The summer of 2025 hit a bit differently than the past few years have. In some ways, I felt so much more present, more grounded than I have been. In other ways, maybe a bit lost. A combo of factors in my life —professional, personal, and run-related —has had me feeling like this has been a great couple of months to experiment with the concept of ‘just be’.  

On the professional side, I was finishing up the last few required hours of my Provisional Psychologist status before being able to settle into my own practice and enjoy the product of years of hard work. 

At home, my oldest daughter graduated in June, and I was left suspended at the top of an inhale. Waiting to see what she would do, what she would need from me; I didn’t want to make any plans for myself. She was often off on her own adventures with friends, carving her own way through her summer. 

At one point, we did make plans without her -a weekend backpacking trip to Geraldine lakes- and she tearfully confessed afterwards how hurtful it was we went without her. Of course, she was invited, but had her own plans and couldn’t join. I can’t help but feel in limbo over this, my heart, my firstborn, out walking around, emerging into adulthood, and yet still too much a part of our family to fathom operating independently from it. A delicate balancing act of continuing with my own life, and being there for hers. 

And lastly, my run season. My initial goal of big distance at Lakou Backyard Ultra in May, vanished by the 8th lap, as I struggled to stay ahead of calorie needs and battled nausea before deciding it wasn’t my day. My second big goal, racing a new 100-mile race in Canmore died the same weekend when they had to cancel due to permits. No other big goals felt that exciting to me and everything else on my race calendar didn’t require the kind of big, focused training I’ve needed other years. 

So there I was, just, being. 

A relay team at Sinister with some girl friends was super fun, and of course completing the Canmore Quad was a fantastic weekend, as was our hiking weekends, a trip to Waterton, and other adventures.

But then, towards the end of the summer, came the best, and most underrated race that totally took me by surprise. 

TransSelkirks Run.

It was hardly on my radar, all I knew was that thanks to Tania committing to volunteering for the weekend, we had a suite to stay in at Revelstoke Mountain Resort. It was also the last of the TransRockies stage race series races left for me to do; the other ones being Golden Ultra, TransRockies and Moab Run the Rocks. 

The race happens over three days: The Climb, The Peaks, and Flow. Each day is about 30km, and happens near Revelstoke, another underrated town I knew very little about. Although the amount of cranes putting up luxury buildings, indicate that more and more people are discovering what a great town it really is.

I was feeling strong, well rested and ready for whatever the weekend brought. 

Let’s gooooo!

I can’t even say enough good things about how incredible this race is. The start line at Day One: The Climb, was feeling pretty chill as we lined up to tackle the first big climb. ‘Big climb’ is probably an understatement, as we gained 1700m in the first 7km, at times up a cat track trail, but mostly straight up, sometimes needing to use our hands to navigate boulder fields.

The trail, called ‘Kill the Banker’, spends a lot of time under the gondola at Revelstoke Mountain Resort, so it’s easy to see how steep and technical it is if you don’t feel like climbing it! The first aid station is at the top of the Upper Gondola, a welcome sight after a whole lot of work.

And the views were getting good. The next section of trail was an out and back with much less elevation, allowing our burned-out quads a chance to settle as we were all able to pick up the pace on easier terrain. The trail ended at Greely lake where I turned around and got to see all the other racers coming in hot. The second aid station was at the intersection where we had started the out and back, and this time we came through it again but headed back out on another trail to gain even more elevation.

Here’s where the views got really stunning as we climbed; up the ‘Stoke Climb’ trail and to the aid station where Tania, Christy and Tess were working hard all day taking care of racers. It’s a massive undertaking to volunteer at an aid station at the top of a mountain; they put in much longer, more difficult days then I did and I sure appreciated the time they put in. Their hard work was rewarded with bluebird skies, sunshine, views for days, and a front row seat to watch brave paragliders launch off the steep mountainside and soar over the runners grinding up the trail below. 

From Tania’s aid station, we did a loop, a final push to the sub peak of Mount Mackenzie, opening up our views to the mountain ranges on the other side.

Absolutely breathtaking.

And not just because we had climbed 2200m by this point, although that certainly wasn’t helping me feel like I could catch my breath. I stopped long enough to enjoy the endless mountain peaks in every direction, taking it all in and wondering how I possibly got so lucky to be here. The race ends after about 30 km, back at the top of the Upper Revelstoke Gondola with the usual stage race finish line vibes and tasty burgers and beers at the resort restaurant up top. I sat in the sun, with Anna, another Alberta runner, and new friend Eden, someone I initially met at Moab Run the Rocks. We sat in the sun for too long, laughing, theoretically waiting around for my volunteering friends and Soren (who was running), but mostly, I was just waiting around to enjoy just ‘being’.

Nothing else to do. Nothing else I wanted to do. 

After a few hours, I was thoroughly sun baked, a little tipsy and probably quite dehydrated. Tania, Christy and Tess were ready to head back to the hotel where we had a fantastic night sitting on our balcony and watching the sun set over the resort and wishing that nights like this would never end. 

But we needed our sleep cause Day Two: The Peaks, was another big day with plenty of climbing. Once again, the volunteers were out the door much earlier then the racers were, ready to put in another long day at the same aid station spot. Racers had to take the gondola to the start line for the second day. There is a secondary event that happens at the same time as day two of the stage race, called the Stoked Ultra, that is essentially a combo of what I did day 1&2, making it an incredibly challenging 50k. That race started a couple hours before we did, but we did get to see them part way through the morning. This time the course took us to some of the most stunning mountain views I have ever seen.

We went off the ski hill, and towards Mount Cartier, along a ridge with some pretty sketchy sections to traverse, and into an out and back section of stunning jagged rocks, lush green and high alpine vibes. In hindsight, I wish I had been able to stay longer, soak it up a bit more. It really was incredible. This is why I say it is such an underrated event. Yes, it’s tough, you’ll want to be well trained on hills. Yes, there is a lot of technical trails, and steep climbs, you’ll need to bring your courage. But this race truly takes you places you will never go otherwise; literally, the trail doesn’t exist on All Trails, or Gaia, and it is well worth the effort. 

Day two ends at the top of the gondola again, with about 25km of distance and 1450m of elevation gain, and the same reward of basking in the sun. This time, instead of just sitting around drinking, we wandered to the brand new suspension bridge nearby, getting some more great views of the town below. 

Back at the hotel, we showered, changed, and decided we had time to check out the pipe mountain coaster. Just a bunch of kids at summer camp, laughing hysterically the whole way down. Worth the price of admission for sure. 

Are we already at day three? There is usually a point sometime during day two of a stage race, where I start to question if I can do these things day after day. I get tired, and wonder what it would be like to stop, and get back to just ‘being’; just sitting around. But then inevitably, I get a surge of energy, and go into day three feeling strong, alive and wishing I could keep doing this every day.

I mean, I kinda get to, even in my regular life. I run pretty much every day, so I guess that makes my everyday life just like a stage race, right? 

Day Three: Flow, I got to run on some dreamy, flowy single track trails opposite from Revelstoke Mountain Resort in the Begbie area. Although I loved earning those views on day 1&2 on the mountain, this was so fun to open up and really run hard on some different kind of trails. I was feeling amazing, and knew that I was just close enough to making the podium that if I kept pushing, it might happen. I didn’t even stop for snacks at Tania, Christy and Tess’ aid station, I just kept rolling. It paid off, I finished strong and moved up the ranks a few spots from the previous two days, to earn third place. Another 30k and about 1000m to round off a really incredible weekend. 

This race weekend getaway felt like a dream. I didn’t really know what I was getting into, and my expectations were far exceeded. This race has a much more laid back feel to it then other TransRockies stage race events, and yet still delivered the flawless formula that makes these events so memorable. It’s the perfect combo hard work, great views, ridiculous good fun, and the after party to bring it all together. 

I can’t wait to go back next year, but this time to volunteer. These things truly take a village to bring to life, and I am already looking forward to spending more time in Revelstoke, and contributing to someone else getting to experience this race. If you’ve read this far, and are considering signing up for TransSelkirk, don’t hesitate at all. It’s well worth it in every way. 

The drive home gave me time to reflect on the summer of 2025; a summer with lots of waiting, slowing down, curiosity about what the moment holds. 

A summer perfectly wrapped up with high alpine meadows, mountain peaks for days, and of course, my beautiful friends sharing it with me. 

 

Current status: tired legs, full heart, re-fueling with a cinnamon bun, looking out the window at Grotto Mountain from cozy downtown Canmore and it’s feeling like a good time to write about another big bucket list adventure in the books.

The Canmore Quad.

I first did the ‘Canmore Triple’ in 2018, a local challenge to climb three peaks (East end of Rundle, Ha Ling and run across town to climb Lady MacDonald). I was a baby ultra runner, overly confident (probably faster then I am now) and hungry to prove myself.

Then in 2019, a couple of us attempted a variation of the Canmore Quad (Heart, Grotto, Lady Mac, EEOR) but it didn’t go as planned, so while we still got a lot of vert and put in a long day, we didn’t get four peaks.

Then in 2020, Tania and I had planned to do it for her birthday, but the closure of Lady Mac the day prior prompted a change of plans, taking us to Mount Northover instead. The day that unfolded there changed my life forever.

Since then, a series of trail closures, other priorities, 200 mile training plans have meant the Canmore Quad has continued to elude me.

A couple guys I run with were planning to do the Quad this year so I worked up the courage to invite myself, but struggled with serious imposter syndrome.

Imposter syndrome. Now there’s a topic worthy of its own blog post. Even top athletes struggle with that ‘not good enough’ voice sometimes. It can be so pervasive, colouring every decision, impacting relationships and holding us back from all the beautiful things waiting for us. But we’ll get back to that another time.

There was a solid group of athletes already assembled. Brad, my Need for Speed co-lead and very talented runner, Aerobic Base Endurance run- coach Stewart, Climbing for Change race director Luke, Amy and Scott, both boasting 16 hour Canadian Death Race times, Robyn who just placed second in this years Near Death Marathon, and a Calgary runner named Jaime I’d never met before but who has done some impressive races. I was feeling older and slower than all of them, and seriously questioning if I was in over my head.

