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.

 

 

 

Lessons on Grotto Mountain

Grotto Mountain. It’s not a beautiful mountain, but I don’t always climb beautiful mountains. I climb them to look at other beautiful mountains or valleys. As usual I was chasing those views today but after 2 hours of quad shredding climbing I was forced to turn around only 400’ from the summit. A thunderstorm was suddenly rolling in across the valley almost 5 hours early. Really?! 🙇‍♀️ But it was like the voice of God telling me to get down off that mountain, NOW. Standing alone on a very exposed 9000’ peak in a lightening storm is not really a good idea so I did - but to say I was very disappointed is an understatement. As I started downclimbing 😣 and cursing just a little, I started to understand.

.

Grotto Mountain doesn’t carry its beauty as a crown. It’s beauty and it’s namesake are discreetly wrapped in a massive breathtaking cathedral of rock hidden from view where only those who seek will find it. I had barely glanced at it on my way up. I wasn’t meant to summit, or run ridgelines today. I was meant to see the Grotto.

#grottomountain #primalwisdom #alwaysrespectthemountain #naturetherapy #staygrounded #payattention #downclimbingsucks #ultramindset #salmingrunningnorthamerica

...

I always feel excited climbing a mountain. Always. Today I felt anxious and a foreboding looking at the ridge. Almost turned back twice. I truly think God was yelling at me to LISTEN up already and get my ass back down before I committed to something that may get me in trouble. He knew something I didn’t. 

Sometimes God whispers to us and sometimes he has to YELL. 

As I was climbing up that mountain I had summit fever. I wanted to bag that peak, run that ridge, and get down before the storm hit. I climbed with a ferocity that I haven’t in a long time, panting and puffing in the thinning air like I was wearing an N95 mask. In several places it was serious scrambling requiring all 4 limbs. Several times I looked back thinking, damn. This would be hell to go down. I hope the other side of the ridge is easier. 

All this time I was circling a huge rock cathedral. I stopped to take a panoramic picture but what I had photographed barely registered in my hypoxic brain. It was majestic. It was breathtakingly beautiful.  I was looking at the grotto, the iconic rock formation for which the mountain was named, wrapped in columns of rock that seemed to protect it from external  forces...and I didn’t even notice. See picture at top of post.

Finally I stopped. I almost turned back. I realized I was only half way up and I felt something bad deep in my stomach. But I decided to ignore it and pressed on. I was conditioned not to stop and I was selfish. I had come too far and I wanted to see what was on top. 

Finally I broke out of the alpine and started the last ascent to the top. I celebrated every 100’ of gain as it started to sprinkle. Go go go! You’re almost there. Just summit and head back down. I kept bargaining. When I was only 400’ from the summit,

The thunder rolled. 

From far across the valley, on the other side of Canmore, the clouds darkened and thunder rumbled. When you are standing on a scree embankment almost 9000’ above sea level, dizzy with exhaustion, cracking thunder is hard to ignore. 

Keep in mind I was already going against all my instincts and all the messages the universe was trying to send me in continuing up that mountain. That thunder was yelling at me to wake up already and LISTEN. “Get your freaking ass off this mountain” was what popped into my head and this time I didn’t ignore it. I felt that knowing. I felt genuine fear. #alwaysrespectthemountain

I immediately turned around and headed down. Going up was slow and going down wasn’t much faster. The rocks would get very slippery and treacherous in the rain and as I watched rain drops dot the rocks, I prayed out loud that God would stop the rain until I made it below the tree line. Miraculously it stopped raining...until the EXACT moment I crossed the tree line. Tell me God isn’t real. 

As I slowly and carefully picked my way down that mountain the thunder continued to occasionally roll which would spur my feet into further downward action. When I passed the half way mark the sun came out and I fumed. Really?! Am I in the Hunger Games arena?

But sometimes God knows things we don’t. Like maybe I would have gotten lost on that ridge. Maybe I wouldn’t have made it down before the real thunderstorm developed at 3:30pm this afternoon. As an ultra runner I’ve conditioned myself to ignore pain and fatigue and the urge to stop. “Don’t stop” is a mantra that has gotten me to a lot of places I am proud of, including 100 mile finishes. But through it all I’ve always felt pulled towards my goal, not pushed, not repulsed.

Maybe I need to learn to listen when my instincts feel more like a magnetic repulsion rather than attraction. Today what seemed like a good idea required an addendum. So be it. 

