“Are you travelling for business or pleasure?”
“A mix of both” I said, before clearing customs and boarding my plane.

It’s been a long road to Gorge from a winter of training in the cold, snowy (somehow also equally muddy) trails of Ontario. I had lofty ambitions of fighting for a place on the podium, but also knew that I hadn’t been able to prioritize training in the ways that might have allowed me to flourish on race day. It was the most underprepared I’d ever felt before a race, but I still had confidence that I could crash my way onto the podium.

LESSON 1: Overconfidence mixed with unpreparedness is a dangerous mix.

All week, phantom pains and very real pains collaborated together to cause doubt into my podium hopes. But I stayed confident all the way to start line, placing myself front and centre alongside Chris Myers.

LESSON 2: When Chris Myers asks you what your plans are for the race, don’t joke about keeping up with him.

Those dreams dashed immediately at the start. I felt helpless watching a pack of six men storm up the first climb.

LESSON 3: If you’ve only practiced sustained uphills at 7:00/km, you should probably take it slower than 5:00/km.

I watched as my heart-rate soared into the 180s (even the scary 190s), but I didn’t feel any desire to slow down. Heart-rate always gets highest for me up the first climb of any run, and I felt relatively relaxed despite the difficulty.

I felt happy with my performance at The Bad Thing 50K back in October, but I didn’t risk it all to get what I wanted. I planned on taking the risks this time. Rolling the dice. Testing myself against some of the best in the States. I’m feeling good. I’m better on rocks than a golden shovel in Animal Crossing. I can do this.

Then it all came crashing down. Okay, not literally. Not yet. But Jared Forman and another guy started crashing down the rocky 4k descent like they were trying to catch a train. I let them go, but kept pace at an unreasonable rate to keep them in sight.

LESSON 4: Jared Forman is not to be messed with.

I made a mistake. I could immediately tell. I’d made a massive gap on anyone behind. And everyone ahead clearly had a train to catch.

Looking back, I know this is one of the biggest differences in my race not going as planned. In hindsight, I should have stayed back with the lead women like Sarah Biehl and Tara Fraga and talked my way through that entire climb. But as that sustained descent came to an end, I found myself in a really awkward place. The pack ahead was still in sight. The pack behind was nowhere to be seen. I could slow down. Or speed up.

You can probably tell what happened. Comfortably, I did my usual dancing on technical rock and eventually caught them.

This was one of my favourite moments of the race. Other than Jared, I didn’t know any of the guys in this pack. But it didn’t matter. We didn’t need to know each other. We felt like we already knew each other through this wildly uncomfortable shared experience. I think we were 5th to 9th(?) and I felt comfortable in the discomfort hanging onto the back of the pack. No one wanted to make any moves. No one spoke a word. We just harmonized together up and down the rocks.

Until disaster hit. Never in my life has my bib fallen off. Never. I’ve been racing for fifteen years. I’ve never had my bib fall off.

LESSON 5: Always put the racing vest on before the early morning bib routine.

Two bottles in my left hand, I tried to slow at the back of the pack to re-attach the clips. Instead, I cut every finger. My shirt got bloody. Rocks pounded against the soles of my feet. I couldn’t focus. I stopped. I re-attached the bib. But the damage had been done. After working to catch this pack and harmonize with them like a boy band, I’d lost them. This led to the worst decision of the day.

LESSON 6: If you lose the pack, work to catch them gradually, rather than like you are the freight train yourself.

The entire time we stayed together as a valiant fighting crew of 5th to 9th, I could tell Jared wanted to make a move. My goal was to keep him in my sights, and stay with the rest of the pack. At one point, I even thought I felt good enough to latch onto him. Then the bib came off. Honestly, no problem. I didn’t panic. But I didn’t make a good decision either.

My fastest kilometre of the entire day happened next, rolling onto the road in a 3:56/km split. I always knew the pack would shake me on the road. I shouldn’t have made any attempt to catch them. I should have known I would get a few of them on the trail.

That’s exactly what happened. I caught up to 8th, then soon afterward leapt back into 7th. This is where I would spend the vast majority of the next 20k. This also happened to be the position that my psychic friend predicted I’d place.

It was my first recalibration of the day. Forget about the podium. Go for 7th. Everyone will be proud of you. This field is way stronger than you thought. 7th would be incredible. Sarah Biehl will probably catch you, so you can feel fine as either 7th OA or 7th male. No one behind you is running stronger. Hang onto 7th.

As these thoughts popped into my brain, I passed by Ryan Thrower. HEY! That’s Ryan Thrower. What the hell is up with this creek? Where do I cross? I’m always so good at creek crossings. Where the hell are the rocks? Oh no. I forgot to drown my hat in the water. I AM SO WARM.

After forgetting to take advantage of the creek, I had one main mission for aid station #2. Douse my hot self in cold water. I realized as soon as I stumbled away from the bottle fill-up: I forgot to douse my hot self in cold water. Again.

LESSON 7: Spend the time at aid stations getting doused in the coldest of waters.

My mind spiralled out of control as we climbed 77m uphill. I felt disoriented, faint, and more collapsible than the bottles I carried. The best climber in that earlier pack of 5th to 9th sat right behind me, and I continued to push despite my dehydration. Then out of nowhere, I realized something. This is all in my head. You’ve never fainted on a run. What the hell are you talking about? I took one of those impossible to open Spring Energy Gels to mix it up from my XACT bars, and immediately felt better. Applesauce works!

