Review : Merrell Barefoot TrailGlove

Important
Before transitioning to minimalist (or “barefoot”) footwear, make sure you understand what the whole concept entails. Here’s an intro text if you need it.

• Type : Barefoot / Minimal
• Use : Trail running
• Price : 140$
  
  

Introduction
Those of you who have been readers of FlintLand will notice I had commented on Merrell’s Barefoot line before. At the time, I had only tried them in store on a treadmill and wasn’t too impressed with the shoe’s arch section.

About a month ago, Merrell sent me a pair of TrailGloves to test and review, highlighting that I wasn’t the only one to have been puzzled by the conception of the sole. They were convinced a couple runs would prove it’s a serious contender in the booming minimalist shoe market.


Road test
So I gave the TrailGloves an honest shot. I started out by wearing them around the office for two days, to see how I would react to the presence of the slightly stiffer and elevated arch and if there would be a “break-in” effect.

Then I used them for a couple commutes (5k each way), as well as trail runs. I gave them about 25k in the first week, and then I started my tapering period for The Limberlost Challenge Ultra 56K. By that time I had developed enough confidence to wear them for my big run, and they didn’t disappoint.

Analysis
The strength of the TrailGlove is definitely its Vibram outsole. It features an aggressive pattern that maintained grip in every condition I encountered, including creek crossings over wet stones. The TC-1 Compound material acts efficiently as a rockplate and is very sturdy, compared to rivals like the very good second-generation Vibram FiveFingers and the less-than-impressive New Balance Minimus Trail.

As a matter of fact, this is the explanation I have come up with for the strange arch section. Considering my main problem as a minimalist trail runner is kicking tree roots and stubs, the TrailGloves do a very good job at keeping my underfoot and toes secure.

Add to this mix a very large toe box that really lets your toes move freely, highly breathable upper fabric and a tip that offers very good abrasion protection and you get a serious trail running shoe.

The only issue I’ve had with the TrailGloves might originate from my narrow feet. As the shoe flexes, it opens up on the side of my ankles. This has the nagging double-effect of letting trail debris in and pulling down my socks from the Achilles down. Since I was wearing ankle-cut Injinji socks, that became a problem. I improved things by lacing up to the extra grommet and changing to knee-high compression socks, as I would advise against running in the shoe barefoot (unless you’re going for a short run on a light trail), but debris still gets in. If I get the chance, I’ll try the women’s cut instead. I’ll definitely wear my Dirty Girls next time I go for a run on single trails.


Conclusion
I think Merrell has come up with a unique minimalist shoe design that makes it a de facto contender in this emerging market. The TrailGlove is a real trail runner that offers foot protection without getting in the way of your natural foot movement. Because of its relative stiffness, I also think the Merrell Barefoot series can be a good choice for a transition shoe and serve other purposes than trail running, such as hiking and cross-fit.

High points

• Low-to-the-ground (5mm) and zero-drop
• Excellent Vibram outsole
• Large toe box lets your foot move freely
• Sturdy tip protects your toes efficiently
• Light, yet durable upper
• Machine washable

Low points

• Shoe flexes open around the ankle area
• Not compatible with low-cut socks

The equipment for this personal review was supplied by Merrell, free of charge, without any conditions.

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI

- Part VII -

Borrowing energy from Juan Pablo wasn't difficult. I recall vividly the look on his face, turning from devastation to determination, building up momentum step after step, emerging from the dark confines of despair into the bright light of a hard-earned success. I could do it, too.

It took me two stops to finally climb the steepest hill of the course, for the very last time. Each obstacle I was overcoming made me feel one step closer to the finish line. I was not running the course, this time around. I was finishing it.

My frantic race to make the cut-off, unsurprisingly, took a heavy toll on an already burdened body. The back of my right knee became so stiff I had a hard time bending it. The top of my knee caps hurt a lot, too, probably because of how fast I took the downhills. But that was all good, as long as everything held up until the finish.

My last stop at the first aid station was very emotional. The kids, who probably had followed my epic third turn on the radio, were all aligned behind their table and started applauding when they saw me coming. I was DFL (Dead Fucking Last) at that point, so I guess it made things even more dramatic. I took time to thank everyone of them, tasted the beautiful watermelon one last time, refilled my bag and left.

It was only after that stop that I somehow managed to start running again. It was more of a jog, but at least I was covering some distance. I remained very careful on the ascents to the higher portion of the course. The heat was massive and my legs tired, and it was difficult to be alert and swift enough to avoid all the things that got in the way.

My stomach had ceased to function somewhere along my manic sprint, so I realized it was useless to shove any more food in it. That is one of the strangest things in ultras; your body gradually shuts down functions to keep energy for only the strictly essential things of running: a beating heart, breathing lungs and shuffling legs. All the excessive expenses, like higher brain functions, peripheral vision, digestion and even elocution stop working. So I focused on hydration, taking little sips every couple steps.

After what felt like hours, I arrived at the last aid station, where everyone was packing up, ready to leave. The nice lady was there, with a smile so big it moved me. "I knew you would make it", she said with a mix of pride and amazement. "Now listen to me. Take these gels. They taste like shit, but I want you to eat one every 15 minutes. You got that?". I nodded, too tired to explain I don't eat sugar and avoid chemical compounds as much as I can. Like if she'd read my mind, she added "They're natural. Made with fruits and all." I smiled.

Just as I turned around to leave, I saw the young man with the radio, the guy who'd told me about the cut-off. He walked to me. We shook hands solemnly and I thanked him for what he'd done. "You have no idea how bad I felt" he said. I asked why. He answered "I made a terrible mistake. When I told you there were 45 minutes left to the cut-off, I miscalculated".

"Ooohh that's why I made it", I said to myself. "There was actually more time than what he'd said". I was interrupted in my thoughts by the young man, who continued with his face down. "There were only 35 minutes left. When I realized my error, you were already gone."

