Race Report: Sinister 7 (extended)

I am elated to say that I have survived my first ultra-marathon! Ragnar and I went down to Crowsnest Pass and participated in the Sinister 7 ultra marathon this past weekend.

A bit of back story on how we got caught up in this crazy idea: my friends and I were out at Wings Night at the bar (it always starts at a bar). I discovered that one friend was expecting, due two months before this race. I didn't want to make assumptions about her fitness and ability to run, if she felt she was really ready, so I just said, "If you don't think you'll feel ready for this, I can take your spot. Sure, I'll totally be ready to run." (I have since learned not to say this because it's inviting disaster)

My friend was more enthusiastic than I expected, and then Ragnar got involved (though this wasn't his first race), then some friends had to back out...

And then the area where the race was to take place got flooded. Southern Alberta flooded with the vengeance of a 100-year flood plain that was doubted. Google 'Alberta Floods 2013' to see how it went. Ragnar was sent down with the army, interrupting any running regime he was doing, and only just made it back in time. We thought the race might be cancelled, but as Alberta is so fond of doing, we made it happen.

In any case, the race was on, and Ragnar and I were up. My boss has done Sinister 7 in the past, so when I brought up the subject of taking Friday off to drive down, he completed my sentence with, "and you'll need to take Friday off." Easy.

The drive through southern Alberta is gorgeous. It's six hours of beauty from Edmonton to Crowsnest Pass... blah blah blah. It's wonderful, and I suggest you do it. Stop in Nanton: the local aviation museum has a Lancaster aeroplane.

Anyways, this is a race report, not a weekend-get-away report.

The race started at 7 a.m. Funny story here: we camped next to a train track. The train went by at 1:30 a.m., 3:30 a.m., and 5:30 a.m. The first time it went by, our tent was so bright that I thought the sparse two hours of sleep was actually longer, so I got up to get ready... only to find the light was a street lamp over us. The extra four hours of sleep were tortured with train whistles, pre-race jitters and too much light.

Finally I gave in to awareness at the last train whistle, made a quick cup of coffee, downed a scone, and got dressed. And over-dressed. Mountain areas are cold first thing in the morning - but they can warm up quick... or they don't.

I was doing Leg 1 of the Sinister 7, 16.5km of which the first 10km is road-work and the last 6km are up into the hills.

With a farewell kiss to Ragnar (my teammates were around, but unfound at that point), I got ready for the gun to go off. Leg 1 runners begin their run along the road, but closer to the train-tracks. The path was a good introduction for what we would see later in the off-road portion of this leg: weeds brushing by our legs, slightly muddy, and we had to pay attention to the track before us.

Next we moved onto the Frank Slide. We ran along a side-road to the main highway, which took us through the awe-inspiring man-sized boulders and gravel that was once a solid piece of rock. The description in the race package says that the boulders could move again at any time (presumably fatally). Thanks for that note of confidence! But really, if you're ever in the Crowsnest Pass area, run around the Frank Slide roads, look up and see the boulders... It's a 'holy ****' moment.

Then the race proceeded through the town of Hillcrest, and while it was geographically the least favourite part of the run, the best part was the people interspersed, cheering us on. They were like the birthday present you don't expect around every other corner - surprise, sucka, we're cheering for you!

We left Hillcrest at around 7 km and started on a remote hill climb to the one water-point of this leg, at the 9km marker. That's when the fun started. We still had some more hill to do... but then there was a turn right and road gave way to four-wheeler track, and we were in the dense foliage of the Rocky Mountains.

Some of my very first impressions of this stage were: Lead cyclist with a raven on his helmet; huge green liquidy puddle of random wild animal poop; oh wow, mud; more mud; more poop; thank goodness this is too steep to run because my knee wouldn't let me.

From there, it was some steep ups, some steep downs, some steep flats even (I really don't know how they managed that). I learned quickly to look ahead quickly to check if I could run on even ground or if I would have to pass someone, whether there was an obstacle or a wash-out to navigate, and to keep my feet very directly on the goat-track before me - a mis-step could lead to a sprained ankle in some places, or a blown knee.

