I’m quite proud of the ol’ boy. He’s grown in pretty well. The shaving wound I inflicted upon him didn’t really seem to do too much damage, and is nearly invisible, now. No one’s ever commented on it, anyway, (though perhaps only out of politeness) so it can’t be too bad. Well, you all saw the photo. Looked ok.

The Mo' in all it's glory

Now I’m faced with a tough decision: to shave, or to soldier on? Clearly if I looked like a pervert or something I would want to shave it off immediately tonight, but things are not so straightforward for me: I look fucking awesome. What now!? It seems a crime to ruin such a glorious thing. This moustache is basically proof of a Benevolent God that loves all men (though clearly did not create them equally!) Who am I to deprive humanity of this miraculous embodiment of our lord?

Anyway, I’m just joshin’ … the decision has already been made…

I ain’t shaving it.

Nay, dear reader. Nay. This puppy is staying. Not only that, but we’re gonna welcome another member to the fold… As he’s about to be joined by a little brother, who I like to refer to affectionately as little Beard Junior.

Stunning, isn't it?

That’s right. You heard me. This Decembeard Beard (Junior) joins Moustache (Senior) in an epic growth challenge not unlike the battle between Gandalf and the Balrog: Like Gandalf the Grey, I will die and like the Pheonix be reborn, sent back from death by the Father of All, mightier, and more whitier! I shall be known henceforth as Mitch the White, and my beard and moustache (senior) will defend the essence of manliness against a society of idiots, the way Gandalf the White defended the walls of Minas Tirith from the Witch-King.

So fear not, dear reader. For (much to the dismay of my fair lady) my facial hair updates shall continue unabated.

And God said let there be Decembeard, and there was Decembeard. And it was good.

A rare glimpse of a Mo on a sunlit afternoon

Who was the attacker? None other than the Guardian of the Mo’, the defender of all that is manly… Myself.

Let me tell you the tale:

I found myself in the shower, perhaps after a cold, rainy evening run, or maybe just a shower before bed. The g/f was in the washroom, doing something or other, talking to me about something or other. I was prepping myself for the evening touch-up. Razor: check. Shaving cream: check. Apply shaving cream: check.

As I conversed with the lady on the other side of the shower curtain, I made the first pass. Right sideburn. It’s always job 1. Because I shave without a mirror, I need it to orient myself, get my bearings.

I continue on. Then, suddenly, I pause. Wait. Remember, I shave by feel… And something doesn’t feel right. Oh god. No. It can’t be…

I had taken a swipe at my mo’. My shaving habit is to hit right moustache next, immediately after the sideburn pass. Oh god.

My mind reeled. I felt nauseous, burped slightly, then retched into the base of the tub. A moan escaped my lips like the moan of a prison camp torture victim whose spirit is finally broken.

The g/f, panicked, with tears in her eyes, asked if I was ok. I dry heaved twice more, then slowly, wretchedly, turned my face, revealing the ugly, horrible mo-damage.

“My moustache!!” I cried, “I’ve ruined it!”

I burst into tears. My muscles atrophied and my testicles retracted into my body like a pre-pubescent child. My heart was torn, and like the lion in The Wizard of Oz, my courage vanished, replaced with a wizened grape of fear.

The g/f tried to console me. “Oh. That’s not so bad!” but I could see disgust and fear in her eyes. She no longer saw the Herculean hero she once loved, just a deformed freak, a Tom-Cruise-in-Vanilla-Sky shell of a man, broken and ugly, bitter and hollow.

I pulled myself out of the bottom of the tub.. Shuffled over to the mirror. It took every ounce of my remaining strength to reach over, turn on the fan, and open my eyes… And as the fog on the mirror slowly cleared, my misshapen face emerged like a monster from Stephen King’s The Mist, and I was revealed. A man with half a mo’. Half a man, now. Not even a man. A beast.

Over the next few days, I hid from everyone. I refused to walk the dog for fear of someone seeing my halfmo’, so she just went to the bathroom on the carpet. I didn’t eat, so I lost 10 lbs over the course of several days.

The g/f stayed out late, studying at school, avoiding the zombie I had become. I didn’t blame her.

Finally, this morning, work called me in… I had to return.

Head down, I shuffled into the office. I had smashed all our mirrors at home, so I had no idea what my scarred, ruined face looked like. I didn’t care. What did it matter? My life was ruined. A life with half a mo’ is not worth living. I would kill myself, tonight, I decided. I would throw myself from the Lion’s Gate Bridge. I couldn’t face the world, and I certainly wouldn’t condemn the g/f to living her life with… This. This thing that I had become.

As I walked hurriedly to my desk, I thought… I should document this story, not for me… It’s too late for me. But to serve as a warning for others. “You are not Dustin Hoffman in Rainman!” I would yell. “Use a mirror to shave! Don’t repeat my mistakes! Live well, young mo’s!”

So it was with a heavy hand that I raised my iPhone to snap the last photograph I would ever take… My fingers trembled as I tapped the shutter, and I sighed a long, deep sigh… Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered my family and friends, and I slowly turned the screen around to once more witness the horror…

“Oh. That’s not so bad!”

I’ve been documenting my mo’ very diligently, but those photos will only be revealed later. For now, on this first week anniversary, I took a shot to share with you. It didn’t really turn out that awesome, but I’m gonna lay 65% of the blame on the g/f, who couldn’t hold a camera steady to save her life. (Or, it would seem, the lives of countless men who may now die of prostate cancer because of her inability to accurately capture the true musky, manly essence of my mo’.)

Week 1: The Seasons of Mo'

If you’d like to donate to the cause that I support, I gladly and wholeheartedly redirect you to the Mo Page of the Esteemed Chairman of The Beard, JarDeaner. He raised a ton of money last year, so do your part and invent a solution for cancer! Together we can! Be all that you can be: Air Force.

Mitch out.

Nutrition-wise, we did eat well all week though, but the higher than usual amount of carbs, despite sticking to sweet potatoes for the most part, didn’t make me feel that great. Dinners usually consisted of 100% paleo recipes, lots of BBQ chicken and veggies, spaghetti squash bolognese, eggs and bacon, and mostly paleo shepherd’s pie. Was feeling good but paranoid about getting carb loaded. Perhaps unnecessarily?

Training went quite well. Unfortunately, like an idiot, I agreed to join a friend on a too-fast-for-me tempo run about 2 Sundays before the race. We ran 3 x 5 km at 3:50 pace, which is a much faster run than I am used to. I struggled in the wind but felt … Ok. The downside is I tweaked something in my knee. This put a damper on my confidence and further training, but it turned out ok, and gave me no pain during race. (After is a whole other matter!)

In my last week I basically hit my key runs as prescribed. I did what I felt was a critical last tempo run.. 2 mi easy + 4 x 1.2 km @ 4:04 + 2 mi easy. It felt very, very easy, HR less than 170 (max is about 190) and my knee felt good. Did I dare to think I could complete the race at a 4:04 pace?!

We struggled with a late ferry reservation the day before the race (again, bad planning on my part) and I was a stressed out jerk all morning. The second we hit the road I was fine but I’d ruined the mood, and stressed everyone out needlessly. Idiot.

