It was the 90’s. Two awkward teens travelling east with their families. One named Kirk, in a Chevy van with a bed in the back, on a mission to get to Prince Edward Island to see family in 1995. One named Janelle, in a navy-blue Chevy Celebrity with camping gear jammed in every corner, on a mission to find the Atlantic in 1994.

Ok, so you probably really don’t care about our worn-out childhood stories of family vacations, but I share that tidbit to say that both Kirk and I really wanted to take our kids on a similar adventure now that they were at the perfect age for travelling. I remember that trip as one of the last big adventures we went on all together. After that summer, my travels were mostly with friends, or backpacking trips with my dad and brother that my mom opted out of. By 16 I was in Ecuador, then working summer camps, and by 18, I was off travelling Europe which is where I met Kirk. Summer of ’94/’95 Cross Canada was a defining trip for both Kirk and I so it felt symbolic to re-create that with our own family.

This trip was planned for 2020, then 2021, and although we made the most of those summers with local trips and lots of mountain time, we were sickened to watch our window of opportunity quickly narrowing thanks to a pandemic far outside our control. Our babies are growing up too fast. Katie is 15, which means that her subsequent summers will be filled with her own friends, jobs, and travel stories that won’t involve her parents as much. Already she is balking at many of the things we do together. So, with restrictions completely gone and our collective return to happier days, we jumped at the chance to make the Schultz Family Cross Canada Road Trip become a reality.

Our trip sort of started this April when we put our feet in the Pacific Ocean on Kitscoty beach while on a trip to Vancouver for Diez Vista 50k. We drove there in our truck with the bikes on the back and stayed in an Air Bnb.

We knew that hotel stays are outside our budget for the eastern part of our journey, and our preferred option to camp felt like a logistical nightmare, (not to mention the agony of a month of crappy tent sleeping). With a goal departure date of July 1^st, that left us with 3 months to come up with a plan for how we were going to get to the Atlantic. We looked into truck rooftop tents, Thule for our Jeep, pulling a trailer, but nothing felt right.  After a few days going down the Kijiji rabbit hole, we found Harry from Vegreville and his 1981 Chevy Class ‘C’ van. For a steal of a price and a lot of vision for her potential, we named our new RV ‘Classy Van-nessa’ and set about making her our new home.

It was a team effort, but who are we kidding it was mostly Kirk. Finding time in our already busy June proved to be difficult but by some miracle we managed to turn her into a stunningly gorgeous home on wheels with fresh paint, new flooring, new hardware, re-upholstered cushions (thanks to my mom), some seat covers and the finishing decorative touches by Katie and Tegan. I really don’t know how we did it, but after a frantic day of packing, we were on the road by about 8pm on July 1^st with no plan other then to head east.

We were definitely wondering if we were doing the right thing. Gas prices are astronomical, and Van-Nessa is a thirsty girl, and we don’t even know how reliable she is. Kirk didn’t feel he had enough time to do as much of the maintenance work he would have liked to do to ensure she was running at her potential. And of course the usual anxieties about all the ‘what if’s’ that could go wrong, my biggest concern being that we may never see my sweet puppy Bruno again. He’s getting pretty old and his stress tolerance is low. Although he thought he should come with us, there is no way it would work to take him along. It kills me to know his time with us is limited, but we knew that he would be well cared for by Kirk’s mom. We just have to keep reminding ourselves that there will never be a perfect time. Sometimes you have to create your own opportunities and do it. Do it now, do it now, do it now. We won’t get these days back.

As we drove away that first night, hungry, a little disorganized but so happy to finally be on the road, I settled in to enjoy that sense of wonder to embrace the unknown. We only went as far as Wainwright, AB where we parked in front of Kirk’s sister’s house to surprise her. After finishing up a few of the reno projects like hanging miniblinds at 11 pm so we didn’t put on a show for her neighbours, we grabbed snacks from our well stocked cupboards and went out onto the street in the cool summer night to watch the Canada Day fireworks set off from the base. I knew the kids were tired, God knows I was too, yet there they were, dancing in the street, laughing and antagonizing each other as siblings do. Time to let go of the busy-ness and the demands. Time to dance and laugh.

Ah. Yes. This. This is why. This is worth it. We won’t get this back, but we sure hope for a lot more to come.  

The next morning, I snuck out for a run around the army base, had a quick coffee with Sarena, and then we were on the road again, Saskatchewan in our sights. Stay tuned…

Everyday we get to age, is a privilege.

Sit with that thought for awhile.

If you have recently reached a milestone year, or have experienced a health crisis, or have suffered a loss that reminds you that life is fragile then maybe you already know this. More importantly, maybe you already live this. There’s a quote by someone old and wise that I really like, that goes something to the effect of “You get two lives, and the second one starts when you realize you only have one.”

Or wait, was it Mackelmore that said that? Hmmm no he said you die twice.

 Either way, there’s some pretty powerful truth in knowing that we only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime.

Ok, that’s Eminem. I’m gonna stop quoting white rappers and move on to tell my own story.

I turned 40 this month. And to celebrate, I ran one helluva trail race called Diez Vista 50K in Port Moody, B.C. I wasn’t really planning on doing this for my milestone birthday, in fact, I had meant to do this in 2020 but, well, you know what happened. Two years later, and I was feeling pretty fortunate that it coincided so nicely with my fortieth birthday weekend. An early spring getaway to find some green trails sounded like the perfectly irresponsible thing to do. So that’s exactly what we did.

