Pre-race
I decided in late 2018 that I was interested in running longer races, in particular, the Death Race. Up to that point, my max was 50km. I was planning on doing a 50 miler in 2019 anyways, but while out for a run with my friend Riley I discovered he was planning to run Death Race. That settled it. We were both going to sign up when registration opened in early December.
From then until August, my running life revolved around getting ready for the Death Race. I started out easy and by April I was doing marathons for fun. I was in great shape but I had a niggling pain in my left ankle. After another couple of weeks in turned into a problem and from then on, it was the defining issue I would deal with through the race (and still today).
Rounds and rounds of physiotherapy and exercise helped lessen the pain, but it fundamentally impacted the way I could train. After a few weeks of increasing pain, my physio and I discovered that interval training could help reduce my injury. So for the next few months, every time I went running, I had my watch set to tell me to walk. It was frustrating and slow, but it helped. Without it, I would've never had a chance to run any races this year.
In June I did the longest run of my life (50 miles) despite having re-aggravated my injury a week before the race. During that race, I discovered that I could actually push through the pain I had experienced without causing any significant damage. This was quite revelatory for me because this was something that had worried me about all my races that year. With a good base, some healing techniques, and some injury progress I was moving towards Death Race with increasing optimism.
My last big training weeks before the race didn't go exactly how I'd hoped, but I got around 80% of my big runs in and realized that was all my body/injury was going to allow. Rather than stressing about that, like I normally would, I accepted it and moved on.
The other serious benefit I got from my 50-miler was a pretty good idea of how to properly hydrate and nourish myself in an ultra. I'd never really gotten it quite right, despite many attempts, and it was shocking to see how my performance and endurance improved when I did. When it came to planning for Death Race it turned more into an extrapolation rather than a guesstimate.
Thankfully, I had also secured a crew for the race to help me get in and out of the transitions without too much hassle. Jacqui was planning to run a leg of the relay and her partner Craig was going to be around to help as well. Their friend Chris was coming in from Seattle to run the relay as well and was a welcome surprise addition to my crew. With a race plan complete, crew in place, accommodations secure, we headed north to Grande Cache the day before the race.
Check-in definitely felt weird. I'd done many relay events with Sinister Sports, but never a solo, so heading to the registration table on my own felt bizarre. In all the times I'd been at a race like this, I had never thought of myself as someone who could do it alone. Until this time.
Following registration, we all collectively learned that the course was the wettest it had been in 20 years. Somehow this was still a surprise to me, despite having constantly followed Grande Cache weather for 2 months before the race. I didn't feel wonderful about this as I was already not feeling 100% because of injury.
The night before, my crew and I went over my race plan, went through all my gear, double checked everything and then went off to pretend to sleep. I was definitely nervous at that point, but not more nervous than I'd been at many other races. I think I was in a weird place because I knew I was still injured and that could potentially knock me out of the race, but also I had spent a good chunk of my summer certain that my injury was going to keep me from the start line. It was a bit of a bonus that I was even there. That alone seemed to make the enormity of the impending race seem less overwhelming.
Leg 1
The morning of the race was actually quite uneventful. I got all my gear ready before anyone even woke up, and when they did wake up eventually we all wandered over to the start line. After some pre-race photos and some awkward high-fives, the gun went off and so did I.
My strategy on leg 1 was to actually push myself more than I thought I would at the start of a 125k race. My thought was that since the course was going to be so muddy, and leg 1 had some runnable parts, that I should try to make up some ground. It was understood and known that the cutoff at the end of the Leg 3 was the one significant risk to my race plan. I knew if my injury acted up, it would be a challenge to get there in time so I figured I'd make headway while my body was still in working order.
The concept was good and I managed to get into a decent position on the initial road portion of the leg before we darted into the woods. When we got there, everything was plugged up. There was mud and puddles everywhere, and conga-lines of people taking their turn going in or around them. I knew it would be muddy but I wasn't mentally prepared for it to be this bad, this early. The pace in those sections was frustrating but soon we were heading downhill and onto the runnable gravel road. For the most part, I was keeping a constant run on the flats and downhills and marching the uphills and everything was still going according to plan.
