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.

 

 

 

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.

Tahoe Rim 100 Race Report 2019 - Share Your Light

Click to enlarge

Start Time: July 20 5:00 am

Finish Time: July 21 1:37pm (32hrs37min)

105/235 overall

14th female, 5th AG

79 DNFs

On July 21, I completed my second 100 miler - the Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run!  It was an amazingly epic experience and I got exactly what I went for.  Endless summits and panoramic vistas, the opportunity to explore a new place on our planet, the chance to push my body and my mind to new limits, and best of all a few new friends!

The only thing harder than running 100 miles is writing about it.  This story is not just about me. As I struggled to write about the experience I had at Tahoe, I thought about the Tahoe Rim and the trail and how it frames Lake Tahoe perfectly.  You wouldn’t have Lake Tahoe without the valley that the rim of mountains creates.  Likewise, I wouldn’t have a story to tell without the people that framed my experience and who were integral in my memories of the day.

Races are my reward.  Planning races in beautiful new places is what keeps me going as I train through long Canadian winters and around a busy work and family schedule.  This last year has been challenging to say the least.  I navigated through a divorce, the purchase of a new house, project managing a major renovation in my house, doing a large part of the renovation myself, single parenting 2 boys, health issues, and negotiating a new role for myself at work.  Through it all I ran. In a world where I felt completely out of control most of the time, running was the one thing I could control, my safe space where nothing could touch me. I can handle almost anything in the day as long as I can get my run in.

Why Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run (TRTER)?

It has long been my goal to attend one of the UTMB events.  I entered the draw for CCC this year and on January 10th when I got the notification that I didn’t get in, I started looking for another double qualifier for 2020.  I’m sure hundreds if not thousands of other runners who had also been denied UTMB entry were also doing the same thing at the same time.  Races that were both Western States and UTMB qualifiers were either full or filling up fast. I admit with all I was juggling at that time I had no back up plan at all.  The Sierra Nevadas and area around Lake Tahoe looked absolutely beautiful, so late that night I put my name on the wait list for TRTER and also registered for Castle Peak 100K held 5 weeks later as a back up plan.  Both races are held in the same general area and I knew I’d be happy with either.  

I was 4th on the wait list for TRTER and expected that in the next 6 months at least 4 people would encounter some reason why they couldn’t do the 100 mile race.  Sure enough within a few weeks I was in and Tahoe Rim 100 became the reward I fixed my eyes on through the months that followed.

Training

My training went really well all spring, largely because I had zero time for junk miles and every run had a purpose.  I also had a lot of stress to burn off.  I ran a few 50Ks in May and went to Flagstaff for a week to train the end of June.  Living on the flat Canadian prairies at 730’ above sea level is not the most ideal place to train for a race with 18,000’ of gain at an average altitude of 8500’.  My time in Flagstaff wasn’t long enough to develop lasting physiological adaptations to altitude and heat, but it did allow me the chance to see how hard I could push without feeling woozy or nauseated, and to test some nutrition strategies in those conditions. I replicated race conditions as closely as I could, summiting Mt. Humphreys, descending to the Colorado River and back up on the south rim of the Grand Canyon, and exploring Sedona for a total of 100 miles and 18,000’ feet of gain over 6 days.  As I flew home to start recovering as hard as I had trained, I knew my legs were ready.  I had developed legs of steel and my hamstring injury was now a memory.  The biggest challenges would be heat and altitude.  Both factors were uncontrollable but I was now confident they would be manageable.

My race reports are usually quite technical, filled with stats and details of the course.  This one will be a story.  Every good story has good characters, plot, conflict and a climax.  It’s easy to tell a good ultra tale with plot, lots of conflict and of course a finish line climax.  But the characterization often falls flat, as one tells the story of a long day with a single character. This one will be different.  This one is about the people.