I was hoping that my Tuesday morning speed work all winter with Need for Speed would pay off and I could deliver a super fast 50k. But in truth, I haven’t had the best winter of training and wasn’t feeling overly confident. Some hormone issues, related weight gain and a few concerning incidents with my heart had shaken my confidence a bit. I’m working with a cardiologist and naturopath to sort things out and I’m confident that a few lifestyle changes will help, but it definitely didn’t leave me feeling all that quick for race day.

I decided early on that I wasn’t going to let that deter me from enjoying the day. With such a deep field of B.C. runners used to technical trails and tons of elevation, I certainly didn’t expect to finish near the podium anyway. Afterall, the whole purpose of the trip was to celebrate being alive for forty years, no one cares how fast I am other then me, so ultimately it was up to me to just let that go and choose to enjoy the race.  

I spent my actual birthday (April 8^th) with my family, wandering Stanley Park trails, eating donuts at Granville Island, going to the Vancouver Aquarium and eating sushi without thinking about the cute fishes from earlier. It was a fantastic day, but I was eager to get to sleep at a decent time for some pre-race rest. I was tucked into my bed and nearly asleep, while the kids and Kirk watched Brooklyn 99 in the living room of our Air BnB, when I heard some shuffling around outside and the door of my room open.

Whaaaaaat?

There was Tania! My best friend and run wife had flown from Edmonton to surprise me for my birthday weekend and to volunteer at the race! I was a little confused, very delighted and not to sure if any of it was real until the next morning when I realized it wasn’t all a dream, she was really there, and it was time to hit the trails.

Other then some small local races like BarKaKoo, it has been a really long time since I’ve toed the line at a big mountain trail race with hundreds of runners. Sinister 100 miler might have even been the last time I felt that stomach churning, ‘bring on the adventure’ pre-race nerves! I reminded myself to start conservatively so that I was doing more passing then getting passed, and to settle into a pace I could sustain for the full 50k. That is easier said then done when you’re engulfed in the energy of 300+ other racers and the sun is shining, but by the time the first few kms were done, we had crossed the peaceful bridge of Sasamat Lake and started the first major climb, I was happy with my place in the pack and was warm and ready to work.

And wow, was it ever a lot of work. The race has 2000+m elevation gain, most of it on quite technical, rooty, rocky, mossy glorious B.C. trails. The first big climb was pretty grueling, but extremely rewarding with a ‘summit to sea’ view of lower mainland and beyond. No time to stop for a picture though. No way I was gonna lose my place in line after all that hard effort. I was feeling strong and steady on the uphill; young and agile as a twenty-year-old. But once I started the steep descent on those same technical trails, I was feeling like a little old lady picking my way carefully down and choosing my steps wisely. I used to be a lot more confident on the descent, but ever since my accident, I have noticed I’m more cautious, afraid of a fall and its negative consequences. A few people started to pass me, mostly young males full of ego and no fall trauma to contend with. Although, at least one guy definitely earned some trauma that day when his reckless descents cost him a couple bloody knees. Welcome to the traumatized old lady club buddy.

Seeing Tania as course marshal on the trail brought a fresh surge of energy, as did seeing another Edmonton friend Dan at the front of the pack and already returning from the out and back section. I caught up to another Edmonton guy, who I had never met before but he was wearing and Attitude Over Altitude shirt, which is a dead giveaway that we should probably be friends. Throughout the day I had also been playing leapfrog with a girl with a blonde ponytail that I thought looked pretty strong out there, so I made it my goal to keep her in sight. After the out and back, I knew she wasn’t too far ahead but that I had better keep working if I wanted to stick close. I was still feeling great at the 40k mark and was even passing several people who had perhaps gone out too fast and were feeling the toll that distance starts to take. This again reminded me that I may not be the fastest, but I sure like going far.

Last aid station down. One small(ish) climb and a few km to go. I knew the next female was only a few hundred meters behind me but hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail in awhile. Then I caught a glimpse of blonde-ponytail girl (gah, I miss having a long ponytail!) and Ted Lasso’d myself for kickin ass and hitting my goal of ‘don’t lose pony-tail girl’.  I caught up, and we start chatting with usual pleasantries about how the race was going and how we must be close to being done. As the conversation turned to the next stage of ‘where are you from?’  we were both pretty pumped to realize not only were we both from Edmonton, and both leaders of local run groups (Laura leads Wildrose Runners and I lead Trail Sisters), but that we had, in fact, met each other before but just didn’t recognize each other. Our excited chit chat made those last kilometers sail by and we finished the race together. If you are wondering if this makes us bonded for life, the answer is yes. We should probably get matchy Diez Vista tattoos.

Most of the race pictures from the day, show me with a big stupid grin on my face cause that is pretty much how I felt all day. I was just so happy out there in those beautiful, mossy B.C. forests. The icing on my big old metaphorical 40^th birthday race cake was finishing with Laura, Tania on course, my family at the finish line, Edmonton friends, a BBQ burger, winning a Solomon run pack and race director Gary Robbins and everyone on White Pine beach singing me Happy Birthday.

What an absolute privilege it is to get to live another day.

What a privilege to level up to a new age category (and finish 3^rd in F40-49!).

And what a privilege it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other through the forest.

Sometime in late spring of 2021, I was asked by Tess and Laura to join them in leading Trail Sisters Edmonton. It is a group of female trail runners that meets every Thursday evening to run 5-7km through our incredible river valley. The logical part of me protested loudly with every excuse, most of them quite valid. Working full time, raising three kids, plowing through my Masters degree, race directing, and chauffeuring kids to sports practices most nights is a lot, and taking on another commitment didn’t sound like a good idea.

But, underneath the excuses, was this quiet voice that said:

Do it.

This is good.

Good things are worth the effort.

