Weathering a race

Mad man of the woods sprinting to the finish-photo by David McColm


Waking up before sunrise on race morning, to the sound of pouring rain and howling wind, gave me a thousand excuses to sleep in. I don't love the cold and I was supposed to go up, above the treeline, which offers a bit of protection from the rain and some insulation from the cold wind.
Regardless, this was a mountain race and you have to be ready to take whatever the mountain has to give. We're definitely playing on her terms out there. Plus, I was able to spin it, convincing myself that it would be a unique experience to witness the alpine in storm like weather, a natural state for the environment. So, I coaxed myself out of bed, put on every piece of cold weather gear I had and layered it with an outer shell of Gore-tex to keep me as warm and dry as possible.
I was joined by a groggy Lauren, as well as my Dad and Robin, who had never seen me race, so I had some extra incentive to get out there. We drove to the start line in silence, I was in a bit of a meditative mood, trying to wrap my mind around how cold I would be for the next three hours or so and thinking up strategies to avoid freezing.
When we arrived at the "startline", basically a post at the trailhead, I noticed that the parking lot was a bit thin. There were maybe 30 cars there at the most. I realized a few had decided to listen to the weather and stay indoors for a few more hours.
The wind was pushing the treetops around, but the rain had slowed to a trickle. I parked beside some familiar faces and we joked about what to wear. The race director, James Retty, a former Whistler patroller and guide, made some comments about "being an idiot if you don't have some sort of a shell on you out there." He also reminded us that it's a self-supported race and that we should bring our own food and water. Ed and I decided to be idiots. We put on a baselayer and covered it with a singlet for more warmth and don't pack any supplies. Light and fast is the motto, but if anything goes wrong, it will mean long drawn out suffering.
We jogged around, dodging trail litter from the trees, trying to stay warm. Finally, the race gets underway and we set off down the trail. Ed I take the lead instantly. He tucks in behind me and we drive forward. We slosh through the mud, surrounded by a thick and tall curtain of gnarled, lush green trees. We dodge roots, mud puddles and fallen branches, stumbling occasionally on the rough footing. This is true We(s)t Coast running. At least the rain gas eased.
As we climb our way up the mountain, I start to warm up. Ed is glued to my heels and we start to pull away from the pack. We don't say much to each other, but I can tell that we're both having fun. We immediately start to pass the early wave starters, but apart from them, we have the trail to ourselves. I'm amazed at how gradual the climb feels, we run hard the entire way. Ed never lets me get more than an arms length away, which I don't mind, I prefer to be able to look up the trail. It really is a beautiful part of the world.
After about 50 minutes of climbing, I realize that we're nearing the top. The trees start to thin out and the trail flattens. Just at that moment, the rain picks up and the wind begins to gust again. We leave our protective green barrier and start to face the elements. I'm a bit thirsty.
The trail is in relatively good shape and is very runable, but the arctic wind is blowing in our face and my legs are feeling cold and unresponsive. I know that the harder I run, the warmer I'll feel, so I try to push, but my cold muscles limit my range of motion and my stride feels forced. I worry a bit that I've become an ultra shuffler and promise to get back into some harder runs this fall.
I take some time to look around me, appreciating the fact that we have a view of the peaks and glaciers of Garibaldi Park and the trail all to ourselves. Despite having a limited view, it's still breathtaking.
Ed continues to stick to me like glue. The whole run feels more like a training effort than a race. The rain picks up and my muscles get tighter. The trail is now water logged and feels more like a creek. We splash through the mud and water and begin to joke about how much fun this is. Our gamesmanship is broken by the stunning surroundings and how ridiculous our Sunday morning activity has become. We push on, neither of us knowing exactly where to go, so we just follow the trail.
The rain turns, to sleet and hail and then to snow. My hands are freezing. I try to wrap a buff around my head for some more warmth. It doesn't do much.
Ed finally takes the lead briefly and it feels nice not to be tackling the wind with the stinging weather lashing my face and body, but I notice that he slows the pace, so I get back in front.
We finally reach an open scree section, which has a knee deep and cold river crossing. The trail is hard to see, but we wade through it. My feet instantly turn to ice blocks and my already tight muscles constrict even further. Ed and I push forward, scrambling along, surrounded by stunning peaks. I know we're both tempted by them.
As we reach the Taylor Meadows, descending towards Garibaldi lake, my foot catches a root, hidden in a puddle and I Superman down the trail. I do a perfect ten landing and slide along the muddy trail like a soccer player who just scored a goal. Ed sidesteps me and makes sure that I'm alright. I strained my arm a bit, but everything feels fine. I've got a brown streak running down the front of my singlet and shorts and a bloody knee-now I look like a trail runner.
We keep running through creek bed, which is supposed to be a trail. Despite the freezing cold, not being able to feel my hands and frozen feet, it really is fun. This is the feeling and environment that I dream about being in on weekdays while I sit at my desk.
Finally, the trail starts to dip down. Instantly, Ed blows in front of me and starts to dive down the trail at a sprinter like speed. I know that we have 8 kilometers and 6,000 feet of descending in front of us, which will hurt a lot. Still, I try to go with him, but my legs won't respond. He opens up a gap and there's nothing I can do about it. The gap grows to 10 seconds, then 15, then 20 and finally 30 seconds, as the kilometers tick by. I essentially resolved myself to second. I've had a lot of seconds this year and I really wanted to win, since my dad has never seen me race, but I accept that some days, other runners are just better.
After 3 or 4 kilometers of suicidal and slippery hard downhill running, passing the odd group of hikers, I realize that Ed has stopped putting time into me, in fact, it feels like he's coming back. I try to push harder, but my quads are feeling shot and I'm still cold from the slashing rain. Still, step by step, his singlet seems to be getting bigger and I realize that he's fading, suffering from the early push. I trust that after a summer of big miles in the mountains, that my legs can handle the pounding, so I push again. In mountain running, the race is never over until you cross the finish line. Finally, with about a mile to go, I realize that I've got my hooks on him again. I wait a bit, not wanting him to rally when I go by and finally, I push past him. I give him a little congratulatory pat as I pass, it's been a fun fight and I drive hard to the finish. I realize instantly that he hasn't come with me, but I'm not willing to let up. I don't feel the cold anymore.
I finally run out of the trees and see Lauren, Dad and Robin standing there, in the pouring rain, likely freezing, but with a proud look on their faces. I'm glad I won. As much for myself, as for a thank you to them for waiting around.
Ed splashes down the trail a few seconds later and we congratulate each other, trying to shake hands as we uncurl our frozen fingers, on a fun experience. It really was a great battle.