The Fox Brew Pub

Trena

I arrived in Carson City on Wed night with lots of time to relax and prepare for the race. Every race has it’s own feel, but TRTER has a very unique vibe.   There was a Meet and Greet at The Fox Brew Pub on Thurs night and I was so glad I went!  The first round and fries were on the RD which may have contributed to the great turn out.  After shaking hands with a few runners, I sat down at a large table to find myself across from Trena (read her race report here) and her pacer from Georgia.  She had a way about her that told me instantly this wasn’t her first time at the dance.  Even her pacer looked hard core, sporting a cast on her wrist!  When I asked Trena what her favourite race was, she replied, “UTMB.”  She seemed rather cautious and respectful of the TRTER course, which gave me perspective.  We would see each other throughout race: at the start line, in the Red House Loop, and at the finish line.  I arrived in Carson City knowing only one name on the registrant list, but within a few hours I had met a few cool people who would become familiar comforting faces out on the course and eventually like old friends. That evening Lisa, my friend and pacer, flew in to Reno and with her arrival it all started to feel real. 

Will

Will, my mascot Bonk, and I

Friday morning we dropped in on Will from San Francisco, the one person I knew on the registrant list.  Will and I had met in 2016 in Manning Park, BC. I had just completed the Fat Dog 70 miler and he had just come off the northern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail.  We met in the laundry room of the Manning Park Lodge.  I took one look at his hollow face and skinny frame and immediately invited him and his hiking buddy to join our post race pizza party. They entertained us for hours with stories from the PCT that fascinated me.  We have kept in touch since and he graciously offered to bring me a cooler, camping chair and anything else I might need (which even included 2 pairs of shoes I had shipped to his house.)  Over coffee I got know to his friend Kim, and we shared some mutual concerns over the altitude and heat.  It would be Will's first 100 and Kim's second. They had done training runs on the course and seemed well prepared. Will is legally blind and such an inspiration.  Check out Will's story here. I was gleaning any course info I could from anyone I talked to.  With the additional help of course preview videos I was developing a clearer mental picture of what the course would be like.

The rest of the day was spent finalizing my drop bags, doing some course recon, and checking in. Then it was pre-race brief, sushi dinner and bed by 8:30pm.

Myself, Kim and Will at the start

Race Day

When my alarm when off at 2:30am I woke feeling great and bounded out of bed, trying unsuccessfully not to wake Lisa as I made coffee, ate oatmeal and covered my body in Body Glide and sunscreen.  She gave me a hug as I boarded the bus at 3:15.  We arrived at the start line at 3:45 with over an hour to wait until the 5:00 am start.  Oh well, better early than late. The extra time meant more time for socializing!  I chatted with Trena and Rusty from Vancouver, one of only 2 other Canadian runners in the 100 mile event.  There were runners from 15 countries represented!

Then I spotted Will and Kim with their crew.  Will introduced me to his friend Mario Fraioli, who had come up from San Francisco to support his runners at the race.  Mario coaches some big names in running, my favourite being Sally Mcrae.  I was floored that he had come all the way up from the bay area to be there at 4:30am to support his runners, and if I’m not mistaken I saw him at several aid stations throughout the race.  This is our running community and why I love it so much.

Andrew and I at the start

Andrew

I first met Andrew at the Meet and Greet on Thurs night. He is an experienced ultra runner from New Jersey and his running resume consists of races like Cruel Jewel 100, Rocky Raccoon and the Vermont 100.   He sat down beside me and we discussed course conditions, past races, bucket list races, and essentially any and everything to do with…ultra running.  What else?  The next day I ran into him at race check-in and seeing as we were old friends already, we agreed to start the race together.

Before I knew it, the countdown was on, and we were off.  Andrew and I jogged together into the darkness, chatting easily as we filed into the single track kongo line that starts off all trail races.  By 5:25 the birds started chirping and a few minutes later the first hints of pink started to appear outlining the mountains to our right.  I noted this time because the timing of the dawn on day two is fairly significant to me mentally…little did I know how significant it would be the next morning! I am not usually talkative during ultras, especially in the first 12-16 hours.  For some reason I was Chatty Cathy that morning and before long Andrew claimed he needed a pit stop and that he would catch up with me later.  Although often valid, this is also the universal sign that a runner doesn’t want to hang with you anymore, and I smiled to myself, anything but offended.  I silently wished him well on his race and continued on.  I would not see Andrew again until 32 hours later when he crossed the finish line, grabbed his buckle, scarfed down a taco, jumped in the lake to clean up, and drove straight to the airport to catch a red eye home.  I pitied the person sitting next to him on the flight, but really…how awesome is that?

