Tracks from Hell

The pitch black reminds me why its a mandatory headlamp start. The Squamish50 has transformed Nexen from its’ usual quiet charm into a ruckus of cars and runners thrumming in preparation for the day. I spend the first 15 minutes looking for Peter, a man I met at the tenderfoot boogie. I had heard he planned to drink pickle juice to solve his muscle cramping issues, and had brought a full day supply of electrolyte tablets for him, to save him from the misery. No luck for me, pickle juice for Peter.

5:30 nears and I stand a midst a pack of wolves as the race briefing bellows over the speaker, unable to focus on the words. In the past I would be bursting at the seams, filled with excitement and nervous energy, barely able to contain myself. But not today, I’m strangely unaware, focused, yet oblivious. The countdown ends without me hearing a single beat. The wolves are moving, flowing through the gate and onto the course, leaving me behind. I’ve missed the start, my Suunto Ambit 2 is not even on, I stand near the gate “acquiring signal”, watching the last of the runners rounding the first turn as they curve around the edges of Nexen. This is not the strategy I had envisioned.

The plan was to edge out of the gate in front, and take it slow for the first 5 or so. I wanted to ease into it, warming slowly for the long day of punishment. The mind begins to race, in 10km the trails will tighten and start to climb, if I’m not in a good position I risk getting stuck behind the masses, unable to pass. The Suunto finds it’s mark, and I start my chase. At least a hundred meters or more now lies between me and the last runner, so I set to work to pass all but the lead pack by Coho Park Trail.

It’s hard to quantify this mistake, the theory is sound, but the damage done to the body will be unknown for some time. The passing goes well, peering over shoulders, maximizing every inch of trail I can, squeezing past runners, calling for space on one side or another. Less than two kilometers into the least technical, easiest trail of the day and I find myself airborne and flat on my face. I’m up and running without losing a step, shaking my head in disgust, and laughing inside and out. For an easy trail a few hundred yards from my front door, and one I’ve run a hundred times or more, its’ hard not to see the humor.

The face-plant prods a friendly Texan into conversation; “easy Rambo, didn’t they already film that movie?” he asks, clearly he’s heard how good I am at drawing First Blood. The universe conspires in strange and magical ways, he tells me he has left his salt tablets in his hotel room. It seems I was meant to bleed to prevent your cramps, sir. I hand him the electrolytes I had brought for Peter, “on your left” and shuffle by.

I’ve passed a healthy slice of the field by the time we hit the first aid station, and run 30 second faster kilometers than I had planned in doing so. Coho park Trail is where the work starts in the Squamish50, leading quickly to a steep climb up D-Becks hill. The climb is mostly run-able, with some steeper sections worth walking through. I catch sight and sound of prey ahead, and hunters behind. Its’ too early to worry about whats behind, and if I was smart, too early to worry about whats ahead. I press uphill, trying to real one in, beast over brain, it would seem.

I put the prey behind me on the top of D-Becks, another Texan? Crazy!I open my stride into a loose rocky descent of FSR. Having spent a majority of the past 6 weeks injured I lose sight of running smart, and run for fun. Crouching Tiger Hidden Monkey gives way to Mid-Life Crisis, and I bomb down the technical descent with reckless abandon, a decision which which likely lead to a Mid-Race Crisis. I catch another runner at the entrance to Jack’s trail and keep my pace quick knowing I’m approaching the second aid station, and a quick breather.

I beat another runner out of the station and set off around Alice lake towards the next section of trail. I can hear footsteps behind me but pay them no mind. For the next few kilometers we follow beautiful dirt single track over soft rolling hills and gentle corners, with the occasional rock and root strewn throughout. The running isn’t technical or difficult, and yields and excellent opportunity to cover some distance quickly. I open gaps on my shadow, who closes them again, a cruel waltz we strangers share. We pass a Spaniard with gas and a German runner who is dropping out, and I finally manage to leave my shadow behind as I climb quickly up Tracks from Hell. I lay down the next KM fast as I approach the Corners, our third station, which we will see twice.