But can you imagine if I let that stop me from asking if I could join? I would’ve missed out on all the magic that unfolded across those four mountains.

We started dark and early, 5 am in the Safeway parking lot, and set out towards Grotto trail head near the Alpine Club for our first climb. Those first lung heaving breaths of a climb always leave me questioning if I have any fitness at all, but of course, I quickly settled in.

I know how to do this.

The overcast day meant we didn’t get the sunrise we hoped for as we came out above the treeline. But we were greeted by some mountain goats who seemed to float down those steep rocks with an enviable grace that I’ve never found.

Grotto is a beast of a mountain. Made even more difficult by the wicked wind and rain that came up as we reached the top of the ridge and started making our way towards the summit. There’s two ways up, a very steep climb with treacherous shale, or the ridge, which is a bit further distance, and also has some pretty technical sections. Given the conditions, I’m not sure our choice of taking the ridge out and back was the most expedient, but too late now. We were all in.

Luke and Amy opted to wait at a spot before the technical stuff started, while the rest of us continued, bracing ourselves against gusts of wind that seemed to pick up at the most harrowing sections imaginable.

I was lovin it. There’s been some heavy stuff going on this summer and I haven’t always felt like myself. In fact, I’ve noticed symptoms of depression: isolating myself, not wanting to do anything, not feeling joy from things I usually love, lacking motivation and the energy just to tend to basics. Blah. But being up there feels like the antithesis to feeling numb. It’s pretty hard not to feel fully and ridiculously alive when all your senses are lit up in the moment. Wind. Rocks. One foot in front of the other. More rocks.

I’m in no way suggesting that the cure for depression is to put yourself into risky situations just to feel something. Nor is a trip to the mountains a miracle cure for mental health challenges. Not at all. But for me, in that moment, I was reminded of what it feels like to be fully present, strong, capable, engaged. Alive.

The opposite of depression isn’t happiness. The opposite of depression is engagement.

I’ve missed that part of me that normally feels fully engaged. Being on that mountain felt like a recalibration of sorts.

And I was all here for it.

We hit the summit and snapped a picture to prove it even though all we could see was cloud and all we could hear was our jackets whipping in the wind.

One mountain down. Three to go.

By the time we got back to Amy and Luke, they were nearly hypothermic from sitting. Things can turn ugly so quick in conditions like that, so we hustled to get everyone moving and back to the protection of the treeline. Once we were most of the way down (and after a fall that had since left a VERY colourful bruise!) we took the connector trail over towards Cougar Creek, where the trailhead for Lady MacDonald starts. Those were some gorgeous couple kms of dreamy mountain trail that was very runnable. Not too techy or steep, we were able to move quick enough to get everyone back to feeling warm and energized for the next climb.

We had stashed a water refill at the trailhead and paused to load up. By this time we were 5 hours into our day and already behind schedule for Brad and Stewart’s goal time of 12 hours. I could tell they were disappointed, and was feeling a bit responsible for slowing them down, but they insisted they let that go and were just happy to be sharing the day with friends. Ok. I hope so. Onwards and upwards. Ha.

Lots more upwards left!

Lady Mac is a relatively easy trail. Some good switchbacks and steady climbs, only a few technical sections. We reached the spot I’ve always considered the ‘summit’ even though it’s not truly the top of the mountain. There used to be a wooden deck-like structure there (tea house? Heli-pad?) but that’s been taken out since I was last there, and now there’s a lovely bench. Brad flew past the bench and kept pushing towards the true summit, which I had always been told was extremely sketchy and not a requirement of completing the Quad/Triple. I yelled at him that he was working too hard. He ignored me.

We eventually reached a spot that felt like an appropriate false summit, and turned back before it got too risky. No need for an ego push for a full summit. We turned around to finish off our second mountain of the day.

As we got back to the bottom of Lady Mac and started on the paved path back towards downtown Canmore, Scott and Amy announced they were good with bagging two of the four peaks. Neither of them felt confident enough in their training for the year to complete the challenge, and committed to more hill training so they could try again next year.

We got back to the vehicle for a reload, said goodbye to Scott and Amy, (saw Robyn who opted not to join us due to injury concerns, and instead found some mud to bike through!) and then we set our sights to the southwest and our next two peaks. Ha Ling and EEOR.

On some of the gruelling climbs, Luke commented several times how he was looking forward to gaining some speed and distance on the run back across town and up Spray Lakes road to get to the other two mountains. But I wasn’t as keen. I warned him, it wouldn’t be as easy as he thought cause there’s a lot of what I cheekily call ‘douche-grade’. An incline that’s not steep enough to really feel like a climb, but not flat enough to be an easy run. So instead you spend the whole time trying to run, and seriously questioning your fitness as you wheeze your way up a grade that looks easy compared to climbing a technical trail, and yet leaves you feeling like a mesh bag of jello.

We ran/shuffled/power hiked the rather miserable 8k to the parking lot where we had another stash of water ready for a refill. We said goodbye to Jaime who had to bow out due to party plans later that evening. Extra kudos to him for joining us up the rather unrewarding douche-grade before turning around to call it a day.

Unfortunately, the water was past the trailhead for EEOR, so in the interest of not backtracking and getting unnecessary distance, we opted to do Ha Ling first. I say ‘unfortunately’ because the Ha Ling is the easiest of the four peaks and a great way to end a tough day. EEOR is pretty technical, and even more difficult to do when you’re tired. And although I still felt great and ready to climb, I was definitely not getting any less tired as the day went on.

It was down to Brad, Stewart, Luke and I as we pushed past the crowds of people on the trail. Ha Ling is relatively easy and highly rewarding with stunning views from the top of a very steep drop down the other side. This makes the mountain a tourist hot-spot, a ‘must do’ climb in Canmore. And on a fair weather Saturday in peak season, that means the trail was pretty populated with all kinds of folks taking on the challenge. Pretty cool to see so many families, kids and people who probably don’t normally climb mountains, out there giving it a shot. We overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter, with mom coaching her girl on how if she is brave enough to climb this mountain, she is brave enough to go to Kindergarten in the fall. Damn, right girl. You got this.

I started to need some of the same self-coaching on that climb. Still feeling good, but noticing the cumulative effort of all that elevation in my legs. Stewart however, wasn’t feeling so good. He was struggling with energy and feeling light headed and suggested he wasn’t sure he was up for four mountains. Luke agreed, saying he was pretty done with climbing, but they would decided once Ha Ling was done.

We made it to the top, got the mandatory summit photo, and bombed back down as quickly as my tortured quads would allow.

Just kidding. This isn’t torture. This is a privilege. How freakin lucky are we to have the health, fitness, time and support from loved ones to spend a whole day chasing summits? I’ll take the sore quads and faltering energy if it means I get more days like this.

Stewart and Luke waved their goodbye and turned to head down Spray Lakes road, pushing the completion of the quad to another year. Brad looked at me and asked if I had one more in me. Yep. Let’s do this.

Mount Rundle is a massive stretch of peaks that spans the distance between Canmore and Banff. Some brave souls traverse the whole things but that’s way beyond my skill level. Getting to the top of the most eastern peak (EEOR: East End of Rundle) is all it takes to claim you’ve completed the challenge. But damn that climb ain’t easy. It’s steep, technical, easy to lose the trail, and after three mountains, it proved to be pretty taxing.

I knew I was holding Brad back. He is an incredibly strong athlete and had earned a much faster potential time after weeks/months of training runs where he would get up to 2000m of gain in a single Wednesday night training run. In Edmonton. Where our biggest elevation change is maybe 45-50m hills.

That’s a lot of hill repeats.

I did a lot of hill training too (on Coyote hill in Whitemud ravine, the closest to mountain simulation we can manage!), but my training was a fraction of Brad’s and it shows. Thankfully he’s a pretty patient guy, and if he’s got ego, he doesn’t let it show, and he seemed ok with taking it slow to safely get up, and back down EEOR in one piece. There’s some sections near the top that require some scrambling which is pretty fun, if you’re into that, but every time I’ve done EEOR I seem to forget how difficult it really is. Also, by this time we were both tired and hungry, dreaming of cheese quesadilla’s at the top (spoiler, there weren’t any) and I had a few more good falls on the way down. Nothing serious. But enough that I had to take some deep breaths, re-up and focus.

Getting off that mountain and back to Spray Lakes road was a huge relief, and that douche-grade on the way up was now a welcome gentle descent, and we cruised down in no time. We made sure to ask for a ride from the parking lot we started in, so we didn’t have to run back to the hotel. Seeing Luke and Stewart, all clean and promising pizza was a pretty sweet finish line prize.

The stats for the day ended up being just under 60km, 4600 m of elevation gain and took us just under 16 hours.

Another goal checked off the bucket list ✅

I stopped by race package pickup for North Sun Ultra at The Tech Shop on Friday evening after work. It was my first time running the race and I was pretty stoked to take a shot at it. North Sun is one of the few other locally operated trail races in Edmonton, so it feels like a sister race to Run On. I am also pretty fond of one of the race directors, Laura, after our serendipitous meeting on the trail in BC during Diez Vista 50k a couple years ago. As I picked up my bib and timing chip, I asked Hadley, (another RD on the NSU team) how the trails were looking after the off and on showers throughout the day. As if on cue, Conor, (Laura’s partner), bursts through the door, fresh off the trails, and gave the thumbs up that everything was flagged and ready for us to race.

I had barely driven back to the south side when the skies opened up and it poured. And I mean torrential. It had been a dry spring so the trails can soak up a fair bit of water before they are saturated, but this last storm was pretty intense. I thought about Hadley saying trails were good to go, and went to sleep, curious about whether or not that assessment would change.