The Course

My goal was to finished around the 30 hour mark.  I had done Zion in 32, and I knew my fitness level and training was better this time around.  This course would also be hotter and higher, but I hoped the wisdom I had gained in the last few years would help me mitigate those factors. I started off trying to follow my rule of “no heavy breathing, no burning legs.”  It was hard not to breathe heavily as we climbed up and up, passing the Hobart aid station (AS) and reaching 8500’ before descending again.  The course only drops below 8000’ three times, and I knew I would need to be very cautious on the first loop.  I had chosen to leave my poles in my Diamond drop bag at the 30 mile mark on the advice of a runner at Thurs nights’ meet and greet and hoped that was a wise decision.

The 100 mile course consists of 2 loops of the 50 mile course.  I normally hate looped courses and avoid them whenever I can.  My brain prefers a point in the distance to run to, and nothing motivates me more than curiosity and the desire to see something new around the next corner or over the next hill. However, the benefit of two 50 mile loops meant that I would get to see the whole course in the daylight and wouldn’t miss anything throughout the night.  If I paid attention, I would also have the benefit of knowing how to better pace myself on the second loop.  So I soaked up as much of my surroundings as I could as we ran up and down mountains, along buffed out single track and through technical boulder fields.  When we rounded the corner between Hobart and Tunnel Creek to see this view, I gasped as I reared to a stop to take it all in.  This is what I had come for and we got to see these views over and over again.

There are two notable things about this course became readily apparent to me as I ran.  You can see it in the profile, but you can feel it even more as you run.

The trail is never flat.  Seriously.  It’s hard to believe that over 100 miles I can honestly say that my feet were either headed up or down, which meant shifting gears from power hiking to cruising over and over.

Hobart to Tunnel Creek

The climbs are distributed such that the mileage going up is much more than the mileage going down.  Meaning that you are climbing a lesser grade for longer, and then bombing down steeper grades for shorter distances and of course less time.  Other than Diamond Peak, the climbs looked like someone had taken the elevation profile and pushed the swells to the right.  My strength is downhill running, and I do best on a profile that is the opposite: short steep climbs with long runnable down hill sections.  There certainly were these type of downhill sections particularly in the last 7 miles of each loop off Snow Valley Peak, but this race was definitely a climbers game and I vowed to keep my poles in my hands for the remainder of the race after I picked them up at Diamond.

After reaching Tunnel Creek (TC), we headed into the Red House Loop.  After all that climbing, holy cow did we go down fast!  It was all I could do not to let myself just fly, but I reminded myself that I was only 12 miles in and tried to hold back as a huge dumb ass grin plastered itself on my face.  At this point the front runners were passing us coming back up out of the valley looking incredibly fit and strong.  I passed Trena and Rusty and Kim, and just when the trail was starting to level out I became less vigilant, and BAM!  I caught my toe and went sailing through the air. I had just enough time to consciously hold back from trying to save myself as I knew I would tear my hamstring again if I did. So I let myself dive into the ground hands first like I was diving into water.  Thank goodness there was no tree there and the ground was soft sand.  Kim was right behind me and asked if I was ok.  My leg was pretty scrapped up but it was just blood.  Amazingly my hands were good and nothing hurt.

Deep breath.  Ok Kim.  Relax. You were lucky.  Now dial it back even more and be smart.  You are in a 100 mile race, not a 50K.

As I continued to the bottom of the Red House Loop (one of the few places we dropped below 8000’), I saw some puddles.  We had been warned that our feet would definitely get wet here from the extreme snow melt they had had this spring, but the course must of have dried out in the last few days and it was not hard to pick my way around the puddles and across some rocks.  I desperately did not want wet feet that early in the race and even though I had a change of shoes and socks in my TC drop bag, I preferred not to need them and thankfully was able to keep my feet nice and dry.

Coming up to the Red House AS, I could hear music and saw a woman dressed in the best sequinned pink costume dancing with a tambourine and smiling as she welcomed runners to their party.  I think she was burning more calories than I was!  No need to stop though and I pressed on back up to Tunnel Creek.  At this point I was starting to warm up and I notice that upon leaving Tunnel Creek I had guzzled almost 400mL of water in 5 min.  My hands were puffing up and I was terrified of getting hyponatremia again (see Zion 100 race report for the full horror story).  I didn’t let myself drink again until the hour was up and cautiously monitored my salt and water intake for the next several hours but I didn’t puff up again.