I grab a fresh flask and turn to leave the Corners quickly, catching my shadow as he arrives, I’m eager to pick up time on him here and leave him behind. Ahead of us is a 10km loop with one moderate climb, some rolling hills and a section of technical downhill before a gently climbing FSR leads back to the Corners. I run this loop alone, thinking I’ve lost my shadow for good. As I reach the high point in the loop I can hear voices echoing through the forest, they bounce around, leaving you unsure of their origin. Am I reeling someone in, or losing ground? I exit onto Mashiter, as I turn north and head for the Corners I catch sight of my shadow, I’m losing ground. I set a good pace on Mashiter, strong enough to reel in a few more runners, but not strong enough to lose my shadow. We arrive at the corners together, again. My shadows name is Roy.

Departing the Corners for the second time marks roughly the halfway point. About this time the course abandons it’s playful rouse and shows it’s true colors. A relentless 3000ft climb up the hillside known as Galactic Schiesse leads into steep technical downhill.  The climb is deceiving, arduous, but run-able. Occasionally it pitches up, driving you to walk, only to soften again, if you don’t pay close attention you’ll keep walking. I stop to remove some rocks from my right shoe, and catch sight of Roy again right as I lace back up and turn to run. We pass a poor soul who looks like death, shocked by the ascent, it isn’t long before Roy passes me and leaves me behind. I let him go, confident I’ll pick him up on the descent.

I stop at a fast moving stream and plunge my head into the icy water, sucking in as much as I can. It’s hot and humid, and the frigid water soothes the aching turmoil within. From here the Scheisse leads into hike-a-bike, a final steep climb before an all out downhill barrage to quest university. I pass Roy again right as we tip into downhill, confident I’ll finally leave him behind.

Upper Powersmart is one of the most enjoyable and technical trails in the Squamish50. The trail descends with authority around sharp switchbacks for what seems like an eternity. The singletrack is littered with wet cobbles of rock, slippery and treacherous and often in the corners, which exit into deep mountain bike tire grooves scattered with roots and loose rock. The terrain often deceitful, precise footwork is at a premium, it requires focus and fearlessness to make good time through the minefield of dangers.

I eat up the terrain with a shit eating grin, rolling and yawing through the corners, the voice in my head wailing with delight. I’ve been looking forward to this, high speed and pinpoint accuracy, the mind responds to the need for fidelity and delivers focus and control in abundance. It’s these sections of trail that make it easy to get up for a long run. I careen through the hazards with callous disregard for safety and good sense, there’s no place I’d rather be.  I take another runner on Powersmart and exit onto I.M.B.A Smart, similar in angle and course without the dangers of its’ bigger brother. The running becomes easier as we descend I.M.B.A which empties onto FSR where I pass yet another runner.

The day is starting to take its’ toll, the thunderous descent has weakened my quads, leaving them shrieking on impact. Was it Powersmart? or the plunge from D-Becks hill? I ramble down the FSR towards Fred’s at a reduced pace, still making good time, but no longer uninhibited. Roy catches up to me at the entrance to Fred’s, but gives me the lead, he knows he can’t run the technical parts as quickly as me, and I’m beginning to suspect he knows he can keep up in the long run.

The course continues downhill through Word of Mouth, a fun trail littered with jeopardy and good times. I trade leads with Roy a few times before he slows to hydrate, and I set into Wormhole knowing I’m nearing Quest. I arrive having missed my target of 5 hours considerably, my goal for the day is out of reach, but I still stand to set a strong personal best on the course. I fill my flasks and leave immediately, with Roy right behind me at the station. Only the hardest 27km remain.

The legacy trail behind quest is a killer.  My fears about my quads fade as they handle the climbing well. Halfway up the climb Roy catches me and leaves me behind again, he is deceivingly strong, and moving very well. I remember this climb from last year, it was demoralizing, never-ending, I walked the whole thing then, but only small parts of it now. I take the positive notes I can, determined not to lose ground to anyone else behind me.