I really don't remember having so much fun while running. We ran through heavy trees and foliage, along a hillside that could send us tumbling to doom, past mocking cows; we got to see some amazing views of hillsides in the mountains that are possibly comparable with sunrises on beaches, but it's debatable. I wasn't allowed to have music with me, but it didn't matter. Once getting into the trees, the distance seemed to melt. When I got to the 15 km mark, I could see the buses at the end of Leg 1, and hoped they were further away than I expected them to be. Up to this point, I had been running when my right knee would allow me, but then my body seemed so very excited because I just wanted to run. The end came in the form of a downward hill which I tried very hard not to trip down. I managed to get the timing chip passed off to our Leg 2 person, and then went for snacks.

The only transportation allowed to that transition point was the shuttle bus and I was lucky to get on the first one I saw... but as I sat, chatting with a fellow Leg 1 runner, I felt disappointed that it was over. It wasn't just the stiffening up that my body was doing - I wanted to run more in the outback and beyond.

The following hours are much more mundane: I got picked up by the boyfriend, we got him ready for Leg 3, to the transition point, and then waited for Leg 2 to come in. She actually arrived while I was looking the other way or something, so I didn't get to watch Ragnar leave on his leg. I did have his car keys, so I drove Leg 2 back to her campsite and had the most welcome six-minute shower I've ever had. Then I went and picked up some pasta, took a lovely nap in our tent, and boiled up some pasta on a large camping Bunsen burner. I took myself over to the transition area where Ragnar would come in, and waited and enjoyed the sun.

Ragnar actually came in better time than when he did the Death Race, and later said that Leg 3 of Sinister 7 was more challenging. He was drained when he arrived; not even tent food or a shower really made him feel better, so I took him to the Tin Roof Bistro which boasts European fare. He ordered a hearty, heavily sauced dish that made him feel much better and then went for a nap in our tent, and I went and spent time with my friends until our Leg 4 runner came in.

Procuring Leg 4 was easier because Leg 2 drove us up there (I'd had an excellent glass of Tokaji wine with dinner and wasn't exactly good for following mountain driving directions). Leg 4 traded off to Leg 5 at 9 p.m. after some confusion involving an out-house, and we went back to the campsite and found Ragnar there. That was the beginning of a very long night.

Getting to the transition point for Leg 5 to 6 was... adventurous. I'm glad I wasn't driving. To call it the middle of nowhere is to actually declare an approximate location for this transition point, but somehow we made it. It was cold, and I was tired, but there were Christmas lights celebrating this hand-over point, and lots of loud music. We saw a lot of runners come in including some soloists (doing the whole 150 km on their own), but finally Leg 5 came in and 6 went out into the darkness... And we all collected in the truck to go back to the Transition point which we'd visited earlier (4->5) which became the point of transfer for Leg 6 to 7.

Things become a bit blurry at this point, because we were napping in the truck. It was approximately 2 a.m. at this point. I know our Leg 6 came in and transferred to Leg 7, but I don't think I was present for that hand-over. Sleep. Sleep is good. Somewhere in here, I had an inner debate about the meaning of 'team' and why I couldn't just say screw it, I'm going to bed: they're my team, and when I'm doing a leg, they'll be there for me. It's my duty to be there for them.

We made it to the finish line for the race - the plan was our racer of Leg 7 would come in at 4 a.m, we would get our photos taken, and then we would lay down and get sleep. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Four o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of our Leg 7. Since I know from personal experience that the track is muddier than hoped or expected I figured he was delayed. No problem. But it was cold and I really didn't want to see the sky getting light, so I went inside to the Sportsplex. I may have started a female revolution at that point because all the women joined me. There was a false alarm at around 4:45 a.m. and there may have been sotto voce threats, but I certainly didn't make any...

