My Summer of Surrender | Fat Dog 120 Race Report

 If you want to weaken something, first you must let it grow strong.

This summer I lost my job and then I DNF’d one of the biggest races of my life.

 

It has been the most amazingly horrible beautiful summer ever.

 

You may wonder why I’m starting a race report this way.  I really have two stories to tell and as much as I’ve tried, I cannot separate the two.  If you are looking for a play by play of course descriptions and splits, you won’t find it here as this isn’t your typical race report.  As usual, I use writing as a way to process events, thoughts and feelings.  I thought for a long time before I decided to tell the full story, but if someone can find some encouragement in it, then it’s worth sharing.

 

I first visited Manning Park back in 2016 for the Fat Dog 70 miler (race report here).  It was one of the best race experiences of my life, and although I have a rule of never doing the same race twice, when my friends Dave and Ihor invited me to sign up for the 120 miler with them in Dec, I really couldn’t resist.  At that point I had thought it was a UTMB qualifier, eventually finding out that with the UTMB World Series changes, it wasn’t.  Even so, Manning Park is hands down one of the most stunning places I have ever been, and I wanted to return.

 

No one signs up for a 120 mile race in the middle of the wilderness because they simply want to run.  That's what marathons are for.  I guarantee you that every single person who crossed that start line was seeking something more.  These races are pilgrimages of the body, mind and soul.  You run through refiner’s fire.  This entire summer has been quite the period of personal growth, discovery and healing for me.  It seems every race report I write is totally different.  That’s because no two ultras are the same, and I’m never the same.  A different me starts and finishes every race.  I can’t write this report without starting at the beginning.

 

In June I showed up at work one day and came home with a banker’s box and a plant under my arm. To say I was shocked was an understatement. I felt humiliated, confused, scared and alone.  I had a mortgage, two kids in braces, and a belief that my value was intrinsically tied to my ability to work and suddenly found myself without the structure and security that an occupation provided.  At the same time, I was exhausted, completely burned out, and the company had generously ensured I was taken care of for a while.  It only took me one day to realize that what initially seemed like the worst thing ever was actually a massive gift.  I was suddenly available for all the end of school activities for my kids and looking forward to a summer of family and running events not constrained by precious vacation days. I will also admit the idea of unlimited sleep sounded pretty appealing.

 

I woke up on my first day of unemployment, got the kids off to school, and immediately headed up Moose Mountain.  I think best on the top of a mountain and now had all the time in the world to train, so why not?  I planned to spend the day like a pro runner – morning run, afternoon nap, evening run.  After 7.5k and 700m of climbing I reached the summit and paused.  I asked God for guidance, to tell me what to do.  What do you want me to do Lord?  I started to descend.

Moose Mountain Summit

 BAM!

 

Before I could think another thought, I found myself sprawled on the scree slope, covered in blood from the rocks, and howling in nauseating pain.  I had sprained my right ankle so badly I almost vomited.  I couldn’t believe it.  Six weeks out from Fat Dog, just recovered from COVID with lots of catch up to do, suddenly unemployed with all the time in the world to train, my friend Sarah coming in a few days to go running in Crowsnest Pass…and I had just sprained my ankle on the top of a scree covered mountain.  I stood up and tested it.  I could weight bear…it wasn’t broken. The real pain and swelling hadn’t set in yet, and I was able to run:walk the 7.5K down to my car.  As my whole foot started to turn black, I knew multiple ligaments were gone.  Completely torn ligaments don’t hurt.

 

As soon as I got home I texted my mom, “I guess God wants me flat on my ass.”  Her reply, “Yep. I guess God wants you flat on your ass for awhile. Can only go up from here. Rest. Heal. Regroup. We’ve all got you. ❤️🙏”    #lovemyfamily

 

And so I spent the week on the couch, doing rehab, and thinking.  Looking back, if I hadn’t sprained my ankle, I’m positive with all my extra time, I would have overtrained in overcompensation for what I felt I had lost while having COVID.  I may have pushed myself into a long COVID situation, or gone on an adventure so far off grid I may have gotten into worse trouble.  You know when you pray those prayers that you truly give God permission to answer?  Be careful because He does and not always how you would like.  He wanted me to be still…and know.

 

I felt useless.  I am a 4^th generation Ukrainian-Canadian farm girl who has always been rewarded and valued for hard work.  My great grandfather came from the Ukraine as a 16 year old orphan and homesteaded the land that has now been in my family for over 100 years. Hard work = survival.  It’s in my DNA.  For the first time in my life I wasn’t working. What was I supposed to do with myself?  I decided to take the summer to decide what I wanted to do next and just enjoy life.  I soon realized I had so much planned, that I had no idea how I would have done it all while also working.  My mom reminded me, “Kim – you don’t have time to work until at least Sep!”  She was right.  There was far too much to do!  But I told her, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I had a job by the race?  Then I could really relax and just run.”  Losing my job was the destabilizing catalyst I needed to deeply reassess my goals, priorities, desires and dreams. I also started to see my value not just in the things I accomplished, but in who I was and the time I could give to my family and friends. Somehow I was completely ok with not working and felt no urgency at all about finding a job. The fact that my family was so supportive was a pleasant surprise.