I stood there, my mouth opened, in absolute disbelief.

"You made it, man. You made it!" he said with great emotion. "Next year, you're coming back here and I'm running with you." His look had turned to admiration. I thanked him again for all that he'd done, shook his hand and turned one last time to the trail, for the final stretch.

I couldn't believe it. I had gone down that crazy trail, 5.4km of bumps and roots and stubs and rocks and ups and downs in 34 minutes and 20 seconds. It's like running the last stretch of a grueling marathon in an all-out sprint. How was that even possible?

I ate a gel, like the lady had said. Funny, I didn't taste anything. Taste is one other of these not-so-useful things that get shut down in a long-distance run, I guess. I was still able to run, after all this time, but I allowed myself to walk the uphills and the steeper descents. My knees were the weakest and I had to walk sideways sometimes to be able to climb up or down.

At least I had gotten familiar with the trail. I spent the remaining time remembering all the emotions I had gone through on my previous laps, and I savored long minutes of absolute victory, all alone, knowing that I had made it all the way. I was an ultra runner. An ultra trail runner. An endurance athlete. I was fulfilling on of my life's greatest dreams.

As the last stretches of trail were slowly rolling under my feet, I noticed voices ahead. By that time, I'd became used to hallucinations so I thought it was nothing but another mirage. To my great surprise, after a couple turns I realized that I had caught up with three runners. I was granted the gift of not finishing DFL. Coming closer, I asked them if they minded that I pass them or if they wanted to finish with me. "Go ahead", they answered.

I shuffled past, and a couple seconds after I was at the clearing, and then on the gravel road. A large pickup truck was parked there and, immediately as I showed up, its door opened. It was my young friend from the second aid station! He had come all the way down to wait for me by the road. He started screaming at me "You've done it. YOU'VE DONE IT!!!!"

The pain, the mental exertion and the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment all mixed into something I cannot describe. I had ran so far, for so long, and now the finish line stood only a couple hundred of meters away from me. For the last time, I took the turn on the gravel road. I entered the grass area of the finish line under a thunder of cheers. It seems like everyone had stayed until the last runner would come in.

And there it was. The gate. At its feet, my three brothers, Gillezz, Donald and Yves. The tent and The Amazing Julie. The tables with beautiful food and drinks. Smiling people. A beautiful mid summer's afternoon in the sun.

I crossed the line in a roar, gave time to my feet to understand we didn't need to run anymore, dropped my bag and jumped in my friend's arms, one after the other, both laughing and crying at the same time. Absolute body annihilation and infinite ecstasy. A remote place in the human experience that is very hard to reach, but that delivers meaning and purpose.


******************************


Looking back, I don't think what I've done is exceptional in any way. I came to Limberlost to become a distance runner and to pursue a dream. I gave it my all and was graced with the strength, resolve and good share of luck needed to succeed. To some other athletes, it may even seem like a meager accomplishment, and that's fine with me. There's still time.

But there's one thing that happened on the trails that day, one event I will never forget. A bend in space and time, a feat of will that defies any understanding. A true achievement. For the rest of my life, when someone asks what my personal record on the 5K is, my answer will always be the same.


34 minutes and 20 seconds.

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V

- Part VI -

As I started to run hard along the first length of trail, my mind was racing. The abyssal despair I had felt mere moments ago had left me, replaced with an absolute feeling of panic. Like a trapped animal with nowhere to go, I had decided I would not go down without a fight. "If I don't make the cut-off", I thought, "at least I will have given everything, and then some."

My stride was getting faster. It was unbelievable. I had been running for almost 7 hours now, and somehow my body was still able to generate the energy, balance and speed required to run down a single trail littered with rocks, roots, stubs and all sorts of other natural tripwires.

I was flying.

I soon became obsessed with the fear of tripping, knowing too well that if it happened, I was sure to get badly injured. Probably because of that state of constant panic, all my thoughts aligned and focused on the task of making sure every step I took was as safe and secure as humanly possible.

The first uphills came about. I didn't stop running. Each time I had to climb, it felt like my legs were burning in acid. The stretch and flex movements in my lower body were increasingly painful, but my brain was unable to accept any slowing down. I had to make it. No matter what.

My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing was hard and my vision was only a narrow tunnel through which my overexcited eyes were manically scanning the ground in front of me. To this day, I still have the image of my feet shuffling swiftly under me and I remember thinking "This is insane. I cannot possibly run this fast for this long after such exertion. This is not happening." But still, like a precision machine, my body was holding up, pushing hard and running strong.

Each twist of the path, each turn in the trail increased my feeling of urgency. My pace had become a frantic scramble, my body reduced to its most simplistic expression. A beast. A wild animal with only primal survival instincts. It felt like if I didn't make it to the cut-off, my life would time-out and I would shut down in an instant, drop dead in the middle of the woods, conquered, defeated.

The clearing to the gravel road appeared so fast it took me by surprise. Trying not to stumble down the steep ditch, I shortened my stride for a second. As soon as my feet touched the road, I doubled down. The sun was scorching and the heat radiated from the dust road, but I didn't care. All I wanted in this world sat a couple hundred meters away from me. As I took the last turn to the finish gate, I heard loud cheers and screaming people. I looked up at the clock. I couldn't believe what I saw.

6h59:20

I let out the loudest scream, looking straight at the doctor who was waiting for me at the gate.

"I AM NOT STOPPING!"

He held out his hand, meaning for me to stop. I complied. He asked a question, which I answered in a split second. What that question was, however, I'll never know. All I did know is that I had to show him I was still in one piece, still functioning, still willing to go. He winced.

"What do you want?"

"Ice."

He pointed me to the aid station. I took two fistfuls and shoved the ice in my jersey, then took some more and rubbed my face and skull.