The climb rounds into Ditch pig and begins to descend, marked by a meticulous caricature of Gary Robbins, pointing and laughing at your misery. This climb breaks a lot of people, last year I was one of them. Immediately my quads remind me of their dire situation, I won’t be bombing down any more hills today. I keep my stride short and try to hold myself together as best I can. Ditch Pig is new to the course, a soft, spongy trail, and enjoyable run for sure, but lacking when compared to the distinct nature of Angry Midget. Ditch Pig empties into Ring Creek FSR and station #6.  Only 18km lie between me and my salvation.

The trails to come are anything but easy, though the biggest climbs and descents are behind, the steep undulations ahead are many. If one does not maintain focus, they are in for a world of hurt!

A few kilometers vibrate by with my mind in disarray, my core has joined the muscular rebellion, their siren song coercing my digestive system into collusion. “We want to sit” my body screams, in outright revolt. “We want some chips!” “You’re dumb and this SUCKS!” Their combined might hammering on the rickety walls of my mind, eventually I cave. Its’ here I have my low point, a mere 14k or so from the finish, I begin to question everything. Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Exactly how stupid am I? Do number systems exist large enough to quantify the idiocy? I’m not pleased with this insurgency, in fact I’m outraged. Outrage however, I can use, anger has pitchforks with which to chase away the despair. I fuel myself with self loathing and dissatisfaction, it need only take me a short distance, the next station, where the merry tune of “Almost there” will carry me painfully home.

I should mention that Bonsai and Somewhere Over There are spectacular runs, filled with boardwalks of various lengths and questionable stability and all around excellent terrain. It something to enjoy, if you’re anyone but me, anytime but now.

I arrive at the final station all smiles and sunshine, I’m making decent time, though I don’t realize it. I enjoy an ice water head dunk, trade my contempt for some oranges and gels and set off to be done with it all. I stop for a quick breather midway through the next climb and turn to see the fleeting image of two runners. Less than a second’s view, but it’s unmistakable, they’re moving well, ludicrously well, I know instantly I won’t be able to hold them off, but I can bloody well make them work for it. Urgency floods through me, setting loose what reserves I have left, the mind finally pacifies the carcass revolution. Nothing ever really stops hurting, you just listen and care a little less.

I manage to hold them off for a longer than I expected, constantly shoulder checking and expecting to see them there. They finally pass me near Endo as I stop to answer the call of nature.

I can hear cow bells and vuvezela, I’m there, figuratively. One more climb, one more descent. I drag my rickety corpse over the last section, ears tuned for those horns and bells I left behind, desperate for any clue of runners overtaking me, but hear nothing. The final kilometer or so is flat, and I manage to find the pace I had when chased by the hunters. I cross the finish line physically and mentally in shock, spent, glad to be done. It’ll take me some time now to remember how much fun I had, and some time longer to forget how much it hurt.

When all is said and done the race was a huge learning experience, with plenty of positive notes. The Squamish50 never disappoints, it truly is a world class race, unforgiving, challenging, exhilarating and unforgettable. No matter how much it hurts me I know I’ll be back again next year, begging for more. And you should be too.

Relevations

Mid-day sun beats down, curing hours of sweat and dust into a thick hide, a varnish of human filth. The trail is relentless, climbing beyond hope and reason, far beyond view, and further still. Endless work to be done.

I hesitated before taking this stairway to hell, standing firm at the base of “Galactic Scheisse” with almost no water, and no recollection of the horror that lay ahead. Having only ran the trail once during the 2013 Squamish50, little memory remained. The only question I could ask myself, “What’s your excuse? How will you justify not doing it?” No reasonable excuse came to mind.

The trail steepens, relaxes, rears up again, a constant battle of mind and body. Gravity strengthens it’s hold, wrestling from me any hope but a walking pace, the water long vanquished, no end in sight, or memory. It’s times like this your mind begins to mock you, belittle you, make you question what you’re doing. A voice inside screams “You’re moving too slow!”  “You’re WEAK!”. I remember the misery of racing this trail a year ago, and hating the experience. I told myself I was stupid for doing it then, and then lined up for another serving. Please sir, can I have some more? The trail kicks up again, breaking me wide open, stopping me in my tracks.