 

I started doing lots of hiking instead of running, still getting some vert in.  Within 2 weeks I could run non-technical terrain, and managed to log 50-55 mile weeks of hiking and running.  Not huge miles, but I took what my body gave.  Sinister 7 happened and I had a great weekend crewing and cheering for Sarah and Ihor in the 100 mile event.  It was such a gift to have the time to relax and not worry about rushing back to work.  I did not miss it at all.

 

My ankle continued to improve and I felt confident in the few weeks heading into Fat Dog.  I was not as well trained as I had hoped, but there was no swelling left in my ankle and it felt good enough on technical terrain to handle 120 mile pace.  I had also trained hard all winter and spring, ran a very good race at Gorge Waterfalls 100k in April, and had a good base.  I was sleeping in, training in the hottest parts of the day, having naps, cooking and eating well.  I was the most rested I have ever been in my life which was a very odd feeling for someone used to being chronically fatigued.

 

Throughout July, I half heartedly searched for work.  The truth was I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  Did I want to return to being a clinical physiotherapist?  Continue in health care management?  Go back to school?  Work full time?  Work part time?  Work for myself? Coach? Teach?  I wasn’t worried about finding work as I knew I had many very marketable skill sets, but I didn’t know where to focus my efforts.  I applied for a few positions, but nothing came of them.  Nothing I found on the job boards really excited me and I wasn’t going to waste the gift of time I’d been given by rushing into something - fueled by a scarcity mindset - that wasn’t a good fit.

 

The last week of July, I started to get discouraged and started to let the fear creep in. After a month off, I was finally starting to feel like myself and I was concerned that I still didn’t know what I wanted to do.

 

“The answers will appear when you’re ready for them.  Allow yourself to be ready.”

 

And so, in another simple prayer I got out of my own way and gave it all up.  I gave up my job search, I gave up the fear of not being able to provide for my kids, I gave up the fear of making another career choice that wasn’t the right fit.  I decided I was going off Linked In because it was stressing me out.

 

That very afternoon, I got a message from a Linked In recruiter telling me my profile was a perfect fit for a non-profit job she was trying to fill and would I be interested in hearing more about it? The idea of working for a non-profit health care organization was something I had never considered and it intrigued me.  I agreed to talk to her.

Bonk and I are on the road!

 

A week later the day arrived when I loaded up my car to start the journey to Manning Park.  There I was meeting a large crew from Manitoba, Sarah from the Comox Valley, and Ihor from Chilliwack.  It was starting to get real! Conversations had continued with the non-profit and I found myself parked at Tim Horton’s in Penticton doing a second interview from my car.  What was happening? I ended the

interview and continued to Keremeos to check out the state of the forest fire burning very close to our race route. It was under control, and all the smoke was blowing northeast, so I wasn’t worried.  Driving west along Highway 3, the cell service was very patchy however it seemed like every time I entered a zone with service, my phone would start ringing and I would pull over to talk to the recruiter.  By the time I got to Princeton two hours later, we had an agreement and I had verbally accepted a position I had never seen posted and didn’t apply for.  As soon as I stopped looking, the answers started appearing.

 After a quick stop in Princeton to say hi to Joel Toews (racing) and Brad Whitson (crew), I arrived at our Manning Park Resort cabin completely relaxed.  Dave, Marty and Carlos (friends from Winnipeg) arrived a few hours later, and Sarah (my pacer and crew) rolled in the next morning.  The rest of Thursday was a flurry of organizing drop bags, the pre-race brief, eating, and logistics discussions.

Brad & Joel (and Bonk, my running mascot)

Kristian, me, Dave, Ihor, Carlos, Marty

Race Day – Friday Aug 5

Start Time: 10am

Cut Off: 48 hours (increased to 49 hours this year due to course changes)

Distance: 123.5+ miles

Gain: 29,236' +

Location: Cathedral Provincial Park and Manning Provincial Park, BC Canada

 

Although the area had just had a heat wave of 35C, race morning dawned clear and cold.  It had actually frozen during the night.  The 10am start for the 120 miler was a two hour drive back toward Keremeos in Cathedral Park.  This puts into perspective how far we had to run.  Incidentally, we did not have cell service at all in the entire stretch of Highway 3 that I had driven two days previously and taken all those calls.  Hmmm.  How had they gotten through?

My good luck charm

Team Free Agent

Joel and I looking the best we ever would the rest of the weekend

GPX track ready to go!

The two reasons I got into this mess :) Dave & Ihor

The first leg of the race was a 13k 1435m climb up Cathedral.  I was surprised to notice that it was smokey and I felt a little dizzy for the last part of the climb. I know it was the smoke because the elevation wasn’t unusual for me.  I started slow and steady, and felt really good as we dropped 1300m down over 14.5k to Ashnola aid station where Sarah was waiting. I was a little behind schedule, but felt I was running completely within myself and wasn’t concerned.  For some reason I had given Sarah a jar of Santa Cruz Organic Lemonade to have for me at Ashnola.  I’ve never had lemonade during a race and downed half the jar in one breath.  Did that ever hit the spot!  New race essential item.

 

The stretch from Ashnola to Trapper was only 7k and I passed through it in less than 2 min.  They were cooking up burgers and I remember saying – do people actually want burgers this early?  The volunteer replied that “a guy just came through here and ate three.”  Later Dave told me that HE was that guy.  I should have known.  He has a stomach of steel and ended up eating 10 quesadilla’s at one aid station.  He was likely the only person who may have actually gained weight during the race.  Oh to have a stomach like his.