"What do you want now?"

"Shade."

Yves took me under the tent, in almost the same spot as I had laid, hours before, convinced I could never make it. The doctor looked at me and said "All right. take a minute." I had made it. I had crossed the finish line 40 seconds ahead of the cut-off, and I had convinced the doctor I could still go and finish my fourth lap. I wanted to smile, but instead only offered a small nod. He walked away, stopped, turned around and looked at me again. "Hey," he said, "Take two."

40 seconds. The Universe didn't stop. I didn't time out.

I didn't end in an instant.

Exactly what happened in the following minutes is somewhat of a blur. I know I had things to eat, I probably drank, too, and used all the ice I could get my hands on. I have flashbacks of rubbing my legs. I remember the shaking in my hands. I remember the looks on people's faces when I got up one more time and walked to the starting line. Nods of approval. Disbelief. Amused scoffing by fellow ultra runners who had already finished.

Donald had told me, before the race, to remember my third turn, when I would head into the woods for the last time, crossing from the dirt road to the path. At that precise moment, he said, you will exceed 42.2km and become an ultra runner. Clinging to this thought, I walked the gravel road, taking the time to eat as much as my stomach would hold. I was missing my friends. I was wishing the would be here with me, in these final kilometers. I was wishing I were not alone.

"When I cross this ditch", I yelled to the race official standing at the beginning of the trail, "I will become an ultra runner." He offered a wide smile and thumbs up. I had almost reached him when I saw Donald exiting the clearing. I knew he had passed the finish line on his third lap a long time ago and quickly realized he was finishing his race. His face was white and he looked exhausted, but his composure was surprising. He raised a finger at me and yelled "Listen to me. Remember Juan Pablo. Remember what he did."

Juan Pablo is one of the students we trained at Étudiants Dans La Course, a program for challenged kids that teaches them they can be all they want by training them to run a marathon. It takes a year of dedicated training to get them there. It requires an immense commitment on their part. It is a titanic undertaking. So when Pablo hit The Wall at the 25th km marker, during the Montreal Marathon last year, and had to be taken to the paramedics, his world almost collapsed. I rushed to him, convinced my task would be to accompany him to the hospital. When I reached him, he was walking on the course. With fire in the eyes, he told me he was going to finish this, no matter what. He displayed such resolve and determination in adversity and floored everyone, 6 hours and some after having taken the start, when he proudly crossed the finish line. He taught me a lesson that day, one I will never forget.

"Run it for Pablo!" Donald yelled one last time as he headed off to his long-awaited finish. And run, I did. Overwhelmed with the memory of my young friend, taking one painful step after the other, never quitting, I decided I would do just the same.

And I did.


Conclude with Part VII

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

- Part V -

"I'm gonna do this."

The thought emerged from deep inside of me. I was 28km into the race, and I was still alive. It had been so tough it was overwhelming, but I had made it through to this point. Yves started handing me plates of mixed vegetables, which tasted so good I was grabbing them by the handfuls. I looked at him straight in the eye.

"I'm gonna do this."

He nodded in approval. I was not sure I could see the resolve needed inside my own soul, but I could see it in Yves' eyes. He thought I could do it.

I kicked off my shoes and removed my wrinkled, dirty Injinji's. I had to clean my feet and my shoes of the mud and debris, then I put on a pair of Sugoi compression socks that went all the way up to the knee. At least I wouldn't have to worry about my socks getting pulled down. I started barking orders at Julie. "2 containers with cakes. Big pocket." "Refill the bladder. Outside pocket. Don't take it out. 3 big squirts of lime, 3 pinches of salt. Wait; 4 pinches." I didn't even see her do it, but I could feel she was working frantically, trying to make sure everything would be in the right place. I felt so bad because there was no care, no politeness in my voice. All I could do was grab handfuls of veggies and shove them down my throat.

She handed me my bag. As I got up and put it back on, I gave my friend a last glance. My throat choked in emotion, I babbled.

"I'm gonna do this. And I'm going to do it for you."

Coming out of the tent's shade, I headed for the starting line. The looks I got on the way seemed to be both of puzzlement and pity. I knew I was in for a world of hurt, but there was no way I could've stayed behind. One leg after the other, I started trotting, then sped up to a jog. I was back on the course.

As soon as I took the turn from the gravel road into the woods, for the third time, I started to make sure my brain could take this. At that point, it was evident the rest of the run would hurt bad and require absolutely everything I had. Somehow, that thought calmed me. I was thinking about Yves, about every time he'd told me one of his mottos: "Start slow, then taper down".

So I changed my approach to the whole thing. I tried to enjoy the pain in my legs, tried to hold straight and get some good forest air, I also allowed myself to walk as much as I wanted without feeling guilty for it. It was taking me longer, but this lap didn't seem as difficult as the other ones.

I took a longer break at the first aid station, chatting with the nice kids there, joking about having gotten lost. I refilled my hydration pack and headed out with somehow lighter spirits. Whenever the trail got too rough or my footing got less secure, I slowed down or walked. I ate tons of things, too. Pinole cakes, dates, watermelon, cereal bars.

It seems it took forever to cover the distance between the first and the second aid stations, but I eventually got there. It had been restaffed and the lady at the table took a couple moments to make sure I was OK, to check I had all I needed in a very friendly fashion. She also started to speak French to me, quite a surprise in the middle of a Northern Ontario forest!

I was feeling relieved that my third lap was more than half-way done and I took some time to chat with the aid station staff, until a very worried young guy, one of the race officials, walked towards me. "Dude, you're running the 56, right?" "You're not gonna make the cut-off."

Wait. What?

"I don't get it, I said. The cut-off is seven hours." It was the first time I actually verbalized that in English. In French, "7 hours" and "7 o'clock" is the same thing. 7 heures. So if the cut-off is not at seven tonight, this means...