The section between Tunnel Creek and Bull Wheel rapidly became one of my favourites.  We passed through it 4 times, and I got to know each turn and rock. There were great views, very interesting boulders, fluorescent green moss on the trees, beautiful flowering shrubs, all on a modest undulating grade.  At this point in the race I was approximately 45 minutes ahead of 30 hour pace and I was feel fantastic.  Leaving Bull Wheel I knew I had approximately 4 miles more up and then 4.5 miles of down, which turned out to be a fantastically runnable downhill section.  I cruised into the Diamond Peak AS (30M) at noon an hour ahead of schedule feeling hot but awesome.  Lisa was all set up and ready for me when I got there and was I glad to see her!  I had predicted that the only thing I would need was ice and watermelon, and that was indeed all I wanted. I asked where the scale was so I could weigh myself to make sure I wasn’t gaining weight, but it was inside the ski lodge and I couldn’t be bothered going in, deciding to gamble on my ability to manage my osmolarity.  Lisa filled my bladder with ice, which had remained empty to this point.  We filled my water bottles with ice and water, my Icefil sleeves with ice and soaked them in water, and I got the first of what would become many dumps of ice into my bra.  As I left the AS to begin the first of 2 climbs of Diamond Peak, a volunteer asked if I wanted ice water sponged into my head.  “Hell ya,” I said as I stood there soaking in the blissfully cool water as it trickled down my head and neck.

Diamond Peak Climb

I run hot.  I am Canadian after all, and can run comfortably in a t-shirt and shorts in weather as cold as -12C.  Wim Hof and I are kindred spirits.  In Winnipeg we don't get a lot of time to acclimate to heat before the temperature swings from -35 to +35C. The limiting factor for any runner pushing the upper limits of their own performance will be core temp.  They had predicted below seasonal temps in the alpine for this race, with highs in the mid-upper 70s.  It sure seemed hotter to me than that, but what did I know…I am a Canadian with high levels of brown fat and it was what it was.

Diamond Peak

The climb up Diamond Peak is…insane.  The only sport that I consider myself an expert at besides running is downhill skiing.  That climb was created by God for people to go DOWN.  Not up.  It was a 2 mile long slog up the ski runs under the lifts.  The first mile was “runnable” for the elite runners.  But the second mile sucked the life completely out of every cell in my body.  My ice was already all melted and in the hottest part of the day people were pucking all around me.  There was the occasional tree offering shade along the sandy climb, and my mission became to just make it to the next tree.  The grade was steep and the sand offered no relief to one’s calves.  My achilles started to heat up and I remembered to adopt the rest step technique in an attempt to save my calves from blowing up so early.  It took me and everyone I talked to an hour to do that 2 mile climb.  I was so glad I had my poles in my hands.  Topping out at Bull Wheel, I filled up on water again and jogged back towards Tunnel Creek. Yikes. I tried not to think about that fact at mile 80 I was going have to do it all over again.

On the way to Snow Valley Peak

Snow Valley Peak

I quickly reached Tunnel Creek and then Hobart again.  Leaving Hobart, I headed up to towards the summit of the highest part of the course - Snow Valley Peak.  The course splits tell you that it is 3 miles to the summit.  Let me tell you that it’s 4 miles, and at that altitude in the afternoon every inch counts.  If you are doing this race in 2020 and beyond, be prepared for 4 miles. This part of the course really was beautiful but I was overheated and starting to get wobbly.  By the time I had passed what a seemed like hundreds of pink flamingo signs tell me I was almost there, I crested a ridge to see the aid station nestled in a nice little dip.  As I approached on legs that didn’t feel like they were connected to my body, I asked how high up we were (I was totally disoriented and couldn’t even pull out my course profile).  I was told we were at 8900’+ and I heaved a sign of relief knowing that I wasn’t bonking and it simply was the altitude.  I asked for another dump of ice into my bra and the guy who obliged commented that I didn’t even flinch.  I couldn’t muster a comment.  During the course of the race I bared a LOT of cleavage to the volunteers willing to dump ice into my bra.  I was too hot and too hypoxic to care.  