Finally, our runner came in... sometime around 5 a.m. At this point, things are a bit blurry in time and crankiness, so I remember: Oh thank god, he's here; let's get our damn photo and go to bed; okay, medals are cool now; can I sleep now; okay, another photo with medals; no, I don't care where I stand, I just want sleep; do I have to smile or can I do this photo with a vacant expression; no more photos, let's sleep.

Why was Leg 7 so late? He took a wrong turn and went racing 5 km through cow fields.

Finally, FINALLY, Ragnar and I picked up the car and crawled into our sleeping bags. I'd had the uncommon sense to set them straight earlier in the day and boy was I thankful.

We got to sleep in to the rosy hour of 9 a.m, wherein the tent got stiflingly hot and I couldn't pretend it was sleeptime anymore. After four hours of sleep, Ragnar and I got up, packed the car, and drove back to Edmonton, even managing to navigate Calgary for a stop at the local games store, Sentry Box.

Anyways, I'm fading and it's 11 p.m. so here are some observations:

• I may have been ruined for road-running. Trails are... like crack. The controlled substance of the running world.
• Sinister 7 needs to solicit more frequent service for port-a-potties. 
• Sinister 7 should not promise a shuttle from a campsite in their race instructions and then not have one.
• Sinister 7's transition points should be marked more clearly, and their late night runs need clearer marking. Maybe with flashing neon lights. Like in Las Vegas.
• Fail to prepare, prepare for your knees to hate you. And when you ignore them, expect them to attempt revenge. I'm still putting down the revolution.
• Get sleep whenever you have more than five minutes to yourself. Make time during the day for naptime because you're not going to be sleeping that night anyways.

This is up for editing, with possible photos.

Spring has Sprung Finally

I don't want to be the cause of any change in Mother Nature's mind to give us warm weather, but it looks like Spring is finally here. Along with spring comes a restlessness in my legs to get outside and run, as if the only thing that was really reining in my motivation was cold weather.

However, considering the preparation to run outside in colder weather, that's not too strange an idea. The preparation involves bringing several layers of clothing, sometimes if only so you can decide between the heavier winter shirt and the not-so-heavy winter shirt if the weather is a bit warmer. The pants come next, along with socks that cover your ankles - no one likes frost-bitten ankles. Then there's remembering toque, gloves, a wind-breaker... Just the prep for cold running is exhausting!

So it's no mystery that, with the sun, warm, and chance to throw on a pair of shorts and a light shirt (and the shoes), I'm so happy to be out and running again. I've already been out twice this week, and am looking to cap it off with a third run, and then a long run on Sunday. I even did the whole route today and didn't need to stop for air or a walk once! Go me, getting back in the groove!

Why Women Should Stop Running? Hardly!

A while ago, I wrote about trying to be inclusive at the gym. The idea of that post was that I may weigh less on a scale, but everyone who is at the gym is trying. How hard or how much they are trying might be a combination of experience, knowledge, comfort, and will, but they are there.

Two situations have completely outraged me today, in reflection of that piece.
First, my friend went to a health fair at work, and reported feeling snubbed by the local gym recruiters. My friend is not in peak physical health, but she was asking questions, in search of information. If a gym is not looking to challenge itself and its customers by having a wealth of different clients, it should probably exist only in Hollywood.

Second, I came across this link to someone who, according to his opening paragraph, has little respect for anyone who is not doing Everything Right at the Gym.

The piece is inflammatorily called 'Why Women Should Not Run', and has been apparently released elsewhere. Being a very proud half-marathon runner, the title of the article immediately has my hackles up.
The first error I find is that the title is misleading. The writer is not saying that women should not run, period. Instead, he is arguing that running for hours on end is not conducive to losing weight. To a point, he is not wrong, but his examples and his style of writing leads any sensible woman to ignore the argument he is trying to make.

The writer's primary example is his friend Jessica. I hope that's not her real name. He says he has observed her doing static running on a treadmill for years on end, and despite his repeated attempts to offer suggestions, it has been only until recently that she understood that what she is doing is not working. The writer does not give any examples of suggestions he may have offered, but since his main complaint seems to be against the static exercise of treadmill, bicycle, or elliptical, it is entirely possible that getting out of the gym might be a good start. I have heard of people who can go from a treadmill to running a half-marathon with ease, and heavens bless them, but I find running on the unevenness of a path to be much more energy-consuming than running indoors on an incessant treadmill. The scenery is also more interesting.