 

The next stretch was published as 15.5K and ended up closer to 20k on my watch.  I was pretty dry when I rolled into Calcite and starting to worry about making the next cut off.  Luckily the stretch from Calcite to the Pasayten River crossing was about 4k less than expected and I was thrilled to see the river so soon!  The crossing was refreshing and I had left a change of shoes on the other side.  Putting on fresh socks and shoes was like a reset to my system.  Bliss!  The AS volunteer told me it was 6k to Bonnevier where Sarah was waiting for me, with “not that much climbing.”

 

Um.  What locals call “not that much climbing” and what I define as such were not the same thing.  The race route funneled us onto a rough “road” that had been cleared straight up the mountainside.  I later found out that cats had ploughed through in the middle of the night during the fires of 2018 in an attempt to save residential properties at East Gate.  I could not believe that any machine could possibly travel up the grades that I was climbing.  The fire break went straight up and then straight down over and over, with no consideration for contour lines at all.  I tried to remain positive as I could see headlamps bobbing ahead of me looking like they were miles above me and then miles below.  I was grateful I could only see a small circle from the light of my headlamp and not what lay ahead.  One step at a time. Finally we topped out and then had a super runnable road descent down into Bonnevier.  It was nighttime, it was cool, and my legs felt amazing.  I started to make my mental list of things to do at the aid station, and noted my body felt just fine. I just needed to load up for a very long and remote stretch to Hope Pass where I would see Sarah next and where she planned to start pacing me.  Coffee, broth, Spring Energy, fresh shirt, new hat, light jacket…Sarah shoved a can of gingerale in my hand and I was off.  

 

I left Bonnevier at 12:30am, only 1 hour ahead of cut offs and very near the back of the pack.  I have never been that far back before, but I also knew that there was a LOT of race left, I felt good, and the next cut off was much more generous – I had until 6pm to make it to Hope Pass 57km away.  Just keep doing what you’re doing.

 

The coffee and gingerale hit my system quickly, and I started up the climb to Heather Trail.  This is where the trouble started.  The path was double cambered and very narrow. Not only was it headed up, but it also dropped down to the left, so that my right foot was constantly rolling in with each step.  Some places were overgrown and in the dark, my foot kept rolling in unpredictable ways over and over again.  I was started to get fatigued enough that my ability to react was slowing.  I was still moving well though, and almost stepped on someone sleeping on the trail.  That someone said – oh hi Kim!  Huh?  How do you…? It was Joel, and we proceeded to leap frog for quite a while until at some point I think he took another nap and I plowed on.  

 

It was also in this section that my watch started to go very screwy.  I had plugged it in to charge and then it tried to do an auto update in the middle of the wilderness.  Obviously that wasn’t happening, and I had to continually restart the track and reboot my watch.  I knew my mileage and time was now all off, but was also worried because the race required we have a charged GPS device on us at all times.  Eventually I gave up and stashed my watch in my pack.  It just wouldn’t stay on and had never acted that weirdly before.

 

I started to notice that the sound of my left foot hitting the ground was distinctly louder than my right foot, and that I was noticeably limping.  I hadn’t really been paying attention to how my ankle felt, so as I neared Heather AS and a soft glow started to warm the sky, I started to check in.  Yes, it hurt differently than my left foot, and not in the usual lateral region.  There was a gross burning deep in the joint, and sharp catching pains when I jammed it on rocks.  These things often just go away over time, and hoped that would be the case this time.

 

I arrived at Heather AS at 4:30am just as the temperature was dropping before the dawn.  I was still in short sleeves with no gloves, but my hands were starting to get cold so I put my jacket and gloves on and accepted some saltine crackers from the shaking hands of an AS volunteer.  Their camp was very exposed and cold and I felt such gratitude for the volunteers that endured that cold night to support us!  I run warm and didn’t really feel the cold much but as soon as I stopped I realized that it really was chilly!  They didn’t have much for food and no electrolytes up there, so I hoped that my supply would hold out until I got to Nicomen Lake.

It is always in that hour just before the dawn that I feel the most tired and thoughts of quitting creep in. I was starting to weave on the trail, moving pretty slowly, getting nauseated, and I wasn’t having fun.  The pain started to take over my thoughts, and I couldn’t see how I could possibly keep going.

And then the dawn broke.  Experiencing sunrise on Heather Trail when in a mildly altered state of consciousness is quite possibly the most magical thing I have ever experienced.  The sky started to glow orange, then pink.  The wild flowers were glowing red, blue, purple and white on a bed of lush green foliage.  As the sky brightened, I could see that they were dusted in a light layer of frost that almost made them sparkle.  The trail here was basically flat compared to the rest of the course, and undulated through the high alpine meadows along trickling streams and always through a wild garden of flowers.  I looked up to see the tops of the mountains framed in a pink glow, then down to a scene that seemed right out of Lord of the Rings.  It was almost too much to take in.  My heart ached with the awareness that I was experiencing something very special, something that only those with the legs to climb to this place through a night would ever see.

