Alright, a wee bit delayed on the follow up considering the poll closed a few days back, however a surprise Christmas visit back to Newfoundland took precedence.
AND THE WINNER IS...drum roll please...
Ellie Greenwood for her World 100km Road Championship victory in Gibraltar, taking 33% of the vote
Second place went to Tracy Garneau for her win on the big stage down at Western States. 26%
Third place also went to Ellie for her course record setting performance at The Canadian Death Race. 18%
Beverly Anderson-Abbs claimed 9% for setting the new Canadian 50 mile trail record,
and Tracy's course record win at HURT Hawaii rounded out the top five with 7% of the vote.
My own thoughts? First and foremost, super stoked to have 153 people partake in the vote! That's up about 50% from last year but with so many incredible performances every vote truly did count in this one so it's not completely surprising.
Beyond that it goes without saying, yet I've now said it twice, 2010 was a truly incredible year for Canadian's in the ultra scene, especially the women!
NEXT UP. Starting tomorrow we'll post the candidates for Male and Female Ultra Runner Of The Year, commonly referred to as the UROY. Melcher and I will post our known results for the best in the country and then leave 72 hours for assistance with filling in the blanks. On Sunday evening around 6pm PST we'll launch the polls, this time for four days instead of a full week.
Alright, Happy New Year to all and to all a good night...or something like that...
You can cast your vote by clicking on the right sidebar but please review our Top Ten List as selected below. Poll will run for one week, Sun 19th till Sun 26th (5pm PST)
Men's vote over on Melcher's Blog
Her run was the 3rd fastest ever on the course, men or women, and would be the 2nd fastest women's 50k in Canadian history and would be a Canadian trail 50k record
9) Denise McHale
World 100km Road Championships, Nov 7th Full Results
8th woman, 7h56m
Denise's eighth place finish was also a new Canadian 100km woman's record.
**This is where it gets kinda funny as we list Ellie's result from the same race, however since Denise's time is the Official Canadian 100km record it not only deserves to be included in the list, it also deserves serious consideration in the overall vote**
10) Ellie Greenwood
World 100km Road Championships, Nov 7th Full Results
1st woman, 7h29m
World & European Champion
11) OTHER
It's hard to believe that it was a serious challenge to cut this list down to ten. This has to be one of the best years we've ever seen in the Canadian ultra scene.
If you feel that one of the races dropped from the top ten was the performance of the year, than vote other to let us know. Keep in mind that you're voting on the performance of the year, and not just for your favorite runner, or your favorite race, or for a race you happened to be at when one of these incredible performances took place.
I had a bit of fun with this last year and managed a surprisingly solid response so I decided to roll with it a second time. This year I'm teaming up with Ryne Melcher to do a tandem posting as he'll be hosting the Men's vote over on his blog. (since he likes boys and I like girls)
Well, bar none there were some UNBELIEVABLE performances by Canadian women this year which should make the vote very interesting and very tight. As with last year Ellie Greenwood will be representing The Maple Leaf, even if our own governmental policies prevented her from representing us at The World Championships, as she was intending and hoping to do.
To ensure no one is missed in the voting process we will first roll out our top known performances and ask for feedback on oversights. Our apologies in advance if we miss anything. After this list has been up for three days we'll select our top ten and post it to a vote.
Differing from last year, the only rule is that it had to be an ULTRA distance race.
Following our performance of the year vote we'll post an Ultra Runner Of The Year vote as well, and again we welcome all feedback with these topics. Thanks for checking in, helping out, and eventually taking part in the voting process. There is nothing to be won here other than well deserved recognition for our incredibly talented Canadian contingent.
In chronological order, at least as best I know off the top of my head:
Tracy Garneau
HURT Hawaii 100 Miler, narrowly missing sub 24hr and crushing the previous record held by Krissy Moehl
1st place and Course Record
Beverly Anderson-Abbs
Pony Express 50 Miler, 6h14m is an unofficial Canadian 50 Mile Record smashing old record of 6h26m
1st place Overall and Course Record
Jenn Segger
Rainier to Ruston 50k
1st overall
Beverly Anderson-Abbs
Way Too Cool 50k, one of the most competitive 50k races in the US
2nd place
Beverly Anderson-Abbs
Mad City 50k, 3h44m
1st place Overall and Course Record
Tracy Garneau
American River 50 Miler, one of the most competitive 50 Milers in the US
1st place
Ellie Greenwood
Elk-Beaver 100km, not highly competitive but definitely a certified 100km course
1st place Overall and World 100km Trail Record 7h36m
Sue Lucas
World 24hr Championships
22nd woman, 1st Canadian, 197.7km
Carolyn Goluza
Vancouver 100km, a double running of the insanely technical Knee Knacker route in 17hr flat
1st place and Course Record
Tracy Garneau
Western States 100 Miler, The Grand Daddy of 100 Milers and always super competitive
1st place and first ever Canadian to win WS
Nicola Gildersleeve
Western States 100 Miler
11th woman, rookie 100 mile debut
Ellie Greenwood
Knee Knacker 50k, destroying women's record and nearly catching the lead men
1st place and Course Record
Ellie Greenwood
Canadian Death Race 125km, finishing second only to Hal Koerner, breaking previous Overall CR by 20min
1st place, Course Record, 2nd fastest time ever
Laurie McGrath
Dirty Girls 12hr
1st place Overall, 97.8km
Sue Lucas
Lost Soul 100 Miler, a tough course and apparently tougher weather conditions
1st place, 28h27m
Theresa McGrath
Ottawa Sri Chinmoy 24hr, within striking distance of Canadian record
1st place, 205.6km
Ellie Greenwood
Run For The Toad 50k, 3h37m destroying women's CR and running 3rd fastest overall time ever
1st place Overall
Sue Lucas
Lemming Loop 12hr
1st place Overall, 113.6km
Denise McHale
World 100km Road Championships, Official Canadian 100km record of 7h56m
8th woman
Ellie Greenwood
World 100km Road Championships, World and European Champion
1st place, 7h29m
Tamsin Anstey
North Face 50 Mile Championships
11th woman, billed as most competitive 50 Miler of 2010
There you have all that our combined craniums were able to uncover. Official vote will be posted on Sunday evening. Congrats to all above, it's been an incredible year! Best wishes for everyone to stay healthy and continue representing at the big races in 2011.
Don't forget to click here to check out Melcher's blog and the Men's 2011 results and subsequent poll.
This one was too funny for me not to post, or at least based upon the circumstances that I/we discovered it, there was no way it wasn't being blogged about...
While watching The Oilers lose to The Canucks tonight,
"You'd better watch what you say to me, I'm the World Sand Dune Jumping Champion ya know"
"Oh really"
"Yeah, you can google that shit!"
"Hum, Nothing"
"No, no, ya have to hit up 'IMAGES' to get a valid response!"
And sure enough...
If google says it, than it must be true...WORLD CHAMPION! Just like I always claimed I was! Even if I haven't earned a word of it...
OK, OK, it's Photoshop! BUT, I am doing way better and I have fully come to terms with the next four weeks. It's just another month and as long as the next x-ray at least kinda resembles the above image than I will ideally be back on my feet early in the new year. Till then, I will employ a strategy that I learned to master while residing in Banff, Ab. DRINK PAST IT!
PS: To those who thought the above image made it look like my toes were snapped in half here's the second image they shot. It was just the positioning of my foot that created the above pigeon toed effect.
(Yeah, this is my x-ray from today and not six weeks ago. My toes had been outta the cast for all of ten seconds so they were still frozen sideways)
Maybe I shouldn't be blogging about this just yet, in fact I know I shouldn't because I'm still quite upset and I haven't fully had time to digest everything properly but whatever, here goes, I need a release.
It's been ten hours since I had my cast chopped off, got a follow up x-ray, and was delivered the completely shitty news. I'm still going to be on crutches for at least another month, maybe more. I don't actually know right now and won't know anything for another four weeks. My fiberglass cast has been replaced by a heavier, bulkier, more cumbersome walking boot that I'm not actually allowed to walk in, which has only served to make this whole process that much shittier.
"It's a bad break"
'Yeah I fucking know it's a bad break Doc,'
but I just wasn't prepared for this set back today. I thought my foot was feeling really good lately. It's not even about the running anymore, in fact I could give a shit about running at this point, I just want to be able to walk on my own two feet and still have hands to utilize at the same time. Imagine that! I'm completely fucking sick of how difficult the most menial of tasks have become while on crutches. Laundry, vacuuming, sweeping, showering...this is how I quantify a successful day right now.
Since I basically broke my foot the week after I officially moved into my new apt, I still have boxes that I've been unable to move into storage and I'm still short on furniture because I can't actually buy anything since I can't fucking lift and transport it. I have to organize grocery shopping through a friend. I have the neighbors basically taking care of my dog for me, and worst of all is that I've been unable to work throughout this entire process. I thought today was the day that I could finally start working past all of this. I had been counting down to today for weeks on end, yet low and behold 'that day' is now an unknown imaginary time frame that exists at least a month from here, maybe more, and THAT is why this hurts so much. The complete uncertainty of what I'm even dealing with.
It's like running a fifty mile race, crossing the finish line completely spent and thinking you've won, and then being told,
"Opps, our bad, it's actually 100 mile race...we think? They'll letcha know at the other end. Have fun!"
I went into this thing saying "It's only six weeks. I can handle six weeks, whatever I'll make it work."
Well, here I am six weeks later and with no fucking clue as to when I'm actually going to be able to walk on my own two feet again, let alone run.
