Ross Noble

AI Brain Rot

2026-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

Over the course of the last year, it seems like everyone in the software industry has flipped from AI curious to AI by default. “Manual” or “Handwritten” code is already legacy and prompt-driven development is the way of the future. Perfecting prompts, skills, workflows, and AGENTS.md files is a daily process. Automate everything and ship faster than ever before. Keep up or you’ll get left behind! This is the reality, or rather this is what appears to be reality if you spend too much time on X.

I started playing around with LLMs for real in the summer of 2025. Previous attempts were disappointing but then I saw a shift and these tools suddenly became really powerful. I signed up for a Claude Pro account so that I could get access to Claude Code and after a week I was hooked. It clicked and like thousands of other developers around the world, I experimented and tested the limits of what they could do. It was a mixture of highs and lows. One-shot dopamine hits and frustrating misfires. I got better and better at prompting but the results were still a mixed bag. Still, I was convinced these tools were the wave of the future and I had better get comfortable using them.

At Paytient I was part of our AI Guild. I was one of maybe 10 developers who were particularly bullish on this new tech and we shared our tips, tricks, and insights with each other. It was exciting and new. At my new job at MaintainX, AI is almost a default. It is expected that you use these tools and they have basically removed any token limits with a very high spend account per developer. (No one has even come close to that spend limit).

The upside of this is that we are encouraged to experiment with AI workflows, invest in tooling and basically see whatever works. Last month my team spent an afternoon sharing skills, best practices and just talking shop about how we’re using AI. I gave an informal presentation on how I’m using git worktrees to make it easier to run agents in parallel.

It’s all very exciting but I already worry about “AI brain rot”. If I only outsource my development to machines, I’m not just concerned I’ll lose my ability to code by hand — I’m already convinced it’s happening and will continue to.

While preparing for interviews in November and December of 2025, I wrote tons of code by hand. I even turned off LSP support in vim so that I wasn’t getting autocomplete suggestions. I wrote code in online browsers to get comfortable working in environments I wasn’t used to. The idea was to force myself to think, remember and be conscious of every character I typed into the keyboard.

In Live coding horror I described freezing during live coding interviews because of the strange phenomenon of forgetting basic programming skills when faced with an audience and an unfamiliar coding environment. I overcame this by removing assistance, intentionally getting uncomfortable and doing everything “by hand”.

“Agentic coding,” as they are calling it, is the opposite of all this. You issue commands and outsource the actual work. Your role changes from implementer to reviewer. There’s nothing wrong with this (and it’s an incredibly powerful ability) but reading code and writing code are not the same. It’s no different from reading and writing prose. If you only read, your ability to write decays.

I’m riding the AI wave like everyone else in the industry and I’m amazed by the things I can do now that were simply impossible only a couple years ago. But I remain sceptical that I can or should stop writing code by hand. AI brain rot is real and I want this new technology to enhance my skills, not replace them.

I don’t know what this looks like yet. Perhaps it means taking an AI-free week every once in a while. Maybe it means having a side project that you only write by hand. Whatever it looks like, it has to be an intentional decision to keep your mind sharp.

Live coding horror

2025-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

Up until very recently, I had only done a handful of live coding interviews in my career. All of them were a disaster. I think I still have PTSD from the first one I ever did.

I was in my early 20s and I applied to work at Mixpanel, a hot SF based startup doing exciting things in the analytics space. I liked the product and used it on Burnreel to track user interactions. A friend of mine had interviewed there for a role on the business/sales side and I decided to reach out myself for a “Solutions Architect” role. It was marketing/sales focused, but still a very technical position.

I took a shot in the dark and sent a cold email to co-founder, Tim Trefren. Surprisingly I got a response and we arranged an interview quickly. The intro went well and I seemed like a good fit with my affiliate marketing background, but Tim wanted to code together. A few days later, I joined a video call and followed a link to access a live collaboration document. It wasn’t a text editor or IDE, but a live word processor. My heart was pounding.

“Okay, let’s write a function in JavaScript that takes a string and reverses it”, Tim casually prompted me. “Uhhh, okay, well…” I froze. “Well, umm, I guess you’d… uhhh”. I couldn’t think straight. There was a giant wall in my mind’s eye. My heart was in my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

After 10 minutes of moving my cursor around a mostly blank screen, I gave up. I apologized and told Tim I couldn’t continue the interview. I was mortified and embarrassed.

function reverse(str) {
	// uhhh....
}

I actually found the email I sent to Tim afterwards:

Hey Tim,

Sorry about this evening! Didn’t mean to waste your time.

While I’m sure I’d be a good fit for the role, I think this shows I need to get a little more confident with my programming skills.

Thanks again, and best of luck with everything.

Ross

The wording of my email is interesting. I said I needed to get more “more confident with my programming skills”. Skills and confidence about said skills, I learned, are two separate things. I was a fairly green developer in those early days, but I was capable. I knew how to reverse a string. What made me freak out?

After the call, once I’d calmed down, I reconstructed what Tim was testing me on. He probably wanted to see me write something like this to demonstrate I had some JavaScript knowledge:

function reverse(str) {
	return str.split('').reverse().join('');
}

Basic competency check: ✅

After which he might have said something like: “Okay, what about if we don’t use any built-in JS functions. How would you change your implementation?” Had I not panicked, I’d have probably written something like this:

function reverse(str) {
	const arr = str.split('');
	const result = [];
	
	// Start at the end of the list and push onto new list
	for (let i = arr.length -1; i >= 0; i--) {
		result.push(arr[i]);
	}
	
	return result.join('');
}

Basic loop knowledge check: ✅

Now, if he had asked me the time/space complexity about this implementation, I’d have probably said, “Huh?”, which also might have ended my interview right there. But who knows? Algorithmic knowledge may or may not have mattered to him for a business/customer focused developer position.

Had Tim then asked if we could reverse the array inline, without a loop, I’d have said I didn’t know how. I would not have known about this approach, for example:

function reverse(str) {
	const arr = str.split('');
	
	let left = 0; // Start of array
	let right = arr.length - 1; // End of array
	
	while (left < right) {
		// Swap corresponding items inline
		[arr[left], arr[right]] = [arr[right], arr[left]];
		
		// Move left pointer -->
		left++;
		
		// Move right pointer <--
		right--;
	}
	
	return arr.join('');
}

Deeper algorithm knowledge check: ❌

As a self-taught developer, my knowledge of algorithms was very limited at the time. The idea of pointers, time and memory optimization, linked lists, sorting strategies and so on simply weren’t on my radar. LeetCode wasn’t a thing back then, so I had no idea how to prepare for interviews of this kind. I actually think something like the basic reverse string function above could yield some decent signal about a candidate’s fundamental ability. It’s not obscure or overly tricky like some interview exercises.

Fair or not, the memory of freezing on a live coding exercise is forever etched in my memory. I can feel the tension in my body. I remember doing a live coding interview some years later in Ruby and I froze again. Everything I knew about Ruby fell out of my brain and I bombed the interview. What is it about having someone else’s eyes on your screen? Is it a skill you can practice?

Technical interviews after those two failures involved a take home assignment, in-person coding (but working privately) or system design type questions. I’ve been mostly successful with those. Because I’ve never applied to FAANG-level companies, this limitation of mine hasn’t had a significant impact on my career. I’ve been writing software for 15 years and rightly or wrongly, I’ve never invested any real time on interview prep.

This all changed last month. I did my third ever live coding exercise and I froze again! It was a frontend exercise and I suddenly forgot how to write CSS and then later got confused over some basic state while adding a feature to a list component. It was horrible. I felt like an imposter. I had to fix this. So I did.

Close your loops

2025-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

I came across this tweet the other day. It reads:

The real reason you’re tired all the time: It’s not your workload. It’s your open loops. The text you haven’t answered. The apology you owe. The decision you’re avoiding. The conversation you keep postponing. These run in the background of your mind all day, draining your battery. Close your loops. Watch your energy return. Mental clutter is more exhausting than physical work ever will be. – Scott D. Clary

I don’t follow Scott D. Clary, or two people that quoted tweeted it. This was a random post on my X feed — the kind I usually ignore — but something about it caught my eye today. It’s hardly novel, but I like the language and the imagery of the word “loop” and how it’s used here.

And I have many open loops in my life. Far too many. I have dozens of half-complete projects, ideas, chores, experiments. Many of them are well underway — but until they’re complete, I can’t yet cross them off my todo list, and until I do, I carry their load.

As I write this, there are 8 picture frames on our kitchen table. Each contains a magazine cover that Anne picked and framed and plans to display in a 2x4 grid in the living room. She framed them over two months ago, but they’re not on the wall yet. This is an “open loop” and the cost of keeping it open is not zero. You pay with your attention, a little bit every day. It’s like interest. You don’t feel it, but it eventually adds up.

This is just one example. I have a blog post about my Bighorn 100 miler run in 2023 that I wrote 99% of but never published. It just needs a proof read, but the draft sits on my hard drive collecting digital dust. The work is done but the loop is still open.

Last October, I started the process of importing my Sprinter van from British Columbia into Quebec. I had it inspected, was told it needed a wheel alignment—it didn’t—got it aligned anyway only to discover the paperwork wasn’t correct, so it had to be aligned again. Then it stopped running. Now it sits in the driveway, unplated, uninsured, and in need of a new fuel filter and several small fixes to pass inspection.

Our storage room in the basement is overflowing. We should be getting rid of things, but instead we keep accumulating things, stuffing them in the basement. Every time I go in there to grab a tool or some paper towels, I step over boxes and bins, things to sell, broken appliances I need to fix. It’s a whole room of open loops.

In my defence, I have a one-year-old and the past year has been devoted to him. I simply haven’t had time to take care of some of these things. But the reason these loops stay open isn’t the important part. The point is that when they’re open, whatever the reason, you suffer. It’s like the credit card you only pay the minimum payment on each month. Until you pay it off in full, you’re a slave to that debt.

My wife is good at closing loops. As soon as something is put on her plate, if she can take care of it immediately, she does. She doesn’t use a to-do list manager, she just gets things done. I envy this ability of hers and I’m trying to learn to do this for parts of my life. “Done is better than perfect.”

At least I’m aware of my open loops. I know they are draining me. They’ve reached a critical mass and I’ve started paying off the debt. Last week I finally reorganized my external hard drives and it felt great. I just have to build on that moment, start checking things off and celebrating the wins along the way.

My life in monochrome

2025-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

Sometime in late 2024, I found myself on my phone a lot. My son, Jack, was only a couple months old and my phone usage had increased dramatically. As a newborn, Jack was not the kind of baby who could be put on his back to sleep. He wanted to be on someone, always.

Anne and I would trade off naps. We’d settle into a chair, get comfortable and let Jack sleep for a couple of hours. When it was my turn, sometimes I’d watch a movie or read a book, but often I’d be on my phone, scrolling endlessly.

I didn’t like this new pattern. There’s something different about phones. I feel productive while using a laptop or desktop computer, but the way I interact with a phone is addictive, compulsive and often mindless. In lieu of ditching the phone all together, I decided to experiment with features to intentionally make it less interesting. I wanted the experience to be dull and functional. Here is what I came up with.

Custom app launcher

I first decided remove all app icons from my home screen. I would instead have to search* for the application I wanted by swiping to the right, pulling down and typing in the app name. This was designed to be more work to reduce lazy taps on Instagram or Twitter.

I coupled this with a launcher application called Blank Spaces. This replaces your default home screen with list of text items that map to different applications. You can, for instance, map “Music” to open Spotify or “Chat” to open Telegram. While you could leave this list blank, I chose 10 commonly used applications and split them over two screens.

When I turn on my phone now, I see a black screen and a list of five white words.

Blank Spaces in action. Two pages of apps.

Color filters

Through the Accessibility settings, iOS lets you create custom colour filters that apply to the entire operating system. The controls in older versions were were rather coarse — awkward colour tints and a harsh grayscale were possible — but newer versions introduced an “Intensity” setting. This means I can partially apply grayscale, retaining some colour contrast while reducing those unnaturally bright colour that scream for your attention.

This has been a game changer. Notifications, alerts, shiny app feature, have all lost some of their luster, some of their power. Whenever I look at a screen with a normal hue now, it looks so unnatural and fake to me.

This move was so successful for me and my ability to focus while using my phone that I now use it on all three of my computers and my iPad. I set up an equivalent configuration on the family TV but my wife wasn’t a fan so that one doesn’t get used much.

Zap

I discovered - through a Twitter thread that I can no longer find - that you can use the AssistiveTouch feature inside the Accessibility settings to create a quick-access menu for system-wide shortcuts. I’ve experimented with some shortcuts on this menu but really there are only a few I use:

Zap: disable wifi, cell data, and bluetooth
Unzap: enable wifi, cell data, and bluetooth
Blackout: toggle colour filters on and off

“Zap” is essentially the same thing as Airplane Mode, but it forces all networking features off as opposed to toggling them. It may seem redundant, but it has made enough of a difference to me to keep it. I habitually “zap” my phone before bed and “unzap” it in the morning. I do these when my phone is pressed against my body as well to avoid frying my junk with EMFs.

Blackout is for times when I actually need to see the colour of something — like online shopping — so it’s handy to have that easily accessible.

iOS Color filters and AssistiveTouch shortcuts

I’m still uncomfortably attached to my phone, and I still catch myself endlessly scrolling Twitter or Instagram, but overall the relationship has improved. When I pick up my phone, I generally use it with greater purpose. Get in, get out, move on with your day. That’s the goal.

Now, when someone else picks up my phone — to take a photo perhaps — they usually notice that something’s different about it. This often kicks off a conversation about phone addiction and how I’ve tried to tame mine. I can’t promise these tricks will help anyone else cure their addiction, but they’ve helped my manage mine more effectively.

Disappointment at Black Canyon

2023-07-17T00:00:00+00:00

Last fall and winter were busy times for me. In September, I drove Betsy across Canada in time for the WAM 100. In the weeks following the race, Derek and I spent three weeks together exploring Vancouver and the surrounding areas all while diagnosing a transmission issue in the van. At the end of this period, I arranged for Betsy to have her transmission rebuilt while Derek and I moved all my belongings down to Arizona in his truck and trailer. Between November and February, Anne and I split our time between Montreal and Southern California. To top it off, I drove a fixed Betsy down the west coast from Vancouver to Laguna Niguel, CA for Christmas. It was tiring.

While all of this was going on, I tried to train for two races : a road marathon in January and the fast, but challenging Black Canyon 100k, about a month later in February. I had just started working with a new coach, Adam Campbell, after my previous coach Andrew left the Ridgeline Athletics group to go out on his own. I considered following Andrew, but I decided it would be beneficial to work with someone new to gauge what kind of personality and approach I preferred.

Adam is seasoned professional and after our first phone call, I felt confident I would learn a great deal about training under his guidance. I gave him by context on my running history, shared with him my upcoming race calendar, and we quickly got to work.

The Carlsbad Marathon

I explained to Adam that I felt slow. I’d gained a lot of fitness over the summer while getting ready for the Whistler 100, but I had terrible leg speed. I could march for hours, but anytime my pace dipped below 5 min/km, it felt like hard work. After focusing on long trail races, the marathon distance was intimidating, not because of its length, but because it’s an all out effort from start to finish.

The last time I ran an official marathon was in 2015 in Montreal. I finish in a time of 3:19 (4:45 min/km pace). I was happy with the result at the time, especially because it was essentially a training run for a 50k trail race three weeks later. Going into Carlsbad, I had no idea what to expect from myself seven years later (and seven years older).

In mid-November, Adam prescribed a 10k baseline test. My performance in a race-like context would allow us to extrapolate what pace was possible for the marathon. I believed I could run a 40 minute 10k and set that as my goal. I was in Vancouver at the time, so I mapped out a flat course along the beach.

I managed to hit the halfway point in 19:45 — on target — but cramped up at 8km and was forced to walk the last two kilometres, finishing in 42 minutes. I was annoyed by the result, but later learned that the right side of my body was still tender from when I’d broken my hand in the fall. What felt like a “cramp” was really a muscle strain. It took some deep massage and focused stretching in the following weeks to get it back to normal. Even so, using the 8km result, Adam believed 3:10-3:15 was a good range to aim for in the marathon.

