I’ve never been so close to not starting a race. Had it been the day earlier, or the two or three prior, I might not have.

Training for the race went without a hitch across the start of 2026. I found time to get on course three times, and took on a more mountainous, technical approach to training than any other time in the past year. At the same time, my splits around the track were faster than they’ve been in years.

Leading into the race, I felt ready to have a really good day.

Until something strange popped up in my abductor the Tuesday before. I continued doing my normal routine expecting it to subside. But by Friday, every step was not only uncomfortable, but painful.

When I called Coach Jade to explain the situation, the conversation leant more toward whether or not to start the race than any piece of strategy.

The only strategy I could see myself having was to start the warm-up and hope for the best. If the warm-up felt better than Friday, I would run my best and see how well I could do.

Luckily, as I frolicked around the first loop of the course, I felt great. Confident that I could not only run, but run well.

Not having much in the way of strategic thought might have helped.

I knew the course well, knew where it suited my strengths, and where I would likely make my mark. But I didn’t plan out every second.

This is always where I have the most success in races (like Sulphur Springs and Harricana), when I always know what’s coming next, but remain in the flow and the dynamics of the race.

I felt equally comfortable about the competition. Knowing that Shaun and Karl would be present, I didn’t have any pressure on myself to place high, podium, or win. It was literally never even a thought that entered my mind.

And as we sprinted off the line, my plan was just to hang close enough to keep them visible for however long I could, whilst keeping a pace that felt sustainable.

As often the case, a few others had the same plan.

Ivan and Zander went with them too, and I led a pack of the remaining guys in fifth. And as we began the first ascent, we were all still blitzing.

Thanks to a lot of dedicated speed work in the past year, sprinting at these paces has become more feasible. I felt confident in my ability to ascend well, particularly on the runnable stuff, and gradually caught Zander over time as Ivan escaped.

Knowing it was about to get technical (literally signs on course giving you a warning that the terrain is not for the faint of heart), I carefully stepped ahead of Zander at the first opportunity.

I led the rest of the power hiking up to the top of the crazy cliffside mountain ridge. And as I took in my first XACT bar, I looked over my shoulder to see that Michael Stone had overtaken Zander.

I didn’t know anything about Michael and had never raced him, but I could tell he was an incredibly strong climber (more to come on that). Not only was he moving well; he was moving like he owned the place and had sheep waiting for him at the top.

And as I crested the black ice at the top (and Michael’s sheep), I sprinted away to escape him. This is so smart – I thought. Gap them while you have a bit of runnability, knowing that it’s about to get seriously technical again down these steep cliffs.

It felt like I made a serious dent in just those short few seconds. But immediately as we descended down the ice, Michael and Zander were breathing down my neck again.

With my injury coming into the race, I wanted to take these sections cautiously. But I didn’t think it was possible for many others to run much faster. Without risking death, or injury of course.

But without batting an eye (or foot), Michael, Zander, and another, blew by me. It felt like five seconds, and suddenly they were out of sight, and I went from fourth to seventh.

I remained alone for the rest of this section.

I knew I could catch back up on the more runnable, second-half of the course. In training, the overall pace would increase by nearly a minute-per-kilometre between the first half and second half of the course. I knew this was where I could run it like a genuine trail half marathon, and let my speed come back to me, and them.

But mentally, this could have been dangerous. I was entirely alone, balancing my own line of running fast and running safely, without any other reference point.

I fell once, banging my knee. Shortly after, I stepped on a rock a little too well, and hurt my foot.

But I continued to run fast at any opportunity, before power hiking the parts where running simply felt impossible.

Then as soon as we hit the bottom of the vistas toward Lake Buntzen, it was go time.

Despite a few knocks, I had managed to come out of the vistas unscathed, without my abductor feeling sore. I raged on as fast as felt right, and then began the ascent away from the lake.

Everything felt in order, but still, no sign of anyone else. So I just got my head down and kept plugging away. I knew I could catch them, and continued to visualize it as I ran strongly.

It would be another twenty minutes before I saw my first glimpse of Michael’s blue shirt. Around this time, it was also the first time that we found ourselves entrenched in 13K runners, making my ability to see him become more difficult as I sprinted down toward the aid station and final climb.

I caught Michael at the start of that climb, and immediately moved from 7th to 5th in one second, as we both passed the other runner.

After putting in such an effort, I wasn’t quite ready to run so strongly on such a technical climb. But with his insane power hiking skillset, Michael was ready for exactly that.

He immediately passed me back as my abductor seized up and I massaged a cramp away. I then tailed him for the remainder of the climb, knowing I could get him on the downhill toward the finish.

And as we turned that final corner and continued to blaze by the 13K runners, Michael disappeared.

He began the descent strongly, and it took more time than I thought to reach him. But as the finish line grew closer, I grew more and more confident that I would get him.

We had done a lot in training toward the idea of running fast at the end, and I had a good gauge as to how fast I could really go at every section.

As soon as we stepped onto the road, I blazed by him, and sprinted to the finish as fast as I could, carefully avoiding families out for a casual stroll.

I sprinted to the beach in a historically fast time, putting a minute on Michael in the process, and finishing in a time of 2:26.

It’s always hard to compare performances and identify what makes a truly “great” day in this sport.

But I think this is one of my best.

It was well under the women’s course record, which I think is usually a decent gauge for what should usually be toward my upper limit. It was a smartly run race, where I managed setbacks well, and stayed confident despite being alone for so much of the day. And I ran faster than I’ve historically been able to in trail races at the moments where fast running found me.

I think this is my first ‘A’ grade day in a while, probably since the 2024 Harricana 42K. Crazy to think I almost didn’t start.

So thanks to Jade, XACT, and Aislinn for cheering me on. Next up for me is the Vancouver Sun Run, where I will be going for a ten-year-old PR in the 10K. Thanks for reading and see you soon!