Anna Frost’s Magical Hardrock Journey
by Robbie Lawless
‘Eyes locked into mine to bring me back from the zombie land, warm soft hands massaged my legs, blankets wrapped around me and Braz repeated to me that the sun was only an hour away…’
It was upon leaving Ouray, a little over half way into her second ever 100 mile race, that Anna Frost’s Hardrock 100 started to go off-the-rails. It wasn’t pain or injury but the heavy weight of sleep — that irresistible, hard-wired need to just curl up and drift off into that beautiful state — that was the culprit. ‘The feeling of being so sleepy was intriguing to me,’ says Frosty. ‘I could barely keep my eyes open and wasn’t thinking clearly or even walking straight — all I could think of was lying down in the grass and sleeping.‘
Up until that point Frosty had seemed like a women possessed. Finally being given the chance to run the race that had consumed her for years, she was embracing the challenge with open arms. ‘It’s a race that captivates certain people. Not everyone will be touched by it, but the people who are are over taken by it,’ says Frosty. ‘It sinks into your bones, your mind runs it over and over and your blood won’t rest until it’s done.’
Up until the halfway point of the race, Frosty’s Hardrock obsession was beginning to resemble a Hardrock procession — she was the leading women, mixing it up with the front runners and seemly marching her way to a first-date winner’s kiss with the famous rock. Two things stood in her way, the fabled Hardrock course itself — considered one of toughest 100 milers on the planet — the other, a seasoned, Hardrock legend. Both were coming out to play — Frosty, as so often before, was going to have to dig deep for this one.
‘I mentally lost it,’ says Frosty of her mid-race meltdown. Battling on through the aid stations at Virginius and then down into Telluride, almost 73 miles into the race, there wasn’t much else for her to do than keep but putting one foot and front of the other while hoping she’d pull through her lethargy. Just as Frosty was having her low point, charging onwards and upwards behind her was none other than Darcy Africa — three times Hard Rock winner. It was on the way out of Telluride, up towards Oscars, that Darcy caught Frosty and took the lead.
‘I didn’t care one bit, I was proud of Darcy,’ says Frosty, remembering the moment of being passed. In fact, it gave Frosty another glimpse of the renowned Hardrock camaraderie. ‘We stopped, hugged and wished each other well. I said I needed to sleep, she said I’d be back.’ And with that she disappeared into the darkness, leaving Frosty in no doubt to their contrasting states of body and mind. ‘I was amazed at how easily she moved through the snow, she didn’t seem cold, I was freezing! I could see the frost building up on everything around me…even my eye lashes.’ As she struggled on to the aid station at Chapman, battling both tiredness and temperatures, icy eyelashes not helping in keeping already heavy eyelids open, the only thought keeping her company, was lying down and sleeping. It turns out it wasn’t rest but redemption she found upon arriving.
‘When I arrived there was my awesome crew and other amazing Durango friends I had met on the road to Hardrock.’ says Frosty about Chapman aid station, 18 miles and two summits away from the Hardrock finish line. It was here, slumped into a chair that she was massaged, molly-coddled and moccafied. The promise of sleep, her beacon through the darkness, snatched away and replaced by the promise of light.
‘I didn’t really understand why Braz had kept saying that the sun was only an hour away,’ says Frosty about her final pacer, Ron Braselton’s mantra. She was about to find out, however. As they headed up the penultimate climb of Grand Swamp, Frosty saw daylight, both literally and figuratively. ‘The dawn brought the singing birds, the light and eventually the sun onto my skin. Then we saw Darcy up ahead and we realised it was now or never.’
Looking back to Frosty’s spring and early summer existence, it’s an achievement in itself that she even got the chance to come to that now-or-never moment. In fact, considering Frosty couldn’t run a step for the majority of that time because of a mysterious hip problem, starting Hardrock was a surprise to many. If the injury-prone early season Frosty was a result of her travel-laden, feverish, euro lifestyle, the one that was about to tackle the last ten, brutal Hardrock miles was 100% made in Colorado. ‘After I left the hectic travel schedule for the San Juan mountains I felt a huge sense of happiness and release,’ she says. ‘I spent the first few weeks in USA walking long and running a little. I believe that often our injuries are caused through mental stress and fatigue and when we can let this go our pains and niggles can also release. Sometimes it’s just a matter of finding what to let go of and how to move on.’ Now, in the final Hardrock act, Frosty found herself with nothing left to let go of.
‘It couldn’t get any worse that it already was could it?’ says Frosty of her reckoning behind trying to chase down Darcy and go for the win, before deciding that, ‘well maybe yes, but it was worth a try. So we went, and we didn’t stop — not even in the last two miles.’ She had survived the longest, darkest night of running and tapped into that indomitable spirit that has sculpted her career. She’d done it. She’d gone and won Hardrock.
‘When the finish arrived…I was in shock, in denial, I couldn’t believe we were there,’ she says remembering the moment. ‘Kissing the rock still seems like a crazy dream that took so long but came so quick. For me this is so much more than a race…it is a family, a community, a history, a magical journey!’
Though it’s Frosty’s name that will be woven into the intricate fabric of Hardrock’s folklore, she’s quick to point of that there’s a whole world of support that played it’s part. ‘Without the love and support and belief from so many people around the world I don’t think I could have dug deep, I don’t know if I could have found those legs,’ she says, before adding. ‘Running is not an individual sport…it is all of us together…believing we can do it and then it is just up to us to piece the puzzle together.‘