I woke up at 5 am to some texts from friends, and an email from the race saying that the start was delayed for an hour, so they could reroute a few sections after all the rain. I was relieved to hear that they were going to protect the trails from the damage that happens when you use them when they’re wet. The importance of protecting our trails in Edmonton is something I learned early on in my trail running days. Thanks to a pretty vocal mountain bike community, the message has always been loud and clear: “Stay off wet trails.”If you are leaving a footprint or rut of any kind, the trails aren’t ready for you. Unlike trails in the mountains, our river valley trails are clay-based so the water doesn’t absorb quite the same, leaving them susceptible to drainage issues and of course footprints or ruts. This isn’t as much of a problem on the maintained paths in the city because they usually have gravel or woodchips put down. However, the single track trail system is a whole different beast. And a pretty contentious beast at that.

The mountain bike community has been working (at times fighting) with conservation groups and city developers to develop an organized and comprehensive trail plan to develop a world class trail network, as well as preserve our incredible precious Edmonton river valley. The Ribbon of Green initiative has been in the works for decades, trying to come up with a solution to develop a river valley trail system that provides something for all trail users, protects wildlife and vegetation, however it’s been a slow process with lots of diverse voices.

The Edmonton Mountain Bike Association has taken a lead on building and maintaining trails, as has approval from the city to do so in certain areas. However, there are still a lot of areas that are either not sanctioned for work by EMBA, or are in what are called ‘Preservation Areas’, sort of a grey area for trail users. And to further complicate things, trail runners don’t necessarily want the same thing from a trail that mountain bikers do. I’m fine with logs down, roots and narrow, overgrown paths. Whereas mountain bikers prioritize wider trails, berms and good sightlines. As the race director for Run On, a race that primarily uses single track trails, many in ‘Preservation Areas’, I have a huge vested interest in the conversation about trail use and protection, and am committed to ensuring our event does not negatively impact the trail system. Each year we clean, clear and reroute the course if needed, and always have a rain out route option ready to go in case the trails are too wet. Thankfully we have never had to use it.

Back to North Sun. All of the 50K racers huddled under the shelter at Emily Murphy Park and listened to Conor announce they had rerouted delicate sections on both the east and west sections of the course, and that they were confident we were good to go. I was a bit skeptical, given that it had rained for most of the night, and continued to do so as they counted down for us to start. We all took off like a stampede towards the east trail network, jostling for position before we were funneled into the first section of single track. Already, we were at a standstill at times as people struggled to gain footing on the slick hills, some people running along the grass on the side of the trail to find better footing or to pass those who were struggling. I immediately felt panicky. All those footprints we were leaving. These trails are not ok and we had no business being on them.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what happened next. Why so many of us continued on despite knowing the damage we were doing, why the race directors took so long to make decisions to reroute, why volunteers felt paralyzed to think for themselves or heed what racers were saying. Why we were all complicit in something so harmful to something we love so much.

The best explanation I can come up with is something akin to the sunk cost fallacy. Basically the inability to end something because you already feel you’ve put a lot into it and it feels too late to pivot or make a change in response to changed circumstances. I rationalized that the race directors wouldn’t send us on trails that we shouldn’t be on, even though the evidence was so obvious, and literally right under my feet; stuck on my shoes in fact. I rationalized that I am not the type to DNF; since I had started the race I had to finish. I even convinced myself that since my race season has unravelled due to the cancellation of the 100 miler I had planned, that I was entitled to finish one of the few races I had left on the calendar. Not to mention that I was told by some volunteers that I had a shot at the podium. (I didn’t, I finished 5th)

When we popped up to the paved path by McNally High School, we saw the first course marshall, my friend Chris. I told him to call the race directors immediately and let them know they shouldn’t send the 30k racers over those trails, that they were way to wet. I don’t really know what happened to that message, but I do know I repeated it to a few more course marshals and the volunteers at the first aid station in Gold Bar park. The aid station reassured me that the rest of the course was re routed and we wouldn’t be on trails we shouldn’t be on. Except that we dove right back into single track, destroying some of the most beloved mountain bike trails in the city. The course doubled back on itself when we turned to head west, and soon we started seeing the 30k racers coming towards us. While it was fun to see so many familiar faces, the devastation continued as we slid, scrambled, destroyed vegetation just so we could stay upright, and moved a whole lot of clay as it stuck to our shoes and legs. It was an absolute mud fest. I passed Conor as he trudged through the trails, pulling flagging. I found out later they did decide to send the 30k racers back on wide trails, so I assume that’s what he was doing. I could see he was upset about how bad the situation was too. I held my tongue. He didn’t need my opinion. He already knew. This was a disaster.

As I came back to the start finish line before heading out on the second half of the course to the west of Emily Murphy, I asked one of the race directors (Sarah) if there was anymore single track on that half of the course. She said yes, there was some. My heart dropped. I should have stopped. But I didn’t. Sunk cost.

They did eventually reroute the 50k racers off of Selkirk Knights trail, but only after the lead pack had already passed. They responded, but too little too late.

Afterwards Sarah told me she never imagined the consequences of inaction would be so severe. But isn’t that true, that sometimes paralysis in the face of having to make a decision can be catastrophic? It’s easy to look back in hindsight and see all the things you should’ve done, but in the moment all you see is a million what ifs and a desperate urgency to have something work out the way you planned. I get it. As a race director you obsess over every detail and think through every possibility to ensure the day runs smoothly. The thought of having to pivot to conditions has massive consequences, and there’s always the fear that you’ll make the wrong decision.

I finished strong, happy to be done and able to change into something dry, and splurge on the incredible post race tacos, doughnuts, coffee and finisher beer. But I didn’t feel good about anything that had happened out there. I immediately called my husband, an avid mountain biker, and felt I had to confess what I had just done.

The outrage from the mountain bike community was swift and indignant, and all over social media. I don’t blame them one bit. While some of them were rude, most of them, and many of us trail runners, were simply sickened at the destruction, left wondering what would happen next.

The NSU team remained silent online at first. I pictured them huddled down, crafting a careful response to the vitriol being cast their way.

The post and email came the next day. An apology. Acknowledgment of the critical error in judgment. A promise to repair.

And what happened next was incredibly beautiful.

I often work with couples and parents in therapy on how to make an effective apology. The steps are

1. Identify what you did wrong
2. Acknowledge the impact it has on others
3. Apologize sincerely
4. Identify what you should have done differently
5. Commit to repair and meaningful change for future behaviour

The North Sun team executed all those steps with grace, humility and integrity.

They owned up to making a mistake; they should have re routed or even cancelled the race, but they didn’t.

They validated the frustration from other trail users and didn’t sugar coat how much damage was done, even grieving that some damage is irreparable.

They said sorry, in lots of ways, to lots of people, including to us racers, even though we were the ones that ran through all that mud and are equally responsible.

They acknowledged the need for a better rain plan and better decision making protocol to protect trails.

And then they acted. Trail repair days and a generous donation to EMBA.

EMBA quickly organized three trail days and encourage NSU racers to sign up.

NSU race directors not only showed up to do the work, they encouraged the rest of the community to come out and do the work.

I went for one of the days, doing my best to smooth over trails, improve sight lines and drainage and learn how to do trail maintenance. We did our best to repair the trails, and most importantly the trust between trail use groups.

Trails are looking much better. And important lessons were learned about preventing damage in the future.

I’m so grateful to the NSU team for how they led with courage and integrity in the aftermath of the race. I know firsthand how difficult it is to put yourself out there to put on an event, and criticism is incredibly difficult to navigate. But my respect for the team, and this race has deepened.

And of course, so has my respect for the trails.

Let me describe for you, what it has been like to join the greatest fitness cult of all time. I’ve been dabbling for a few years now, off and on, skirting the periphery but never drinking the Kool-aid. But on the weekend of June 5-7th, we all got fully baptized into the awesomeness of November Project. And wow, what a ride that was.

Lemme explain what November Project is, so you can fully appreciate how incredible NP Summit 13 was. The premise of November Project is free, drop-in, inclusive, public workouts in interesting public spaces. There are groups that meet in 58 locations around the world, early in the morning, consistently, led by charismatic, volunteer leaders. There are chants and rituals and tagging.

Cult? Or community at its finest?

Actually, that’s a better description. This is community, and it’s a beautiful thing.

Every year, a different city hosts a ‘Summit’, kinda like the G7 Summit, except this is actually productive. Less politicians and lots of happy people. This year, the fearless NP Edmonton leaders, our very own Rob McDougall and Eric Decorby, were awarded host city for the 13th year of the November Project gathering. Leaders, and die-hard participants travel from all over to see how NP is done in another city. The idea is to share inspiration and build community; to keep NP, and it’s mantra “Just Show Up” alive and well.

Sometime last fall, I got connected with Rob and Eric to talk about putting on a race for the Summit weekend. They were looking for someone who had some race directing experience to help them out with race logistics, and we started chatting about what was possible. It was quickly clear to me that they didn’t really need me, they were so organized, and had already put in a ton of work to get sponsors, set up a website and registration, and start the permit process for the many events happening over the Summit weekend. But I also knew how much work they were taking on, and that having extra hands wouldn’t be a bad thing. So I was happy to help out.

One morning at NP, my friend Keith told me he had a great idea for the race, something that would capture the spirit of Edmonton NP perfectly. A slip n slide at the finish line. It’s an Edmonton tradition to incorporate a slip n slide into workouts on occasion and of course Rob and Eric were all over that idea too, but we were all a little skeptical that the Province of Alberta and the event staff at the Alberta Legislature Grounds, would approve it. The grounds at the legislature are pristine, and it was hard to imagine them being ok with us soaking the ground with the soapy puddle and flattening the beautiful lawn with a tarp. But I’ll never forget the smile on the event coordinator’s face when we pitched the idea. She was all in, she just needed to convince her boss’ and the grounds staff this was a good idea.

I wish I could say it was a smooth ride from there. I’m sure you can imagine the questions about liability, safety and thousands of rules we had to follow. But none of that matters, no matter how frustrating it felt at times, because hosting a race with a slip n slide finish line was worth every discussion.

We could hardly believe when we got the final approval for our race layout and planned slip in slide. At first we were limited to a flat section of ground, told to keep our water mess within the confines of the patch of grass that doubles as a skating rink in winter. But after a walk through with staff in May, they allowed us to change our site map to put the slip in slide on a hill and the rest of the site could be on the skating rink.

Some speed! Sweet. Now we’re talking.

