the event. Oidvin was inconsolable over losing months of training with other guides and much of her savings. She was unsure she would get another chance.

That night I worked on an alternative and secured the last slot in a small Pennsylvania marathon. Her disappointment was erased. I wrote about Oidvin's travails, and the Norwegian news media picked up on the saga. Local businesses sponsored her return for the next New York City Marathon.

Oidvin performed so well she qualified for the Boston Marathon, and when we ran there in 2015, despite bitter cold and cramps, she won as the fastest blind woman. Perhaps we should not have been surprised. She had already twice won the Oslo half-marathon in her division.

Last winter she won an essay contest to run in Spitsbergen. But her previous marathon had not gone well. She was hospitalised for dehydration, and now she was questioning her abilities.

She asked if I would work with Hakon Fram Stokka, a Norwegian cycling team veteran, to guide her. I had bad news: An injury had sidelined me for months, and I was uncertain I could do the job. She encouraged me to give it a try.

Now, running in Spitsbergen, reaching a stretch where the road became quiet and there were few people, I reached for a water bottle for Oidvin. The dry air left us parched, and in this small race, there were few fluid stations.

Though the temperatures were hovering a little above freezing, the climate was comfortable. The wind was still. The sun was beginning to warm us.

We cut along the fjord heading out of town, then looped back along the harbour and by an icebreaker ship.

Now the hard part. A long grind up a hilly gravel road, past machinery that moved coal mined on the island, and then a quick descent to where we had started.

We were only halfway done. We had to complete the circuit again.

Oidvin was doing well. Stokka was strong. But after 32 kilometres, on the climb back up the hill, I was struggling. The calf I had injured was in pain.

One thing I had learnt about guiding was to worry only about how my runner was doing. The experience is a rare moment when running truly does not feel like an individual pursuit.

The last thing I wanted was to slow down Oidvin.

I told Stokka and Oidvin to go on. I would meet them at the finish. The last part of any marathon is unpredictable. It's why many disabled athletes have more than one guide in an endurance race. They can keep going.

But Oidvin refused.

"We finish together," she said.

I was surprised and guilt-stricken. Stokka gave me a hand as I worked out the worst of the cramps.

Once more we passed the mining machinery and reached the top of the hill. The clouds had mostly dissipated. We descended into town.

Somehow we crossed the finish line together. Oidvin later ascended the podium. She finished second among women in her age group.

New York Times

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