Canadian Death Race Report - 2018

The best thing you could do is MASTER the chaos in you.

You are not thrown into the fire.

YOU ARE THE FIRE.

~Mama Indigo

The Canadian Death Race was the first ultra marathon I had ever heard of. I thought that it was simply CRAZY and I couldn’t believe that any human could run 125K, especially in the mountains with 17,000’ in elevation gain.  When it first came across my radar, CDR was only 4 years old and I was running trail races that maxed out at 10K.  Fast forward 15 years, a few thousand miles and many races later, and I decided that this was the year that I would visit Grande Cache to check this iconic Canadian race out for myself.

Short Version:  This race was TOUGH, but I wouldn’t have expected anything less.  I ran very clean and finished feeling strong in 22:19:07; 23/91 females; 111/325 overall; 95 DNF’s.

Long Version: Those that read my race reports know that what follows here will be my attempt to process and record the whole event as well as a detailed account of the legs of the race for anyone wanting such info as they plan their own race in coming years.

Preparation

I have been having a very good year.  It took me most of last year to recover mentally and physically from Zion 100, but I came back this year feeling like my old running self and have remained injury free all season.  I hired a coach and trained with purpose and a plan, but also with intuition and grace, listening to my body as I often flirted with that delicate line between overreaching and overtraining.  In an attempt to train for a mountain ultra in the flattest place in Canada, I added more power moves to my strength routine, more mileage and hill repeats to my runs, and went to Canmore and Banff for a self designed running camp to get my legs and lungs as ready as I could in my peak week. I arrived in Grande Cache feeling completely ready and very positive, stronger than ever.  I knew that I had trained as well as I could, and I was excited to experience the infamous “Death Race.”  The day before the race I sat on my bed with acupuncture needles in my legs doing my breathing exercises.  My Qi was flowing strongly and as I visualized my perfect race, I further contemplated my WHY.

Why

I strongly believe in consciously defining and redefining my WHY.  One must arrive at any start line with a crystalline sense of purpose and reason for being there.  Coming into CDR I knew I could do the distance.  I knew I could suffer and keep going.  I knew I could slug it out up and down mountains.  I knew that this time was about something more, but I couldn’t define it.  Then I got a text from a friend that said, “By the time you cross the finish, you will have learned more about yourself than most dare to imagine!”  A seemingly innocuous message until I thought about it more.

…than most dare to imagine…

Yes, that was it. I wanted to discover parts of myself that I hadn’t dared to uncover, or even contemplated.  I wanted to run this race with discipline and strategy, while staying completely in tune with my body and in control of my mind.  I had chosen to do CDR without a crew because I really wanted to see what I could do out there when I had only me to rely on.  This time it was about execution - orchestrating the day well and staying in control right through to the finish line.

Race Morning - 8:00am Start

Forest fires in the area had blanketed the mountains in a dense haze in the days before the race, however I woke up to clear cloudless skies and perfect running temperatures. Yay!  As I rolled out of bed my first conscious thought was, ‘you haven’t looked at the cut offs.’  I am a solid mid pack runner. I’ll never win, but I’ve never had to worry about cut offs before.  I had done my race plan and split chart, but hadn’t included the cutoffs for each leg.   I felt strongly impressed to write them down, and as I scribbled them on the back of my chart I hoped that I wouldn’t need to worry about them. (note blatant foreshadowing here with a hint of divine intervention)

At the start line I met my friend Todd and we hung around as the marshalling area started to fill up.  I was pleasantly surprised to bump into an old military friend from Comox (Chris M) whom I haven’t seen in years!  It’s crazy how people’s paths can cross in the most unexpected places.  He was racing the relay, doing Legs 1,2 and 5.  I wished him well and then off we went!