And then with less then 72 hours before the event, the told us we had to change the entire site layout because the skating rink patch of grass was recently seeded and we couldn’t go near it. They also told us (very last minute) that since the slip in slide was going to be on a hill now, we had to line the tarps with straw bales so no one fell off or hit anything.

What?

Now this is where both Eric and Rob proved (yet again) that they are extraordinary leaders and event organizers. Instead of descending into panic (ok, there were a few ‘wtf’ texts exchanged) we just huddled down and rethought out every implication of changing the entire thing at the last minute. We had to notify every vendor and volunteer and let them know about the change to our already carefully communicated plans. We had to modify the course to make sure it still worked. We had to rethink things like power sources and flow of people and bathrooms and sound systems. We had to somehow track down, haul, store and dispose of a significant amount of bales (picture my husband and I, late Friday night, in the loft of a very old and dusty barn, throwing bales into a trailer). Even though it caused a lot of stress, the end result was absolutely phenomenal, and went off without a hitch.

So let me give you the highlights of the weekend that has already gone down in history for two reasons:

1. The first and only slip n slide ever hosted on Provincial Legislature Grounds
2. The BEST NP Summit on the books (as reported by…pretty much everyone that came)

The party started Thursday night with a yoga class on the hill and package pick up for the weekend. A couple hundred people, on a beautiful evening, doing yoga in the park overlooking the iconic Walterdale Bridge and river. Although I barely had time to look up from getting people their race kits for race day, it sure was incredible to see so many people, from all over, coming to this fine city to move their bodies and connect with each other.

Then came Friday morning at Commonwealth stairs and the energy was poppin. November Project Edmonton has somehow charmed its way into getting access to the Commonwealth football stadium every Wednesday morning in summer, to let people run the stairs and concourse as the workout. It’s the best morning of the week on any given day, and it went down as a morning to remember with 550 people jumping up and down, yelling ‘Good Morning’ with a few expletives, before climbing up and down the stadium stairs. The place was alive, bright colours, big energy, high vibes. And it wasn’t even 7 am.

A nearby hall hosted a beautiful catered breakfast and gave leaders and participants from all over, a chance to connect over coffee and scrambled eggs, and a love of fitness in community.

Friday afternoon gave out of town Summiters a chance to experience what this fine city has to offer, with several different tour options, including beer tours, ice cream walks, a canoe down the North Saskatchewan (did those people ever find their way off the river or are they somewhere in Manitoba by now?) and a hike in Elk Island Provincial Park.

Rob and Eric were buzzing. I was fussing over last minute race details (including hauling straw bales!) and out late course marking. This is the point in race directing where you feel this strange mix of peace, and gut dropping terror. Remember that ride at West Edmonton Mall in the 90’s called Drop of Doom? You know that two seconds where you are suspended at the top after an agonizingly slow ascent? That’s always what I feel like when I’m out late, flagging the course, with a friend, and a mind bursting with details the night before a race. I know the next day will be a bit of a freefall rush, but for now, for just one second, we get to pause at the top. The Oilers were in the playoff run and you could hear the city erupt with each goal, the night was perfect, the Walterdale Bridge lit in blue and orange. I felt so peaceful knowing that months of planning was all about to pay off.

Four thirty am alarm and we hit the ground running. (Not that I would be doing any actual running that day!) The next few hours were a blur of directing people, hauling stuff, setting out pylons and moving them again and again until the whole layout was perfect, checking in with course marshals to make sure everyone was in their place and ready for racers to fly by.

Rob and Eric and I looked at each other, so proud of what a cool thing we had put together and could hardly believe we had pulled it off. Of course, the slip n slide the icing on the cake of cult fitness perfection.

3-2-1 Let’s. Fucking. Go.

The race format was a relay, so even after the gun went off, there was still a good sized crowd buzzing around the grounds, enjoying the morning sun and eagerly awaiting the first runner to hit the triumphant finish with a slide down the hill. We were sure to let people know that there was a big transition zone and their time wasn’t recorded while they were in transition so they could take their time trading the chip off to the next racer. In the end, it didn’t matter anyway. We had major issues with the timing company we used and results were a mess. While we know it’s important that people get an accurate time for their hard work, we also know that the real goal out there was to race hard and have fun. And when you have a stunning course along our beautiful river valley, and the coolest finish line imaginable, results don’t matter nearly as much. Sorry if you didn’t get an accurate time. And, not sorry if you had the time of your life.

This is the 6th race I’ve had the privilege of race directing, and I think it’s as close to perfect as races can get. Was it exhausting? Yes. Was it worth every permit and discussion and insurance waiver? You betcha. Was it such a huge success because Rob and Eric are the absolute dream team of event organizers? 1000x yes.

We partied the night away at the Old Strathcona Farmers Market with live music and all our new friends. Another incredibly successful event that somehow Rob and Eric made look effortless.

The next morning I pulled my tired self out of bed to lead a trail run for those who wanted to see more of our river valley before heading home, giving us a chance to connect in a quieter more meaningful way with other NPer’s.

We (well, Eric and Rob!) received countless rave reviews about how fun the weekend was; people gushing about how well organized everything was and how inspired they were to take that energy home to fuel their own local November Project groups. Our Edmonton leaders seem to have this bottomless well of energy to promote, organize and execute the incredible community they have built with November Project Canada here in Edmonton. It’s no small thing. So much passion is poured into making NP a place where people can come together, move together and occasionally throw themselves down a hill together. That’s a cult worth joining, right?

We’ve promised our kids that for their final year of high school, they could pick a parent, pick a place and we would do our best to make the trip a reality. The kind of promise you can be flippant about when your kids are little and high school graduation seems like some other lifetime, far removed from bedtime stories and wrinkled works of art, thick with paint and hanging on the fridge. And yet here we are. My first born. My Katie. All 5lbs 3 oz of determination that made me a mother and changed my life forever. As she grinned, twirled in the mirror, and announced the blue satin grad dress was the one, the truth settled in; this was it. It’s time.

I’m not sure either of us know why her chosen destination was Italy. Maybe because she’s heard stories of when her dad and I travelled Europe in our early adulthood, or maybe some romanticized notion of rugged coastlines, cute cafe’s and markets, either way, we were both pretty excited to book 10 days to explore. “I just want to do all the touristy things” she said, too busy to spend much time researching, which was just fine with me. I knew would easily fill 10 days in a country so rich in beauty, history and, of course, food.

This year has been a blur for Katie. Every minute of her day is consumed with school, sports, theatre, her job as a hostess, her friends and boyfriend, and I feel like we hardly get to see each other beyond the occasional family dinner, late night cereal hour or as she breezes through the kitchen on her way to school.

So as we boarded the plane for her first international trip, I took a deep breath, so grateful for this time with her. However, 24 hours later I was struggling to remain grateful. An exhausting red eye with very little sleep, and a ridiculous series of planes, trains and rickety trams to finally get to our Airbnb in Rome was tough. Paired with cool rainy weather that felt even colder then the spring thaw happening at home, and we were both left feeling irritated, overwhelmed and wondering why we thought Italy in March was a good idea.

But then after a nap, we were feeling ready to get exploring. Last year, I spent an evening in Rome due to a delayed flight on my way home from Croatia, and I remembered a street, near the Trevi fountain, that felt like the perfect place to start. And then I settled in to experience one of the best parts of parenthood that is difficult to describe and easy to miss. I got a front row seat to watch her discover something completely new. She was wide eyed. The lights, the narrow streets, the uneven cobblestone and buildings, fountains, statues, older than anything she had seen before. She dove into a plate of fresh fettucine and announced it was the best she had ever tasted. And so began 10 days of eating, drinking, wandering (and a bit of running) through the incredible country of Italy.

Ok, so I know this is a run blog, and yet here I am getting all nostalgic about raising kids and eating fresh pasta. Of course I ran in Italy, but that wasn’t the focus. I solemnly swear I will be back for a run trip; next time to Courmayeur for Tor Des Geants, but for now I’ll recap the few runs that let me explore in my absolute favourite way.

Being a typical teenager, Katie was quite happy to sleep a little longer while I went out for a couple kms. How surreal to weave through narrow streets, past apartments with laundry hanging off balconies, and buildings over 1000 years old. Roman aqueducts still stand in many places, modern cars whipping through narrow streets underneath them. One morning in Rome, I was doing my best to dodge pedestrians, vehicles and scooters and came across a horrific accident. First responders were on site and I couldn’t look away quick enough to see pools of blood on the pavement and streaked down the side of a Fiat. I was ready to cut my run short, and head back to Katie, thankful I was in one piece.

My favourite run was along the coast of Sorrento, where a little exploring and a Strava heatmap took me to a gorgeous grotto early one morning. A spot normally full of swimming tourists, but all to myself.

I think I ran four times over ten days, a slow week for me, but we sure covered a lot of ground on foot everyday. Our first day in Rome we wandered all day and well into the night. Covering all the touristy things, the Forum, Coliseum, and making our way back to Trevi, Spanish Steps and of course a gorgeous Italian meal.

We spent all day absolutely in awe of the history, a little annoyed with the crowds, and completely enjoying the feeling of having nothing else to do but meander. The next day we went on a tour of the Vatican and St Peter’s Basilica. I told Katie it was sorta a shame that this was the first European church she saw, cause everything else is going to pale in comparison. She was pretty tired out from walking so much, but I managed to bribe her (with gelato) to go up to the top of the dome, 551 steps and totally worth the effort for that view. She agreed. Eventually. And yes, I Strava’d it.

We moved on that night, taking the high speed train to Florence. I texted my brother. He and his family were travelling around, visiting my niece who had been in England for the year. I knew they were in Italy the same time we were, however it didn’t look like our itineraries would overlap so we didn’t plan to coordinate anything. I asked if they had any favourite things they did in Florence. He wrote back that they were at the Duomo, less then five minutes away from where we had just finished dinner!

We met for a serendipitous gelato in the Duomo square and traded travel stories. They were just wrapping up three weeks in England, France, Switzerland and Italy. They highly recommend we do a Fiat 500 tour, saying it was ridiculously fun. Katie was skeptical I could drive a standard through the Tuscan countryside, but I took the chance, trusting my brother when he said it was worth every penny.