Over the weeks that followed, I ran a lot flat road, and slowly started getting comfortable with faster pacing. Adam prescribed regular intervals and tempo runs along with core and leg strengthening exercises. In December I started doing flat 20-30km runs with 5-10 minute intervals at various paces. It was classic marathon training and I enjoyed it a lot more than I expected. By Christmas, 4:45/km pace felt easy and I’d typically hit my lactate threshold at around 4:20/km. My race pace would likely be somewhere in between.

Carlsbad marathon finish line: 3:11

The night before the race, I drove down to the event venue and parked the van in a parking lot nearby. My parents would be driving down in the morning to see me at the finish line. My goal was to run 4:25/km for as long as possible which would result in a 3:05-3:10 finish. I was nervous about the suffering I would endure the next morning, but I told myself it would be over quickly compared to an ultra. From what I remembered in 2015, the first 35km are “easy”; it’s the final 7km that really test you.

The following morning, I got up, prepared som breakfast and walked across the street to pick up my packet. Being a smaller race, there were no predefined pace corrals, so I lined up at the front of the pack. The race started and I set off just in front of the 3:10 pacer with the intention of staying there for the whole morning.

In preparation for Black Canyon, I intended to eat as though I were in an ultra, aiming for 300+ calories an hour. That translated to a gel every 20 minutes plus some more liquid calories from my water bottle.

The first 5km were uncomfortable, but I soon found a rhythm and started to enjoy myself. The course is a a rolling out and back along the beach. Musicians and entertainers lined the sides of the course, singing and cheering on the runners.

I passed the half way mark a little under 1:34 feeling strong. I joined the 3:10 pace group for the second half as they were running about a minute ahead of that goal. I continued to clip away at my target pace until around 35km when — as expected — everything started to hurt. My pace slowed by ~5 seconds and it became harder and harder to hold on. The last 5km were a real battle. I continued to slow, but wouldn’t let myself stop. In in the final few kilometres, the 3:10 pace runner passed me and I realized my sub 3:10 goal was out of reach. I crossed the finish line just under 3:11. I was gassed.

I’d lost 3 minutes in the last 6 km and my legs were jello. Once I caught my breath, a smile crept over my face. The whole experience was way more enjoyable than I’d expected. I high five the runners around me and shared congratulations.

My parents quickly found me in at the finish line area and they took me out for brunch. Compared to an ultra, this was far more civilized. I was physically drained, but far from destroyed. Plus I still had a whole afternoon to relax!

I wish I’d been able to hold on at the end, but I was pleased with the result. More than anything I was happy that my body could handle faster pace running again. I was excited to see how that would relay into the trails at Black Canyon.

Training in the snow in Montreal

Black Canyon 100k

After Carlsbad, I flew back to Montreal to see Anne. We were housesitting at her parent’s house in the suburbs. It was quiet and pleasant, which I liked, but training runs were cold and flat. A couple times a week, I’d drive into town and run on Mount Royal for some hills and variety. I was a little nervous about the transition to the dry and hot weather in Phoenix so I would often end runs with a hot bath — a poor man’s sauna.

The temperatures at Black Canyon usually top out at 20C/70F, but being February, this was bound to feel hot. The course was famous for frying folks coming from the north.

A week before the race, I flew back to California by myself to pick up the van. Anne and I decided it wasn’t worth the expense to have her Anne fly down with me, so Derek agreed to be my support crew. On Thursday, two days before the race, I drove to Arizona to pick up D and drive down to Phoenix. Derek was there with Anne for the Whistler 100, and so he was familiar with the ins and outs of crewing.

I wasn’t as organized for the race as I should have been. When I Arrived in Golden Valley, AZ to grab Derek, I told him I’d forgotten both my hat and sunglasses. Derek, on the other hand, had heaps of gear, all in well-organized bags and protective cases. He was bringing his camera gear to film the event. We stopped at a sports store in Kingman and then hit the road.

The Black Canyon course is about an hour north of Phoenix, and about 3 hours from Kingman. We arrived at packet pickup with plenty of time to get prepped for the following morning, but I still hadn’t packed my drop bags or organized my crew gear. I felt relaxed, but it dawned on me that I should have sorted out all this stuff ahead of time.

On the way down, I’d been messaging Emily who was also running the 100k. We quickly found each other in the parking lot. I parked Betsy next to her boyfriend’s Sprinter and we spent some time catching up. We hadn’t seen each other since the White River 50 miler in 2019. After a grocery store run and a couple other pre-race errands, we all met up for dinner at the nearby restaurant.

I tossed and turned that night, but woke up the next morning feeling relatively fresh. After breakfast and some coffee, we drove to the start, about 40 minutes away, going over the race plan on the way. I’d be seeing D three times between the start and the finish: 30km, 60km and 80km. We had a mini check list for staying cool, hydrated and well-fuelled.

The Black Canyon trail a fast course that’s known for being deceptively tough. It’s net downhill and only has 1700m of vertical gain, but the hardest sections are in the second half when most runner’s legs are tired. Many go out to hard and pay for it later on. I estimated I could finish in under 10 hours, but to be successful, I knew I would need to focus on staying cool and fueling well. The dry air and exposed sun would quickly punish any mistakes.

When we arrived at Mayer High School, we parked the van and walked over to the starting line on the school track. The atmosphere was electric. I walked past Kaci Lickteig getting a pre-race talk from her coach Jason Koop and spotted many other familiar faces in the ultra running world. On the track, I quickly found Jacob, my pal from the QMT 100, who had also flown down from Montreal. Standing just in front of us were the “golden ticket” hopefuls who would be aiming for a ~8 hour finish to nab one of the three 3 spots available for automatic entry into the Western States 100.

The gun went off at 7am and we made our way around the track. I was smiling and soaking up the energy when I looked down in horror. I hadn’t pinned on my number! I quickly turned off the the track and ran across the grass towards Derek. “Gimme the car keys! I forgot my bib!” He fished them from his pocket, tossed them to me, and I sprinted back to the van. I opened the sliding door and rummaged through my bags to find my number. What a bonehead move! I finally found it and pinned it on my shorts. I told myself to relax, but it wasn’t so easy. My heart was pounding.

I ran back to the track — a bit slower this time — as spectators gave me quizzical looks. “Be cool. Relax. Easy now”, I told myself. Only about 10 minutes had passed, but it felt like an eternity. I trotted along and smiled at runners starting to gather for the next wave. I crossed the start line again, wound around the track, and continued on towards the trail.

The irony was that my official race had only just started, but I still felt the temptation to chase. I followed series of roads through the town of Mayer, eventually catching up to a few runners at the back of the pack, before finally cutting onto the Black Canyon trail. The sun was rising and it was beautiful.

Over time, I began coming up behind packs of 5-10 runners in a queue. The trail was narrow and I had to find ways to gracefully pass them all at once. It wasn’t easy and I almost fell a few times while trodding over bushes on the side of the trail.

By the first aid station at 12km, I’d probably passed 40 people. I told myself to relax, knowing that I was probably overdoing it. I could easily ruin my race if I didn’t chill out. Over the following 8km, I found a good rhythm on smooth single track and fell in with a runner from Toronto. We ran together for a bit, chatting about Canadian races, training, and gear — the typical conversation at these things.

By the time I reached the Hidden Treasure aid station at 21km, it was already rather warm. The air was still cool, but the sun was hot on the skin. I arrived at 8:50am, right on target with my sub-10 hour goal pace, but this meant I’d run the first two sections in 1h40, fast than I should have. My heart rate felt higher than was ideal, so I took an extra minute to fill my bottles and chat to the aid station crew.

It was 10km more to Bumble Bee Ranch where I’d see D and could regroup. With a slight downhill, the trail was just and easy to run. The views were stunning and everyone I spoke to was having a blast. I chilled out the best I could, but it was hard not to run fast.

I rolled into Bumble Bee feeling warm. I found D and asked him to put some ice in my bandana while gave him an update on the first few hours. I was making good time, but knew I needed to slow things down. My body was heating up quickly and temps were going to keep rising. I had a small hot spot forming on one of my feet so changed into light socks. When I was ready, I set off on the climb up to Gloriana Mine.

Grainy photo of Emily and me the night before

I slowed my pace over the next section 10kms, but my stomach started to get sensitive. I could still eat, but I had to force myself to finish my gels and chews. I was losing energy. In hindsight, I was probably low on salt. I should have been taking salt tabs every hour like I normally would. The hot sun and dry air were zapping me.

My legs were still moving well though and I soon came up behind Emily. She thought I’d want to pass, but I wanted some company so we ran together for a while. She hadn’t found a rhythm yet and wasn’t enjoying the rocky descent down to Soap Creek. I felt the same way. The terrain was runnable, but rocky and tiring on the legs. I was bonking.

I felt better having someone to chat with, but I progressively felt weaker and weaker during this section. I made it to Soap Creek at the 50km mark in 5 hours. My split was slower than planned, but more concerning was that I didn’t feel confident I could maintain my pace.

I went ahead of Emily after the Gloriana aid station, but immediately started to slowdown on the way to Black Canyon. My legs were tired and I was losing control of the race.

The Black Canyon City aid station sits at 60km, leaving only a marathon to the finish. Some fatigue is expected for this point in the race, but one needs to have enough energy left for the last two big climbs. When I arrived, I was toast. I hadn’t been drinking enough and my stomach was unhappy.

I found Derek and Emily’s boyfriend in the crew section and sat down in a chair. I wanted to drop, but I didn’t have a good enough reason to do so. I was fried but I could still move.

I should have been consuming large amounts of electrolyte drink to give myself a sporting chance at finishing, but instead I sat there just telling D how bad I felt. I’d lost the drive to continue. We hadn’t discussed this kind of “what if” scenario. Had Anne been there, she’d have given me some tough love, but that wasn’t D’s style.

Looking back at the Agua Fria river

After 10 minutes, I walked out of the aid station feeling “okay”, but far from great. I summoned what energy I had and ran the next section before the big climb. I felt a better, but the sun was beating down hard.

After descending down to the the Agua Fria river, I stopped to cool down and splash some water on myself. It felt great but my legs started to ache. On the other side, I squatted down to stretch my legs and immediately felt my left leg cramp up. It was excruciating. I couldn’t tell if it was my hamstring or my calf, but there was pain in the area right behind my knee, and I immediately started limping.

I tried to run it out, thinking it might be temporary, but soon realized it was fairly serious. My muscles were dried out and the damage had been done. I walked and tried to stay positive, but figured I’d probably have to drop at Cottonwood Gulch. I pulled out my phone to send Derek a message, but I didn’t have any cell service. This was the most remote part of the race. I pull on some music and started walking.

About an hour later, I arrived Cottonwood. I immediately asked one of the aid station volunteers if this spot was accessible by car. She told me this was the most remote aid station (which I knew) and almost impossible to access unless you had a 4x4 vehicle and knew the route. I was gutted. This meant I had another another two hours of walking ahead of me.

I loaded up with snacks and plodded on. About an hour later, I checked my phone and discovered I had service. I sent Derek a message to let him know the plan and when to expect me at Table Mesa. I soon started to receive messages from Anne and Bastien urging me to keep going. I really appreciated their support but I had explain to them I was injured and running was out of the question. With an additional 20km, I didn’t want to do any serious damage by needlessly pushing myself just to finish.

Even though the walk seemed to take forever, Anne kept me company on the phone for final few miles and I eventually made it to Table Mesa. I had no regrets about my decision to drop. Derek was supportive and understanding. I wanted a cold drink and to be out of the sun.

My day at Black Canyon started on the wrong foot and I never managed to get things under control. I made some rookie mistakes and let myself get dehydrated and low on salt, ultimately leading to a serious muscle cramp. Looking back, I might have been able to course correct at Black Canyon City, but my mental game had been off all day, and I didn’t do what I needed to do.

It took a solid two weeks of rest after the race for my leg to return to 100%, but I was grateful it wasn’t more serious. I was soon training again and feeling better about the poor result. I definitely have unfinished business at Black Canyon. God willing, I’ll be back next year to do it right.

Whistler Alpine Meadows 100M

2022-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

I signed up for the Whistler Alpine Meadows (WAM) 100 miler in the spring. The event had returned from a two year Covid hiatus was now a Hardrock 100 qualifier. With almost 9000m (29k feet) of vertical gain, this wasn’t entirely a surprise. Even though I would be in Montreal for the summer — and would have to train — I knew the course well from the 110km race in 2019.

Being a tough, steep race, requiring both strong hiking and running skills, WAM was my kind of race. Plus, it would be an excuse to return to Whistler, somewhere that has become rather special to me in recent years. Anne and lived in the village for 6 weeks last year, only minutes from the Blackcomb Ascent trail. It’s also where we had our first unofficial date. I was excited to return.

In June, three weeks before the QMT 100, I reached out to Ridgeline Athletics for full-time coaching. I’d wanted to hire a coach for a while, but the timing had never been good. Full time nomadism has its perks, but it can make scheduling difficult and commitments a challenge. But with Anne and I taking a break from the road and staying in Montreal for the summer, I knew I could commit to doing the training.

I reached out to their team and was connected with Andrew Miller. He’s young and relatively new to coaching, but has a ton of ultra experience (including a win at Western States). I’d already been looking for a coach, but hadn’t found someone with the right philosophy. During the initial phone call with Andrew, however, I got a really nice vibe and decided to pull the trigger. We got started right away.

Over the summer, Andrew helped me dial in my workouts to make sure each one had purpose. He also helped me work through some niggling injuries and improve my leg and body strength. Under Andrew’s guidance, I felt strong and fresh and ready to face the steep climbs and descents at Whistler.

Pre-race Chaos

Two weeks before the race, I was in Montreal, getting prepared to drive across the country for the race. I needed to get the van to the west coast for the winter anyway so the timing made sense. That week I made the dumb decision to visit the nearby skate park a friend. I took a benign fall while doing a very uninteresting trick and smacked my hand against the concrete. It was painful at first, but I kept on skateboarding, not giving it another thought. I didn’t know at the time, but I’d actually fractured one of the metacarpal bones in my right hand and sprained the ring finger. It ballooned up later in the evening, but it took another week for me to click that I should probably get it checked out.

During my week long drive to BC, my hand had not been healing as quickly as I’d hoped. When I landed in Vancouver, I went to the local ER to get it looked at. They took x-rays and was bounced around the hospital until a doctor sat me down and said “well, it’s definitely broken.” My heart sank. I’d never broken a bone before so I didn’t know how serious this was. As she prepared a splint for my hand, she said it looked generally fine but wanted a surgeon to decide if they’d need to operate. Operate!?

I was sent to see a plastic surgeon at a different hospital where I had to tell the same story to at least five people before they understood why I was there. “Skateboarding. 10 days ago. Just got x-rays. No, no, I already have a splint. Can I please see the surgeon now?”

Fortunately I was told surgery didn’t make sense but I’d have to wear a splint for 4-6 weeks and “no more skateboarding”. That was a given, but what about running? “I have a race on Friday,” I explained, carefully omitting the length and details of said race. “Can I still run?” I was given a soft okay as long as I was “careful.” That’s all I needed to hear. In my mind, WAM was a go.

Unfortunate news a week before the race

The evening after the hospital visit, I went for a night hike up BCMC with Gaelan. It was his last weekend before the Long Souls 100k. I showed him my sexy splint and we chatted about our respective races. I tried hiking with two poles, but found my right hand was more or less useless. I concluded that using only one pole was more practical. It was awkward and I couldn’t get much leverage on the steep climbs, but it was doable.

Derek arrived in Vancouver the next day. We hung out in town until Wednesday when Anne arrived from Montreal. We picked her up from the airport and then convoyed directly up to Whistler together. Derek and Anne would be sharing crew duties over the weekend. There was lots to prepare but we had a nice AirBnb to relax at and get everything organized.

On Thursday evening, we went into town to pick up my race packet at the Salomon store in town where we ran into Kabir, a friend of Anne’s. We made some jokes about the following morning and then said goodbye. When we got back, I began organizing all my drop bags and my crew bag and cooler. As usual, I underestimated how much time it takes to prep everything, but Anne and Derek stepped in and helped me get everything sorted. We went to bed at a reasonable hour, but as I lay there, I started to get butterflies. I knew this one was going to be tough.

I woke up at 5am. I was awake and ready to go. I’d slept better than I usually do the night before these things, and unlike at QMT, I’d also banked good sleep all week. After coffee and breakfast we drove to catch the shuttle bus to the start line. We saw Kabir there and we chatted with him and some of the other runners on the bus. I was chatty and my nerves from the night before were being replaced with excitement.

