Crowsnest Pass, Alberta, Canada

Sinister 7. 100 miles, a bunch of mountains, and my infatuation for the last two years. 

Sometime in the days after I DNF'd Sinister last year, I made the decision to try again the following year. When it was announced that the course would be reversed, I was committed. With heat on Leg 3 ultimately being my downfall in 2021, I thought that the reverse direction would at least give me some reprieve during the hottest part of the the day. 

A few months later, when I officially signed up for the race, I was already injured. But I didn't care. I was going to do this. The frustration over the previous race was high. In 2021, I had trained well, got to the start line healthy and wasn't able to overcome the temperature challenges. I was so disappointed, I didn't even write about it. Just moped for a few months and moved on to thinking about next year. 

Getting to the start line healthy in 2022 was a bit more of a challenge as I battled a hip flexor injury from November right through all my training. Somehow, during my biggest build weeks, along with some taper weeks, I managed to get my injury in check and again found myself at the start line in the best shape of my life, and relatively healthy. 

So on July 9, after a full week of packing, months of training, and weeks of organizing, I put on all my gear and headed off to the start line to see if I could complete the longest race of my life. Going to the start line, and in the weeks before, my mind was all over the place. I was confident I had done enough training to manage the distance and climbing, but there's so many things that can go wrong in an ultra and the non-fitness related things worried me the most. Weather, in particular, terrified me. I checked the weather at least twice a day for two weeks before the race. What I saw was that it was going to be warm (but not hot) on race day. And that the slow snow melt and wet spring had left the course in a muddy condition. This was something that I figured I was ready to handle given my successful attempt at Death Race was "the muddiest year ever." 

Leg 7

The starting gun was triggered and off went the crowd. I was joined at the start line by my friends Jordan and Riley. Jordan told me he wanted to take it easy on Leg 7 (the order was reversed) and would go whatever pace I wanted to out of the gate. Riley was more committed to his own pace. Riley soon pulled ahead while Jordan and I plugged along, enjoying the crowded trails and the cool morning temperatures. Soon we were joined by another friend Alex who had been training with Jordan and I. 

As the miles ticked by, and as the calories and water went down, this leg just disappeared without incident. There was no rush, no issues and everyone was friendly. 

Leg 6

With the logistics of the race being different in reverse, I was not expecting to see my crew at Transition Area 6 (TA6) and instead just filled my bottles before heading back onto the course. Because of this quick transition, I ended up joining back up with Riley and Jordan momentarily before they went ahead at their advanced pace. This would be the last time I saw them until the finish line. 

This leg started off well with my pace staying on target and me making my way through the first initial climbs up towards the alpine portion. While the hills are always tough, I was remembering to stick to my planned pace and making sure I was being careful on the uneven ground. 

While we were dodging many puddles at lower elevations, when the course made its way into higher elevations in because clear that we were going to get our feet wet. There was still snow on the course and the meltwater was coming down from all directions, and often directly on the course. Still, I was not worried. I had trained in rain, had experience and had preparations in place in case I needed to make adjustments. So up, up, up we went into the alpine sections. 

When we finally popped above the treeline, the already amazing views became even more extravagant. I had done this leg as part of a relay team in 2017, but completed it almost entirely in the dark. Seeing it in the daylight gave me a newfound appreciate for 1) how beautiful it was, and 2) how technical the trail was. In addition to the views, I also was getting pelted with some big mountain winds as we crossed the alpine section of the course. At this point, I was mostly just trying to keep moving while taking in as much of the beauty as I could. I knew I'd be dropping over the ride of the mountain soon and would remain in the trees for hours after. 

After crossing the ridge, we also crossed several snowy sections. These were clearly in full-melt mode and seemed like they'd be ensuring the other side of the mountain was also soaked. And it was. Most of the technical downhill was an active stream. The effect of this was another hour or so of wet feet. 

As I dropped further back off the mountain, the trail flattened out and I started thinking about conserving energy. I was about 40km into my day and ahead of schedule. So I did some math on the fly and realized I could be taking it a bit easier in the flats, which seemed wise as the temperature was starting to rise. 

