Surrounded by spectacular nature after my recent move to Calgary, I
expanded my running regime (perhaps ‘regime’ isn’t proper wording, as I was
only running once or twice a week) to include trail running. Man, running
on hilly bike paths of Calgary was tough compared to my routes in FLAT southwestern
Ontario, but the bar was definitely raised on weekend jaunts to the Rockies.
No surprise that the harder and higher the climb, the more awesome the view.
Putting my training to the test, I started checking out brochures for upcoming
races. Scanning the wall in the running store, I spotted several:
· 5km and 10km– too short
· Marathons – too long
· Calgary Stampede ½ marathon – too urban
· Melissa’s 22km Road Race – hmmm…right distance,
outdoors … oh wait, Already booked up!
What’s this one? - A human skull on the cover, with a Canadian Maple
Leaf. Looks dangerous! Looks … COOL! The Canadian Death Race in Grande Cache
- 125km in a 24-hour period in the mountains. You could run it solo
(read ‘psycho runners of unimaginable strength and endurance … and possible
mental deficiency’) or in relay teams of five. Hmmm – sounds like an
awesome race and by hooking up with a team, I can meet other crazy runners.
Sign me up!
I started training. Now, you’re asking, “How do you train for a Death Race?”
Good question. I just ran. And ran. And ran some more.
Ran when it was hot. Ran when it was cold. Ran when I was tired.
And then, I ran some more.
Word came back that I was on a team. After contacting my teammates,
we decided that I would run the last leg. Not the hardest leg, but
up there in the crazy-status. It would be about 26km in the mountains
… and oh yeah, being the last leg, in the dark of night!
Race weekend finally arrived. I drove up to Grande Cache and met with
my teammates to talk strategy. All of us were psyched, but scared.
None of us had done anything as crazy as this, but this would be a notch
on our belts.
The race started at 8 AM. Oh yeah, did I mention that it had rained
every day that week? Well, fortunately race day started out sunny.
Slowly the day crawled by. I tried to nap, but was too excited to get
any real rest. As novice Death Racers, we were doing great - middle of the
pack and happy to be there. Finally, it was my leg of the race. The
time was 9:30 PM. Getting dark and starting to rain. Nonetheless,
this was going to be my Death Race experience and I was going to enjoy it
– rain or sunshine or, well, moonshine.
I tagged off my teammate and ran, equipped with a small hand-held flashlight
and headlamp (somehow I had forgotten about fresh batteries – too late now!).
By now, the field had thinned out. During my leg I saw only six runners
… out of a field of about 75 teams and oh yeah, the 20 or so ‘psycho’ solo
runners.
Racing in darkness, through a forest, up and down mountains, practically
alone. Talk about good times! No need for boring details of the
times my toe caught a root and I belly-flopped, or traversing multiple 10-metre
long rainwater puddles, or ‘flashbacks’ from the Blair Witch movie (running
with just my headlamp and getting an understanding of tunnel-vision) why
when you hear a bump in the night you just run – run fast and don’t look
back.
I finally found my way back to the town and was making my return just before
midnight. <Insert ‘Cinderella’ reference if you must.> Beaten,
tired and cold, my savior came in the form of a Grande Cache resident.
A block away from the finish line, me trudging along, both light batteries
fading fast (not to mention my legs), a man came out of his house carrying
a box. He spoke the magical words, “Hey buddy. I just ordered
this pizza with extra cheese. Ya wanna slice?” Talk about heaven!
I couldn’t believe it – I took a slice, thanked him and turned back to finish
the race. I was so tired that I didn’t even get his name. A couple
of minutes later, I made it to the finish line, half-eaten pizza slice in
hand and a big smile.
The Canadian Death Race – it was all I had wanted in an adventure and more.
