CHELSEA'S POLAR ROLL RECAP

Getting to the Start Line of the Polar Roll Ultra

The Polar Roll Ultra, a 158-mile winter ultra race (advertised as 140 miles), came up quickly, and the training that I had imagined I’d be able to put in between when I registered in October and the race start in February didn’t exactly come to fruition. I was excited to register for the 2025 event after sitting out 2024 due to being nine months pregnant on the date of the race. Our little Olive June was born last March (during a snowstorm!), and I had cautiously planned a comeback this year. I didn’t know how I was going to balance family, work, and training, and let me tell you what: getting to that start line was really hard.

I was really looking forward to long, snowy fat bike rides on our local trails this winter. After a dud of a winter in Minneapolis last year, most of us were expecting the white stuff to return, but that didn’t happen. I did my best to get on my fat bike despite the lack of snow, trying to work in some extended work commutes and longer weekend rides, but the magic just wasn’t there. Minneapolis is nicknamed the City of Lakes, and thankfully the temps were cold enough for the lake ice riding to be spectacular, so at least there was that!

Lack of snow aside, balancing parenting and breastfeeding an infant, as well as working full time, has made it hard to prioritize getting on my bike. I have a really supportive partner, Jeff, that encourages me to do things for myself, and would practically push me out the door when the mom guilt would start to set in, but there are just too few hours in the day to do everything. I tried to make efficiencies where I could, like wear my breast pumps on my bike commutes, so I feel happy with what I was able to accomplish with the constraints that I had. I was able to work in several 3–4-hour rides on the weekends, a few of those in subzero temps, as well as a few trainer workouts in the evenings after Olive went to bed.

I also thought that I would have been able to test out my gear ahead of the race. The only other time that I rode loaded with the required gear for the event was when I raced it in 2023. The list of required gear is long: -20oF sleeping bag, 3000 calories, bivy, insulated sleeping pad, stove, fuel, etc. I had planned to test everything out the week before the event, but luck would have it that both baby and partner got hit hard with the stomach flu. I somehow dodged it, but without daycare that week and a partner that was down for the count, I wasn’t able to do much with the bike, and was only able to get everything ready just before I had to leave.

"I had 45NRTH Wrathlordes on my Otso Voytek 2, since the 300 XL studs per tire make riding on ice feel like riding on dry pavement."

The original plan was for the family and me to leave on Saturday for a layover at Jeff’s parents’ house, then finish the drive to Michigan on Sunday, but the family wasn’t well yet, so I had to pivot and drive up solo early Sunday morning. It was my first trip away from my baby, which made me sad, but it also meant that I had to change my race plan, since Jeff was going to meet me at a few places along the route so Olive could nurse. This was going to be the most efficient way to remove milk throughout the event, but without the family support, I had to rely on my rechargeable breast pumps to remove milk. This added more complexity to my gear planning, as I had to keep the pumps charged while riding in subzero temps to support the increased use. I grabbed an extra power bank and hoped for the best.

I had really thought that I’d be able to go to bed early on Saturday night, knowing that I had to wake up early Sunday morning for the drive, but it took me a long time to dial in my gear at the last minute, which included a night trip to Target for groceries. Finally I lay down on the couch at midnight (I didn’t want to catch the stomach flu!), then Olive started crying, which kept me up for another hour. The 5:00 a.m. alarm came too quickly, so I snoozed until 5:30 a.m.

The six-and-a-half-hour drive was a little dicey in a few spots, but overall went quickly and I rolled into town and went right to gear check. I was able to roll the fully loaded bike out of the back of the Astro van and right into gear check, so I am grateful that I was able to load it up at home, even if it kept me up late. I had to run back to the van to grab my helmet to complete the gear checklist, but other than that it went smoothly.

At the mandatory racer meeting, the race director informed us that they had to change the location of the race start due to forecasted lake ef- fect snow. There was a chance for anywhere from 0–18", and they had to plan for the potential of road closures preventing us from getting to the start line the next morning. He also informed us that because of this last-minute change, they had to add another four miles to the course, because it was either add four miles or take away twenty. I am pretty sure every one of us was bummed that he didn’t choose the latter. I think it’s worth noting that the race was advertised as 140 miles, but now the mileage was up to 158 miles with the route change, so I’m sure you understand why we were bummed. There were a few other route adjustments announced during the meeting, but nothing too crazy.

I had been hemming and hawing about my tire choice the days before the race, as one does. I had 45NRTH Wrathlordes on my Otso Voytek 2, since the 300 XL studs per tire make riding on ice feel like riding on dry pavement. I wasn’t sure if I should switch to Dillinger 4 26x4.2 for a faster rolling option, or to the Wrathchild 26x4.6 tires for the forecasted snow and wind gusts. With all the stress of the family getting sick and the change of plans, I decided to stick with the Wrathlordes, because I knew they could handle any extreme, and changing tubeless tires right before a cold race can be risky.

