viye tr’ixidinli’an | focus
T

he famous Chinese proverb by Lao Tzu says, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” Those words ring true to my story. My journey from Teller to Nome began long before it started.

On a fateful night in September of 1999, I found myself on an ambulance stretcher almost lifeless. All of the screams and the scenes of people trying to save my life faded away into absolute nothingness. I couldn’t hear and I couldn’t see. It was in this dark moment that I begged earnestly, with a simple yet powerful thought, “Dear God, save me.” I was sixteen years old, depressed and intoxicated. A hunting rifle blew off point blank in my face in an attempt to end my own life. But in the midst of the unknown I wanted to live. Miraculously, I survived. Alive, but legally blind and unable to speak.

As I was struggling to breathe in the intensive care unit I fell into a vision. A thick fog rolled into the room as an old village appeared. It felt so peaceful and there was no pain. My late great-grandfathers were sitting on the ground in their bird-feather parkas beckoning for me. As their eyes beamed with pride they greeted me silently. In our Native language they explained that it wasn’t my time yet and that I needed to go back because I was going to do great things. They gave me a blessing and I returned with a new sense of purpose. I knew everything would be okay, despite the pain of surviving with severe facial wounds.

A long distance run
By Carol Seppilu (Siberian Yupik)
Kilgaaqu
Girl doing a hike
My late great-grandfathers were sitting on the ground in their bird-feather parkas beckoning for me.
A long distance run
By Carol Seppilu (Siberian Yupik)
Kilgaaqu
Girl doing a hike
My late great-grandfathers were sitting on the ground in their bird-feather parkas beckoning for me.
T

he famous Chinese proverb by Lao Tzu says, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” Those words ring true to my story. My journey from Teller to Nome began long before it started.

On a fateful night in September of 1999, I found myself on an ambulance stretcher almost lifeless. All of the screams and the scenes of people trying to save my life faded away into absolute nothingness. I couldn’t hear and I couldn’t see. It was in this dark moment that I begged earnestly, with a simple yet powerful thought, “Dear God, save me.” I was sixteen years old, depressed and intoxicated. A hunting rifle blew off point blank in my face in an attempt to end my own life. But in the midst of the unknown I wanted to live. Miraculously, I survived. Alive, but legally blind and unable to speak.

As I was struggling to breathe in the intensive care unit I fell into a vision. A thick fog rolled into the room as an old village appeared. It felt so peaceful and there was no pain. My late great-grandfathers were sitting on the ground in their bird-feather parkas beckoning for me. As their eyes beamed with pride they greeted me silently. In our Native language they explained that it wasn’t my time yet and that I needed to go back because I was going to do great things. They gave me a blessing and I returned with a new sense of purpose. I knew everything would be okay, despite the pain of surviving with severe facial wounds.

Discovering Running
It wasn’t until more than a decade later when I discovered my purpose. The sun was shining brightly through the curtains as I woke up at noon not wanting to get up. The dark pull of depression exhausted me and kept me in bed most days. But on that day I told myself to get out and do something. Go for a two-mile run. That didn’t seem like much, but at 233 pounds, it almost felt impossible. I couldn’t even run more than a couple of blocks. But I made the decision to walk the rest of the way. After an entire year of hard work and consistency, I fell completely in love with running. It made me healthier and happier.

A few local races kept me itching to go farther. A friend of mine had signed up for a race at a distance that amazed me. 100 miles. Who knew such a thing existed? I thought my half-marathon was far. The foreign world of ultrarunning came into my life. I signed up for the 20 miler. The rain was miserable as it came down hard the entire time. But as I sat around waiting for my friend to finish her 100-mile race, I experienced an epiphany. All of these runners were smiling. Their perseverance shined brightly through the dark and cold weather. If they can get joy out of doing something so painful, I wanted that too. My own life had been so full of pain and the thought of learning how to smile through it made me hopeful.

Guy and Girl going on hike
The stories of our Ancestors trekking across the harsh Arctic lands inspired me. We come from a long line of strong and resilient people.
The stories of our Ancestors trekking across the harsh Arctic lands inspired me. We come from a long line of strong and resilient people. In my Native language, there is a word for a long distance run. Kilgaaqu. Our men walked for miles to hunt for their families. Our women hiked over the horizon to pick greens and berries, carrying heavy loads on their way back. I drew from their strength during my quest for distance. I ran up in the mountains with my dog and thought of them often.