Leg 2
I came into the first transition and it was total chaos. There was a little chute to run through and people lining either side making it almost impossible to find your crew. Thankfully my crew came prepared with "Waldo" costumes that made them very conspicuous. The race place was that the first transition was going to be 5 minutes or less so it was more like a race-car pit stop. I got my pack refilled. Grabbed my poles. Ate everything. And off I went.
10 minutes later I realized that I had forgotten all my food that I was going to carry for leg 2. I immediately went into crisis-management mode. I started calculating how many calories I was carrying vs how many I was supposed to take in before the next checkpoint with food. I realized that I was only going to be 100-200 calories short and decided not to sweat it. Even better, Riley (who I didn't know was behind me) had passed my crewed and picked up my bag of food. Another 20 minutes after I realized I was out of food, he came by with my food, had a quick chat and wished me good luck. I wouldn't see him for another 3 months after that, but he went on to crush the race.
With a nutrition crisis averted, I had to revert back to dealing with the challenge at hand, which was climbing a big-ass mountain. Flood Mountain was a turnaround point and it was nearly totally uphill from the first transition. The good part was that I had expected the climb to be slow so I wasn't stressed about marching up the hill instead of running. I and everyone else checked in with the marshals at the top, took a selfie and started back down the hill.
This is where I experienced the most amount of pain from my injury the whole race. On the runnable downhill section, my leg was starting to bite and I wondered whether this was going to be it. I went back to my intervals, but without much success. I was hurting, despite still feeling strong.
To my luck (or not), I ended up on the part of the course called "Bum Slide." This section was a very steep downhill with borderline traction from all the mud. This meant slow progress and lots of people. It was followed by another section called Bum Slide (I didn't know there were two), and then some uphill sections (called Slugfest) full of mud and a line of people moving slowly. I felt like I was in this section for a day (it was probably an hour). But for me, that was exactly what I needed for my injury to get a break and feel better.
On the second climb of the leg, up Grande Mountain, I was starting to feel fatigued and I decided to continue power walking even though there were sections that were runnable. My new concern at that point was the weather. Dark clouds were heading our way and didn't look like it could miss. My jacket went on and I kept pushing.
Thankfully the rain ended before I hit another infamous downhill section called "Powerline" that dropped runners out of the sky off of Grande Mountain and back into town. Another rain shower came and went before I got into the second transition, but I had finished a good chunk of the climbing and I was still ahead of my planned pace. Things were relatively good.
Leg 3
I felt like the second transition went smoother. Jacqui was already gone, off to run leg 3, but Craig and Chris took good care of me. They washed my feet, loaded up my food, and took my poles. I found out later that I apparently didn't look so hot at that point. Who knew?
After popping out of town and crossing the highway, I was warned by course marshals about bear sighting near the landfill I was about to pass. I made sure my spray was handy but kept plodding forward.
Generally, I found leg 3 to be a bit of a struggle. It was overall a downhill leg without a lot of noteworthy parts. I did manage to run with some relay runners to help pass the time and the view of the Smoky River definitely perked me up as I went by.
The only major problem on this leg was that I had miscalculated my hydration intake and I had run out of water sooner than I expected. Knowing what I'd learned from my previous race, this had me concerned because I had stopped peeing for the last hour and had nothing to take in. This made me extremely eager to get to the aid station to get some water and also because I wanted to sit down and change me shoes and clothes. The weather had been oscillating between sun and rain for a few hours and I was getting a bit soggy.
After passing the mine and crossing the highway, there was a seemingly endless stretch of highway shoulder running that was just grabbing my leg the wrong way. I tried to do intervals, but even that felt like a tough ask at that point. I was pretty excited to start climbing again so I didn't need to feel guilty about walking so much.
Leg 4
The third transition was the first time it felt like shit was getting real. I knew I needed water and supplies and I wanted them quickly. Thanks to good pacing, I was still ahead of my planned scheduled pace. But I needed water. I chugged a 600ml bottle, got it filled and started working on it again. I knew I wasn't getting through the last 60k dehydrated.
After wolfing down some beef jerky (that wasn't in the plan) and dates, I packed up, tied my clean shoes on and headed back out into the rain. I almost immediately stepped in a giant puddle of mud on my ascent of Mount Hamel, thereby ending the 2 minutes of joy I got from my clean feet.