 I was slowing down, starting to have to pay attention to each and every footstep as I placed my right foot on the rocky trail.  I was bouncing between feeling euphoric and hopeless in the same breath and starting to get worried that things were not getting better.

 

Kristian (pacer) & Ihor

Then I looked up, and saw Ihor and Kristian coming up the trail towards me on their return from Nicomen Lake.  I knew the front runners would be coming through, but wasn’t sure when to expect them.  They looked strong and fresh in the morning light, and knowing Ihor was leading the race gave me such a boost.  I continued on, and although I was starting to feel even more rotten, vomiting every 20 min or so, I now desperately wanted to keep going.  All thoughts of quitting were gone, yet I was forced to confront the reality that something was definitely not good with my ankle.

 

As the day started warming up, and I was starting to mildly hallucinate, I was questioning everything.  Is this real?  Is this just in my head?  I was still moving decently and had managed to gain 3-5 positions in the last segments. Not great, but not losing ground.  I tried to just ignore the pain but the sound of my left foot hitting the ground started to get louder and louder as I leaned more and more heavily on my poles.  I locked out my right ankle at 90 deg for climbing and vaulted on my poles as the descents got more and more painful.  Thank-you poles for not breaking!

 

Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

 

How many times have I said that to others? Just the week before the race, I had gone on a rant about a certain marine and ultra running author who glorifies causing bodily injury to himself to achieve feats of physical endurance.  I would be a hypocrite if I did the same.  And besides, I really really wanted to run another day.  Another 20 year’s worth of days.

 

"If we want to fold something up, we must first spread it out.
If we want to weaken something, we must first strengthen it.
If we want to get rid of something, we must first encourage it.
If we want to have something, we must first let it go.

Vs 36 Tao Te Ching

 

I had to wait until I truly didn’t want to quit to let myself make the call.  I needed to know that I wasn’t using my ankle as an excuse, but rather a reason.  I needed to know that I didn’t secretly want to quit (as we all do at times during these races), and was just manifesting this ankle pain as an excuse to do that. It is true that whatever the mind believes, the body achieves, but also

“…the movements of the body reveal the movements of the soul.” Leon Battista Alberti

 

Was the limping I was experiencing simply a manifestation of an imbalance in my mind?  

 

I sat on a log just before the descent to Nicomen Lake and pulled down my sock.  I could still see my veins (good thing), but there was an unusual strip of swelling directly across my anterior joint line. I poked around.  The anterior tib tendon was very tender, but that made sense given the way I was locking out my foot.  No one ever died of tendinitis.  But then I pointed my foot and my fingers hit the talar dome and I knew.  I knew that if I hadn’t had it before, I now had a high ankle sprain and that the strip of swelling was from the joint.  I was now risking talar dome cartilage defects and osteochondritis dessicans.  Both are usually show stoppers for trail runners.  Don’t be an idiot Kim.  This is isn’t just in your mind.  This is real.

The stretch down from Nicomen Lake was one of my favorite downhill sections from my last journey on the trail.  I remember just flying down it.  Although climbing still felt pretty good, descending started to become more and more uncomfortable.  Every single step required conscious thought and foot placement, which was mentally exhausting after 24 hours on the trail.  I was sooo frustrated that I couldn’t run, but had now moved from bargaining to acceptance.

 

Since my watch had stopped working, I had lost track of time and wasn’t using salt, eating or drinking on schedule.  I started to get more and more woozy and could feel my eyes puffing up, although my hands remained ok.  Although the trail was still clearly at least a 1000’ up from the riverbed, I started seeing bridges in the trees and was sure I was almost at the Grainger Creek aid station.  That 10K section took me 2.5 hours.  Knowing what still to come in the race (Skyline!!!) I knew it was over.  Even making it to Hope Pass was unwise.

 

Grainger Creek Aid Station

Joel passed me just before I reached Grainger Creek, roughly 110k into the race.  Given there was no cell service anywhere on route, at the aid station I asked him to take word to Sarah that I had dropped.  She was waiting with Brad for us at Hope Pass 16k further up the trail, ready to pace me.  The decision made, I laid down on a tarp at the aid station and slept for an hour until a volunteer was able to escort me out to the road 7k away and give me a ride back to the lodge.  A big shout out to the volunteers at this aid station – they were so caring and so kind.

 

Ever since I was a child I have been trying to keep up with the boys.  It was just my brother and I, and farms with only boys for miles and miles.  I could run, jump, climb, push, pull and work as well as any of them.  Farm kids are valued for how hard they can work and my grandfather used to remark with pride about how strong I was.  “Anything you can do I can do better,” was the mantra of my youth and the origin of my competitive spirit as I attempted to prove myself.  Somehow at this race I found myself again the only woman with a crew of men, and I realized that deep down I really really wanted to do well largely because of that.  Because I am a woman and not just an ultrarunner.  After both losing my job and dropping from the race, I had to yet again let go of my pride and my inferiority complex.  I’ve been forced to practice that so much lately that it seems to be getting a little easier.  

 So I ended the race as the only woman and the only DNF in our group of friends. Any grief I felt about that I had left on the mountain and I was at peace.  After a shower, nap and a meal, I paid Ihor a visit to congratulate him and hear his victory story, and then immediately started tracking and cheering my remaining friends left of course.  