In a flash, I got it. "How much time?"

"How much time have I got?" I insisted, totally freaked. "45 minutes, max", he answered. "Precisely how far are we from the finish line?" His last words hit me like a sledgehammer. "5.4 kilometres".

"No." I looked at the guy, who could not hold my stare and looked down. I turned to the nice lady, in an absolute state of panic. "This isn't real", I said, tears streaming down my face as I realized there was no way I could make it down that fast. "It can't be over."

With infinite resolve in her eyes, the lady scrambled my stuff in my bag, zipped everything up, held it to me and said "You're right. This isn't real. There's no way you're NOT making it. Go."

I clenched my teeth, clipped up my bag and took a last look at the young guy. "I'm so sorry, he said". "See you next turn", I answered.

I wiped the tears clouding my vision, took a deep breath and started to run.

Hard.


Continue to Part VI

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I - Part II - Part III

- Part IV -

Some seconds passed slowly as I was leaning against that tree, trying to recompose. No runner was in sight, and I was thinking I could've used a couple encouraging words. I took a long, slow breath.

"Anyway", I thought, "You've gotta come back down to the finish line". My mind couldn't get my body to move. Then it downed on me; I'd hit The Wall (it's capitalized out of hard-learned respect). At only about 20km into the race, I'd ran face-first into the bottomless pit of despair and physical exertion. It made no sense. I've ran marathons without going through such hard times!

The sudden realization made me ever so grateful I had the least bit of distance running experience. The Wall is a state of being, essentially, and has to be muscled through out of sheer mental resolve. You have to forget everything, forget you're even running, get inside you own head and force your body at the most elemental of levels. "Lift your foot and put it forward." "Again." "Again."

And then, like magic, along the beating drum of whatever mantra you can muster, your legs start to shuffle on their own. Your breath stabilizes and you slowly recompose. It's not pretty, but at last you're going again.

More twists, more turns. Water station. I'm starting to be afraid it's a mirage. But no, here it is, complete with smiling people, fresh fruit, ice and jugs of water. "That's probably how you feel when you're in the desert and find an oasis", I told the guy standing at the table. He smiled politely, and I could read on his face that he thought I looked like shit. Suddenly remembering the words and the menace from the doctor, I tried to look as normal and casual as I could, refilled my hydration pack and headed off.

By the time I had reached the first downhills, all my energy had evaded me. I was beyond The Wall, in the last territory I had ever visited while running; the last kilometers of a marathon. I struggled really hard with my brain to not focus on the fact that I was only about to finish a 28k. The thought was devastating.

My shoes filled with dirt and debris, my socks rolled down under my arches, my posture deconstructed and my feet dragging, I tried to gain some speed and change the rhythm of my running, but couldn't. I stumbled on rocks, stubs and roots many times, each fumble taking its share of what was left of my confidence.

By the time I reached the clearing to the open road leading to the finish line, tears were streaming down my face. I was panting and crying, exhausted, terrified. I could barely shuffle, even on the flat surface. I felt an imminent collapse.

As I took the last turn to the gate, onlookers started to cheer me in. Little smily kids, runners who'd finished shorter distances, everyone. It didn't even send a wave of energy down my spine, like it always does. I felt like shouting "don't cheer, I'm not even half way done!".

I crossed the finish, went straight for the food table, grabbed two fistfuls of ice and went under our support tent to get shade. I saw Julie on my way in, looking at me with the pity of a mother, her hands already full with water and food and things. I said nothing. I crashed on the chair, my face buried in my hands, ice cubes dripping on me. I couldn't talk.

Everything became still. I looked up, and what I saw sent chills from the top of my head to my sorry feet. Yves. The Coach. Not in sweat. It took me a couple seconds to compute, then, like an electric shock, I understood. He DNF'ed. When it got clear without words what had just happened, I tried to keep it together and say something, but my mind collapsed. He pulled a chair and sat beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

I sighed like an infant and put my face as deep inside my hands as I could, but couldn't hold it and started crying uncontrollably.


Continue to Part V

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I - Part II

- Part III -

The run to the second aid station took longer than I thought. There were a lot of climbs, twists and turns, plus the factor that running on a path you don’t know always seems much longer. I made it nonetheless, more tired than I’d have liked to be, but still motivated.

The last stretch of trail leading to the finish was a bit smoother, allowing for uninterrupted running most of the time. That was a welcome change. My pace was still very slow, however, and I knew each lap would get increasingly difficult. Instead of getting discouraged, I focused on the trail and its challenges.

I was still having the sock issues, and by that time, my socks were down to both my arches. I was grateful to be a barefooter, as my forefoot landing was - thankfully - unaffected by this mishap. My shoes, however, were filled with mud, wood chips, pebbles and all sorts of trail things and I was afraid they would scratch my skin or cause blisters. There was, however, no way to know right now and I trusted that if anything was to go wrong with my feet, I would feel it before it gets too late.

Lost in my thoughts but still highly focused on the trail, I emerged from the woods, back down on the gravel path that leads to the finish line. I felt a strong rush of adrenaline, and a sense of urgency to finish up this lap and start a fresh one, hopefully less eventful.

The closer I got to the gate, the more I felt like pressing on without even stopping. I couldn’t think straight and became obsessed with making up for the time lost on my first lap, so I passed the gate, turned right around, grabbed a fistful of ice, rubbed my head and face and put the remaining pieces in my jersey. I picked up two cups of water and downed them. Julie barely had the time to walk up to me; I simply smiled, waved goodbye and headed off to my second lap.

The sun was already high in the sky and the temperature had risen sharply. The gravel path was partly exposed, and I felt my body temperature rising fast. It must have been at least 30 degrees already, and I knew it would get even hotter as the hours passed. I made sure to drink plenty, taking big swigs out of my hydration pack.