We caught a ferry an hour early, got our race packages and pre-drove the course. I found this to be off basically no benefit on race day. During the run I didn’t see a damned thing but a spot of pavement 35 feet ahead and my Garmin pace! All I cared about was lungs and legs, and incline. Plus it just psyched me out to see how goddamn far 42.2 km is. Not worth the hassle. The g/f felt that it was helpful though, so I guess it’s up to personal preference.

We checked into the hotel, hit the nasty hot tub for a bit. I shaved my skull with a crappy free hotel razor (what an awful experience that is) and we pinned our bibs. I struggled with planning food for the race.. Gels? Energy Drink? Water? I read the “Do what Gebrselassie does” ad from Powerbar and roughly followed that. It seemed like a huge quantity of calories. Certainly a gel and Gu drink ~ 3 hours before the race (6 AM) was nauseating!! I felt ill right up to the start. Ugh.

Getting ready at the car. Nervous as can be, but loving it.

We got to the race with lots of time. The crowds were really sparse, and parking was super easy to find. We meandered for a bit, and started to warm up about 25 minutes to race start. Warm-up went really well, I think?? I did about 20 mins of a few light runs, some quick strides, dynamic stretches and some stuff like high knees, butt kicks. Didn’t do too much at all but felt good off the bat, so think it went well.

Gettin' my warm on. Feeling pretty good.

The starting crowd was weird. Very few runners looked fast. I was very near the front, as I predicted a top 50 finish or so. Many slow runners mixed into the very front of the crowd, as always, so I was annoyed at first… But I only got slowed up for a few minutes so it was a non issue. Anyway, the 8:45 AM countdown started, and we were off.

I had been agonizing over my race pacing strategy ALL week. My Vdot I’d be using was 53, and thus my marathon Pace was 4:17, but I felt really confident that was an easily attainable goal, roughly a 3:01 marathon. But what was a reasonable “tough” goal then? At these speeds, roughly at my limit, even 5 seconds per km add up to a lot of time, and a lot of effort. I was worried about starting too slow. I figured 4:15 for 10 km, then 4:10 for 10 more, then re-evaluate?? But then after my easy tempo run I though shit, maybe 4:10 off the bat?! I did the math over and over, calculated scenarios… I think I broke the Cool Runnings pace calculator.

In the end, I realize now I hadn’t made a real decision, and that cost me. When finally the race starts… I take off at 4:00 or better!! Not only that, but a huge crowd of runners is pulling away like I’m walking! WTF! So I stuck with it..

I can honestly say it felt really good, and I was content to slow down a bit on the hills, and relax a touch.. I kept it up though. I eventually did a 40:22 10 km (my fastest to date) and felt “pretty good”. The course through the city was a bit uphill but felt easy, and then a nice loop-de-loop park section with some uphills felt a bit challenging… but I was passing folks, and feeling good. Got a perfectly timed high-five with the g/f as we crossed paths, and felt solid when we finally turned South and ran out towards the coast and the 9 km mark.

Feeling pretty good considering I'm running 4 min/km!

From the coast we later turned into the neighbourhoods again, and things were still fine. I was running alone, feeling ok. Then I met Dave.

Dave cheerfully ran up beside me around the 12 km mark, and started to chat. “May as well run with you instead of behind you!” I was more intent on breathing than talking but he was also running 4:00 exactly and was super friendly. Oh, and he was 55! Damn him and his old man strength. He chatted a lot, said hi to everyone, and was very cheerful. I was concentrating a lot more, so was a bit monosyllabic. I don’t know if it was helpful to me to have someone to run with. Actually, I’m 100% positive it was not.

I continued to feel “ok”, but my friend Antoine’s advice rang loudly in my ear: “you should feel good at the halfway mark!” (He is a 2:41 marathoner!)

“Fuck,” I thought to myself as I panted my way past the halfway mark. “I do not feel good.”

I was still passing people. Many people were slowing a lot more than I was, and I regretted chasing them so strongly at the beginning. I guess we all make the same mistakes. I wasn’t feeling good though, and as the 25 km mark came around, I started to struggle. The finish seemed very far away.

From there, it all went pear shaped, as they say. I had been struggling with a stitch and cramps in my left abs right from the get-go, and it was getting worse. My right calf, a constant hassle for me, was stiffer by the second. Every uphill started to drain the hell out of me. My pace suffered. A lot. Dave told me to tuck in behind him, which I hate doing, but he got away from me finally, without a word. I was all alone, and a long, long way from home.

I was truly surprised at the rate of my decline! I did some rough mental math and figured I could slow to 4:10 and still do great. Immediately that pace became too hard. Ok, maybe 4:17 (my original marathon pace) … Nope. I was struggling (a lot!) to even hold a 4:30 pace! I did more math… Ok, how about 5 mins per km?! And I still had 12 km to go! Shit! Luckily I willed my miserable body to keep it under 4:30 for the most part, minus a couple really drawn out (20+ seconds) aid stations.

Guys were starting to pass me. Not many, but a few. It was depressing, but I felt no hostility towards them, I only hoped they ran a great race, and felt impressed with their efforts. It’s funny how not-competitive we become when we are in pain. They encouraged me, which helped. At least for a few seconds.

Every step was sheer agony. I wanted to stop and walk. I actually did stop and walk the aid stations. (I had been earlier too, but only for a very split second.) More gels and drink and water. Guts were fine, but was I cramping from too many calories? Was my stitch actually stomach cramps? Who the hell knows.

I actually passed a few guys and was reeling some more in, but I was passed a few more times too. I hate being passed, what an embarrassment. I should buy a singlet that says “I can’t pace.” Amateurish!!

“Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who has the most guts.” – Prefontaine

Anyway, I ran my goddamn guts out. I kept thinking of that Pre quote throughout my run. I tried to embrace the pain, keep driving my knees, keep pumping my arms, keep that cadence up. I believe it slightly less now (haha), but going into the race I told myself I was the gutsiest person out there. I have the most heart. I would run until my legs fell off, I told myself. Well shit, I’d better be careful what I wished for…

I honestly don’t remember the entire return trip through the suburbs, but once I hit the coast again (36 km) I knew I was on “the home stretch”. Not much of a consolation, but still.

I like to look at the countryside to distract from the pain

I had the will, but I couldn’t speed up because my right hamstring really started cramping. Despite that I managed at least one 4:17 km around the 40 km mark. I saw my buddy taking photos and tried to pick it up but simply could not. My leg buckled / cramped hard on me once and I nearly went down, and that really scared me, as I’ve never cramped in a run before. My right foot nearly gave out on me too, on a tiny ridge in the pavement. I was in bad shape.

I was nearing the finish now. The course had so many damned markers.. 25 mi! 1 mi to go! 800 m to go! 600 m to go! Fuck off! Every sign was simply a reminder of my slowness. I agonized over how far each 200 m was. Holy God please let it just end! (Maybe we should have driven this section of the course? Haha.)

I was 100% unable to accelerate to the finish, and stumbled across the line like a drunken goat.

I still raced to a very nice number though, posting a 2:56:56. For the last several km I’d been praying for a 2:55, but the last big hill (“Oh yeah, blame the hill…”) killed that dream. (And note that 4:00 for 30 km had me on track for a 2:48 or so! Dave had told me 2:52, which I just found out today was wrong.) I finished 42nd overall.

A telling photo: I seriously could not shovel those donuts into my mouth fast enough.