The next morning my 45NRTH teammates and I load into the van for the 15-minute drive to the start. I’m eating my breakfast en route. I take a bite about halfway through my bowl of oatmeal and eggs and it occurs to me that I forgot my helmet at the Airbnb. Noooooooooooo. Thank- fully there was an extra helmet in the van (thank you, Jenny!), so even though I didn’t have a helmet light to get me through the dark first sec- tion, I attached one of my backup lights on top of my handlebar bag since I didn’t actually have room for it on my bars, and was ready to ride.

That is what it took to get to the start line.

Getting to the Finish Line of the Polar Roll Ultra

I hear that there may have been a single firework that signaled the start of the race. I just remember being surprised that we were all of a sudden starting and I didn’t have my cycling computer cued up quite yet, so I fumbled with it while riding and dropped back a few spots. I had lined up at the front with the teammates, but I lost them almost immediately because of that mistake. I was set back further when I was be- hind the first person to crash in the snow once we hit the single track. A few mishaps, but there were still 158 miles to ride.

I settled into a comfortable endurance pace, but realized I was overdressed. It was 0oF and I was dressed for riding the road, not snowy single- track where you work harder and aren’t as exposed to the wind, so I pulled off to make some adjustments. I knew I had to avoid getting sweati- er than I was, or there could be issues later on. I took off my 45NRTH Nokken gloves and rode with bare hands in my Cobrafist pogies comfort- ably for most of the day. I took my sunglasses off, as the perspiration was causing them to fog. I put some food in my mouth and kept riding.

A few hours in, it was time to pump for the first time. I pulled off to the side, discreetly put the pumps in my bra, turned them on, and kept riding. When it was time to take them out, I pulled off to the side again, emptied the bottles into a storage bag, took a bite of food, and started riding again. At this point, I had leapfrogged a few times with a pair of folks that I knew, and it worked out for us to ride together for a bit. We split apart, I rode alone for a while, then at the first checkpoint, which I think was 60-ish miles in, we rejoined and officially decided to ride together. When I pulled into that first checkpoint, one of the volunteers excitedly handed me my helmet, thanks to Jenny, my guardian angel.

We left the checkpoint, slogged up a few gnarly climbs, and made it to the South Trails singletrack where one of my riding buddies had to bail. At this point night had fallen and I tried to turn on my helmet light. Dead. Dang, I totally thought I charged this before I left. I threw on my back- up light again, which worked just fine, but I was still bummed at yet another fail. On the side of the trail, a fellow racer, George from Philadel- phia, was having navigation woes so he jumped into our group and we dragged him with us to Wendy’s for a late dinner/break. Wendy’s was just off the trail, and we took an extended rest there. I realized that my pumps weren’t charging, despite me trying to keep the power bank and the pump warm in an inner back pocket, so I texted my guardian angel to see if she could swing by the restaurant and help. She was nearby and was happy to help, so she charged the pumps for me and dropped them at the next checkpoint 20 miles away. Seriously, what would I do without her?

At 10:00 p.m., we finally get moving again. We hop onto the snowmobile trail and I feel something drip, drip, dripping down my butt. Uh oh. I stop to investigate, and my hydration pack was leaking from the hose connection at the bottom of the bladder. Everything was set up correct- ly, so I made the choice not to dump my water, and to try to drink it as quickly as I could. I soon stopped feeling the drip, so I forgot about it for a while.

I’m not sure how long we had been riding when I saw somebody bivying on the side of the trail. For the next several hours I was dreaming about climbing into a warm sleeping bag under the trees. One of my riding buddies kept me going forward, telling me that the next checkpoint was just a few miles away. We knew the next checkpoint would have a warm cabin, food, and raging bonfire, so I kept moving. I was having a hard time breathing, which I chalked up to fatigue and lack of fitness, which were part of it, but the temps were now subzero and affecting my breathing. I had to push my heavy loaded bike anytime the pitch got steeper, and I’d have to stop often to catch my breath. I didn’t realize that the shortness of breath was caused by cold-induced asthma. I just thought it was really hard, and since I knew that the last 30 miles of the race had a lot of steep singletrack climbs, I wasn’t convinced that I actually wanted to finish this thing. And I was so sleepy. And all I could think about was tucking into my sleeping bag under the trees.

Finally, we made it to the next checkpoint at mile 95 around 3:40 a.m. I walked in and who did I see? My teammates! They had slept a few hours in the cabin and were waiting for some of their gear to dry out a bit more before heading back out. There was grilled ham and cheese and soup ready to go, so I slowly ate my sandwich while we traded stories. My pumps were waiting for me, so I took care of that as well. When I was peeling off layers to hang out to dry next to the wood stove, I realized that my lower back and butt were still soaking wet from when my hydration pack leaked. It was so wild that it stayed wet for that long, yet didn’t freeze and cause any issues.