Leg 1 - Downtown Jaunt

Distance: 19K  Gain: +430m / -538m  NO POLES

Leg Time: 2:15  Elapsed Time: 2:15

TOD: 10:15am  Cut off: 1:00pm

Time in TA 1/2: 5 min

The race started with a loop around town that took all of 9 min and then a gentle stretch of road running before we filed into the trees to start dancing around large mud puddles on quad trails.  I was solidly committed to following the Rule of Thirds, and kept it super easy all throughout this stretch.  Grande Cache had had a week of rain prior to the race, and I knew my feet would get wet during this section…and they did.  Once out of the forest, we ran gradually uphill on gravel road and before I knew it we were at the Leg 1/2 transition area (TA). My coach Sarah had warned me to change my socks after this leg.  I quickly filled up all 2.5L of my water carrying capacity in preparation for a long Leg 2, ate some watermelon and oranges, and pulled off my shoes.  My feet were already white, wrinkly and starting to macerate from the water.  I doused them in baby powder, put a blister pad on one toe, pulled on fresh socks, and my damp but essentially clean shoes.  This turned out to be the EXACT right thing to do.  I’ve learned taking a few minutes for foot care pays off HUGE in the long run.  No pun intended!

Leg 2 - Flood and Grande Mountain Slugfest

Distance: 27K  Gain: +1946m / -1841m  POLES

Leg Time: 5:28  Elapsed Time: 7:43

TOD: 3:43pm. Cut off: 6:00pm

Time in TA 2/3: 9 min

If there was one thing that I had been lectured on, it was “do not trash your legs coming down off Leg 2 if you want to have anything to run with off Hamel.” The climbs up Flood and Grande Mountain weren’t that bad, but the downhills were insane!  They were completely unrunnable, at least for me.  There were people going down all around me, and many runners with very muddy buttocks.

Top of Grande Mountain

Now let’s talk about the mud.  They don’t call it Slugfest for nothing.  Not only was there mud literally flowing down the mountain, but there were huge pits of mud everywhere.  It would have been quite fun as we tromped through the muck spraying mud everywhere, if we weren’t less than 1/3 done a very long race.  There was no avoiding it and before long I was splattered and coated in a thick layer of brown.  I had grossly underestimated the time needed for this leg, and even though I moved as steadily as I could it still took me 5 1/2 hours.

Slugfest

Knowing that Leg 2 had the reputation of being the hardest leg, and expecting a mud bath, I had chosen the words Grace & Gratitude as my theme words for the first third.  I remembered this as I leaned heavily on my poles coming down power line swallowing curses, and then took a moment to wash up in a nice clear stream as we neared town and TA 2/3.  This leg was knee hammering and soul sucking, but it was done and I was grateful.

Powerline

Pics don't do this justice - it was steep!

Transition Area 2/3 is back at the start/finish line, and I quickly changed shoes and socks that were already full of baby powder.  This is my new secret weapon as my feet did extremely well right to the end!  After another water fill up and race fuel resupply, I headed out on Leg 3!

Coming into TA 2/3 after my creek "bath" totally focused

Leg 3: Old Mine Road

Distance: 19K  Gain: +689m / -952m  NO POLES

Leg Time: 3:20  Elapsed Time: 11:03

TOD: 7:03pm. Cut off: 7:45pm

Time in TA 3/4: 12 min

I had just finished one marathon and had two more to go.  My feet felt amazing in fresh socks and shoes and my legs felt really good as well.  As we started a short climb up out of town past the dump, I heard a few runners around me talking about making the Leg 3/4 cut off.  Until this point I was running my first third easy pace, moving steadily and I thought as efficiently as possible given the conditions, oblivious to the cut offs.  Hmm.  Maybe I’d better check.  I pulled out my split chart, looked at my scribbles on the back, and realized with a jolt that although I was well ahead of cut offs on the previous 2 legs, the one coming up was much tighter.  Although I was still ok, I knew I was going to have to keep moving well, and with my middle third theme words of Focus & Flow going through my mind, I took full advantage of the gentle downhill grade on most of this leg and ran steadily.  While the terrain wasn’t challenging in Leg 3, it was the hottest part of the day and felt very humid and heavy in the dense trees along the Old Mine Road.  I had been consistently eating every 45 min and taking 2 salt pills every hour, along with a ginger gravol tablet every 3 hours.  Other than 200 calories of very dilute Tailwind, I had been drinking only water and I was thrilled that my stomach was staying completely settled with no nausea or GI distress.  But I WAS getting hungry.  I knew I was getting low on calories and couldn’t wait for the yam sushi that I hoped would be waiting for me at the next aid station.

So, remember how I said I was doing this race without a crew?  Well that was the plan, and I left drop bags prepared to be self supported the whole day.  However, my brother Scott had just flown into Calgary from Abu Dhabi, where he works, and he really wanted to come cheer me on.  He convinced his friend Rob to drive out to Grande Cache with him, and I knew they were planning on meeting me at TA 3/4 to provide some moral support and share in my adventure!  Scott sustained a complete spinal cord injury at T3 when he was 13 years old, and to say it was something special to have him at this race is a gross understatement. 