 

I am an empath. I absorb energy from others very viscerally.  I often feel the negative feelings of others as physical pain which isn’t always convenient (especially for a PT) because I don’t know what’s my pain or theirs.  It can be a real curse, especially during a race surrounded by people in pain.  I need to be alone to truly know what only I am feeling.  But I also feel the joy and happiness of others almost like a narcotic drug, and this is where I used my empathic tendencies for the positive.  Without realizing what I was doing, on 2 hours of sleep I found myself up most of Sat night waiting for runners to come in.  Sharing in finish line successes was like healing medicine and I soaked it up. There is no better way to cheer yourself up than to celebrate the success of someone else. This is part of why I love crewing so much.

Ihor ended up winning the 120 mile event, to the surprise of no one who knows him. He earned it though, on a course that ended up being closer to 130 miles.  Dave and Joel got their buckles and Hardrock qualifiers as well, and Marty & Carlos completely rocked the 70 miler.  Congratulations to you all - I am super proud and excited for each and every one of you!

I have to take a moment to acknowledge Sarah.  She has been my trail sister for almost 2 decades.  We have seemingly been living parallel lives for the past 4 years and we came together this summer to celebrate all that we’ve been through and all that we have become.  She has been my biggest fan and constant supporter.  I felt so badly that she had come all the way from the island, stayed up all night and didn’t even get the chance to run with me.  We had been looking forward to some trail time together for so long.  Even though we were both disappointed, she said and did all the right things to make me feel ok.  After the race award, we ended up stand-up paddle boarding on the lake instead of running together. While we laid on the beach talking about the weekend, she reminded me that my watch had stopped working precisely when my ankle started to flare. “You were never meant to finish this race.  Everything that has happened this summer has propelled you to the next level of growth. I’m so glad I could be here to witness it.”  Thank-you my friend. And thank-you for helping me to see that.

 

“Wouldn’t it be cool if I had a job by the race?”

“You don’t have time to work until Sep.”

 

Monday, Aug 8

The next day I was scrolling through emails and noticed that I had received a letter of offer at 10:01am on Friday, 1 minute after the race began.  I start my new position as Provincial Manager of Healthcare Operations for Vision Loss Rehabilitation Canada on Sep 14.

 

The answers will appear when you are ready for them.

Ask and then...

Be ready.

 

 

 

Fat Dog 70, 2016 - Race Report

The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. Habakkuk 3:19

The more I run ultras, the more I love it.  Starting along this path has been a slippery slope.  I ran the Fat Dog 70 six days ago and I'm still smiling as I process the whole event.  Because it really was an event. An experience.  Not a race.  Not a run.  An experience.

I started the 2016 Fat Dog 70 event at 7:00 am on Aug 13 with the goal of simply finishing the distance, ideally in 24 hours.  I surpassed my goal by more than 3 hours and finished as strong as I could have ever hoped for.  But this run was about more than just me.  It was about more than 1 day.  It was about 8 months of training and developing friendships with a couple special people that culminated in a the most perfect day of my summer.

Shortly after moving to Manitoba last summer from Vancouver Island, BC, I went on a run with Scott. Then a few weeks later I met Todd.  Little did I know where these chance meetings would lead me.  Before I knew it, Todd and I had joined Scott in his plan to pursue his dream of doing the Fat Dog 120.  In December we registered, booked our hotel, and named ourselves the Manitoba Dawgs. Over the next 8 months, we ran together when we could and supported each other virtually when we couldn't.

On Aug 9 we loaded up the truck and started a 23 hour drive from Manitoba to Manning Park, BC.  Todd and Scott where entered in the 120 mile event, and one can predictably assume that the focus of all conversations was the 120 miler.  There was talk of 49 hour cut offs, running through 2 nights, 3 major summits and a general suffer fest.  I frequently heard myself saying, "I'm ONLY doing 70 miles."  When I quietly put my run into context with theirs, it seemed relatively easy.  Not quite as daunting.  After all, I was only going to have to run through one night, not two.  It's all how you frame it.

I desperately wanted my friends to have the race of their dreams.  I spent the first 2 days in BC going to the 120 mile start line, going to the 120 mile race brief, doing acupuncture on the guys, taping them up, making sure they ate well and slept well.  I drove them to the race start, wished them luck, and put my race completely out of my mind until they started theirs. But as soon as they headed up the trail, I allowed myself to start thinking about my race, content to be in my own headspace.

As I headed back into Princeton for my traditional pre-race meal of sushi, I felt calm.  I looked up at the mountains and felt peaceful.  Although I had spent the last year running in the prairies of Manitoba, I still felt prepared.  The only thing missing was Sarah Seads. This would be my first ultra without her. She's the one who got me started, trained with me, coached and mentored me for years. We had a good chat on the phone and after she gave me last minute tips on a course she had rocked the year before (2nd female - 50 miler),  I hung up totally centered and reassured. I had gone for a short run the day before, feeling like I had wrapped myself in an old comfy blanket.  The smell of the forest, the sound of the creeks running, the shady cool of the old growth forest.  This is where I was meant to be.

Back at Manning Park Lodge I finalized my drop bags and my race plan, had dinner with BC friends Rob and Kim, who were also racing, attended the 70 miler pre-race brief, and was sound asleep by 9:00pm, feeling the most relaxed that I had before an ultra to date.  That is, until the phone rang at 9:30.