Damn, was he right!

The tour operator picked us up in downtown Florence, and took us to a car garage outside the city where we could pick our favourite old school Fiat 500. We were given a quick tutorial and off we went. The tour guide led the way, and we followed, careening around the corners and laughing hysterically. At one point, the brakes failed, and that’s when I realized the horn didn’t work either. We picked up speed down the hill, passing the Fiat in front of us, out of control, before I could downshift, then pull the handbrake to stop us. The tour guide laughed and said those old drum brakes did that sometimes, and he shrugged. Said we’d be fine.

Lunch at a gorgeous little farm in the Tuscan hills where they gave passengers a heavy pour on the wine, and then we had another hour or so of cruising around. We laughed so much that day.

I remember looking over at her, grinning as we passed olive and lemon trees, the sun filtering through the leaves and illuminating her hair. How lucky are we. How could that little one, who made me a mother, possibly be here, a little day drunk in Tuscany, and nearly an adult?

We spent the late afternoon wandering through the Uffizi, amongst Da Vinci’s, and Botticelli’s. Michelangelo’s and Caravaggio’s.

And of course, David. Or at least the replica on the square. A stroll past the Ponte Vecchio, back by the Duomo before a late night train to La Spezia.

Kirk and I had hiked Cinque Terre 25 years ago. Painfully young and newly in love. I had heard that its popularity had boomed since then, threatening some of its charm. However we must have been early enough in the season the crowds we were warned about were non existent on the trail, and barely noticeable in the towns.

It turned out to be one of our favourite days. A much different pace than ripping around in a Fiat, we paused to enjoy every view of those Mediterranean waters, and stopped for seafood in Corniglia for lunch. We had been warned online that the trail was closed before Riomaggiore due to trail damage. But there was no indication of that once we were out there so we just kept going. Turns out we were going straight up that mountain, instead of hugging the coastline like we should’ve. It meant we had to abandon the trail and take the bus back to Levanto to catch the train, barely making it in time. But I’ll never forget the way we laughed and ran through the tunnel towards the station, wondering how we managed to accidentally climb an extra 500m of elevation, Katie yelling over her shoulder that it felt good to run.

We settled in for another late train into Venice, headphones in, mud on her shoes, starting to feel the rhythm of European travel life.

My vague memories of Venice were that it was a dirty, smelly city with a pretty unique gimmick (the canals for streets) but not worth the trip. But Katie insisted, recalling a book she was enamoured with in elementary school, and again, the desire to do the touristy things. And Venice is certainly that. Touristy.

But wow were my impressions ever wrong. The canals were pristine, even sparkling blue, and the city was vibrant with all the charm that captivated her school girl imagination. We had a perfect day, wandering over bridges big and small, gawking at San Marcos cathedral (arguably just as gorgeous and gaudy as St. Peter’s Basillica) eating all kinds of over priced treats and of course stopping in every shop on every narrow street to gush over every beautiful thing.

This is where I sometimes look at her and wonder where she came from. Katie is a shopper and I most certainly am not. She finds endless joy in looking for the perfect purchase while I am quickly bored and even disgusted by lavish consumerism.

But it was cool and rainy during our day in Venice, and there was something about those tiny shops and the knowledge there was absolutely nothing else I had to do that made shopping with her that day, a lot of fun. Something would catch her eye and she’d give me a pleading look to go inside, then hum and haw over which friend would like which bracelet or whether that purse would match her outfit.

Other then shopping, of course we had to splurge on a gondola ride, once again giggling and posing for future IG posts, not that it needs recording, this memory is solidified.

After a long day and thirty thousand steps all over the floating city with 435 bridges, we made our way back to the Air BnB outside the city, exhausted, but so, so happy for such an incredible day.

The next day we made our way south again, this time past Rome towards Sorrento, with an afternoon stop in Pompeii. The city had already captured her imagination thanks again, to a book she had read as a child, and even though I had been there before, I was also in awe of the story, the lore, the sheer magnitude of an incredibly preserved ancient Roman city. We didn’t have a lot of time, so of course we prioritized finding the preserved bodies, huddled together in terror, and the main palazzo, excavated columns still intact.

We sang a lot of that Bastille song that day, mostly cause there were literally clouds rolling over the hills, bringing darkness from above (over Vesuvius) but also cause we are ridiculous.

She’s been so busy lately. She’s involved in a million activities and responsibilities and I can see the demands robbing her of that carefree, playful girl in blonde pigtails.

And yet here we were, half way across the world, singing, laughing at our own inside jokes, curiously exploring an entire city of ruins, imagining a life within those walls, forgetting that our life back home sometimes feels overwhelming.

We ended the day in Sorrento after taking a regional train that clattered along for an eternity, before ending in the dark and rain at the cutest Air BnB we were quite happy to crash in. Katie was exhausted. We had been covering so much ground everyday and it was catching up to both of us. So I let her sleep the next morning and I went out for a longish run (when I found the grotto!). We had booked a cooking class to make fresh pasta and tiramisu; the perfect way to spend the cool, grey day.

Again, we giggled our way through mixing eggs and flour, and running it through the pasta roller. Solemnly swearing we would only ever eat fresh pasta from this point on. (That promise was quickly broken!)

A few glasses of wine, a lot of amazing food, and laughs with new friends in the class left us ready to have a slow afternoon and evening wandering the streets and hitting up the top rated restaurant in town. How we had space for more fresh pasta is a mystery.

I’m not gonna try and understand it.

I’m just gonna enjoy that it happened.

We packed as much as we could into our last day of travel, visiting both Positano and Amalfi. Those tiny towns built into the cliffs are playgrounds for the incredibly wealthy, flooded with the rest of us, salivating over the beauty and dreaming of what it would be like to get to call those cliffs and beaches home.

Katie and I just strolled, taking it all in. Doing our best to pause time. Well, at least I was trying to pause time. But I have the privilege of looking back on my life and feeling content, able to just enjoy the moment. I’m not sure she feels the same way.

I know she’s itching to get out on her own, and wow is she ever ready. Yet I also know she’s feeling the pressure of what to do next, how to make it all work. How to do it all.

I sometimes worry I’ve set her up for unrealistic expectations with the way I’ve lived my life. I hope she also sees how much I’ve had to use self compassion, rest, accept ‘good enough’ and move on. And I hope she doesn’t push herself so hard she misses moments like this.

Sitting on the sun-warm rocks, eating lemon sorbet in the sun, watching the turquoise waves.

Our journey home was a long one. A bus, a regional train, a high speed train, airport train, Ubers and three flights. We were tired. And she started thinking about how busy the next few months would be for her as she barrels towards graduation.

But for now, just for a minute, I look over at the gorgeous young woman beside me.

Not my little 5lb peanut anymore.

A few days later she is mulling over her options for life after grad. She tells me she would like to prioritize some trips on her own, maybe with friends, maybe a year abroad. I know this is a marker of incredible privilege, one I suspect this next generation may struggle to experience given how the economy is changing. But I sure hope she can get out and explore on her own and see how big this world really is.

Now, please enjoy a series of incredible Italian food pics!

A text comes in from my friend Shelley “what are you doing March 7-9th?”

She calls me immediately, giggling, and I can hear she’s not alone. She’s in the car with Julia and Jenny and they are bursting with excitement. Shelley announces that Jenny had won a race entry for Moab Run the Rocks but wasn’t able to use it, so she gave it to Shelley instead. But then Shelley won an entry for herself, and how lucky am I that she chose me as her plus one.

“But I don’t want to steal you from Tania!”

That problem was short lived as Tania quickly bought an entry for herself.

Cue adventure planning.

Shelley went all out and booked 4 hotel room options and wrote out all possible flight configurations and I pretty much went into shut down mode. This ‘free’ trip was getting pretty costly, especially once you factor in the brutal exchange rate. Then the chaos south of the border and pressure to boycott all things American had me questioning if this was a good idea.

But it’s Moab. And Moab doesn’t feel like it’s a part of this planet, much less a part of the dumpster fire of American politics. And then an even better travel plan began to take shape. We would borrow my parents new camper van named Thor and make it an epic road trip, eliminating the need to spend money on flights, rental cars, accommodations and expensive meals out. I’ve always wanted to be a camper-van-trail-runner and as Shelley and I set out early Wednesday morning before the race it looked like that dream was about to come true.

Usually I get chauffeured around by Kirk who loves to drive (while I nap) but this time I was behind the wheel for most of the 22 hour drive down there. We broke it up with a short couple hours of sleep outside Salt Lake City which was followed by a harrowing snowy drive over the pass after Provo. I’m not usually phased by winter road conditions, but this felt pretty sketchy driving such a heavy, 2 wheel drive beast.

Needless to say it was pretty exciting to make it safely to Moab and of course I fell in love all over again with that town. I’ve been lucky enough to be there twice before, once with the family to mountain bike before running Rim2Rim2Rim of the Grand Canyon and once for a completely spiritual desert experience while running Moab 240. Both those experiences were so incredible that I sort of wanted to leave those memories untouched, and never come back. But here I was, ready for a whole new way to experience the place that has shaped a part of who I am. There’s something about that orange dust that just sticks with you.

We stocked up on groceries, sure to do our best to only purchase non-American products as a part of our own quiet political rebellion, and then drove Thor to the tiny airport outside Moab to pick Tania up from the airport (she couldn’t get away early enough to drive with us).

We spent the rest of the day traipsing all over those desert rocks, hiking around Dead Horse Point and finding Mesa arch. The sky was moody grey. So different from the usual clear blue over orange rocks I’ve only ever known. We were having such a great time we opted to skip the pre race meeting and happy hour. It was just too intoxicating being out there, barely a soul in sight, knowing we had the freedom to stop wherever we wanted to sleep for the night.

Once the sun set, the clouds cleared and the wind died down, and we parked at the campground that was the start/finish line, also known as ‘Chillville’ in TransRockies lingo.