All things considered though, my race was going almost right to plan. I was on track for hydration and actually eating more than I planned. 

Leg 5

In TA5, I got to see my family and my crew for the first time of the day. This was a big boost as I could see how excited my kids were to see me, and even how energetic my wife was to help out and get me ready to go back out. My crew got me new socks as the ongoing wet feet issue had me worried and the bottom of my feet were starting to get sore. 

I decided early in this leg, that I needed to be cognizant of the temperatures and not over-exert myself in the heat. Having the experience from 2021 definitely made me more cautious in the heat of the day. That meant I gave myself a pass for walking a bit more and ensuring that I didn't get too dehydrated. 

This approach worked pretty much how I wanted it to, but I was noticing that the pain on the bottom of my left foot kept getting worse. I figured this was due to having wet feet for most of the race and so I tried even harder to avoid each puddle that came along the trail. 

As it turned out, Leg 5 ended up being the turning point for my race. Not in a good way. The leg itself was not as strenuous as the other legs, but certainly not as visually stimulating either. About halfway through the leg, while I was trying to shimmy past another massive puddle, I took my first fall of the day. I slipped down the edge of a puddle, with my chest landing directly on one of my poles, promptly and properly snapping it in half. My right leg fell into the bottom of the murky mud pit. The startled runner up ahead heard the loud crack of my pole breaking and probably thought something worse had happened. 

I picked myself up out of the puddle, realized my pole was no repairable and continued on along the trail. But now, I was very annoyed. I was covered in mud, down a pole, my foot was sore, and the temperature was hot. So what did I do? I stomped through the middle of the next few puddles. It was probably the worst thing I could've done, but I was frustrated and I didn't want to slip again like I already did. So my waterlogged feet got a little more wet. 

Eventually the leg departed from the endless, non-descript forest and went along an even less exciting powerline corridor. Lesson learned on looking for some new terrain to keep you stimulated. It can work the other way too. This was about when the race turned from fun and challenging, to hard and miserable. The power line route was completely exposed, both to the sun and the now whipping winds. Eventually the power line lead us to a road/ditch, which did not help the situation. And finally we hit the highway and the gravel road where we were navigating directly into the gusting winds. 

This was getting hard. 

Leg 4

I made it into TA4 relatively close to my desired time, but I wasn't doing well. My foot was throbbing. Every step hurt for the second half of Leg 5. I was starting to experience appetite fatigue from all the calories I was taking in. And then I took off my shoes and socks, discovering what was the early signs of trench foot. On the ball of my foot was a 2-3" crack that was forming. 

This was not good. I'd never experienced this before and frankly didn't know the best way to handle it. My crew did everything they could. I got some more calories in, where I could because it was getting hard to eat. We replaced my socks and shoes and covered up the weird skin stuff that was happening on my foot. I then grabbed an iPod to distract me as I knew this leg would be the hardest so far. 

Leaving this TA was very difficult. I was sitting in my chair with serious doubts about how the rest of the race was going to go. I knew the first section of Leg 4 was all uphill and that there were some seriously challenging climbs still to come. 

After grinding up the first road, I took out my iPod. I needed something to distract me for the negative space I was currently living in. Naturally, the device that I had recently charged was totally dead and useless. To make matters worse, the work we did on my foot was not helping in anyway. The pain was continuing to get worse. My only hope at this point was to do everything in my power to stay out of the puddles. 

After marching through to the first checkpoint on Leg 4, I was at least successful at staying out of the water. But immediately after that, there was a large creek between me and the rest of the leg. I stopped and starred at it for a moment. I was so mad. I couldn't avoid it. Just had to deal with it. And what was even worse was that the cool water did provide some temporary soothing to the burning sensation on my foot. But I knew in the long run, it would just make things worse. 

At this point, pretty much all I was thinking about was that I didn't want to keep going on like this. The only thing that kept me going was that I wanted to make it further than I did the year before. This was not the goal I had coming into the race, but it had taken over my brain. 