Yeah I'll get through it, yeah I'll get over it, yeah I'll eventually be able to laugh about it and I might even call it a beneficial experience one day, but for right now,
OK, I'm gonna blog this out before I change my mind cause it's not exactly easy to rationalize a fairly serious running injury such as a Jones Fracture into something positive, but here goes...
To quickly summarize the issues my body was facing on a semi-regular basis throughout all of 2010 and even some of 2009
Fatigue / Over training Testing showed a strained adrenal system and low vitals
Right Achilles Flaring regularly and sometimes preventing me from walking without a limp
Right Ankle Significant enough to force me to get an MRI which revealed lingering long term damage that had been aggravated through heavy mileage
Right Foot In the EXACT area that I broke my foot I had done so once before, albeit almost two decades ago. However, for many years now everything from ski boots to cycling shoes seemed to aggravate the area and I had been wondering for upwards of six months if I had a hairline fracture in my foot as it was.
Left Hip The most significant of the injuries and not so much in terms of the overall severity to my body, but more so because it was the one injury that actually forced me to stop running. After completing the East Coast Trail I was unable to run for more than 15-20min without my left side shutting down on me. In the two months following the ECT the longest run I could muster was just over an hour and I ended up regretting it for days afterwards as it only set back my recovery time.
SOOOOO, if you look at the overall picture of a slightly broken body what might be the ONE injury that could potentially force all of these issues to simultaneously recover? The answer of course is a broken foot, and only on the right side. A broken leg would be a far more serious injury to rehab from, and anything on the left side would have only exacerbated the nice list up above. As it stands right now my entire right ankle structure has been frozen in place for six straight weeks, I've been forced into a lengthy break in which I have most certainly rested and recovered from all of my fatigue symptoms, AND my left hip has been thrown into a full on daily workout that has only served to strengthen the area and force the glute med and glute max to finally fire properly.
Now I'm not about to suggest that this has been easy or enjoyable for even five minutes, but they say, and I believe, that everything really does happen for a reason. I'll be the first to admit that it is rare to appreciate or understand those reasons in the moment and this may be true here as well, however that hasn't stopped me from trying to piece it all together. Whether this makes any true sense or not, it has allowed me to sleep better and relax a bit more. In five short days the actual truth will be revealed as this cast comes off and a subsequent x-ray tells the full story of what's transpired in my foot over the last six weeks. Assuming I get good news, and I really am feeling like I will at this point, then ideally this can only ever be viewed as a minor initial setback and maybe even something beneficial in the long term.
While recently attending the Montrail / Mountain Hardwear Fall Sales Conference an athlete inspired video debuted under the name "Hard By Choice." I missed the first thirty seconds or so but as soon as I realized what we were watching, I recorded it in high def on my handheld. I think it came out alright and I was then surprised to see that I'd 'made the cut' and even got a few quotes in there myself.
One of the highlights of the week for me was meeting Ueli Steck, 'The Swiss Machine'. He had a pretty inspiring presentation that left just about everyone with their jaws hanging on the floor. His next grand vision is to start trying to lay down insane speed records upon the 8,000 meter peaks. Here's a video that chronicles some of his recent accomplishments and gives insight into what he's all about. Enjoy.
Yes this will be a sponsor shout out and some will view it as a 'commercial', but honestly I just LOVE new gear, especially when it's DRASTICALLY IMPROVED GEAR! I'm still blind from staring directly into the light to see just how bright it is...yeah, I'm that smart. Forgive any spelling mistakes as I'm seeing spots right now!
Short but sweet, Princeton Tec just released their brand new 200 Lumen APEX light. If you already know the Apex, yes you just read that right, it's almost twice as bright as the previous version! AND it won't cost a dime more than the first version, and they say that the battery life is not compromised whatsoever. (I will be testing this myself once I cut this damn plaster off of my leg).
I've talked up the original Apex in the past and have even given a few of em away on here...if I'm really nice to the boys down at Princeton Tec lights, who knows, maybe we'll be able to have a draw for the new light in the not so distant future!
The PUSH. New from PT is a 100 lumen ready to rock bike mount light. By 'ready to rock' I mean it's all pre-assembled in the box and you simply turn one screw onto your handlebars and you're good to go. Here's where I feel that the light really distinguishes itself though, it doubles as a handheld flashlight, it weighs next to nothing, it runs on just three AAA batteries, AND it has built in red flashers on the side of the light to ensure you'll be seen in all directions. Now that's a well thought out piece of brightness!
The BYTE. Also new and super light at just 64 grams. 35 lumens, two AA batteries, high beam, low beam, red beam, and all for under twenty bucks!
There, I'm done! All geeked out and loving my new toys...now if only these spots I'm seeing would fade away. Must stop staring directly into lights dammit...
and I had covered over 100 miles of ground for the first time in my life. The sun had risen on my second day only to reveal terrain that was completely overgrown and impossible to run. Navigation was not an issue, but I was down to a bushwhack hike of about 4km an hour. I was wearing running shorts and my primary thought, outside of reaffirming every curse word I'd ever learned before, was that I only wished I had enough foresight to pack a pair of running tights. Every step through the harsh overgrown Newfoundland brush was like grinding on a heavy grit sandpaper, and I truly wanted my legs to bleed more than they actually were so that I would at least have visual justification for all the frustrations I was dealing with.
To add to the anguish I was suffering through I had under budgeted my food and fluids for this section and I had completely run dry hours earlier. My left hip, which had been an on and off issue for months on end had started flaring up after just the first hour and a half of my journey and since then had gone completely numb. As painful as it was it had not spiked in pain in hours and I felt like the worst of that issue might be behind me. Over the years experience had taught me that if you ignore your own body's sensory perceptions they will eventually start to questions their own sanity. Which is of course directly in line with the conversation you will inevitably have with yourself at some point as well.
"Listen I've been telling him for hours that he's all messed up but he just ain't hearing it."
"Really? You sure we're right about sending out those pain signals?"
"I dunno. I just do what what comes naturally but if the big boss man is telling me to shut up I guess I might as well listen to him. He can deal with the consequences himself later."
Truth be told, had I registered for any race on that same weekend I would have pulled the plug, DNS (did not start) without question or any feeling of remorse whatsoever. Since early summer I felt like I was just hanging on. I managed a successful Western States in June yet I still had two major pursuits on the schedule that I'd made very public in March. There was a fundraising campaign for Right To Play that was gaining momentum and I had somehow been able to fight my way to a slightly better West Coast Trail time than ever before, just two weeks prior. Though three quarters of the way through that West Coast Trail attempt I found my mind on the opposite side of the country, in Newfoundland. I was wondering how in the hell I was going to pull off a 215km run just fourteen days after running the 75km WCT. Those thoughts lasted all of a few minutes before I realized I had to be present in that moment in BC before shifting my sights towards the next run in Nfld.
The weeks between runs had evaporated and I now found myself in a whole other world of hurt. I had once covered 200km in a weeks worth of training and it completely shattered me. I had never attempted a distance greater than 160km in one go, and I had never had the 'good fortune' to run into a second sunrise before. This was all new terrain for me, and none of it was going according to plan.
Ray Zahab had been kind enough to send me fourteen maps that made up the entire route, and in hindsight these maps were integral to our success as a family. Though the terrain had now slightly eased, at least in terms of the overgrowth, I found it impossible to run more than a few steps at a time. I would guilt myself into a trot of about a minute before my body would shut down on me. I continually repeated this process like a scratched LP stuck in a record player. Over, and over, and over again. Try, fail, walk, try, fail, walk, try, fail, walk.
I knew the direction I wanted to travel and I couldn't help but notice that I was getting farther away from my next town and what would end up being my saving grace of seeing my family and their rolling support vehicle again. It was already four hours beyond my predicted arrival time and though the sun was now shining bright upon a beautiful Sept day I was being bombarded by coastal winds that would leave my face wind burned by the end of it all. I pulled out my maps, careful not to let them get caught in the breeze, and I confirmed that I was indeed still on course. It just happened to be the long way round to my next intersection. It was blatantly evident why the trail meandored out to sea and not towards the safe haven community of Petty Harbor. The scenery was endless and this trail was designed to take in all the fantastic sights and sounds that help make the route such a rare gem. I however, no longer gave a shit about the sights, sounds, and vantage points, and in fact I was actually starting to loath all of it. My two cameras felt like dead weights that I had to carry to document the damn trek and I was sick of feeling the need to stop and capture beauty on film.
I glanced into the distance and could just make out what appeared to be the end of the inlet I had yet to turn towards. My next 'aid station' was all too far off and I very literally had thoughts of just laying down and shedding a few tears. I was a defeated man, completely deflated and devoid of motivation to continue onwards. I had always wanted to find my breaking point through my endurance pursuits and I was now being confronted by something I had never truly dealt with on such a low level before. I wanted to quit. I just didn't care anymore, about anything. Knowing that quitting simply was not an option was all that kept me moving, one step at a time. Then it happened, I started to hallucinate.
As I crested a small knoll I thought I could see my brother off in the distance. Part of the beauty of The ECT is the solitude of the experience, and after covering nearly 185km, and being on my feet for over 29 hours I'd seen but two other people. One was camping in the night as I ran past, and the other was enjoying breakfast (while I still had food and fluids) many hours earlier, and nearly fifty kilometers away from the first hiker.
I blinked a few times to get a grip on myself and when I rubbed my eyes open I could not believe what I was seeing. My brother Bryan had hiked in 4km to find me and he had huge smile on his face and simply extended a handful of tinfoil towards me,
"I thought you could use some breakfast."
I found those tears I fought back just minutes earlier now starting to form by means of sheer amazement and excitement. I felt like he'd saved my life, and more importantly, my run...and for the second time in the last twelve hours no less.