We arrived at the start line and waited around in the cold for Gary to give his pre-race talk. All the usual stuff. A survey of hands revealed that this would be the first 100 miler for many runners, a detail I parked in the back of my mind for later. “Everyone’s probably going to go out too fast,” I thought to myself. A few minutes later, at 7am, I said goodbye to Anne and Derek and we were off.

Section 1: Blackcomb (0 to 30km)

The first kilometre was flat but I knew it would go straight up soon. My pack was full and kind of bulky as the race has a fair amount of required gear. My right hand was wrapped up and covered with a compression band. In my left hand was my single hiking pole.

We started climbing and I fell in with a guy from Virginia for whom WAM was his third attempt at the 100 mile distance. I didn’t really understand why he chose a significantly harder race than his previous two attempts, but the logic made sense to him. He was also chatting with the woman ahead of him, a local who’d been out of the ultra game for a few years due to injury. I enjoyed the conversation but eventually pushed past to create some space.

The trail was steep and slow, but time flew by. By 8:30 we had cleared the trees and reached the first aid station. I grabbed a cookie and checked my watch. I was ahead of schedule.

We walked up a service road on the front of Blackcomb mountain. It was easier travel than the trail, but still surprisingly steep. I found my own rhythm, passing some runners and letting others pass me. It was early and we had over 1000m to climb so I was in no rush. I snapped a pic of myself and sent Anne and Derek a quick update.

I was soon at the Rendezvous restaurant at the top of the Blackcomb gondola where I soaked in the views. The morning was perfect — blue bird skies, but still nice and cool. I turned onto the groomed trail towards, passing a lake as we began cruising down towards the 7th Heaven aid station.

I was running well and fell in with a group of four other runners. I was just thinking how well I was moving when the women ahead said, “have you seen a flag in a while?”, I said “no actually”. In Gary’s races, there’s a flag every 30 seconds so this wasn’t a good sign. We kept going — no flags. Marieve, the unofficial leader of our group, was convinced this was the right way, but I was sceptical. We passed runners going the other way on the loop but they didn’t know whether we were on track or not.

We passed under the 7th Heaven chairlift where two guys were fixing something above our heads. “You guys are going the wrong way”, they called out. Marieve tried to explain we had already done the loop, but I had a feeling these guys were right so I turned around. I soon discovered our mistake and turned down the hill passing a crew of runners I hadn’t seen in couple hours. As annoying as this was, I didn’t let it phase me. The day was young and I was still ahead of my 27h splits.

When I arrived at the aid station, Ellie Greenwood — famed runner and WSER 100 course record holder — was there in a blue wig telling everyone to chill out. I was surprised at the general pace, so it was reassuring to hear her remind everyone we were running a 100 miler, not a 100k. I saw Tory, the chatty woman from earlier was talking to Ellie as if they were old friends. I milled around for a couple minutes then left behind her on the service road back towards the Blackcomb Ascent trail. 10 minutes later, I passed a volunteer who’d been talking to Tory. “You’re in good company with Tory!”, she told me. Who was this girl? She was the most popular person out here.

The trail flattened out and then took a turn down into the woods. This section was going to be steep. My strategy — as discussed with Andrew — was to take these early descents extra easy. I needed my quads for later, so I let a few runners pass me on the way down while I walked.

Near the bottom of the descent, I felt some hot spots on my feet. We were only about 4.5 hours in, but I was pretty sure I had blisters. I was annoyed. I’d specifically chosen the Altra Olympus for this race because of their beefy padding. I’d done an 8 hour trial race/run with them and had no problems, but here we were, only a few hours into WAM and my feet were already an issue.

I quickly found Anne and Derek setup at the Base II aid station. It was nice to see them. They offered me sausages and other treats while I gave them a recap. I was still ahead of schedule so I sat down and took off my shoes. Sure enough, I had three sizeable blisters. Damn it. I popped the skin and dried them out while Derek cut pieces of Leukotape for me to apply to the tender areas. It was slow work. Following my instructions, Anne was keeping track of my stop time and wanted to get me out of there. I wouldn’t see them again for another 5-6 hours, so I assured them an extra 5-10 minutes here to get everything sorted would be worth it later.

Once I’d finished treating my feet, I replaced my socks and put on some Altra Superiors, my comfortable but minimalist alternatives. I’d put in an extra “rock plate” which I’d hoped would minimize the beating to my soles. Once sorted, I ate some more food and then finally stood up to leave. I checked my watch. I’d been stopped for 15 minutes. Perfectly reasonable.

Section 2: Whistler (30km to 65km)

I’d estimated it would take just over 3 hours to get up to Whistler Peak. It’s a long relentless climb that starts gradually and then gets rather steep towards the end. I alternated walking and running the flatter sections. I felt sluggish, but my feet were comfortable which was a relief. A guy in a yellow shirt passed me, moving quickly, but I didn’t have it in me to keep up.

I felt better as the climb progressed. About an hour later, I’d caught up to some of the runners ahead of me, stopping to chat to each one for a while before I eventually left them. There were streams flowing alongside the trail so I filled up my bottles regularly with the fresh, cold water.

Once we passed the Russet Lake trail turn off, the trees began to thin out and we began to get glimpses of the incredible terrain nearby. Snow-capped peaks were visible in every direction. It was stunning and I took as many photos as I could knowing the next time I’d be up here would be in the dark.

Looking back at Singing Pass from near Whistler peak

We were treated to a few rocky downhill sections which were a nice break for the muscles before the final ascent. I continued to get stronger as the trail got closer to the peak, passing a couple more runners in the process. On the final steep section before the summit, I caught up to the guy in the yellow shirt who’d blitzed past me three hours earlier.

I got to the Whistler Peak aid station in 8h40m, still 30 mins ahead of my 27 hour pace. The crew there was lively and I chatted to the aid station chief for a while about how fast the pace was. He said the same thing, that everyone was ahead of their splits, half of whom would probably pay for it later. I was in 28th place, but the leaders were only an hour and a half ahead. I was a little surprised how many people were ahead of me, but I had taken a long break at the bottom.

After finishing some miso soup, I thanked the crew and set off down the front side of Whistler. I moved well on the steep technical section passed and few more runners, many I’d seen before on Blackcomb. It was nice to be going downhill again, but it was really steep and technical. I quickly realized my splits were rather optimistic. I made it to the Kashmir aid station in 1h15m, a little behind schedule.

The air was warm and I suddenly felt really low on sodium. I ate as many chips and pretzels as I could handle and then texted Anne and Derek to bring more salt tabs to the Jane aid station. I was clustered with a couple other runners when I left. Three of us ran together for a bit, one of whom asked me if I’d changed my shoes. Apparently he’d noticed I wasn’t wearing the Olympus any more and teased me about how my shoes wouldn’t last the race. I took it as a challenge.

The sassy Altra guy went ahead and I fell in with the other guy wearing a bright green hat. His name was Pawel, though he first told me it was “Paul”, the English equivalent of the name in Polish. He lived in Squamish and he was funny. When I told him my name, he said I “looked like Ross.” I enjoyed his company and we ran together until the Jane aid station. I told him how much I was looking forward to a fresh shirt and some real food. I was growing tired of all the sweet gummies and gels.

I couldn’t believe how hot it was atet bottom. I later learned it had been almost 30C (90F) that afternoon. It took less than an hour to run this section, but by the time I arrived, I was fried. I’d been popping salt tablets all day but still felt low on sodium.

I quickly found Anne and Derek at the aid station. While I was giving them an update, Anne was quick to tell me they didn’t have any sausages and had forgot to bring my Skratch drink. There wasn’t any real food at the aid station aid either, plus Derek wasn’t able to find the salt tablets. I’d also forgotten to pack my short sleeve shirt. I was gutted. I always try my best to be as graceful as I can when people are helping you, but this was the first time I failed to maintain my cool. I was annoyed and cranky. I towelled myself off and put my sweaty shirt back on and then changed my socks. I grabbed my bag of fuel for the next section and set off again, feeling rather low.

Anne helping me with my water bottles at the Jane aid station

Section 3: LSD Loop (65km to 103km)

Pawel had left before me, but I figured he wasn’t too far ahead. I took my phone out and left a voice message for Derek and Anne, thanking them for being there for me and apologizing for being moody. I also requested some pizza for when I returned to this aid station later in the evening.

After a brief section of smooth well maintained trail, we turned onto a rocky service. I came up behind the Marieve, the woman I’d briefly ran behind back on Blackcomb. I said hello and chatted with her for a bit. I didn’t know where Tory was, so I figured she was the female leader. She was still moving relatively well, but was struggling a bit mentally. Like me, she’d hoped there would be real food at the Jane aid station.

I hadn’t run this section of the course before so I asked her a few questions about the course. Being a local, she knew it well. I later learned that she’d won the 100 mile event in 2019 too. I pushed ahead of her while I was feeling good and soon caught up to Pawel. We quickly fell back into the rhythm and continued where our conversation had left off.

Marieve caught up to us a few kilometres later and then pushed ahead by herself. I was fading and so was Pawel. He’d drank too much electrolyte drink and I was starting to overheat.

The trail finally turned off the road onto a spongy single track in the trees. I heard Tory’s distinctive voice behind me and she soon appeared along with a guy with long hair. I decided to push and catch up to Marieve. I like company, but I don’t like getting bunched together.

This section was pretty, but slow and technical. I walked a lot of it, chatting with Marieve. By the time we reached the road, my watch said we should be at the aid station but we still had the long descent down on the road first. Pawel, Tory and the long-haired guy joined us and we ran down the road together as a friendly unit. We soon saw the lead runners, John and Ihor coming towards us. They’d already competed the loop and were making incredible time.

It was 8pm when we arrived at the LSD aid station, and the sun was close to setting. We were at 80km, halfway done and my split was about 13 hours. Volunteers were dressed in animal costumes, including a friend of Pawel’s. And they had quesadillas! The vibe was excellent. The aid station crew said our pack was probably in 12-17th place which I was pleased with. If I was going to make the top ten, I needed to be within striking distance.

I picked at salty food on the table and got ready to go. Pawel was sitting in a chair. “Ross, when are we leaving?” I told him he one minute, and sure enough, a minute later, we were back on the road together.

The sun had mostly set at this point, so we both had our headlamps on. The long haired guy and the girls had left a couple minutes ahead of us. The road was flat but I knew we were going to be sent straight up any moment. We passed a couple trail marshals and then took a turn off onto a dark trail. I had finally cooled down and felt good so I picked up the pace. Pawel wasn’t far behind me, but I was moving faster than him on the steep stuff and soon created a gap.

I was actually enjoying the terrain despite how steep it was. I fell into a rhythm and unfortunately couldn’t see Pawel’s headlamp behind me. We climbed fairly high before finally dropping back down to the road. I caught up to Marieve again at some point but didn’t stop to chat. I was more or less on pace this section but my watch was starting to track extra kilometres, so it dragged on a bit.

When I finally arrived back at the LSD aid station, it was even more of a party than the first time. A cluster of runners were about to begin the loop I’d just finished. I recognized a few including one I’d run with earlier on, so I went over to stay hello. I picked at the table for a while, chatting with the aid station crew and preparing for the long trek back to Jane. The quesadillas were long gone, but I they had miso soup and pickle which were nice. I said goodbye to everyone and continued on a few minutes behind Tory.

On the climb on the road, I started to encounter runners coming down the hill going the other way. I said hello to everyone and we exchanged words of encouragement. At the top of the hill, cut back into the trees and I was back on the technical trail section we ran before sun down. Every few minutes another faceless headlamp would appear and we’d repeat the same routine. “Nice job.” “Looking good.” “Way to go.”

I came up to a couple runner while negotiating a narrow trail. As we passed, I realized one of the headlamps belonged to Kabir! I’d only met the guy 24 hours earlier but I felt an odd kinship with him. His watch was malfunctioning and could only track elevation gain, but he was in good spirits. We said goodbye and I soon rejoined the road.

I began the endless descent down back to the Jane aid station. It dragged on forever and and the rocky terrain was tenderizing my feet. I passed Tory at some point, but the long-haired guy had pushed ahead of us both. I was moving fine, but I felt drained. I wanted to see my people and eat some real food.

I finally arrived at Jane for the second time around 11:30pm, 30 minutes behind 27 hour pace. The temps had dropped by this point and most of the crew people were wearing jackets and hats. It was quiet. Anne and Derek were there, and they had brought everything. Anne gave me a slice of pizza while I tried to remember all the things I was supposed to get done at this stop. The first slice of pizza went down quickly and I started on a second. They remarked I was looking good compared to others they’d seen come through.

After refreshing my fuel stores, I exchanged my headlamp for one with a fresh battery and changes my socks. I also changed out of my shirt into a thicker long sleeve for the exposed Whistler Peak section which I figured would be chilly. I was happy that to have Skratch Superfuel to drink for the next couple hours as break from all the sweet running food. I don’t know how long I stayed with A and D, but I enjoyed their company. I wouldn’t see them until morning so I savoured the time with them. When they finally kicked me out, I was wearing a jacket and gloves.

Section 4: Whistler Peak (103km to 138km)

I saw Tory up ahead of me. She had once again arrived at an aid station after me but left before me. My crew stops were very inefficient, but today it didn’t bother me. Tory and I ran together for a while. We quickly realized we were overdressed now that we were moving again and we tore off our warm layers. I had decided to walk the entire climb up to the peak while Tory ran some of the flatter hills. We arrived at the Kashmir aid station at the same time, shortly followed by a guy named Mike that I hadn’t seen before.

The crew there was small but supportive. I snacked on some salty stuff but didn’t linger. The three of us left around the same time. Mike passed me while I chose to stick to my walking plan. We left the road and went back into the trail for the steep and technical climb through the trees. It was slow and relentless. I soon started to overheat in my long sleeve shirt and I fell back behind Tory and Mike. It felt like I was bonking, but I’d been no top of my nutrition. The was different.

I caught up to Mike who had stopped to take off his shirt. I was relief to see that I wasn’t the only one who found the night oddly warm. I wanted to take off my shirt as well, but I didn’t feel like stopping to redress. That kind of thing was cumbersome with only one functional hand. But when I felt my pace slow again, I realized I need to do something. I stripped off the long sleeve and put my vest back on my bare skin. I was worried about chafing, but it was a relief to be out of that shirt.

It didn’t take long before my body started cooling off. My pace quickened and I started enjoying myself again. When I made it above the tree line, I braced myself for a cold breeze, but the air was rather pleasant. It was 3am and I was shirtless at 7,000 feet. When I was here in 2019, I was wearing gloves, a hat and almost everything from my pack. What a contrast.

I could see a pair of headlights up ahead of me and I was gaining on them. I caught up to Tory who was impressed by my pace. The two of us passed another runner who looked completely fried. I talked to him to make sure he was okay, but he was mostly unresponsive. We was close to the top, so we went ahead. Two hours since leaving Kashmir, we were once again on top of Whistler Peak.

The aid station crew were bundled up in big jackets and had hot soup ready for us. Tory and I were both rather chatty and enjoying the unique experience of being at the top of Whistler in the middle of the night. Mike left ahead of us, but Tory and I decided to stick together. My body temperature had dropped quickly, so with some assistance, I put my shirt back on along with a jacket. Bundled up, we set off on the long descent back to down to Blackcomb Base II.

The sky was beautiful and clear. I left a voice message for Derek and Anne giving them a quick update. Tory and I ran together down the steep service road, but once again has to strip off our warm layer. I asked Tory to help me put my jacket back into my pack and continued down the road. When we reached the flatter section, I once again started to overheat. Ugh. This was getting annoying. I stopped and took off my shirt again managing to stuff it back into my vest.

With my shirt off again, I caught up to Tory and we fell into a rhythm. We swapped war stories from other races we’d done and enjoyed the night. There were a couple steep climbs before we made it to the meadow where the long descent really begins. I felt good and ran ahead of Tory.

At the trees near Singing Pass, I caught up to Mike who’d stopped to take a nap. I felt wide awake and it was really nice to be actually running again. Half way down the trail, I passed a runner who was walking and appeared to be injured. We exchanged a few words and nods and I continued on.

