普通列車でどこかへ #203
木次線 木次行き
島根県 雲南市のあたり
Amazon Japan Kindle 新井ワタルのページ
https://www.amazon.co.jp/新井ワタル/e/B0168GDX1M/
Go somewhere by local train #203
Kisuki line bound for Kisuki
Around Unnan City, Shimane Prefecture
Amazon USA Kindle Watal Arai's Page
https://www.amazon.com/WATAL-ARAI/e/B01BODI7I8
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Valley Vertikiller 30k Race Report
Race: Valley Vertikiller 30/20/10k
Distance: 30k
Date: 10/07/2023
Location: Sumas Mountain, Abbotsford, British Columbia
I'll let you in on a little secret: I signed up for this race solely due to peer pressure. A bunch of folks from my running club were talking it up and signing up, and I, not wanting to miss out, signed myself up. I told myself I didn’t need to worry about it because it was a long way out, and that training wasn’t going to be a concern as I'd ‘have a good base’ after Squamish50. I brushed off any sense of impending doom as the group chat buzzed with discussion of past years’ DNFs and weather-related disasters, and reassured myself that after a 50 miler, a 30k couldn’t be much of a fuss for me.
Turns out, these assumptions were more or less correct and it was wildly fun to run a shorter but very challenging trail race shortly after a longer and very challenging trail race.
Conditions for race day were pretty much as perfect as possible - no rain, a bit of sunshine on a course with heavy tree cover, but not so dry that things were sandy and slippery. While some might have argued it was a bit warm, the course is so forested that it was hardly noticeable to me. The race swag was also top-tier, with snazzy running hats and stickers. The real treat, however, was the course - one of the most thrilling I’ve encountered in my short time here in BC. Much like Squamish, singletrack MTB paths were the stars of the show, and the routine of uphill grinds and flowy descents was one I found comfortingly familiar, if not any easier for having done a lot of it before. The mental boost of having just done something similar and in much greater volume was incredibly apparent to me, as there was no segment of this event during which I cried or contemplated quitting (progress!).
As the name implies, a lot of upward-going travel is required to complete the Valley Vertikiller. With about one mile of cumulative vert, you’re climbing for a massive chunk of your time on the course. This may seem like a fault rather than a virtue, but for me going in with the expectation that there will always be another climb made the experience much easier to handle mentally (and made it much easier to enjoy the pretty leaves). The first third of the course (roughly 12k to the first aid station) featured plenty of climbing; after a tight starting section, I eventually found myself more or less alone. Naturally, my brain went to its happy place, reciting Replay by Iyaz as I marveled at the crimson and gold leaves around me. The most memorable portion of this chunk was a narrow section with a steep drop-off to the left and views of the surrounding area through the trees. It felt stunning and life-threatening at once; much of that section was not terribly technical, yet I found myself taking it quite slowly out of fear of what might happen to me if I accidentally took a tumble over the side. This is also where the top 20k racers started blowing past me, which I imagine was as irritating to them as it was a little bit terrifying to me. Eventually, the climb resumed and brought me to the first aid station. It was on a bluff with quite a view, making it an enjoyable stop. I met up with a teammate but soon headed back out on the trail for the middle segment.
The middle section of the race is where the black hole of my experience began. I had forgotten to charge my Garmin the night before, and somewhere after about 10 miles, it shut off and left me floating in a liminal space where distance and elevation no longer existed. I was on my own to finish this undertaking. Had I already accepted that the distances in trail races mean next to nothing and that I had no idea what this course really involved? Sure, but having the Garmin ticking away on my wrist at least could ground me, could give me some indication that time had passed and that I had moved since my last glance down at it. In this new, uncharted territory of watchless running, I was truly adrift. Alas, that is a story for another time. I knew I was at least 10 miles in and had done a decent chunk of the climbing for the race by that time. This section included the biggest and baddest climb of the entire climb. It went on forever. It was relentless, unforgiving, and so steep that I thought my already angry Achilles tendon would resign at any moment. I began to lose my naive enjoyment of the pretty leaves and a coherent repetitive song in my head. Finally, the climb ended with no real immediate payoff at all; I had to be satisfied with the mere acceptance that I was no longer clawing my way up what felt like a sheer cliff face and would, in all likelihood, get to run down something at some point to get to the finish line.
I had no idea how long it took me to get to the second aid station, or where it was on the course. The second aid station was a bit more muted in energy and ambiance than the first, but I gladly ate an obnoxious amount of watermelon and filled up on water and Tailwind before trotting off to part three, which I reminded myself was the last section I would have to do before I could be done and never run again.
The first section of part three has been erased from my brain by the sands of time and probably the fact that I had no frame of reference for what was happening in this race, but I do remember reaching a course marshal who told me that I was going to ‘just take Squid Line back down and I’ll see you at the finish’. This statement was only partially correct. I did in fact take Squid Line back down. However, the ‘just’ combined with the fact that I, again, have no concept of distance or the passage of time without something tracking me, made Squid Line feel like a small eternity. But it did more or less lead to the finish line and the section of trail between it and the end was gentle enough that I did not begrudge its description as basically the last thing I would need to do to get out of this forest. The lie was that this lady was not at the finish line.
The benefit of having the name of the trail pointed out to me was that saying the word squid immediately funnels all of my thoughts to SpongeBob. My brain rewarded this with a loop of the jellyfish rave song, which carried me throughout this final ordeal. I did pass several people on this section and the final portion between there and the finish, which mostly made me concerned because you are probably hurting if I managed to catch you in a trail race. The finish line sorta jumps out at you as you get spit out of the woods and under the archway. As if purposely continuing my purgatory, the finish line clock was not running, leaving me in a continued state of mystery. I knew I was not the last of my teammates out there, but I had no clue how far behind the others I was. Alas, my finish time became the least of my concerns after spotting my darling husband sitting in the medic tent with his ankle wrapped up.
While my team placed 5th out of 5, this race was still better than any cross-country meet I’ve run. Post-race we were treated to homemade soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and pumpkin pie. While that spread is impressive enough on its own, I was thrilled when I discovered that there were vegan options for ALL THREE of these treats. I was a bit disappointed that I had overdosed on Tailwind to the point that I was not in any position to eat pie, but the butternut squash soup was a religious experience.
The real lesson I learned out on the trails that day was that I do need to wear my orthotics. They are not optional for trail running. I do not have them and run in them just for fun because I am a podiatrist, I apparently “actually need these” because my feet “actually kinda misbehave when I’m running and it starts to hurt in additional ways that they don’t need to”. I am the kind of non-compliant patient I shake my head about (but also have proven to myself and hopefully others that good orthotics - not the ones they tried to sell you on a cruise once - are real and not a scam).
There was much debating among my teammates as to whether any of us would do this race again. As tough as the course is and as much as I do not foresee myself ever racing this thing for time, it was such an enjoyable experience and fun challenge that I can’t see myself skipping it next year.
Next up, an expanded musing on the joys and terrors of running into the unknown without your Garmin!
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