All three of us had plenty of room to sleep because the bed can be made up as a king sized and we are all petite women. And damn was that ever handy to get to sleep in, avoid the long line of cars trying to get to the race, and stumble out of the van all ready to run.

We met up with Edmonton friends Jen and Soren at the start line. They were both running the ‘full pint’ with me. For each of the three days of the stage race, there was a ‘full pint’ option (19k, 39k, and 22k) or a ‘half pint’ option (14k, 28k, 12k). Shelley and Tania were doing the half pint, and started their race a bit later then I did. The tried and true TransRockies formula we knew so well from running the six day stage race in Colorado in 2023, was happening again. This time surrounded by millions of strange rock formations instead of the Rockies. The start line energy was intoxicating as ‘Highway to Hell’ sent us off into the desert, the sun gaining power even though the air was quite cold.

The distance passed too quickly that first morning. I was so excited to be running those trails again I didn’t want it to end. The La Sal mountains were in full view in the distance and I couldn’t stop gushing over how beautiful it all was. I crossed the finish line minutes after Tania did and she came rushing over to pull me towards a new friend she wanted me to meet. “Kevin wants to meet you! He ran Moab 240 too and wants to talk about it”

I get it. I want to talk about it too. Even though this weekend is a completely different type of event and I wanted to be fully present, I couldn’t help but stare out at those mountains and remember what it was like to climb Geyser pass, over 3000m, after already covering 200 miles, and know that I still had a long ways to go. How deep I had to dig to keep forward movement, to maintain singular focus for 101 hours. Of course I wanted to talk about it. And as we both stood there in the busy crowd, music pumping and beer already flowing (was it even noon by then?), I immediately recognized someone else who was as enamoured with those La Sal’s and the whole experience as I was. But it felt out of place to be nostalgic, and there was plenty of good times happening all around me that I was also pretty pumped to start making new memories.

“Great to meet you Kevin. Enjoy this very different desert run”

Back to Chillville.

We stuck around to cheer on our other friends finishing up their races, and our Edmonton crew and Marty and his boy band from Saskatchewan, left the good vibes of Chillville to find more adventures at Arches National Park.

If you’ve never been, it’s an absolute must see. I’ll just leave these pictures here so you can decide for yourself.

After happy hour, the race meeting for the next day and watching the race video highlights from the morning, we found a hot tub and then steered Thor to the start line for day 2.

Day 2 is the biggest day with some decent elevation and gorgeous views. Unfortunately I was struggling to feel good. Every now and then my heart feels off. I don’t know how to explain it (and yes I’m getting it checked out) but some days I just don’t feel right. Day 2 was one of those days. I struggled to settle into an easy rhythm and my heart rate felt high the whole time. Nevertheless, climbing over the mesa and towards the trails of Gemini bridges was a stunning way to spend the day.

I made a few friends out there and even caught up with Tania at the aid station where the full and half pint distances converged. She was ready to go when I got the aid station and told me she’d start and I’d catch up. Nope. That girl took off like a shot! Running back up the mesa much faster then I could, and by some miracle, her sometimes problematic knees felt good enough to bomb down the other side towards the finish line. We were both pretty happy with our performances that day and sat around the finish line to watch the Chillville party unfold and wait for Shelley to come in.

Just another day of living the dream.

We were tired out after a big day and opted to limit our adventures to the scenic drive up highway 128 for views that leave you feeling kinda small as you stare up at the massive canyon walls on either side of the Colorado River. We finished the afternoon with a stroll through the town of Moab.

Happy hour, video re-cap from the day and race briefing for tomorrow. TransRockies sure knows how to keep that ship running smoothly.

Once again, we parked Thor at the start/finish for the next days’ race and enjoyed a delicious dinner and the starry skies.

The full pint runs 22km on day 3, and it actually turned out to be my favourite course. Instead of mesa climbs and windy trails around lil cacti, this time it took you across slick rock and very technical trails that felt like parkour at times. Also brutally hard. Like, not ‘difficult’ hard, but hard like concrete, that left my lower legs and feet feeling beat up by the end. The frequent cheer squads and fireball shots helped and before I knew it I was crossing my last finish line for Moab Run the Rocks.

Chillville was in full swing as most of the half pint racers were done well before the full pinters, but this time I was struggling to get into party mode. I was feeling overwhelmed with all that sensory input and was at a total mismatch to everyone else.

Sometimes that just happens. Meh.

The party wrapped up quickly and we sadly had to take Shelley to the tiny Moab airport. She had to fly home early because she couldn’t miss her flight to Mexico. Yes, she is very hard done by.

Bye Shelley. We will miss you. We were having such a blast with our little trio in Thor, it just wasn’t the same without her.

Tania and I had time for one more adventure before tackling the long drive home so we said goodbye to Moab and drove further to into the desert, through Goblin State park to Little Wildhorse Canyon. I knew about it because my husband and two of my kids hiked it after I ran in 2022. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to join them because my feet were so sore and blistered I couldn’t even put on shoes, much less hike the 15km of the canyon. I sat at the trailhead for hours and watched the sun set instead.

But their pictures and trail stories made me add it to my bucket list, and am I ever glad I did.

We pretty much had the place to ourselves as we hiked, scrambled and climbed our way through the slot canyon. The trail goes up Little wild horse canyon for 5 km of narrow trail, with towering canyon walls and rocks wedged into them. I did my best to not think about that movie ‘127 hours’.

Then you can follow a connector trail to Bell Canyon, an equally impressive slot canyon walk back to the trail head.

I highly recommend this adventure. It’s an easy introduction to canyoning, and out of the way enough that it doesn’t have big crowds other canyons might.

Another trailhead dinner in Thor and just another evening watching the sun disappear and the stars come out over that vast desert.

I didn’t want it to end. But we both have plenty of reasons to get home, so we steered Thor northbound, back to the country I love more and more everyday, and of course back to my family and very full and beautiful life I’ve built there.

We made it home without incident, and 100% fully convinced that van life is going to be in my future.

While it wasn’t a race I had on my radar, Moab Run the Rocks once again proved that TransRockies race series has done a fantastic job of perfecting the stage race experience. Gorgeous location, great party and of course so many incredible people we got to share the experience with.

I admit, there was a few times I questioned if we were in over our heads. Was this trail too hard? Too long? Our packs too heavy? Were the kids still too young to take on one of the most difficult treks in the world?

The children of an ultra runner who knows no limits, and a mountain biker who knows no fear, get dragged on all kinds of adventures their peers would never dream of, but there were moments I questioned if even we belonged out there on the rugged coast with our kids.

Just the thought of packing enough food for six days on the trail to feed five athletes was overwhelming. And indeed the weight of all that food felt crushing as we shrugged our packs on and walked from the Parks Canada office at the Gordon River trailhead, to the boat that was waiting to escort us to the gruelling south end of the world renowned West Coast Trail.

The first camp site is an alleged 5km in, but we were warned it took people from 5-10 hours.

“What?” I scoffed, “How can anyone possibly move so slowly?”

How quickly I was humbled.

Clearly, years of ultra running has distorted my perception of distance, but a 40lb pack brought me back to focus as the reality of ladders, roots, rocks and mud on the meandering trail took us over 5 hours to our first spot for the night. Just over 1km per hour.

How are we possibly going to cover another 70 “WCT” kilometres in 5 more days? I use quotation marks because we started to qualify the distance we covered each day by “WCT” kilometres vs the much longer distances recorded on our Garmin. Garmin told us we went closer to 90km over the week instead of the 75km the maps showed.

The first night was chilly and the tide was rolling in as we quickly set up camp and devoured our first dehydrated meal at Thrasher cove. By midnight, the tide had risen so high I was peeking out the tent to check if the waves were going to sweep us away because it sounded so loud. I struggled to quiet my mind about all the potential disasters we could face this week and toss and turned all night, while the waves retreated and an otter family skittered around our tents.

Day two brings one of the pinch points where timing of the tide becomes crucial for safe passage. From Thrasher Cove we needed to cover 3 km of scrambling over boulders to get to Owen point by low tide at noon. Given our painstaking pace the day before, we weren’t sure how realistic it was.

Scaling massive boulders and climbing over driftwood cedars, we made it to Owen’s Point in decent time, and even opted to eat lunch there to kill time and allow the water level to drop a little more to make passing the point easier. Noodles, Whale watching and soaking up the warming sun, thinking maybe we would be ok.

Thankfully the kids were proving to be absolute rock stars about the challenge, and were navigating the terrain with bravery and positive attitudes all around. A ways past Owen’s Point, we saw the hanging bouys in the trees, signalling that it was time to go from the beach back to the trail where it seemed like we entered an alternate moss-covered universe where time slowed down and distance warped into unmeasurable units.

After another long day, at what felt like an impossibly slow pace, we took a cable car across a river and popped back onto the shore at Camper Bay, a beautiful camp spot tucked away amongst towering trees.

We had been warned that Day 3 was the ‘Ladder Day’ and we would need to get our arms ready to work hard. There had already been plenty of ladders to climb, in addition to bridges, cable cars and boardwalks that help make the trail a possibility amidst such dense vegetation and so many creek crossings.

Unfortunately, it appeared that there had been little to no trail maintenance done on any of the infrastructure since the last time I completed the trail in 2004. Many of the boardwalks, especially on the south end, where the forest is especially dense and boggy, are completely rotted and reclaimed by the mud. Some of the ladders have loose or missing rungs, and several of the bridges are collapsed, forcing hikers to traverse sections by balancing on fallen logs several feet off the ground. Trail maintenance issues have been an ongoing part of the tension between Parks Canada and First Nations groups the trail passes through since the trail first became popular for hikers in the late 1970’s. It’s a complicated situation where issues of colonization, environmental protection, recreation and indigenous sovereignty collide. Sadly, the complexity of the issue has resulted in a world class trail (which hikers pay a lot of money to access!) turning into a safety hazard, and even an embarrassment and environmental tragedy in areas where the forest is being trampled to avoid hiking though huge boggy mud pits. I’m not suggesting the trail should become a 75km boardwalk with no element of risk or challenge, and I think most hikers would agree that the difficult trail is part of the allure of the adventure. However, in the interest of continued environmental protection and safe passage for hikers, I hope the issues are resolved and much needed maintenance continues.