I have no idea what happened for the next 10k. I know I didn’t feel at risk of being caught. I know Josh Fry and I talked about pickles. I know I stayed in 7th(?). That’s about it. I’m not sure if I saw any waterfalls. I’m not sure if I had a real blister on my foot, or if my body was just trying to send its first ‘don’t die’ warning sign.

I stayed strong. Ran every step. Remained ready for that next aid station to refuel and restock. Out of nowhere, Matt Spear caught me right before the aid station at 34k, and left me in the dust as I filled up bottles and finally had them douse me in water. I also ate a pickle.

This stoppage was too long. Looking back, I should have been swifter like the Spear himself. Not in the time sense. In the what the hell is happening to my body sense. Immediately after this aid station, my body started to send warning signs.

It wasn’t until Sarah Biehl finally caught me at 35k that I realized how much everything hurt. My hamstrings cramped immediately after we exchanged some words, and I needed two XACT bars to fix it. From there, it was all about hanging on. Why?

Every step hurt.

LESSON 8: Sarah Biehl is a supremely smart racer. Might be wise to stay with the lead women next time racing one of these North American Majors. More camera time that way anyway.

Every single step hurt so much as we ascended to the top of the final waterfall. At this point, two men dropped, and so somehow, someway, I stayed in seventh. But I could tell that wouldn’t be for long.

I recalibrated again, and told myself to go for top ten.

It’s incredibly important to realign goals when you’re not having your day. Otherwise, it can be so easy to drop out. When I tell you that I went inside of a well and had to climb back out, you might think I’m exaggerating. But let me tell you, I went inside a well and desperately tried to climb back out for the final hour and a half.

The podium was gone. 7th was almost certainly gone. But top ten would still be nice. And hey, I could also say top ten male, and just try to stay ahead of the men.

LESSON 9: Recalibrating your goals allows you to stay focused on finishing when all hope seems lost and every kilometre feels like it’s been an hour.

Looking at the Strava data, it’s at 36k when I officially start to lose the plot. My GAP goes from under 5:00/km, to clear 6’s. My heart-rate drops. Every step feels like it weighs ten waterfalls. With 14k still to go, I’m just waiting for the other lead women to catch me, hoping that no men will find their way to me. Michael Nanaszko and fellow Canadian Kyle Kimura cruise by me, and Nicholas Hughes takes me as soon as we start the descent.

In doing so, he somehow sends a stress fracture into my shin. At least, that’s what it feels like.

Everything is miserable. But I must stay positive.

I’ll go as low as 14th and still be proud. On the bright side, I’ve just bested the time I posted at Falling Water Trail Marathon last August for 42k, running four minutes faster. That’s something to be proud of too.

I’m starting to feel good and prepare my bottles for the 45k aid station when I lose the cap. I’m distracted as I sweep the cap off the grass – and not by my disorientation. By the loudest cheer of the day. The cheering is so loud that I know. It must be a woman.

Then my favourite moment of the entire race happens. Tara Fraga flows by me effortlessly, with the cleanest pass on me the entire day. I’m dying. I’m literally dying when Tara Fraga grabs a bottle from her crew, kicks it into high gear and races away from the aid station. I grab a pickle, fill up two bottles, and die. My brain thinks I’m dying. It’s sending every signal possible to get me to stop. Tara Fraga is a monster sent to destroy Gorge Waterfalls, and she’s just done exactly that.

LESSON 10: This is why you bring a crew.

At this point, my heart feels like the only thing still beating.

Ironic, because at 47k, my bib falls off again. In re-attaching it, two things happen. 1) Lauren Puretz is right there. I’m about to go from 11th to 12th. 2) I think that I’ve given myself a heart attack. I genuinely think I’m having a heart attack.

LESSON 11: That’s not what a heart attack feels like.

My abductor joins the pity party and the two collaborate in deciding that they’ve had enough and that they’ll drive off a cliff together and see me in the afterlife.

But I continue to run every step. Somehow, I don’t spend a second hiking. I never liked hiking as much as shuffling anyway.

Besides, I know that when I hit the road, I can crush it to the finish and just kick with whatever I have left. I can take Lauren Puretz in a final kick, right?

Wrong. Lauren Puretz gallops up the hill like she’s out for a Sunday jog. Tara’s pass was graceful. Somewhat manic. Lauren’s was graceful. Extremely composed.

I hit the sidewalk just in time to watch Lauren get the final camera-follow of the day, while picking up my pace to the highest it’s been since the start of the race. I’m going so fast that Dylan Bowman thinks I’m wearing a button down and says I look great. He has no idea.

LESSON 12: Remember where you leave your body.

I collapse. I die. Chris Myers tells me travel is hard. Matt Spear tells me travel is hard. I eat a burrito. I die. I want to congratulate Sarah Biehl. But I’ve forgotten my body somewhere and need to find it.

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It’s now four hours later. With some perspective, I raced super well. My GAP at 4:48 and pace at 5:31 is not what I hoped for. My place is not what I hoped for. It wasn’t the day I wanted. But it was definitely the day I needed. Especially ahead of what will be a batch of five hour races this summer.

Thanks to Brett Hornig for coaching, XACT Nutrition for fuelling and love, and my friends and family who turned into the livestream. Your support means the world. Onwards and upwards to Quebec!