What lay between me and this new goal I decided to focus on was a giant mountain and about 17km. On I went, very slowly up this mountain. There was no longer anyway to run on my foot. Any sort of impact, rock underfoot or twisting was a bolt of pain. If you know the course at Sinister, effectively every single step you take either has extra impact from stepping on a rock or running on a surface that is uneven. 

Unfortunately, the pain was also distracting me from eating according to my schedule. I was still somewhat drinking according to plan, but I just wasn't focused enough on my caloric intake. As the leg was taking longer than anticipated because of the inability to run, I eventually started to slow even more because of the lack of food. 

When I hit the summit of Moose Mountain, I took my phone off airplane mode. I had it on most of the day to save battery. But now I needed to communicate with my crew and my wife. I was fairly certain my race was going to be over at the next TA. I was still very frustrated and had been for hours. I found a nice place to sit down and feel sorry for myself. At least it had a good view. 

I finally passed through the second checkpoint on the leg at about the time I was supposed to be finishing the entire leg. I started doing the math in my head based on my original schedule. I had planned on finishing the race around 28 hours, which left me a 2 hour buffer in case things went wrong. When I did the math, I realized I'd already burned that entire buffer. Also, I couldn't run. Then it sank in. There was no way out of this that ended with a finish. 

I told myself over and over before and during the earlier stages of the race that I should keep going until I finish or I time out and miss a cutoff. But now I was going to be 70km from the finish with no reasonable way to get there in time. So on that last section of Leg 4, I decided this was going to be it. I was going to DNF at TA3. At that moment, I was 100% good with this decision. I was miserable and continuing on was only going to make my foot worse. All that was left to do was march my way out of the woods and finish the leg. 

As I got within a few kilometers of the TA, I heard thunder. Of course, I thought. Of course it's going to storm on me as I DNF. Sure enough, 10 minutes before I hit the TA, the winds picked up, the lightning starting crashing and the skies opened up. This was the inevitable end. 

DNF

When I got into the TA, I didn't see my crew. I only saw the timing table where I knew to hand in my timing chip. I handed it in before I could rethink it. It was over. I had achieved my improvised goal of beating last year's distance but ultimately fell short of my primary goal of a finish. 

It's hard to explain the emotions that go through your head in a moment like that. I'd spent the better part of two years training for two editions of this race and yet I hadn't been able to achieve my goal despite so many things going well and getting so much support along the way. At the time, I was mad that something I hadn't anticipated took me out, but I was not disappointed in my decision. I was in a lot of pain. 

The aftermath

After getting back to our place we were staying at, I wolfed down some food and went to sleep. From the TA to when I woke, I was good with every choice I'd made. When I woke up, I started checking progress of my friends who were still out there. I felt almost guilty for being in my bed while they battled away. Then something hit me. They were all going to finish. That was the first moment when I questioned my decision. I was so excited for them, but I felt hesitancy in wanting to go to the finish line. I was afraid of how I would feel seeing people finish. Ultimately, I knew I had to swallow my pride and I went down there. 

I'm glad I did. I got to see Jordan finish in an incredible 7th place. I saw Riley finish in 27th. And I got to talk to Alex after his 20th place finish. I got to hang out with all of them and hear about the depths of their races and their peaks. I heard about what was challenging (turns out no one had a good day with their feet). But what was most rewarding was seeing them succeed. My disappointment faded in those moments, overwhelmed by their triumphs. 

In the days after the race, my feet started to heal. I got the ability to walk and run back, without experiencing pain. For a solid 10 days afterwards, my thought process was basically just about the race. Rethinking my decision to DNF, wondering what might have been. What I figured out was that I wasn't willing to suffer enough. It was a hard realization, but it was true. What's interesting is that I'm still not that disappointed that I DNF'd. I could have suffered a bit longer, but ultimately the result was going to be the same, just a little later on. 

The good news is that I learned a lot from this experience. I learned that:

• my feet need a lot of attention during a race this long
• I need some distractions when things are bad
• I need to be willing to suffer more

Looking ahead, there's nothing right now. I have no more races planned. I looked at some fall races briefly, thinking I could salvage the season and take advantage of my fitness. But I quickly changed my mind. I realized that a positive outcome of the race wasn't the only way to feel fulfilled. Sure it would have been better, but I'm still achieving things that I had previously thought were impossible. And I know I'll achieve things in the future that right now I don't think I can. 