The climb up Hamel was muddier than I expected and the pace was slow but planned. I passed the time as a third wheel listening to an American (Democrat) talk politics with a Canadian (CPC). I tried my best to stay out of that conversation, eventually overtaking them and heading out on my own until I hit the aid station below the switchbacks. I loaded up on chips and went on my way, now with a clear view of the back and forth path I would be taking to climb the last stretch of the 1400m climb up Hamel.
While I was on this section, there seemed to be a few more runners around to chat with. At one point a runner in front of me turned around and told me to stop. She said, "you look epic there, let me take your picture." At that point, I was tired and thought a 15-second break would be worth it. I ended up chatting with her for a while. She was from New Zealand, living in Jasper, and plotting a run across her homeland in a few months (note, she's doing that now!).
Once we hit the end of the switchbacks, we had to do the out and back section to get what was supposed to be a prayer flag. The only problem was that the wind was howling and the temperature was dropping. I had my coat, toque, and mitts on to overcome the new climate. When I got to the end of the mountain, it began to hit me that I had climbed all three of the peaks required for this race and that it was (mostly) downhill to the finish. I yelled. I was on pace, had done the worst of the climbing and still moving somewhat well. I thought for the first time about finishing.
Coming down off of Hamel, I was mostly by myself and making decent time. That all went out the window when I hit the flats on the way to Ambler Loop. There was lots of slippery mud and I was particularly low energy at that point. I did way more walking than I wanted to but that was all I had.
Thankfully, my efforts to rehydrate had finally paid off and I overcame that concern. The downside was that I was now over-hydrated. I was having to stop every 20-30 mins to pee. A good problem to have when you're half a day into a race, but still annoying.
Ambler Loop came and went without much interesting happening, other than watching the sun finally disappear and me eating my body weight in chips.
The trek down Beaverdam Rd was as difficult as I expected. My injury was generally holding up because of my reduction in speed/impact but 7km of downhill would make me want to run. It became obvious pretty quickly that I wouldn't be able to run this section constantly, both from a fear of re-aggravation and because my body was starting to wear down. So I set my watch to 2 and 1s, just like I did for most of the summer. For the most part, I was able to follow this, other than the frequent pee breaks. Eventually, I spit out onto the highway and hiked my way into the final transition.
Leg 5
The last transition was not super complicated. I knew I was through the worst of the race and my hydration and nutrition were still doing okay. I was starting to have trouble eating, but wasn't deficient. I did need a change in shoes as I had regretted my choice on Leg 4. It was around midnight at this point and I was about on my anticipated schedule.
I finished up getting ready but before I got back on the trail a marshal pulled me aside to warn me of a cougar stalking and growling at runners near Hell's Gate. They suggested we run in pairs to reduce risk. Only problem was that I didn't know the place names on this leg. Alas, I went on ahead in the dark. The first section of this leg was a gorgeous runnable singletrack that I had no energy to try to enjoy. The prospect of a cougar or a bear interrupting my efforts was at the forefront of my mind and I spent a lot of time yelling in the woods. I bumbled on the downhills but couldn't muster any effort even on the flats. The steep uphills that did come up were a struggle to get through and required some meditative reassurance that I could keep going.
I was trying through the first section to remind myself that I knew there would be lows and I was definitely in one. A growing concern was that I no longer had an appetite. None of the food I had in my pack seemed appealing so I was quite looking forward to reaching the next aid station. When I got there I grabbed some chocolate bars and gummies. I took a bite of a Kit Kat bar and it tasted like sand. At that point, I'd consumed around 7,000 calories during the race and my body was done with the fast-burning sugars. I was worried, but I was also less than 15km from the finish so I pressed on.
I stopped to visit the Grim Reaper, drop off my coin that I'd thankfully not lost, and enjoy a 3-minute reprieve as I got a boat ride across the river. I figured the point that I need to be scared about the cougar was coming up, so I found a partner fairly soon after the river. He was slower than me, but I didn't mind taking the break so that I could be safer. We plodded along for a while until I felt that I'd comfortably passed the 'danger zone' for the cougar. I went on ahead, mostly walking, occasionally jogging, hoping that I could make it to the end without calories.
The double-wide trail included some decent uphills that were not kind to me. I had to really focus on maintaining movement. I was definitely feeling the calorie deficit and the impact of 110km.
