mount marathon

There’s no place I’d rather be on the Fourth of July than Seward, Alaska. If you’re not familiar with Mount Marathon, well I suggest you familiarize yourself! It’s the oldest mountain race in the United States and referred to as the “toughest 5k on the planet”. Legend has it that the race started when two men sitting in a bar in Seward debated whether or not they could make it to the top of Mount Marathon, looming above the small seaside town, and back down in less than an hour. It became an organized race in 1915 and due to a few skipped years for various world wars and global pandemics, 2024 was Mount Marathon’s 96th year.

The course is difficult to describe in a way that truly captures just how wild it is — you start on Main Street in Seward with ~1/2 mile, gradual uphill section through the streets of Seward to the base of the mountain. Here, racers usually choose between two routes that meet back up a mere 1-2 minutes later: the roots or the cliffs. Technically, you can make it up to the rock at the top of the mountain and back down to the finish line any way you choose. After the roots and cliffs, most racers choose a pretty similar line up to to halfway point where you pop out of the brush and ascend the rest of the mountain. At the top, you have to run around a specific rock, before essentially sending yourself in a freefall down scree and through “the gut” (a waterfall of sorts). Then you find yourself descending the cliffs (carefully — if you’re me) and back through town in an 800m sprint to the finish line. Here’s a short little video that highlights the course, including a little clip of me falling in the scree in 2022. Here’s some photos of MM from years past.

My story with Mount Marathon started in 2018. I knew of the race growing up but had never been to Seward on the fourth like so many other families spent their holiday. In 2018 I was working for Skinny Raven Sports, who always time the event. I don’t remember what sparked me first wanting to get into the race, but I was sent to Seward to work a booth for Skinny Raven at the fourth of July festival. I had hiked the course once that summer and I remember being pretty set on auctioning into the race. There are many ways to get into the race — the main way being a lottery with fairly low odds that occurs in the spring. At this time, 10 spots were reserved to be auctioned off the night before the race in the Seward High gym. The price of the auction can vary a lot — as low as a few hundred dollars and as high as 3-4 thousand dollars some years (wild, I know). Long story short, I paid $650 that I surely did not have to get into Mount Marathon in 2018. I remember being so excited, though. I slept in my car the night before and could hardly sleep, anticipating the next day. During the race all I remember is truly having the time of my life. I have so many photos of me just smiling my way up that whole mountain and back down — I placed 26th and ran a time of 1:05:xx, which I had zero context for but I honestly thought I did amazing. No shortage of ~ main character energy ~. I wore a blue sports bra and a blue bandana around my head for a little patriotic flair. I’ve worn a bandana around my head a few times during the race since then, including this year, because I always try to remind myself of and channel the spirit of my 20 year old self doing Mt Marathon for the first time.

I’ve found myself in recent years with the occasional sense of dread as July 4th starts to peek around the corner. Particularly in the last two years, I’ve had other racing goals around the same time so I haven’t had the tunnel vision focus and race specificity that I see some of competitors having in the weeks leading up. Sometimes the dread gets worse when I do finally get on the course for a preview. I get nervous about getting hurt, mostly, and question why the heck I do this thing. Despite the outcome, though, July 4th usually has a way of reversing those feelings. 2023 was not a particularly great race for me but I still smiled and high-fived my way down Main St. This year, getting to Seward on the 3rd, I actually felt surprisingly calm, comforted by the fact that it was shaping up to be a year of optimal conditions and I sort of just decided to embrace the day and have fun with it.

The start times of the mens’ and womens’ races swap every year, and each year the group that gets the 2pm start time usually complains a lot — mostly because you have to wait around all day and you don’t get the luxury of being able to hike up to cheer for the mens’ race after your finish. I actually didn’t mind the 2pm start this year though. Sometimes I find comfort, rather than nerves, in watching others race. It’s a reminder that it’s just a silly little race afterall, and literally no one really cares how any one person does. It wasn’t until I needed to pin on the bib and start warming up that I started to get physical signs of nervousness — I’m pretty comfortable at this point with the level of nerves I’ve come to expect out of myself. I just keep myself moving forward, going through the motions of warming up, bathroom stops, all the things until it’s time to go.