I had already been attending most of the weekly Trail Sisters runs for nearly a year, and was loving the community. It quickly became a place for me to show up as I was, sometimes feeling tired and broken, sometimes energetic and joyful. Always grateful. Even if the group run wasn’t doing much for my training goals due to the shorter distance and beginner pace, the trail time was doing important work in the parts of me that needed a safe place to simply be a part of something bigger then myself. Also, the philosophy of the group so beautifully aligns with so many of my values, its easy to get behind something when it checks all those boxes.

Our Trail Sisters Edmonton Chapter is a small part of a much bigger group that is all over North America and its mission is simple: To increase womxn’s participation and opportunity in trail running and hiking through inspiration, education and empowerment.

Movement. Nature. Community. See? That’s a good thing worth saying yes to.  

It hasn’t been the easiest time to start a running group. Our friend Keri and Tess first launched Trail Sisters in the summer of 2020, and the group rode the waves of lockdowns and restrictions of the pandemic. In the darkest weeks, when life felt uncertain and restrictions were as tight as ever, our group runs were sometimes as small as three of us. Sometimes we cancelled the group runs entirely, even though running outside in the cold presents minimal risk of transmission and massive payoff for good health in every way possible. As restrictions lifted and the weather warmed, our numbers grew to thirty or forty women each week and we split into two or three groups, off in different directions at different paces to accommodate all abilities. We added Julia, a long-time friend and running enthusiast to the leadership team, giving us lots of options for leaders to handle large groups or to fill in when one of us couldn’t make it.

Every single week, I was reminded about how important our little group runs are. Stories on the trails each week of women overcoming isolation, injury, anxiety and burn out and saying ‘yes’ to taking time for themselves, bravely showing up to meet new people and try something new. Trail conversation oscillates between running goals, to ridiculous laughter and back again to heartfelt conversations about the tough stuff in life. Whispers of struggling marriages and broken hearts, the ache of parenting in a pandemic, stories of grief and loss, rebirth and fresh starts. Tales of quiet bravery with a splash of rage and a whole lotta hope. Cause that’s what us women do best.  Hope for better, and then get out there and build towards better. And when a group of diverse women come together to unconditionally support each other, amazing things happen.

Laura leads our ‘Learn to Run’ group, doing a consistent 5 km loop with a gentle mix of double wide and single track and run/walk breaks. I lead what we call the ‘adventure group’ offering a bit of a faster pace, often longer distance (closer to 7km) and living up to our name of being adventurous. The rules are simple: Show up, introduce yourself, don’t get behind the designated sweep and call out if you think you are lost (you probably aren’t and we are watching out for you!) On weeks we have lots of runners and an extra leaders we even offer a ‘half and half’ group that falls somewhere in between the two groups. We’ve also branched out beyond our Thursday night routine. We put together enough volunteers from our group to course marshal the run course at World Triathlon this summer and we even took a day trip to Nordegg to run/hike Mount Coliseum, providing an opportunity for a few women to reach their first mountain summit. Every week, we feature a “Buddy Bench” where you can post your run plans if you’re looking for other women to run with. This is how community is built. Put yourself out there, show up, give back.

Community is an elusive thing. In our very independent society, you can get away with very little social connection and still survive, and I think a lot of people have gotten used to that during the pandemic. But once you find your place with a group, and realize what it is like to be a part of something, you understand the value of connection and a supportive community. It’s messy, it takes courage, but it’s worth it. I love our Edmonton run community, and Trail Sisters is an integral part of it.

As the temperatures dropped again, so did our numbers. Despite our efforts to educate new winter runners on how to dress and wear the right shoes, cold weather running is intimidating even to seasoned veterans. It took me many years of running to embrace year-round outdoor runs, so I don’t blame people for not showing up on cold nights. These last few weeks we have been just a handful of hearty souls bundling up each week and posting frosty face pictures to show that the trails are still there and still gorgeous, even in the dark winter nights.

After our last Trail Sisters of the year, we went out for nachos and beer to celebrate a successful year on the trails. Our ragtag effort at leadership, spread between four ultra-busy, ultra-running moms, has paid off and our community has grown into a mighty force on the trails.

I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished together and value my relationship with my co-leaders so much. As long as I keep hearing from women that they have been watching us on the Facebook Group and finally mustered the courage to show up and run with us, I am happy to keep showing up, leading the adventure and sharing my love of running.

This isn’t a run story. Running is my first love and favourite way to get out and experience the world, but last weekend I found adventure on my road bike and it was every bit as incredible. My husband Kirk, and our friends Tania and Thomas and I had been dreaming about riding highway 93 from Jasper to Canmore for a while now, and even though the logistics of it felt a bit overwhelming, we decided we needed to go for it.

Guys, biking is a lot more complicated then running. Trail running requires shoes (best if they are filthy), some snacks and an InReach if you’re hitting the backcountry. Your most complicated ‘gear’ is your body and that is constantly being built and maintained through training so that when it’s time to go, you just gotta start running. Biking is so much more complicated. Pannier rack mishaps, a broken derailleur hanger, a loose chain, sticky gears, poorly wrapped handle bars and the wrong wheels on the wrong bike all went wrong before we even got going. Thankfully Kirk and Thomas know a thing or two about bikes and they had them all working just fine by Friday afternoon. So off we went in two vehicles to Canmore where we left one truck, before piling into another to get a preview of Highway 93 on our drive north to Jasper. We were lucky enough to get bluebird skies, followed by a stunning sunset, over the road we would get very familiar with over the next two days.

