On July 3rd, 2012, 65-year-old Michael LaMater laced up his sneakers in preparation for a wilderness

race on Mount Marathon. Mount Marathon sits far at the southern tip of Alaska, nestled between

majestic fjords, glaciers, and the sea, in a small port town named Seward.

Sewerd is just south of Anchorage and has barely 3,000-year-round residents. Its biggest draw is

its annual wilderness race, the one that Michael was preparing for. It's been going on since

1915, and it's basically a three-mile out and back.

Every 4th of July, hundreds of runners race up and down the peak.

If you think that sounds easy, because it's only three miles, after all, well, it's definitely not.

For the first mile plus, participants have to run up a straight incline, battling roots, rocks,

cliffs, and dodging occasional encounters with bears. And when you finally reach the top,

you go from climbing a mountain to sprinting down a cliff. And all the way, you're fighting against

trees, mud, snow, and precipices that come out of nowhere,

while the gravity of your own body urges you onwards. There have been a lot of injuries during this race,

broken bones, head traumas. One time, someone was even impaled by a tree. It doesn't sound like my idea of a good time,

but Michael LaMater was so, so excited for this race.

He was a lively, outdoorsy guy who was always trying to find a new adventure,

and Mount Marathon was on his bucket list.

In 2012, he applied for a lottery slot to run at their annual Bacchanal,

and he got in. So then, on July 3rd, Michael and his wife, Peggy, drove to Seward. They attended

some mandatory safety meetings, picked up Michael's racing number, 548, and otherwise prepped for the big day.

And then, on July 4th, Michael donned a sweatband with black shorts and a black tea,

kissed his wife goodbye, and around 3 p.m., he joined over a hundred other runners at the

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