Ahah, you don't know the depths of my own ego, or the exciting weekend I had.
It is true I went back to Crowsnest Pass for a second stab at the Sinister 7 race course - but the journey there wasn't a cakewalk. And neither was the race.
The weather was beautiful when Ragnar and I set out south for Sinister 7, and that weather continued all weekend. Unfortunately, the traffic was a little worse for wear: 8.7km short of our turn onto another highway, all traffic was stopped for an accident (we later found out an SUV with four kids had rolled. Take all the time you need, first responders. Seriously). Ragnar deftly carried us into a retreat to another highway that added about 15 minutes to our time: no worry, we'll just be a smidge later than expected.
Alberta Prairie
We stopped briefly in High River for gas. Wherein there's a brief side-story. Last year, Alberta suffered devastating floods, and one of the towns hardest hit was High River. The name is not ironic. In fact, it's still a town under recovery, and will likely never be the same. Unlike last year, though, I couldn't see the water that inundated so many homes.
Well, I say we stopped in High River. We were looking for gas, but found Dairy Queen instead. DQ acquired, we headed back onto that second highway... and right into a second accident. The moral of this story is, don't travel with Ragnar and I, you'll never get there.
Except we did, just in time for the PSA about cougars and bears. That was reassuring. Not.
It seems almost like the drive down was the most eventful part of the trip, but there are more exciting details of the day!
Like, remembering to take your ID out of your boyfriend's car because in small towns, they will check for your age and if you don't have it, you can't buy your own beer.
Crowsnest Mountain
Like, discovering that your plans for breakfast are thrown off because the town has suffered a power-outage, so you find a little corner place that's run by a caterer so you can have a hot breakfast.
Like, seeing your boss and meeting his girlfriend who's doing the whole race by herself - that's awesome.
Like, finding out that waiting all day for your race leg to start is horrifyingly dull. you don't dare drink overly, you have to schedule your sleep around getting up at an obscene hour to get ready, get to the transition site, get mentally ready, wind down from too much getting ready, and the several trips to the porta-potties.
Yes. Over this too.
And so there I was, at 3:30 a.m. ready to head out. Well, nearly ready. My nerves were starting to take over and I just wanted to get it done and over with. I was a bit tired, but more keyed up, thinking about the fact that I was running in wilderness before dawn - I wasn't so worried of bears, but cougars were another matter.My teammate came in at about 4:30, finally, and she strapped the timing chip to us, so I was off. the first 100 meters were very pleasant, in fact. A little stumbly with loose rocks, but nothing worrying. And then we went up. And up. And further up. Now this up, in the grand scheme of things, was not that big an 'up', but it sure felt like it. I had planned already to walk this mountainous 'up' to save energy for the home push, but while I was in the middle of it, the option of running was a non-starter. I would have had nothing around half-way (yes, I know it's a training problem, shut up).
I think the worst part of the hill was looking back and not seeing a bobbing headlamp down the hill behind me. It would have been easy to spot it in the dark of early morning, but there was nothing. Instead, I concentrated on finding the little glowsticks that lit my way, accompanied by fluorescent-painted rocks and long ties. At one point, I worried I'd taken the wrong trail, but those glowsticks at night were powerful beacons.
After the big hill push came the up on shale. Not just the bald mountain-face shale, but loose, foot-stumbling, ankle-breaking shale. And I was in plain running shoes without much grip for that environment. Running was impossible at that point, and I was only three kilometers in. By now, I was already thinking my calves would start cramping, but nothing ever came. As frustrating as the up-and-down was, it was the flat straight-aways that was the most annoying. Running was risky and I didn't want to end up the DNF (Did Not Finish) for a team that had worked so hard.
By this time, the sun was slowly starting brighten the sky. Bit by bit, my headlamp became less necessary, though I kept it in case. The wind was warming up, and I got a couple of lovely shots of the mountains in pre-dawn, as well as of the shale I was clambering over.
After one final steep descent that had me surfing down on one foot, I came to an open track, and I walked that too. At the end of that, the half-way point. I was already running late according to the time I wanted, so I grabbed a red twizzler and continued (really, I never honestly considered going back - not even 500 meters in when I wanted to die on that first hill). That's when the run became fun.
First came the mid-calf stream that was totally unavoidable. Again, risk walking across the more shallow stones that water burbled over, or go right through the middle and enjoy each icy, slogging step after? You bet I chose the latter. And then, the trails became more solid and even, so without even thinking about it, I was running. The soreness in my thighs and glutes from the first half was hardly a bother, my knees didn't hurt, and I just wanted to run.
That's when I came across a big cement... cylinder. Just right on the mountain side, unapologetic, and inexplicable (so far). I am clueless of what it is, or contains, so I took a photo of it and continued.
It was a bit disappointing to break out of the trees and onto a road. I waved to the houses I passed, in case anyone was watching, but was more desperately hoping for more trail to run on - my legs were displeased by this change of surface, 8km into a race. And the course delivered, putting me back on softer ground until it came to the final kilometer of running. By now, my mantra was, "Under two hours. I just want under two hours."
That last kilometer was the worst in that, I had a kilometer to run in 10 minutes. That's the easy part. The hard part is doing it on pavement. I wasn't winded at all, but my knees were starting to protest. Typical. Drag them over a mountain and they're happy. Put 'em on pavement and they whine like a puppy.
But there was the finish line, with its cheering sections, and Ragnar alongside. I couldn't even look at him or I would have stopped before the finish line.
And then, I was done. In one hour and 58 minutes, I had finished. I wasn't even as wobbly as I had expected to be, though I let my mouth run a little overly. I let Ragnar take me back to the tent and we slept for about three hours before getting up to break camp. I took a dip in the nearby creek to cool off my calves and they haven't hurt since.
Since most of us were present, we sat down for a quick team meeting, to sort out leg assignments for next year. I had told Ragnar that maybe I wouldn't race next year, but my hand was the first up to say I wanted to run leg two, which has even MORE up than Leg 7.
Sorry for the resolution. I didn't take this photo (I'm on the left, with the 7)
So, lessons learned this year?- Stay near a creek or somewhere you can put your sore body parts into after the race. Better than Vitamin I.
- You're in the mountains; shale is gonna happen, and there's a good chance it will be loose. Buy trail shoes!
- It might be nice to be the last person in on the team, but waiting all day for your turn to run sucks.
- Face it. At least one teammate doing a new leg will get lost, and the only thing to do is be thankful they made it in safely.
- Bring toilet paper with you instead of raiding the porta-potties' supplies. You don't know where it's been.
- Bring your athletic tape with you - we visited three spots before finding a pharmacy with the tape my friend needed.
- Volunteering will get you a nearly automatic re-registration for the next year. It's also fun, educational and free food.
- Get as much sleep as you can, whenever. A leftover point from last year.
See you later, Frank Slide
I may develop this a bit further, and photos are forthcoming. But so far, that is my Sinister 7 2014 experience!
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