A quick picture at the ‘Welcome to Jasper’ sign and a minute to switch mine and Tania’s wheels back to their rightful owners, and we were off. Ever since my accident on Mount Northover, both Tania and I have struggled with ‘pre-adventure anxiety’. It manifests through over-planning and over-packing for Tania, and numbing out or intense fear over the ‘what ifs’ for me. I had been struggling with a lot of thoughts of what could go wrong, how a bike malfunction or road imperfection would send you flying with pretty high consequence, and I’ve had to work pretty hard to not dwell on that and just commit to enjoying the experience. Each time, Tania and I talk each other through those feelings and have come to learn that once we get going, everything relaxes and we are reminded of the outrageous beauty that is out there and the incredible gift it is that we get to experience it.

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Once we were through town and on the road it took no time at all for me to be feeling great and cruising along. Kirk is by far the strongest rider out of the four of us and he spent the whole time out in front, rolling along at a much slower pace then he normally would. He insists he is more then happy just to be out there with us, but I hope that he gets a chance to do a faster trip with his friends one day so he can test those limits.

The rolling hills are pretty consistent the whole way through the trip. It feels like you are either always working hard up a hill, or cruising down with a big dumb smile on your face. I’m sure some of it was flat, but it didn’t seem like it to me. We weren’t out there to set any records, so we made sure to enjoy all the pretty things along the way with a stop at Athabasca falls and lunch at Poboktan Creek. Shortly before lunch, Tania and I saw the boys stop up ahead, turn and start waving. I thought they were just being friendly…but then Thomas turned around on the highway and rode back to point out a curious cinnamon bear sniffing in our direction about twenty feet off the side of the road. Talk about incentive to keep hustling.

“Heya bear, you don’t worry about us and we wont worry about you. Deal?” Ok. All good. That’s the second bear I’ve seen biking this year and I’m ok if that never happens again.

(To be clear, I was biking. Not the bear. The bear was just doing bear things. A biking bear sounds amazing though and I’d be ok if I saw that).

Then came the grind of a lifetime up to the Icefield Skywalk with a 7km hill that had me in my lowest gear working hard to keep a steady cadence, barely looking up to appreciate Tangle Creek falls as we passed. The descent was worth all the work as we were rewarded with speeds of over 80km/hr (Kirk hit 90km/hr) passing cars on the shoulder and being lasered radared by good-humoured cops who yelled the results to us as we passed.

I admit, that required a new level of courage I haven’t tested much on a road bike. I could feel my body tense as thoughts of losing control pestered the corners of my mind. In such an adrenaline-fueled situation, my attention becomes hyper-focused only on the stimuli that matter. The road in front of me, my hands gripping the bars (ready to brake if needed) and the cars beside me. At the start of the hill, I could sense a coach bus full of tourists heading back to the Columbia Icefields on my tail and hoped they wouldn’t attempt to pass me. But of course, it did. Frighteningly close and alarmingly fast.

The hill ends with a sweeping turn, giving a stunning view of a glacial field and we all paused at the bottom of the hill, grinning and basking in the intensity of feeling incredibly alive.

Back on the road, brutal head winds and increasing smoke threatened to dampen our spirits as we pushed towards the Columbia Icefield. Another stop to admire the glacier, fill our water bottles and give a few pep talks was enough to encourage us to push through the last 50km with another stop at Parker Ridge cause ya know, outhouse. (Which thankfully there are a ridiculous amount of along this highway!)

A friend of Kirk’s who was familiar with the area gave us some good intel to stop at an unmarked roadside pull out to peer down a canyon that puts Maligne, Johnson and Grotto Canyons all to shame. A river disappears entirely from view down a drop that must be nearly 100 ft. You can barely see the bottom if you lean over the precarious rock overhead, but you can definitely feel the spray and hear the roar from deep below. There is a worn-out bridge stamped 1938 leading to an abandoned road, but other then that the place is left entirely wild.

The best treasures always are.

We rolled into the Saskatchewan Crossing hotel around 8pm, with 7.5 hours of moving time and 160 km done. Opting to stay at the hotel instead of camping was worth the extra cost for the convenience of being able to travel light. I didn’t have panniers on my bike so Kirk carried all our gear (I carried bear spray!) and not having to worry about packing food for dinner was worth it. Also, that burger and beer at the pub tasted amazing. Another perk of riding is that you aren’t plagued with the same stomach issues that can make eating difficult with long runs. No calorie deficiencies on this trip!

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We were disappointed to wake to even thicker smoke the next morning. Our eyes, throats and lungs were already feeling the effects from the day before, and now views were completely obscured and breathing felt even harder. The sun was a muted red glow through the haze and temperatures felt cooler then they otherwise would have. Are smoky summers our new way of life? I understand they are part of the cycle of destruction and regrowth, but this last dry season has me wondering if this is our unpleasant new normal. I think its time we all biked more and drove less…

The first few minutes of sore butt on day 2 were quickly forgotten as we started peddling up the never-ending grind and our quads were protesting too loud to notice any other pain. There is about 30 km of slow grind uphill to get to the Bow Valley pass. First, a stop at Mistaya Canyon. Kirk and I had just been there a few weeks prior, so we stayed with the bikes and worked on our Insta-worthy poses while Thomas and Tania hiked down to see the canyon. I’m pretty sure we got the better pictures.

What a relief to get to the top of the Bow Valley and see the elevation profile of nearly all descent towards Lake Louise. The morning had felt a bit demoralizing with such a long grind and thick smoke, and even our steady diet of candy was barely enough to keep us motivated. But things got pretty fun after that as we decided it was time to perfect our drafting skills. I tucked in behind Kirk and we could maintain a much higher pace because he didn’t have to wait for me and I could keep up in his wind tunnel.  We picked up Tania a few times and the three of us made for a pretty great team. Thomas wasn’t too keen on staying on our train and was happy to do his own thing. His loss, cause it made the stretch before lunch an absolute blast. Party train is always worth joining.