East Coast Trail 215km
The first twenty nine hours of the run had itself brought many a high and low, and much in the way of mental anguish and doubt, but all in all my Father's rough time estimates were proving to be incredibly accurate.
The biggest issue that I simply had not prepared for was that of being completely wet for nearly the entire effort. Though we did not really get rained on too badly at any point, it did rain fairly hard the previous night and with so many overgrown sections of trail I rarely went more than a few minutes after changing into dry clothes without getting soaked again. In fact in the first 24hr my feet were dry for fewer than two of those hours. At one point my Brother even utilized a laundry mat in a small town we crossed through to 'refresh' my clothes for me and it took him nearly an hour to remove all the moisture from everything
I was also not expecting The East Coast Trail to have so many steep climbs in it. This may sound foolish to say, but it is a coastal route and there are no mountains in the region. This did not stop my GPS from recording almost 20,000 feet of climbing, and that's after the data corrections have been applied to the file. I'm always weary of inflated elevation data from a GPS watch, but I'll confidently say there was over 15,000 feet of climbing for sure.
I had expected and was prepared for the mud upon the trail to be worse than it actually was. This is not to suggest that the terrain was not atrocious because it most certainly was. Mentally though I had told myself I'd swim through quicksand like bogs and ford surging rivers if I had to. Instead I simply felt like a child on hockey skates for the first time in my life. There were hours upon hours that passed where every singular step I took was a fight to stay upright. I had my fair share of tumbles with the worst landing me elbow deep in a mud bath that smelled like a barn yard. I unleashed my anger and frustrations into the universe only to be on my ass again not a minute later.
The trail was turning out to be a lesson in humility. It was not the clear shot run that I had dreamed of and I felt more like a speed hiker than an actual runner at times, yet the goals of both are always the same. Relentless Forward Motion. One step at a time, baby steps if the trail demanded, and all the way from Cappyhaden to St. John's. There would be no stopping until I reached my home, my true home, the city in which I was born 33 years earlier.
The number one concern I had going into the speed attempt was based around my hip injury. It had been bothering me for months and even on the nine hour flight across Canada I would have to continually walk around and stretch off the impending numbing of the area.
I took my first steps upon the trail at 6:15am on Friday August 20th, and by 7:45am that same morning I was locked into a war of wills against my own body.
"This really hurts"
"No it doesn't"
"Umm, yeah, it totally hurts right now"
"Like no it doesn't!"
"Like yeah! It totally does like, really, like, freaking hurt...like"
Yes, I have the internal dialogue of thirteen year old kid.
"Alright fine, it hurts, but you knew it was gonna hurt coming into this thing so how bout a little suck it up princess"
"But I still have over two hundred kilometers left to go...."
"SUCK..."
"I just started this thing. There's no way I can ignore this much this early...."
"IT..."
"I'm ninety minutes into what will likely be a 36hr run..."
"UP ALREADY!"
"I hate you"
"I know"
"I'm not talking to you"
"Good"
"You'll pay for this!"
"I'm ok with that"
The first 100km of the trail took around thirteen hours to complete, and I fully recall hours seven, nine, and eleven being the most painful to accept. At the eleventh hour, and around 80km, my body screamed at me louder than it had all day long,
"SERIOUSLY ROBBINS WHAT THE F?"
It was a brutal sixty minutes in which I stopped a few times to try to stretch out the pain, but to no avail. I noticed my stride was being compromised in an attempt to alleviate the issues, but again this wasn't making things any easier. I had my first true doubts about my ability to endure, and the mental math nearly debilitated me.
"Eleven hours, eighty kilometers in. Still 135 kilometers to go. Still at least a full day of running left to get me through this thing. I still have twenty four full hours to go...how, just how is all I'm asking you?"
"Honestly I don't know ok. I just don't know. I'm sure you'll figure something out, and besides when you see your family again I know you're going to come around, so deal with it."
That eleventh to twelfth hour on the trail was the most painful I've ever experienced from that specific injury, or any other injury for that matter. By the time I'd hit 90km mark though, it was as if the pain sensors had hit a steady state and simply started cancelling each other out. The hip would no longer make it to the top of my 'reasons to quit list' upon the run. I'd won a small battle, one of many that were waged along the way.
As the kilometers rolled by we got into a pretty smooth rhythm as a family. My Father (Fred), Mother (Gerri), Brother (Bryan), Niece (Kayla), and Brother's Girlfriend (Heather) were all along for the ride, in the form of two rolling support vehicles. The East Coast Trail has fairly regular intersections with small coastal communities and on average you spend about four kilometers running roads through small towns for every twenty or so kilometers you cover upon completely isolated trail.
These communities became our intersection points and my family would continually leap frog me throughout the entire process, always awaiting my arrival into each town. Every few hours I'd pop outta the trail to big smiles, hugs, cheers, and a rolling buffet. From time to time family members would hop outta the car and run with me to the next trail head, or until we hit the first wee bump in the landscape that created a bit of a climb. These moments were pure magic for me. Completely spontaneous and fueled by love. I felt no pain when I was with them and without my family the run would have been completely impossible on so many levels. They had even gone as far as to make signs that they hung on the car while they drove between towns.
In one community a rather large gentleman started chasing me down the road. Survival instincts kicked in and all I could think was,
"How in the hell am I gonna out run this guy right now!?"
Then I noticed he was waving money at me. He was donating to Right To Play!! When I stopped to accept his generosity he just looked at me and said,
"Get going already! Don't stop for us!"
How could you not be moved by something like this. How could you possibly not finish what you'd started. How could you not draw energy reserves from this the likes of which you didn't even know you previously possessed. I felt like I floated on air for an hour after this encounter, feeling no pain whatsoever. Such a simple human interaction, yet so powerful at its core.
Gettin Ruffed Up
As nightfall was approaching, and we were running through yet another small town, my brother hopped out of the car to join me while the rest of the family drove on ahead to find the next trail re-entrance sign. It was to be a ten minute jaunt at most. A 'hey howya doing, keep digging, you're doing great' pep talk run.
We were just passing the second to last home in the community of Brigus South when out of nowhere an overweight Golden Lab came screaming out of a driveway at us. It was brandishing its teeth and left no doubt as to its intentions. The dog gave chase, but unlike every other scary dog encounter I'd ever experienced this beast meant business. He was on our heels in no time and as we turned to face him he leapt up and grabbed my Brother by the leg! The owner was now sprinting down the road after all of us which eventually turned into the three humans yelling at the one dog until he finally cowered behind his master. Bryan was obviously now pumping with adrenaline and for a second I thought I was going to have to prevent him from biting the owner of the dog himself. After a brief screaming match and a multitude of apologies from the dog's owner we were on our way again, my Brother now hobbling a bit from the impact of the bite, which turned out to leave a mark but not break the skin. He'd eventually walk it off but I'm not convinced I could have fended off the dog on my own at that point. We were laughing about it by the time we caught up with my family again.
The funniest thing I witnessed during the run was about six hours later at 2am. As I came off of another section of trail and into the community of Witless Bay we awoke another angry mutt and up he got and at me he came. My Dad immediately positioned the car between the dog and I, as I watched in shock as my Mother threw open her car door and started positioning herself to defend her first born at all costs.
"I woulda tackled that dog if he'd come at ya ya know!"
"Oh I know you would have Mom, you left no doubt with me or the dog that he didn't stand a chance of getting past you!"
Once the adrenaline from that scare wore off I found that I was completely and utterly drained. Physically and mentally I just needed a break. At 2:30am, after covering approximately 135km in twenty hours of running, I simply came towards my parents car, now set up at the trail head ahead of me as an aid station, and said,
"I need a nap"
They were so focused on the task at hand and our end goal that no one even processed what I'd said. They were straight into filling bottles, offering up clothes, and changing headlamp batteries.
"I need a nap"
"What?"
"A nap. I'm done. Someone wake me in fifteen minutes please." I then looked at them with a serious expression which was to convey that though we all knew I needed more sleep that this, they were not allowed to let me go beyond fifteen minutes.
Ten seconds later they placed a blanket over me in the back seat of the car. I didn't anticipate needing a nap for the run, but having flown clear across the country and into a four and a half hour time change on Wednesday, arriving in Nfld at midnight, shopping for supplies on Thursday before driving the two hours to our starting point, and only getting five hours of sleep the night before the run began on Friday morning, I just had nothing left. I've done numerous 36hr adventure races and without fail a 15-20 minute nap had always gotten us through.
Nineteen minutes later, after my parents had let me 'sleep in', I was back on my feet. It was a lot like peeling myself out of a self constructed coffin. I didn't really know my name for a few seconds before grabbing my gear and hitting the trail again. Ten minutes later as my mind finally joined my body I found my legs moving better than they had in hours. The power nap had worked wonders. I now just had to make it till sunrise and my body's natural circadian rhythms would take care of the rest.
For the most part this strategy worked well. The sun rose a few hours later, right on time even, and I was awake. But the trail had thrown us for a loop and our time guesstimates for the longest non intersecting section of trail, 32km, proved grossly under estimated. It took a full seven and half hours to clear this section, yet I had carried sustenance for three and a half hours. If my brother had not unexpectedly shown up with the food and water I'd probably still be out there waiting for someone to drag my ass back to civilization.
My savior Brother had lifted my spirits and ripped me from the dead when he showed up with that tinfoil breakfast and two full water bottles. He started running to pace me, asking if he should go faster. I hadn't actually run for the better part of four hours and the fear of loosing him was all that propelled me along,
"No, this is good! No need to go any faster Bryan!"