As the minutes ticked away and the sun started to drop in the sky, I started to get anxious.  The aid station should be coming up soon. As my watch hit 19K, I thought I was almost there.  And then we crossed the road and headed up, and up, and up.  They had apparently added another km of very technical terrain that slowed me down considerably and quite frankly pissed me off.  My stomach was growling, I was close to bonking, and I knew I would have to make a very quick transition if I was to stay ahead of cut offs.  If there was a low point in the race, this was it for me.  It is very normal for me to get cranky between 10 and 11 hours of time on feet. I know that, expect it, and take it for what it is.  Nothing lasts forever.  Coming down into the TA, we had to use ropes to lower ourselves down - was that really necessary?!  Well, it was the Death Race after all.  I had chosen not to bring poles on this leg and was so thankful that I didn’t need to worry about hanging onto them during this section.  Full use of my hands was essential and poles really weren’t necessary for this leg.

I ran into TA 3/4 to see Scott and crew there cheering me on.  Wow did they ever give me a boost!  Scott met me with a huge smile, yam sushi and a nice bottle of cold Coke!  Just what I needed.  The first thing out of his mouth was, “Kim! Are your legs ever HUGE!  When did they get so big?!”  That was NOT just what I needed, but I laughed and told him that’s what happens when you train for crazy races like this.  At least they're functional.

Sushi...cue Cookie Monster voice

He said Todd had left just 10 minutes before me, but had rested for quite a while.  That meant he was making good time and I was glad he was on pace. I would have love to sit and chat, but knew that would come later.  I started barking instructions, filling my bottles with Green Tea Tailwind, and stocking my pack for Leg 4, the longest leg of the race.  I had a list taped to the inside of my drop box, and as Scott read it off, I shoved 2 headlamps, a rain jacket, bear spray, 8 snacks, portable charger, watch charging cord, emergency blanket and arm sleeves into my pack.  I reapplied Body Glide and changed shirts, all the while shoving sushi and cheese sticks into my mouth.  My feet were good - no need for attention.

Loading up my pack

All that gear combined with 2.5 litres of water resulted in a very heavy pack, but I didn’t want to be caught up on Mt. Hamel without it if the weather shifted, as it was known to do.  I grabbed my poles and one more piece of sushi and headed out at 7:15pm, only 30 min ahead of the cut off.  Yikes.

Leg 4: Hamel Assault

Distance: 38K  Gain: +2465m / -2476m. POLES

Leg Time: 7:22  Elapsed Time: 18:25

TOD: 2:25am. Cut off: 4:45pm

Time in TA 3/4: 7 min

I was just over halfway done the race at this point, 65K done and 60K to go.  Immediately after leaving the TA, we started the 10K climb to the top of Mt. Hamel.  Other than 2 very short flattish sections, it was a steady death march up that mountain in the dying light.  The cut off at Hamel Escape was 10:15pm and no one around me seemed to know exactly how far up the mountain that was.  We assumed it was at the top, and so I was doing math the whole way up.  I knew I had to average 4K/hour to make it and I climbed as if my life depended on it.  There was NO WAY I was going to get pulled off that course by anyone.  

I do not consider myself a good climber, even when I lived in the mountains.  Downhill running has always been my strength.  I was quite surprised to find that I was passing a lot of people as we climbed that mountain.  I was fuelled by caffeinated Tailwind (nectar of the gods), a light rain (I love rain) and my brother’s admonition that, “if I come all they way out there, you’d better finish.” I approached  Hamel Escape at the 8K mark, after 1h37min of climbing and had gained 21 places!  Yay!  Still rather close for my liking, but I knew I had made the last tight cut off.  As we headed the last 2K up Mt. Hamel the rain stopped and just as we reached the alpine line the most beautiful double rainbow appeared.  I love the alpine and breathed in the fresh air, took in the view and snapped a picture of that beautiful rainbow.  I was feeling great and it was so magical that I almost expected a unicorn to appear!  I said a silent prayer to God thanking Him for the rainbow and running with me that day.

Around this time I locked in behind Mike, a seasoned Albertan ultra runner who could move with the momentum of a freight train, slow but unstoppable.  Hearing that he had done this race several times, I asked him if we were on target to finish in time.  He said no problem, that it would likely be 22 hours, maybe 22:30.  I vowed not to let him out of my sight.