It is also interesting to note that the writer boldly declares that his intent is not to pick on women or make fun of them, but he does not follow words with action. His tone is unmistakably condescending when he says, "I’ve tried to rescue her from the clutches of cardio in the past..." Just how he has tried to rescue her is not clarified, like his unheeded suggestions,  but he is also so gracious as to not 'name names' when commenting on the dietary habits... rather, the "amazing displays of gluttony" of women at the Cheesecake Factory. While I am sure he has seen this in practice, his using the word 'gluttony' hearkens to the seven deadly sins, of which Eve, the representing matriarch, is the cause of the Original Sin. I'm actually quite sure the author did not intend to cut so deeply with his words, but he inadvertently uses the term in a shaming, and ultimately shameful, fashion. Another matter I take issue with is that, when he mentions two machines in relation to women, the author only mentions the abductor and adductor machines, as if these two machines are the stereotype of 'women machines' in the gym. Strangely, at my gym, the adductor and abductors are two machines I rarely see women on. Maybe I'm in the wrong part of the gym, by the free-weights.

The last problem with this article is that, like the author's unclarified suggestions and methods of saving someone from cardio, he has many arguments for not running on a treadmill to lose weight, but he has very few alternatives. He does mention appropriate HIIT, but very little else; it gives the impression that fitness and cardio start only when you enter the gym, and once you leave, there is nothing to do. Meanwhile, my alternatives are: running outdoors (c'mon, if I can do it, whining and bitching in my snowy hometown, the only excuse is the north pole. Or a hurricane), running hills, cycling for groceries or to work, swimming (no one care what you look like in the swimsuit, they just want a lane), or even climbing stairs.

So far, I've focused on how wrong this writer's approach has been, with little nod to the technically correct aspects of his article. He is correct in saying that steady cardio on a treadmill is not conducive; that pointing this out is not a new thing; I will also give him credit on the biology information that I haven't bothered to look into. However, this is my article, and that's about the most that I can really find that's accurate about this. Unfortunately, even this information is presented in such a condescending fashion that an unpracticed woman might think that this is the average gym goer's train of thought, so she shouldn't even bother; and a gym-going woman will find it hard to see through the red haze that she won't bother reading the rest of it.

It is my sincere hope that the people who share this way of expressing their views on fitness are few and far between. It is in this manner that people are dissuaded from trying to attend a gym or thinking that their situation can ever change. It is also my sincere hope that, despite the inciting, inflammatory, and desensitized titles and content, that this article does not reach people who would take it to heart - those of us who can read through the belittling nonsense will hopefully find it appropriately rude and lacking in humanity, if not credibility, and sin-bin/File 13 it as they see fit. In essence: this article, however scientifically sounding, is opinion and should be treated cautiously as thus.

Boston 2013

Yesterday, someone detonated two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon about four hours into the race. As the first explosion, only five to ten feet from the finish line, went off, some videos capture the clock reading 4:09. Thirteen seconds later (I counted on the video I watched), a second blast went off a bit earlier on the race path.

No one has come forward to say why. No one has told us why a graduate student, a restaurant manager, and an eight year-old boy all had to die for this. No one has told us what the logic or reasoning was for injuring so many people so gravely.

The FBI has now taken the lead on this case, and I'm pretty sure they'll find out who did it. The finish line was a very interesting choice in that the statement is loud, but it's also the target of hundreds of cameras. There are videos of people streaming over the finish line. People taking photographs of their loved ones as they pass over the timing belt; even if only to get the back of their head and the time they cross. Anyone heading the other way would be easily photographed.

The timing is also interesting. Tax Day. Patriots' Day. A full Zodiac cycle since 2001. Or is there any reason? Perhaps finding causation in time and year is a red herring. The Boston marathon is a bit of an easier explanation. It's a 42.2km (26 miles) representation of American endurance.