He helped haul my ass back to my family, still four kilometers away, and upon seeing them a funny thing happened. Their smiles, cheers, hugs, and laughter seemed to caress through my body like pure energy, with it removing every singular bit of doubt, fatigue, and exhaustion that I still carried with me. I knew I'd overcome the worst the trail could throw at me. The worst my mind could throw at me. The worst my body could throw at me. I knew I was going to beat this thing. I knew WE, as a family, were going to succeed. It was noon on my second day of running, the sun was shining bright though it had forecast heavy rain, and I had but thirty kilometers of trail standing in my way. Thirty kilometers between me, beer, and sleep.
Those final thirty kilometers of the run were a bit of a blur,
not because I can't remember them now, but because I was fried and just going through the motions. I very literally had an hour of full on hallucinations, with everything from ski resort chair lifts, to road construction signs in the middle of the ocean and I was almost enjoying the distractions to be honest.
As I hit Cape Spear, The Most Easterly Point In North America, I was finally in my own backyard. I was on familiar ground, playing in my home rink, and that familiarity picked me up as much as the inevitability of completing the task at hand.
My parents called the local news network and gave them a finishing time of 5:30pm. I glanced at my watch and I thought I could do better, but like every good ultra runner I had completely forgotten just how tough the final section of the trail actually was, it being the only real part I had any previous experience upon.
As those final kilometers started to tick away I realized I was really going to have to dig deep to finish by 5:30 so I told myself I was going to leave it all out there.
"No use holding back now Gary, let's see what ya got in there?"
I effectively destroyed the final 15km of my 215km run along the coast. It was very near the strongest I had run at any point on the entire trail in the day and a half that I was out there. The climbs in this final section are long and steep, with technical footing, and rarely an easy or flat step. I ran the entire section minus the one obscene and endless scramble/climb in the middle of it all. I think I would be hard pressed to run all of this terrain on completely fresh legs. I have no idea exactly how this all worked, whether it was adrenaline, the need to be done, simply a newfound focus and motivation, or maybe a bit of all of the above. Either way I felt like a runner for the first time all day and I ended up finishing just two minutes behind my Dad's perfect guesstimate, at 5:32pm on Saturday August 21st.
A news crew, family members, and even some high school friends had turned up to welcome me home. I'd made it. Thirty five hours and seventeen minutes to complete two hundred and fifteen kilometers of incredibly challenging terrain. But beyond that, I'd had conquered doubts the likes of which I'd never experienced before, pain the likes of which I hope I never have to deal with again, and nutrient deficiencies that I will never subject myself to in a racing environment. After all of this I still managed to persevere. I came out on top, I didn't say uncle, I didn't listen to the quit now demons in my head, and I continually fought past all obstacles that were presented to me on the day.
In life it is rare that you will feel 100% prepared when faced with a new challenge, but you can ALWAYS give 100% of what you have in you on that day, and more often than not, that's plenty good enough to get you through
Way back in March when I decided to propose this project dubbed 'Conquer The Coasts' I really had no idea what to expect or exactly how I intended to pull it all off. Sitting here now in November I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to say that I achieved all I'd set out to over nine months ago.
Thank you to everyone for their continual support and kind donations towards Right To Play. None of this would have been possible without you.
Special Thanks
My Family. Every single one of them were integral towards the success of this project, right down to my beautiful niece Kayla who took care of all of the twitter updates and found most of the nearly impossible to locate trail heads during the night.
Trevor Richmond. I don't know how I would have afforded to pull this all together without your assistance with flights. Your generosity is unmatched and I knew there was a reason I still talked to you after all these years!
Erik Nachtrieb. For offering to take all my raw solo shot footage and to make it into something worth actually watching!
David Papineau. That fantastic logo is compliments of Mr. Broadway Run Club, thank you!
Ray Zahab. Ray was more excited than anyone about my proposed runs this year and he provided me with plenty of insight about The East Coast Trail and the aforementioned invaluable maps
North Shore Athletics. Any other employer woulda fired my ass long ago, yet somehow you still keep me on payroll. Thanks for approving the time off necessary to pursue these things.
Drymax Socks. Of course all sponsors deserver their props but Drymax deserve their special mention here. I have run 4x100 mile races, and in each of them I have battled significant foot blistering over the final 20miles/30kms. I have never run more than a dozen hours without some sort of foot issue. I've learned to accept it and thought it was just a part of the game. Then Bob from Drymax spots me some socks, telling me they're bound to help. 'Yeah Right'. A sock is a sock is a sock. I'd tried no fewer than a dozen kinds so how is yours gonna be any different?
I NEVER GOT A SINGLE BLISTER ON MY FEET! MY FEET WERE SOAKING WET FOR OVER 2/3 OF THE 35HR RUN!
Even my Father, having seen me at WS 09 was completely speechless. These socks are the best. PERIOD!
10) Complimentary and mandatory airport pat down service. Since you can't actually hop through the x-ray machine they take you aside and rub you up and down...most action I've had in months!
9) Half Price Massage.
"Your right leg, it's so firm and toned!"
"That's a cast"
"Ohhh...half price for you"
(Only 25% off for you buddy)
8) I always have two sticks handy that resemble ski poles, which is to say I can always pull off the 'skiers leaning on their ski poles look'. Totally rad to drop this at a bus shelter.
"WHOA is that dude like skiing right now? Oh...he's on crutches. He must have totally broken his leg while hucking a sick cliff. That's totally f-n rad!"
(This SCREAMS 'I am cool', and I rock this move like nobodies business)
7) I can, at any point in time, at any hour, minute or second throughout the day, break out into a random tap dance routine with my cast. Michael Flatley lookout...
"Yeah I'm badass. I'm wearing spandex pants, a circus jacket, and I'm blowing flames out of my ass right now"
6) Two Words: KILLER LATS
Two More: Nice Shorts! (where can I get a pair of those for my next ultra)
5) You can look twice as drunk on half the alcohol
"How many drinks you had son?"
"Ummm, one"
"Oh HAHA, you're on crutches, can I buy ya another?"
4) By the end of this six weeks I can virtually guarantee that I will NEVER get armpit chafing from simply running again. Can you say Monkey Butt Armpits
That's just gross...is that even real??
3) I'm totally getting rich once I patent this thing
(Every time I hit up a coffee shop I get mad props!)
2) At least five times a day, I break out into random air guitar moves
(At least twice a day I find myself wearing this hot outfit)
1) During laundry days I actually taunt my socks
"Hey ya little bastards, ya wanna make a break for it today? GO FOR IT! I don't need you, I've never needed you, there's too many of you to go around. I don't even know what to do with all of you right now. I'm giving you all five days. If half a dozen of you aren't gone by Friday I'm starting in on the natural selection process"
"Screw you and you're 5th metatarsal, I'm heading to Mexico!"
I just got back from my appointment with the orthopedic surgeon and to make a long story short the decision to operate or not has been left up to me. Being the fortunate Canadian that I am there would be no financial aspect to deal with, which just makes this decision that much harder to process.
I was told straight up to not get my hopes up about running for at least 12+ weeks...doesn't he know I have a 100 Mile race to defend in January! Either way I'm going to Hawaii, but it's looking more and more like I'll be a spectator/volunteer this time around.
The pros and cons of both options were fed to me and without going into full details here are the relevant points that struck home.
Surgery
-Potential to heal quicker and stronger
-Potential for numerous things to go wrong during surgery, including shattering the bone in which case I'd never run again
Non-Surgery
-Most likely longer to heal
-Potential to heal incorrectly and need surgery anyways in six to eight weeks
-No chance of messing things up any further, simply have to hope for the best during next six weeks
On top of this my own intuition was screaming at me throughout the entire process NOT to agree to the surgery on the spot. My long drive home, followed by a few phone calls from friends who have gone through similar has since solidified my decision to let this thing heal naturally.
If all goes well I'll be off for a few months but none the worse for wear on the other side of this. There are simply too many potential complications that can arise from surgery, as I saw first hand through my ex's post surgery staph infection earlier this year. Worst case scenario is that I am forced into surgery two months from now, verses worst case surgery scenario is that I never run again...seems like a damn easy decision to make when it gets put down like that.
Thankfully I have a waterproof cast, so it's off to the pool for me starting tomorrow! Oh yeah, and I've modified my crutches so that I don't have to compromise my coffee habit...
SO, while googling the web for a photo that resembled my own x-ray from a few days ago I came across this blog posting from Reid Coolsaet. Reid is one of Canada's top distance runners, having just laid down a 2h11m marathon in Toronto a few weeks back. I remember he dealt with a serious injury a few years ago but I didn't realize until just now that it was a broken foot. A 'Jones Fracture' of the 5th metatarsal to be precise...on his right foot...at the beginning of November. His story is revealing as to what I'm dealing with and has hammered home just how long this is going to affect my running. I have had a brief email exchange with him and he did relay that the foot is stronger than ever. I guess this will be a life lesson in patience.
So how did it happen?
Max King tripped me as I attempted to pass him and followed that up by throwing rocks at me until he succeeded in breaking a bone in my foot. The whole time he was just screaming at the top of his lungs,
"NO ONE PASSES ME ROBBINS, NO ONE PASSES MAX KING, NO ONE PASSES MR. KING, NO ONE PASSES MEEEEE!"
He is nowhere near as nice and funny as everyone seems to believe he is. Max is a ruthless competitor and he simply has to be stopped sooner or later. Geoff Roes barely escaped with his life under similar circumstances just minutes later! (sorry Max, I had to do it)
OK, Max is actually a really cool guy and had absolutely nothing to do with my own inability to navigate a few fresh centimeters of snow covered rocks.