Lunch stop at Lake Louis and we were off again for the next stretch, this time on Highway 1A to Banff. It’s the more scenic route with less traffic (the road is closed to vehicles entirely past Johnson Canyon) and nicer road then Highway 1. However, it also has much more elevation. We had ridden 1A from Banff to Louise and back earlier this spring and knew what we were in for, and all agreed it was totally worth the extra work. More drafting made that 60km speed by and the skies even started to clear a bit and give us some nicer views to enjoy.

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More candy and a water refill in Banff and we were down to the home stretch. By this time we were all feeling pretty beat up and ready to be done; the heat, smoke and busy Legacy Trail along the noisy highway made the last hour my least favourite of the whole trip. Quick stop for a final photo at the Canmore sign and we rolled back to the truck we had left two days prior.

On the drive back, we commented how different the road looked from a truck. The rise and fall of the road looks less daunting, yet far less exhilarating. Weirdly, I didn’t even feel the same. I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic, but it’s true. I wasn’t the same. An experience like that kicks my beautifully neuroplastic brain into overdrive and changes it. The connections between my fear centre (telling me to stay home because steep mountains and cracks in the pavement are dangerous), and my pre-frontal cortex (that knows that life is short and I want to see beautiful mountains and laugh with friends and ride fast down hills while I’m here) are re-wired ever so slightly. Reinforcing that its worth it to push past the overwhelming logistics and middle of the night anxiety to get out there and try new things.

I feel incredibly fortunate that I was able to take this trip and that there were no injuries or accidents and highly recommend that anyone with a bike and a sense of adventure get out and ride Jasper to Canmore. It’s 327km, 3400m elevation of incredible scenery that makes the sore butt and burning quads totally worth it.

Here’s a quick summary of how to run around a 400m track for 24 hours. You start running and you only make left turns. Do that for 6 hours. Stop. Turn around. Start running again, but this time (and here is the exciting part…) YOU GET TO MAKE RIGHT TURNS! Do that for another 6 hours. Stop. Turn around and repeat the whole thing all over again.

OK I bet I lost most of you already. Don’t worry. There’s still good stories that come from running in circles so stay with me here.

Lets start with my Why.

Why the hell would anyone ever want to run around an oval track for 24 hours? Normally, I love to pack all the beauty, nature and adventure I can into my runs by hitting the trails and mountains as much as possible, so signing up for a 24-hour track event at the last minute was a little out of character for me. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have a good ‘Why’ for Survivorfest 2021. I wanted to see just how far I could go. After hitting 100 miles in 24 hours last summer at Quarantine Backyard Ultra, I knew I could cover at least a bit more distance in the same amount of time. I also wanted to play around a bit more with my nutrition plan over 16 hours…that didn’t go so well…but more on that later.

Also, when Klondike Ultra had to switch to a virtual format, I just wasn’t as excited about it. I want to do it right, with people, aid stations and a real race on the trails with my friends, so I deferred to next year. Survivorfest also had to switch to a virtual format but since I wasn’t exactly signing up for a track event for the scenery, I was fine with it. The Race Director, Laura is an extraordinary person, and I was more then happy to join what she calls the ‘Survivorfest Family’. Lastly, one of the biggest draws to this event for me was the cause. Survivorfest is a fundraiser for Saffron Centre in Sherwood Park. They provide counseling services for survivors of sexual assault as well as education in schools about consent. Over the last few years, this issue has deeply affected some people I care about and has left most of us feeling pretty helpless. Lucky for me, my best running happens when I feel helpless; turns that feeling into something that feels productive.  

I quickly realized I had no freakin clue what I was doing. I have never done a track event before, and only realized about a week before that there are a lot of rules to the sport. Some friends of mine were doing the ‘virtual event’ in person (that doesn’t make sense but don’t over think it, nothing about Covid rules make sense!) and had rented a timing system to use the event as a qualifier for Team Canada at a World 24-hour track competition. I was invited to join them, but that didn’t feel right.  I needed to be true to me. I knew what I wanted my day to look like, and the pressure of a qualifying distance was not for me.

I admit, I was pretty nervous leading up to race day. I have been struggling with plantar’s fasciitis since November, and while it is slowly improving, it has still been difficult to manage and I was scared the pain would get unbearable after a couple hours. I bought a couple new pairs of shoes and hoped for the best.

 I set my intention for the day with the mantra of “Keep Going”. It felt fitting. After this dumpster fire of a pandemic there has been a lot of uncertainty in everyone’s life, mine included. And there have been plenty of days lately where that is about all I can do; Keep Going. I was determined that no matter what happened, I would keep moving forward for 24 hours. I wasn’t going to worry about pace. I was only going to focus on forward motion.

Simple enough right?

  My husband Kirk helped me load up all my gear and we headed to the track behind the high school a couple blocks from my house. Our friend Blake was waiting for us and had set up balloons along the track to wish me well as I started. Kirk joined me for the first hour and then he shifted his attention to setting up a tent and my aid station while I kept going in circles with a run/walk strategy of 700m run, 100m walk.

 The sun was starting to warm up and I was feeling good. Kirk was keeping me well hydrated and fueled, mostly with Tailwind to start. By about noon, his sister and all four of my nieces and nephews showed up and that was when the party really got started.