Over the past few years I successfully completed several long distance races across the United States. All for my own reasons and also to inspire others to keep going through news and social media outreach. But the calling to share my story closer to home hit during a springtime run up to the mountain. I mourned the loss of our people who had taken their own lives. Tragically, suicide has been a growing epidemic in the recent decades. I felt an urge to pray. My most powerful prayers are done during a very long run so I immediately reached out to a fellow runner. The thought of running the roads out of Nome had been discussed between us before but I told him that we need to do it for my people. We needed to run soon, that summer, from Teller to Nome. I felt blessed for this friend who wholeheartedly agreed to do it with just a two-month notice.

FROM TELLER TO NOME
On the morning of July 11, we set out for the 72-mile drive on the dirt road out to Teller. It was a beautiful summer day with blue skies and sunshine. I splashed myself with ocean water when we arrived to cool down — it was hot. Tim and I set our watches and we started our journey back to Nome on foot.

As we made our way up the 10 mile hill we had already seen our first bear running across the valley. But these wild animals weren’t our biggest obstacle out there. When running ultramarathons the biggest challenge to overcome is your own mind. You have to train your mind to be strong otherwise it’ll be easy to quit. I tried not to think about the miles as a whole. My main focus was to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

People waved hi as they shouted out the window, “Go Carol!” Curious birds flew alongside us and sang songs. At one point I thought my running partner said something but it was just a ptarmigan. I laughed to myself. Tim dunked his hat at each river we passed. A friend stopped by to run a portion of it with us. Brodie and I talked about how running has improved our mental health. It had been a tough time for me that weekend before and I expressed how grateful I was to have found something that helps me.

The biggest challenge to overcome is your own mind. You have to train your mind to be strong otherwise it’ll be easy to quit.
ONLY 50 MORE MILES TO GO
The mile markers along the way reminded us how far we were from the finish. I remember thinking, “Only 50 more miles, you got this.” And as that thought settled in I found myself in awe at the distance. Tim’s wife Burr and their two little dogs parked the truck every 10 miles to set food and water for us. They were like a ray of sunshine that refreshed my mind and made me smile. The dogs begged for snacks and it made me laugh as Burr told them they weren’t the ones running 72 miles. I snuck nibbles of meat for them.

My legs and feet started hurting after 12 hours of running and walking, but my spirit stayed strong. It felt as if the Creator was pushing us to keep going with the winds on our back. The sun began to set after midnight and the tundra came to life. A whimbrel flew with us for a few miles. A couple of muskox rammed at each other, unbothered by our presence. It was beautiful. But we were also wary of bears.

After a long walking spell I just randomly started running. The pain was intense but all I could think of was getting to the finish. Burr had the truck set up but I ran past it without stopping. Tim told her to meet us at the high school. But after a few miles of running we were back to walking. A truck slowly approached. Burr spotted a sow with three cubs just up ahead and told us she’d be driving alongside for our safety. It wasn’t long after when she yelled out the window while motioning with her hands. A muskox was running straight towards us but hesitated at our sight. We backed away cautiously. I calmly said, “Hey, we don’t want to hurt you,” as if it could understand. It huffed at us while running by. I was relieved but shaken. The muskox was running away from a bear so we stayed alert, it was an eerie walk. We spotted the bears not too far down the road eating their fresh kill. Mama bear kept her eye on us. We walked past them safely and made it into Nome.

The last mile was the most difficult. My entire body hurt from exhaustion. I broke down and cried but no tears could come out. The familiar sound of Solar, my dog, barking made me happy. Solar trained with me often in her younger years and she protected me from many encounters with wild animals. The sight of her and my mother made me run up the last little hill. We finished.

As I reflect on this run and the prayers that were uttered, the feeling of a great accomplishment sets in. But as Lao Tzu said, it was just a single step. We have much work to do in helping our people heal from the hurt that is not often addressed. We must help each other to keep going.