So my finish was pretty good. I think that works out to a 4:12 min/km, and Oh! how I wish I’d stuck to my 4:10 pace plan Any reduction of cumulative pain would have been effing glorious. Plus I might have made sub-2:55. But, I’d have learned less.

So this is a pretty major achievement for me. I really only started training at the end of January, and originally hoped for a 3:10… Then my goal evolved to a Boston Qualifier (3:05 for 2013) and finally sub 3:00. I just wish I wasn’t such a goddamn overachiever and had run my plan! By the way, Dave ended up running a 2:53, a PB and 1st in his age category, and 23rd overall. What a performance!

The real conclusion is that I get to increase my Vdot. I started training at 52, upped it to 53 at the halfway point of the plan, and now am a solid 54 (very nearly 55). I will up it again to 55 at the midway point of my next training season. And my next marathon goal will be sub 2:50 for my ‘B’ goal and sub 2:45 for my ‘A’ goal. Aggressive? Yes. Go big or go home.

“The will to win means nothing without the will to prepare.” – Juma Ikangaa

I truly enjoy training more than racing. I will run more conservatively next time, but train hard. Sub 2:40 is on my horizon (although a bit further now than I thought) and I’m very confident I can get there.

I’m still debating what to do for a training plan for the winter. Mix it up? Repeat Marathon Plan A with a greater peak mileage? Start ultra running on the trails for a season? It’s all up in the air. I do know I’m taking 2 weeks off, and then doing 4 weeks of recovery running per “Advanced Marathoning” (pg. 164) After which I’ll have exactly 24 weeks to the Vancouver BMO Marathon… The exact length of a Jack Daniels’ marathon plan… hmm…

My calves definitely need attention, as well. The stiffness in my right calf is almost always there, and I need to sort it out. Whether that is heel drops, calf raises, massage, stretching or rolling (or acupuncture, for all I know) it is right now my biggest weakness. I can only assume the cramping in my right hamstring was related, since I generally have no hamstring issues to speak off.

My race photos show pretty good foot strike for the most part but my toes are pointing outwards like some sort of duck, wtf is that all about? I need to bring them back in line. My form is a bit collapsed too, need to sort out my pelvic tilt and try to also reduce rotation of my upper body, which feels minimal but always looks shocking to me. I guess I need some quality video… I’ve been meaning to get into a few short barefoot sessions per week, too.

So I’m not unhappy with my race. I felt good, put it all on the line, and found my limit. That’s worth more than an arbitrary 2:52 to me.

“The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love and live.”

Like all of my races, this one begins several days before the actual event. Tapering, carbo loading, trying to sleep, and a large amount of planning and strategizing all take place in the days leading up to the race. In my case, because the decision to race was last minute, none of it went “perfectly”, but nothing was seriously wrong.

Why last minute? I was (and still am) following a marathon plan, in order to try to run a sub 3:00 marathon in Victoria in the fall. I was worried that this would disrupt my training too much. Not to mention pose a massive risk of injury. But in the final days, the appeal of doing the race I was already registered for was simply too much! Despite having moved the race twice due to snow, I decided “to hell with it” and committed to doing it, about a week prior.

Rice dream "oatmeal" with almond milk and two scoops of Recoverite powder. Not an ideal choice for my last big dinner.

I had no excuses. I was feeling fit, more or less injury free, and quite excited. Because of a busy week of moving, it was Saturday before I knew it.

3:00 AM

All our stuff, ready for the big day tomorrow...

Race morning meant a 3:30 AM wake-up… I got up at 3, took the dog out, and packed the car. The g/f got up later, got ready slowly but steadily, and we were off. I ate a Gu gel at ~ 3:15, roughly 1.75 hours before the race. Not as early as I would have liked, but whatever. I ate nothing else, and forgot to drink anything.

We got to the start of the race at 4:40. Everything was more or less ready to go. I pee’d in the woods, didn’t manage to take a dump, but felt ok. I was pretty much resigned to pooping in the woods anyway, and was equipped to handle it, so didn’t let it stress me out.

Me at the starting line!

I signed in, put a headlamp on… Realized I was the only person with a headlamp and took it off. I knew the start of the course from the earlier training runs anyway, and figured the sun would be up before long. The g/f was stressed but I felt good.

There weren’t many people, and I actually barely even looked at them anyway. A few guys looked fit. I recognized none of them.

5:00 AM (0 hours) 0 km. Start Line

Then the countdown, and we were off. 5 AM, 80 km to go.

I am the blueish blur in the front.

I immediately ran to the front. I wanted a 5 minute per km pace (8 minutes per mile), and planned to run the first half of the race very quickly, because I knew most of it was very flat. One guy stuck with me, a step or two behind, the rest fell back immediately. We ran on through the dark trail, the markers almost impossible to see.

The guy starting talking to me, introduced himself, said he was up from Portland. We talked about our running experience, and he said he’d been running a bunch of ultras. Seemed like a nice guy. He referred to this as a “good training run”, and I thought that was funny. I chatted a bit, but found myself talking too much, so I just shut up and concentrated on slowing down my pace, relax and stay focused on route finding.

Though I had run the first half (almost) of the course earlier in the spring, it was still hard to follow. Especially in the early morning light. I actually took a wrong turn, ended up on the wrong side of the river, and had to run across a train bridge. With this guy following me! It was a very minor detour, no difference in distance, and some markers reappeared and we were back on track.

I realized this guy was benefitting enormously from my knowledge of the course… He just had to hang behind and watch me figure out the trail! It kinda started to piss me off after a while. Not that I wanted him to get lost, by any means, but when I had to stop or slow down to figure it out, he was catching up to me, so he was really able to run a slower pace and still keep up.

Fortunately, my pace, just under 5 min/km, often as fast as 4:50, was uncomfortable for him. Either he was being conservative for the later stages of the race, or he had been doing so much slow running that he wasn’t happy at that speed. Either way, I eventually started to drop him.

When the trail veered a few odd ways, and then flattened out into a steady paced section, I had gained probably 400 m on him. And then, before you know it I pop out onto a road, and there’s Kaila and the truck. Aid Station 1!

6:10 AM (1.2 hours) 14.1 km. Station 1: Alice Lake Road

The station was early. I had written the distances and times to each station on my arm. 10 miles (16.1 km) in 75 mins was the plan, but I came in at only 14.1 km. Oh well, I chalked it up to Garmin accuracy. Sweet, that much closer to the finish! G/f was there, bottles in hand. I was still in early race excitement mode, so just dropped my empties, grabbed the new ones, and kept going! The whole thing didn’t even register on the Garmin, and the station crew had to ask for my number I ran by so fast. You’ll have to be quicker than that, people..

As soon as I left the aid station though, I felt horrible. The g/f just waited in the dark for me for an hour, and I barely said thanks! I was wracked with guilt. I was a horrible person. I wouldn’t get to see her again for another hour, or longer! I wanted to say thank you, so badly. I promised myself I would be more thoughtful next time.

From here the course went through some crazy trails. Tiny overgrown tracks in the middle of nowhere, barely visible. I had my head down, plunging headfirst through the heavy brush. I felt like Rambo. Or Arnold in “Predator” at the beginning, before they all die. I didn’t get scratched up at all really, which was good. I had a pretty good idea where I was going and the course was marked well enough, although the trail was barely discernible. Very different from when we ran the first training run in April! Finally I made it to the first hilly section, at Brohm Lake. And it was time to slow down…

I was in the unfortunate position of maintaining a lead, now. Should I stick to the plan? Or push harder? I figured the best strategy was: go only as hard as I could on the hills such that at the top of the hill I could immediately hit a 5:00 pace. If that meant walking, then so be it. If it meant a slow jog, then great. It worked out really well, actually. I made great time over the hill. I knew this part of the course well, even the unmarked left turn! I finally made it to the boulder field, and quickly hustled down. I did not fall and break an arm, thankfully.

