#whatever. and km proud of myself. today has been actually kind of good and fine. so yeah

[pepprs]

bruh ok. the guy who i had a huge crush on in hs who i almost ended up in a rs with until i chickened out of it is dating someone. cool day to discover this 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[celestinaruns]

The river valley exacted its revenge--and it was definitely angry

At 4 am on Sunday morning, the sun was already rising in Edmonton. I had kept my curtains open, partly not expecting the light to be streaming in so soon, partly hoping for it because I thought I would sleep in. Silly, really, because I was tossing and turning all night.

I had packed everything I needed the night before. Correction: everything I thought I would need to take on the 50 km course at the Canadian River Valley Revenge, Summer Edition. I had done some research, fully expecting a 50 km trail race to be a whole other monster in comparison to the road marathons I was used to. This wouldn’t be some marked course I could breeze through, after all, and that extra 7.8 km was going to hit me hard.

Of course, even with my own nerves, I hardly knew what I was in for.

The race debrief at RVR was friendly and realistic. It actually calmed me down to hear the race directors tell us that, honestly, this course was no joke. It would be tough--but we would be fine. My favourite part of the debrief was when they discussed how much they wanted their race to be as sustainable and environmentally friendly as possible. No plastic markers on the course--just ground spray and sparing use of ribbon markers in the trees. No cups at aid stations. No single-use material. After spending the last month thinking on how to make my hobby of running less impactful on the environment, it almost felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. But that’s a topic for another blog post. (Spoiler alert?)

Just standing at the start line, I could tell that this was a race unlike any other I had run before. Fellow runners were friendly and conversational, despite the fact that it was 6 am and this was a race. It was very clear to me before we even started running that there was a sense of humility you can’t quite find at big city road races.

And then we were off.

The course started out fine. It was hilly and narrow and very technical, but I was feeling good. And even when I hit my first massive hill and found myself breathless, I reached the top and just stopped for a moment. The sun was still rising and there was a fog settling on the water. After that, with every view I got to see and every step I took, I started to care less and less about my time and my pace. I was having fun, despite the burning in every muscle in my body.

The fog, of course, came to bite me in the ass later in the day. The moisture turned a very narrow cliffside trail into something like a slanted wall of mud that I had to scale, stretching for 2 miles. That alone took me 50 minutes. By the time I got to the end, though, I stopped again, looked out onto the water and down at myself, covered in mud from my thighs down, with a realization finally setting in.

Today wouldn’t be about speed and pace records and other road race jargon. It was about surviving the adventurous trails of the river valley and enjoying my surroundings.

The course didn’t suddenly get easy just because I had decided to run for myself and not for anyone else, of course, but it did become a lot more enjoyable. For those that have never experienced the Edmonton river valley, it’s something else. Almost entirely undeveloped, the terrain is anything but kind. The trails have been shaped by adventurous mountain bikers, trail runners, and cross-country skiers that came before, and a lot of them have their own little quirks. I found myself smiling as I was ducking and leaping over logs, and I didn’t hesitate to use my hands whenever I reached a hill that was so steep it may as well have been vertical.

I paid big time, physically speaking. Aside from the muddy wetness in my shoes and socks, I also had splinters all over my palms and cuts on my legs and arms. I ran out of water a couple of miles before the first aid station, underestimating the heat and the exhaustion my body was enduring. But I made it there, I chugged back some cola like I had never tasted it before in my life, and I took a breather.

I hadn’t opted to drop off a box of extra things at the aid station the day before because... well, I had underestimated the course, despite all of my planning. “Just 50 km, why would I need a change of anything?” had been my thought process. As I stood under that tent, though, my wet socks squelching under my weight, I resolved that I wouldn’t be making that mistake at my next ultra.

Just over halfway through, and there it was! Already, the words “my next ultra” were passing through my mind. I must’ve been going crazy.

As I left the aid station, I realized that I felt... really good. In pain, yes, but I wasn’t nauseous or anything--and that was a big deal. Nausea while running intensely has been a huge issue for me in the past, but something about that race sat well with me. Maybe it was the solid food, or maybe it was the perfect combination of sugar, caffeine, and carbonation from the cola that settled my stomach. Either way, I was bouncing happily along Old Tramp on my way to get a poker chip to prove that I had been to the mysterious trampoline in the middle of Edmonton’s river valley. 

I loved that, too. Not the trampoline, specifically, but the hidden gems of Edmonton trail running, which includes the trampoline-- as well as Golfball Alley, with its audience of golf balls spectating your run, and Six Shooter, with its hidden plastic revolver that I have yet to find (one day). All trash, in anyone else’s eyes, but quirks and traditions that remain untouched and unmoved by everyone that makes their way through the treacherous terrain.

It was when I doubled back on Old Tramp that I missed a marker that cost me an extra 4 km. Not something I gave much thought, though. In a road race, I would have been frustrated at myself for the time loss. I remember being delayed a couple of minutes at Red Deer and muttering angrily to myself for the next few kilometres. Now, though, I simply shrugged it off. “Just part of the adventure, we live, we learn,” I told myself easily.