It was about 6am when the sun started to rise. I was 135km into this thing and feeling surprisingly good. But my legs were tired of all the downhill. I was ready to get to the Base II aid station. Near the bottom, I pulled out of the trees and turned onto the steep road near the base of Whistler. Suddenly Mike came zooming past me! I guess his nap had done the trick. I tried to keep up with him but I wasn’t feeling as fresh as he looked and let him go.

The sun had fully risen when I finally made it Base II. It was just after 7am meaning I’d been on the go for a full 24 hour day. Everyone there was bundled up and Derek and Anne were a little surprised to see me without a shirt on. It was supposed to be a very hot day, but I changed into a lightweight shirt. Derek load up my water bottles with Skratch while Anne fed me some left over pizza.

I lingered longer than I should have but Anne kicked me out once I’d changed my socks. Only 26km remained between me and the finish. I was on pace for about 28 hours at this point, right on my B splits. I just had to continue to execute for a few more hours.

Preparing to go back up Blackcomb on Day 2

Section 5: Blackcomb (138km to 163km)

I knew the Blackcomb Ascent trail was going to be rough. It’s steep and tiring even when you’re fresh. As usual, Tory had left Base II before me, but I quickly caught up to her. She was struggling a bit so we didn’t speak much when I passed. I figured I’d see her further up the trail anyway.

I started to run into day hikers and runners from the 25k race. I made small talk here and there, but I was pretty tired so I avoided any any extended conversation. Towards the top of the 6k climb, I came up behind three women from Ontario. I was struggling but the lead woman was so enthusiastic and encouraging, I had to indulge them in some chit chat. They had flown out to Whistler as part of a yearly pilgrimage to play in the mountains. She used to run ultras so we talked for a while about racing before I finally peeled away. She’d lifted my spirits and I was grateful for the attention.

Near the top of the climb, the lead pack from the 100k race came thundering down towards me. They were moving quickly and I enjoyed the front row seat. When I reached the service road at the top, Jeff Pelletier and his girlfriend Audrée were there directing runners. I only know them from his Youtube channel, but it was still nice to see a familiar face. They sent me along the road back toward the final aid station back at 7th Heaven.

There were lots of 100k runners on the road, and one particularly friendly one told me there was bacon up ahead. I couldn’t imagine anything better than warm, salty bacon. I was starting to feel the weight of the day under my feet but this was good motivation to keep pushing.

The station was swarming with runners when I arrived. Fortunately the rumours were true and I helped myself to a couple pieces of bacon. It was marvellous. I refilled my bottles and left quickly. I was too close to the finish to dawdle. I could see Mike up ahead of me too. My goal was to try and catch him and stick with him as long as I could.

The climb was steep and the day was heating up quickly. By the time I reached the top, I was worn out. I looked back down the trail expecting to see Tory, but she seemed to have fallen back a ways.

The next section was actually runnable but all I could muster was a walk. I ran passed some more 100k runners and then out of the trees popped another 100 mile runner going the other way. He confirmed that we do the Overlord loop the same direction as the first time instead of in reverse. I thanked him and pushed on, but I was fading. I only had 15k left to go but the scope of the task was feeling more and more daunting.

I reached a fork where I marshal pointed towards the Decker loop. I trudged along until I reached the river at the far end of the trail. I dunked my head in the water and cherished the immediate cooling effect it had. I refilled my water bottles from the stream and laughed to myself that heat was the last thing I thought I’d struggle with in Whistler.

The rocky section on the other side of the stream was slow and tough. Once I’d finished the climb, I descended down an exposed technical section before dipping back into the trees. I bashed my knee on a rock in almost the same spot I did the 2019 race. What were the odds?

While nursing my knee, I felt a strong wave of fatigue hit me. I needed to close my eyes. I fought it off for a while until I found a nice tree to lean up against and treated myself to a one minute “nap”. The sleepiness had diminished when I opened my eyes. I’d bought myself some time.

At a fork, race marshals directed me towards the lake. 25k runners were everywhere and I no longer had the energy to respond the the words of encouragement. I mostly nodded and waved as they went by. It was a beautiful day, but I was bonking hard. Passed the lake, the trail flattened out I started to run again. I passed more people in silence and reminded myself the rest was mostly downhill.

I was running slowly, counting down the minutes to get back to the Rendezvous restaurant. When I finally crested the hill above the Jersey Cream chairlift, I could feel my mood improve. It was truly downhill from here all the way to the bottom. My watched show almost 28 hours. I wasn’t going to hit my original goal but I was okay with that. I just wanted to be done.

I ran past the Rendezvous and back towards the Ascent Trail. I got a short boost of energy here and managed to run at a decent pace. I popped out of the trees at the spot where Jeff and Audrée were stationed. This time I was sent in the opposite direction towards the service road. “I’m told it’s less than 10km to the finish”, Jeff said. “Are you sure?” I joked. “Because my watch says I should be done already.” I told him I was teasing and thanked him for the info.

The service road was a nice relief for a while but it was steeper than I remembered and my quads were nearing their limit for the day. Every step was painful and I was forced to walk. I was melting in the sun and annoyed to be walking such easy terrain. I tried to run for brief spurts, but eventually gave up.

Mountain bikers would pass by occasionally often with a confused look on their faces. “Is there a race going on today?” I heard one of them ask another. I just smiled and walked past, too tired to make conversation. I felt defeated moving so slowly and thought Tory might come flying by me at any moment, but I didn’t see her. I inched closer and closer, watching the minutes fly by. Even 29 hours was looking optimistic now.

The road cut back into the trees after a while and I started to hear music in the distance. I couldn’t see anything yet but I knew I was close. It was noon and it was hot. I wanted a cold drink and to stop moving. The trail finally dropped me back onto a road and I saw a sign for “100 mile finish”. The music got louder and louder as I walked around the final bend. I could see the finish line up above me and Anne in the distance cheering me in.

I walked across the finish line as a 25k runner whizzed past me. I seemed to have caught Gary —the race director — off guard and suddenly a microphone was thrust into my face. “Was it worth it!?” He asked as he awarded me with my WAM 100 belt buckle. I chuckled and muttered a feeble “yeah.” My final time was 29 hours 21 minutes. I was fried but happy.

Relief at the finish line

After the race, I hung out at the finish line with Anne and Derek who took care of me and fetched me food and drinks. I chatted with Marieve who told me she had feet problems and dropped at 105km. About an hour later, Tory arrived taking the first place female spot. I went over to congratulate her when the time was right, but she had that 100 mile stare at that point and so we kept our conversation brief.

My finish was so anti-climactic and left me on a bit of a low, but as I reflected on the enormity of the day, I started to feel better. I’d just run a very difficult 100 miles over two large mountains (twice!) and I hadn’t let a broken hand get in the way. And despite a difficult final few hours, the majority of my day was enjoyable.

Not only had I covered some incredible terrain, I’d met some really cool people out there. My body had performed when I need it to and I’d came out mostly unscathed. My time with Pawel was a highlight during the mid section. Running over Whistler peak with Tory was another high for the day. Sharing this experience with Anne and Derek, however, was the biggest highlight of all. They were such an amazing crew, supporting me for almost 30 hours. This felt like a team effort and I’m forever grateful for them being there.

Quebec Mega Trail 100M

2022-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

This wasn’t supposed to be my first 100 miler. For years I’d intended to run the Fat Dog 120, a 120 miler. I’ve never learned the history of the extra distance, but being one of the best known races in BC, I’ve wanted to run it ever since I got into ultrarunning. It’s special to me because it ends in Manning Park, a place I’d visited as kid, done numerous training runs as an adult, and is home to the northern terminus of the PCT. After a strong year of training throughout 2019, I registered to run Fat Dog in August 2020.

I ended 2019 feeling more excited about ultrarunning than I’d ever been. I was looking forward to the year ahead, but then Covid shut down the world and races everywhere were cancelled. My race entry was pushed to 2021 and my motivation to run waned throughout the year. I still organized many fun trail adventures, but I struggled to get out the door to log my miles.

The following year was a repeat of 2020. I ran enough over the winter to maintain my fitness and then planned out a serious training block for the spring. By March, however, everything was still locked down in Canada, and Fat Dog was cancelled again. I was in a rut. It bothered me how much fitness I’d lost over the previous two years and I still didn’t have a hundred miler under my belt.

In the fall of 2021, Anne and I decided to travel the US together for six months. We knew we’d be back in Canada for the spring and with restrictions lifting, it appeared that Fat Dog 2022 would finally be a go. The problem was Anne and I had decided to spend the summer in Quebec, and Canada still had restrictive Covid requirements in place for air travel (something that has since changed). I didn’t feel confident I’d be able to physically get to the race and it looked like another year was to go by without a Fat Dog run. I need a backup plan.

I started talking to Bastien about his race calendar for the year and he told me he’d be returning to run the Quebec Mega Trail 100, a point-to-point race in the Charlevoix region of Quebec. I’d never been to that part of the province and it sounded like a great event. I thought the 80km or the 110km distances might be more logical, but they were sold out. The only distance with spots still available was the 100 miler. Did I have enough time to train? It was only three months away and my achilles tendonitis from the Sean O’Brien 100k had only just healed, but I really wanted to join him. After a couple days of deliberating, I pulled the trigger. So long Fat Dog, hello QMT!

Race Weekend

The QMT 100 miler begins in the quaint town of Baie-St-Paul and ends at the Monte-Saint-Anne ski resort outside Quebec City. This was only the second year the QMT race weekend included this distance. In a style more common to Europe, the race begins at 8pm which means the first third of the course would be run in the dark. A night start meant one could sleep in and have plenty of time for race prep, but the down side was that anyone finishing over 24 hours would have to pull out their headlamps for a second time and end in the dark.

The Sunday before the race, I drove out to Mont Sainte Anne (MSA) and worked remotely from the van. Anne drove up separately the following day and we spent the week together near Baie-Saint-Paul and then later near Saint-Tite-des-Caps. For the weekend, we had rented a chalet with some friends near MSA. Friday afternoon, after checking into our new place, Anne and I drove out to Baie-Saint-Paul where our friends would later be meeting us for dinner.

We first drove out to the starting line area where there was a mandatory pre-race medical check. They record your weight and your blood pressure which they check again at the halfway point to make sure you’re within a reasonable relative range. I was a little shocked by my weight. I was over 10 pounds heavier than I expected to be and even told the medical personel that their scale might be wrong. I later made a vow to myself to shed a few pounds in the months after the race.

Once the medical check was complete, Anne and I met up with Bastien and Jessica. We chatted for a bit and then left for dinner. Our friends joined us around 6pm and we enjoyed a nice meal together. Our food arrived a bit later than expected so Anne and I had to leave early to head back to the race start. I was nervous. I’d been yawning throughout dinner and felt more ready for a nap than a hundred mile trail run. I’d slept terribly all week and I prayed that my sleep deprivation wouldn’t be a factor during the run (spoiler alert: it was).

With half an hour until race start, we rejoined Bastien, Jessica and his family. They had a cool camper set up that they would be using to crew him in shifts throughout the night. Bastien was wearing a Jim Walmsley style crop top with “cooling holes” and everything. He was here to go fast.

Pre-race with Bastien

While we were chatting, a storm started to roll in. We soon heard over the loud speaker that they would be starting the race ahead of schedule to avoid the weather, so Anne and I walked to the starting corral as it started to rain. I put on my jacket and waited for the race to start. I looked around for Bastien but I couldn’t find him. I worried he hadn’t heard the announcement, but we eventually found each other amongst the other 115 runners in the corral. We wished each other well and a minute later, we were off.

Section 1: Baie-St-Paul to Le Massif (38km / 24mi)

The first 5-6km of the course are more or less flat. The course follows a road past farms toward the trail where the gradual climb up to Le Massif begins. I went out slow, running at a comfortable 5 min/km pace. I knew most would go out too fast and figured the extra few minutes here wouldn’t mean much by the end. A few kilometres in, I estimated there were 30 or so people ahead of me. As we passed an open field, the sun peaked through the clouds and we were treated to not only one rainbow, but a double rainbow. What an omen!

Double rainbow?

There was plenty of light as we ran the road and it didn’t feel like the sun would be setting soon. I reached the trailhead around 8:25pm and started climbing trough the trees. It was a little crowded so it was hard to find a rhythm. The early stage crowding is always my least favourite part of trail races, but I fell in with a group of guys from Quebec City who were happy to go my pace. We chatted in broken French and English until we finished the top of the first climb. They went ahead when the road widened and started to descend. I wasn’t going to burn out my quads this early.

At the bottom, the road climbs back up to the first aid station — a water-only stop — at 12km. I hiked alongside with a guy from Montreal. When he heard I was from Vancouver, he mentioned Jeff Pelletier, a fellow Vancouverite who came out and documented last year’s race for his YouTube channel. I’d watched the movie and found it helpful to get a feel for what to expect from the course. At the water stop, I filled my bottles and checked my split. I was 5 minutes ahead of my “A” pace. So far so good.

Over the next 8 km to Halte de l’arche at 19.6 km, I noticed my ankle was feeling tender and my right glute was tight. Neither was painful, but I was a little concerned that I was feeling anything this early. The sun was starting to set and in the trees, it was getting dark. I pulled my headlamp and tried to find a good rhythm, walking the steep climbs and running everything else.

Time moved quickly and before I knew it we were at the first real aid station with 19km under our feet. I filled up my bottles quickly and set off again, passing a handful of runners in the process. I was moving fairly well and happy with my pace. For a while we ran along a trail just below the highway, bobbing and weaving through the trees, as trucks whizzed by up above. We eventually left the highway on a road away towards the deeper forest to the south. We dipped into the trails again and then popped out at a road I remembered from the the training run Bastien and I did the month before.

Sun starting to set early on

I rolled up to the third aid station at 28km in about 3h40m, 20 minutes ahead of schedule though the mileage on my watch was short a couple kilometers. It was a water only stop, but there were a handful of people there for support. A quick refill and I pressed on. We reentered the forest for the final climb up to Le Massif. I was moving well and caught up to a few more runners over this section. I tend to hike faster than average on the uphills, but I hung back and avoided pushing it, especially given that I was on pace.

Half an hour later, my headlamp started flashing to indicate it was low on batteries. I was a little surprised given that it was 12:30am and I had only turned it on around 9:30pm. I had a second headlamp, but the sun wasn’t supposed to rise for at least another four hours. I prayed my second headlamp would last the night as it was pitch black at this point.

I rolled into the Le Massif aid station (39km) at 1:30am, almost exactly on my A goal split. The mood was somber and quiet. I was pleased to have eaten all 1100 calories I’d carried with me for this section. I replenished my vest with another 1200 calories for the next from my drop bag (a small bag you send ahead with the race organizers to predetermined locations). I ate a piece of calorie-dense pecan pie that I’d packed for myself and picked at the offerings at the food table. I asked if anyone had any extra AAA batteries but no one did. A minutes later, I was off again.

Section 2: Le Massif (38km / 24mi) to Saint-Tite-des-Caps (80km / 50mi)

The next section was the roughest part of my whole race. When I left Le Massif, I was a little nervous that my headlamp would die before sunrise, but otherwise I felt strong and was ready to settle into a rhythm. I was alone for the first hour, mostly running wide, overgrown roads. It was fairly easy to maintain a good pace, but the trail markers were scant and I was paranoid I wasn’t on the right trail. At one point, I came to a hut that seemed to be a dead end. I couldn’t see any orange tape pointing in any direction though there was a road heading back the way we came.

I saw a headlamp coming in, so I waited for them to arrive so that I could verify the correct path. We ran up the road together and eventually found an orange ribbon. His headlamp was incredibly bright. I had headlamp envy and considered staying with him in case mine died. We started chatting and I learned his name was Aurelien and he was from France. He’d run this race the previous year and was building up to run UTMB in August. It was nice to have some company after a few hours of running alone.

I took the lead at one point and followed a ribbon down a trail that cut across the road. It was overgrown but had the reflective markers we’d seen on the other trails. As we pressed on, the trail started to get wetter, muddier and more overgrown. I remember thinking it was odd that they’d take us down such a poorly maintained trail. After about 10 minutes, Aurelien asked me when I’d last seen an orange ribbon. I couldn’t recall seeing one. He went in front and we went further down the trail together looking for markings. After five more minutes, we gave up and turned around. When we finally made it back to the road, I realized the ribbon I’d seen was not orange, but pink.