My trail buddy Mike - the only person I really talked to the whole race. Thanks for the beta Mike!

We topped out on Hamel as the sun was setting.  In the deepening dusky light, we did a short out and back to retrieve a flag, and then headed down off the mountain.  It was windy and cool, but really the weather was perfect.  I couldn’t have asked for better weather up there.  As the light faded, I switched on my headlamp and began the long descent off the mountain, just ahead of Mike.  The grade was very runnable, but the darkness and uneven rocks stopped me from really stretching out.  I didn’t want to risk spraining an ankle way up there.  I reached the Ambler Loop aid station just after midnight.  This aid station was very minimal, but I didn’t need much.  I had left a drop bag with warm clothes there in case the weather was really bad, so I grabbed my hat and gloves just in case it got cold and kept pushing on.

Entering the final third, the Ambler Loop was pretty uninspiring and brought to you by the letter D - Dig Down.  It was frustrating because I wanted to run, but the quad track was again covered in very large puddles or completely flooded out.  I did not want to run through the water with at least 30K still to go and took the time to go around them all, often hanging onto a tree with one hand an placing my pole deep into the swampy puddle with the other hand while slipping and skirting my way around praying I wouldn’t end up face first in the swamp.  At this point I would normally feel the need for music, but I was content with my own thoughts and the sounds of the forest.  After passing several spots where I could smell the distinctive scent of animals, I also kept an ear out for bears, hooting and hollering every so often.

Pictures taken on the Ambler Loop while flagging the day before. Imagine this in the dark. 

After checking in at the Ambler Loop aid station again, I started the last 11K down the road to TA 4/5.  This section was perfectly graded for running and I flew down that road feeing amazing.  Near the bottom I caught up with Mike.  We must have crossed paths in the Ambler Loop.  I ran strongly into the TA with a huge smile on my face to find Scott waiting there for me at 2:30 am.

I may have rather loudly (too loudly, possibly abnoxiously) announced that I was feeling GREAT, quickly gulped down some hot noodles, grabbed 5 snacks, refilled my bottles, and jumped up as soon as I saw Mike headed out. See ya at the finish Scott!

Leg 5: The River Crossing

Distance: 22K  Gain: +838m / -567m  POLES

Leg Time:  3:54 Elapsed Time: 22:19

TOD: 6:19am. Cut off: 8:00am

I was 103K into the Canadian Death Race and I felt like a million bucks.  I was still feeling some time pressure as I knew there was lots of climbing still left on this leg, and I wanted to get to the river crossing with enough time to walk it out if I had to.  The 7K to the boat was pretty tame, but it seemed impossible to really get running.  There was dense foliage and slippery roots that you couldn’t see in the dark, and just when I started to get some momentum I would come upon someone trekking and would have to decide if I wanted to pass or not.  I finally firmly decided I wasn’t going to get sucked into trekking when I didn’t need to and continued to pass people along this stretch.  

When I reached Hell’s Gate and the boat that would take me across the Smokey River, I triumphantly surrendered my CDR coin for passage (no coin, no boat ride, no finish).  I timed out for the crossing and a mere 3 minutes later timed back in on the other side, just after 4:00am.  This time would be subtracted from my race time at the end.  Once across the river, my adrenaline started to ebb. 

In the boat

15K to go.  Climbing.  So much climbing.  20 hours into the race and I was done with climbing.  Dig down. I wanted to move fast, to get this thing done.  Wherever possible I continued to run, even though it wasn’t fast.  It felt much better to run than trek, on both my body and my mind.  I was so grateful my feet and legs felt fine - no excuses not to run other than fatigue.  Dig down. As the pre-dawn light started to turn the sky orange and pink, the birds started chirping.  I popped out of the forest, continued to climb up a gravel road and suddenly I was in town only a few blocks from the finish line.  Yahoo!

A whole lotta "2s" in this picture.  Isn't that the number of prosperity in Chinese?

