In Every Race There is a Surprise, Part 2

I love running 100 mile races. And one of my favourites takes place this month.

The Sulphur Springs Trail Run is held in the Dundas Valley Conservation Area in Southern Ontario. The race follows a series of hard-pack trails that weave in and out of steep gorges carved thousands of years ago by retreating glaciers. Over the course of the 20-kilometer loop (which you run 8 times), you pass through dense Carolinian forests and wildflower-strewn meadows.

Gorgeous

To answer your question, yes, there’s a bit of hill-climbing. Over the course of the 100 miles, you have to gut your way up 4600 metres of elevation. That’s like 8 CN towers stacked on top of each other.

Sadly, I won’t be running the race this year. Instead, I’ll be working this mind-blowingly awesome music festival. It’s a decent trade-off, but I’ll still be thinking about Sulphur Springs while I’m rocking out. I’ve said before that every 100-mile race holds a surprise of some sort, and I’ve had more than my share in that particular race…

For instance. Five years ago I was toeing the starting line with a hundred or so other runners. It was late May, and it was six in the morning, and most of us were wearing headlamps.

Most – but not all.

“3…2…1…GO!” shouted the race director.

“Yaaaaaaaaa!” we runners yelled, charging heroically into the darkness.

We ran for maybe 30 seconds, down a gravel road toward the trailhead. Everyone jostled for position as the road got narrower, and soon we were funneling into a straight line.

Did I mention that it was dark? That we were moving fast?

Soddenly, right in front of me, someone shouted: “Look out! Look out! Look out!”

The offending posts

Four metal posts were sticking out of the ground. They were two-and-a-half feet high. Castration height.

“Look out! Look out! Look out!”

The crowd parted, and I slipped safely between the posts. The guy beside me wasn’t so lucky, and went down with a horror-movie scream.

IN EVERY RACE THERE IS A SURPRISE.

Poor guy. He’d run all of 200 metres.

Happily, the following year, the starting line was moved to a different area of the park. I have no idea if that was coincidental or not.

* * *

Running a hundred miles is not like running shorter distances. In the 100 mile race, you don’t compete with other people. You compete against yourself. More precisely, you compete against your own mind. You would think that your mind would be on your side in an endurance event. But it is not. Your mind is your worst enemy. Your mind is on the side of your body, and your body wants nothing more than to go home, lie down in a hammock, and eat a bag of barbecue chips.

Oh sure, every now and again, your mind will say something nice to you, like: “The bath you take after this race sure is going to feel good!” Or, “It sure is nice, being outside in the fresh air!” But most of the time your mind says nasty things like: “You’re stupid for trying this; you should drop out and go home.”

That’s what my mind was saying to me a couple of years ago, when I was once again running Sulphur Springs. I’d been running for 80-odd miles and it was the middle of the night and my mind was saying: “You are a stupid bloody fool. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I’ll never forget finishing my 7th loop. At the turnaround, the volunteer lady gave me a high five and offered me a slice of pizza. I declined, since I still had one final 20-kilometer loop to do. “No you don’t,” she said. “You’ve already done your 8. Just look at the clipboard.”

I stared at the clipboard, and counted the laps. She was right, I’d done 8, not 7 like I thought.

Which meant –

I WAS DONE!!!

Believe me when I tell you – that was the happiest moment of my life.

Of course, later that day, the pain really set in. I had a burning Achilles tendon, and I lost all feeling in six of my toes. My calves and left shin were…hmmm, let me see. What were they exactly? Ah yes, they were a blinding wall of pain. That’s right, that’s what they were.

On the bright side, I was given permission to use the physical disability washroom at work. That handle on the wall beside the toilet was a godsend.

Going Long. Too Long.

We runners love to set goals. Drop a few pounds; shave a few minutes off a PR, improve our finishing kick. We set expectations, and then we go out and exceed them. Except for those rare occasions when we don’t.

A couple of years ago, I decided to run 4000 kilometres. Why 4000? I’m not sure. It felt like a big, braggable number. And it was just slightly beyond my comfort zone. Previously, the most I’d ever run in a year was 3500 kilometres.

A few facts about running 4000 kilometres:

In order to cover 4000 kilometres in a year, you must run 11k each and every day.

If you take a day off, you’ll need to run 22k on some subsequent day to make it up.

If you get sick, and miss a week of running, you’re on the hook for eighty clicks.

It quickly became clear that my whimsical little goal would require some careful planning. I’d need to pay attention to diet, sleep, hydration, injury prevention, stretching, recovery, supplements, etc. In short, I would need to become the most BORING person on the face of the planet.

I’m sorry to report, that’s exactly what happened.

I suffered injuries, I got sick, and I spent the entire year obsessively totaling my mileage. As the months went by, I became more and more depressed. I didn’t understand what was happening to me at the time, but I do now. I spent the whole year staring at the odometer instead of the gorgeous scenery I was running past.

“You used to be a peddler of joy,” Shawna said towards the end of the year. “But you’ve turned into a fun vacuum.”

On the last day of the year, December 31st, I was 6 kilometer shy of my goal. I’d run 3994 kilometers in 364 days. In the month of December alone, I’d run 600 kilometers.

It was a sunny and dry day, and there was no physical reason why I shouldn’t have pulled on my gear and dashed off the final 6 km to meet my goal.

And yet, I didn’t.

Why?

Years before, at a marathon, I’d seen a man cross the finish line, check his watch, and then yell – at the top of his lungs – the raunchiest swear word known to humankind. You know the one. I pledged then and there that I would never become that guy; I would never put goals and numbers ahead of my love of the sport.

It was a tough decision to make, and I felt conflicted about it. But later that night I went to a New Year’s party. 10 p.m. came and went, and not only was I still conscious; I was laughing and telling stories, and actually having fun for a change! I was so bubbly, so full of spunk; I didn’t know what to make of myself.

“I can’t believe I’m awake,” I said to Shawna.

“Welcome back to the world,” she replied.

Coming Soon – My New Novel About Running

The 100 mile race is a harsh and hostile immensity, and to take it on is to enter a war.

ULTRA is the story of Quinn’s war. A war against fatigue, despair, dehydration, wild animals, hallucinations, and a dangerous family secret.

It’ll be published by Scholastic in September.

You Think I’m Extreme?

When I tell people that I run 100-mile races, they often say, “Wow, that’s so extreme.”

I don’t actually think it’s all that extreme. Yes, it’s true, I once lost my sense of taste after running a 24-hour race. I tried drinking Coke, eating chocolate cake, but everything tasted like water. Like sand.

That’s the weirdest side-effect I’ve ever experienced. Hardly life-threatening.

Yes, we ultra-marathoners run for 100 (or more) miles without stopping. But what’s the worst that can happen when you’re traveling at 5 miles per hour?

It’s not like we’re racing down the side of a mountain on a bike:

This eye-popping urban bike race takes place every year on the ancient streets of Valparaiso, Chile. The riders have to deal with jumps, flights of stairs and, as you may have noticed at the 37 second mark, stray dogs.

THAT, my friends, is EXTREME.

And yet, as great as that POV video is, it isn’t my all-time favourite cycling film. Unlike running, cycling is romantic, so it really needs a shot of amour Montreal…