I’ve been searching for this place, this moment, this process of thought to break through and take hold. Though I didn’t realize it until it happened. I listened to the voice in my head tell me I couldn’t,  and I accepted it. I let him shut me down, and he went quiet, savoring his victory, my victory over myself.

Softly, quietly, a new voice begins to speak, growing louder, your own voice. “Maybe you are weak, but you never came here because you’re strong, you can here to find strength, to build it.” In this moment I understand, the distance behind me doesn’t exist, and doesn’t matter. I’ve moved beyond what I thought was possible, anything is possible. Every step beyond this point is progress, this is why we’re here.

I kick up some dirt as I break back into a slow run. The legs still ache, the heart pounds, and I just don’t listen to them. It doesn’t matter what they say. The climb gives way to fantastic, steep technical decent trails, the punishment of the climb immediately melts away. I can barely hold back the excitement as I bomb downhill, amazed at the speed and control I can muster after such a demanding ascent.

And such is the way of training and running. Every day you set out, you learn something about yourself, body and mind. About the realm of the possible. Everything is possible. All you have to do is get out of your own way and believe. It doesn’t hurt to be willing to suffer a little either.

 

 

3..2..1.. BOOGIE!

The starting line is a humble smattering of runners, no greater than a dozen, gathered on a dark road. No signs, lights, or even spectators, simply a cell phone for a time piece and the drop of an arm to send this motley crew of runners into the magic hour of morning. Light has yet to tighten it’s grip over the night as we turn onto trail, having only the faintest outline of the roots and rocks that threaten to turn us on our face. This adventurous pleasure cruise, the Tenderfoot Boogie, will lead us over 80 kilometers of rock, dirt and road from the Squamish Adventure Center to Meadow Park, Whistler.

The air was thick with moisture, the morning deluge having passed, leaving low cloud and a mist almost heavy enough to bead on the skin. Fog hangs over the Squamish river as we rattle along easy trails, warming up to the dawning day.

I fight with myself to slow my pace as I let a runner open up a gap, frequently checking the watch and applying brakes.  The lone warrior in front of me doesn’t worry me, but the pack behind me does. It’s a long race, with this first leg mostly flat, I want to save everything I can for the long fight yet to come. I arrive at the first station as the “deer” is leaving, hoping the sight of me will push him off his pace. Carrying most of my fuel with me I stop only to top up a bottle and I’m back in the chase, trying to apply pressure while I can.

Leg 2 is full of surprises. I veer left onto a trail so overgrown the course isn’t seen but felt. With arms outstretched I push through dripping wet foliage, drenching myself in the process. Thick streams of water run down my legs as I bash through the flora, water pooling in my shoes. I’m surprised as I find my prey little more than a meter ahead of me, having slowed his pace for the overgrown trail rather than charging forth haphazardly, as I have. I follow as our course moves left again, yelling as my prey misses the turn, he hears and falls in behind me as the trail starts to climb. I open the gap on the uphill, feeling warm and strong and ready for the task ahead. The hills roll over perfect dirt single track as Brohm lake passes on the right, the morning fog still clinging to the water. After a series of fallen logs the trail begins to get rocky as it descends towards paradise valley. I slip on the wet stones and slam knee first into some sharp talus, a blow hard enough to instantly seize the left knee. I spend a panicked moment watching the trail behind me as the leg slowly regains function, jumping back into the run as soon as I can. No use crying over spilled blood. Quickly I find my pace, and slip on another rock, gouging my right ankle. A short distance later opens to a talus field, and I promptly slip again and gouge my left ankle. I resign myself to walking the talus field for fear of a race ending tumble. The end of the talus field gives way to Tenderfoot Creek Hatchery, and a short distance to the second aid station and our first drop bag.