In the realm of my world of racing, MMR is about as short as it gets. So I honestly go just as hard as I can go. I do not overthink the pacing strategy on this one. I think I have a good natural gauge of how a given effort is going to play out. The race goes out hot, as it always does, on the road. 5:20-6:00 pace on the gradual uphill to the base of the mountain. I don’t mind leading or being in the lead group on this part — I always want to put myself in a good position at the base of the mountain to avoid getting stuck behind someone on the cliffs. At the top of the cliffs, I pop out and hear cheers for Kendall as she comes over the roots. From then on, she was stuck behind me like glue as we climbed through the brushy bottom of the mountain. I didn’t think much of our positioning at the time as usually a lot changes after the halfway point. I look forward to that spot because you pop out of the trees, get a welcome breeze, and are treated to a big crowd of spectators. I can tell Conor sees me coming because suddenly his massive speaker turns to Taylor Swift. :)

Near the junior turnaround. Photo by Mick Dees

As the trail transitions from dusty dirt to rock, I try to throw in a few running steps and see if I can break Kendall — nope. She matches every move but I just stick to my tempo. Slightly above halfway, Lyon Kopsack screams in my face that this is my year. I needed that, because at this point I was starting to prepare myself for the possibility that Kendall could make a move and put an unsurmountable gap on me. He reminded me to stay in it, so I kept the momentum. After that point, the course tends to get very quiet. Few spectators hike up this far — occasionally you’ll see a lone photographer, but in general it’s just you, your competitors, and usually, the clouds. The last few hundred feet to the summit, the trail becomes slightly more gradual. In a move I anticipated, Kendall makes the pace and goes running for the top. I start running too but decide not to match it entirely, knowing that I’m already near my max and we have a downhill to execute.

The quiet of the clouds. Photo by Brikru Photography

Around the rock we both go, and Kendall gets to the left. I’m surprised but stick to my original downhill plan. The legs feel horrendous at this point but you have to just ride it out. I hope into the snow and commit to the butt slide — out of the corner of my eye I can see Kendall still moving through the rocks. She opted to skip the snow but I can already tell the butt slide is creating a gap. Once the snow turns to scree, I know I need to keep up the momemtum and make as much of a gap as possible. My strategy for this downhill is to do it fast and efficient, without dying. I looked behind me several times as I went down, mostly because I really didn’t want to have to be any more reckless than I was already being. Perhaps taking my eyes off my feet was actually what was reckless, though. I got off the scree and into the gut, where I felt like I moved well.

Then I was out of the gut and into the single track before quite literally inching my way down the cliffs. I always kind of love this part because the course suddenly gets very quiet — it’s just you and the safety person at the bottom, telling you to be careful. Then you round the corner and the crowd erupts. I don’t impress with any fancy jump off the famous rock, sadly, but smile and thank myself for getting off the mountain in one piece. On the road, I see Tracen and Hunter and tear up at their sweet cheerful faces, knowing they’re so excited for me. I’m hurting, a lot, knowing I’m running fast but also feeling like I’m going slow. At this point, I know I’m having a special day. I look down at my watch and see the number 46, and after doing some quick mental math realize I’ll definitely run 800 meters in under 4 minutes. I have a true fear of coming across too confident or celebrating before anything is for sure, so I keep looking behing me, mostly because it’s feeling really hard and I really don’t want to have to go any faster. Knowing this is a special moment, though, I try to take in every high five and burn the moment into my brain.

I’m not entirely sure how to process this one. I was somewhat surprised that I didn’t find myself in tears at the finish line, but I think that’s a reflection of the subconscious confidence I had. I didn’t think I was going to win, because you never know what can happen. Maybe I’m superstitious or just don’t ever want to set myself up to be disappointed, but I never assume I’m going to win anything or even make it the primary goal. I did know, however, and have known, that I was capable of winning this race. Doing it in a sub-50 minute time was the bigger surprise and probably what I’m most proud of. It would be easy for the imposter syndrome in me to chalk up a win to being a fluke. But to do it in a historically fast time cements to myself that my name does belong on a list next to names I never would have put myself in the same sentence with before this. It shows me that I don’t need to have the perfect build up, the most ideal number of course run throughs, or the perfect, flashy training numbers. I just need to keep showing up in the way I know how.

Most of all though, I have felt so much love from the Alaskan community and beyond! Thank you for all the messages, kind comments, photos and videos. There were so many incredible stories this year of mind blowing age group records, first time races, 50+ time consecutive races, big PRs, and more. Mt Marathon is truly wild and each person that takes it on amazes me. I feel like one lucky duck to be a part of it!

Thanks for reading :)

<3

Klaire