Coming off Snow Valley Peak I knew I had 7 miles back to Spooner Lake and the half way point and it was all downhill.  I was feeling pretty depleted and as I headed down towards the alpine line I asked God for help.  God and I are pretty tight, and an instant later a thought popped into my head.  The sooner you get down the sooner you’ll feel better.  Just run.  So I did.  I cruised down that whole 7 mile stretch and as I got lower and lower I felt better and better.  I am a downhill specialist and this was what I was made for.  I cruised passed huge cedar and fir trees, past snow patches where I stopped to shove dirty snow into my arm sleeves and bra, and through more boulder fields.  As I dropped lower the sun dipped lower in the sky as well, and I found myself in the shade more often than not.  The dirt under my feet changed from red to ash to brown.  As it cooled off, I found myself solidly in that elusive flow state, where time stands still and everything seems effortless.  Endorphins were flowing strongly and nothing hurt.  I was on a high and as I breathed in the deeply fragrant smell of the conifer forest, I praised God for creating this magnificent place I was running.  For creating the planet.  For creating me.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude and as it spilled out of me, I found myself praying the prayer that I pray nearly every morning before I start work as a physiotherapist.  Lord, please send me the people that I need to connect with today. Please send me someone I can help.

As I descended towards Spooner Lake, my euphoria quickly vanished.  My favourite ultra mantra is nothing lasts forever.  The bad moments don’t last and for that matter neither do the good ones.  As I approached the Stonehenge Aid Station which would mark the completion of the 50 mile loop, I suddenly felt exhausted.  This was of course all mental.  My mind was sensing a completion, and the opportunity for a bail-out. I came into that AS ready for a reset.  As Lisa greeted me, I sat down and emphatically stated that I needed to recharge.  I was looking forward to my usual evening sushi, but it just didn’t seem appetizing. I tried to force food into my stomach but it just didn’t seem to want to go in.  I sat in that chair rather content not to be moving…until I started shivering.  It wasn’t cold at all, but my body was tell me it needed to keep moving.  Ok.  I plugged my watch into my portable power charger because the battery was getting low.  My phone was as well (although I don’t know why seeing as it was on airplane mode), but I had forgotten to ask Lisa to bring my phone charging cord.  I was heading into a long night with limited opportunities to listen to music. Oh well.

As I forced myself to rise out of my chair, Lisa strapped her insanely bright waist headlamp around my waist and wished me farewell.  I would next see her at the base of Diamond Peak the next morning when she would join me to pace me the last 20 miles.

Liam

Starting that second loop was hard. They say you run the first 50 miles with your legs and the last 50 with your mind.  So true.  Just before I checked out of Stonehenge, I saw heard this guy saying, “so there are 21 hours left.” I found myself telling him, “Hell no, we are on 30 hour pace. There are 16 hours left.”  And that guy was Liam.  I barely gave him a glance and moved on up the trial.

Very shortly after I left Stonehenge, I found myself locking in beside Chris, a Billy Yang look-a-like from Sonoma.  Before long Liam caught up to us and admitted to making the rookie mistake of leaving his headlamp in his Tunnel Creek drop bag, 12 miles away. It was just after 7pm and it would be well after dark before we reached TC.  He asked if he could hang with us using our lights until we got there.  I immediately said yes, of course!   Wow Lord - you sent him fast!  

As we climbed, I could see that Liam was a strong climber.  Another runner joined our group and I was having a hard time keeping up.  I needed a genuine pit stop (for real), so I offered Liam the use of my back up headlamp to allow him the freedom to run his own pace, asking him to leave it in my drop bag at Tunnel Creek if he beat me there.  He tells this story in his race report, but contrary to his impression that this was the headlamp I had won in the pre-race draw, this was my Petzl back up headlamp  and it apparently did not have very good batteries. I had no excuses for such a pathetic headlamp. It was horribly dim and as I caught up to him, I tried to stay with him to offer him some light.  I guess I was feeling talkative again, and we struck up a conversation that covered everything from Scott Jurek and Dusty Milller, to the fact that he was from Kalamazoo, MI, only an hour from where I went to grad school.  He tried to talk hockey with me, but I don’t have cable and don’t watch sports so that didn’t go anywhere.  I made book recommendations and we talked about our why.  Throughout the night we leap frogged.  I was getting very nauseated which was odd for nighttime and when I would stop periodically on the trail to dry heave Liam would ask if I was ok.  “Nothing lasts forever,” I would reply.  Although I had originally helped him, my new trail buddy was helping keep my mind off my discomfort.  That is, until he wasn’t.