On my way out of the woods, I remembered that I rolled my ankle so violently right about… OW! I stepped on the exact same root, with the same foot. Luckily I wasn’t sprinting this time! I looked back, and laughed. “you little bastard…”

Now I was back on the road for a short paved stretch, which I enjoyed. I was getting kinda tired, but maintained 5 minute pace. The aid station was just up the road, and I was feeling great.

7:18 AM (2.25 hours) 24.5 km. Station 2: Midnight Way

The g/f was there, ready to roll. I got her to run with me, and we traded off the bottles. I had time to say a more heartfelt thanks, but still felt guilty after the station. Damn! I hoped she would understand my selfishness. I looked back and she waved to me, and I was encouraged. The race director was at the station and cheered me on too, and seemed excited. Must be quite a relief to see things finally happening on race day!

The next section was rough, mentally. A long, long stretch of gravel road. Slow to run on, with potholes and those little ridges.. Lots of gravel. Felt slow. I was starting to struggle a bit to maintain 5 min/km. I wondered if I should slow down?? I figured fuck it, I can slow down when I get tired and it gets hilly.

(31 km) Soon the trail started climbing out of the valley. I didn’t get lost, and recognized most of it from the 2nd training run. The hills were less steep than I remembered, so I made great time. And I started seeing other runners! They were the 50 km group. They were all encouraging as hell, and they made me feel like a badass with their “you’re a 50 Miler? Right on, kick some ass!” and all that. It was nice to not be running completely alone, although whenever I did meet one I was hammering past them and only saw them for a few seconds. I wondered how long the race would take them…

(35 km) Finally the highway at the peak of the trail. and a long smooth downhill. Here I made one of my few (in my mind) big mistakes, and I blazed down the hill! I ended up running a 4:16 km! A large part of this was due to passing a group of 4 or so of the 50 km runners. I was showing off, frankly. Luckily it was only for a few minutes until I asked myself what the fuck I was doing, and the incline lessened. I have no doubt I strained my hamstrings a bit though. Don’t worry, I would pay the price later.

(37 km) The trail cut into the woods for an awful section about a km long, then back out onto the highway. I appreciated the effort to get away from the pavement, but there was no trail! It was just running through the woods! It was neat, but knowing the road was like 20 yards away and SO much faster made it tough to enjoy. It did get better, and a small trail appeared, but then we popped back out onto the highway.

Another long stretch of road (longer than I remembered… But I anticipated that!) and then the Chance Creek aid station appeared.

8:46 AM (3.74 hours) 39.8 km. Station 3: Chance Creek Bridge.

G/f’s notes say I said I was tired, but I looked strong, and asked for more water. It must have been heating up. I know I was definitely starting to feel whiny and weak. I was definitely getting tired of pushing the pace so hard. I think I might have grabbed my hat at this point. The sun wasn’t out much yet, but I didn’t need a sunburnt skull.

From here I still knew a few more miles of the trail, but when the marking faltered, so did my memory. I met a 50 km runner in the woods, who I helped (by sheer luck) find the course. I got totally stumped at the one point (the 911 sign) and made a few false starts down the wrong paths (I tried all of them!) and he caught up. Finally I concluded that we should run around the back of “Shadow Lake”… So he followed me. I felt convinced that even wrong turns would all filter North, so I ran quickly and left him behind again.

The problem was, when I ran the course last time, it was buried in snow! I eventually recognized a little bridge though, and took it. I still hadn’t seen a marker, so I hoped the route hadn’t been changed. Then a marker appeared! I wondered if I should go back and mark an arrow in the dirt for the other runners.. I decided just to draw one where I stood and hope he figured it out. I didn’t have time to help others damnit! I had a race to run!

(45 km) Finally I made it out onto the road, and then back down to the highway. At this point it was very hot, and I was very tired. The pavement was painful, and I found myself avoiding cracks in the road, looking for the smoothest surface to run on. Road cyclists riding by me gave me lots of encouragement. I’m sure I looked like death. I felt so slow, but the Garmin said I was doing ok.

My legs where hurting a lot. Shins, knees, etc. The whole run my TFL (?) had been hurting, and I wondered if it would get worse? And the heat.. I was so thirsty. Not enough water in these little bottles. The Perpetuem was getting a bit hot and frothy and hard to stomach. How I longed for an aid station.. 4 km along the road was pretty hellish in the blazing sun.

9:45 AM (4.75 hours) 50.6 km. Station 4: Brandywine Falls

I ran into Brandywine and saw the station, but not my crew! I was a bit stressed, but I didn’t wait, and ran to the station table and asked them to fill my bottle. Then the G/f showed up and called my name. Our shit was 20 feet away.. I jogged over. I grabbed a new bottle of fuel and she convinced to eat some berries. I did. I was in no mental state to resist instruction. I went back for my bottle, and the cap was missing, and had to run back to the table. Christ. Finally I took off again. I was pissed at first about the screwed up station, but knew it was because she was dealing with the dog. It was bound to happen. I didn’t let it bother me too much. I was too hot and exhausted to dwell on it, anyway.

"Stop running for a minute and play with me"

Notes say “still running fast and looking great” but I felt like death. And all I could think of was being done.

The running from here on in is a jumble of memories, at best. I just remember endless gravel trails that climbed and climbed, and zigged and zagged. A forest trail so rough and rocky I could barely run. I wondered, were people walking behind me? Would I be passed? All the spring was gone from my step, and every downed log was a hellish obstacle of slowness, to be clambered over. Hoping not to fall on my face.

The uphills were painful. Should I run? Should I walk? Mostly I walked, even the gentlest of hills. My legs were lead. I kept thinking to what Dean Karnazes (I just read his new book) and Geoff Roes, and no doubt all other famous ultra runners say: “There are low points, and high points. Being good is about running hard through the low points.” But I was thinking “Where the fuck are my high points?!” It felt to me like just a constant downward spiral. Maybe 80 km is too short to experience some secondary high points…

Up until this point, the aid stations all came way early, relative to the distances on the website. This time however, I ran on, and on, and on. I ran so long, I thought I missed it! I ran out of fuel and water. I stopped to dunk my head in a cold stream. I ran on, awash with pain.

I was on trail though! There were markers. At one point a guy with a number on came running back towards me. He seemed fresh. I was going to ask him if he was going the wrong way. I was sure (well… I was fairly sure) I was going the right way… I eventually saw some buildings, and knew I must be nearing Function Junction. I was positive I hadn’t seen buildings yet! But the wrong-way runner stressed me out.

(65.5 km) Eventually, I popped out onto the road. The course was poorly marked again, and I bobbled a bit, then found the way. Then Kaila was there in the distance! She told me to follow her, when I asked where the aid station was. I was skeptical. I kept asking “are you sure? Are you sure?” and she said everyone was getting lost, and asked if I had been lost? I said no, but she told me other runners were coming from a different direction! She said everyone was getting pissed off and lost. So I felt better, since I was neither.