Epilogue

In a fun twist of fate, I happened to watch this video that included a quick interview of John Kelly while he was in the middle of a training run. They asked him how he keeps going through his dark spots and he listed off these things. It was stunning how many of these applied directly to me, and frankly I think these suggestions are going to help me a lot going forward. 

1. How are you going to feel about this in 24 hours? If you quit, will you be mad in 24 hours or will you feel good about this. It's important to think ahead about how this decision will make you feel in the future. 
2. It doesn't always get worse. Even though you are in a dark place and things might be getting worse, I doesn't necessarily mean they will keep getting worse. Ultras are notorious for highs and lows, but neither of them last forever. 
3. Know your motivation. Why are you doing this? Having this touchstone is critical for keeping your motivation up during a race. 
4. Know how much more you're capable of than you think you are

Grande Cache, Alberta, Canada

Welcome to a ridiculously long, and much delayed, race report from the Canadian Death Race 2019. After I did the race and had intended to write up a report afterward, got distracted and never did. With registration for next year's race coming up, along with me being inspired by this report by Tania Jacobs, I finally decided to write down my memories. If you're interested, continue on for the detailed account of my race experience.

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.

New York, New York, United States of America

In this post, I'm going to share journey from my last update to this picture. 

After months of anticipation, I found myself in New York the night before the race. I had been stressed about getting to the finish line, and slowly I was getting past all the hurdles that could keep me from getting there. I needed to get healthy. I needed to get through work. I needed to get to New York. I needed to get my race package. All accomplished. All I needed now was a good night's rest and then I'd be off in the morning. 

This is a picture of the roof of the bathroom of the apartment where we stayed. It was taken at 4:17am. I had been awake for over an hour at this point. After realizing I wasn't going to go back to sleep, I decided to lay down on the floor so as not to disturb everyone else. It was the only place left in the apartment where no one else was sleeping. As I expected, and as is the norm before a big race, I hadn't slept enough. But I was excited. 

I left the apartment at 4:30 (as planned) and started the long journey to the starting village. Logistics seemingly being the only thing that could stop me now. Three hours later, after a subway ride, a ferry ride, a bus ride, some walking and numerous safety checks, I was in the start village. I couldn't believe it. 

Just getting there in itself was an emotional experience. I was fighting back tears as I realized there was nothing else in my way. I was there. I was going to get to run this race. My logistical worries could now subside. Luckily for me, it just so happened that a photographer was there when I realized this and took this picture. I kinda wanted to celebrate and raise my arms over my head because I had arrived, but I decided to play it cool and rest them on top of my Gatorade bottle. But I couldn't hide the relief. It's painted on my face. 

The only downside to this mini-emotional high was that the race start for me was still almost 3 hours away. But as painful as it was to wait for the time to pass, it did, and before I knew it I was in the starting corral with a few other thousand people. The nerves were really starting to build at this point, but I knew more was to come. 

After a 10 minutes walk through the start village, the Verrazano Bridge emerged into sight along with the start line. It was just moments away now. The anticipation was building, overflowing and converting into emotion. I was trying my best to contain it, knowing that I was about to experience hours of emotions and I needed to keep everything together. But I couldn't. I spent the 10 minutes at the starting line fighting back tears. I was so damn excited. 

BANG! Off the went the cannons and away we went. 

The first stretch of the race was on the Verrazano Bridge. Within the first mile on this bridge I learned one thing and was deceived by another. I realized very quickly that there were so many people in this race that whatever notions I had of a finishing time were pointless. I would finish when the pack finished. Pushing was only going to result in me burning out too early. The bridge also tricked me into thinking that the race wouldn't have big crowds on the course. 

After cresting the bridge and rolling downhill into Brooklyn, my race changed. Immediately after the bridge, we were met by the first fans along the course. And wow, there were a lot. People of all ages were cheering loudly, many with signs, most making noise, and everyone having a great time. It was a massive party that just kept going. Knowing my race was going to be slow was disappointing, but it was almost immediately erased by the crowds. 