As soon as I took the turn on the trail, I became all alone over again. I’d spent the first lap pretty much on my own, and I had welcomed the cheers of the crowd and the music around the finish area. Now it was chirpy birds and crickets again. It made me realize what was ahead of me.

I opened some energy bars and chewed away in small bites. I wasn’t really hungry, but at least it was making my mind busy. As I was approaching the steep hill where I’d stopped on the first lap to try and fix my shoes, I suddenly remembered that I’d done nothing about that problem and that I’d missed the opportunity to stop and change. It also downed on me that I hadn’t filled my hydration pack either, which made me anxious considering the blistering heat.

I tried to focus on the trail and make progress. But no matter what excuse I was making up in my head, I had to quickly come to the realization that I wasn’t getting any faster. As a matter of fact, I was feeling my energy escape me and had to slow down to a walk a couple times to avoid exhaustion. A lap and a quarter done. Things did NOT look good.

At least the first aid station comes quick. A couple hundred meters away from it, just before the climb, I tried to look up to get a glance of the trail ahead and missed a big tree root right in front of me. My foot didn’t pass over it, and instead I kicked it with full strength. The momentum threw me completely out of balance, face first, arms wide open, freaking out, scrambling frantically to try and avoid a bad fall. I don’t know how I did, but I managed, after 8 or 9 fumbling steps, to not crash into anything, regain my balance and straighten up. What the tree root didn’t take from me physically, it did mentally: I got really scared and became very nervous, remembering far too well how I’d craked one of my toes against a tree stub just a couple weeks ago in a trail run in Lac Brome.

The aid station came and went. The stretch between the first and second stations is beautiful, but lonesome and very long. It has the most changes in terrain, too, which keeps you on alert at all times. Behind me, I could hear steps on the ground. There was a runner not too far.

As the sound got closer, I glanced and saw a girl in a running skirt, looking fresh and coming in faster than me. I asked if she wanted to pass, but she declined. We exchanged a couple words. I could see from her tone she was not too impressed with the way I looked, considering the amount of running I had left to do. She was very nice, still, and gave me some good words.

After some climbs, she was obviously faster and told me she’d pass, which she did. I could still follow her for some time before she faded away, and that somehow made me happy. It gave me something to think about. Every twist and turn, she’d disappear for a blink and then I’d see her again, her pink running shirt beaming out of the lush green background.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, she collapsed to the ground without a sound. My brain was starting to be slow, so I thought she’d kicked something and had fallen, but as I got closer, I could see she was holding her folded leg, grimacing. I stopped and tried to help, but she shooed me away with a hand gesture. “Leg cramps”, she said. “’Have ‘em all the time. I’ll be fine, just keep going”.

Gasped, I said nothing and started going again, looking back in quick glances, in absolute disbelief. As sure as death and taxes, it only took a couple minutes before I could hear her again, getting closer, then passing me. “What type of person does that?”, I thought. “I would have never been able to get back up and go.” “What if I fall?” “Is this safe?” “What if I cramp up like that?” “Am I really ready for this?”

Crippled with doubt, I loosened my attention.

*Thud*

I kicked another root. The pain resonated all along my leg, up to my hips and lower back. Frantic scramble. Panic. I managed to stay up again, took a couple steps, then came to a complete stop.

“I can’t do this.”

All alone, in the middle of a trail by a quiet lake, my body had stopped. My mind had stopped. I was unable to take another step, convinced of my total and utter failure, threading on an inevitable conclusion: “This is too much. I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m gonna have to drop out, or I’ll leave on a stretcher”. I was overwhelmed. I felt tears coming up, like a six-year-old that’s being left behind by both teams because no one wants to pick him up. I was failing. I unclipped my bag, leaned against a tree and took a leak.

Continue to Part IV

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

Read the full story here : Part I

- Part II -

It took me some minutes to actually unlace my shoes, take them off, take off my Injinji’s, clean them up, clean my feet, pull the socks back on, clean up the shoes and put these back on as well. Runners where whisking by, friendly, some winking, some offering a good word. “That’s called a wardrobe malfunction, dude. Happens to everyone. Don’t worry ‘bout it”.

I got back up on my feet and started running again. Almost immediately, I felt the pull on my Achilles again. Grrrrr. I’m starting to hate this shit. I decided that it was useless to try and do anything and that, aside from taking my socks off totally, which is unadvisable in such conditions, there was nothing I could do about it. I refocused on the task ahead, more specifically on the trail.

I had somehow expected that a trail ultra was basically a race along a somewhat even path made of beaten earth, light gravel or other such material, with little rolling hills and some stronger ups and downs. What I was experiencing was radically different. We were running in what’s called single trails, which means it’s no more than an unworked, narrow path going through whatever terrain comes our way. It entailed every possible ground type, from soft sand to hard rock to marshland and everything in between. Some uphills were so steep it was impossible to run them. There were wooden bridges over lake shores. Creek crossings.

At times, I had the feeling I was trying to run a medium-difficulty hiking trail.

The excitement of my early race quickly faded away and yielded to worry. The farther I was going, the more shocked I was at how different the terrain was from what I’d imagined. I had mostly trained on large, light-gravel trails in parks in and around Montreal, not in harsh backcountry trails. I had focused on stamina and endurance, not on strength and agility.

I started to experience a nagging, growing feeling of inadequacy: I was underprepared.

The first aid station came relatively quickly, after a steep ascent. Huffing and panting, I stopped for a quick drink and a bite of something. Conscious that I’d already taken too much time to try and fix my shoe problems, I took off quickly. I decided to “get into my head” and concentrate on the next stretch, trying to analyze as much as I could the surfaces, the visual cues, the good and bad spots.

I was going at a decent pace, enough to make things interesting. Regaining some of my confidence had also had the consequence of giving me some speed. Things were starting to look up a little, at last.