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Every run has a highlight. Whether it is the summit of Leg 6 at Sinister 7, or the stars at the Grand Canyon, there is always a defining moment on these big runs that you will never forget. The highlight of running around in circles that day? Was my nephew. His name is Noah and he is 14. He’s athletic but doesn’t play sports. His last run was a 5km with me at Parkrun…pre-Covid…so…long time ago.  He started running with me and just didn’t stop. He just kept going, and going, and going. Until we advised him to stop before he got heat stroke. He logged over 25 km and probably could’ve gone a lot further. Seriously, how many 14 year old’s do you know would do that?

It was a steady stream of people for the rest of the day. Some people doing over 20k with me, some doing just a few laps, some brought treats and cheered from the sidelines. Keith brought a whole circus with him including a fencing sword, a bike set up as long as a train and full kitchen kit to make what he called ‘a track snack attack’ station including hotdogs and freshly brewed coffee. The day was shaping up exactly as I had hoped, sun, smiles, kids everywhere and my incredible community out in full force.

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My second crew chief, Tania came mid afternoon to help out and trade Kirk off for a bit. I’ve missed her desperately in my run world lately as she’s out with a knee injury, but she showed up in full support and even rode her bike around the track for probably 40km at a painfully slow pace just to keep me company.

Thanks to a well-timed Slurpee delivery and a couple Electrolyte Freezies, I had survived the hottest part of the day and was looking forward to the temperatures cooling off. I was pretty proud of hitting 50 miles in 9 hours and still going strong.

Now 100k. Sunset. Walk a bit more then usual.

Keep. Going.

Every time a new friend showed up, I got a new burst of energy and managed to keep shuffling but I started to falter around 13 hours in. My friend Jen came around 10pm and excitedly announced I was over half-way, and I looked at her in despair. Half way? That’s it? I couldn’t wrap my head around doing all that again. Not with this foot pain. Not with how raw I felt after a day in the sun. No way. My mental game started to show some cracks. We switched to run a lap, power walk a lap, and that helped, but I still couldn’t stop thinking about how far away 9 am felt.

This was the part of my day that made me thankful I chose to run ‘by myself’ on my own track instead of trying to qualify for Team Canada. In a qualifying event you aren’t allowed company. You can talk to other runners but you aren’t even really supposed to run at the same pace. I am pretty sure if I had been there, by myself, I would’ve sat down around 2 am and never got back up. But the cool part about doing the event my way, is that all through the night, more and more friends kept appearing to…well…make sure I stuck to my mantra. Keep Going. They just kept coming out of the darkness to support. Julia and Paula on their bikes, Curtis at 3 am on his way home from running Klondike, Tania came back to send Kirk home to sleep for a few hours. And Faye. Faye the angel who shuffled over a marathon with me through the night, feeding, encouraging even massaging my cramping feet. Often in silence, talking me down when I accidently stopped my watch and threw a fit, telling me to turn my anger into run energy and just hit start on my watch again. Keep Going. At 2 am, I sat down to wrap in a blanket, change my shoes and have some perogies and coffee. I was cold and my feet were in excruciating pain. I was still irrationally discouraged over stopping my watch and got a little emotional. I allowed myself a couple tears and then threw off that blanket and just kept marching. If I was gonna feel sorry for myself, I was gonna do it while still moving forward.

Thankfully, June races mean short nights and the sunrise brought new energy. It also brought Thomas and his thoughtful offering of a McDonald’s hashbrown which was weirdly the only thing that appealed to me after hours of battling nausea. I would go to on to regret that when the rest of my digestive system was like ‘What is this garbage?’ a few hours later but…maybe those details don’t need to be in my race report. (To answer the oft asked question… if I had to pee I hid in a small patch of trees near the track and a few times I paused my watch and got a ride home to use the bathroom.)

By about 5 am, we got another visit from the Roving Race Director Laura (and Dave!) just after I hit 100 miles (161 km) and reached a distance personal best. With 4 hours left, I was already reduced to mostly walking, and was feeling pretty tired. I knew that my overly ambitious goal of 200km was not even an option, but we calculated that even if I walked the last four hours I could hit my next goal of 180km. It was pretty simple at that point. I just needed to let the clock run out. I wasn’t doing so well with food anymore but was feeling well enough to eat just the bare minimum to fuel a walk pace. I was hoping to have done a better job at forcing down calories after that time but I just couldn’t. (These are problems I will have to solve before taking on multi day runs…)

With the day heating up again, more friends came to join. Bleary eyed kids were dragged from their beds and neighbours walked over with coffee in hand. I sure hope the people in the houses across the streets were watching this dog and pony show unfold as the lunatic on the track turned into the pied piper with a crowd of 15 people following in circles.

The countdown was on. I checked in with the virtual team to connect with the other runners all over the city to see how everyone was managing and was so encouraged to see smiling faces and happy reports of survival through the night. 10 minutes to go. I can run for 10 more minutes right? Those who were dressed to run started shuffling with me, and the walkers dropped off. I have no idea where that kind of energy came from but was so thrilled to have hit over 180 km. Even better to do that with so many of my favourite people there with me.

A minute to go. Kids were cheering while devouring rainbow sprinkle donuts.

I picked up the pace to finish the last 200 meters and hit 181 km exactly. Keith, in his jeans, skate shoes and coffee in hand yelling behind me “You’re dropping pacers!” and I looked at my watch to see I was running a sub 5min/km pace on what I can only describe as pure adrenaline and good vibes.

9am.

And guess what? I still had to keep going to get back to the end. This is the problem with finishing your race at the wrong end of the track!

That’s a good metaphor for life. Sometimes you think you’re done but then you realize you still gotta get home. But that’s ok. Good things happen when you just keep going.

Lets wrap this up with the numbers:

24 hours on a 400-meter track

452.5 laps

181km (enough to qualify for Team Canada…if I had joined the qualifying event!)

$1660 raised for Saffron Centre

47 people and 3 dogs came out to support.