The reason she thought I was lost was that I had been planning for the aid station at 45 miles (64.3 km) but all stations had been early. The last one was 6 km early! So I ended up running over 8 additional km for this leg of the course! Needless to say, it was confusing and stressful. I was sure I’d been on the right route the whole time, however, so I just figured I’d done my math wrong, and didn’t worry about it too much.

11:30 AM (6.5 hours) 66 km. Station 5: Function Junction

Aid Station 5: Function Junction

Finally we crossed the highway, after waiting for the light. The aid station appeared, but it was so different, with signs and happy faces and stuff, I still wasn’t sure it was the right one! The lady had a bell, and encouraged me and took some photos. I was a zombie and felt terrible. She said “there’s your buddy!” and pointed to the dog, but I was like “oh, yeah, she is.” and just ran on. (Sorry, dog) Kaila gave me more water, and more bottles. I had started doing Gu gels (hoping the caffeine might help) and so I grabbed one more, and took off. Kaila said “see you in an hour!” and I prayed she was right.

I dove into the woods, but right away I arrived at a 4-way intersection, with no markers. There was a big trail sign. I checked it, and thought I recognized trail names from the course description. The trails weren’t signed, so I still didn’t know which way was correct! I debated going back to ask for directions, but instead crossed my fingers and hobbled off, up the hill.

Turns out I chose correctly. I was at the bottom of the last massive obstacle: a 400 m hill. God, was it endless. I couldn’t run up. I had to walk. Mountain bikers raced down. I can’t remember if there were markers or not. I think there were. I was teased with numerous false summits. I looked at my watch. 10 km to go, and an hour to do it and finish in sub 8 hours. If only I could reach the top, I could do it! Alas, t’was not to be. The top took forever to reach, and the downhill was way too steep to be of any use to me. I stumbled down in more pain than before. My kidneys, back and core were killing me. I couldn’t breathe well, my lungs and heart felt weak and ineffective. The clock ticked on. I was barely doing 10 minutes per km.

(74.6 km) I finally popped out at some sort of reservoir on a gravel road. Again, a 4 way intersection that was unmarked. I asked someone about an aid station and he said “I think they’re down there, across the bridge”. Shit, that wasn’t clear enough directions. I found another sign with a map on it, but it was unclear. There were some rocks and logs arranged, directing people back up the hill. On the map it appeared there was a trail, so I followed it.

It turned out (I think?) to be the mountain bike course. I found a guy on a bike and asked him, and he said he’d seen runners coming this way. That being said, I was fairly sure that going straight down would have been much faster. I was annoyed at having to run further, but then I told myself to just not worry about it. “You’ll make it to the end, just try to enjoy the run”. It was a beautiful mountain bike trail through the woods, over a bridge over a crashing river (Twenty One Mile Creek?) and I tried to just relax and enjoy. The pain in my core and back (kidneys?!) made it very hard, but I did feel a bit better.

12:55 PM (7.55 hours) 76.2 km. Station 6: Alta Lake Road

Kaila was at the station, as was a guy wearing a “Club Fatass Ultramarathon” t-shirt. He seemed smug and totally unconcerned with my suffering, which frankly pissed me off. Perhaps he merely couldn’t tell I was suffering, but I felt like his smirking smile said “I’ve done longer, harder runs than this baby race”. (I guess that’s assuming a lot, but I wasn’t in a great state of mind, haha.)

My kidneys were killing me, and I asked Kaila if I should drink more water, or less? More Perpetuem, or less? She wasn’t sure. I ate some oranges, and a glass of Coke. Stupid. Comfort food for the weak, is what that aid station shit is. I just had to burp for the next several kilometers. (I still maintain that random “real” food has no place in a race, although I do admit that using a single fuel for an entire day of running is a terrible plan.)

Kaila asked him how far to the end. He said 6 km, or less. Kaila said “mostly downhill, right?” and I knew better than to believe the response, and he knew better than to lie. He said it was “rolling”. I mentally prepared myself for more hills, but I did latch onto the 6 km “only” idea. Thankfully it was less than 6 km, and indeed mostly downhill.

From here the trail was really tough. Lots of little ups and downs and winding turns, lots of stupid mountain bike bridges and obstacles. Drove me crazy. Was so hard to get a rhythm going, especially with my aching core. (And zero spring in my step.) I knew sub 8 hours was long gone, but I also knew the finish line was so close…

Finally (finally!) I popped out onto the paved Whistler bike path. I remembered reading an old race report, in which the person complained the path felt very long! So I steeled myself for several more km of hard paved running.

People were biking by, lots of pedestrians with dogs, etc. I ran by them, a sweaty decaying zombie. A girl asked “are you running a triathlon” and I croaked back “no. 80 k.” … Then people started to say “You’re almost there!” and I picked up the pace as best I could. I was managing still nearly 5 min/km, and saw a few runners ahead of me, which I focused in on. I fought hard to pass the first, and it turned out she was just a woman out for a run. Damn. The second, going even slower, was in my crosshairs…

But then, the finish line appeared. The classic Running Room red tent and finish line, with the clock and the banner. People milling around. The promise of food! I sprinted, passed the second guy (this I regret doing; No need to ruin someone’s finish line photos for a few seconds of sprinting) and crossed the line. The Garmin read 81.32 km in 8:27:18, and the finish clock read 8:27:40. I had completed the race in 1st place, and beaten my “medium goal” finish time by over an hour!

Finish Line

The lush, green grass was heavenly, though I could barely sit. I walked around a bit. Stretching was out of the question, as I would cramp immediately. I ate some amazing (oh so amazing) Graham Wafer cereal cookie things someone had made. Holy mother of Christ were they delicious. Kaila brought me a hot dog. I was dropping food everywhere in the grass, and felt bad, but just had no capacity to find a plate, which in hindsight would have made a lot of sense.

Note chocolate graham wafer cookie thing from heaven in left hand

I was awarded a 1st place finish bottle of wine, a certificate and a gift card at the running room. I thanked everyone for a great race, and all their hard work. We chatted a bit with the second place guy (who I’d been running with at the beginning) and his wife. He was pissed off about some of the markers missing (he’d gotten lost twice) but the course director said that people had been tearing them down.

Here’s my Garmin Plot: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/104856389

Epilogue

In the end, it was a great experience. It had been my goal since late February or so, and even though the race was moved (twice!) I was very happy to have done it. I guess I wish I’d been better prepared (training for the fall marathon meant almost no recent long trail running) but not because I cared about going faster, only because I wish I’d been in less pain!

I also learned a lot. I’ll point form a few things to save time.