The energy from the fans brought a massive smile to my face. For the first half of the race, I soaked it all in. I ran on the side of the course and high-fived as many people as I could. I figured that the crowd would eventually calm down and dissipate. But it never did. Mile after mile, thousands of people were there. I lost track of how many times the scene I was seeing was so ridiculous that I wanted to laugh and to cry at the same time. I was overwhelming in the best way possible. I went into this race expecting to see a lot of spectators. Millions of spectators. And somehow, the day of the race exceeded my expectations.

Better than that, I was loving the diversity of the city. As we went from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, the faces changed, the buildings changed and the backgrounds changed. It became very clear that New York was a beautiful mosaic of the world. To see so many communities come out and support runners from around the world made the race even more special. 

For the first half of the race, I was floating. This was mostly because of the crowds, but also because it was the first half of a marathon. That's how it goes for me. I knew it would feel good for a while, and then it wouldn't. As the course went into Queens, my muscles were tightening, the strides were getting harder. The second half had arrived and now it was going to be hard. 

Before the race, I read about how hard the Queensboro Bridge would be. It was 25km into the race. It was the biggest hill on the course and again another place where spectators weren't allowed. I wasn't going to get a boost from them. In reality, the hill was very gradual and I made it up without any problem. I passed so many people going up the hill. That was my replacement boost. And the feeling just keep getting better. As we approached the end of the bridge, you could start to hear the roars. The exit of the bridge had a loop. When it came into view, I could see that every inch of the sidewalk was covered in people. It was the biggest crowd we'd seen so far. This race just kept getting better. 

After getting settled in Manhattan, the course turned north up 1st Avenue. This road was when my race officially got challenging. The crowds were still there and still magical, but errors in preparation started to bubble up. The biggest problem was that I hadn't eaten enough food in the two days leading up to the race. The effect of that was that I ran out of carbs in my system around 27km. With that my heart rate spiked as my body started inefficiently burning fat. 

What laid ahead of me at this point was around 14km, a desperate need for food, and a road that seemingly never ended (it was dead straight). Thankfully I'd been through this before so I didn't panic. I knew I needed to eat, and soon. I finished off the food I was carrying and picked up some more. And I slowed down to manage my heart rate. Thankfully this approach worked. After 4-5km my heart rate went back down. I had overcome the wall, but the damage was done. My pace wouldn't recover for the rest of the race.  

I never thought I'd be so excited to see the Bronx, but I was so tired of the relative monotony of going straight on 1st Avenue. Even better was the quick visit ending and going back into Manhattan. I was passed the wall, I had crossed the last bridge. All I had to do was keep it steady and I was going to realize my goal. 

After the challenge of the never-ending 1st Avenue stretch, I wasn't looking forward to a similar run down 5th Avenue. It wasn't as bad though. My mental strength from past races came in handy. I stayed within my capabilities at the time and fed off the crowds as much as I could. Before I knew it, we turned off of 5th Avenue and we were in Central Park. Almost there. 

This was the only part of the course that I was familiar with. I had actually run the loop in the park several times before. I knew what to expect for once. What I didn't remember from my previous visits was how rolling the road was. This was totally fine until I hit a decent downhill stretch. Being close to the finish line, my adrenaline was building so I felt better than I actually was. I decided to let my weight roll me down the hill faster than the pace I had been running. When I got to the bottom I was overtaken by fear when both my hamstrings and both my quads seized up. 

Over the last few miles, I saw numerous people lying on the side of the course, or hobble off, and receiving assistance. Their dreams in taters. All of a sudden, I was in the same place. 

I wanted to panic. I didn't. I tried my first stretch that I'd used before. It made it worse. I got up and tried to walk. I couldn't. I tried another stretch. Still nothing. I was seized up. 

It wasn't going to end like this. I was less than 2km from the end. 40km in. I had to go. I did my best to ignore the pain. It was the only way. The first ten steps were the hardest of the race. The next ten were easier. As I got closer to the end, I managed to work through the cramps while running (don't try this at home). 