Max, Geoff Roes, and myself headed out for a quick trail run of about an hour. We were all in Sunriver Oregon as part of the Montrail - Mountain Hardwear fall sales conference. All I will say about what I've seen here this week is that the technologies this company is about to roll out over the next few months are going to completely revolutionize the outdoor industry, period! It is an amazing and exciting time for this brand and everyone involved knows that we're sitting on something huge right now. I can't wait to see this stuff hit the market and to start talking about it in more detail.
The Run. It was completely insignificant, an easy hour on trails, an out and back route, and on the least technical terrain you could possibly imagine. I had run the same route solo the day prior. We had a light dusting of snow overnight and as we began our run I obviously let Max and Geoff lead the way. About 1km into our proposed 11km return run I believe my exact words were,
"There's literally four rocks on this entire trail"
Not three hundred meters later my right foot slid off the side of one of those four, now snow covered rocks, and the full weight of my body crumpled my forefoot onto itself. I was pretty sure I felt a snap in there yet for some reason I never made a peep. Had I been out on my own I surely would have screamed, thrown my water bottle at a tree, and taken a few minutes to process what had just occurred. Instead I now found myself a few strides behind Max and Geoff and in complete denial at what I'd just managed to do to my foot. I sped back up and simply told myself I'd run it off.
The conversation was consistent from the start but I now grew silent as I was internalizing the pain and trying to will my injury away. Every step hurt more than the last and the stabbing sensation radiated up the side of my leg as high as my knee. About one step every ten would hurt just slightly less than the rest and I focused on these strides and told myself that I was succeeding in running it off.
I was able to do this for about three kilometers before we stopped at our turnaround point of Benam Falls.
Max to us,
"You guys wanna go a bit further before turning back?"
Me to Max and Geoff,
"Uhhh. Uhhh, no I think I may have messed up my foot. I think I'll just start back out now and you guys can catch up with me shortly."
Max and Geoff kinda looked at each other and both commented that they didn't hear a noise from me at any point to suggest that I'd hurt myself. I was sure they were both thinking I was looking for a way out of the run for some reason but they simply smiled, asked if I was alright, and headed off down the trail again.
I started walking out while holding tight to the ever fading belief that I would still be able to will the pain away. My shoe was growing tighter around my foot by the minute and after walking about a kilometer of trail I found myself in a parking area. I had at least admitted to myself by this point that I wasn't going to make it much further under my own steam, so I finally removed my shoe and stuck my swollen purple foot into a pile of snow.
Max and Geoff showed up a few minutes later and we all agreed they'd run back to the car and swing around to grab me. We had a fun backcountry rally car style drive back to the main hotel and I promptly put my foot on ice.
A few hours later I was amazed by how good my foot felt so I decided it was in fact not broken and I went about our normal business for the evening. There was an athlete presentation in front of the entire conference of a few hundred people and I was lucky enough to be one of those chosen to speak on stage. I limped out, thankfully was able to get a few laughs, and limped back. We then enjoyed dinner and drinks before calling it a night.
When the alarm sounded at 7am the next morning all of my tightly guarded self-told lies came crashing down around me all at once. I physically could not get out of my bed. No matter how hard I tried to contort my body the stabbing pain in my foot would inevitably set me prone and grasping my pillow like a child. After a half a dozen attempts I finally I succeeded in swinging my legs over the side. I was then forced to ask Geoff to fill an ice bucket for me so I could numb my foot in order to make it to the bathroom before time expired on my bladder.
I was off to the hospital to confirm the inevitable. A 'Jones Fracture' of my fifth metatarsal, with surgery potentially being the best option for a full recovery. I have an appointment this coming Tuesday to review the x-rays with a surgeon back in Canada to determine our next step...while I struggle to come to terms with the reality that my next step, with my right foot, is still a few months away.
It's been an absolute whirlwind return from the wilds of Northern Quebec just twelve short days ago...wow it's been almost two weeks already, and we're sitting on the cusp of November. As they say, time flies when you're having fun I guess.
After my five week work excursion I kinda felt like a prisoner set free again. The project was incredibly tough but also surprisingly refreshing and if nothing else it gave me a necessary reminder of just how amazing my home town/turf really is. The balance of life that can be achieved in North Vancouver / Vancouver is rarely rivaled around the globe, and because of this it was completely impossible for me to say NO to anything that came my way in the last few weeks. It's been a fantastic twelve days of catching up with friends and truly savoring all that Vancouver has to offer.
(The beard lasted ten full days before I finally caved in and removed it)
Thankfully my running injury seems to be in check, mostly due to the expertise of Jenn Turner and her Moveo sport rehab centre. I have been continually shocked and amazed at how good I've been feeling on my feet and due to this I have knocked down a few sizeable mountain runs. The highlight being Black Tusk, up near Whistler, which I tackled with my Montrail teammate Ryne Melcher. From the parking lot to the summit is a six thousand foot climb and outside of some mandatory photo stops the run up was just a hair over two hours. After nearly an hour on top taking it all in, the six thousand foot descent took us just a few minutes over an hour, which included some nice calf cramping as my body attempted to keep up with my excitement level. Full Album.
Other highlights included a sushi binge of eight meals in seven days, more beer consumption than the last three months combined, finally reconnecting with numerous friends I hadn't seen in months, and checking out a cool concert at a funky little venue, The Acorn at The Biltmore.
As I type this I am sitting in the Seattle airport about to connect to Oregon for the annual Montrail - Mountain Hardwear International Sales Conference. Flattered to be invited is the easiest way to sum it up. Five days of gear talk and trail runs in Oregon sounds like a pretty sweet week to me, though I am really looking forward to finally getting back into a routine again soon and fully focusing on training for HURT Hawaii in January.
Outta the wilds of Northern Quebec and back in the land where sushi roams free and americano's cost almost as much as the gasoline at the pumps. There is another blog posting to be had here, in fact many more, BUT when I arrived home on Wednesday evening I had a brand new Montrail 2011 shoe to demo. Here's a video of my take on the yet to be released 2011 Rogue Racer racing flats...
My buddy Erik Nachtrieb who owns 1iopenproductions.com recently took on the project of editing down my self shot footage from my West Coast Trail and East Coast Trail speed attempts. He just finished up the final version of my WCT recap and will start in soon upon the ECT version.
Here's the final cut, found under 'You Shoot, We Edit', and keep in mind it is a 'short film', not a trailer or a quickie but a full account of my run upon The 75km West Coast Trail on August 4th.
If you need anything similar done yourself be sure to drop Erik a line. As you'll see, his work is top notch!!
Here's a brief video kinda detailing exactly what I'm up to right now, though the work sites have gotten progressively less attractive and more difficult along the way...we even got hailed on today...which means I have officially started my countdown to Hawaii in January!
I also managed a new pet fox, but we had to part ways after just five days as Roxy became insanely jealous.
I have more to say but my brain doesn't currently function. 70-80hr work weeks, consisting mostly of physical labor, can really take it outta ya. Having said that I must admit that ten days in, as tough as this job can be, it has proven to be better on all accounts than I had prepared myself for. I definitely wanted to ready myself for the worst case scenario, and after just a few days I was most certainly having trouble getting my body to do what I needed it to, and getting my mind to stop wishing I were elsewhere. By day four however I had fully accepted my decision process and was even starting to embrace it.
I've said this before and I'll say it again, you can have the best job in the world, but if you work with assholes it's still gonna suck. Conversely you can tolerate a completely shit job if you're surrounded by really good people. So far, the crew of ten that I am in this with have proved to be the absolute highlight for me. The job isn't that bad, it's just different and like everything in life you take the good with the bad. There are enough positives within a 10-12hr day that I rarely return back to camp without a smile upon my face. Having internet and currently staying in a nice hotel for a few days between camp locations is simply an added bonus.
Life Lesson Of The Week
As the 'sample sites' get harder to access and consist mostly of overgrown bog and slightly receding rivers I am often confronted with entangled willows the likes of which I have never seen before, nor knew existed. Bush whacking has taken on a whole new meaning for me and if I had my Central American machete with me right now it'd be put to good use on an hourly basis. Yesterday while trying to access a river bank and emptying my vocabulary in the process I looked ten feet forward and thought to myself, "there's no way", I then said to myself out loud, "just keep moving forward dammit". To look three feet ahead was to confront defeat, to look one step ahead however was to continually find a path.
This was followed by a translucent moment as I tied this struggle to everyday life. How often do we find ourselves looking too far ahead and simply thinking, "there's no way", "I'll never get there", "it's impossible", "I have no idea how to make this happen", and with this thought process we often cease to pursue things without ever having given them a legitimate shot.
Take the first step. I'm confident there will be a second awaiting you once you arrive there. And the willows are never quite as bad as they appear at first glance.
I'm currently sitting in the Vancouver airport about to fly out to my 45 day work stint in Quebec. I returned home from Yosemite and the Mountain Hardwear Athlete Innovation Conference at midnight on Friday, worked Saturday and Sunday, packed my bags immediately following work, and headed straight here. The life button has definitely been stuck on FFWD recently. I'm nervously excited about this new opportunity, but also wishing I had a single day of rest before heading into it. My next day off will likely come in November!
Anyways, back to Yosemite. It was a fantastically amazing four days spent in a paradisal secluded setting within a sixty year old cabin in the woods. I consumed more food in the 96hr than the previous 96 days and our hosts at the cabin made a special Gluten Free meal for me at every sitting...from scratch! I had the absolute best GF Pizza of my entire life, not to mention the cookies, pastas, BBQ's, breads, etc, etc, etc. Our hosts have Italian roots and none of us had to question this. I think the longest stint I had without food was my 90min run with Topher Gaylord, the new president of the company.