I was devastated to hear that it was Scott telling me his race was over. He was so upset, but the first sentence out of his mouth was, "I'm so sorry to mess up your pre-race sleep." What a guy.  By the time he made it into the hotel suite and I managed to get back to sleep it was around 11:00.  I felt bad for him, and said a silent prayer for Todd, still out there on the trail.  I was roused out of a second deep sleep around 1:30am by Todd.  I blinked furiously, scarcely believing he was there.  My pre-race calm was shattered by the appearance of both my teammates in the middle of the night.  I started to panic, thinking that maybe this race was more than I was prepared for after all.  I slept fitfully until I woke just before my alarm went off at 5:00 am.

Scott saw me off as I caught a ride to the start with Rob and Kim.  It was bittersweet.  It meant a LOT to me that he was there to wish me well, but at the same time he wasn't supposed to be there. I was now feeling more than a little unnerved about coming from the prairies with no mountain running this year except the Grand Canyon 50, until we arrived at the start to find a little pocket of cell service in an area of total blackout.  A text found it's way to my phone from my dear friend Sarah, "You're still a BC girl in your legs and your heart. You so have this!!! Enjoy!!"  It's like she read my mind and send me just what I needed to hear at that exact moment.  I put the blinders on and my vision narrowed until nothing else existed except the spectacular sunrise and the trail stretching out ahead of me. I was going to have an epic day and I was going to bring it home to Manitoba.  I now had not a single doubt.

Race Start

Myself, Kim, Rob

Race Breakdown

Blackwell Peak to Heather Aid (2.3 miles - 26:56)
It was a slow but steady start headed down off the top of Blackwell Peak, elevation ~6558'. They had to move the Heather Aid station down off the plateau this year.  I didn't stop, but blew on by shouting my bib number to the volunteers, letting them focus on the 120 milers who would need the aid station more.

70 Mile Course

Heather Trail

Heather to Nicomen Lake ( 11 miles - 2:45)
My favourite leg of the whole race.  Heather Trail is stunning.  Wild flowers, jaw dropping views of the Cascade Mountains and Mt. Baker across the border.  And the last part of this section was down hill.  Oh but it was HARD not to let loose and fly.  Over 10K of perfectly graded flowing single track, but I repeated my first third mantra, "When in doubt go slower," and reminded myself that I was only 3 hours into a 20+ hour run.

I chose a pace that was easy, that perfect balance between no braking on the downhills, but not trashing my quads either.  I was amazed how quickly we dropped down to Nicomen Lake, to find volunteers deep in the back country manning an aid station with crisp cool water that they had just pumped out of the lake.  I fill up all 3L of my carrying capacity, thanked them, and headed out.

We ran along this ridge before dropping down to Nicomen Lake on the left.

Nicomen Lake

Nicomen Lake to Cayuse Flats (11 miles - 2:25)
More downhill single track, gently curving in a counter clockwise circle around the mountain.  It totally reminded me of one long Transmission Hill (for my Comox peeps).  It was very shady in this section, but the cloud cover of the early morning had burned off and around noon it started to get really hot.  I pulled out my new Zoot Icefil arm sleeves, got them wet in a creek, and kept them wet as much as I could after that.  I had never run with them before and couldn't believe how well they worked to keep me cool.  As long as they were wet that is.  A nice little bonus for a little experiment on race day. I was very dry and hot coming into Cayuse.  There were 120 milers laid out all over cots and chairs, looking very peaked.  I quickly restocked my fuel from my first drop bag (DB) and continued on.

View from the ridge.  Stunning.  Could have stood there forever.

Cayuse Flats to Cascade (5 miles - 1:10)

The fellows at Nicomen had warned me that this section was...uninspiring.  They were right.  After coming off Heather trail and the epic views afforded by the ridgeline leading down to Nicomen, the relentless up and down in dense single track was suffocating.  It was HOT.  I stopped at each creek and river I could to splash water on my face and drench my sleeves in water.  Seeing as the guys were available, they had said they would crew for me, and I hoped that Scott and Todd would be at Cascade.  Shaun, a retired military search and rescue technician and paramedic was also crewing for Rob and Kim.  He had offered his services for first aid care if needed, and I needed.  I had been suffering from my first blisters in a race ever since Heather trail. Considering the hot forecast, I had chosen lighter socks than usual - big mistake.  My smart wool socks where in my Shawatam drop bag several miles away and my feet were macerating.  I pushed forward, looking forward to some watermelon, cold water and foot TLC.

Cascade Aid
Wow.  I have never felt so important during a race.  I came trotting into Cascade feeling very hot, but strong.  This picture shows me looking not quite as good as I'd like. Scott was waiting for me on the trail.  He briskly told me that the tables were to the left a few meters ahead, and that they had a chair set up for me on the right.  I cruised in to Todd taking pictures, Shaun hustling to take care of my feet, and Todd shoving watermelon into my hands.

Scott filled my hydration pack while Shaun ended up using duct tape to bandage my big toe.  It worked perfectly. I had already dealt with my heel blister...which ended up not doing so well, but I didn't know that until after the race.  My first time with a real crew...and I must say I quite liked having them there.  Before I knew it I was putting on a rather hot high vis vest for the 2 mile stretch along the road to Sumallo Grove, telling the volunteer that #761 was heading out, and off I went!