There are so many things unknown. CNN has a list of known and verified details that they keep up to date.

This is what I know: I know that I've heard of the Boston Marathon long before I was ever interested in running, so it's a pretty big fucking deal. I know my favourite crime-fighting mystery solver, Spenser, would not have any of this in his hometown of Boston. I know that runners, when presented with a brick wall, will keep going, and that that's a metaphor. I know that the American people, despite their reputed brash and bumbling ways on the international stage, will not only be ready for a fight but will also bring it to your door. I know that no one deserves this to happen to them, and that the bombers will never win the hearts of mothers who can envision missing their daughters, or fathers who can imagine their sons hugging them for the last time after their greatest triumph.

The Boston Marathon is one of the most respected marathons in the world, but the insignia of the Boston Marathon unicorn will now become a symbol of perseverance beyond 26 miles.

O guilty party, you may have caused a day of chaos, pain, and fear. But the resilience of Boston is stronger than that, and you'd better run faster than a 3:09 marathon if you hope to get away with this.

Hibernation Effect

I have finally discovered exactly the words to describe the feelings my legs have had over the past few weeks: hibernation.

They feel like how I imagine bears must feel as they start to wake up as spring rolls around. Slow, grouchy, not at all willing to go out and do this 'exercise' thing. There may have been growling involved.

But I did get out twice this week for runs at work. Tuesday was cold and windy, and today was... cool and windy. I'd cautiously start making spring-time plans like walks in the park or rollerblading, but that's just taunting Mother Nature: it's supposed to snow 10cm this weekend.

My legs are sore like they haven't been in a while, but I am looking forward to getting back to shape, where my legs don't sob like whiny children going up seven flights of stairs and a couple of 5km runs are a gentle shake-out.

Most of all, I'm looking forward to sun, warm, and at least 15C so I can run in shorts again!

Awful Run

It is the Easter long weekend, and I went out for a run today.

I am sad to report that, despite the 6C and relatively dry paths (which is not to say that I didn't splash one foot within 50 metres of my house), the run just sucked. I felt slovenly and lazy and generally like not being out there.

It doesn't help that I finally prodded myself out of the house because I just couldn't bear Ragnar's question of "When are you going for a run?" any longer. There may be some misconception that badgering me to do something is the best way to get me to do it. This misconception could totally be eradicated if I stopped responding to the pestering by doing what he's pestering me about.

But I went out, and for about 25 minutes, I ran and I hated every laggardly step, and I'm so glad that I did it that in the end, it is worth it (which is totally different than it having been worth it, in the past because in the past, it just sucked).

In other news, it is International Tabletop Day, a day to partake in board games, video games, hopscotch games, or whatever strikes your fancy. I've been pondering the dichotomy of being at once athletic (or approaching a similarity thereof) and being a geek. Can these two peacefully co-exist? Of course they can. History can cite many examples: me, my friend who introduced me to Ragnar, Ragnar, Vin Diesel, Geeks in Running Shoes... So I think this concept requires more development.

More to come.

While I've been lazy...

I've really been waiting for Spring to (finally) arrive. The Onion wasn't far off when it ran its article about Puxsatawney Phil being beheaded for false predictions of warmer weather.

Unfortunately in Alberta, the weather cares nothing for my fitness, or my level of spirits, or time of year. If it wants to snow in August, it will damn well snow in August.

In any case, as I had promised my running buddy at work yesterday, I would run today. And to avoid a work social event, I really really did.

I do like my coworkers. They're a very friendly lot, but while we celebrate Les rendez-vous de la Francophonie (basically, a big celebration across Canada of being Francophone), there's a lot of mixing. Today, there was singing, and my introverted self was having none of it. I was so happy to be outside with one other person, rather in a dark, boisterous and loud meeting room that I sort of feel like I won a jackpot.

The jackpot being my peace of mind.

The sun was gorgeous and bright, the route was (mostly) flat and not-mushy, and the wind was quiet. My running buddy coworker and I caught up on each other's news, and essentially enjoyed ourselves.