Down the road a ways, we found the correct ribbon and we continued on. I felt like an idiot. I apologized to Aurelien and let him take the lead. He told me this was the second time he’d gotten lost that night and we commiserated about the poor course markings. I tried to stay positive and not worry about the time we’d wasted. We ran together until the Cap du Salut aid station at 52km. When we got near we heard music and loud cheering. It was about 3:30am. When we arrived, I recalled Bastien telling me about this spot last year. It was run by a young crew who were partying and blasting music. It was a great vibe. I asked one of the girls if they’d slept and she said no. “On boit” — “we drink”. My kind of aid station.

I ate some chips and other salty foods and left at the same time as Aurelien. We ran together for a while, but I quickly found his uphill pace too slow for me so I requested to pass and pushed on by myself. After a brief spurt at a good speed, I started to feel incredibly tired. It wasn’t a normal bonk, but more of a general fatigue. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep.

I was fading and the trail seemed to get rougher and more challenging. It was overgrown, rocky, muddy and in some places, almost a bog. The trail undulated and was difficult to run with any rhythm. I walked even the slightest incline. On the smoother sections, I moved a little faster but I didn’t much much in tank to really push. It was demoralizing.

It was about 4:30am when the sky finally started to lighten. My headlamp had survived the night and I prayed that my spirits and energy would rise with the sun. I waited and waited for the boost to come, but nothing seemed to change. I ate a caffeine gel, hoping that it would perk me up, but that didn’t seem to do much either.

Just after 6am, I made it to the Cap Gribane aid station. A few runners were clustered there and it was good to see people in the light of the day again. Most of these runners had past Aurelien and me when we went off trail. The consensus around the aid station was that the previous section was particularly slow due to the rain. At least I wasn’t the only one struggling. I drank some coke, ate some oranges and cookies, then got out of there ahead the group. I didn’t want to linger. We had 15km to get to the halfway point where runners were able to meet their crew. Anne would be waiting there with Joe and Emily and I eagerly wanted to see them.

The trail seemed to go on and on and on. My pace wasn’t getting any better and I was starting to get into a really negative headspace. Instead of focusing on the current section I was on, I started to calculate how long it would take to finish the race if I had to walk the rest of the way. 20 hours? More? I couldn’t fathom that. If things didn’t turn around, I’d have to drop, I told myself. These thoughts are entirely natural to ultras, of course, but the mind can be a fickle opponent. Since leaving Le Massif, I’d lost two hours from my A goal pace. This wasn’t terrible as I was set to arrive at my B goal pace. What bothered me was that I foresaw the rest of my race getting worse as the miles started accumulate.

Right before the Tite-des-Caps aid station, there’s a creek crossing under the highway. It reminded me of the part in the the Barkley Marathons when they have to walk under the prison. It was dark and the water was surprisingly deep. It was actually kind of fun stepping over the rocks and I caught myself smiling for the first time in hours. On the other side of the creek, it was a short run down the the aid station tent where I saw Anne coming towards me, cheering me on. Finally.

I arrived officially at 8:50am for a first half split of 12h50m. It was morning, but it felt like the middle of the afternoon. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. I first went to the medical tent to weigh-in and take my blood pressure, both of which were fine. I told the medic how much I was struggling, but had to reassure her I was physically fine, just tired and mentally tormented.

Once released, I walked over to an area where Anne, Emily and Joe had arranged an excellent spread. They had hot sausages and potatoes, fresh shoes and socks, and an ice bandana for my neck. I sat on the bench eating a bit of everything and telling them about the first half of the race. I was really enjoying their company any thought of dropping disappeared quickly. How could you consider quitting when you have people taking such great care of you like this?

I was in no rush to leave. I desperately needed a “reset” and time here was lifting my spirits. I wasn’t exactly eager to start running again, but I was no longer dreading it. After 20 minutes — the longest break I’d ever taken in an ultra — I took a quick bathroom break and then set off to tackle the back half of the course.

Section 3: Saint-Tite-des-Caps (80km / 50mi) to Auberge du Fondeur (124km / 77mi)

After 13 hours in the trees, I finally in open air. The route followed the highway for a while on what appeared to be a makeshift trail made just for the race. I still felt sluggish but after 30-40 minutes I felt my legs coming back. Mont Sainte Anne was now visible in the distance. I started to run down a grassy road towards the trees at a decent pace. When the trail entered the trees, I started pushing harder and harder, feeling like a runner again.

We were making our way towards the river for the infamous Mestachibo section. The trail undulated as it descended and I was running the dips and short climbs well. We finally reached a super steep descent and I could see the river through the trees. When I got to the bottom, there were rafts and a whole crew of people on site to transport runners across the water. I was given a life jacket and told to sit down in the boat. Two men then pulled me across the water via the ropes attached to the boat. I smiled and thanked everyone. It was pretty cool.

Crossing the Sainte-Anne river by raft

Once on the other side, I quickly started moving as the next aid station wasn’t far. The trail was as steep and as gnarly as I remembered from my training run, but I was moving well. I climbed steep stairs and descended down rocky trails, the river visible through the trees below. About 15 minutes later I reached the Mestachibo aid station at 92km. I’d hit an A goal split for the first time since Le Massif. I was having fun again.

The crowd at the aid station was friendly and encouraging. I refilled all three of my bottles so that I’d have extra water to pour on my neck. I also ate some delicious ginger chocolate chip cookies they had on offer. After hours of eating sugary “sports food”, the cookies were a welcome change. As I left I asked about the two guys running together and was told I was only a few minutes behind them.

I ran hard, but I felt relaxed and in control. I soon caught up to the guys on a steep climb and we exchanged a few friendly words as I passed. Even though I enjoyed their company, I secretly hoped I wouldn’t see them again until the finish. It’s a huge mental boost to pass people in the back half of the race and now that I was moving better, I hoped I wasn’t too far behind to reel in a few more people.

I manoeuvred over the large boulders and rocks, a few times having to remind myself there were still over 60km left to go. I wanted to take advantage of the boost of energy I was having while also being smart. I soon came up on another hundred mile runner who I estimated was likely the lead woman. She was incredibly friendly and upbeat. Her attitude was contagious. We chatted for a few minutes until I pushed ahead with a smile on my face.

With 5km until Mont Sainte Anne, I started to bump up against the tail end of the 50km race runners. I chatted to a few of them as I passed. I spoke with one woman who was nursing a calf injury. It wasn’t her day, but she was still grateful to be out here. She said I was probably in 13th place. After a rough morning, I was happy with my position.

I kept pushing until I came to a beautiful waterfall and a very steep set of stairs. I climbed and climbed and finally reached a trail I recognized just below the highway. It felt good to run after grinding up all those stairs. I could hear people cheering as I neared the base of the mountain. I was soon at the MSA aid station where Anne, Joe, Emily, Alex, Nate and the two dogs were waiting for me. 104km down, 55km to go.

They had snacks, fresh shoes and even calendula cream for my legs. 16 hours of overgrown trails had left my calves insatiably itchy. I asked to have one of my bottles refilled with Skratch drink mix as that had been working really well since Saint-Tites-des-Caps. Each bottle gave me 400 calories which was good for about two hours. Anne fetched some gingerbread cookies for me while I changed my shoes. Even though the Superiors had felt great, they have minimal padding and the bottoms of my feet were starting to ache. I upgraded to the Lone Peaks for extra protection and 10 minutes later I was back on my feet with ice around my neck and a popsicle in my hand. Life was good.

At only a few kilometres, this section to the top of MSA was the shortest of the entire course. It was also by far the steepest. You climb straight up, without a single switchback, to the top of Mont Sainte Anne. I pushed hard, but stopped a few times to give my legs a break. When I reached the final flat part, my legs were a little beat up, so I mostly walked it in to the aid station. I’d budgeted 1h10m and it took me 1h05m which I was pleased with.

It was a zoo at the aid station. 50km runners were strewn about in chairs as if in a hospital waiting room. Another 100 mile runner was there drinking coke, but I soon gathered that he was a whole loop ahead of me and likely one of the front runners. I grabbed more ginger cookies and some coke then made for the bathroom before looking for the exit. When I asked a volunteer where to find the next section, I was told I only had 26 minutes to complete the loop, and then had to explain that I was in a different race. For some reason, our bibs and the 50k bibs were marked in remarkably similar shades of red.

This next section was another short one that felt rather pointless. After climbing the mountain we had to descend halfway down and then return back to the same spot. Fun! The trail down was so steep, I could feel my quads complain with every step. As one particularly steep spot, I sat down with my knees tucked in front of me and enjoyed the view over the St. Lawrence River. A man riding an ATV was coming up the hill and seeing my seated called out “Ça va?” I smiled and replied, “Oui, ca va. It’s just really steep.” He then stopped the ATV on the hill at the steepest section — probably a 45 degree incline. Once he understood I was fine, he attempted to restart the ATV which was rather entertaining. After a few tries, he finally got it started and continued on.

A view from the top of Mont Sainte Anne

I’d planned to take this section really easy to make sure I didn’t blow up my legs before the last few sections which would involve a lot more runnable terrain. I soon started moving again and reached the bottom fine. After a brief flat section, I started hiking up a hill next to an older man wearing a vest who was working as a medic for the race. I joked that it was nice to have a pacer for a few minutes.

He eventually dropped back to chat to a runner behind me who seemed to appear out of thin air. He was wearing a 100 miler bib. “Where did you come from?”, I called back. When he caught up we started chatting. His name was Jacob and he’d been near the front, jockeying between third and fifth place when he missed a vital turn at the aid station. Instead dropping down the front of the mountain to do this loop, he went out the other way and descended down the back of the mountain towards the Auberge du Fondeur aid station. At the bottom he realized his mistake and had to hike all the way back up, losing a couple hours in the process. I was impressed that he had stuck with it. It must have been very tempting to drop after something so frustrating.

Jacob was clearly fitter than me so I didn’t try to keep up with him on the steeper part of the climb. When I got back to the Sommet aid station for the second time, I repeated my previous combination of coke and a couple ginger cookies. I’d budgeted 1h10m for this section and came on more or less on target. I was still two hours behind my overall goal, but at least I was hitting my splits in the back half. I kept things short and left once I had filled my bottles.

On my way out, I passed Jacob. He was chatting to what looked like his family. As I left, a man blew a conch and ran along side me banging a drum. I loved it. He eventually fell off and I continued alone on the trail which soon descended down the back side of the mountain. I looked back and saw Jacob behind me and by the time we reached the bottom, he was in front of me.

I later caught up to him on a flattish section. We chatted some more, then he pushed up ahead again while I walked. We leap frogged a couple more times until we neared the final stretch up to the aid station where we arrived at roughly the same time. My split goal was 1h35 and it took 1h40. I was happy with how things were going.

Anne and the gang were there at the Auberge du Fondeur aid station. It was great to see them and they were happy to see me. They refilled my water, Skratch drink, grabbed me some cookies and added ice to my bandana. A few minutes later, I saw Bastien roll into the aid station! What a great surprise.

Having already finished the loop that returns to this aid station, he was hours ahead of me and on his way to the finish. He was in third place and on pace to finish in 22 hours and some change. What a beast! We embraced and congratulated him on what must have been an amazing day. A few minutes later, I thanked my crew and set off towards Montée Saint Hillaire. I was 21 hours in and we had 35km remaining. Less than a marathon to go!

Section 4: Auberge to Fondeur (124km / 77mi) to MSA (159km / 99mi)

I left ahead of Jacob again who seemed to be taking his time at the aid stations. I was feeling pretty good and took off with the intention of hitting my A goal splits until the finish. There was no way I could hit my 24 hour A goal time at this point, but I could finish strong and get close to 26 hours if I pushed.

I was humming along as the trail took us out on the convoluted trails and overgrown roads on the back side of side of Mont Sainte-Anne. I was tired, but my legs felt strong and responded when I wanted to push. Everything was going great until I started walking up a gradual climb in the trees. I was suddenly overcome by wave of deep fatigue. My eye lids became heavy and I had an overwhelming desire to sleep. I sat down and closed my eyes for a minute. Ugh.

I stayed there with my eyes closed, not sleeping, but resting none the less. I was suddenly jerked back to reality as Jacob came up behind me and asked if I was okay. I was told him I was alright, but that I felt hollowed out and weak. I sat up and hiked behind him for while as the mosquitoes started to bite. We barely spoke, but every 30 seconds or so, one of us would smack their leg or arm or whatever limb was being bitten. It was awful. The trail just seemed to go on and I was fading. Where the hell was this aid station?

We finally came across a small tent in the middle of the forest, the most primitive of the entire course. There weren’t even any chairs. On the plus side, they did have deet so we sprayed ourselves down to beat the bugs. After refilling my bottles and grabbing some things to eat, I sat on a cooler box and told the crew I needed to sleep. Jacob went ahead as I attempted to nap sitting up. 5 minutes past but I was still getting bitten and the crew was loud so it wasn’t very restful. I suddenly sat up and shot off down the trail.

I was determined to push through this wall, but ten minutes later I was hit again with another wave of fatigue. I lay down in the dirt and set a five minute timer on my phone. I was being bitten by bugs and not really sleeping but it was so peaceful and quiet lying there. I don’t remember an alarm going off, but something spurred me up and when I felt ready, I started running again. “Come on! Let’s go!”

I clipped along at a 6-7min/km pace which felt fast at this point, but I didn’t stop except for the steeper hills. We had 9km to get back to the St-Hilaire aid station was I was determined to get there as quick as I could. I finally caught up to Jacob who was walking and I pushed past him telling him I was gonna ride this wave as long as I could. He seemed to react and started running behind me. We arrived back at the aid station together and my watch showed a 1h30m split which was a decent time considering the two naps. A group of runners came in as well on their first loop and I even saw my pal, Aurelien there. After a quick refuel, Jacob and I left to finish the short 5km back to Auberge du Fondeur for the second time.

Jacob and I were running as a team at this point and had decided to finish the race together. We were both behind our goals for the day and having a partner served as a great motivator to finish strong. It can be very tempting just to “walk it in” when you don’t feel like the day is going your way.

By the time we reached Auberge du Fondeur (149km) for the second time, it was 9pm and the sun was setting quickly. Anne and the rest of the crew weren’t there and I couldn’t remember if we’d planned to meet here or at the finish. I was actually happy that they didn’t come as I didn’t want to linger. Jacob’s family was there, however, and he offered me a Red Bull so I walked over and joined them. I met his parents and extended family and we talked about how the day had gone. When we were all set, the two of us set off with a goal of making it to the finish in a 1h20m.

I pushed us to run as I didn’t want to drag the last 10km on longer than necessary. The sun was setting fast and we soon had to put on our headlamps which made the descent rather disorienting. There were more climbs than expected and the trail wasn’t as smooth sailing as we’d hoped. About half way down, my stomach started to turn for the first time all day. I’d grown tired of eating and figured I could just power through given how close we were to the finish. The trail markers started counting down the distance to the finish. 5km, then 4km, then 3km and finally 2km. After leading the for most of the descent, my stomach was bothering me and my quads were starting to complain. I asked Jacob to lead us to the finish.

With less than a kilometre left, we made our way down a steep trail that popped us out at a creek. There was a rope set up and to our surprise, we had to cross it. Wet feet for the finish! On the other side, we scrambled up a steep bank and maybe 200 meters past that descended down another bank to another creek. A couple hours earlier it might have been refreshing to bathe in the water, but at this point I really didn’t want to fall in. We crossed carefully and walked down the final stretch of trail.

We finally emerged onto a paved road. We walked the road trying to figure out where we were. I then realized this was the same road leading to the MSA aid station 60 km earlier. We were so close. Just as we were about to turn into the trail to take us down to the finish line, we looked behind us and saw two headlamps. Shit! I sprang into action. On principle, I wasn’t going to be passed this close to the finish. I pushed us to start running and Jacob followed. As we ran down the long road towards the end, we finally relaxed. We were done.

At the finish line, Anne and the gang were there with the dogs. Jacob’s family was there. Even Bastien and Jessica were there! Jacob and I fist bumped at the finish line while his uncle snapped some photos of us. He’s a professional sports photographer, we later learned. It was pretty special. It was almost 11pm and our official time was 26 hours and 53 minutes. We had tied for 11th place. This was a few hours behind my A goal time, but 30 minutes ahead of my B goal. I was happy, but more than anything I was relieved. I finally had a hundred mile belt buckle.