My awesome crew in action.

Cascase to Sumallo Grove (2 miles [2.6 on my Garmin and every inch mattered] - 31:52)
I look at the time it took me to go 2.6 miles now and I'm floored.  I was moving slowly.  And it was on the ROAD! Granted I took 2 minutes at Sumallo to put ice into my arm sleeves, but still. This was the only road section, it was hot, and it couldn't be over soon enough.

Sumallo Grove to Shawatam (10 miles - 2:48)
Something happened during this section that I felt was the turning point of the race for me.  I had been so hot to this point, still managing my nutrition well, but definitely not peeing like I should be even though I was drinking LOTS.  Around the 30 mile or 50K mark (similar to what happened in the Grand Canyon at GC50), I started to feel great.  This was the point that I would either start to decompensate or improve, and I was so happy that I started to feel better and better.  My middle third rule of running effort that feels "just right" was easy.  The running here was relatively flat and slightly technical, and I cruised along feeling very strong.  I met up with another runner, Richard, from North Van, and we chatted easily along most of this stretch.  The ice in my sleeves was cooling my veins, and I stopped at several creeks to keep the sleeves cool.  I honestly believe this was a key element in my success in this race.  Thanks to Jen Ruland for giving my the idea to use the sleeves.  A life saver.  I wasn't sure if my crew was going to be meeting me at Shawatam as the drive to these aid stations was not exactly easy.  I arrived there feeling awesome.  I already had my hydration pack refilled, had used the sponge bucket to cool my head and neck, had changed my socks, and was eating a little when they arrived.  They were surprised to see me already there.  I asked them to have my poles ready at Skyline when I got there, and took off with words of caution to slow down a little and take it easy.

Shawatum to Skyline (8 miles - 2:14)
Richard and I had been playing cat and mouse, and reminding each other to save it for Skyline.  We all knew that the race really starts at Skyline.  At this point I had gained 5,171' of elevation and lost 9,715'.  The course total was 13,303' of gain and 15,748' of loss.  I still had a lot of mountain to cross, and heeded Todd's advice to pull it back a little.  It was cooling off, evening was falling, and the mosquitos were coming out.  There were not nearly as bad as everyone had made us out to believe they would be, but I did pull out my bug spray and spray my neck and ears.  The arm sleeves came off and I enjoyed the peace of quiet of the course as runners spread out further and further.

Skyline Aid
When I arrived at Skyline Aid, I knew I had this race in the bag.  I knew I was going to finish, and I was going to finish under 24 hours.  I had been following splits of a girl from 2014 who finished in 21:30 and although I had a slower start than she did, I was starting to match her splits over the last few aid stations.  Scott and Todd were waiting for me at Skyline with my poles prepped and ready to go.  They had my drop box out with my battery chargers and grabbed my watch to charge it up for the last leg.  I prepped my head lamps, loaded my pack with a full 3L of water and enough fuel to last me 9+ hours, my estimated time left on course, which left me with a very heavy pack on a back that was getting tired. The last 2 aid stations were VERY remote, and we were told not to expect to get much there other than water.  I took my time at this aid station, knowing that I was about to head into a LONG night.  I ate some pizza, packed a quesadilla for the road.  Someone sprayed my back with bug spray and I screamed, asking if my back was chaffed.  As I lifted up my shirt the look on their faces said it all.  I guess it looked bad.  I gave my crew hugs of thanks, and told them to expect me at 5:00am at the finish based on the splits that I had been following (give or take a few hours).  I looked Scott in the eyes and told him , "I've got this," then headed up the trail into the dusky evening.

Todd, Myself, Scott - their presence gave me such a boost!

Skyline Aid to Camp Mowich (8 miles - 3:39)
If there was a part of this race I was worried about, it was this part.  Not the climbing.  I am an experienced hiker and mountain climber and I know I can get myself up a mountain efficiently.  But I was worried about going through the night.  I was already past my longest time on feet by over an hour.  I left Skyline at 12:47 elapsed time and still have 9 hours to go.  My split told me to expect 4 hours for this 8 mile leg - that should tell you something.  Two miles/hour.  Lots of climbing and hiking.  I turned on my iPod and downshifted into a steady climbing gear.  As I climbed, night quickly fell and my chances for any more epic views vanished.  But the temperature didn't seem to drop that much, likely cause I was working so hard to climb that mountain.  I could see headlamps spread out along the mountainside few and far between, mostly in pairs.  I didn't have a pacer and I was ok with that.  I actually relished the alone time.   Coming into Camp Mowich, I heard that awesome cow bell sound.  The ringing of the cow bell has come to signal a sense of accomplishment to me.  Another leg completed.  This was a very remote camp where volunteers had to hike in 14K to get there.  They topped me up with water, gave me some chicken broth, and warned me that they were out of water at the last aid station.  I was stuck carrying another full 3L of water across all those false summits so infamously talked about.  My loaded pack is over 10 lb with food, and I have never carried such weight for so long on my back without a break.  Even back country camping we would take longer breaks.  It was starting to take it's toll. I honestly didn't need all that water, as I was super well hydrated at this point, but I've learned to never underestimate water needs.

