How Far We Have Come

waywiser, n.

 An instrument for measuring and indicating distance travelled, especially by foot. Now historical.

One of my private goals for 2016 was to run a race longer than a marathon. I succeeded when I made it across the line at the Run for the Toad 50k in October. Because most ultramarathons take place on trails, I ended up doing most of my training in wilder settings than I’m used to. In this way, longer distances became my regular runs, and I became a trail runner. Except for the Around the Bay 30k race last March, all my events in 2016 were trail races.

Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.

I got to run for hours and hours through mud, Turkish bath heat, pouring rain, and misty forests. I got to wade through streams created by just-melted snow and pick my way across makeshift bridges made of mossy logs. I slipped and tripped and bounced my way over rocks and roots and hundreds of kilometres of quiet forest pathways. This time last year I felt like a novice trail runner. Now I feel as if I have acquired something from every step I took. (On some of the muddier outings, I did.)

As I live in a very large city, simply planning a two- to three-hour training run without sidewalks and stoplights adds a challenge to the process. I am lucky to live right at the entrance to a vast system of ravines, which weave their way through the city providing biking paths and trails that go on for hours.

One of my best training runs took place a few weeks before the Run for the Toad in October. I ran about 39k on paths beside Lake Ontario and through the Don River Valley. The last two hours were in rain so steady it seemed the air was liquid. When you are tired and sore and it is pouring rain, the only thing to do is to keep calm and carry on toward your goal. So I did. It was a soggy, joyful day.

I am also fortunate to be part of a family summer cottage several hours north of the city. My favourite training route up there takes me 13km along winding, hilly, tree-shaded roads into the local town, finishing with a climb to the top of a large hill. There is a scenic lookout tower at the top of the hill and a spring water source that is almost indecently sensual on a hot summer day.

A few weeks ago this was solid ice.

In past years I would usually wait until someone was driving into town anyway and ask them meet me there and ferry me home. This year I decided to simply turn around and run back, doubling the distance and exponentially improving my workout. Oddly, no one ever expressed regret over the absence of my salt-covered body and sodden clothes in their car. A win/win.

I did that Tower Hill run several times last summer; hour after hour of “the green dark forest … too silent to be real” save for the sound of my feet hitting the ground. Now that I am city-bound by winter, the peaceful solitude of that 26k route has become a refuge for my mind.

My goals for next year – the year in which I will turn 65 – are varied and exciting. And like most private dreams, they are fanciful and farfetched and therefore completely malleable. But wherever I end up, I do plan to run farther and climb higher than I have any right to be able to. I will slip and trip and fall (my plan does include getting up again). I will be hot and cold and wet and learn how to deal with being these. As I move forward, I will become stronger and yes, maybe wiser. 

To the bewilderment of those who think I should suffer somehow for the audacity of wanting to transport my body over long distances under my own power, I intend to love every step.

A Forest Ultra

Run for the Toad 50k – October 1, 2016

The voice in my head began speaking to me as I was about 20k into my run. “Sure,” the voice said. “You’ve gone almost a half-marathon – a decent morning’s run for anyone. But you still have 30k to go. You’re not even halfway there.”

And I had “the feeling.” I have experienced it before: once long ago at 10k of a marathon I had entered at the last minute. A sinking, missing-the-last-bus, alone, hopeless feeling in the centre of my being. A feeling that I have no business being out here, that I will never finish and may in fact be forgotten out on the course as the sun sets and everybody goes home. Luckily I ignored the feeling that day and went on to run a personal best for the marathon.

So as I passed through 20k of the Run for the Toad 50k – my first try at the distance – I was expecting that feeling, as I was waiting for the voice, and this day too I was able to disconnect both and keep running. In a few minutes I felt fine again.

Note to self: remember how you did that.

A year ago I did the 25k version of this event and loved it. A helpful and optimistic volunteer suggested I might want to try the 50k this year. With no good reason other than her casual encouragement, I set this as my goal event for the season.

The race takes place in the Pinehurst Lake Conservation Area, about an hour west of Toronto,  over a very user-friendly course comprising well-groomed trails through pine forests and grassy paths across open fields. Each lap is 12.5k, so, 4 of them for the whole 50. 

It was a cool overcast day with rain threatening but never really materializing. I ran cautiously but steadily. I encountered my friend the volunteer from last year in her usual traffic-directing spot and let her know that it would be all her fault if I crashed and burned, ending up as a helpless pile of mushed muscle and snapped sinews. This is the kind of lame humour I typically offer the volunteers as I run past.

Anyone who knows me knows how much I detest it when someone labels what I do as “crazy.” I have no time for these people. With all the truly insane things going on in the world, I ask, how is it crazy to have a dream, set a goal, make plans, and then take steps to achieve your goal? Why can I not be labelled brave, or determined – or at least congenial?

As my voice had reminded me, two laps, or 25k, would have been a good morning’s workout, an honourable end to the season. But I wanted more. I have run lots of marathons – more than I can remember in fact – but this time, like Nigel Tufnel’s amplifier, I wanted to see what would happen if I turned it up to eleven.

Did I have the strides to carry me into ultramarathon territory?