The crowd pulled me home. From the entrance to the park to the finish line, it just kept growing and growing. The energy was building. I was going to make, I just had to ride the wave. 

59th Street went by. So did Columbus Circle. I was on West Drive. Then all of a sudden I saw it. The finish line. I was there. I was going to do it. I thought for sure an emotional deluge would follow. When I saw the finish line I started to hyperventilate. I was so damn excited to accomplish my goal after everything that had come before. I forced myself to overcome the breathing problems and to calm down. I focused very hard on my breathing right to the end. Relief finally came over me. 

It worked so well that when I got to the finish, I just calmly turned off my watch and stopped running. 4 hours and 8 minutes after I started. 

I really thought I was going to cry. It may have been my fear of cramping back up, or the roller coaster I'd been on for hours, or the focused breathing. But I was okay. All I could think about was getting back to my family. I wanted to be with them. I was shocked how quickly moved on mentally from wanting to complete a marathon to getting  hug from Christina and Sloane. 

In retrospect, I should've used that motivation in the race because I was weaving through the crowds to get out of the secure area faster than anyone else. All the other participants were suffering the effects of 42km. So was I. It wasn't going to stop me though. 

20 minutes of walking later, I found them. Sloane was in her stroller, covered in crumbled-up muffin, mostly overwhelmed by the city in general, but moreso from the crowds. Christina was stressed from having to try to get uptown with a toddler in a stroller, her mother and being 7 months pregnant. She was probably as relived as I was it was over too. 

We wandered out of the crowd and I gave them hugs and kisses. The only thing left to do was get back to the apartment. We located the nearest taxi and hopped in. That takes us back to this picture. 

This picture made everything worth it. All of the training, all of the pain, the uncertainty, the lack of sleep. This was my first marathon I got to share with my daughter. I got to show her what I had earned that day. I love this picture because it so perfectly captured many things: 

• How much of a disaster I was. Smelly, sweaty, frozen and also worried about keeping my daughter entertained. 
• How amazing it was to see her interested in the medal. She immediately tried to put it on herself. I think a lot about the example I set for her. 
• How lucky I was that it all worked out. So many things went wrong along the way, but so many more went right. 

And really, that's been the story of my life. I hope it keeps up. I hope I get to do so many more things like this with my family. I want to be able to share in our accomplishments together. I hope I'm lucky enough that fate makes that possible. For now, I have this photo.

If you've made it this far. Thanks for reading. And thanks for all of the support I received before, during and after the race. It really made a big difference. 

Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

With our growing family, my travel now mostly is related to running events. It should be no surprise that this post is about running. The reason I am writing this is because in a few days, I'm going to be running the biggest marathon in the world: New York City Marathon. This is the story of how I got to race week.

First marathon. Regina, 2013

This all started a few years ago when I started running marathons. After completing a few, I thought it'd be fun someday to try to get into New York. I had looked into the options for entry in 2015 and concluded that the secured entry was too expensive and I'd already missed the lottery process. When the lottery opened late in 2016, I was ready. I talked to Christina and we thought it would be a fun trip to make as a family. I was coming off my best year of running. I had set PBs in 5k, 10k, Half and Full distances. The odds of getting picked were low, but we figured it would be worth a shot. If I did get picked, I was probably going to be in decent shape if I could keep up my training.

Before the lottery draw was made, I was already a little ways into a ridiculous training season. Early on, I  was focused entirely on my first ultra marathon June. That meant trail runs, strength training and hills. So many hills. My run commutes always included a hill repeat or two.

2017 runs

Next thing I knew I was awaiting the new from the lottery. Somehow, with a 17% chance of success, my name was drawn on my first attempt. I was in. We were going to New York. My race calendar for the year now had a significant anchor point and suddenly I needed to book flights and accommodation.

I quickly ironed out the details and immediately went back into training mode, squeezing in runs between my family and work life. This in itself is an incredible challenge, but I was able to make it work. I was racking up kilometers like I never had before. Month after month went by where I broke my record for kilometers and I found myself average nearly 250km/month through the first four (winter) months of the year.