1^st place Female in Survivorfest.

My friend summed it up best when she described what it feels like to walk through the trauma induced fog she has been in for two years now; she said the best part of her day is those split seconds after she has woken up, but before she has remembered the battle she has to get up and fight yet again. And here I was, on New Years Day 2021, the day we joked that the hell of 2020 would finally end, lying in my bed and feeling my cells buzzing blissfully, oblivious to what was happening outside the moment. I felt light, my body porous and mingling with the dark morning air of a new day. I wanted to stay like that forever.

Cruelly, as soon as that conscious thought floats to the surface, reality slams you right back down with the reminder of the challenges waiting for you when you open your eyes. I was paralyzed. Telling myself to get out of bed, go for a run, enjoy the day with your kids. But I just couldn’t. I was left wishing those first dreamy moments of oblivious peace could come back and carry me through the day.

December proved to be a far harder month then I ever imagined. After a month of clarity seeking in November (My November Project: No Sugar and Run Streak) I was dealt a blow that has changed things pretty significantly for me. I won’t go into details here, but believe me when I say that in true 2020 form, it was all pretty ugly.

After my accident (Northover Ridge to Emergency Room), a friend reached out and said that she had a similar near death experience and that even though she survived, it shifted absolutely everything for her. At the time, I thought that sounded a little extreme, but I now see how true that is. Facing death wakes you up to wanting to live your whole-hearted best life and so suddenly all the things that used to matter, don’t anymore, and you realize that coasting on autopilot isn’t good enough. The universe has a strange way of filtering out all the shit in life that no longer works for you, the barriers in the way of being your true self. Unfortunately, it also leaves in its wake, a whole lot of uncertainty of how to move forward.

And so there I was, New Years Day and not a clue what the future holds. It also happened to be registration day for Moab 240. Ugh.

I first learned of the race when we spent 4 days in Moab, Utah in 2019 while on our way to run Rim2Rim2Rim: Running the Grand Canyon in a Day. We spent our time mountain biking and exploring with the kids. It is absolutely stunning. Otherworldly landscapes like you’ve never seen before and miles of trails just waiting to be explored, so of course I looked up what races were in the area and Moab 240 not only caught my eye but it set my soul on fire. I knew I needed to run it. 240 miles (386 km) in one giant loop around the town of Moab, through several National Parks, through canyons and over mountains with almost 9000 meters of elevation gain. You have 112 hours to do it, and while the race is incredibly difficult, it has a surprisingly high finishing rate, likely due to the generous cut off time. If you can keep moving forward and keep your head in the game, you have a decent chance of finishing. It’s been my goal race for over two years now and is what has been driving me forward, pushing for increasingly high mileage and even motivates me to do some strength work (although still not enough!) I need to do this race. That is non-negotiable for me.

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I briefly considered jumping in to do it in October 2020 after our plans for the year were turned upside down anyway, however the logistics of travel during a pandemic and all our uncertainties and instabilities quickly shut that dream down. That’s ok, the plan was always 2021 anyway right?

Yet there I lay, January 1st, my body buzzing, and my heart an open wound, and I watched race registration fill up in minutes and my dream race sell out. Yet another plan by the wayside.

I know it was the right thing to do. I know that jumping into such a commitment would be irresponsible with so many uncertainties, no idea how to pay for it, who would come with, or how the pandemic would affect events and travel by that time… I knew that despite my best intentions, it was just not something I could responsibly justify or control. At least not for now.

I added my name to the waitlist instead…I’m #93 in line. And while a lot of people get in off the waitlist due to the nature of these sort of massive events and the training and commitment they require, getting in from #93 is pretty unlikely and could be a very last minute offer if it does happen. As sad as it was to admit that the wait list is the best option for me right now, I trust that if it is meant to happen, I’ll be ready (oh yes, I am still going to train as though I’m running a 240 mile race this year!) and if it’s not meant to happen, then there is always the hope that better years ahead will remove those uncertainties and I will be able to go in fully prepared.

Maybe being on the ‘Waitlist’ is a good way to describe where I’m at right now. Sort of cocoon period where I can go to rest and renew before meeting my new self, whatever that will look like. Thankfully, running remains a constant in my life; the quickest and easiest way for me to find my center, to connect, to rejuvenate. Many ultra runners have stories of overcoming incredible adversity, paradoxically using running to deal with those situations, and using those situations to improve their running. On a text exchange with a friend on New Years Eve I shared that I was struggling to see the way forward, and that getting to the other side felt like an incredibly long road. Her reply was perfect:

“You’re good at long roads. And you’re not alone”

So I guess I’ll happily sit on the waitlist, in more ways then one, and just keep moving forward as best I can with what I know for now. Maybe a really long run through the Utah desert will get to be a part of that forward motion. Maybe not. And maybe that’s ok.

You all know I love adventure. The thrill of exploring new places and pushing myself to new limits is exciting to me. But thanks to a pandemic, an uncertain start back to school and changes at work, I have been staring down many weeks and months void of adventure. Void of lots of things actually. I’m trying to focus on the positives while navigating this storm, and there is lots to be thankful for. Mostly though? I’m feeling a lot of…well…feelings.

Its not uncommon for me to find myself in an autumn rut, where the thrill of summer is gone and we are bracing for shorter days and a whole lot of cold. And all of that was feeling 1000x harder this year; between the pandemic altering our whole world and my accident this summer (Northover Ridge to Emergency Room) I have been feeling major energy shifts, pushing me to uncomfortable new places where nothing quite makes sense anymore. I couldn’t even put my finger on it, but rather have felt like I was an outsider watching my usual strong, vibrant self evaporate into a fragile shell, riddled with anxiety and intense moments of sadness. I’ve never struggled with my mental health before, so this all felt like uncharted territory. And I’ll be honest, I wasn’t thrilled about how I was coping with it. I knew I could do better. Be better. And that I needed some serious self-parenting to get myself sorted out.