As I ran I couldn’t resist looking at the time, something I rarely do in a trail run. Because all trails are different, there is no point in comparing today’s race with the one you did somewhere else a month ago. But since even finishing the distance was going to be a total learning experience for me, I glanced at my watch as I made my way around each of the first three laps. I didn’t care how long I took, but I wanted the finish line not to have been dismantled before I got across it.

Got 'er done.

My body knew what it had to do; I had been training for this race since last winter and I had put in the requisite work.  When I got to the last lap – the last 12.5k – I knew I had it and I enjoyed every step. The field of runners had thinned out (as it does when you are at the back of it) and I frequently had the dark green, misty trail all to myself. As I passed the 5k marker for the fourth time (telling me I had run a total distance of 42.5 kilometres), I stopped in the middle of the path in the silent forest, raised my arms heavenward, and let the voice in my head tell me, “You’re an ultramarathoner.”

Amazingly, I managed not to trip or stumble; this is probably due more to luck than skill – not to mention my Hoka One One Speedgoat shoes – but staying upright is always a great morale booster. As usual, I felt stronger as I approached the finish line than I had all day. When I finished, I had been running for just under seven hours. 

This was the finale of my season, which began with Around the Bay back in April. I have grandiose plans to build on what I've learned this year. The next task is to teach myself to pace better, to become more confident running up and down hills, and to remind the voice in my head that each step is one more closer to my goal, and that I am indeed getting there. 

Footsteps in an Old Forest

Haliburton Forest Trail Run, September 10, 2016  

In his book, A Step Beyond: A Definitive Guide to Ultrarunning, Don Allison describes the terrain of the Haliburton Forest Trail Run as “runner friendly.” And in comparison with other events around the world, I suppose it is. There are no mountain passes or glaciers to traverse, no sand dunes or swamps to be swallowed by. Little danger from mountain lions or poisonous reptiles. But for me, a runner with minimal experience running in extreme conditions, I love the challenge and beauty you can find in this event.

The Haliburton Forest is a private nature reserve under a canopy of ancient hardwood trees about 200 kilometres northeast of Toronto. The race is 23 now years old, a testament to its popularity as well as to the longevity of its director, the venerable and unsinkable Helen Malmberg.  There are several distances offered on the menu: 100 miles, 50 miles, 50k, 26k; even a 12k for those who want only an appetizer.

I was running the 26k, what I called once again the Fun Run.

As befits a forest, there are lots of rocks and roots, steep climbs, and luge-like descents. There are bogs, whereat you have to decide whether the wet logs laid across them will provide enough support and traction so that you won’t be catapulted into the mud (I was just once; it was a nice soft landing).

Last year I participated in this race and suffered a lot. I hadn’t been expecting the way the dodgy footing and pre-Cambrian topography would slow down my pace. I hadn’t anticipated the amount of hopping, skipping and jumping (and not running) that is involved in negotiating a forest trail. It was the slowest 26k I had ever run and I felt chastened and somewhat discouraged. In my blog post after that race, I made a list of things I thought I had done wrong: inappropriate shoes and clothing, inadequate nutrition and hydration, unrealistic expectations.

This is the shoe. I had two of them.

This year I brought all the gear I felt I needed and left behind the expectations. And I had a great time. The weather forecast was iffy, calling for rain around noon. But the morning was great for a run: lightly overcast and about 18C.

Some of the route appears to follow trails that are such by virtue only of the fact that several people have passed over them at one point in history. At times the orange flags marking the course seem to have been arbitrarily set in the middle of the forest primeval. But there is indeed a path and it did take me to the cheery aid station volunteers at the 13k turnaround and home again. I went off the rails only once and it was my fault – I thought I was at a different crossroads than I really was. As soon as I realized there were no trail markers in sight, I reversed and got back on course.

The good news was that although I still wrestled with my own inner timing and pace expectations, everything else worked beautifully. My Hoka One One Speedgoat shoes were perfect for the paths and often-slippery rocks, and I made good use of my Nathan hydration system, stocked with lots of gels. I was well hydrated and nourished the whole way.

Attractive finisher's medal, no?

The other good news is that the training I have been doing this summer has left my body in relatively decent shape for a trail race. There are few things as encouraging as asking your legs for more power after you’ve been running for three straight hours – to skip like an Irish step dancer over tree roots and rocks, to scramble up a steep rock, to charge down the road to the finish – and to feel them respond. I managed to shave some minutes off my time from last year, but more importantly, I ran to the finish feeling fresh and inspired. Last year I walked the last 2 kilometres.

In the last 45 minutes of my run it started to rain, although I was protected by the thick green canopy of the forest till the home stretch, which is along a gravel road. In any case it was a mild day, and when I came out into the open the rain felt refreshing and welcome. I recognize that this might not have been the case if I had had many more hours to run.

This event was a warm-up for my goal race this year: the Run for the Toad 50k, which is in three weeks. I still don’t know if I can run 50k, so the adventure – as it always does and always should – lies in the unknown.

As I write this on Sunday morning, runners not far from here are finishing the longest distance of the Haliburton Forest Trail Run – 100 miles. They have been running since 6 a.m. yesterday. Overnight it seems as if we have passed over the divide between summer and fall. Although the sun is shining brightly, the temperature has dropped about a dozen degrees since yesterday. Part of trail running is dressing for the conditions, and I hope they all did. They are a unique breed of human, and as always, it is a special treat to be running in their footsteps.