Day 3, the ‘Ladder Day’ was a minefield of dilapidated infrastructure , mud, mud and more mud. It was the only day of our whole trip with a little bit of rain, but the soggy spring so far meant that the sun had not had a chance to dry the trail up at all.

It was starting to take its toll on the kids. At one point, Katie stood over a huge bog, struggling to balance on a slippery log, and whispers through her tears of frustration that she wanted to go home. Tegan and Levi were also getting frustrated having to navigate so many difficult sections and so many long ladders, getting us down and then back up sections of the rugged coastline. Kirk and I looked at each other across the bog, shrugged, questioning what the heck we were doing.

Another element of the trail is a few places you have to jump over a surge channel, a narrow inlet in the rocks that the ocean waves slam into, sending the water up and down the channel with incredible speed.

The mandatory safety video warns you to undo you backpack clips in case you fall in so it won’t pull you under. I watched as each of my kids leaped over the channel, each expressing various degrees of fear, each doing it anyway. All of us proud as we made it to the other side.

We were rewarded that night with the most spectacular campsite all to ourselves at Bonilla point. It featured a waterfall, creek, a fern covered cave and a campsite that fostered the fantasy that we were shipwrecked on a deserted island.

That became the tipping point for trail difficulty and we knew we would make better time on Day 4. With a nice dose of beach walking and less trail sections, we covered 27km that day, including a much anticipated stop at Nitinaht Narrows, the only glimpse of civilization along the trail. Continuing on the trail requires a short boat ride across Nitinaht Lake, and at the boat launch is a small canteen that offers fresh crab, potatoes, grilled cheese and other snacks. We arrived late in the afternoon, worried we would miss the last boat and so exhausted that if we had, we probably would’ve happily paid the exorbitant fees to camp at Narrows campsite. Instead we used our cash to buy loaded baked potatoes and a freshly caught crab-to-go.

A couple more difficult kms on trail and we arrived at Tsusiat falls as the sun was starting to get low on the horizon. We scrambled to set up camp and start cooking, so we could enjoy our meal (there was never enough food in the pot!) while the sun set. We shared a fire with some other hikers and climbed into bed to the lullaby of waves rolling up the beach.

We had been told that a dip in the pool below Tsusiat falls was an absolute must before we packed up and carried on, so even though the sun was barely gaining warmth, and the water was freezing, we dove in to swim behind the falls for a very refreshing couple of minutes. Giggling and shrieking the whole time.

Day 5 was our last full day and night on the trail, the challenges of the south end of the trail were forgotten, and spirits were high as we set off for a gorgeous day of clear skies and a lot of beach walking.

Grey whales spouting to our left, bald eagles overhead, lush forest to our right. Our packs were lighter, our legs were stronger. I felt like I was watching the layers of societal pressure and anxiety peel away from my kids. Flakes of self-doubt shedding, falling to mix with the sand, waiting to be absorbed by the sea. Hair tucked into messy braids, skin salty, nails gritty, those girls have never looked more beautiful.

How can we capture this feeling so we can mix it into our lives back home? Why does it take 5 days of no cellphones and schedules before our nervous systems settle to the rhythm of the sun and waves? Must it take a heavy pack and impossible trail for them to see just how strong they really are?

We end the day early, setting up camp while the sun was still high and pushing temperatures into the 30’s. The extra time allows us to explore a bit, the kids disappear together to find driftwood for a fire and Kirk and I are left at camp, watching grey whales roll in the shallow water within 40 feet of shore, scraping barnacles off their backs in a dance of rolling fins and tails.

Kirk starts yelling, pointing at the water. A pod of orcas racing and jumping as they travel by, slowing briefly as if to give us a better look. We start running down the beach, yelling to get the kids attention to look out. They are already staring, mouths gaping, the significance of this moment is not lost on them.

A national parks conservation officer was camping nearby to monitor bear activity in the area, and she was nearly bursting with excitement, telling us it must be a transient pod, an extremely rare sighting, and that they are likely on the hunt.

The rest of the night passes with us sitting around the fire, watching the grey whales continue to roll among the quiet water. We are mostly being ridiculous together; my favourite way to be, and a few moments of silence as we soak it all in. Driftwood smoke floating like thoughts unsaid between us. That’s ok. Not everything needs words.

The next morning, Kirk snuck out and packed up early to tackle the last 12km at a quicker pace so he could catch the mid day shuttle bus back to the truck at the south end, and could leave the kids and I to slowly make our way out.

We took full advantage of the morning, laying around in the sun, enjoying the last moments of beach life, before packing up and heading onto the trail. The last 12km is the easiest of the whole trail. Well manicured and dry; a real walk in the park.

Lunch was at Carmanah lighthouse where the friendly lighthouse keeper came out to say hi and to share stories of his solitary life.

A short and entertaining visit to the sea lions covering the rocks nearby, and then back to the trail to finish the day.

More ladders, even though we could see Pachena Bay where the trail ends. Patience was running out.

And then, just like that, the trail was done. The trail head hut was closed for the day, so we plopped our bags down on the picnic table out front and pulled out our last, carefully rationed snacks. A few Mike N Ike’s and a handful of Skittles shared between us. A couple hours to kill before Kirk would make his way back to us on the windy forestry roads.

We had barely finished our candy when a mama black bear and her two cubs popped out of the bushes, about 50ft away from where we were sitting. I quieted my own mama bear instincts once I saw she wasn’t too interested in us, and we picked up our bags and relocated to the beach a ways away to give her lots of space to do her thing.

We sprawled out on the sand and dozed off for a couple hours, getting up only to dip in the water and to find ice cream at the campground nearby. We were still pretty far from civilization, so we’re pretty grateful for the little campground convenience store and the cash I had tucked into my backpack.

Kirk arrived with the truck at about 8pm and we made the 1.5 hr drive to Port Alberni where we found some burgers for dinner and an absolutely adorable hostel that thankfully had enough beds for us.

This trip was years in the making and hopefully represents a core memory for the kids, a permanent reminder of the strength they already have, and the beauty that’s worth finding even if it’s a struggle.

I also hope the trail continues to be cared for in a way that can keep it wild enough to maintain the element of adventure, but protected enough that hikers don’t destroy this incredibly beautiful place. And wouldn’t it be cool if one day, the next generation gets to experience the trail for themselves in another few decades.

I couldn’t resist. The lure of 4 days of backcountry, blisters and blinding headlamps is where I feel alive; where I belong. I knew that I didn’t want to tackle the entire Divide 200 again this year because I needed a quieter year to be with family, focus on my career and give my body a much-needed rest. And yet, I also knew I wanted to be a part of the magic of a 200-mile adventure, so I was pumped when I was asked by a couple people to pace them on their journey.

For those who don’t know, a ‘pacer’ is allowed to accompany a runner during a very long race. Usually, the racer is allowed to pick up a pacer after they have covered about 70 miles or so on their own and then can complete the race with company until the end. The role of a pacer sounds simple enough; keep your racer company and don’t get lost. But let me assure you, from someone who has paced, and used pacers many times, how important that role is. I am sure I would not have finished some big races if it weren’t for my pacers.

I was asked to pace my friend Matthew, who paced me at the Divide last year and ran the Canadian Death Race with me this year, and Stuart, a friend from Saskatchewan I met last year at the Divide where we shared some pretty magical and definitely delusional hours together towards the end of the race.

It was also important to me to volunteer while I was there because I know how hard it is to cover all the shifts required for such a long race. It worked well to coordinate my volunteer shift with when I knew I could start pacing with Stuart. I also know how important volunteers are when you are racing, how meaningful it is when they offer you something hot in the middle of the night, or help you fill your water so you can sit for a minute and tend to your feet. Some are even brave enough to help peel your shoes off to uncover the most horrific foot care situations imagineable. Again, I knew that I wouldn’t have finished my big races without the help from volunteers on course.

Unfortunately, after a tough first day out there, Matthew pulled from the race, cutting my pacing duties in half. He was sleeping on the couch in the AirBnb when I snuck out at 5 am for my volunteer shift on the second day of the race. He apologized that I came all this way and wouldn’t get to pace. It’s all good. These things happen. There was still a lot of adventure waiting for me out there.

I drove to a pin drop location after following a relentlessly rutted road, and parked. There was no one in sight, no aid station supplies, and no cell service. I waited in the grey morning air until other volunteers emerged from the fog. Still no supplies. We chatted instead, swapping stories of other races, eager to get going. Hours later a truck shows up with a trailer full of gear for us to set up, and I am blown away by the sheer logistics of putting on a race of that magnitude.

One of my concerns after completing the race last year, was that the remote aid stations did not have adequate food, making long stretches between crew spots very challenging. So I was happy to see the menu had improved considerably. However, now on the other side of the experience, I saw how much work it was to provide meatballs, quesadillas, burgers, sandwiches etc. and I felt a flush of shame for complaining. Everyone works so hard to make sure the racers are cared for, and yet I was complaining I didn’t have warm soup at 2 am at a remote aid station that is only accessible by a 4×4 vehicle.

Now, here I was, on the other side of the experience, tending to racers as they came through, rushing to fill packs, serve food, asking what else they need. I loved to hear other crew and volunteers speak with such awe about the racers; everyone united with the common goal of shuffling those few hearty souls onwards to the finish line. Some said they remember watching my tracker last year, even though they didn’t know me, they were rooting for me.

I had no idea. I mean, I knew that my crew was supportive and that some friends back home were following along. But I had no idea that the Sinister staff, volunteers and even other crew members were so invested in other racers’ success. What an incredibly humbling experience. How often in life are there others working tirelessly to contribute to our success without us even knowing? And how often do we have the privilege of doing that for someone else?

After a long and soul-filling day at Check Point 7, Stuart came through at about midnight, ready to continue into the dark and rainy night together. Off we went. My energy level much higher than his, but that big smile I remember from mile 180 last year was just as bright.

