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.

 

 

 

Breathing Part 1: Why?

Breathing.  You'd think it was simple.  Just breathe. As essential as it is to human life, breathing properly is not as simple as it sounds.

A few days ago I posted something on my IG feed about nasal breathing and the benefits I've seen from using it to help my stress and general health this summer.  Within minutes I started receiving private messages from people saying that what I had posted was very helpful and asking for more information.  I am by no means an expert and I barely consider myself at an intermediate skill level with breathwork.  However, I can certainly provide you some resources to find the information you need and tips on what has helped me in my journey.

Let's start at the beginning.  In my training as a physiotherapist (almost 25 years ago) we were taught all the facts of cardiopulmonary anatomy and function.  Once I started practicing, I found myself wrapping towels around a patient's lower trunk and asking them to breathe in and create pressure around the towel. I got confused stares. I tried in vain to teach people to breathe "through their bellies" and expand as they inhaled, which was a foreign concept and counterintuitive to almost everyone.  Honestly, even though I knew the diaphragm is an integral part of the "core," I got so frustrated I almost completely abandoned teaching the mechanics of breathing early on in my career.  Nobody cared, nobody got it.  If you were my patient between between 2003 and 2007 I'm sorry I failed you.

Then in 2007 I had my first child. Nicholas was as feisty as his mother. The more he cried, the more ramped up I'd get and then more he'd cry. We fed off each other.  If I was stressed, he'd cry.  If I was calm, he was calm.  I quickly found that the only way I could settle him to sleep was to first calm myself  though breathing.  I would start taking deep slow breaths with him glued to my chest.  Before long his breathing would match mine and he would fall into a deep sleep.  Through the terrible twos, the trying threes, and the f'ing fours we'd sit together and take deep breaths in and out to break out of hysterical moments.  He is now 13 and we still do this.  It's our routine.  It has only just now occurred to me that this was the start of my awareness of how powerful the breath is in changing our mental state. I had discovered it quite by accident, but now have a knowing that I can't deny.

There are many ways to look at breathing and the effects of the breath...mechanical, anatomical, biochemical, neurophysiological, metaphysical, spiritual.  Brian MacKenzie says that the breath is the remote control for the mind, but I would also say that the mind is remote control for the breath. They inform each other.  If there is one thing that both responds to and provides feedback from ALL the systems in the human body, it's the breath, and if there was ever a time when everyone should be motivated to have really efficient lungs and immune system, it should be now...in the midst of a global pandemic involving a virus that attacks the lungs.

Why should we care about how we breathe?  Other than the fact that if we don't breathe regularly WE DIE, there are other qualitative reasons to consider how we breathe.  It's all about the autonomic nervous system.  Sympathetic and parasympathetic balance.  The Chinese call it ying and yang.  We call it something more "scientific." We are always in a state of either sympathetic dominance or parasympathetic dominance.  Being perfectly balanced is rare. There are times when both are necessary and it is appropriate to be in either one state or the other.  If you are having to defend your life, run from an attacker, defend your thesis, or athletically perform at a high level, it might be beneficial for you to be in a sympathetically dominant state.  However, we were never meant to be in that state all the time.  There are times when you need to rest and digest, to recover, to not be on defense. In today's world we increasingly find ourselves stuck in flight or fight mode without a way to shut it down.  Enter insomnia, anxiety, irritability, allergies, asthma, irritable bowel...and when our systems can't sustain that anymore?  We crash. Enter depression, hormonal imbalances, weight gain, poor athletic performance, loss of concentration, chronic fatigue, and the list goes on.

Where does breathing come in?  Listen up.

1) We can discover what state we are in simply by observing our ability to breathe in that moment.

2) We can change our autonomic nervous system state through breathing (as I discovered with my infant son).

It's really quite phenomenal.  We can both gain immediate feedback as to what state our nervous system is in AND change it almost immediately, simply through the breath.  Breathing is literally at the epicenter of it all.

Don't believe me?  Try one of these two exercises for several days and see what you discover:

1) Box Breathing

• Cadence: 1:1:1:1
• Example: Breathe in for 5 seconds, hold for 5 seconds, breathe out for 5 seconds, hold for 5 seconds.  Repeat x 10. Chose a time you can complete for 10 reps.
• Whatever time you are able to complete, repeat your boxes daily.  Observe how your ability to complete your boxes is influenced by:
• Amount of sleep you had the night before
• Level of stress and current mental state
• Level of fatigue from training
• Amount of alcohol consumption
• Amount of water consumption
• What you eat
• Medications you take

2) Nasal Breathing While Running

• Keep your mouth closed while running at a slow steady state (zone 1-2).
• Run at a pace you can sustain with your mouth CLOSED.
• Observe how your ability to keep your mouth closed is influenced by:
• Amount of sleep you had the night before
• Level stress and current mental state
• Level of fatigue from training
• Amount of alcohol consumption
• Amount of water consumption
• Environmental temperature
• What you eat
• Medications you take

Do this daily for a week and observe how challenging or easy certain days are.  You will find some days are super easy and some days are impossible.  Why?