Dr. Pasternak

Getting my meds!

I had signed up to be in Dr. Pasternak’s study on the effectiveness of anti-nausea medication on ultra runners at altitude. After experiencing significant nausea at Zion a few years ago and knowing this race ran higher, I figured I’d be a good candidate for the study.  I had taken one of the meds at 5:30 and it had seemed to work.  But by 10:30 pm my stomach was feeling pretty rotten so I took another one. That one did not seem to work. I reached Tunnel Creek for the 4th time about 11:30pm and had dry heaved continually for the last hour.  After sitting down beside Liam, taking my headlamp back, and dealing with some blisters, I entered the med tent to find Dr. Pasternak himself was there.  I told him that I wasn’t sure if I was taking the placebo or the real thing, but the meds were not working and asked if he could help.  (NOTE: I’m asking for help here.  A big thing for me).  He asked me what my research number was and somehow in the middle of the night almost 17 hours into the race I clearly told him 19-15.  He didn’t believe me, so he checked the back of my race bib and indeed, I was 19-15.  “You are getting the real drug,” he said, “and it’s obviously not working although you’re mind’s pretty clear.”  He blamed it on the method of absorption in a sour stomach, and gave me something else that would work better.  I don’t remember what, I only remember that I kept going.

I was on my own headed down to Red House, but caught up to Liam at the aid station.  As we climbed up out of the Red House Loop, I was not in a good place: still moving well, but frequently stopping to wretch or simply to breathe deeply in an attempt not to.  He kept asking me if I was ok.  I kept replying that of course I was.  It was touching that he was so genuinely concerned, however this was a 100 miler.  You have to go into these races absolutely believing you can do the impossible, with irrational confidence, because rational assessments often lead to rational surrenders (Jurek).  Every time he asked me if I was ok, it highlighted the fact that I was not.  I felt myself moving faster, and adopted the most efficient power hiking mode I could up that climb back into Tunnel Creek. I would NOT be not ok.

Liam and I had been travelling together off and on throughout the night with only the glow of our headlamps illuminating the path in front of us to look at.  I could tell you exactly what his voice sounded like, what the back of his shirt looked like, and I could pick his gait pattern out in a crowd of 200 people, but I could not tell you what he looked like at all.  I had kept everything other than the path in front of me and where I placed each step in the periphery of my vision and my mind.  So when Liam placed himself squarely in front of me as I was trying to choke down a rice ball,  I had no choice but to look up and found my resistant gaze locking into clear blue eyes that sliced right through me.  When he ask, “are you ok?” again, I nearly cracked.  That is the closest I came to breaking in the whole race. In that moment I felt so weak, which pissed me off.  There was no way that this man and this discomfort were going to break me.  In that instant  I knew I had to drop him.

Kim

I set off for Bull Wheel with 31.5 miles left to go.  The rice ball had settled well in my stomach and the calories it delivered hit my system like pure sugar.  Before I knew it I could see the lights of the small water-only aid station and arrived to find Kim and her pacer. It was great to see another familiar face in the middle of the night on the side of a mountain.  We compared notes and I ended up trading her some GI medication for some Tums.  We wished each other well as we set off for the next 8 mile section that would take us up again and then down into Diamond Peak. For the next 4 miles I could see Kim and her pacer’s lights ahead of me as we slugged it out along switchbacks in the deadest part of the night.  We were each in our own little pain cave during those hours and often could only pass each other a knowing glance when we leap frogged - that look that says, “I know every single thing you are thinking and feeling because I’m feeling it to.”  