SO, I'm sitting in this room, at this table, talking gear with a bunch of gear junkies. I look around and find myself nearly overwhlemed. I'm completely surrounded by some of the most accomplished, passionate, dedicated, and humble athletes on the entire planet. The collective resumes of those within the room would easily trump what you might be able to piece together from an entire city of individuals. I felt small. Not insignificant small, but small fish in big pond small. I embraced every second of it.
I hear and read the words 'inspiration' and 'inspired' far too much lately. People seem to toss these words around like candy and I rarely go a day without noticing someone saying something has inspired them. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just that for me I guess the difference breaks down between feeling inspired and being inspired. To feel inspired is to know you've been touched, moved, motivated, by anothers actions or words. To be inspired is to take this feeling one step further and transcend it into your own relevant actions, no matter what they might be.
Each year after seeing the highlights of The Banff Mountain Film Fest I leave the theatre feeling like I could sprout my own wings and fly to the moon and back...but rarely have I been able to act directly upon this. Mainly this is due to the fact that I tend to dream big, and the bigger the dream the scarier it can seem in your own mind.
I am inspired. I want to act on this strong sense of inspiration. Just five days ago I was sitting in a room full of complete strangers who had only previously existed within magazines, websites, and movies. A few days later and all I kept thinking was, 'what separates those who accomplish great feats to those who simply dream of great feats?' The answer is obviously action, but beyond the most simplistic answer, what allows these individuals to stare there relevant fears in the face and say,
"Na ah, not listening to you today."
I am dreaming and schemeing, and about to board a flight to the middle of nowhere for the next 45 or so days. My singular goal upon this journey is to find clarity in how I intend to live the next few years of my life. I have been very content and satisfied with everything I have been able to pursue and accomplish thus far in my 33 years upon this beautiful planet. In fact had you told me at ninteen years old where I would be when I was 33 I would have laughed and said, "yeah right!". I believe I am currently living my best case scenario.
Now it's just a matter of ensuring I can mimic this exact same conversation wtih myself when I'm 43 years old...
I'm gutted right now, blogger has been the biggest pain in the ass and this posting should have taken five minutes and I've been here for hours! No more time to waste, it's a jumbled mess at the bottom and I apologize that I can't fix it right now...
First and foremost though, I'm off to San Fran and then Yosemite to attend the Montrail - Mountain Hardwear Athlete Innovation Conference, this Tuesday till Saturday!! I'm STOKED, and with no internet or phone service it's an even sweeter getaway. Our days will be filled with a perfect mix of product and playtime.
With the list of attendees basically reading like a who's who of the world's top adventure athletes, I kinda feel like I managed to sneak in the back door on this one! Hey, I'll be the waterboy if that's what it takes to sit in the same room as these legends...
Mike Libecki
Andrew McLean
Freddie Wilkinson
Dawn Glanc
Janet Bergman
Kip Garre
Pat Goodman
Janet Berg
Matt Wilder
If you don't know some of these names off hand check out their world class resumes!
AND THEN...
Do you know that key relationships have been specifically placed to help you in ways you never imagined? Do you realize there are special people who are not just happenstance acquaintances but strategic relationships to help you find the life of your dream? Have you missed the simplicity behind this mysterious thing called DESTINY? Perhaps the real problem of finding your dream isn't about who you don't know, but whom you've neglected.
About a month back I happened across an excerpt from a book entitled, "The Power Of Who, You Already Know Everyone You Need To Know". I have yet to read the book but the premise intrigued me. Basically it suggests that you're going to get further in life by tapping into your current resource pool rather than continually searching amongst strangers and in anonymity. 'It's not what you know but who you know'. A very simple strategy that in our current social media age can often get easily overlooked.
Long story short here, I was looking to land a second job, part-time, for about the next eight weeks. Since I'm taking a break (Brett Favre style retirement) from my current second job, that being training and racing, I figured I could set myself up nicely for 2011 by getting a few extra dollars in the bank.
Referring back to what I had briefly read and contemplated via this book, I decided to simply put it out there via Facebook and Twitter. To see what might come back to me, to not be afraid to openly admit what I was looking for and see who might have a connection to offer.
A few options presented themselves and it looked like I was going to land the complimentary job that I was searching for. Then a text from a friend arrived.
Chad Ulansky is a very talented and accomplished athlete and I first met him at Raid The North Extreme in Prince Rupert in 2007, and have since gotten to know him through ultra running in BC. In 09 we ran together for the better part of 2/3 of our local Knee Knacker 50k race and he still holds one of the highest ever placings for a Canadian at Marathon Des Sables, finishing 16th back in 03.
The text basically said 'Hey, I've got a six week project that we could use you on if you're available'.
After inquiring more and seeing what a great opportunity I had in front of me I figured I had nothing to loose by requesting a leave of absence from my primary job at North Shore Athletics. North Van is my home and NSA is my second home, I couldn't and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that set up. I expected nothing and was pleasantly surprised to find out that it had all fallen into place. I depart next Monday!!
The job is basically going to consist of jumping in and out of helicopters (not literally jumping, though that'd be even cooler) and collecting samples from rivers. Apparently in the approximate six week time frame we are going to cover a distance close to 2/3 the size of British Columbia!!
Undoubtedly this will be very fatiguing work with minimum 10-12hr days and working every single day for six straight weeks. Though I have done similar before, having spent a full year working in Fort St. John B.C. as a pipe fitters assistant in the oil patch. That experience taught me that the first 14 days are the worst as your body adapts to its new reality. It may have been the longest year of my life, but it's also where I truly learned the most about who I was as a person and what I could actually accomplish if I put my mind to it.
All in all, I'm looking forward to the change of scenery and to once again being forced outside on a daily basis no matter what the weather might throw at us.
'RETIREMENT' isn't quite as easy as it first sounded however!
The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination.”
Don Williams, Jr. (American Novelist and Poet, b.1968)
Just organizing this one proved to be a bit of a nightmare that somehow turned into a dream come true. I come from a big extended family in Newfoundland and though the years have passed the bond still remains tight. My Mother is the only remaining sibling, of eighteen born (yes you read that right) that still resides in Nfld. For years when I went on BC road trips and relayed the stories to my parents it would be followed up by, you missed aunt and uncle a-b-c-d and cousins e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p, in towns q-r-s-t.
A few years back a wedding reunited me with this long lost side of my family tree and it has been an absolute pleasure getting to know them all over again. In the end, I could not have pulled this one off without their direct assistance and it would simply be unfair of me not to start by specifically thanking everyone who made this possible for me.
Dean Neville, Nanaimo ferry terminal to Port Alberni, and morning drop off at Frances Barkley boat ride from Port Alberni to Bamfield
Aunt Karen, Uncle Bob, place to crash and great conversation on Monday night
Sarah Logan, friend of this side of family. Place to crash in Bamfield on Tuesday night and drive to trailhead at 5:20am Wednesday
Randy and Roxanne Neville. Pick up in Victoria, dinner, change of clothes for journey home, drive to ferry in Tsawassen.
Ryne Melcher (Montrail family) and his GF Kristin Ohm-Pedersen, drop off at ferry on Monday evening and pick up from ferry on Wednesday night.
As mentioned, just getting to the trail head was a journey in and of itself. Thankfully the scenery upon BC Ferries is second to none, and by the time I arrived in Bamfield itself, on Tuesday afternoon, I felt like I’d been off of work for days, even though it was but 18hrs since I had clocked out.
On the running side of things the weather could not have been better, and given that it rained just 36hr after I came off the trail I’d wager to say that I had the best day of the year for my speed attempt. In hindsight I’m fully relieved I was not able to attempt the trail in May, as was originally planned, because it would have been a complete waste of my time, money, and energy, with a definitive do-over necessary. In the end it most certainly all worked out for the best!
After a relaxing afternoon in the tiny hamlet of Bamfield I’d felt like I’d stepped back in time, though not having phone reception for a day was actually kinda nice. After packing my gear I headed out for a quick test run, as I’d never actually run with this new pack before (”do as I say, not as I do!”) Ahem, don’t try anything new in a race! Speed attempts are different don’t ya know!
At 9:30pm I downed a couple of melatonin, as I would never be able to sleep otherwise, and I was out within minutes.
4:30am is early, no matter how you slice it and no matter what time you may have crawled into bed the night before.
5:15am Sarah and I depart for the trail. It’s a ten minute drive and for the first five minutes I find myself making jokes and trying to wake us both up. As we approach our destination though, I go noticeably silent. It’s almost go time. The gravity of the situation is starting to sink in.
It’s still completely dark outside, and there won’t be anyone else around when I arrive at my starting point. There will not be any other runners to share this experience with, or to create that wonderful nervous excitement that inevitably precludes daunting tasks such as these. I won’t have a Race Director there to send me off, and there won’t be any well stocked aid stations along the way. I’m completely on my own, and competing against nothing but a clock and thirteen years of history. I can’t help but notice that I’m more nervous than I was while lining up for the Western States 100 miler back in June. This attempt is so black and white it’s scary.
10h12m or better, success…10h14m or longer, failure.
I have no one to pace off of, no idea of what my ‘splits’ along the trail should be, no way of knowing at any point in time if I’m genuinely going fast enough to pull this thing off. Due to this fact there will not be a single mental break for the entire duration of the run. I have to get my mind locked in, for as much as some of this might prove to be enjoyable, it’s about time to get down to business.
I didn’t pack a headlamp so as to save on weight and we had to wait a few extra minutes until I could sufficiently make out the obstacles of the trail. At 5:34am, I asked Sarah to give me a ten second countdown…
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-GO!!