I plan to write at least 2 more parts to this series, exploring specific breathing techniques anyone can do to improve their awareness of and control over their autonomic nervous system, as well as provide links to many resources I've found helpful.

However, you have to experience how powerfully your breath can inform you of your physical,  physiological and mental and spiritual state before you can become convinced as to WHY you should be trying to take control over this area of your health in the first place.

So go do one of these two breathing exercises and see what you discover!

An Ultrarunner's Thoughts on the Irony of Physical Distancing and Human Behaviour

As an ultra runner, I have a lot of practice at social and physical distancing.  While I often enjoy the company of other runners on the trails and at post-run gatherings, I crave a whole lot of alone time.  Most ultra runners do as well, and if they don't, they quickly become ok with it.  The very nature of our sport conditions us to become very comfortable spending long hours alone on the trails far away from civilization and other humans. Heck, many people find ultra precisely so that they have an excuse to be alone. I am one of those people.

I get up at ungodly hours, am often the first to arrive at the trail head for a run, and jump out of my skin when another human surprises me on the trail and unknowingly interrupts my deep state of flow. Relax mom I've taken self defense.  Even when given the opportunity to run with someone, I will often chose to run alone, content with the company of me, myself and I.  I have spent years seeking out solitary places to run.  Years learning to become self-sufficient for hours on a trail. Years developing the strength to carry food, water, medication, and emergency supplies on my back for all my runs, and years training my legs to carry me far away from other people...before I must come back again.

Ultrarunning has kept my body strong.  It has kept my mind strong, and it has kept my lungs strong.  I have been seeking out solitary places to run in nature several times per week long before COVID-19 caused a world-wide pandemic and public orders requiring physical distancing were issued.

As a health care worker and a single mom during a global pandemic involving a respiratory virus, I take it all very seriously. My top priority is to reduce exposure to others while staying strong enough to fight the virus when I inevitably am exposed to it myself.  I wash my hands for the full 20 seconds, I stay 6 feet away from EVERYONE, and I suspect I've gotten mildly intoxicated from hand sanitizer absorbing through my skin.  I don't have time to be sick.  I need a strong body, I need strong lungs. And right now I need a strong mind more than anything else.  This doesn't happen passively or by accident. It happens intentionally and actively.

I awoke this morning and prepped exactly as usual, turning my car into a self contained aid station (aka no need to interact with anyone).  I packed enough food and water for myself, and stuffed my running vest with TP and extra "leave no trace" baggies (even the outhouses are closed now, but any experienced ultra runner knows what to do).  I told one person where I was going and left the house thinking, "it's a good thing I have a sport that I love that requires no gym, that allows me to be alone, and far away from anyone else.  I don't have to change a thing!"  I usually have to tell someone where I am going because if I disappear or get injured, no one would come upon me for hours if not days or years. On any other weekend morning of any other month in any other year this would be the case. Sadly, not this morning.

Runners rant coming...but this is my personal blog so there is no disclaimer

I know we are all supposed to stay at home.  I know we need to balance that with the mental and physical health of not only ourselves but others.  I know I left my house which in many ways makes me a hypocrite. That said was it wrong of me to get more than mildly irritated when I found my usual utterly vacant trailheads ironically crammed with more people than I've ever seen?  I haven't changed my routine, but everyone else seems to have done so.  They have decided it's time to get active and back to nature.  That's great.  So now I can't?  My rational mind told me that was clearly an irrational thought, but this had nothing to do with COVID and I was angry!  I actually really needed to be alone, only to find that one of the places I could always count on for that was...filled with people!!!

Ok.  Deep diaphragmatic breath.  Change the plan but never the goal...

It's a good thing I have more secret spots where no one else ever goes.  Those spots where there is no cell service and I can run for hours comfortably knowing no one will ever find me, more less come within 2 metres of me.  I managed to find one of those spots today and ran in blissful solitary peace contemplating how physical distancing requirements have created a human osmosis of sorts, drawing people out of the cities and towns and back into nature.  On one hand I think it's awesome that parents are getting their families outside and finding safe places for them to do so.  Fresh air and exercise are powerful medicine that will keep us strong while awaiting a cure or a vaccine for COVID-19.  However, there is still a piece of me that resents the sudden intrusion of the masses into the sanctuary of quiet stillness that I've treasured for decades.  In this time of exponential change, I was hoping I'd
at least still have that.

And so ironically those of us who have a sport that physically distances us are finding it harder to do even that.

"It's the good advice that you just can't take." Alanis Morissette

None of us are immune to the changes in our society and it is what it is.  I guess I'm just going through the grieving process like everyone else.  You can criticize me for leaving my house, but for now I will keep running. I will try my very best to be alone, not because I'm told to but because I need to (or I will go bat shit crazy.)  I may have to get up even earlier and run a little longer into the bush to take the trail less travelled, but I will run for my health, and I will run with gratitude.  Gratitude that I can still run on the trails because I am well aware that what I describe here is the rationale used for closing our parks.  Gratitude that I have strong lungs and that it's spring.  Gratitude that I am a trail runner and don't need a gym, treadmill or paved path for my workout.   Gratitude I live in a province with a very low incidence of COVID-19, a population density of 2 people/square km and a whole lot of open space. Yes, I'm finally grateful to live in Manitoba.