• I felt like my strategy was pretty sound, though I realized afterwards that running a more constant pace would have made sense; the course was not nearly as slow in the second half as I thought. Planning on running 5:30 min/km would have probably served me better? Tough to say.
• Cold drinks, especially the fuel, would be amazing in handheld bottles. Not only were my hands sweaty and overheating, but the Perpetuem was nauseating when warm and frothy. An ice pack, even for a second, at an aid station, would also be very enjoyable.
• Sunglasses are useless on trail runs. I couldn’t see a thing in the woods, and who cares if it’s bright in the sun? Might not be the case for all races, but they were annoying. Any extraneous gear is annoying.
• Black is a stupid colour for a running hat. I need a white one. I need a white running singlet as well. Heat is bad.
• Pre-running the course is a must. Even the slightest hesitation at a fork in the road ruins your rhythm and requires a lot of concentration. Study, study, study the course. Run the course, map the course, and finally, chat with the organizers and find out if anything is different to last year.
• Crewing is hard, and time consuming. Arrange things better in bags. Better yet, have a few plastic bins. Pre-mix fuel if you can. Don’t bring the dog. Bring two friends rather than one. Bring a photographer!
• Man up and leave the real food at home for an 8 hour race, and eat specially designed endurance fuels, if you want to save huge amounts of time at the aid stations. This is one of the things I definitely did right. Yes it was monotonous, but I probably spent a total of 1 minute at aid stations for the entire race!
• Hydrate more. I’m pretty sure I was dehydrated, hence the sore kidneys. (At least, I’m pretty sure it was kidneys, and not just back muscles.) I didn’t have bleeding (signs of a “dry bladder” that can abrade and bleed?) and I didn’t have brown pee (signs of major kidney issues!?) but still… I don’t wanna do long term damage out there. I only pee’d twice, and the first time was before the 1st aid station. The next time was pretty dark. Probably dehydrated.
• Get lots of sleep two days before. Get lots of sleep the day before. Try to stick to your regular routine. This aspect of my race I screwed up big time. My diet sucked, my sleep sucked, my routine was shot.
• Winning 1st place is nice I guess, but meaningless. It’s an ego thing that I am glad to say played very little part in my strategy, or my race. Run the best race you can, for yourself. Run hard, run with purpose, and stay focused. Do this regardless of whether there’s a guy 10 feet ahead of you, 30 minutes ahead of you, or 1 hour behind you.
• More long slow running on trails, and less fast marathon training (tempo runs per Daniel’s Running Formula!) would have been great for me. And a more distinct peak and long taper. I guess I did as well as I could given that I just did the race more or less on a whim.

That’s about all I can remember of my race. I hope you enjoyed reading about it. Thanks to my amazing crew for allowing me to do so well. I couldn’t have done it without you!

World's best crew at race headquarters

Still limping,

Mitch

It was raining on and off, the entire trip. And not that eternal gray drizzle garbage Vancouver calls rain. This was like soaker shower turned on full blast downpour. Almost enjoyable.

Got here, walked around a bit. Kaila is at work somewhere. Got there in a helicopter. Yeah, being in med school is *that* fun.

Bought some food (Paleo diet is never gonna work on a camping trip…) and then drove to some little campsite. Went for a walk along the beach.. Was super nice. Just rugged, pristine. I saw a single piece of garbage: a AA battery. And I like batteries.

The dog was off leash using her fancy new collar. It isn’t working very well.. Need longer prongs to get through all that fur? But it worked well enough. She did great, other than the rolling around in sand, rubbing it all over herself… Sand, I was to find out shortly, that reeked of rotten fish. Nice work, dog.

View from the end of the campground. Very nice.

500 km from home on a new beach in the middle of nowhere and she lays down to chew the very first stick.

Ocean dog loves that water.

The Exploder made it this far, anyway!

This is my “before” shot. Gonna try (!) to get away with not shaving all month, haha. Get an early start on Decembeard.

Up at 6:00 to my crickets alarm clock. Stumbled downstairs, made myself a gross smoothie (the avocado is 100% required for a quality smoothie) then packed the rest of the stuff into the truck.

Fed and walked the dog, ran one last errand (in vain) and arrived at the ferry terminal with time to spare. Next stop, Nanaimo.

“Are we there yet?!”

On account of the snow we faced last weekend, Gottfried decided to move our training run to a more temperate climate. He chose to run the Baden Powell trail, starting at the Grouse Grind parking lot and heading East, to the top of what is known as “The Seymour Grind”, which is really the high point of the Baden Powell on Seymour Mountain, where it meets “Old Buck” trail.

Sunday was the morning of the Vancouver Sun Run, so the entire of downtown was going to be pretty much cordoned off… So I couldn’t sleep in, despite the run being moved an hour closer to my house! Oh well.

I got up early, grabbed my stuff packed the night before, grabbed the dog, and headed off. I wanted to get through the city early, so I was going to walk the dog up on the mountain instead, so save 30 mins. I figured she might enjoy the little road trip, too.

We got through downtown with no delay, and I took her for a little walk around the Cleveland Dam park. It was super cold out. I was in shorts, and freezing. We walked around for a while until I couldn’t cope with the cold, and we headed up to the Grind.

Was a beautiful crisp morning at Cleveland Dam.

Parked at the Grind, and walked the dog some more, in the trails. Finally 8 AM came around, so I stuck the dog in the back of the truck and met the other runners. I recognized a couple of faces. Dana (?) and another girl whose name eludes me. Nicola and Gretel showed up as well, which was good, so I knew I would have someone to run with!

We posed for our group photo (as more and more runners continued to filter in) before taking off.

A few of the 15 runners that showed up!

We ran the Baden Powell directly from the base of Grouse. Well, “run” is a misnomer. It’s very steep there, so we mostly hiked. I wanted to run right off the bad, but Nicola took the lead with a pretty tame speed. She is damned fast when she wants to be, and knew the trail well, so I was content to match her pace. (I would later be glad I did!)

After ages of pretty steep climbing it finally levelled out and we were able to start running. One guy was out in front (who I didn’t know, but he looked intense) and we wouldn’t see him again until almost reaching the halfway point.

The three of us ran along at a very conservative pace. We walked all the big hills. We stopped for small breaks. Nothing too intense. I had run this trail almost completely before, and so I didn’t worry about where we were headed. It was nice out, and it was a nice run. Gretel seemed a bit tired, Nicola seems to be faster than ever, and I felt good but a bit sluggish, probably because of my 26 km the day before.

Eventually Nicola picked up the pace even further, out near the end of the trail, and we were humming along quite nicely. Gretel was sweating bullets, Nicola looked strong, and I was starting to feel it. I was experiencing what I thought was some pain in my calf again, which stressed me out. I realized after a while that it was actually pain right in the “narrow” part of my Achilles tendon, however. So that was good?? I mentioned this to someone and they suggested perhaps it was the new shoes. That hadn’t occurred to me.

We ran on. Now my left foot was hurting in the same place, more sharply. So I kind stayed off my toes, ran carefully… etc. Wasn’t too bad, just sore.

Finally we reached the halfway mark. It had taken us probably 2:25 to go about 16.5 km! It’s a slow trail… but that meant only 32 km or so total, and I had intended to run 40. I asked the girls if they wanted to keep going to Deep Cove, but they both declined. So I agonized for a bit, then decided to go on

Since we were at the “top” of the Seymour section, it was all downhill to Deep Cove! I ran pretty quickly, making up some serious time and feeling good. Sometimes you just need to shake out the legs, you know?

I made it to the end of the trail (or close… the rocky lookout anyway) in about 30 mins, so roughly 20.5 km in 3 hours. Now, to head back.

Oops. Except that I felt some super sharp pains in my Achilles! Oh crap. 20 km to go, most of it uphill, and my Achilles are experience stabbing electrifying pains. Damnit. Oh well. Slow and steady wins the race, I guess. So I start my hobble back, expecting to be out here for about 6 hours total. Ouch. At least the sun was shining! And then I remembered the dog.