Then my knee complained that we hadn't done this in a while, but I ignored it in favour of not only finishing the run but staying at least half a foot ahead of my friend as we finished our run with a sprint.

All in all, it was a lovely day.

First February Run

Yesterday, my boyfriend returned from two weeks in sunny beautiful Petawawa (where it snowed so heavily, I was afraid he wasn't coming home on time, so that's sarcasm).

Today, we went out for a casual run. I didn't bring my running watch or music because I wanted to be out there, running with my boyfriend, on a sunny, warm winter day.

It was a nice near-5k loop up to the house. At first I was a bit worried about my hamstrings because I have been really lax on the running, and they were still twinging from my Friday run at work. There was a little wind from the west that cooled everything down but once again, I chose exactly the right amount of gear: my  favourite Under Armour shirt, and Running Room pants, jacket, and toque.

Quality time with me and the bee-eff.

Why I Enjoy Groundhog Day (even if the premise is utterly ridiculous)

January was not the best running month for me. I started off sick, and then I became a little lazy; then it became stupidly cold, and I was very lazy, and then it got warm again and now it's February.

As we say in fond tones but with gritted teeth, only in Canada can you have -40C and +2C in the same week. Those Arctic fronts come in and wreak havoc, from snow to black ice, from stuck-solid windshield wipers to the car not starting, from having to keep various weights of coats in the front closet to trying to remember when you last saw the really warm toque.


February is deceptive. Sometimes it can be warm, but those Arctic fronts are still on the northern horizon, lying in wait for us to sigh happily in the sun, put our coats away, and think that winter is over. Then it sneaks in behind us, clocks us over the head with an icicle and refreezes everything.

The possibility of an earlier spring is incredibly enticing to any Canadian runner who has checked the weather and realized that the air is too cold to breathe properly.

Then this little rodent of various name and location is woken to pop out of the ground on February 2 and predict whether there will be six more weeks of Winter or if Spring is coming early.

In Alberta, it's Balzac Billy. Manitoba has Winnipeg Willow and Manitoba Merv, Ontario with Wiarton Willy, Shubenacadie Sam in the Atlantic provinces, and Quebec has... Fred. Since British Columbia doesn't have proper winter, they don't need predictions. Saskatchewan presumably relies on the predictive abilities of the cows (which I'd find a lot more reliable, myself).

I'm kidding, BC has plenty of winter. They call it 'rain'. (okay, so that's southern BC, sheesh, fact checkers...)

I do find the idea that a groundhog will accurately predict the oncoming of spring to be hilariously faulty. The problems with the hypothesis are fundamental: what if it's a cloudy day? What if the groundhog died the night before? What type of extrasensory perception ability does a groundhog actually possess? What if the groundhog is cranky the morning of February 2 and lies just to get these pesky humans off his back? The independent variables are so, er, independent.

They also ruin the fun of it. There's a simple amusement in waiting and hoping every February 2 for an early Spring (or six more weeks of winter, if you love cross-country skiing). If the groundhog predicts unfavourably, you get to hope he's wrong. In either case, you hope there's enough pancake breakfast (or whatever the local tradition is) for everyone and that they're still hot when you sit down to eat.

Anyways, most Canadian predictive groundhogs are calling for an early Spring. At press time, Billy had not announced whether Alberta would be lucky or not, but I'm just happy that my car will start today.

If I get a moment today or tomorrow, I may even be able to go enjoy the nice around-0C climes with a run.

2013, in With a Whimper

It is now four days into the New Year, and I haven't run once yet.

This is due to the cold that has settled into my lungs, which seems intent on creating a homestead on which its grandcolds can thrive.

Of course, this coincides neatly with the beautiful 0C weather we're having, so I'm pretty bitter about this.

There is also the matter of missing a boatload of work, being up all night due to coughing, and pondering sleeping on the couch so I don't wake Ragnar.

If this continues into tomorrow, I'm going to the medical clinic. I'm sick of this shit.