*SNAP*

I stepped on a rock I hadn’t even seen, it tipped over and I twisted my right heel until it cracked loudly. My heart stopped. I’d been battling shin splints in my right leg for the past two weeks and I was already concerned that it was not in the best of shapes to undertake the challenge. Now jumping frantically on my other foot, I didn’t even want to put it down; I was certain it wouldn’t hold my weight and make me fall flat to the ground, agonizing in both physical pain and the mental breakdown of knowing my ultra running dreams were shattered.

I lingered there for a moment, and then I reluctantly put my toes to the ground. Nothing. I put down my whole foot. Wow, still nothing. Then I tried the ultimate; I put my weight on my right side. Not only did the foot hold, but it felt strong and unaffected. Flabbergasted, I took a couple steps. I don’t know by what miracle, but not only did it not hurt, the nagging stiffness coming from the shin splints was also gone!

Startled but reassured, I picked up the pace again. There was a series of uphills coming, so I slowed to a jog to keep some energy, focusing on where I put my feet to avoid any further anguish. On top of the steepest hill, I saw a bright beam of sunlight. Coming out of the tree shade, the heat felt irradiating, dangerous. I was now on a large gravel road, baked by the sunlight, with no obvious direction to head for. Wanting to get out of the clearing as fast as I could, I started looking around for a sign of where the course was going. There was an arrow vaguely pointing to the left. “That’s not very well positioned”, I thought, starting to run again. “I hope there’s not too much running in the clear”.

Almost immediately after I began running on the gravel road, I started feeling awkward. I was doubting I had taken the right direction. I was also conscious that every step I was taking, if not in the right direction, I would need to undo, which is probably the last thing you want to have to do in an ultra distance event. Lacking experience and not knowing what the best course of action was, I decided to run a little bit more, waiting to spot the little orange flags that marked the trail.

Several hundred meters further, still nothing. By then, my doubts had doubled. I decided to stop. Standing still, trying not to breathe hard, I tried to listen for sounds of runners, either ahead or behind. Nothing. Little chirpy birds and crickets. I was all alone. Again, fear seeped into my mind. “You only know what’s behind, not what’s ahead. What’s more to see over there that you haven’t seen before? Press on.” I thought the little voice in my head was pretty clever, so I complied. Several more hundred meters later, I finally spot what I’d been direly waiting for: 3 orange flaggies by the side of the road, heading right back into the forest. Immense relief.

As soon as I entered the shade, I got into a very technical, steep descent that didn’t look like any of the trails I had seen so far. Taking every possible care in the world, I finished the downhill and stepped back onto a soft path much like the others I had run on before.

Much too much like them, actually.

Not 2 minutes later, I lift up my head and see… a runner coming my way! Unable to keep my shit together, I start yelling at him “Do you know if the course double-backs?” He says no. “Have you crossed any other runners?”. His face gets all wearied and he says “You’re the first one”. Floored, I ask “What’s the last noticeable thing you’ve passed?”. “Water station”, he says. God damn it. I’d taken a wrong turn and ran the trail backwards.

Not knowing how to pull me out of my misery, the runner says “Come on, run with me for a bit”. I do for a while, chatting a little, trying to forget how costly my mistake would be later on in the race. Trying to rebuild my confidence. To make things worse, I knew I would only be able to fathom the length of my mistake when I finish my first turn, at 14km, and calculate the difference with my GPS.

So early in the race, that was a hard, hard blow.


Continue to Part III

Unreal - The Story Of My First Ultra Marathon

- Part I -

The morning was fresh and very sunny. It was obvious the day would be very hot. I was nervous, excited, jittery. After years in the making, this was it. This was the morning of my first ultra marathon.

We’d chosen the Limberlost Challenge, a trail run in the beautiful forests of northeast Ontario, for no particular reason else than their appealing web site and inspiring videos. We didn’t know much about the course or about ultras for that matter, as none but one of us had prior experience.

My friend Donald and I had been camping on-site the night before, so we were literally a couple hundred yards from the starting line. Gilles and Yves, our two other partners in crime, had stayed at a hotel with our support crew and head logistician, The Amazing Julie.

They showed up mere moments after Donald and I had popped out of the tent and started preparing. The atmosphere was electric. We headed out to the start/finish area, set up the tent and the equipment and lined up with the other runners. Everything was going quickly. It felt like 5 minutes ago, I was still asleep in the tent, blissfully obvious of what I’d gotten myself into.

In a normal race, you might get a little briefing or speech from the race director, saying basically welcome and have fun. This is not a normal race. The briefing we got was from a doctor, who said nothing about fun and spoke of acute dehydration, electrolyte shock and his unilateral right to boot us out of the race if we started to look too much like a medical liability. He handed the mic over to the race director who basically said “OK, so are you ready? 5, 4, 3, 2…”

Good god! Is he serious? He was!

In no time, we were moving along, with only the constant beeping of the starting matte to keep me connected with reality. As we went from a fast walk to a slow jog, I took a look at my co-runners.

Donald was already headed for the front of the pack. At 48, he’s slender, strong, handsome and has the willpower of a freight train. Type of guy who’s done sports all his life, and reaps the benefits. Loves to pull my leg. I scoff and smile as I see him go, reminding myself I knew there was no way I would be running this with him. I’m just not fast enough.

“He’s starting off strong”. That’s Yves, right beside me. The Coach. One of the most experienced runners in the community, he has not only a very impressive list of personal achievements, but also coached many athletes, some up to international levels. Decades of hard-acquired wisdom, packed in a strong, resilient body and a teenager’s smile. Think Clint Eastwood, without the attitude. In this very moment, I’m ever so grateful I have him next to me, and feel privileged. But I say nothing else than ask “Where’s Gillezz?”