I had left the dog in the truck when it was early morning, and freezing cold. I leave the dog in the truck every day at work, so I can take her out for walks at noon. She does just fine. But now, what was that shining orb in the sky? The sun?! It was hot. The windows were almost all the way up. Parked in an exposed parking lot, with black tinted windows. “Oh shit,” I thought to myself, “my dog is going to die.”

So much for “hobbling” or “taking it slow”. I ramped it up to full on race mode. I ran up hill, sprinted down hill. I cut corners, leaped over rocks, and tore through the woods like a deer. A very frightened deer.

I was exhausted, and there are some steep hills. I powered up, hands on my knees, panting like a madman. I swore at the hills. “F*$#k! F#$% you!” and sprinted the downhills. I would pass people, frothing at the mouth, panting, yelling at myself “Hurry up you moron, faster. Go faster!” between breaths. They would hastily move off of the trail, giving way.

I cut a few corners, skipping a short section or two at Lynn Valley, and considered taking the streets. I didn’t know the way, however! I was worried I’d get lost. I thought “20 km, that’s not that far…” then I would visualize all the sections I knew were coming, and be struck with the enormity of my task. I calculated how long it would take. I looked up at the sky, the gorgeous sun shining brightly through the forest canopy, the sunniest day I’ve seen in 10 months. Then put my head down and get back to the task at hand.

How long can a dog last in a hot car? How long before she goes into a coma, before her heart stops? Would someone notice? Would she break out of her cage in a last ditch attempt at survival? Or fade quietly? Would the other runners remember the dog? Would I come back to a fireman giving mouth-to-nose to my dog, an IV drip in her front paw? I was delirious, imaged myself carrying her overheated body to the water filled pond nearby. Would that do the trick? Would she drink? I would hold her snout out of the water, so she didn’t drown.

I ran on. I had planned my food carefully for precisely a 4.5 hour run. I was rehearsing my race fuelling strategy, and so I had gels, electrolytes, water, and a carb powder concoction. But carefully metered for 4.5 hours. I was running out. I stuck to the schedule, even though exhaustion and dehydration were setting in. I hadn’t anticipated this pace. I would eat a gel every 45 minutes, a drink every 15, a carb drink every 60. Keeping track of the math, analyzing pace and ETA, it’s enough to keep you busy until the next 15 minute interval.

I ran on. Finally I reached a section of trail I knew very well. But now, it all seemed new. What was this?? Where did all this trail come from? I cursed out loud every new turn I didn’t recognize. I sprinted through the forest. I was running sub 5 minute pace at times, and I was pleased, if only briefly.

It was an odd thing. In an emergency, can you really sustain that feeling of urgency? Can you sustain it for 3 hours? 4 days? I thought of the movie “The English Patient”.

It’s a known fact, from fighting, that you cannot stay angry when you’re tired. Can you stay stressed? Can you stay sad? I doubted it. In moment of extreme emotion, I can’t keep running. Extreme emotion will stop me in my tracks. So the converse must also be true: extreme physical exertion will stop your emotions in their tracks. So I couldn’t dwell on my dog being dead, at my hand. I tried not to dwell on her last horrible moments of delirium, dying alone in a heated cage. We don’t all die alone, but she would, and it would be my fault.

“Why did I bring the dog? It’s her fault! It’s her fault for not running. It’s not my goddamn fault she’s crated. Goddamn dog, why won’t you run!? It’s your fault you’re in that damned crate! … I’m sorry. I’m sorry Tuna. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was a harsh owner. I should have let you play with sticks. Shit! Who cares if she smells the fucking flowers??”

How would I live with myself?? I decided I would never get another dog. She would be the only dog I ever owned. Obviously I would never get another dog. I had proven, without any doubt and with complete finality, that I was unfit to care for anything. I would probably retire just leave. Go to South America to self-destruct in the jungle. Pick bar fights with Columbians until I was killed.

The run was endless. The sun bore down. The hours passed. I ran out of food, despite finding a spare gel in my pack. I sprinted on.

Finally, in the distance, I saw two girls that I’d started running with. It was 5 hours into my run, and I was nearing Mosquito Creek. The kilometres were being discarded, but it seemed like so many remained!

I met them, sprinted past. They said “I heard you ran to Deep Cove?” I panted yes, but that I had to go, see you at the finish line. I left them in a hurry, sprinted up the last hill, the very last hill, and burst out of the forest into the road. Now it was a straight line to the parking lot. I sprinted faster. I was running sub 4 minute km now, hikers giving me a wide berth as I tore down the dirt and gravel path. The car was so close!

I kept my eyes to the right, looking for pool of water I planned to dunk the dog in. I would hop in the car directly, if she was unmoving, drive down here, and drop her in the lake. The vet would be closed, it would be her only hope. I found the spot, a wide shallow pool with cold, running water. Only a few yard from the end of the parking lot.

I ran through the parking lot. So long! So steep. So, so hot. Black asphalt gravel stuck to my shoes. I cursed the parking lot. I looked up at the sun… yeah, no shade to be had. Shit!

The parking lot felt endless. It was so, so hot. I was running on empty. I could imagine the girls up on the hill behind me, watching me crawl. They would know. They would show up while I held my dead dog in a pool of water.

Finally, I reached the car! I tapped on the rear window as I unlocked the door…

The dog raised her head, yawned, stretched. She was fine. Out of water, but more concerned with eating sticks than drinking. Phewf. She would live to disobey another day!

Brain damaged? Impossible to say for sure!

I fared pretty well. I ended up cutting 45 minutes off my “out” time, to cover the last 20 km in 2:15. Total distance was 39.7 km in 5 hours and 15 minutes. In terms of time, this was the longest run of my life, by about 26 minutes. In terms of distance, I’ve run further a few times, but certainly never harder!

My Achilles are hurting, a few days later. But my race fuelling strategy was great. No muscle soreness, barely tired, feeling great. Looking forward to another training run next weekend!

I think I’ll leave the dog at home next time…

Running is life, and death.

Mitch

Previous Tenderfoot Runs:
Part III – Tenderfoot Boogie Training Run #2
Part II – Tenderfoot Boogie Training Run #1
Part I – Intro to the Tenderfoot Boogie

Sunday morning now, bright and early. Up at 5:45 or some ungodly hour like that, out with the dog and then off to Squamish. I drank my new fancy electrolyte drink, listened to some Robb Wolf podcasts, and enjoyed the ride. Unfortunately, it had started raining, hard, and I didn’t have much hope that it would clear up. To my relief, it did seem like the rain was falling more lightly as I drove past Squamish, to our goal, a turn off to Retta Lake.

I arrived on time, and the rest of the team showed up shortly thereafter. (I am the most punctual of the group, you’ll be happy to know. I’ll be late intentionally next time, I don’t wanna get a reputation.) A car-load of girls confusedly drove by, then came back to rejoin us. I recognized none of them. Of the maybe 10 or so runners, I only recognized four runners from the first training run, including Gottfried (race director), Emry (sp?) or “The Man Who Knew The Way”, the Australian, Gretel, and a girl named Nicola. I got ready, lubed my feet, and we got our little race briefing. Of note was the reassurance that there was “only a short bit of hard packed snow” in one section and that it would be pretty easy going. And, as usual, we were off!

The beginning of the run was nice, up and through the Brohm Lake trails, eventually joining the trail we ran last weekend, and descending (along the dangerous steps and steep rocks) to Midnight Way. I think all in all it was about 7 km before we were breaking new ground.