The night was cold, the rain continued. The slow but steady hike had me worried about us staying warm enough, so I pulled out my emergency rain poncho to put over my down jacket. Stuart laughed at how ridiculous it looked. It was worth it though, it created a nice little sauna for me and kept me warm and dry. After a while, he relented and put his poncho on too and we laughed at the absurdity of our cheap plastic bags over layers of expensive run gear.

The night eased into the low clouds of morning as we headed south towards Coleman. A rockslide echoed across the otherwise eerily silent air, stopping us in our tracks to marvel at the sheer power the mountain unleashed and I was once again reminded of how fragile we are against the wildness around us. I was thankful I wasn’t alone.

A particularly difficult section at Window Mountain Lake that I remembered from last year, was once again difficult even with fresh legs and daylight. Stuart was handling it flawlessly, still smiling his tired smile, still moving really well for being 125 miles in but as the familiar outline of Seven Sisters and Crowsnest mountain came into view, I could tell his fatigue was setting in. At that point in the race, the prospect of how far you still have to travel can feel soul-crushing. I did my best to validate, comfort, distract and be patient. I encouraged him to eat, to enjoy the stunning view. I didn’t even notice what was going on for me out there, all my effort went into keeping him moving forward and navigating the rollercoaster of emotion that came with it; whether that was keeping him in good spirits, or staying there with him for the lows. I thought of the countless times my pacers did the same for me. Just be there. Isn’t that what we all need?

That is what has me absolutely enamored with this sport, especially 200 milers. The comraderie that comes from knowing you are out there with so many other people, journeying for the same purpose. In your own way. At your own pace. But connected in a way that can only come from struggle. From triumph.

It’s a beautiful metaphor for the way we journey through the rest of our lives. Often feeling like the only ones in the wild, sometimes travelling with someone that can help us feel safer, always knowing there are other brave souls soldiering on even if we can’t see them. Do we realize the number of people out there checking on us? Cheering for us? Waiting in that same wild for us to stop by for something warm and some encouragement as we pass?

I finished my pacer section after about 15 hours on the trail with him and said goodbye. I went back to the AirBnb to shower and climb into a warm bed while he continued on for another 30+hrs after I left, in worsening conditions on difficult trails. Even though I have done it before, I couldn’t fathom how it was possible for anyone to complete something so massive, so formidible. And yet here I was, on the other side of The Divide, cheering with all the other volunteers and support crews, to will those trackers to inch forward along the map, moving ever closer to that finish line where they will stand, knowing they are different people then they were 200 miles ago.

After a few years of prioritizing big races, I decided to take an easier year to give my body a break and to focus on my new career as a psychologist. Last year, I won a Sinister race entry while running a leg on the top women’s relay team at Sinister 7, so I decided to use my entry to run Canadian Death Race this year. I hadn’t been to the race since 2019 when I ran on a relay team and crewed for Tania when she soloed, so I was excited for a new course that would feel like enough of a challenge to keep me interested, but not so much of a challenge that it would leave me exhausted like running 200 milers do.

I was feeling a little underprepared for the climbs on this race because I had not gotten the kind of elevation training I had hoped for following my spring marathon in Vancouver. Other than a mountain day with friends and Sinister 7 50k, I had mostly been running Edmonton trails and riding my bike (to Manitoba! but that’s a very flat story for a different blog post).

But mostly I was excited to be toeing the line with so many run friends from our incredible run community, and having Kirk, our two youngest kids, and our new puppy Yukon along for his debut to the world of crewing.

I’ve raced enough to have learned that there is no point in getting overly anxious about the start line, but I also knew that I should not underestimate how difficult this race would be, so I had the appropriate amount of buzzy energy as the gun went off that morning. All in all it was shaping up to be an incredible day chasing mountain summits.

Five years ago, I ran Leg 1 with Tania to start her off on her solo day out there before crewing for her for the rest of the race. Fast forward, and here we were, in reversed roles, starting out on Leg 1 together again. We couldn’t help but reminisce as we ran, about how much things had changed, and about how some things hadn’t. Tania joked that my hair had been through a lot but now was back as long as it was before the accident and we both shared a sense of nostalgia about what newbie ultrarunners we were in 2019, and how there was something enviable about that first time feeling neither of us will ever experience again. The good thing about not being a newbie runner anymore was that I was feeling fully confident I would finish the race and enjoy the day. Instead of feeling stressed at the start of the race I got to spend it chatting with Tania, although perhaps that shows we weren’t working hard enough?

The transition area after Leg 1 is absolute chaos and I could tell Kirk was a little frazzled having to juggle four kids, a puppy and get my race bin ready to get me out on Leg 2 as quickly as possible. Sunscreen, watermelon, Yukon snuggles and off I went to climb Flood mountain. The course is still pretty busy at this point thanks to all the relay teams, soloists and all the people doing the Near Death Marathon, so I seemed to find friend’s to run with for much of Leg 2, including when my friend Matthew caught up to me before passing me on a climb. The view from Flood mountain was gorgeous and the day was heating up. Racers slowed as everyone scrambled down Bum Slide on the descent before heading over to the second big climb of the day up Grande Mountain. I had done this section of the trail once before on a training weekend with friends so I knew what to expect. I remembered struggling with the very steep descent off of Grande Mountain, very unoriginally named ‘powerline’ (because…well, it’s obvious isn’t it?) but the steep grade and loose rocks that were a struggle for me the last time, weren’t an issue for me today. I was feeling pretty confident and was able to trust my shoes would keep me upright. My toenails probably won’t last, but at least I didn’t bite the dust on that section.

Leg 2 finishes back in the town of Grande Cache, making it much easier for crew. Kirk and Tania were looking relaxed and happy this time, the kids were busy swimming at the pool nearby, and Yukon was tired out from the hot day.

Matthew came in a few minutes after I did, and after we both loaded up on ice to combat the heat, we set out on the easy Leg 3 together. By now the course was quiet because we had passed the 42 km mark and those doing the Near Death Marathon were done. A quiet course means a greater chance for wildlife encounters, so I was so happy for the company, in fact, we both agreed we would be a good match to spend the rest of the race together which honestly was a huge relief to me to not have to worry about bears or cougars. Apparently, the people on the trail ahead of us saw a cougar towards the end of Leg 3, which means I assume the cougar saw us, but as long as I survived the one-sided encounter, ignorance is bliss and is just fine with me.

At the next transition, Kirk proudly presented me with the most perfect grilled cheese sandwich I had ever seen, winning him the gold medal in the “crewing mediocre ultrarunners” event. At least one of us is winning these things.

Even though I’m not new to the Alberta ultrarunning scene, I have been missing out on a pretty legendary piece of the culture; the climb on Mount Hamell. It lives up to its reputation of being the toughest part of the Death Race with a long, steady climb through the trees, until you pop above the treeline and can see the summit, still a long ways away. My lack of elevation training was showing as I slowed considerably as the climb wore on, which was a little frustrating, but a great reminder that you can only get out of a race what you put into it. The truth is, I didn’t put enough into this training cycle and now it was showing, but at least that didn’t take away from the stunning view, getting the Death Race coin to use as passage to cross the river, stopping for a minute to honour the prayers on the prayer flags in the perfect lighting. These are the moments that make the tired legs worth it.

The sun was setting on the cruise-y descent and we were both still feeling good as we hit Ambler loop, a 5km loop trail that seems a little pointless but also gives you access to the aid station twice in a short amount of time.

I’m not one to complain about bonus snack access. Especially when that loop is followed by a 7km gravel road with an easy downhill grade. We made up some good time even though I’m not sure either of us felt like running quickly by that point, but it felt like when it was that easy, we should probably take advantage of the opportunity.

We were pretty happy to get into the transition after Leg 4, and I naively believed that Leg 5 was an easy 19k with a fun little boat ride to the finish line. I thought a sub 20 hour was within reach. Nope. I was pretty wrong about that. There was a lot more climbing and single track then I thought and a couple minutes lost because a young guy on a relay team in front of us thought he heard a bear beside him so he turned and ran back. Buddy, the first rule of bears is don’t turn and run. No worries though, we bunched up as a group of four and passed the alleged bear without incident. Through the famous Split Rock, and finally, we reached the aid station at Sulphur gates. The trees opened up enough for us to look up and get a good view of the incredible northern lights overhead. Yep, how lucky are we, to get northern lights like that on the night we happen to be up all night running.

A short trail from the aid station to the river where Charon was waiting to collect your Death Race coin to allow your passage across the River Styx. Ok, it was actually my friend Rob and two guys in a boat across the Smoky River under Sulphur Gates, but still a pretty iconic experience. I think Rob was supposed to stay in character and hold out his hand for the coin in silence, but he couldn’t help but pipe up “Oh hi Janelle! Hi Matthew! Good to see you guys!” in his usual cheery voice, not death-like at all. The boat ride was too short, and I was disappointed we were back on the trail and climbing again. I was tired, and getting frustrated that now that all that fun stuff was done we were still climbing. I was ready to be done, but that means nothing out there.

I don’t get to adapt the course to my will, instead I have to adapt to the course. Be flexible. Keep going. Channel that frustration into forward motion.

I said goodbye to a sub 20 hour finish as the trail dragged on and on. And that final gravel road climb back into town? That felt sort of cruel. But then, as all difficult challenges do, the climb ended, we were in town and there was Tess, Matthew’s partner, wrapped in a blanket and waiting for us on the sidewalk in front of their AirBnB which happened to be on the course, less then a km from the finish line. She cheered us as we passed, then hopped in her car to meet us at the finish while we picked up the pace for those amazing last few minutes out there on course.

So many friends, my middle daughter, and Kirk waited at the finish, (but no Yukon, he was back in the tent with my son, tuckered out from his long day of new experiences) as Matthew and I crossed under the arch with big stupid grins on our faces. What an honour to race such a keystone event on the Alberta ultrarunning scene, with such perfect weather, a great race partner and a show of northern lights to light the way.

A few hours later, I got to join the line of all the previous Death Racers as they welcomed new finishers to the club. A lot of people were surprised I had never done this race before, yet there I was, being welcomed by so many friends, and finally able to call myself a true, Canadian Death Racer.

There was so many beautiful northern lights pictures taken by others while I was running!