There was space up in the cabin’s loft for all three of us to sleep, and I was the last of our group to crawl up to catch some z’s. I was exhausted and started to drift off right away, but I had a terrible cough, loads of phlegm, and was aware that I was making all sorts of noises because of it. Finally, I coughed enough to clear things up a bit, and was able to fall asleep for a few hours.

George was ready to leave a few hours before the other two of us, so he found another racer to join up with and took off. I went outside to grab something off my bike, and ughhhh. I had my bike leaned up against the cabin while we were sleeping, and the melted snow from the roof dripped all over the front of my bike. My cycling computer got the worst of it and was covered in probably a centimeter thick layer of ice. I wheeled my bike into the cabin and had to wait until the ice melts. Whew, the cycling computer worked just fine after the ice melted.

The whole time I was in the cabin I had no intention of riding the last 30 miles. In fact, I almost called it there. It was warm and cozy, and the day before was so challenging that I thought I got what I needed from the event. The two of us rallied a little before noon and started riding toward the next town about 30 miles away. We picked up another rider a few miles from the cabin, so again we were a group of three.

It took us five or six hours to get into the next town. The temps crept up to about 10oF or so, and the sun was shining. My mood improved, and I was actually feeling good on the bike. I had a little nagging knee pain, but nothing too worrisome. I was starting to consider actually attempt- ing to finish. All the while, the two people riding with me were both considering calling it at the next town, but everybody’s minds still seemed a little open to finishing. We were together long enough to witness each other swing from one mindset to another.

We got to the next town around 5:30 p.m. I checked Trackleaders to see where my teammates were, and they were set to finish any minute! We took a rest at the bike shop that hosted the finish line, and we were able to catch their finish. They had a strong ride and they earned their sub-36-hour buckles. My dreams of buckling had disappeared a long time ago, but I knew a sub-48-hour finish cut off was still achievable, so I officially decided to attempt a finish. My riding buddies were unfortunately out, so I geared up to hit the last 30 miles solo. I spent a little time at the bike shop trying to re-up some calories and get my gear set. My hydration pack had leaked again on the previous stretch, so I took the bladder out. I refilled my insulated water bottles with hot water, gleaned some leftover snacks from my teammates, and I was off.

The final 30 miles begins with a steep climb to get to the single track, where the first trail section is aptly named Hill Street. I was still feeling good when I started, so I tried to capitalize on it and push hard on the first several climbs. I had to walk up some because of how steep they were, but at least the snow was in decent shape. Eventually the shortness of breath hit again, and it hit worse than the day before. My pace slowed and slowed as my breaths got shorter and shorter. I still didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I battled with whether or not to call for a rescue. Eventually any exertion resulted in hyperventilating, so I took inventory of my body and observed that I wasn’t dizzy, I didn’t have a headache, my heart seemed to be ok, albeit beating a little fast, so I decided to stay the course. I took a lot of short breaks, walked almost every hill, fantasized again about crawling into my sleeping bag in my bivy under the trees, and kept going. I savored the downhills and labored through everything else.

At one point the course takes you down an iconic set of snowy steps. At the bottom I took an immediate right and missed a tiny bit of single- track. I saw the lights of two riders ahead of me, and they heckled me for missing that little bit of trail. I went back and rode the short section and popped out where those riders were hanging out. Who was it? George from Philadelphia! I didn’t think I’d see him again after he left the cabin a few hours before me that morning, but here he was! He was with another rider who was also struggling with cold-induced asthma, and both of them were having navigation issues, so they followed my lead the last six miles. They were a slow six miles, and I was bummed that I didn’t have enough breath to chat with George, but I enjoyed the company. They had missed a section of trail in those last six miles and need- ed to complete it or their finishes wouldn’t count. Admittedly the trails are pretty confusing in that section, as there are a lot of intersections, the trail doubles back on itself a few times, and the route wasn’t exactly intuitive. Either way, my navigation system got us through, and we made our way back to town.

We came up to a road crossing where a car was parked and there were a couple of people cheering. My teammates! They rested a little after their race finishes and came back out in the middle of the night to cheer! We only had around one or so more miles to the finish, so we kept going and pulled into the bike shop. It’s 4:05 a.m. We all pass gear check again and we get our finisher cookies. We freaking did it.

My teammates came with snacks and hydration and a change of clothes. I wanted to chat with everybody at the finish line but I was still strug- gling with my breathing. I took a hot shower, cleared up my airways a bit, pumped, and passed out. That was an experience.

For fun, here are the stats:
15 finishers
34 quitters
21 no-shows

I’m proud to say that I’m one of those finishers, because that was flipping hard.