Finally, I made it off the trail and around Firemen's Park. Soon after that, there was a small lake beside the road we were going up. I pulled over to pee before continuing on. A minute later, I hear a runner behind me yelling "hey yoooo." I stopped and yelled back. The runner kept yelling it over and over. I called back to see if they were okay. They informed me that they had spotted a cougar and were trying to scare it off. I was perplexed and scared. I had just stopped in the very same spot to pee and we weren't anywhere close to where we were warned about the cougar. Had it moved? Had it followed us? Who knows. I figured getting to the main road back to town would've signaled safety from wildlife, but I was wrong. Thankfully we went on without incident.
After moving on from the wildlife encounter, I now had to deal with a neverending road climb. At this point, I was totally spent. I was now behind my planned time and was not in a position to make up any time. I could see the lights of town way above me and I knew I had a lot of climbing left to do, and it was at a grade that I could no longer run. So I marched as hard as I could. When I started up the road, it was a pace slower than walking but soon it progressed towards something less embarrassing and I finally started to pass people again.
The road, like most of this leg, felt like an eternity. But eventually, we came out of the woods and onto the streets of Grande Cache. This should've been encouraging, but we'd been staying in this neighbourhood and I knew it was all uphill to the finish line despite it being close. I kept my march going and finally, I made it to Hoppe Ave.
It was there that I was finally overcome. I had kept my emotions in check almost the whole way around the course, but with the finish approaching and the accompanying adrenaline rush, I started to choke up. I started thinking about my injury, about how I really doubted I'd be able to race, about how I never thought I could solo the race, about how proud of myself I was, about how thankful I was to get the support I did through the race. It all came flooding into my brain.
At this point though, I was running. I couldn't feel any of the pain anymore. The finish line is a hell of a drug. I ran down into the park and across the finish line at 4:30am (20.5 hours after I started), with my crew cheering me on. I even ran a little way passed the finish line and I still don't know why. I was happily greeted by hugs from Jacqui, Craig, and Chris. They were so pumped to see me, and the feeling was mutual. I had figured that I was going to break down after finishing, but seeing them kept me together long enough for us to get a team photo and receive my belt buckle and a celebratory beer.
Aftermath
After that my crew wanted to get me home and get me some rest. But I couldn't do it. I needed a mental break. I sat down, then laid down, wearing my warm-up coat I got from NYC Marathon and all my emotions came out. I was bawling and it felt fantastic.
After a minute or two, the medical staff came to check on me, and I got up. Now I was ready to go. My crew tried to convince me to get a ride back to our place, but I refused. I wanted to walk home (I'm stubborn). I figured it would prevent my muscles from seizing up. Eventually we made it back and I stripped off my clothes, had a shower, and took some time to respond to the many messages I had received during the race.
I finally crashed, only the awake 2 hours later and I found everyone in the house was still asleep. Eventually, Susanne, our lovely host, woke up and we shared stories about the race. Then she asked if I wanted something to eat. A mere 3-4 hours earlier, I couldn't contemplate eating, but now I was starving. She made me a giant omelet (made with cream) and some toast. I inhaled it and immediately got sleepy again. Back to bed.
Eventually, we all woke up, cleaned up and headed off on the way back home, relishing in the successes of their relay team and our efforts to get me across the finish line.
Retrospective
Now, it's four months later. My injury has not fully healed. I developed a new one and recovered from that already, but my issue with my leg persists. I wish I'd done some things differently that led to the injury, but I learned a lot about how to manage an injury while still accomplishing my goals.
It still doesn't quite feel real that I finished the race, but at the same time, I now look at other ultras without the fear I used to. I think about signing up for 50km races and not being afraid at all. 100-milers still terrify me though. I suspect that this accomplishment will probably make me want to do more crazy things.
Before that though, my post-race plan was to get healthy before getting into anything crazy for 2020. At this point, I've still not signed up for a major race next year as I still haven't totally fixed my injury. That said, I might never get this back to normal. It's much better than it was at any point during the summer though. I'm now running constantly again, and am starting to get some level of fitness back.
Again, it's four months later. This has taught me that I need to make sure I listen to my body and recover after doing things like Death Race. I've always just got right back to running after races before (50k and under) but this was different. I basically took a month off after I developed my other injury, focusing on cycling and taking up disc golf. When I did get back to running I spent another two months slowly building my distance up for 5km/week. Now I'm in a reasonable place again and with a bit of luck, I'll be healthy enough to do some more silly things next summer.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed the story.
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