Belt buckles: a 100 mile tradition

The hundred mile distance is no joke. Whether you finish in 20 hours or 40, it takes a great deal of willpower to get to the finish line. Physically speaking, I’m incredibly pleased with how my first hundred went down. My training schedule had been tight and yet my legs had performed well. My stomach had also been super solid. Save for a brief period right at the end, I’d consistently averaged 200 calories an hour and it made a world of difference.

My biggest takeaway from this experience is how much of a mental challenge these longer races are. I did not expect such a negative turn so early in the race, but that’s all part of the game. I’m so glad I turned that around, and I have Anne and my amazing crew to thank for that. They were the ultimate motivator. My impromptu running partner, Jacob, was also a big motivator in the final third. This was the first time I’d ever finished a race with someone and it was pretty special.

Finally, I’m grateful to Bastien for giving me the idea to register for the 100 in the first place. We only shared a few training runs together, but he was a constant inspiration in the months before QMT. His hard work really paid off too. He crushed it in 22 and a half hours, finishing third overall. Beast! Now that my body’s recovered, I look forward to sharing more miles with him this summer as I build up for the Whistler Alpine Meadows 100 in September.

The Sean O’Brien 100k

2022-05-27T00:00:00+00:00

After my DNF at the Squamish 50k, I was hungry to race again. My failure in Squamish was a combination of poor training decisions, challenging conditions, and some bad luck. Despite the disappointing result, however, my body was feeling strong and I was eager to apply that fitness to another race. I knew wanted to run something in early 2022, but the question was where.

In late October, Anne and I were preparing for our 6 month road trip of the USA. Our first stop was going to be in Wyoming, but we knew we would be staying with my parents in California over Christmas. After exploring the race possibilities in the SoCal area, I decided the Sean O’Brien 100k (SOB) would be the perfect event. It would bookend our time in California before we drove east towards Texas.

I’d first heard about SOB in early 2020 when Ella flew down from Seattle to run. It was a golden ticket race for Western States at that time which meant it attracted some talented runners. Crew aren’t permitted on most of the course, so I drove up to Malibu State Park to cheer her on at the finish line and drive her home after the race. Hearing her stories from the day planted a seed in the back of my mind. It sounded like a great event.

The SOB course isn’t very technical (mostly dirt roads and easy trail) but it includes an ammple ~4300+ meters (~14,000 ft) of vertical gain. The cut offs are also very tight, maxing out at 16 hours for the whole event. If you hit trouble early on, you risk having to drop down to the 50 mile race which means a DNF and no Western States 100 qualifier. The odds of getting into the WS100 are probably less than 1% at this point, but I’ve decided that I’m going to enter the lottery every year on principle until I get in. Getting the finish at SOB means I don’t have to worry about getting a qualifier for the rest of the year.

My biggest concern heading into the race was the heat. Even in the winter, the SoCal sun can be relentless. It’s not so bad if you’re used to it, but Anne and I would be coming from a cold and rainy fall in Whistler, BC and an early winter in Wyoming where it snowed our first weekend in town. There’s very little shade on the SOB course, so even temperatures in the 70s were going to feel warm. Plus, heat has a tendency to upset my stomach. I learned that the hard way at the Avalon 50M in 2017, the last time I raced in California.

Over December and January in California, I made an effort to run during the hottest time of the day. My mileage was on the low end - my biggest week was only 50 miles — but I’d managed to incorporate a some decent vertical, interval workouts and I’d been doing CrossFit with Anne a couple time a week. By the final week before the race, I was nervous but confident I could finish. Unfortunately, my left flute had suddenly tightened up so I hit it hard with a lacrosse ball and a foam roller for a few days and I crossed my fingers it would loosen up by race weekend.

In planning for the course, I used my WAM 110k spreadsheet from 2019 as a template and entered all the aid station and vertical gain data. I felt rusty. Even though I’d run Squamish only a few months ago, being a 50k, the race didn’t require any logistics. I ran with two handhelds and stashed gels at the halfway point. That was more or less it. SOB required a little more planning as I wouldn’t have a crew and I’d absolutely need to stay ahead of my hydration and fuel intake if I wanted to succeed.

The night before the race, I packed everything up and loaded up the van. I should have prepared my drop bags the days earlier, but I’d instead procrastinated and left it to the last moment. I scrambled to count calories and get all my gear organized. I was stressed, but Anne was kind and supportive and helped me run through my race check list. SOB isn’t very spectator friendly so we agreed that I’d be doing the race by myself. I’d normally have loved some crew support, but on this occasion I was perfectly fine with going solo. I just wanted to run.

It was almost 10pm when I finally left the house and I still had an hour long drive ahead of me. So much for getting to bed early. I drove up in the van towards Malibu. I was aiming for a spot I’d found on iOverlander at a dog park in Calabasas, only 5 minutes from the race start. Fortunately the drive was painless and the park was vacant when I arrived just after 11pm. I quickly set up my bed and went to sleep, dreading my 3:45am alarm. I tossed and turned before finally falling asleep around midnight.

Race Day

It was surprisingly cold when I woke up. I wanted to stay bundled up in my sleeping bag, but didn’t dare hit snooze. Instead I turned on the propane heater and got dressed for the day. I drove over to Malibu State Park, greeted the friendly volunteers manning the entrance and parked. I threw on a puffy jacket and walked over to the registration tent, again shocked at how cold it was. It must have been just above freezing. I checked in with the organizers, dropped off my drop bags, then headed back to the warmth of the van.

At 4:45am, 15 minutes to race start, I walked over to the starting corral, still wearing a puffy over my running vest. Kiera Henniger, the race director, gave a brief pre-race talk and informed us that there had been a reroute due to a rock slide. One of the aid stations had moved location and we would be losing a couple of miles from the overall length. I didn’t fully understand the implications for my race plan, but it sounded fairly minor.

The starting area was sparse. I wondered if people were sheltering somewhere warm until the last possible moment or if there simply weren’t many runners this year. While shivering in the cold, I suddenly realized Jeff Browning was standing in front of me. I’ve always liked “Bronco Billy” and looked forward to seeing him out on the course. A few minutes later, we were off.

I started near the front but didn’t attempt to hold my position. I knew most of the first big ascent was on a wide road so there was little concern about being stuck behind a large pack of runners. I ran comfortably, but my hands were freezing. To make matters worse, one of my water bottles was leaking. Cold water steadily trickled down my fingers, numbing them in the process. To compensate, I held both of my water bottles with one hand and stuffed the other into the warmth of my jacket pocket, then alternated hands every few minutes. After a completing the first small climb and descent, we reached the creek crossing which was flowing much faster than it had been during my training run a couple weeks prior. Now both my hands and feet were wet and cold.

I’d set a goal time of 1h20 to reach the first aid station. It was the 10km mark, right before you drop into the first valley. It was tempting to push hard to take advantage of the cool air, but but knew I’d need to take it easy to avoid a blow-up later. Fortunately I had warmed up enough to take off my jacket and my limbs were no longer as cold.

Halfway up the climb I fell in with a guy named Luis. We could see the ocean and the early city lights down below. Luis cracked jokes while we tried to photographed the sunrise. We reached the top about 5 minutes behind my goal time, but I was happy with the pace. I topped up my bottles and grabbed a couple snacks from the aid station and continued on.

The second section is fairly runnable but has a deceptive amount of vertical gain. It undulates with no majors ups or downs. By 7am, the sun had risen and the ambient temperate was already getting warmer. I pushed ahead of Luis and fell in with a group of guys going a similar pace. We leapfrogged each other, choosing to run and walk at different times, trying to get into a rhythm.

Sunrise in Malibu Creek state park

I arrived at the Kanan Road aid station at 21km feeling good. My first drop bag was here so I reloaded my race food, ate a couple mini donuts I’d stashed, and filled up my bottles. As I left, I asked one of the aid station crew how far until the next one and he said it was only a few miles. This didn’t make sense until I clicked that this was probably where the reroute came into effect. I tried to do some mental math in my head to see how this would affect my splits. I didn’t have it entirely figured out, but I wasn’t too concerned.

Less than half an hour later, I was at the Zuma Ridge aid station. I grabbed a snack and pressed on. From what I understood, we would be descending to Bonsall Drive and then returning to this aid station on the same road instead of coming up the ridge on the other side of the valley.

I hiked steadily up a road to towards the real Zuma Ridge when I noticed Luis wasn’t far behind me. I waited for him at the top of the ridge, where we were treated to a great view of the ocean. We fell in line together and started chatting as we began the long descent down to Bonsall. Being an L.A. native, Luis had run this race many times before and knew the trails well. He pointed out exactly where the course normally goes and shared with me some helpful tips about the back half of the course.

As we ran, I recalled Stringbean’s suggestion to take it easy and save my quads on the long descents. Fortunately Luis had the same strategy so we stuck together the whole way down. We chatted about ultras, Covid, and everything in between. As we got closer to the bottom, we started to see the lead pack pushing up the hill. I didn’t recognize the leader but Jeff Browning and Jesse Haynes weren’t far behind. I counted the runners ahead of me. I was in 15th and happy with the position.

The Bonsall Drive aid station was buzzing. I filled up on everything and grabbed a Skratch drink from my drop bag to fill one of my handhelds. I forced myself to eat some more chips and salty foods. The crew were helpful and supportive and seemed to be having a great time. Many of them, I learned, had run the race in prior years and were eager to assist with anything. It was tempting to hang out and enjoy the vibe, but I knew I needed to head out.

Luis and a few of other runners hung out at the aid station a bit longer, so I started on the climb alone. I was feeling really good and pulled out my phone to text Anne with an update. “4.5 hours in. On A goal pace. Feeling good but getting warm.” A few other friends had messaged me while I’d been running, so I gave them a brief update before putting my phone away.

Quick selfie during the big climb back to Zuma Ridge

The air was still cool, but the sun was shining and it was getting warm. I was pleased with my decision to wear a bucket hat. To keep my legs feeling fresh, I alternated walking with spurts of running whenever the grade flattened slightly. I couldn’t see Luis behind me, but a guy in an orange shirt bobbed into view from time to time, maintaining a steady pace behind me.

After an hour, climb was starting to drag on, so I put on some music to stay focused. I’d foolishly put the Scratch drink into my leaking water bottle which meant my right hand was by now covered in a coating of sugary water. Out of nowhere, two guys came running past me at an impressive pace. As they passed, they quickly assured me that they weren’t in the race. We chatted for a while and talking with them broke the monotony nicely.

About a third of the way from the top, my back started to ache. I was ready for the climb to end. Runners in the 50 miler started to appear going the other way, and everyone was encouraging and supportive. My pace was slowing, but after a few false summits, I finally reached the top of Zuma Ridge and began descending back down to the aid station. When I finally arrived, I was feeling tired and my legs were stiff. I ate a cold quesadilla and rested for a few mintes while two runners I didn’t recognize pushed ahead of me. I’d slowed down considerably. We were 50k in and I needed a second wind.

The Second Half

Half an hour later I was back at Kanan Road, around the 55km mark. An attendant at the aid station helped me find my drop bag and filled up my water bottles. He’d run the race before and passed on some advice, particularly about the heat. He could tell I was a little dehydrated and suggested I take extra water. I drank as much as I could from my stashed Scratch drink. As I was leaving, another crew member convinced me to stop and eat a freshly made PB&J sandwich before I took off again. I was convinced and grateful for the prodding. The volunteers at this race were amazing.

The next section was rough. While it had been easy running in the morning, we were now in fully exposed, hot sun. I felt dehydrated and light headed. I drank as much water as a I could and eased up on the pace. The worst of it passed within 20 minutes, but it was concerning. I needed fluids and salt. I wasn’t running any of the hills, but I was moving steadily on the flats and downs. I managed to maintained my distance behind the runner who’d passed me at Zuma which I was happy about.

When I finally made it back up to the Coral Canyon aid station, I felt considerably better. I drank as much water as I could then texted Anne. “Just left 61k aid station in 8:05.” I thanked the crew and pressed on. The next section starts with a brief climb along a ridge before descending to Bulldog Road. It’s another out-and-back, so every step down has to be repeated going the other way. It’s shorter than the Zuma/Bonsall/Zuma section, but on tired legs, I knew it was going to be tough.

One of the lead women was behind me and caught me at the beginning of the descent. I had probably dropped to 18th or 19th at this point, but I wasn’t all that bothered about maintain position. Today was about completion, not racing.

The road down to Bulldog was easy running, but my stomach didn’t feel good. A third of the way down, we saw the lead pack coming back up the hill. Jesse was now leading and Jeff was a few minutes behind him. I gave them a supportive cheer as they passed (which I frankly needed far more than they did).

The descent dragged on for ages and my stomach got progressively worse. The best distraction was linking with the guy in the orange hat who I would later learn was named Dylan. He was having a similar sort of day as me and we commiserated over our ups and downs. I think for many runners (including me), SOB was a return to ultrarunning after a long Covid haitus.

I was in rough shape by the time we reached the bottom. We were on a sandy trail that follows a river. My stomach was in knots and begging for me to slow down, so I stopped to walk while Dylan went ahead of me. We were close to the Malibu Creek campground at this point so day hikers started to appear. I smiled and waved, pretending to be having a good time.

At my lowest point, I entertained the idea of dropping at the Bulldog aid station. I’d managed to start running again, but I couldn’t fathom climbing all the way back to the top of the ridge. A cycle of negative thoughts started to swirl around in my head and I regretted not training harder. I was frustrated that I wasn’t performing better and at risk of another DNF. Was I no longer the runner I thought I was?

With the Bulldog aid station moved back about a mile, I didn’t know where it would be. I was fading quiclly and prayed it would come soon. Just when I was about to stop and walk, it came into view and I pushed myself to run it in with whatever energy I could muster. It was small win, but one I needed. I needed to mentally reset and get out of the negative head space I was in.

There were a surprising number of runners hanging around the aid station. It became immediately obvious that I wasn’t the only one struggling with the heat. I found a spot to sit in the shade and the aid station crew immediately asked me what I needed. I was offered coke, watermelon, and ice to cool my neck. The woman helping me seems to anticipate everything I needed before I could ask. So professional.

At some point, I texted Anne, “I’m at 72km. 9h30. Little behind but more or less on pace. Stomach isn’t happy so taking a break.” I drank as much of the Skratch drink from my drop bag as I could handle, then gathered my things. I thanked the amazing crew and headed out. Before I could really process what was happening, I was running again and feeling much better. The thought of dropping out had vanished and I knew I was going to finish, regardless of how long it took. I caught up to Dylan and we started chatting again. We tried to estimate how long it would take us to finish. I estimated three hours; he thought we could do it in less.

Final climb back to up to Coral Canyon

The climb started well, but half way up, my stomach started to turn again. It was manageable if I went slow which meant a couple more runners passed us on the way up. Despite our pace, whenever I looked back at the valley below, I marvelled at how far we had travelled.

It took us about two hours to make back to the Coral Canyon aid station. I was 30 minutes behind my goal time — which, when adjusted for the reroute, was more like an hour — but I was relieved to have finished the climb. My stomach was in knots again but a friendly woman on the crew gave me some coke and words of encouragement which helped. I saw Dylan leave before me, so I finished my coke and set off behind him. We still had some light left in the day, but the sun was setting quickly. My new goal became to finish without having to turn on my headlamp.

I had forgotten how many hills there along the ridge before the final descent. The views were beautiful but I felt terrible. Dylan and I leapfrogged from time to time. Despite our hobbled gaits, we complimented each other about how “fresh” we looked. At one point, he started slowing down and I pulled ahead of him with an unexpected burst of energy.

30 minutes later, I was descending down the main road and my second wind started to fade. A runner came up behind me made a cheerful joke as he came into view. It was Luis! He pulled up next to me and we exchanged a few words. He was looking strong. I tried to keep up with him, but despite my best efforts, he left me behind.

When I got to the bottom of the road, two more runners has passed me there was only a glimmer of sunlight left. I came across a 50 mile runner who was lost. He couldn’t find the turn off for the creek crossing, so I told him to follow me and guided him down the spur trail that takes you down to the water. I was about to grab the rope and cross the creek, when I decided I should probably put on my headlamp for safety. I turned it on and accepted I would be finishing in the dark.

With wet feet, I passed a few more 50 mile runners on the way back to the final hill. The climb itself was steeper than I remembered coming down it 13 hours earlier. I was tired and ready to be done, but it dragged on and on and on. I marched as fast as I could, stopping a few times to summon whatever scraps of energy I still had. When I eventually reached the top of the climb, I used the little momentum I had to cruise down the trail toward the Malibu campground.