Gillezz, that’s the sound I make when I call Gilles, our fourth runner. It’s actually his idea to run this thing. Months ago, while we were still running in the snow at EDLC, we started to chat and he mentioned he dreamed of running ultras. I said “So do I”. He asked me if I was serious, which I was, and asked if I wanted to actually run one, which I did. In less time than was required to realize what trouble we were getting ourselves into, we’d agreed to sign up for Limberlost. That sums up Gilles very well. Batshit crazy with an amused smile, a five-year-old trapped in a grown man’s body. He was trotting along a couple steps ahead of us.

The gravel road we’d started off on didn’t last for more than a couple hundred meters. Right away, we were signalled into the forest, along a beautiful soft trail of moist earth and green moss. I breathe. I know we’re going to be here for a very long time, so there’s no need to rush ahead. This lap, I’m thinking, is the first of four. I’ll spend it looking around and taking notice of the terrain. It’s my warm-up.

I got pulled out of my own thoughts rapidly by a strange feeling in my feet.

I was wearing Merrell TrailGloves, as part of a review process that had started a couple weeks before. I’d met a Merrell rep at a trail and road event while wearing my FiveFingers and we’d gotten into a conversation about their new line of barefoot shoes, more specifically why I wasn’t impressed with them and had doubts they could perform any serious running. Instead of getting pissed and walking away, he actually invited me to try out a pair and see for myself. I agreed, adding that if I was ever to trust them enough to race in them, I’d make amends and wear Merrell’s colors for the event.

So here I was, wearing not only TrailGloves but a Merrell Team jersey, suddenly rocked by a discomforting thought: “What if they don’t hold up?”. I look at my feet, wondering what the strange feeling is. While running, the back heels of the shoes are gripping on my achilles tendon and pulling down my socks. And since I’m wearing ankle-cut Injinji’s, it won’t take long until the socks are completely crimpled under my arches. Remembering advice from experienced ultra runners, I decided to stop right away and fix the issue, instead of toughing it out and deal with bigger problems later on.

I told Yves and Gilles to press on, thinking I’d likely catch up with them in a couple kilometres. Little did I know it would be a long, very long time before I’d see any of my friends.


Continue to Part II

The Other Side Of Fear

I have fear. I've been nervous, anxious over the past couple days leading to an extreme adventure I am undertaking with crazy friends this weekend. I am running an ultramarathon.

Basically, an event like that is a marathon, 42KM... and then a 10KM... and then 4 more KM.

I've been flipping everything in my head; have I gained enough body fat? Do I have a reliable source of electrolytes? Did I do enough hill training? What if I don't sleep well? Will heat be a factor? What's the course like? Should I plan on changing gear at the half point?

My apprehension is fueled from another source, too. Last Saturday, I went for a 30-minute run with my group. I couldn't take more than a couple steps and felt an acute pain in my lower right leg. Shin splints. Little overuse injuries that build when you do too much, too fast, for too long. I've been running a lot, I've been running very far and I've never ran faster in my whole life. But now, I'm afraid my strength is fading. My legs need a break.

My Belle is away. I can usually always count on her wisdom and support, the days prior a big event. She's always there to listen, to give me little pearls of wisdom and to let me know how happy she is that I'm doing what I love. Man I miss her.

I could keep adding and adding to this list. Even as I write it, it makes my heart beat faster and my back shivery. I'm stressed out.

But that was until yesterday.

I went to my yoga class, yesterday. My teacher, Kelly, decided we all should take some time to lay down and rest. It's called restorative yoga. A mix of meditation, relaxation and gentle stretching. It felt awesome.

When we were about done with the class, she asked everyone to think about something. I, of course, thought about my race. Then she said something totally unexpected.

"Whatever you are thinking about, be grateful for it".

I had it backwards! I am not stressed about food, hydration, physical risks or loneliness. I am grateful for love and friendship, for my body's amazing capabilities, for my health and for my freedom to pursue my dreams.

I am not afraid. I am grateful.

Here goes everything.

Flint’s Running Gear Guide

Whether through Facebook, Twitter or personal messages, I get asked more and more frequently about running gear. What I recommend, what’s best for a beginner and so on. Although sadly I can’t buy and review every piece of gear out there, I have purchased and tried my share of equipment and there really are some things I wouldn’t go without anymore.

It’s far from extensive, but here’s a list of gear I have tried and then adopted.

Shoes / socks
For shoes and everything feet, you can find extensive reviews here.




Clothing
Funny enough, the basics of running clothing (technical t-shirts and shorts, mostly) are the easiest pieces of gear to buy. I have never come across any pair of shorts or running t-shirt that wasn’t well-built and comfortable. Just make sure the material is light and dries quickly (which is almost always the case) and you’re good.

For the record, I run in Nike DriFit shorts, the “split-short” type. For tops, I’ll either use a technical t-shirt received as a perk in a race (for short runs) or a combination of a compression t-shirt, which eliminates the very real and painful nipple friction, and a sleeveless cycling vest because of the useful back pockets. In that case, I wear an Adidas TechFit Powerweb compression shirt and a Craft Triathlon Cut vest.










Underwear
This is one department I hesitate to advise about. The reason is: not everyone seems to agree on one specific type of underwear. I’ll usually go for the low-cut type brief, but as soon as the run gets over 25km, I wear compression-type boxers from Under Armour to eliminate friction issues.


Arm warmers
I have made these a stand-alone item because they are my discovery of the year. I always regarded arm warmers as the ultimate look-at-me item, worn only by pros and wannabes. How wrong I was. I bought a pair of Asics arm warmers in early spring and, after trying them out, I never head for a race without them. The beauty of this piece of gear is that it will really keep you warm before (and even a couple kilometres into) a race, and when you’ve warmed up, they’re super easy to take off and stash while running. They even fit a FuelBelt pouch. Even in rainy weather, they will keep you warm. They are not waterproof, but their fabric’s performance isn’t affected when wet. Arm warmers are #1 on my list of additional gear a runner should get.