I thanked her for her help with everything as I disappeared into the darkness. Truth be told another ten minutes would have been ideal but I was growing restless, it was chilly, and I had dragged a relative stranger out of bed at 4:45am to assist with this. I tried my best not to end my attempt early with a bad foot placement. The first ladder arrived even quicker than expected. Just 300 meters in and my heart rate was already spiking through the roof.
That right there is what makes the 75km West Coast Trail so unique and daunting all at once. There are many runnable sections on this trail, and the largest non-ladder climb of the route is but a few hundred meters vertical gain. If you removed all of the ladders and cable cars, and replaced the soft sand/loose rock beach sections with hard pack terrain you’d honestly be able to tackle this route in well under 7hr. To look at an elevation profile of the entire 75km would actually leave you scratching your head as to how people could possibly describe the trail as one of, if not the toughest trail in Western Canada?
I’d been running all of two minutes and I already found myself upon a wooden structure that climbed over 150 vertical feet in one straight shot. I crested the ladders and began to run again but this lasted all of sixty seconds before I was forced back onto a mimicked creation that would then drop me back down to my starting elevation. The first km took me over ten full minutes to complete. It wasn’t yet 6am, and the sun had yet to crest the horizon. I had but one thought running through my head,
“ I’ve been waiting all year for this!”
The Northern 17km of the trail are known to be the easiest, and prior to the wind storm damage of 06 it used to be a veritable ‘Golden Brick Road’. This has changed slightly, but comparatively these kilometres are still the least challenging you will encounter upon the entire route.
Each and every kilometre on The WCT is sign posted, and after exactly one hour of running I had eclipsed the 10km trail marker. I was exactly on my anticipated starting pace of about 10km per hour for the first three hours, knowing this pace would prove impossible to sustain as the trail grew tougher.
At twelve kilometres you are spit out onto your first beach section and the pace is once again compromised. A thick fog had beset the area the night before and many of the square foot sized beach boulders were glazed over like honey cruller donuts….mmm donuts…no wait, can’t do donuts, dammit! I think I’m bonking on my trail report as I’m currently (was) on my flight to Newfoundland and seriously sleep deprived…maybe I’ll down a gel!
FOCUS…
These delicious yet treacherous beach rocks eventually gave way to sand and pebble sized stones...kinda like timbits…must cease with the donut references…This, above all else, would prove to be the most difficult consistent obstacle to be tackled on the day. At this point I had but a few kilometres of this to deal with, but already it was draining me as much mentally as it was physically. When each and every step you take is compromised, it taxes you as much mentally as it does physically. Like walking in quicksand. Each individual foot placement would result in my entire balance being thrown off, with the only thing stabilizing me being my core muscles, my hip flexors, and my secondary muscle groups. There is simply no amount of pure running that can condition your body to properly accept this type of beating. I was putting in my absolute best efforts to run this stuff and was just managing to sustain sub 8min kms. To stop and walk brought these numbers closer to 11-12 minutes a km. Not a huge difference given the additional energy expenditure warranted. Thankfully however, I kept telling myself that I simply had to run this stuff.
“Every minute counts. Suck it up princess”
In the end, these words could not have proved to be more accurate.
I have a pretty stellar record for wildlife encounters upon trail running speed attempts, including a thirty minute lunch break with a bear last spring while attempting the 47km Juan De Fuca trail with Ryne Melcher.
It’s not even a question of IF I’ll see a bear anymore, just WHEN?
When, ended up being just 1h10min in while coming to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never attempt Marathon Des Sables if the conditions were anything near what I was struggling with. I was in the process of talking to myself via my head camera when I heard rustling in the bushes to my left. I just managed to catch a glimpse of a cub before it was gone and I spent the next few minutes shoulder checking and finding myself thankful that I had missed Momma Bear.
I was still grasping to my original planned pace of 10km per hour for the better part of the first three hours and at exactly two hours I hit nineteen kilometres.
At 23km you encounter the first of five potential cable car crossings, depending on water levels and how wet you wanna get. Only a few are completely necessary by mid-summer, this being one of them. I hit the crossing at 2h25min and shot this video which sums it all up.
The cars rest in the middle of the lines and once again you are thrust into an upper body workout that rivals everything your legs have already absorbed.
After this water crossing the views start to open up a bit on some higher exposed sections of trail, hundreds of feet above the ocean. The terrain also starts to change though and the level of technicality begins its steady ascent towards the completely unrunnable and almost unfathomable culmination later in the route.
As I approached the one and only water taxi crossing, at 32 kilometres, I start to blow on my whistle. Having been stuck at this crossing for the better part of a half an hour in 07 I thought it only smart to try to contact the operator the night before. I was fortunate enough to get a hold of him and as I explained my motivations, my attempt, and my estimated time of arrival, he assured me it would not be an issue to be waiting for my on ‘my side’ of the river. (That being the opposite side of his shelter and normal resting place)
Sure enough after just a few hoots of the whistle I heard an engine fire up! I cruised on down to the waterline and the guy I spoke with the night before was standing in his boat with a smile on his face, all ready to go. I handed him $10 to say thanks, though he kinda looked at me as if to say,
“What the hell is this for?”
“Just to say thanks!”
Into the boat I jumped and we were across the water in minutes! Little did I know at the time, but this one phone call, this one two minute investment the night before my run would end up decisively determining the outcome of my overall speed attempt!
I was carrying four water bottles with me for the run and though I thought I could make the beach vendor, at about 44km on this ration, I now found myself completely dry of bottled fluids and completely drenched with bodily fluids. It was a very humid day, though not yet hot, and when I noticed the water coolers in the boat operator’s beach shelter I asked if he might have some to spare,
“Oh for sure! No worries.”
There appeared to be ample supply to help out hikers on a daily basis, though I am uncertain as to if this is the purpose of this water or not? I simply topped up two bottles, said thanks one more time and was gone.
A nice section of runnable boardwalk follows the water crossing and for the first time in close to an hour I felt like an actual runner again! This didn’t last long however before I was spit out onto the beach again.
The beach sections were getting more torturous with every step so I took every opportunity I could to get back inland. This back fired on one section of trail in particular as it clearly had not been touched by another trail patron in years. The overgrown brush slowed me to a crawl and left me soaking wet from head to toe. I jumped back on the beach as soon as an option presented itself and was left wondering which was the lesser of the two evils?
As you approach ‘Moniques’ at 44km you come off of the beach, up a staircase that climbs a few hundred feet, around a lighthouse, and then back down a staircase of a few hundred feet on the opposite side. While passing through the Carmana Lighthouse grounds I literally nearly stepped on a snake! A tiny garter snake of which I tried to entice back for a pic but having nearly been imprinted with a Montrail Gryptonite shoe sole he was now nowhere to be found!
I hit Moniques in 5h15min, which I was confident was a solid time that was definitely giving me a legitimate shot at the trail record, though I still had to stay focused as every second would count.
Moniques is a small beach vendor in which you can sit down and enjoy a hot meal and a cold bear on the beach, IF you’re not attempting a speed record. For me it consisted of buying two Pepsi’s, a plum, and filling my four water bottles with fresh fluids. There were three to four young travellers working there and about a half a dozen hikers enjoying the break.
As I was rushing about looking very dishevelled,
“What are you doing?”
“The West Coast Trail.”
“When did you start?”
“This morning”
“From where?”
“Bamfield”
“AT WHAT TIME?”
“5:34am”
“HOLH S#%T! Are you running the entire thing?”
“Yeah. I’m attempting a speed record and as of right now I think I’m on pace. The record is 10h13m.”
Two people asked if they could take my picture and one shoved a pen and paper in front of me. I chuckled to myself, realizing it was so that they could validate me via the internet! Kinda like, we don't quite believe what you're saying and we fully intend to check your resume buddy!
“THANKS GUYS! Sorry, gotta run…”
Eight minutes was my ‘transition’ time, which was about three minutes longer than I thought it should have been, though I did not feel like I wasted any time as I was restocking supplies from within my pack to the front storage pockets. I didn’t shoot a video at Moniques as I really didn’t want to be the guy wearing a head cam there, in hindsight though it would have been nice to have a few seconds of what Monique’s actually is.
Exiting this beach vendor is doubly tough as not only are you leaving your one safe haven upon the trail behind, but you are trading it in for the longest beach section of the entire trail…seven kilometres of TORTURE!
The first mile was great. The way you would imagine running on a beach, like a pleasant stroll. Hard packed sand, great traction, breaking ocean to one side, and no problem knocking down the mileage without flinching. This did nothing but lull me into a false sense of security though.
“Maybe this won’t be that bad? Maybe it’s all hard packed from here on in. Maybe the worst is now behind me!”
Ahhh nooooo
The hard packed sand gave way to loose sand, which gave way to gravelly pebbles, which lead into large rocks. It was like a metaphor for the overall trail itself, the more effort you put forth, the more it demanded back from you. I was just able to will myself to sustain a sub 8min kilometre effort with the occasional spike over ten full minutes a kilometre. Walking, it seemed was not that much slower, so I experimented with it.
“Dammit GARY! This is a speed attempt, even a minute per kilometre for the next six kilometres will add up. Get yer damn feet moving!!”
It was soul shattering work. Every single stride was compromised and it was beginning to feel as if I were running on a completely foreign planet.
I’m sure if I could actually remember attempting to walk for the very first time I would say it was infinitely easier than this purgatory I was finding myself trapped in.
“You can stop”
“No I can’t”
“You can walk”
“No I can’t”
“You know you want to Gary”
“Shut up Gary! Stupid head! Just shut up and run dammit!”