As I finished the final descent and joined the main road again, my mood started to shift. I had this! My first race finish in almost two and a half years was in the bag; I just needed to reel it in.

I pulled up to the gate and turned towards the finish line as a few bundled up supporters cheered me in. I was grateful. Having been a supporter two years prior, I knew how cold it was to sit there. I smiled as I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch: 13 hours, 20 minutes. Done.

Post Race

I fumbled around in the dark looking for my drop bags. I was starting to cool down and needed a jacket. I was still warm, but I knew I’d soon be freezing if I stood around for too long. I grabbed some food from the BBQ area and looked around for some familiar faces when I saw Dylan come across the finish line. Some friends of his were there to see him in. At a convenient moment, I stopped by to congratulated him and we chatted for short while, recounting some of the the day’s highs and lows. When I said goodbye, I walked back to the van to change and rest before driving back down to Orange County. I was exhausted.

Once I’d changed into some fresh clothes, I took a moment to reflect on the day. Of all emotions, I was most overcome with relief. A lot could have gone wrong during the day and a DNF was a real possibility. My lack of training definitely showed and my nutrition game was far from dialed in. Still, I was proud of some late stage problem solving and my mental turnround at the Bulldog aid station. Even if I didn’t get the result I wanted, it was still a great day. I may have lost the ultrarunning spark over the previous two years, but the fire was now burning again.

A Wet DNF at the Squamish 50k

2022-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

The Covid era has not been kind to my running. After almost two years without races, I finally got back in the game and ran the Squamish 50k in October 2021. It’s taken me a while to write the race for a few reasons. Even though I’ve been on some amazing adventures over the last two years, I’ve felt like I’ve been in hibernation mode from a social/online perspective. Many of my other recent adventures also remain undocumented which is a shame. But while this blog may have fallen by the way side, but it has not been forgotten. I’m getting back on the wagon a race report of my DNF at the Squamish 50k.

Prior to SQ50, my last true race was in the fall of 2019. I ran the Whistler Alpine Meadows 110k and came away ready to up my game and go after some big 100 milers in 2020. Then Covid happened and everything was up in the air. Would there be races that summer?

In late March 2020, after few months off, I ran 70 miles “off the couch” in my parents neighbourhood as part of the Quarantine Backyard Ultra. A couple thousands of us zoomed in between loops kicking off a wave of “virtual races” all over the globe. It was a special experience that fit the period of uncertainty we all faced, but it was one that I hoped to never repeat. I didn’t run another virtual race again after that.

I missed real in-the-flesh racing, but I wasn’t in racing shape. At the end of 2019, I was the fittest running shape I’d ever been, but by the spring of 2020, I’d taken several steps backwards. I still had a good base — which I leaned on heavily while running the QBU — but I’d spent most of the winter building out my camper van. Running took a back seat. There was glimmer of hope that the Fat Dog 120 miler, four months away, and my “A” race for the year, would still happen. Within weeks it cancelled and and other replacement races were too. I ran intermittently that year and completed many other fun adventures, but I didn’t really progress as a runner.

2021 was essentially a repeat of 2020. Over the winter, I spent my evenings and weekends working on some more upgrades to the van. By spring, I’d logged a pathetic number of miles. I then spent two months on the road, logged a ton of miles in the van, but very few on my feet. By the summer, I felt very out of shape and I didn’t like it.

Fat Dog 120 had been cancelled again, and I was somewhat relieved as I definitely wasn’t ready for a 30+ hour suffer fest. I wanted to race again, but I knew I had to start slowly. Events in parts of the US were starting to happened again and there was a rumour racing would start again in BC that fall. The rumours were true and it was announced that the Squamish 50 was going to be happening in October. This meant substituting the heat for the risk of rain, but I was excited.

Whistler

I chose the Squamish 50k as it’s the companion to the 50 mile race that I ran in 2018. It’s a tough, but well organized race and I was excited to be joined by Martin, his friend Julien, and Bastien who was doing the 50/50, which meant doing both races on Saturday and Sunday.

Early in the summer, I joined Bastien on a 4 hour slow run as training for the 100 miler he would be doing in Quebec that August. It was rough and I knew I had a lot of work to do to get back to race shape. I continued running in Vancouver and the North Shore throughout the summer. Later in the summer, Anne organized a meet up at Garibaldi Lake near Whistler. She hiked from the main trailhead and I ran from the Cheakamus Lake trailhead, about 30k away. We had dinner and camped together, then in the morning, hiked to the top of Panorama Ridge then returned the via routes we each came. It was incredibly fun and an excellent training weekend.

After a trip to Montreal for two weeks, Anne and I decided to rent an AirBnB in Whistler for a month. Our place was walking distance to the base of Blackcomb, so after work, Anne would go for a hike and I’d go for a run, often up the steep Ascent trail. Martin had recently moved to Whistler as well, so he and we’d other trained together. We had a blast together and I racked up a ton of vertical gain. I was started to feel strong.

Training with Martin in the snow atop Blackcomb

The week before the race, I applied a light taper but kept running shorter distances. I recall feeling particularly tired, but I wasn’t too concerned. I’d been pushing pretty hard up until that point. The Friday before the race, we met up with Marty, Issa, and Julien who had flown in from Montreal for the race. We went out for dinner at the local pub and discussed the race plan for Sunday. Squamish is only an hour away, so we’d all be driving down together.

There’d been a weather warning for the weekend and by Saturday, it was dumping down in Squamish. We tuned into the SQ50 YouTube channel and cheered on Bastien from afar when he crossed the finish line. The weather looked rough and the stories from the commentators made it clear people were having a hard time out there.

Race Day

The weather was supposed to improved by Sunday, but when we woke up at 4am, it was still raining. I was a little nervous — cold and wet are a bad combination. I ate breakfast, gathered my things, and then Anne and I went downstairs to wait for Martin and Julien. They parked and then jumped in our car and we began the drive down to Squamish.

I put on some pump-up tunes for the ride, but everyone was mostly silent, still only half awake. When we arrived at Alice Lake, we parked at the drop off area and gathered our things. It was pouring and still hadn’t decided what I would be wearing. Should I put my rain jacket under or over my vest? I opted for “under” and put on a garbage bag with arm slits over my body for the pre-race checkin. It reminded me of my “Trashman” persona at the Outrun Backyard ultra.

It was cold, but bearable. The biggest stress was having to checkin and attach my bib with only 15 minutes before race start. I was frazzled and I felt out of practice. A few minutes before 6am, race director, Gary Robbins, gave his extra brief pre-race talk which mostly focused on the conditions. It was wet and was only getting wetter. He encouraged everyone to look out for each other out there. I took off my garbage bag and a minute later we wet off.

Squamish is a gnarly course yet people run it fast. I started near the front but didn’t race out hard. Instead I warmed up slowly and focused on how my gear set up felt. I wore gloves and two handhelds as I’d grown tired of carrying water on my chest. My headlamp batteries clearly were clearly low, but there were plenty of other people around so I didn’t have too much trouble hopping over the rocks and roots.

The first section is relatively runnable compared to the rest of the course. Going out too hard, however, can trip you up later when your legs are worn out by the climbs and the technical terrain. My jacket wet through quickly, but I felt warm and more comfortable than expected. Like every race start, I didn’t like feeling so crowded, but I was so focused on my footing that it didn’t bother me too much.

We hit the first hill and I hiked at a comfortable pace letting the eager runners go ahead. Before no time, we emerged from the trees and hit the clearing under the power lines where we followed a mountain bike trail with several S curves towards the Cliff’s Corners aid station. It was strange to be at this point so early in the race as my memory from the 50 miler in 2018 put us at this point many hours into the race when the sun had not only risen, but was high and hot. Today, we were barely at the one hour mark and the sun was just beginning to rise.

I reached the 8 km (5 mi) aid stations and grabbed a few snacks, but didn’t stay long. There are a couple kilometres on a forest road before we hit the long, infamous “Galactic Scheisse” climb up through the trees. I took the opportunity to pass a few people before hitting the single track. I’d run the Galactic climb twice during training and had a good sense of the 750m ascent — where you could run and where it was best to hike. I aimed to reach the top in 1h10 which would be aggressive but manageable. What I hadn’t considered were the challenges of running the ascent with a river of water flowing down it. In places I’d hoped to run, I was forced to walk and finding stable footing wasn’t exactly easy. We were all struggling, however, and there’s always something special about suffering together. It caught myself smiling for no particular reason other than how silly it all was.

My smiles were quickly replaced by concern as a got closer to the top of the climb. My lower back was hurting. A little pain was to be expected but this was something I didn’t recognize and it took me back to Catalina Island in 2017. I felt exhausted and my pace slowed down considerably. I let a few people pass me and hoped the feeling would pass once I got to the top of the climb.

As we got higher in elevation, I started to feel cold again and we reached a particularly deep section of water where one couldn’t see how deep it was. I took a blind step and my right foot disappeared. My whole body collapsed and I landed hard on my right hip. The runners ahead of me kindly stopped and called out to see if I was okay. I answered them with a meek “I’m alright” without really knowing if I was. My hip was definitely sore, but I could still move forward. As I progressed, however, my gait transformed into a hobble. I thought my race was over. I was frustrated and in pain, but it was so cold that I didn’t dare stop.

I made it to the top of the ascent 15 minutes behind schedule and I’d let 15 or so people pass me. As I descended, I tried to calculate how long it would take me to reach Quest, the half way point and where Anne would be waiting. I’d never dropped from a race before and I was incredibly disappointed that it looked like this would be my first. There was no way I could finish the way things were.

As I ran downhill, however, the strangest thing happened. My hip loosened and I found it bearable able to run. My lower back and glute pain also disappeared. Within minutes, I was suddenly barrelling down the steep and rocky single track. I started running like I had nothing to lose and started passing everyone that had moved ahead of me on the ascent. Everything was wet and slippery but I had zero fear. This voice inside my head said “There you go! You’re a good runner, goddamnit!” It was an incredible feeling and let the adrenaline keep me going.

The Word of Mouth aid station at 18k is only 5k before Quest at 23km, roughly the half way point. I had plenty of water, so I grabbed a couple things to eat and left feeling strong. My goal was to reach Quest in 3 hours as that would leave me a generous 3.5h to finish within my goal time of 6h30. The third section rolls along without any particularly challenging parts, so I ran most of it.

I rolled up to the Quest aid station in exactly 3 hours and I left like a different person. I stopped briefly to talk to Anne and told her about the crazy up and down I’d had, then grabbed some extra gels and waffles for the second half. I gave her a hug and left before I started to cool down. Having your people there to support you is such a treat.

Feeling okay at the Quest aid station

The Second Half

I ran up the road towards the trailhead, feeling comfortable on the incline. A car pulled up beside me and I heard voices cheering me on. It was Bastien and Jessica! Bastien was supposed to be running the 50k with us today, but he’d injured himself the day before and wisely decided to skip out on the second race. I was so happy to see them and it further spurred me on with confidence. I couldn’t believe how quickly my race had turned around. Highs and lows are to be expected, but these kinds of swings are not common in shorter distances.

I reached the trees and transitioned into a steady power hike. I’d done this climb in training and it’s very runnable if you pace yourself properly. I couldn’t see who was ahead or behind me which was kind of nice. I marched on for a while, but my confidence gradually wained. My lower back and glutes started to hurt again. My pace slowed considerably. I put my hands on my hips and tried to push through, but I was falling further and further behind my goal for the section. I got passed by a few runners and I tried to maintain a healthy perspective. I was moving slowly, but I was still moving. There would soon be a long descent and the pain would likely go away.

I started to see mountain bikers out on the trails and they were very supportive, cheering us all on. When we started to descend, my hips once again loosened and I was able to pick up the pace. I had a second wind and felt more confident until we reached the wooden bridge that crosses over the trail we travelled below. It was slippery and I took the path too fast. My beloved Superiors have a mild grip and in the wet conditions, they proved to be insufficient. I felt hard. This time on my other hip. Once I got up, I made my way down to the Garibaldi Road aid station at 32k feeling shaken. My legs still worked, but they were a mess. I didn’t know if I could survive another serious climb.

The 8km section between Garibaldi and Farside is my least favourite on the course. It’s the least pretty and the trail can be pretty gnarly even if it’s very challenging on paper. I took an extra couple minutes at the aid station to get mentally prepared. My aches and pains quickly returned once we started to climb. I was running out of fuel and runners continued to pass me. At this point, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to finish.

I walked the hills and hobble the flats and downhills. I disappeared into a version of the pain cave that I’d only entered in the late stages of much longer races. I didn’t care how fast I went as long as I didn’t stop.

We came to another wooden mountain bike ramp and I slowed down this time. I delicately placed my feet on the slippery logs, but it was no use. I slipped again, falling forward at an awkward angle. I broke my fall with my handheld water bottle, cracking it in the process. I slowly got up and assessed the damage. This time I was really done. My hobble had regressed into a limp. My entire right side had seized up and anything resembling a running movement was impossible. I started walking.

I came upon a woman on the side of the trail wrapped in a space blanket. She asked me how far it was to the next aid station. She was freezing and wanted to drop. I told her it was only a few more kilometres and that I had the same plan. I took out the trash bag I’d worn before the start and put it on to keep myself warm. It was only drizzling at this point, but my body temperature quickly started to drop. I pulled out my phone and called Anne. She was waiting for me at the finish line in Squamish. I told her what happened and asked her to pick me up at the Farside aid station.

I walked for about 30 minutes. It was enough time for a serious chill to set in. I walked into an aid station tent where they had a fire going and planted myself. One of the crew came up to me and enthusiastically said “you’re not quitting are you!?” I had to tell him I was and he tried to talk me into continuing, but the fire inside me was gone. I wanted to be warm and dry. Finishing the race didn’t mean enough to me to continue.

Anne arrived 10 minutes later and sat with me while I warmed up. I was disappointed but I wasn’t upset. Shit happens and on this day, shit happened. Back at the car, I dried off and changed into some dry clothes and then we drove back to Whistler.

Reflections

On the drive home, I walked Anne through the ups and the downs of the race. My mood improved quickly once I no longer felt hyperthermic. Anne told me Marty and Julien were looking strong when she saw them and on pace for a strong finish. I was really happy for them.

Every race leaves you with things to contemplate. Bad outings may be unpleasant, but they hopefully leave you a lesson to learn. On this occasion, I was content with my race day performance despite all the mishaps. My body took a beating, but the primary culprit were the conditions, and not some fundamental racing mistake. I could have worn shoes with a better grip, but I don’t think that would have been a game changer.

I think the biggest lesson was tied to my training decisions. I think I focused too much on vertical gain and didn’t give my climbing muscles enough time to recover between runs. Had I varied my long runs and incorporated strength sessions (squats, band work, etc.) I think I would have faired better. There’s no excuse for showing up to race day with tired muscles and I paid for it.

My first race in two years didn’t go my way, but it was still a success in sense that I got the running bug once again. This was a great stepping stone in getting back to where I was in 2019. One day, I’ll put down a decent time at Squamish. In the meantime, I’ll focus on running fundamentals and get ready for more ambitious races to come.

The Quarantine backyard ultra

2020-04-17T00:00:00+00:00

In mid-March, when the threat of Covid hit Canada and the United States, public gatherings and events were cancelled in droves. In the sports world, it began with the professional leagues — NBA, NHL and so on — eventually trickling down to smaller events like trail and ultra races. Many of us in the ultra world were eager to follow The Barkley Marathons, a March staple that never fails to add to the lore of endurance running. Sometimes these are of stories of success, but more often than not, they are stories of spectacular failure. I was particularly excited for Gary Robbins to return for a fourth crack at the race, and to see whether Belgian FKTer, Karel Sabbe, would improve on his impressive first try last year. But, alas, it was not to be. The Barkley was cancelled.

My first race of the year — a return to Calgary for the Outrun Backyard Ultra — wasn’t until June, so I crossed my fingers that it would remain on the calendar. My optimism was short-lived, however. It was soon cancelled as well. I ran the same race last spring, going 24 loops for a total of 100mi/160km and setting a new personal best in the process. I was incredibly happy with my 5th place result, but my goal this year was to win the race outright and earn a “golden ticket” to the world championships in Tennessee. To reach this goal, I needed to be ready — both physically and mentally — to run 30-40 loops, truly unknown territory for me. I still had time to get into proper shape, but frankly, part of me was relieved when it was cancelled. With so many hours going into the van build, it had become difficult to focus on anything else.