Hats, scarves
I don’t wear hats and caps. I just don’t like them. I’ll usually wear a regular bandana, but when it counts, I always wear my Buff. It’s basically a microfiber tube that you can wear multiple ways, from a scarf to a head band. It’s fantastic. You’ll honestly wonder how you’ve lived without it!


Sunglasses
I’m not going to tell you that you need fancy auto-adjusting sunglasses to run efficiently. However, I do think you need some eye protection both from trail hazards and intense sunshine. Go for a pair that is light, offers good UV protection and is preferably made of polycarbonate, which is - almost – unbreakable. My eyewear of choice for several years now has been Ryders sunglasses because they are designed in wind tunnels, which makes them optimal for bicycle riding, motorcycle driving and outdoor sports all at once. They are also very affordable and sturdy. My current pair is the Ollie.

GPS / cardio monitor / watch
The more experienced I get, the less I’m inclined to use gadgets that monitor my every move. It’s a philosophic thing I guess, but I prefer to run free. But I digress. I do use a couple things to monitor my runs, mostly when I pace another runner or during an event (in case my TimeChip would fail, for example).

When I focus on effort level and calorie burning, I wear a Mio Drive+ strapless heart rate watch which, like it name says, is awesome because you don’t have to wear that pesky chest strap under you shirt. Just put your index and middle finger on the top buttons, wait a couple seconds and you get your heart rate. Do this multiple times during your workout and the watch will calculate your calorie burn based on your effort level. It’s a very nice piece of equipment, but I think Mio would make a killing if they added a GPS, which is a crucial element for any runner.

Because my Mio doesn’t have a GPS, I had to purchase another running watch that could track my speed. I chose the Garmin Forerunner 205 because it’s less expensive and doesn’t come with a chest strap. I can’t say I’m overly excited with it. It has neat features like a programmable split-screen that lets you choose which information is displayed (pace, time, calories burnt, avg speed, etc.), but it also has many downsides. First, it’s a bulky thing with a large, flat piece that houses the GPS antenna and makes the screen harder to glance at. But more disappointing is the computer application (Garmin Training Center) that comes with the watch. It’s a clunky, ugly piece of software that doesn’t provide any more insight into your run than the watch does. It literally looks and feels like it was programmed in 1993. There’s supposed to be an alternative, an online community called Garmin Connect. But I haven’t tried it yet.

Hydration
There are many ways to stay hydrated on the run, and I have come to rely on different solutions for different contexts.

I use a QuickDraw bottle from Nathan for my short runs, speed work and while commuting (I run to work). It holds 650ml (22oz) of liquid and features a little stashing pocket for my keys, a zippered mini pocket for a $20 bill and a mesh pocket for whatever else. It’s very easy to hold, as you just have to slip your hand in the strap and forget you’re holding a bottle. I’ve come to like this solution very much because it’s fast, light, and easy to clean when you get back home.

I used to use a FuelBelt Endurance 4-bottle hydration belt for runs between 5K and 21K. It holds 4 x 250ml (8oz) bottles and features an elastic holding system that’s pretty clever and holds the bottles decently well while making sure they are easily available when you want them. It takes a little getting used to, but this item is probably the most versatile hydration equipment for distance runners looking for an all-in-one solution. Cleaning the bottles is a hassle (it’s hard to reach the bottom) and you can’t leave liquid in them for an extended period, or they’ll grow mold quickly.

I have tried to expand my belt’s capacity with bigger, 295ml (10oz) bottles, but these really don’t work as well and they’re not worth the $12 a piece they ask for them. They’re too heavy when they’re full and swing a lot. Also, even though I am a small guy, I find them very bulky and in-the-way.

UPDATE. After some extensive use of this product, I was very disappointed with the quality of the bottle material and bite valves which molded up and can't be cleaned.

For marathons and beyond, I use a hydration pack from Camelbak called the Snoblast. I’m a bit of an oddball on that one because it’s not a “running” pack per say. This bag was created with winter sports in mind, but it has awesome features some other packs I tried were lacking :

• It’s not significantly heavier than specialized packs
• the drinking tube can be zip-closed entirely inside the shoulder strap
• the bag is expandable in case you need more storage space
• the water compartment is outside the main bag space
• the design is flat and keeps the bag close to your back
• it features an inside pocket that protects your phone and allows its use as an MP3 player (through an earphone wire latch)
• The drinking tube is insulated, which keeps liquids cool in the summer and, well, liquid in the winter
• It has 2 fully retractable straps that allow you to carry stuff (shoes, a towel, etc.) outside the bag
• There’s a bottom loop for a safety light for night time running
• It’s the perfect running-commuter bag

Recovery gear
Although I do wear compression gear while running, I don’t believe it affects your performance in any way. I wear it because of its efficiency against friction and sweating. However, I believe some compression is very useful in recovery, because it seems to lessen the soreness and sluggishness in your legs after a long run. Whether you choose compression socks, calf sleeves or full-size tights, I think they can bring relief and optimize your recovery after intense efforts and long runs. I wear 2XU’s Compression Calf Guards up to 36 hours after a race. Yes, that means I sleep with them. My girlfriend calls them SexyTubes.

And no, she’s not serious.

Extra clothing in cold weather
When it gets cold up here, you need to add several layers of specialized equipment. Since it's 36 degrees and sunny outside right now, I really don't feel like talking about polar fleece and insulation. So let's keep that for some time this fall, a'ight?

:)

PS - I'll be more than happy to add more gear reviews here if you'd like them. Just let me know in the comments section below.

PPS - If you have gear you'd like to be reviewed, you can contact me here.