Patagonian Expedition Race
Patagonia of Pain
Jason Magness (Team Yogaslackers) / 18.03.2016
There is no reason to beat around the bush on this one. We had our hearts set on a triumphant return to the Patagonian Expedition Race. After ending on the podium (but never with the title) in the last four editions (2010-2013) we’ve spent the last three years during the race’s hiatus learning what it takes to truly compete on the world stage in the sport of Adventure Racing. Oh, and coincidentally I also spent those same 3 years slowly but surely eliminating all remaining cartilage from my right hip.
And so it was that the Patagonian Expedition Race 2016 was a collision of sorts. Stronger and more motivated than ever, we led the race from the beginning (alongside the amazing Japanese of Team East Wind), opening up a sizable gap between the rest of the teams. But the hip had started it’s barking even earlier – days before the race started. The cortisone shot that I’d gotten 2 months prior (in an effort to delay surgery a little longer) had run its course. So my team carried my gear on all the foot sections, and I resigned myself to taking up permanent residency in the pain cave.
530 km into the 600 km course we were still in first place. But it turned out to be an impossible position for us to hold. I was blind in one eye (frozen eyeball – seriously), with no depth perception. My right leg had the stability of a 6 month old. And then things got worse.
We stopped for a short sleep in a cirque, getting the tent set up moments before a storm hit. Safe and dry inside, my nervous system started to reboot – until the floor-less tent was ripped off of us in a merciless gust. Sitting there in my long underwear, one sock on and one sock off – the cold driving rain shocked me back into reality. Gloves and gear scattered as we stuffed every loose thing randomly into the closest packs. We knew we had only one option. Without speaking we headed up the mountain – higher into the storm.
Descending from the first steep pass in the middle of the night – I lost it. The 50 mph winds were pelting the gravel sized hail directly into my one good eye. I stumbled and fell every time I put weight on my right leg. Every cliff edge became a real hazard for me – unable to balance or even judge where it was most important to balance. The pain and fear and storm built with every step. I broke.
We stopped for 3 of the most surreal, miserable, and memorable hours of my life. Sodden, we huddled together in a small depression with jagged rocks as our bed. We wrapped ourselves in the ripped tent, giving us a thin one millimeter shell of protection. The water and wind whipped into a tempest as we simply existed in a wretchedly pitiful limbo – waiting for the half light of the coming sunrise.
The funny thing is, I don’t remember the pain at all. But I do remember the look of concern on my wife’s face as she watched me struggle. And I remember her tears. I remember the rain and the waterfalls and unrelenting wind. I remember the majestic and harrowing paddle across the Magellan Strait, the rainbow arcing over the hanging glacier, and the cold swim across the swift deep river we didn’t really need to cross.
I’ll never forget the way Alex carried my pack for days and made underwear out of his space blanket. The simple – but crucial – blip of joy each time Chelsey fed me from her secret stash of gummy fruits when the group supply of yummy foods was dwindling. Or racing the sunset – Daniel’s firm grip leaving bruises on my forearm as he supported me down 8 km of spectacular ridge line into the final transition area.
And I remember my disappointment, and the disappointment of my teammates. I can taste it’s bitterness when I think back to the moment that we saw the headlamps of Team Godzone coming over the pass behind us. Hope is so fragile and fleeting – and ours disappeared at the speed of light. We’d fought so hard for so long against the pain and frustration. We’d kept our team mentally together despite the agonizingly slow pace over the difficult terrain. And the longer we stayed in the lead, the more we convinced ourselves that we mightn’t be moving all that slow. It felt like our car had run out of gas within sight of the top of a big hill, and we’d used all our remaining will to push it up – convinced that if we could get over the crest we could coast down to the finish. And it almost worked, until that downhill turned to an uphill. I had nothing left to give.
We find ourselves drawn back to this particular wilderness race time and again – not because of the competition itself – but because of the things we learn when we are out there. The competition aspect is just a fast-track to getting us to that crossroads where the education of the soul begins.
The junction of desperation and joy, where the physical gives way and there is nothing left except willpower – struggling to operate the spent human machine. We stumble to a place where we are utterly lost in a remote and unimaginably rugged landscape, yet finally feel like we have found our connection to something greater. It is quest that is not achievable alone, but only with friends working in fellowship.
This time, we thought it would be our last lesson in Patagonia. The depth of teamwork, compassion, patience, and tenacity were greater than I’ve ever experienced. More than I thought possible of myself. More than I ever expected from my team. And I know that there is still more to learn.
In final reflection, it comes down to three things.
To Chelsey, Daniel and Alex – thank you for everything.
To Myself – failure is a necessary part of success. Embrace that and do not shy away from it.
To Patagonia – I look forward to seeing you again.
To get a visual on the many emotions that we faced out there watch the following series of videos. We suggest that you watch them in the following order: Pain, Comedy and Love. If you only have time for one, watch LOVE.
SleepMonsters