After running the WAM 110km last September, I’d taken a break from running that was supposed to last a month but ended up stretching to almost six. Throughout the winter, while working on the van nearly everyday, I continued to run a couple times per week, but I didn’t log any runs over 25km. Last spring and summer, I averaged 10 hours of training a week, covering anywhere from 60-160km with 2000-6000m metres of vertical again, so this was a significant reduction in load. The long hiatus was good mentally, but my leg muscles gradually weakened and issues with my IT band started to flare up. I focused on strengthening the muscles that needed it and eased back into training. Still, I felt like a shadow of my former self.

At the end of February, I went for my first long run in weeks. I combined my usual 13k jaunt down to the beach and back with a tour of the hills overlooking the I-5. It was warm out and I returned home feeling dehydrated. For the rest of the afternoon, I continued to feel a bit “off” and by the evening I was hugging the toilet. I wasn’t sure if it was food poisoning, stomach flu, or even that other thing. I don’t get sick very often, so this was a shock to my system and I was completely out of commission for two days. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say, it was a full-spectrum assault on my body.

In an odd way, those horrible 48 hours served as a much-needed break from working on the van. Plus I got to camp out on the couch and binge watch The Good Place and the first season of Lost (which, it turns out, has aged very well). On the third day, I stoically tried to install a pair of drawer slides in my parents’ kitchen, but I was far from productive. What should have taken an hour dragged on for most of the morning. I hobbled around like a zombie until I eventually gave up and returned to the couch. A few days later I was back to 100%, but my motivation to run had been sapped dry. And with my June race cancelled, there was no longer a pressing need to train. I didn’t run for another three weeks.

Towards the end of March, Ella shared a link with our ultra running group. It was for something called the Quarantine Backyard Ultra (QBU), a “virtual” backyard race. Huh? How does one race other people when you can’t be together physically? Well, such is the beauty of the backyard format. It is a test of endurance, not speed.

The way this works is that each runner has one hour to run 4.17mi/6.71km, but must wait until the start of the next hour before they can continue running. As long as you continue completing your loops on time, you are tied for the lead with everyone else. The race continues ad infinitum until only runner is left standing; everyone else earns a “DNF” (Did Not Finish). Instead of a standardized course (like at Outrun or the original Big’s Backyard Ultra), QBU runners were given the choice of (a) creating their own route around their local neighbourhood, (b) running on a treadmill, or (c) a combination of the two. I signed up immediately.

The race was organized by Personal Peak, a personal training company based out of Calgary, AB, and spearheaded by runners Dave Proctor and Matt Shepard. Dave finished third at Big’s last year and Matt was the winner at Outrun. Matt was actually the guy I was hoping to beat in June (not that I stood a chance against him in the QBU). Dave had helped procure a slew of well known elite runners including last year’s winner at Big’s, Maggie Guterl, who completed 60 loops (as in 60 hours of running) and Will Hayward who “assisted” her by going 59. With these big names on board, word spread fast and soon hundreds had registered.

On April 3, the day before the race, the official count had ballooned to 2400. Our running group had assembled a crew of seven friends who would be running in different cities across Canada and the US. While there would be an official Zoom call for athletes to log into on race day, our crew arranged a Skype call so that we could check in with each other between loops. This aspect was my favourite part of the entire event.

I spent Friday morning working on some cabinets for the van. In the afternoon, I cleaned the garage and pushed all my tools to one side. I then went about creating up the ultimate aid station. On one side, I set up a lawn chair and a pool lounger, giving me different rest options. On the other, I laid a table cloth over my work bench and assembled a variety of food and drink options. I filled up a 15L jug of water with one of those twisty spouts so I could easily refill my handheld bottle. I also made sure I had a station with the usual medical supplies I pack for races: acetaminophen, topical ibuprofen, antacid and salt tablets. The pièce de résistance was a mini-corral leading up to the entrance of the garage comprised of pink flags I had picked up from the hardware store.

The unusual part of the arrangement, however, was the prominent placement of my computer. Normally pre-race technology concerns are limited to charging your watch and choosing some tunes, but this thing required a full-on battle station. I plugged in my monitor and speakers, then ran a long ethernet cable in from the house to make sure I had a solid internet connection. Dongles of all kinds were plugged into the side of my laptop. I then arranged a variety of windows across my two screens: (1) the official race timer; (2) the official Zoom video conference call; (3) the private Skype call with our group of friends; (4) a back-up Telegram chat window; and finally (5) Spotify for some interloopal pump-up music.

The official rules for tracking your loops relied on a mixture of technology and the honour system. If running outside, you could record your 6.71km runs with a GPS device and then upload them to Strava (or the equivalent). If you were on a treadmill, the expectation was that you would take a photo of the distance covered on the digital read out (or something). As an outside runner, I’d be relying on my Suunto to speak to my phone via Bluetooth, which would then sync the data to Strava. I had zero expectation that anyone would actually need to review my data, but even so, the number of potential failure points was unnerving.

My DIY starting corral

A unique aspect of the QBU was that with people competing all over the world, the race would start at different times of the day, depending on your time zone. Some had to wake up early (like me) while others were starting in the late evening.

The start time on the West coast was 6am. On Saturday, the morning of the race, I woke up at 5am and had some coffee and a small breakfast. I then hopped on the official Zoom conference call as well as the private Skype call our friend group had arranged the night before. Just before 6am, my parents joined me in the garage to see me off. I’d given my mum an Instagram stories tutorial the night before, so she recorded my departure, something she’d continue to do throughout the day.

My hips felt tight before I even started the first loop. I’d hoped they would loosen up throughout the day, but I also concerned about all the pavement running. The course I’d put together included a 3km stretch of sandy, hard-packed trail that would be slightly easier on the body, but the rest was on the sidewalk or road. The route began with a gradual downhill to a main street that connects to a paved walking/biking path running along side the road. From there, the path drops down a steeper hill until, at roughly 2km, the path splits giving me two options: (a) to the left, a long gradual hill — boring and exposed — up to a baseball diamond or (b) a paved and hillier route heading down to the beach. I generally prefer the second route for regular runs, but for the QBU, the first route would mean less time on the pavement. With my GPS watch recording the distance, there was also room to improvise and change up the route as needed.

The first few loops were a breeze. The weather was nice and cool and loose clouds protected me from the sun. Of our group, three were running in the drizzy cold of Seattle, two were venturing into the sub-zero temps of Calgary and another was in equally cold conditions in Bend, OR. Relatively speaking, the conditions I had in Southern California were near perfect. In Calgary last year, 12 of my 24 loops were completed during torrential rain. This time round, with good weather, a fully stocked private aid station and a doting mother, I had all the ingredients for a very long run.

By the fourth loop, my hips had loosened and I was feeling pretty good. I was eating well and had settled into a rhythm. I was averaging 45 minutes per loop which entailed running downhill for the first 13 minutes followed by a brief walk break, running continuously to the baseball diamond and back (returning around the 28 minute mark), followed by an alternating mixture of running and walking back uphill to the house. When back at the garage, I ate mini apple strudels and donut holes, leaving the candy and Oreos for later. At one point in the morning, I was treated to a hot plate of breakfast sausages and potatoes — thanks Mum!

While on the home stretch of my sixth loop, I passed a neighbour tending to the garden in her front yard. “How many times are you gonna run up and down the street?”, she asked. “Well I’ve done six so far, and I hope for at least six more,” I replied. She gave me a quizzical look, shook her head and returned to her plants.

I finished my sixth lap (first marathon!) and arrived at the garage to find the burrito I had requested from my crew chief. Laying off the sugar and eating real food as much as possible was working well. I felt strong. It wasn’t a particularly hot morning, but by noon, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was hot on my skin. I put on some sunscreen and upped my liquid intake to almost 500ml/loop. The pair of Altras I was wearing were pretty beat up and my feet and calves were beginning to ache, so I changed into a pair of Adidas. Otherwise, everything else was going smoothly.

Our interloopal Skype hangs had settled into a routine as well. Isaac, Ella and Mitchell had a consistent video connection while Emily popped in and out. There were a few others active on the chat as well. Everyone was doing well and we discussed food choices, shoe and clothing changes, muscle aches and all the other usual running related topics.

The workbench turned refreshment table

By the afternoon, the local bike path — my race course — was rather busy with walkers, runners, cyclists, dogs, and baby-strollers. The folks in my parents’ neighbourhood are pretty friendly, but I was amazed by just how many people smiled, waved, said hello or gave me a nod. This was way beyond the normal amount of attention I get out there on a typical run. Perhaps everyone was feeling extra friendly because the beautiful weather, but I just pretended they were cheering me on.

The afternoon loops were significantly harder. The time in the exposed sun was taking its toll. Back at the ranch, I took a couple of salt tablets to keep things balanced. Mum also baked some oatmeal cookies which were a welcome surprise and paired well with some cold ginger ale. My calves and thighs started to get pretty sore as we neared the 50M/80km mark. I applied ibuprofen gel to the sore spots and used the electric massage tool to ease the tight muscles.

The heat began to ease off by loop 11 (5pm) and I started to feel much more comfortable. I don’t remember the exact numbers, but when we hit the 50 mile mark (loop 12), most of the 2400 runners had dropped, but far fewer than expected. There were almost 400 hundred remaining at the start of loop 13.

Everyone in our group was starting to feel the toll of the day’s miles. Mitchell, who had stoically been running on icy roads in Calgary, finally dropped around this point. Emily had only signed up for the race the day before and had set a goal of 9 loops. She had already passed that goal and decided to call it a day as well. Ella, Isaac and I were still standing and looking towards 100k, the next big milestone. I drank the Red Bull I had been saving and put on some music to keep my momentum high.

The sun started to set around this time. I arrived back from loop 13 to find a warm bowl of chicken casserole waiting for me. It was salty and delicious. It was actually too delicious. I ate far more than I should have and immediately regretted it when I sat up and to start running again. I started to cramp and I felt uncomfortable pains in my lower back. Fortunately by the time I finished the loop, the cramp had started to ease, but my loop time was a few minutes slower than normal.

It was properly dark when I set off on the 15th loop. This one would mark 100km. The streets were vacant and the temperature had cooled significantly. I felt much more comfortable running, but my legs were starting to weaken for the first time of the day. It took me 15 minutes to reach the fork, two minutes behind schedule, and 31 minutes to return from the baseball diamond, three minutes behind. I finished the loop in 50 minutes. This wasn’t too concerning, but it was nonetheless an indication of my fatigue. Still, I got the loop done and added the 100k notch to my belt.

When I checked the Skype chat, Ella made an announcement: she was dropping. Dang! I didn’t see that coming. She was looking great and I figured she was primed to push into the night. She then explained that she had to work in the morning, so stopping at 9pm was her self-imposed cut off. Ha! A cool 100k and still in good enough shape to put in a day’s work the following morning. Classic Ella.

There were roughly 350 runners left when we set out for loop 16. In our sub-group, it was down to Isaac and me. Isaac was aiming for 24 loops/100M. I wasn’t really sure what I was aiming for anymore; all I knew was I didn’t want to stop prematurely. I still regret not starting the 25th last June at Outrun. I’d been consistently finished my night time loops well under the cut off and Megan and Ella (my support crew at that point) were pushing me to continue. The problem was I’d already lost the mental battle. I’d lost the drive to continue. I knew I wasn’t in a position to set a new PB this time round, but even so, I didn’t want to quit before my body was ready. “Die in the field, not in the chair.”

It was quiet when I set off on the sixteenth loop. It was a beautiful evening, but with the local path empty and no cars on the road, the stillness was slightly unnerving. My body was aching and really starting to feel tired. I tried taking extra walking breaks, but found it easier to run continuously at very slow pace. I stuck to it and finished the loop in 50 minutes.

Mum and Dad were in the garage when I returned from loop 16. It was 10pm. They were heading to bed soon and wanted to know how much longer I intended to run. I knew I had one more in me, but I wasn’t confident about much beyond that. I heard Isaac’s voice on Skype. He’d pulled something on his last loop and it sounded like he was going to call it quits. Ouch! I told him I’d probably only be doing one more and encouraged him to at least start loop 17. He was game. My parents said they’d stay up for one more loop and Dad told me there was cold beer in the fridge. With that, I decided I would do one more and call it a day.

The last loop was the toughest. My muscles all started to ache at once and my running form had turned into a zombie-like shuffle. I knew this feeling well. Once your mind leaves the present moment and wanders off to the finish line, your body responds accordingly. It seems to release all the pain it had been hiding from you. It’s not pleasant.

It took me 55 minutes to finish my final outing. Walking up the street to my small corral of pink flags, I was relieved to be calling it quits. I don’t think I could have gone much further without a proper visit to The Pain Cave. My parents were waiting outside the garage when I finished my final jaunt up the road. Hugs were in order. I logged on to Skype for the last time of the evening to check in with Isaac. He had started his final loop, but decided to turn around to avoid getting injured (a smart move, it sounded like). We congratulated each other on a great day of running and said good night.

I completed 17 loops for a total distance of 70 mi/114 km. There were a hundred or so left in the field, but I had no regrets this time round. I was very happy with the day and even surprised myself. So much of endurance running is mental. Knowing you can go the distance is as valuable as being physically able to. This was a great reminder of that.

I’ve kept this relatively short and focused on my experience of the Quarantine Backyard Ultra, but the real story is so much bigger. Backyard running is having its moment right now and the QBU pushed the concept even further into the public consciousness. When I went to sleep on Saturday night, hundreds kept running. When I woke up, I had become a spectator and logged on to enjoy the show. I followed the live feed for another day and a half.

Unfortunately, the QBU finished on a bittersweet note. After 62 hours, the race was down to two: American runner, Mike Wardian, who’d been running loops around his neighbourhood in Virginia and Czech runner, Radek Brunner, who’d been running on a treadmill. They’d been battling head to head for 16 hours. At the beginning of the 63rd loop, the bell rang and Mike set off for another tour of his block. Meanwhile, Radek was stilling standing on his treadmill. A minute and a half passed and he still hadn’t started running, violating an ambiguous rule never designed for treadmills. There was some confusion and the race directors tried to get a hold of Radek to tell him to start running, but he didn’t hear them until it was too late. He was disqualified. Mike returned from his 63rd loop and was crowned the winner.

It was a heartbreaking. Radek was angry and I couldn’t blame him. He had more left in the tank. Even Mike requested to continue the race. Our group chat dissected the video footage, discussed the nuances of the rules, and I think most of us were on Radek’s side. Still, the race directors had made the call and that was that.

It wasn’t the ending anyone had wanted, but in some ways it was fitting. This wouldn’t have happened in a normal race with a real bell and a real start line. Internet technology made the event possible, but the limitations of that same technology led to its uncomfortable finish. As wonderful as the race was, it had an asterisk next to its name from the start. Had Mike and Radek continued running and surpassed Johann Steene’s 68 hour record, what would it mean? Would it have really counted as a new record? I’m slightly relieved we don’t have to answer that question.

Running for two and half days is still an incredible feat that very few endurance runners can even dream of doing. Both Mike and Radek shared heartfelt and sincere messages after the event ended and there was no indication of any resentment or bad blood. I only hope both are invited to Big’s this October for an honest, on-the-books showdown. I won’t summarize all the other amazing stories that occurred over the two and half days, but here are a few (more are covered in this Runner’s World article):

Anna Carlsson ran 43 loops around a snowplowed course on a frozen lake in northern Sweden, finishing third overall
A man in Dubai ran 20 loops inside his apartment earning himself the nickname of “Living Room Guy”
In Northern Alberta, Matt Shepard ran his loops outside until it got too cold and then resorted to running in socks around a 25 meter loop inside a coffee shop, lasting 41 hours and finishing 6th
A thirteen year old in Virginia ran his first 100 miler (24 loops), outlasting most of the field

I feel grateful to have participated in such a bizarre event. The folks over at Personal Peak did an incredible job, especially considering they put it all together in a matter of weeks. I’m a little bummed that I won’t get to try for a new PB at the Outrun ultra in June, but at least my big summer race is still currently scheduled. I have four months to get into shape for the Fat Dog 120 Miler in Manning Park, BC. Fingers crossed this COVID mess will be behind us by then.