About 3:30am my waist lamp went out.  I thought that it had simply disconnected from the power supply and jiggled the cord.  It turned back on.  I had come upon Kim and her pacer again and he asked me if I needed batteries.  No, I’m ok I said.  During the next few minutes, the waist lamp that had been a beacon of light illuminating everything around me kept going out. Before long I determined that it was indeed dead, and I pulled out my back up headlamp, the one I had loaned Liam earlier that night. As I turned it on, I realized I had made not one, not two, but three rookie mistakes.  Rule number one: never try something new in a race. As bright as Lisa’s waist lamp was and as happy as I was to borrow it, I had never used it before.  I had no idea what kind of battery life it had, and Lisa had never used it all night to give me warning.  Rule number two: always make sure your headlamps have new batteries.  I had my back up lamp, but as soon as I turned it on, I could see why Liam was struggling with it.  The light was much weaker than it should be after only a few hours of use, and I knew it wouldn’t last long.  Rule number three: always carry spare batteries.  I had loads of spare batteries in my drop bags, however I somehow had neglected to grab them at all the points I could have. This left me with a headlamp that barely illuminated my feet if I held it in my hand.  As I stumbled along in the near darkness, I prayed I wouldn’t trip on a rock way up there on the mountain.  I knew it would get light in 2 hours, but that was a long time away.  Kim was far ahead of me now and there was no way I could catch her while running nearly blind. I was kicking myself for not accepting those batteries when I could have.

Liam - where are you now?  Now I’m the one needing your light.  

But I had been an idiot, purposely distanced myself from him and he was nowhere to be seen. What the heck was wrong with me?  Little did I know that only a few miles back, at almost this exact same time, he was also alone in the darkness of the night hallucinating and thinking he was lost.  We were both having somewhat desperate experiences that could have simply been avoided if we had just stuck together.

Hmmm.  More on that later.

Just as I was starting to panic, thinking I would have to sit there on the side of the trail just waiting for someone to come by (which sounds reasonable to a non-ultra runner but irrational to someone who was solidly in keep f’ing going mode), I remembered my cell phone.  I pulled it out to see that there was 20% battery left. Thank goodness I had spent the night talking to Liam rather than listening to music.  Thanks God, you're always one step ahead of me.  I hoped that 20% was enough to give me light to last until the dawn.  I rigged the phone up on the front of my pack and amazingly it gave off enough light to allow me to run down the mountain and eventually catch up with Kim for a stretch.  Although we finished this leg together, she would make a quicker turn around and finish her first 100 roughly 30 min ahead of me.  She can be very proud of her run!

6:00 am - 20 miles left

As the sky started to turn pink I knew I had made it.  The worst was over.  In a few miles I would reach Diamond and pick up my pacer and we’d only have 20 miles left to go!

Lisa

Lisa is a bubbly yet determined wife, mother and regional sales rep for a medical equipment company.  I met Lisa 4 years ago, shortly after moving to Manitoba from the west coast of BC while on my first “real winter” run.  She had recently transitioned from running road marathons to trail ultras, but I could immediately see that we had a lot in common.  When she asked me to coach her, I knew she’d be a good fit with my philosophy and I can proudly say that she has become an extremely solid, no-nonsense, just-do-the-work ultra runner whom I knew I could count on.  We have shared a LOT of training miles together over the years, and she knew what she was getting into when she agreed to come with me to Tahoe…which means I was very fortunate she said yes!

Lisa and I

When I walked into the lodge, she was ready to GO!  She had been crewing and supporting me since my 2:30am wake-up call the day before, sleeping in the car, and she still seemed to be full of energy.  As I plugged my phone into a portable charger, she got me a cup of hot coffee.  After a quick visit to a real bathroom for the first time in 18 hours, we set off to climb Diamond Peak.  Anyone who knows Lisa knows she can talk.  But before she started to tell me all about her day and catch me up in what was happening in the world, I managed to warn her that the climb coming up was unlike any climb she’d ever done before.  I had hoped in the cooler morning air it would seem easier.  Who was I kidding?  After 80 miles, I stopped, leaned on my poles, and desperately did not want to do that climb again.  I knew what was coming and this was precisely what was wrong with a looped course.  But Lisa chatted the whole way up to distract me while I managed a grunt every so often to acknowledge that I was still alive.  Trust me, we were moving so slowly that one could seriously question that fact.