I was joined quickly by Gretel, and we set off at a very reasonable pace. Nicola and a girl I would later meet, Jen, took off ahead. Gretel and I lost sight of them quickly on the first few hills, and that was fine. She wanted to take it easy, and I wanted to go slow to keep my calf from being re-injured. We chatted a bit as we ran. This is my favourite section of the trail thus far, and the pace was really chill.

We caught up with Jen and Nicola at a fork in the road, where they’d stopped, unsure of the way to go. It was unmarked, but there was a trail map, so we worked it out. So now, and for the remainder of the run, we four ran on together.

Through the Brohm Lake sections there are some really slippery steps, and this week it was Jen’s turn to slide her shins into the steps, in the same spot (perhaps the exact same step) as Nicola did last week. Eek! She seemed pretty sore, so we slowed down a LOT and plodded our way down the mountainside. There was a lot of chit-chat, and not a lot of concentration on the trail, and we were going disturbingly slow. I didn’t really mind, but part of me was like c’mon girls, let’s see some hustle. It is worth noting that the 3 girls knew each other, so I just hung out back, ate my gels, and made sure I didn’t break an ankle.

Finally we got off that rock slide, and we picked up the pace. My legs felt really heavy, my pack was really heavy (intentionally ,with 3 L of water) and I was actually working somewhat to keep up, so I was happy. We ran for what felt like ages along the gravel road, and honestly I am struggling to remember much of the trail. Much of it was road, for certain, with possibly some intermissions of steep gravel / rocky sections. I ran them all, but waited at the top for the girls. Not that they were far behind, they were just being more conservative on the uphills. I hate walking the hills unless I have to, so I just didn’t bother.

At one point we ran past a movie set. Jen theorized that they were filming another Twilight movie, and I noticed that all the girls’ running form immediately improved. They pranced along with smiles, wiped their sweaty brows, and tried to look their best in case a casting director needed a Bella replacement. They were also frantically trying to catch a glimpse of a shirtless werewolf or a shiny vampire, but it was not to be. Dejected, they ran on.

The course, at some point, becomes a real trail. I can’t for the life of me remember when and how, but there were some really nice fine gravel sections working our way up and out of the Cheakamus Canyon. We stopped and took a picture, and though it was overcast and foggy, we were in great spirits!

The girls posing at the top of the canyon

Then we hit the highway. At this point, the trail follows the highway for almost 5 kilometres! Despite it being nearly all downhill (or flat), it was a real mental battle. The rain was getting to me (I was completely soaked) and the cars rushing by, spraying water everywhere… I was ready for it to be over. I pushed the pace pretty hard, and the girls followed suite. I just wanted it to be over. And finally it was. Sorta.

We had reached what I believe is “Chance Creek”. We crossed a rotten wooden bridge, and were faced with a massive amount of snow. “Not to worry,” we reassured ourselves, “it’s only a few 100 meters of snow!” Indeed, the snow, very deep in places, stopped pretty soon. Only to re-start immediately, and then not let up for several kilometres! Wow, the battle continues.

Keep in mind, of course, that it’s been raining the entire time, and I am literally drenched. I brought a rain jacket, but it was much too warm. Running in snow is a challenge, but my Asics (which I just retired, after 1700 km!) were completely smooth, and that makes it damned near impossible.

Soon we reached a giant … puddle. Puddle is a misnomer. A little lake / pond had flooded over the road. Nicola went first, trying to skirt around, and promptly plunged through the snow into knee deep water. She decided “oh well” and just wades through the huge pool of ice water. Ouch. Now the rest of the girls follow! Ok, that’s way too intense for me. These girls are nuts. I’m going around. I gingerly try to walk around, and sure enough, my foot goes through and I’m standing in knee deep water. Damnit.

Ok, I figure, well, I’m soaked now, no point wasting my time, so I just jog the rest of the way in the water, literally over knee deep, while the girls pluck their way through the woods. My feet were so cold! I had to stop to wring out my socks. Then we kept running through more snow.

Finally (finally!) we reach the end of the snow, and the end is near. We run some soggy gravel trails, and then hit the road near Retta Lake, and race for the cars. Phewf! The longest 30 km of my life is now over. Thank goodness for that!

In the end, we ran 28.19 km in 3:15:37, for a roughly 6:56 min/km pace, which I felt pretty good about, despite feeling very sluggish. In the end, the rain and cold are but distant memories (as is, sadly, most of the trail… this is why it’s not great to run in a group, although that day I definitely needed the company!) and I’m looking forward to the next one, which I believe will follow nearly the same course. Looking forward to it. Hopefully the sun is shining, and with my new shoes I hope my traction in the snow is better. If not, I’ll be thinking about picking up a pair of microspike thingies.

Here’s my Garmin plot from the run:

Previous Tenderfoot Runs:
Part II – Tenderfoot Boogie Training Run #1
Part I – Intro to the Tenderfoot Boogie

Running is life.

Mitch

My background: Last March I ran the Six Foot Track in Australia. It’s a pretty challenging 45 km trail run. I ran about 2000 km in the 9 months preceding the race, to train for it. After that I barely ran, although I started to dabble in some barefoot stuff that summer. Destroyed my calves on my first run, got blisters all over my feet, that type of stuff. Good times. Eventually built up to running 12 km barefoot, then kinda stopped running too much.

Enter 2011. A friend convinced me to train to qualify for Boston, and I met a girl who is excited to run, so I started running again. I started getting serious in the last week of January and ran 40 km that week. Since then I’ve not missed a single scheduled run, and am now up to 80 km a week, with a 33 km Saturday run and a 20 km Sunday run (scheduled for this weekend.)

So my brother sends me a pair of VFF (model: Sprints?) in the mail, for Christmas. I finally decide to go for a run last night, with the dog (who can’t run to save her life.) I had done 10 km earlier, and only needed to add 4 more to make my daily quota. So I throw on the VFF’s for the first time, and we’re off.

Immediately my form is identical to running completely barefoot. I was actually surprised at this. I thought it might be a bit more of a “hybrid” form, but I was wrong. I just couldn’t land on my heels, felt really nice, light and smooth. The fit? They felt quite uncomfortable, and I immediately wanted to take them off. The heel on them is a tiny bit loose, but the toes felt a bit short. I had some pain in the “palm” of my left foot, perhaps because my foot wasn’t able to expand (width-wise?) the entire way? In any case, they weren’t too bad, but they weren’t great. I didn’t say “wow omg I love these!” I said “ehh… I would rather go barefoot.” Plus, while I strive to rise above that, I felt like a total freak in them. I will admit they will need to broken in before I jump to conclusions. It was really nice to not have to worry about what I was running on, and for that alone they are worth it.

Anyway, the dog was being a bitch (haha, get it?) and she was lagging, so my pace was pretty slow. Despite that, wow, could I ever feel it. Immediately my calves were being “expressed” (how’s that for a nice word for it?) a lot more than normal. I was pitter-pattering along, paying the utmost attention to my calves. I even felt a bit of a twinge in one, at one point. Since I was terrified of ruining my long runs this weekend, I finally called it quits: after only 2.65 km!

Wow. I was shocked. I thought for sure I could bust out a 10 km run in them, given that I’m in reasonably good running shape right now?! Nope. Not even close.