I make quick work of the stop and head out as the next runner comes in. I follow Paradise Valley road for miles before it gives way to gravel and I glance over my shoulder. I can’t help but feel the hunter has become the deer as I catch sight of my old prey. I set my mind into the hills as the Sea to Sky trail begins climbing cheakamus canyon, climbing steadily for what seems like an eternity, steep, but run-able. Stellar views of the river below get only better as I climb, passing Starvation lake, over all manners of trail, some even constructed over the canyon out of nothing but wire. The trail spits me out onto highway 99 and I force myself to accelerate into the downhill road section. A pain flares up in my right side, my legs ache, my mind tells me to slow down, to stop. There’s nothing that can be done, from here on out, fast or slow, its going to hurt. As I near the bottom of the hill I pass two runners in the 50k distance, we exchange pleasantries as I shuffle on my way, telling myself the pain will subside. I glance over my shoulder, no sign of the hunter.

A few more kilometers of flat pavement lead to the next aid station and the end of the third leg. I top up on water and move out as quick as I can. The hunted are best to leave no sight, sound or smell to those in chase.

The fourth leg climbs softly over gravel road and soft trails before spitting me out on the highway for a few more unforgiving kilometers. Pavement is a difficult medium for one accustomed to trail, hard on the joints, dull for the mind, abrasive to the spirit. I’m thankful for a steady stream of 50k runners in front of me to reel in, keep me focused, motivated, and moving.

The 4th aid station can’t come soon enough, I’m over the asphalt. My first two hours of electrolyte tablets bounced out my pocket at dawn before I downed a single one, careful rationing of the rest has barely got me here. My second drop bag contains the same as the first, two 500ml servings of perpetuem and 3 gels. In this second bag I also have 8 more electrolyte tablets and two IB profin. I leave the IB profin and two gels behind, confident I won’t need them.

The 5th leg plays nice for a few minutes before baring it’s teeth. Soft rolling hills and fun corners give way to steep, sharp switchbacks. The clouds part as the day wears on, the hot sun adding a another degree of difficulty to the mix. The trail draws the worst out of my punished legs and splitting side, climbing incessantly. I manage to stay motivated through the belief that the hunter, if not pack of hunters by this point, are right behind me, breathing down my neck. The climbing subsides, hard pack gravel giving way to s0fter dirt, littered with root and rock, the trail arcs playfully through the brandywine area. I miss a turn and run a fair distance along the highway towards function junction before backtracking, crossing under highway 99 and quickly finding the next aid station.

The next segment climbs steeper and longer than any before.  I don’t remember this from the elevation profile, but that doesn’t matter now, grin and bear it. The trail appears to ease, then rears up again, and I chuckle to myself as I remember an old saying, “If it weren’t for foreshortening, no one would go up anything”. I grind to a walk up the steep double wide track, countering with a gel and water, hoping some calories will keep me moving. Slowly I reel in another 50k’er, then another, though they barely provide any motivation to move faster at this point. When the trail finally turns down I know I’ve reached the home stretch. I lengthen my stride and let gravity do it’s work, dragging me downhill at an alarming rate through banked corners, an exhilarating and enjoyable descent. I manage to keep myself upright and unscathed on the downhill and get spat out onto Alta Lake Road at another aid station, I’m further from the finish than I expected. I take on too little in the way of food and water, unknowingly, out of excitement for the end, and a desire for the race to be over, and head out into the final 5k.

The home stretch leads over boardwalks and bridges, through soft rolling hillside before angling down towards meadow park. I blow past an unmarked junction, it doesn’t matter which trail is the correct one, at this point I’m fixed on downhill. The lack of food and water starts to hit me as I reach valley trail, a kilometer or so of pavement sucks the life out of me. I start looking over my shoulder, convinced I will be overtaken before the finish line.  Approaching a long corner I hear clapping and cheering, I’m close enough now to hear the finish line. The thought of lying down in cool grass, a fresh burger, a cold drink drives me to my best pace since reaching valley trail, and I cross the line damn near exhausted. 7:41:50, slower than my goal, but by far the best race to my credit so far.

Leaning against a picnic table, utterly spent and unable to move, all the pain and suffering melt away, leaving me with nothing but positive memories, a hard day spent on spectacular trails among positive attitudes and friendly people. A race I’ll surely run again!