The race hit a lot of exposed areas after that, just as the hot sun started shining its brightest. I had just gotten my second poker chip on the other side of the river when I found that my water was already starting to run quite low, and it would be a while until the next aid station. Next time, I would get the 2 L hydration bladder, I had resolved. Next time!

In a miraculous turn of events, an unmanned water station had been set up along the route passing EPCOR, by some of its employees. It had been at the perfect time, just when my water was completely out, and that was enough to get me to the next and final manned aid station.

In a moment of inspiration, I filled one of my bottles with half cola half water, and the other entirely with water. For whatever the reason, the cola had sat well with me once before, so I thought it would help me get through the rest of the day. Only another 12 km, after all. Hardly anything in comparison to what I had just run.

Once I had my fill of some fruit and got some of my more painful splinters out, I was off once more. Again, there was an unmanned aid station along the trail where I filled up on my cola and water. It was set up by a man and a woman living in the area, both of them ultra runners, both content with spending the day helping us out. The only other time I had seen something like that had been at Boston, but this was different. I felt like I had the time to stop, take a breather, and actually chat with them. The atmosphere wasn’t filled with the same frenzy and madness one finds at packed road races. I could hear the crickets in the tall grass and had a beautiful view of the river. 

That was easily one of my favourite stops, not only because of how kind the people had been, but also because my stomach and I discovered that rice, apparently, sits very well with me in the middle of a race.

After that, the route wasn’t quite as bad. It wasn’t until I finished the race that I found out I ran another extra 4 km by taking a loop that had been intended only for the 50 and 100 mile racers. It was a mistake that many of the 50 km runners had made, though, and in the moment of racing it hadn’t clicked in my mind at all--I just couldn’t understand why the last 12 km was definitely not 12 km.

The route was fine, though, and almost too easy--which should have been the dead giveaway. The last 2 miles of the course brought me into the deep woods once more, traversing creeks and roots and fallen logs with an ironic combination of carefulness and hurriedness. Every once in a while the trail would get closer to the city and I could hear the cheers from the finish line, and then it would dive back down into stubborn and aggressive ravine. My quads were starting to give out and my feet dragging. At this point, my knees were doing most of the work and I’m convinced it was that last kilometre that gave me most of my scratches.

A brutal last kilometre, one we had been warned about that morning. The fastest finish time for it had been 15 minutes. I had taken about 21 minutes, and that alone had actually made me very proud of myself. As soon as I realized that I was near the top, I was scrambling up and running as fast as I could to cross the finish line.

And then it was over, just like that. I received my medal and my free beer. I walked around aimlessly for a bit, too scared of sitting down in case I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. Honestly, I don’t even remember if I got my burger before or after I changed into dry clothes, but I did get it at one point. I also remember defending salt & vinegar chips as the best chip flavour to a skeptic across the table from me. The rest is a bit hazy.

Even at the end, the words at my next ultra were still running through my head. Yeah, I was destroyed. Still am. My legs and arms are covered in scratches. My ankles are bruised. My fingers are still sore from the splinters that were stuck in there for hours. I have a tan line that I’m 99% sure could be turned into a meme, and so much chafing that I had to resort to wiping my body with wet wipes instead of having a full shower. But it was fun.

In the end, my wrong turns cost me an extra 8.2 km. I finished my 58.2 km in 9:21:23 on a course that was intended to be 50 km with a 10 hour time limit. I was far from speedy and definitely nowhere near the top, but I hadn’t trained on most of that terrain. I hadn’t even thought that it could get that intense, so I had mostly, and naively, kept to well-groomed trails. Once during my training, I reached a somewhat scary trail and simply turned around, thinking that it couldn’t be that bad. That trail ended up being one of the easiest singletracks on the whole course. I hadn’t known what to expect in terms of my nutrition and hydration needs. I hadn’t thought to leave changes of clothes and shoes at the aid stations. There was simply so much I wouldn’t have considered until actually running the race.

Despite the fact that I was far from my usual speedy, confident self that people see in a road race, and despite everything I hadn’t thought to do, I still just felt so happy to be there and to have been able to accomplish this amazing, insane feat. My body had done that. And yeah, my time needs work--but then I thought about how slow I had been when I first started running cross country in high school. Really slow. I didn’t quit, though, and simply just kept running whenever I could. Each step made me a little better, and the same thing applies to ultra trail races.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of a new chapter of my life, but not quite ready to leave the last one. I still want to make it to Boston in 2021 and I still have that need for speed that only road races can really satisfy. At the same time, though, I have found something I never knew I needed or wanted in ultra marathons and trail races--or adventure races, as the brutal terrain is affectionately dubbed. I think, for now, the one thing I truly want is to find a healthy, sustainable way to keep both of these in my life.

Most of all, though, I need a damn massage.