The Rubble Creek is a highly touted race by the local mountain running community and I'm glad I experienced it. It really is a stunning track. The weather on the day was considered the worse in the 26 year history of the event, which adds a fun mountain element into the mix. If it's going to be bad, it might as well be epicly bad!



Rubble Creek Classic results
The Pique magazine review
Whistler Question report























Ed and I looking stylish post-race













Lauren, Dad and Robin dodging Tom McCarthy's splash



















A fun battle through the woods by David McColm

Rubble Creek + September sun

Although I've been feeling more than average recently, I've decided to run the Rubble Creek Classic mountain run tomorrow. It's a tough, but incredibly scenic, little point to point alpine course in Garibaldi park that I've always wanted to do, but have never been around for. The course goes from Chekamus Lake parking lot, up to Helm Creek, Upper Lake trails, Taylor Meadows, Garibaldi lake, and down to the Rubble Creek Black Tusk parking lot. The basic stats are:

Distance: 24.5km
Elevation Gain: 1338.4m
Elevation Loss: 1592.8m
Highest Elevation: 1781.6m
Lowest Elevation: 557.4m

Unfortunately, they're calling for deluge like weather, so I don't think the views will be as stunning as they can be and the course will be a muddy/cold mess, but it will be a fun adventure. With a snow dusting last weekend, the alpine running opportunities are quickly running out, so I'm excited for another rip around the mountains.

Here are some pics from the trail on a run & some from a hike up at Blackcomb, that I did a few weeks ago to give you a sense of the area. It's an easy trip from Vancouver and there are lots of good camping and side trips to make a weekend of it up there:

Online registration-the quick & dirty

Pablo Picasso is famously quoted as saying: “Computers are useless. They can only give you answers.” Although he is right, if you know the question you want to ask, having quick and easy answers to those questions makes computers quite handy.

I’ve been suffering from a rather tired body and post race blues the past month. My muscles have been tight, my running has felt forced and robotic and I haven’t enjoyed it as much as I normally do. This often happens at the end of a long season. By most accounts, I’ve had a very enjoyable and successful race year and I’ve enjoyed my running, but, like most things, running is cyclical and I’m at the low end of a cycle at the moment.
I find these times useful to reflect on what I’ve done, how I did them, what I want/need to change and what I want to do next. Part of this means researching new adventures and races to check out. I’m very curious to try my hand at some hundred milers next year, so I’ve been researching events. To be honest, there are so many amazing and tempting races out there and I have a quickly expanding bucket list of races that I want to try and places I want to visit. Unfortunately, due to my life circumstance, priorities and physical ability, I can only do so many races a year. Some people seem to be able to race every weekend and be successful. I’m not one of those athletes. I have to be a bit more strategic and plan out my year, focusing on one or two key events and racing some other races a bit underdone, or overcooked from training. So as I peruse and research the various races, I’m once again amazed at the wealth and depth of information available online.
Being the wily old veteran that I am (sarcasm), I remember the days when you had to go to a specialty run store, browse through the mountain of paper in a race package, or have your local club, or the race itself, mail you race info and the race entry, normally a 3-fold brochure, with a grainy picture, some basic race details and a page for your registration information, with spaces too small to really be useful, or legible. You’d fill it out by hand and mail in a cheque. I’d inevitably make a mistake and end up in the wrong category, or my name would be bastardized as someone would try to decipher the hieroglyphics that I try to pass off as handwriting. Madam Candell did well in the 16-19 female age category a few times about a decade (or more) ago. In short, the process was slow and it sucked. It was highly exclusive, you had to know where to go and where to look and if you weren’t “in the loop” already, there was a good chance you could miss out. After the race, you’d have to wait for club and regional newsletters, or national and international magazines to be published to find race results, if the race directors decided to submit them.