I was experimenting with anything and everything to try to ease the discomfort of the surface. Eventually I found the answer as I started running IN the ocean. There was a rocky shelf covered mostly by a few inches of water. I ended up zigging and zagging around oceanic obstacles and occasionally I sunk in knee deep, but overall the sensation of once again running upon solid ground, albeit an ocean shelf, was mentally refreshing.
When I finally saw my forested escape route I jumped on it like a monkey on an ice cream cone (no that doesn’t make sense, nor does it have to as it’s MY run report, so there) A MONKEY on an ice cream cone…I was back in the forest and though the trails were getting progressively more challenging I welcomed those challenges with open arms. In fact sometimes very literally as I would ‘decide’ to hook a foot on a stump and kiss the earth with my face. One time in particular I was glad I wasn’t donning my head camera as I ceased my forward motion by firmly planting my noggin into a stump. The camera mount surely would have snapped right off.
I was shooting plenty of trail footage and though time consuming I thought it to be worth it. Then my battery started flashing on my head cam and it was gone. Just under fifty individual videos was all it could handle I guess. I still had my handheld and though I could not capture the true difficulty of the final 20km of the trail I could at least still document the worst bonk of my life!
The further south you get, the more ladder work you are faced with. The Grand Daddy of em all consists of about five hundred vertical feet via no fewer than eight ladders. Once you hit rock bottom you get to tackle a cable car, which was thankfully avoidable due to low water levels, and you are then greeted with a completely mimicked structure upon the opposite side of the river. I’m personally sending in a hand written letter requesting a zip line set up across the top of all of this. I would have easily dropped fifty bucks at that point to save the fifteen minutes of effort that it took to gain but three hundred meters of trail. Not long down the trail the Grand Mamma structure gets you and the only real difference is you get a suspension bridge crossing instead of a cable car at the bottom.
As I was tackling these Miwok village style structures and contemplating how neglected the constructors of these agonizing devices must have been in their childhood, I came across my first real hiker encounters of the day. Much like I experienced in 2007 you can virtually finish the entire trail before you are confronted with any real traffic heading your way. I was back logged for about thirty seconds. The girl standing on top and awaiting her posse to catch up took one look at me, pieced it all together and simply said,
“Are you RUNNING the trail!?”
“Yup”
“HEY GUYS, GET THE HELL OFF THE LADDERS! THIS DUDE IS RUNNING THE TRAIL, HE’S IN A HURRY PEOPLE!”
And with that the four people below all stepped aside and wished me luck. As I reached the dried river bank I was able to forgo the cable car and as I was filling my now empty water bottles, three hikers stared at me. One girl was wide eyed and speechless, and the head of the group spoke up,
“What section of trail?”
“All of it”
“What time did you start?”
“5:34am”
“What…what?”
“Blah, blah, blah speed record attempt, blah, blah, blah”
“Then GET GOIN MAN! C’mon, outta here already!”
These brief exchanges did wonders for my confidence, which was taking a beating all day long. I was feeling rejuvenated and with only about twelve kilometres to go I knew it was in the bag. I thought 9:30-something would be my worst case scenario.
As I approached one of the final pieces of ladder work upon the entire trail two hikers were about to set in on the climb.
“Hey guys, mind if I…”
“HEY! You’re that guy! The guy who ran the entire West Coast Trail and Juan De Fuca Trail back to back!”
I was floored. Someone actually recognized me, the bald running weirdo, for what I do. Of course it was ON TRAIL, but still. I didn’t know what to say, so he helped me out,
“Are you running BOTH TRAILS AGAIN?”
“Nope, just the one this time.”
“Right on man! Get goin! Great work! Looking strong!”
Of course by this point I felt like I was dying a slow death, I just didn’t know the full extent of it all just yet.
The ladders tax your body in ways you can’t even imagine. There is simply no physical test you will encounter in life that could possibly duplicate the whole body effort involved in scaling nearly a full kilometer of ladder work while running 75km of technical terrain! I was most certainly feeling it, but I was now on the home stretch.
This being the third time I was covering the West Coast Trail in its entirety I had a pretty good idea of what I was up against. The last 5km were relatively easy and I knew once I got to the 70k marker I would be on the home stretch. It was all but over, game-set-match. It was just a matter of how far under 10hr I could go at this point.
I was now but 7km away from etching my name in the WCT record books. I had run out of water, even though I had consumed FOURTEEN full bottles of fluid! I had run out of calories, even though I a tightly structured plan for constant calorie consumption, but all of this was alright because I was approaching the home stretch.
From seven km to six km was decent, not super fast but consistent. Six km to about five km slowed down a bit, but it was ok cause there was only 5km to go and I was going to close this thing out in under thirty minutes! I could and would push through because surely I could hang on for half an hour. I wasn’t feeling ‘off’ at all, just fatigued and ready to be done.
A strange thing happened from kilometre 70 till the end of the trail at 75+? Someone had made the trail significantly harder than it had ever been before. Someone had thrown in yet more ladder work, they’d also added hill climbs that felt like scaling mountain sides. They topped this off by putting in so many roots, rocks, and off camber terrain that it was completely impossible to run. Time was evaporating around me and I was starting to feel ill. My body was starting to crack. It was ok though, I was almost there, I just had to hang on for another five minutes maybe.
The trail opened up ever so slightly and I was able to run for a few hundred meters. I came around a corner and slammed my right knee into a stump that sent me reeling onto my left knee and eventually my face. I was laying on the ground and begging the trail for mercy. Had I not suffered enough out here yet today? At that moment it all came flooding back to me. I rolled over and stared at the stump that had taken my legs out from under me. I glared at it long and hard, as if in an actual stare down. Memories of 2007 overwhelmed me. It felt like déjà-vu. I recognized the exact tangled, mangled, mess of a remains of a tree now looking down on me from above. We had met before. I had fallen in this EXACT same manor three years ago to the day! I was now being forced to remember what three full years of reminiscing had allowed me to forget. THIS was the worst section of the entire trail. THIS was where you were really put to the test. THIS was what had caused me to revisit my entire detailed collection of four letter words during my last running of the WCT. THIS was were I now remembered wanting to lay down and die last time.
I was not home free. I was nowhere near the finish. I still had significant climbing left to tackle. There would still be ladders to tackle, roots to stumble over, and rocks to careen down. I had somehow managed to completely forget just how brutal this part of the trail truly was.
“You should go South to North” people had told me,
“Nah, I know North to South. I like finishing on the harder stuff” I’d respond with.
Was my own self induced ignorant bliss about to screw me and my speed attempt? Was I anywhere near where I needed to be to still pull this off?
I glanced at my watch…it said I should have been done already! There were no longer kilometer markers on the trail.
How far was there left to go?
I was still in the 9h40’s so I wasn’t fully stressed. Just put the head down and go. Get your ass off the ground, put your head down and grab this while you still can.
Another climb, another descent, now near the water line, I must be close. Around a corner and into a sheer vertical climb, taking me hundreds of feet back above the ocean, eating minutes like an all you can eat buffet.
9h50’s now. Still time. Still lotsa time. 10h13 is still so far away.
“I can still do sub 10hr. Just get the legs moving again Gary…c’mon, get yer legs moving Gary…C’MON ALREADY LETS GO, RUN DAMMIT!”
But something was not right. My body was completely tingly now and as I crested this climb I found myself light headed. I even found myself swaying side to side a bit and consciously thinking, ‘Whoa dude, don’t pass out up here!'
Downhill, it’s ok, it’s downhill, you must be there, just a wee bit further, my watch now showing 78km, it must be around the next corner! I round the corner and am completely shattered by what I see…ladders, climbing, uphill…have I gone wrong? Is it possible to miss the finish and continue on past it? NO, I know better than this, yet my brain is not functioning properly. I have since figured out that I have a small emergency bag of calories in the bottom of my pack, in the form of dried fruit and nuts…but the finish…where is the finish…
I had a ridiculously long mental debate about stopping, taking off my pack and finding my food vs pushing through. I was half way up the climb and recognized that I was crumbling by the nanosecond. I ceased, found the food and tossed it in my mouth. I’m over 10hr now…this can’t be happening! I’m going to finish in 10h14min. I can see it now, clear as day. I’m going to miss, I’m going to fail, I’m going to have to come back and go for round two again in September. I set out with a mission this year, it revolved around two trail records and a major fund raising effort for Right To Play. I would never be able to justify taking a cent in donations from people if I didn’t cover my end of the bargain. I was already making travel plans and working out the dates. Maybe mid Sept? I’ll definitely go South to North next time. I'll pack more food. I'll carry more water. I'll eat my veggies, I'll wash the dishes, I'll clean the house...please make this end!!
10h05m, 10h06m, a downhill now, yet another downhill that will inevitably lead me up and over the next mountain face. I’m toast. If the clock strikes 10h13m I’m laying down for a nap, no matter where I might then find myself.
10h07m, a clearing below, what the? Is that? Can it be? 10h08m, oh my god, I think I see a sign, I think…I think…I’m going to make it…what time is it?
Followed by this cinematic gem
I NEVER, EVER want to go back and run this damn trail again! If someone else breaks the record, A) go South to North B) try for a lower tidal line so you may be blessed with a better beach running surface, and C) you get it, you can HAVE IT!
Seriously though, I feel incredibly fortunate to have pulled this one off. Although I am still convinced that 9h30m is possible, I have no intentions of attempting it anytime soon. It will take me at least another three years to purge the lows from my mind so that I am left with nothing but positive memories of the experience. Though next time I'll be sure to re-read MY OWN run report so that I don't do something stupid like go North to South again!
RIGHT TO PLAY, please help out...we're at 93% already!!