I crossed the line at 6:19am and as I gave my brother the biggest/smelliest/dirtiest hug, I immediately choked up.  He is and always will be my greatest hero. I admire him beyond measure - for all that he has endured, overcome, and accomplished since his spinal cord injury. He has never made excuses for himself and has pushed through daily chronic pain and innumerable barriers to become highly educated, move up the corporate ladder and travel the world.  I had just completed the Canadian Death Race and he had waited up all night to cheer me on.  I felt simultaneously proud, relieved, humbled, unworthy, grateful and loved.  I have no doubt that if my brother was able-bodied, he’d be running these races with me.  Someday in another place, in another dimension, we will run together.  But for now, we hugged, he took pictures and I just sat still for a while with him by the fire, feeling the magnitude of the day.

Post Race Thoughts

The Canadian Death Race has garnered respect from it’s inception, and not just because of it’s badass name.  It’s hard.  There is an incredible amount of elevation gain that is spread throughout the entire course.  The rough terrain combined with some tight cut offs results in a race that must be taken seriously.  CDR is not an ultra one can hike and finish in the 24 hour cut off.  I finished top 1/3 overall and top 1/4 among the women, and I was cutting it pretty close with some of the cutoffs.  I do not think I could have run it much faster which left little room for error or something going wrong.

That said, I am super happy with my race execution.  I paced perfectly, managing an almost perfectly equal split between the first and last half, thanks in part to how they distributed the climbs.  I only spent 32 minutes at the transition areas and had a total of 41 minutes of non-moving time. Pretty good over 22 hours.  I was able to run right up until the end with no injuries or real pain to speak of. The first nausea that didn’t settle within minutes came at hour 20 - later in a race than I have ever made it and at which point I didn’t care.  No puking, no dry heaving, no GI distress, no hyponatremia, no dehydration, no blisters (ok maybe 2 very small ones I noticed 2 days later).  My mind stayed sharp, I barely listened to music, and I didn’t even really have any super low moments.  For those of you familiar with my Zion 100 experience: basically the polar opposite.  Thank goodness.

“By the time you cross the finish, you will have learned more about yourself than most dare to imagine!”

They say that an ultra can be called “Life in a Day.”  So many events and intense experiences compressed into a single day, it’s living in fast forward.  Every single race changes you and that’s honestly the best part.  For me, it’s really a race against and within my self…and I’m different every time.

So often we fear change, and don’t even dare imagine pushing to the limits that are the catalysts for change.  Or we go through life slowly changing, but refusing to acknowledge that we are different people than we were years ago.  We think we know ourselves, but we don’t.

How many of us truly want to know ourselves?  Dare to?

What did I learn about myself?  What did I dare to uncover?  I am not the same person I was last year or in the last race and I uncover a new me each time.  I am not afraid to acknowledge where I make mistakes and I find the whole process of fine tuning my body and my mind fascinating.  I dare say I like myself.  I am very comfortable spending long hours with my own thoughts now, no longer needing to tune them out with music or audiobooks. I discovered I have developed a resistance to mental fatigue that pleasantly surprised me.

Most significantly, I’ve transitioned from blocking out to accepting, tuning in rather than tuning out.  I used to pride myself on my ability to block out pain, block out emotion, block out fatigue, block out any unpleasantness and just keep going.  This applied to life as well as to running.  This only works for so long, and at some point all that repression has to come out somewhere.  In a race, my gut would explode, or my feet would blow up, or I’d get into such a dark hole mentally it would be hard to come out of it.  I am very good at pushing back pain, but late in a race or after, I would suffer with the best of them.

I have been practicing just accepting it all.  Not pushing pain back, but feeling it. Dealing with it.  Using it to fuel the fire inside me.  Letting it make me bigger rather than take from me.  It’s amazing how once accepted and released, pain doesn’t come back at least to the same degree.  I’ve had an amazing recovery this week - yes there was some pain and swelling, but these aren’t bad things.  They mean I did something awesome and my body is already adapting and will be stronger next time, which is extremely empowering.

Thank-you to race director Brian Gallant, Sinister Sports, the town of Grande Cache, all the amazing volunteers, my most inspiring coach Sarah, Salming Canada, all my friends who supported me from afar, my family who support me every day, and to my brother Scott. Finishing CDR and qualifying for Western States was pretty cool, but sharing the experience with you and seeing you at the finish line was something I’ll remember forever.

Scott and I at our post-race breakfast.  Just a tad puffy-eyed.

Addendum: My trial running buddy Todd finished 30 min ahead of me and also met me at the finish line.  He did so awesome, and even more so considering that he had done Sinister 7 just 4 weeks previously.  Way to go Todd!