Once at the top we turned around to appreciate the view.  I was thankful that she would get to see the most beautiful parts of the course in the 20 miles she would share with me.  At Bull Wheel she took over like an army captain, shoving Tums into my mouth and refilling my water bottles.  I had asked her to make sure I ate, and man was she on top of that!  All night I had run in a tank top and didn’t feel cold at all. As we headed back along the fall line to Tunnel Creek for the last time, I was already heating up and it was only 7am!  Within another hour it was apparent that day two was going to be much warmer than day one and I was in for a struggle.  The theme became rice and ice...and everything nice.

The rest of the morning was a study in physiological management.  Heat and altitude were still my enemies and I struggled to keep enough calories in my system to sustain forward motion. I had developed the classic bloated ultragut from all the motion and simple carbs. Sure they were tired,  but my legs were never the limiting factor.  My knees were fine, my muscles were fine.  I had blisters, but that was just skin deep.  It was so frustrating to me that whenever I tried to pick up the pace I would get nauseated or dizzy or both and I would have to pull back.  I had been using breathing techniques for most of the race to settle my sympathetic nervous system.  This involved 10 deep diaphragmatic inhalations through my nose and followed by quick forced exhalations through my mouth.  This was essentially forced hyperventilation and it was enough to douse my brain with oxygen and down regulate my autonomic nervous system (thanks Wim Hof and Brian MacKenzie).  I’m sure several runners must have heard me panting and puffing like a woman in childbirth and wondered what the hell I was doing.  I didn’t care.  It gave me a brief reprieve from feeling like shit.

Lisa never once asked me if I was ok -
she just took pictures lol!

As it got hotter, I was really starting to suffer.  I filled my bra and arm sleeves with ice at every aid station and snow at every snow patch, all the while trying to focus on the natural beauty around me.  As we descended off Snow Valley Peak through beautiful old growth forests, I really started hallucinating.  I had been seeing things since the middle of the night.  The regular stuff like people sitting on logs and animals in the trees.  But this was a whole other level for me.  I didn’t tell Lisa most of what I saw.  As we were nearing the last aid station a mere 1.5 miles from the finish line, I was very glad we were almost done because I knew I was getting dangerously hot.  Every time I tried to pick up the pace it was like a switch inside just shut me down.  It wasn’t burning or fatigue in my legs, it wasn’t shortness of breath, it wasn’t nausea.  It was the animalistic instinct I might die.  Now, this may sound melodramatic, but I know Tim Noakes’ central governor theory isn’t a theory.  It’s truth.  My brain was at it’s limit and it was shutting my body down before I pushed too far, and I could feel it.  It was kinda scary.

This is when I starting tell Lisa, “there are the signs - we’re almost there!  See the arrows?”  I had her so convinced that she commented that my eyesight was better than hers.  We passed the spot where I had spotted a yellow sign with an arrow, a green one with park information on it that I could actually read, and a rustic metal sign in the shape of a mountain bike.  And then they were not there.  That is the most vivid hallucination I have had yet.  I was so baffled that I just stood there staring at the trees wondering where the signs had gone!

At Spooner Summit Aid, the volunteers encouraged me to run on through because I was so close!  I stopped because I absolutely knew I had to pack my body in ice in order to make that last 1.5 miles.  As soon as I did I could magically run again and I ran solidly into the finish line in 32 hours and 37 minutes.  This one took 2 hours longer than I had hoped, but I am ok with that. 

Liam came through only 23 minutes later and I greeted him and his crew as he celebrated earning his first buckle.  You did awesome my friend!

Thank-you Lisa for sharing the day with me.  And taking pictures.  And taking care of my blisters!  You are an awesome person and friend and I appreciate everything you did for me more than you know!

Post Race Thoughts

It’s starting to sound cliche, but yes, running a 100 miles like living life in a day.  The experiences you have are so intense, the connections with people you make are so pure, and the things you learn are so profound that they can take a long time to process.  Every race teaches you something if you take the time to look inside.  Reflecting back now, what did I learn?  The people are what I remember most about this race.  As much time as I like and need to spend alone, people are important to me.  The parallelism of how I related to them in the race and how I relate to people in real life is disturbingly obvious, and not always healthy.  Some things are really hard to change.  I learned I still have a lot of work to do in that department.

People come in and out of your life, some for a long time, some for a short time.  Embrace them.  Get to know them.  Appreciate them.  You never know when they might appear again, or the impact they may leave on you - or you on them.

Share your light.