Before this year, I had only exceeded 200km in a month twice (once followed by injury). I was a bit nervous as I was training nearly twice as much as I was used to. Even though there was potential for stress injuries, I listened to my body and kept going when I felt good.

First ultra 2017

Soon came summer and race season. I was still racking up crazy distances and even crazier climbing numbers. My first ultramarathon came and went and somehow it didn't wreck me. I was even back running within a couple of days. Later in the summer, I did the hardest leg of Sinister 7 and beat my expected finishing time by 30 minutes. I was feeling ultra confident. I even was doing crazy runs on my vacation, just for fun. All of these things were in the category of "not possible" even 12 months before.

Around this time of peak fitness for me, I was also now facing an ongoing health issue head-on. In 2015, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. I was initially impacted for a few months before my symptoms receded. Without any issues since, I consider myself lucky. But how MS progresses is largely unknown and unpredictable. We didn't know if it would go away forever, or debilitate me in a week. With that uncertainty hanging over me, I needed to start treatment. The treatment I had chosen was a fairly benign oral pill that I would take daily. It had potential side-affects, but they are typically minor and wasn't supposed to impact my training.

In July, I started my treatment. I was thrilled to find out that I had no side-affects at all. I was still running like I normally would and everything seemed perfect. This lasted until September when one week I started to get random fever'ish symptoms. Thinking that I'd just come down with something, I wasn't too concerned. I knew my treatment was intended to compromise my immune system, so this was probably a good sign.

Where it all went sideways

But after a week, it hadn't gone away. I was now struggling to complete physical tasks that had become normal. Running was a challenge. By the end of week two, it was clear that I was being impacted by side-affects. My running was limited. On good days, I could get a decent distance in, but I was now starting to miss critical long runs leading up to NYC.

By week three of these problems, I didn't care about the race anymore. I had one particularly bad morning where I decided to stay home from work because I knew I wouldn't have been able to get my daughter to daycare by myself. Definitely not biking, and not even riding the bus. I was completely exhausted.

After crashing on the couch while everyone else in the house woke up, I needed to get up to go to the washroom. I remember thinking that, but then it got fuzzy. Next thing I know, I'm crouched down at the top of the stairs, incredibly dizzy. My house looked backwards. I ended up trying to go lay down in bed and had to stop and crouch again before I got to the bedroom door. From there, I pulled myself up (with difficulty and hanging onto things) so I could lay down in bed. When I got there, my whole body immediately started sweating profusely. It was a surreal few moments. I was struggling with everything. I couldn't eat. Sleep was interrupted. Physical activity, even walking, wasn't possible.

Aerobic walking. Not good

After some consultation with my neurologist, he suggested that if this ever happens again, I should be in the ER not staying home from work. This spooked me pretty good. This was something more serious than I'd feared.

We made the decision to stop my treatment to confirm it was indeed the cause. Thankfully, I started to improve almost immediately. Over the course of the next 4 days, I was able to sleep again, eat again and eventually run again. I had lost around 10 lbs through this time and my muscle mass was already starting to wane.

At this point, race day was in a month and my threshold for distance was around 10km. And even with that, I was noticing my heart rate was spiking well beyond normal ranges. So well I was feeling better, it was clear that there were other longer-lasting impacts from the treatment.

At 4 weeks from race day, I felt confident that I was at least improving and that I could probably make it better by training appropriately. Knowing that my previously training program had been obliterated, I started from scratch. That's right, I came up with a 4 week marathon training program.

Training in the dark

Week 1 consisted of a new long run of 14km, then another of 24km. Week 2 had strength training, speed work and the tradition long run (34km). Somehow through  these two weeks, I was able to build up some strength and get my heart rate close to normal again. After that, it was time to taper. I mean, it had been two weeks of tough training. :)

Now race day is on Sunday. It'll be here in no time, and I'm pumped. I think I'm ready and four weeks ago, I didn't think I'd even get close.

Now, my expectations have changed. I don't think my original pace goals are realistic anymore, but I'm going to get to run in the biggest race in the world this week. Something that I'll never forget. My family will be there and I can't even imagine what a potential finish would feel like. I'm happy I get to try.