So in the absence of an exciting adventure to keep things interesting, or maybe more accurately, to keep me distracted, I decided to take things to the opposite extreme. What can I learn from the beauty of discipline, of outright boredom even? I’ve given myself challenges for the month of November before and have always found them beneficial, so I decided it was time to explore that again this year. So for the 30 days of November, I committed to running everyday and not eating sugar. My own ‘November Project’.

What? Why the hell would I do that? How does that help keep my mental health in check and help me make sense of my ever-changing world?

Well…it doesn’t really. Not at face value anyway. After all, I eat pretty healthy and run most days anyway so it’s not a major change, but I wanted to explore further growth through those practices to see what else I could learn. I know that I tend to avoid dealing with thoughts or emotions by seeking out distractions or temporary quick fixes. Food, sugary food in particular, being a big one for me. So the purpose of cutting out sugar had nothing to do with weight loss or calorie restriction or even the physical benefits of healthy eating, rather it was an exercise in impulse control. An exercise in actually feeling ALL of my feelings. No distractions, no quick fixes…just moving through the waves of things as they came up.

That is really, really hard.

But guess what? Feelings are meant for feeling.

Read that again.

They demand to be acknowledged. They demand a response. Even if the response is to sit with them as long as needed.

Sugar, social media, alcohol and even running are all such easy ways to distract…avoid. And every now and again it’s a good idea to hit reset and examine how/why I’m using those things to coast through my life instead of truly feeling all the feels that make us human. The good, bad and really ugly ones.

So why the run streak? Particularly if I acknowledge that running is often used as a crutch or another method of distraction for me. I didn’t set myself a target distance goal, or any rules around what each of those runs should look like, instead my goal was to find meaning in every run.

As my friend Glenda said to me: “You already trust your body. Now time to trust your Knowing”

Here’s what happened over the last 30 days.

I leaned into every emotion and examined the thoughts and patterns that were triggering them. And then I acted accordingly. Whenever I found myself pacing the kitchen wanting an indulgence (hello chocolate!) I took a deep breath and took stock of what was actually going on.

-Loneliness (feeling disconnected from people I craved connection with)

-Boredom (Covid cleared my calendar almost entirely and I prefer to thrive on busy-ness)

-Anxiety (watching plans for our future waver with uncertainty)

-Purposelessness (a job I normally love has been reduced to a fraction of its usual meaning)

-Sadness (Really. Fucking. Sad.)

How absurd that we think that any number of distractions or substances can take those feelings away. They demand to be felt. If left unacknowledged they will only come back louder until they are too loud to be quieted by the next quick fix; sugary or otherwise.

At the start of the month, I admit I didn’t think that I would get a lot of value from committing to run everyday. I love learning new things about myself and the world through running, but most of those lessons come from really big adventures or runs that have a lot of significance (like Run On or Recovery runs) The lessons from day-to-day, mundane runs are harder to glean, and frankly, not as much fun. So I simply committed to being open to whatever the month held and whatever lessons were waiting.

So what meaning did I find in 30 days of running?

I said yes to new group runs and made some new friends. I listened to podcasts, and heard such powerful messages that they stopped me in my tracks. I ran during the first big snow storm of the year when every fiber of my being resisted stepping out the door, yet I was surprised to find an intense peace in the winter wonderland. I joined a birthday run for a friend, honoured to be a part of her 50km for 50 years celebration. I organized a team for Warm Hands Warm Hearts virtual run and collected 57 backpacks full of donations for the homeless. I ran my fastest 5k in a time trial early one morning (read it here). I ran a half marathon in support of the Edmonton Food Bank with Turkeys on the Trail. I ran a marathon for a friend’s 42nd birthday. I led Trail Sisters a few times, a group aimed at making trail running more accessible and empowering for women. I was even lucky enough to get in a mountain run with Tania in Jasper. I forced myself out the door to run on days when my body screamed for rest and was reminded, yet again, why rest days are important. I slept through a morning run, regretted it all day, and paid for it by struggling through an evening run, learning, yet again, why discipline is important too. I learned about fermented foods, and grief, and the American electoral system, and about ice flows on the river, and about cloud seeding in Dubai, and about how to process a deer you’ve shot, and how sometimes the hardest thing you’ll ever do is run in the opposite direction of that which no longer serves you. No matter how much you wish it wasn’t so.

Now it is December and I’ve learned that both run streaks and sugar deprivation will come to an end, as do all other things in life that are both beautiful and brutal. Brutiful.

A few friends had heard about my ‘November Project’ and had decided to join me with their own variation of the challenge. Some committed to no sugar, or no alcohol, or no news, or added push ups or other fitness goal. One friend, Curtis, threw out the idea to do a marathon on November 30th to celebrate the run streak. It would be his first and he was pretty excited about it. But since I had already done a marathon that month, I decided to up the ante and suggested we run out the month with a 50k. He was all in.

So Monday night, after full day of work, a few of us met downtown and started following the river in the dark. We finished 50 kilometers just before midnight and celebrated with cookies (chocolate!!) and a home brewed beer under a full moon and clear sky.

These shifting energies and feelings that demand attention are not easy. They are downright painful in fact. But I’m done with avoiding and distracting and am ready to keep on moving forward, trusting that good days and mountain top adventures are still in store for my future when all the dust has settled.

When that day comes, you better believe I’m taking chocolate to celebrate the journey.