Camp Mowich to Sky Junction (5 miles - 2:04)
Not much to say here except it was nighttime and the stars were out.  I was starting to see things - people's faces which were creepy.  A wolf (which turned out to be a log).  Fleeting shadows that looked like people running.  Nothing too bad.  I turned off my headlamp a few times to look for meteors (there was supposed to be a shower) but no dice.  I just felt dizzy looking up.  There was a LOT of up and down and up and down.  I was happy to make it to Sky Junction for the sole reason that it meant another segment done.  I was solidly in the mindset to get it done. I had an inkling that I might be done earlier than planned at this point, but still didn't know what lay ahead of me.

Sky Junction to Lightning Lake/Finish (8 miles - 2:21)
False summits.  They weren't kidding.  OMG.  I was counting and each time I was SURE I had climbed the last peak, down and up I went again.  I actually swore out loud at one point, just as Heather (the RD) said I would.  My legs were turning to jello, and if it hadn't been for my poles, I'm sure I would have slipped off the edge of a cliff, or went tumbling down a descent.  I'm serious.   My poles were my second lifesaver.  When I finally reached the burned out forest and knew I was descending down for the last time, I was relieved, only to find that there were some very technical sections that still precluded me from truly running.  I just didn't trust my legs to hold me up and hiked on until I felt comfortable to start running again.  My GPS watch was dead at this point and I had no idea how far I had still to go.  I only encountered 2 other people during this section and both gave me wildly different distance estimates. My stomach was cramping and I wasn't handling my nutrition well at this point either.  The last hour I gave up eating and just gagged on the side of the trail when it got too bad.  I was almost done and just simply didn't care. I started to think that I might be done before 5:00 am

Suddenly I came upon a sign that told me there was 700m until Rainbow Bridge, which I knew was 1 mile from the finish.  Whoo hoo!!  I picked up speed and ran it in to the finish line in 20:51 arriving at 3:51 am - over an hour ahead of schedule.  I knew there was no way my crew was going to be there and sure enough they weren't.  So I crossed the line, accepted my medal, and stood there wondering what to do.  As soon as I stopped I immediately got cold, so I pulled out the jackets that I had carried for 70 miles and put them on.  I sat down in a chair in the dark and felt the emotion welling up.  I had just run 70 miles, 114K.  The farthest I had ever gone by 20 miles and 34K.  Longer in time on feet by 9.5 hours.  But first and foremost, I had FINISHED.  I sat there and had a good cry.  Then wiping my tears I headed to the campfire to wait for Todd and Scott.  They showed up about 15 min later, still thinking they were an hour early for me.

After 1.5 hours of sleep and breakfast, we headed back to the finish line for the awards.  I found out I had finished 4th female, about mid pack overall.  It was so awesome to see the last few 120 milers cross the line after almost 49 hours of time on feet.

Prologue
My entire Fat Dog experience amazing. Thank-you Heather, Peter, and team from Mountain Madness.  I got to fill my cup with hours of time in the mountains of BC.  The weather was perfect.  My body held up.  But most importantly, the people made the race.  Todd and Scott are the most solid gentlemen you will ever meet.  They have been such good friends and training partners.  Even after their race dreams were shattered, they still spent the whole day driving all over the region to crew for me.  I can't tell you guys how much that meant to me. Thank-you.  Rob, Kim, Shaun - thank you for sharing your crewing resources with me.  It was great to hang out again.  We met some PCT hikers, other ultra runners, crew members...  Although ultra running is a very solitary sport, there is a whole tribe of people surrounding you through the process.  Very few people get what we do...but those that do provide a special kind of support that is very special and very valuable.

Our Mascot, Bonk #awesomedawg

What did I learn from this race?

• How you frame your race is critical.  The fact that I saw 70 miles as relatively easy compared to 120 miles made the task less daunting.
• Icefil arm sleeves work - when wet with ice in them, wind cools even better.
• Poles are a necessity for night climbing. So glad I had them.
• Training in Manitoba may not have prepared me for mountain running, but it did give me heat training.  I ran for weeks above 30 deg and did one hill repeat day at 43 deg with humidex.  I know that helped.
• Training on the flats helped my leg speed for the flatter sections of the race.  
• Carrying a 10-11lb pack for 20+ hours causes SERIOUS chafing on your back. Not sure how I'll mitigate this next time, but hopefully won't need carry so much mandatory gear next time.
• Postural muscle strength is important for carrying a heavier running pack.  Thank goodness for my strength training regime, but my neck and shoulders are still sore.
• Having a crew of fellow ultra runners is awesome.  I've never had that before and I see the value now. I was very fortunate to have my aunt and uncle support me at Miwok last year and I can't thank them enough for the boost they gave me, but to have some good advice from someone who's been in your shoes is also great.
• I seem to do better the longer I go.  I guess the 100 miler goal for 2017 isn't that unrealistic!

Stats:
Garmin powered out (grrr) so I don't have easy stats.

Nutrition:
Lost track. Ate every 45 min, 2-3 S-Caps every hour.

Gear:
Shoes: Salming Elements (brand new pair, 3 miles of break in, did AWESOME)
Pack: Salomon S-Lab 12 set
Watch: Garmin Forerunner 920XT
Headlamp: Black Diamond Icon
Poles: Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ Trekking Poles