Today, all a newcomer to the sport needs to find out about and register for a race is to know roughly the when, what, where and the type of race and have the ability to Google, to find out as much as they need to know. From there, they can look up the race details on the race website, many of which have fairly detailed descriptions, including course profiles, elevation charts, Google maps, videos, where to park, how to get to the race, local accomodation, where aide stations are, what the finisher medals look like etc… They can then fill out the race details very quickly & efficiently online.

Sites like Ultrasignup, sportstats, raceheadquarters, racedaytiming...have consolidated lists of races and offer registration services and post race results almost instantly, all of which make the race process move seamlessly. There’s no risk of the entry getting lost in the mail, you get an instant email confirmation and your payment goes through then and there. You can then scan the list of other participants and figure out the level of competition, know which of your friends will be there and plan ride shares to the race. If you’re very analytical, you can link to previous results and figure out roughly how long the race will take, who you’re likely to run with and pretty much any other detail that might interest you and help you plan for the event. Big races will have links to training groups, expert advice, some offer training plans, what to expect, all of which help to make the experience easier for newcomers.

Don’t get me wrong our current online system has its flaws. There’s a common chorus of complaints about how quickly races fill up these days. Races no longer necessarily begin when the gun goes off, the first winners are those that can be first to the keyboard when next year’s race entry launches. Popular races, with limited fields, sell out in minutes of opening registration. You often have to have a calendar alert of when a registration goes online and then hover over the race website months in advance, trying to time your access down to the minute of when the online registration begins . If you have a slow internet connection, an old computer, can’t find your credit card fast enough, or you can’t type, you risk missing out on the narrow window when you can sign up, before all the other keeners beat you to the punch!

In order to offset some of the unfairness in this process, such as having to be in a meeting, or at the birth of a first child when your favourite race opens, races have started holding lotteries, where you apply for the right to have your name entered into a draw to win the priviledge of paying for a race entry. Like the NFL, or NHL draft, people sit around anxiously speculating and hoping to have their name pulled, earning them the right to put in months of training and then suffer horribly for a few minutes, hours or days, depending on the race, several months down the road. Although it can be frustrating, this isn’t a bad thing. It shows the increased popularity of the sport and definitely rewards race directors who repeatedly put on high quality events. These are usually the races that I’m interested in doing. For the elitists, or veterans, who complain about races filing up early, this process still laregly rewards people "in the know", since we share information with each other about when race registartion opens and race directors are usually good about letting previous entrants know about the timing of registartion. For full disclosure, I'll admit that being recognized as an "elite" runner, whatever that means, I am granted certain registartion priviledges at some events, so I have circumvented this process at some events, but other races are more egualitarian, treating all athletes the same.

So what all this means is that despite having a natural tendency towards being spontaneous with my racing, I have to plan things out. I’m spending a fair bit of time thinking about what I might want to do 6, 9 or 12 months down the road, commit to some races, recharge my batteries and legs and then get out the door and train for them. At the moment, I’m leaning towards two of the Ultra Trail Mount Fuji, Western Sates (if I get in via the lottery) and Ultra Trail de Mont Blanc, for next year, but I’m open to suggestions, so feel free to fire away with recommendations near and far…

In other internet news, I have two interviews up on the web. If you have some free time, feel free to check them out:
http://www.healthynomics.com/lifestyle/interview-with-adam-campbell-mountain-and-trail-runner/

http://trailrunner.ca

Phinal Photo Dump

These images give you an idea of the crowd and energy around town. Amazing to see people lined up 3 deep to cheer on ultra runners & big screened TVs showing the action, framed against a backdrop of stunningly dramatic peaks.
My time in Europe/Chamonix wasn't all running, in fact, food played a huge part. There is some fantastic produce and local food options across town.
Of course, mountain scenery was a main theme of my trip. The Aiguille du Dru and the Mer de Glace:
After the race, I met up with Lauren in Zurich, while I was in transit and we went and visited Arc'teryx Switzerland. We were taken to visit Per La Vida, a main supplier of the brand and a very cool store in a funky district.