Ultra running has trained me in many ways to cope with this pandemic.  It has given me mental as well as physical endurance.  Ultra has trained me to be ok with being alone, and it has given me serious perspective. Mantras pop in my head every day now with new double meanings, no longer reserved for the running context.

Nothing lasts forever.
Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
Pay now or pay later.
Trust the process.
Deal with the little things now before they become big things.
Don't catastrophize the unexpected.
Change the plan but never the goal.
Just keep going.  (but)
Sometimes it takes more strength to stop than to keep going.
It's not a sprint, it's a marathon.  Pace yourself.

I could write many more blog posts on the duality of meaning hidden in those mantras and the parallelism between managing global pandemics and running ultras, but the ultra runners who make up the vast majority of my audience already know.  Don't you?

Good luck finding places to run alone.  Be well my friends.

When Inspiration Can Turn Into Desperation

We all can name a few people who inspire us - those that push their limits and accomplish great things not just day after day, but year after year.  Whether you’ve been running one year, 10 years or many decades, we all have our running heroes. Those we admire in the running community may be big names - the closest we’ll ever get to them is following them on Strava.  Sometimes those we admire most are people right in our own community, or even our best friends.

With the explosion of running participation worldwide, more and more people are either taking up running for the first time or setting new goals for themselves.  Regular 5K runners are reaching for that 10K, half marathoners are doing their first marathon, and marathoners are going for a BQ or even jumping into the ultra running scene.  This is amazingly awesome and nothing makes me happier than seeing someone set and achieve new goals, especially in running.

However, there is a dark side.  Unfortunately, I am bearing witness to it more and more in my line of work as a physiotherapist who treats primarily runners.  The number one cause of running injuries is training error, particularly increasing mileage too much too soon. The incidence of stress fractures is disturbingly on the rise, and I am finding myself spending more and more time coaching runners on periodization and proper recovery techniques as a way to prevent or treat chronic injuries.  Social media and apps like Strava can provide us with a running community and motivate us to perform, while at the same time can make each run a competition and lead us to compare ourselves to others who may have vastly different running experience or daily family and work demands.

I recently was asked to consult with a male runner in his 40’s whose chief complaint was fatigue.  He had been battling injuries for several months and with the help of one of our therapists was finally running “injury-free.”  At the same time, he admitted to feeling constantly exhausted and stressed.  He was an experienced half marathon runner but this year, inspired by some leaders in his running community and a few close friends, he ran his first marathon, his first ultra, and had 2 more ultra marathons planned for the season. He had a high-stress job and admitted to not sleeping as much as he should.  His training was not producing the gains he wanted, and as he sat before me I could see his eyes fill up as he admitted to dreading his runs now rather than looking forward to them.

My heart went out to this man.  He had obviously been motivated to set some big goals for himself early in the year.  No one sets goals to break themselves down.  We set goals because we need to build ourselves up - to give us a sense of purpose, direction and satisfaction when we accomplish them.  He was trying his best to do what he thought he should with the inspiration of his running community as fuel.  I couldn’t help but think that we had failed him.  This man was obviously deep in overtraining syndrome and possible adrenal fatigue and was still convinced that he needed to do a 50K training run before his upcoming second 50K race.  Overtraining syndrome is serious, can take months if not years to recover from, and doesn’t just affect elite runners.

After a long discussion on everything from his training plan to recovery techniques and diet, I prescribed him at least one week off running, cycling for cross-training, and asked him to seriously reassess his goals for the year.  I didn’t ask him to stop running long term, just to give his body the time it needed to adapt to the incredible stress that he was placing on it.  This was not what he wanted to hear, but it was what he needed to hear.

I can’t help but wonder…can inspiring someone also be inadvertently harming them?  Do we have a responsibility not only to inspire each other but to take care of each other? In a world where we present filtered snapshots of ourselves on social media, do we have a responsibility to ensure that those who are watching us are witnessing our authentic journey?

As an ultra runner, I believe strongly in setting BIG goals and doing the work to achieve them.  Personally, I hope that I inspire people to believe in themselves and to set gigantic goals as well.  However, this also gives me a big responsibility to ensure they understand the process and the patience involved in reaching those goals.  We are all coaches to a certain extent.  As a running community, it is important not only to inspire each other but to take care of each other.  More experienced runners have a responsibility to mentor those following in their footsteps with the wisdom they have gained.  Less experienced runners have a responsibility to reach out to those who may have something to say that they need to know.

Achieving big goals in running is a process, not an event. After the completion of my last 100 mile footrace, I was frequency asked the question, “how long does it take you to train for a 100 miler?”

My answer? “My whole life.”

My challenge to our incredibly awesome Winnipeg running community is this:  Speak up when you need help.  Speak up when you see someone in need of help.  Be inspiring, but be authentic.   Let’s help each other to shine brightly for a long time, not just a short time.

Bounce strong my friends.