My 100-Mile Week Challenge

The Pandora 24, Quebec's first 24-hour trail ultra, is getting closer every day. I'll be running it with fellow Mas Locos and good running friends, pipe dreaming of maybe pulling a 100 miles. But that, I now know, usually goes better with at least some training.

I took a longer commute yesterday, running to work from my Belle's. It's roughly 3 times farther than my place, at about 15K each way. So it's a pretty good running day, a 30k "twofer".

Silly little maths started playing out in my head, and I realized that if I run commute every single day this week, it amounts to 150K. Add a little 10K thrown in somewhere and you hit the 100-mile mark.

See where this is going?

:)

And I *might* have a little suprise for the "little 10K"...





Si je veux faire une belle course à la Pandora, j'aurais avantage à m'entraîner un peu... Après quelques calculs, j'ai réalisé que si je cours au travail de chez ma Belle chaque jour cette semaine, et que j'ajoute un petit 10km pour compléter, ça fera 100 milles en 5 jours...

100 Thank Yous

À ma Belle, qui m'a témoigné un appui indéfectible, même sans tout comprendre.

To Micah, who never ceased to inspire and guide me, to this day.

Maria, whose unfailing friendship warms my heart.

Dan, the Weatherman, and his thousand words of advice.

Dan, my brother, who taught me about bravery and resilience.

To my brother, for showing me that life is made of risk.

Sweeney, who told me our Mexican adventure would give me the fortitude I needed.

The Red-Tailed Hawk, for showing me the way and believing in me.

Jess, ever so graceful and light, who so enthusiastically shared the journey.

Nick, who generously spent some time explaining what such an adventure required. Also, for running alongside me in the last moments, sharing words that will be cherished.

To The Mas Locos, for everything.

Rachel, so light-footed and generous, sharing my last loops and cheering me on.

To the Redhead, whose fault that all is, for gently nudging me forward.

Jamil, Nathan and all the Coury family, for making me feel at home with such generosity.

Ian, a true champion, who humbly taught me hares and turtles both share the same challenges.

To Pierre, who inspired me to run in his footsteps.

To Donald, for not letting me fool myself and for his unfailing confidence.

Augusto, who shares my journey into life and running in so many interesting ways.

To The Leaf Warrior, The Great Tree, for the invisible link that unites us.

Baby Tiger, my fighter, my spark of life.

To Quebec runners and ultra enthusiasts, who make me feel home every time we cross paths.

Karine, so that somehow you feel your challenge is shared.

To Casey, for all intents and purposes an absolute stranger, incarnating what I love most about the culture of ultra running.

To the Arizona runners, for becoming an instant family.

To Luis the Coyote, for keeping it real, for real. For his generosity, his genuine kindness and his radiating strength.

The Santa Barbara runners, for being the rowdy awesome bunch they are.

To my Leatherman's Loop friends, who remain close to my heart year round.

Juan Pablo, who taught me a lesson of resilience I will never forget.

All the runners on that course who struggled, dug deep and kept going, for showing me how it's done.

To all my friends, close and far, who cheer and spur me on in my crazy adventures.


To Terry Fox, who planted a dream in a young boy's head years before any of this would happen.

And finally to you, FlintLand readers, for all your messages of support and love, which mean the world to me every single time. Always.




You have all contributed to making me who I am, and you have all played a role on that crazy track, where I spun myself stupid looping around day and night in search of something that is hard to describe or explain, until I got a firm grasp of it - crossing the finish line of a 100-mile run.

Thank you.

The Javelina Jundred - Jopes And Jardships

What is failure? That is a question I had a lot of time to ponder out in the Arizona desert. Eighteen hours and fifty-eight minutes, to be totally accurate.

Mas Loco Sandwich

In a way, the Javelina Jundred represented the crowning of my ultra running season, a unique moment in my life where I spent months traveling and running events all over the Southwest with some of my favorite people in the world. It was, for me, the best possible chance I had of completing the titan of ultras, the 100-mile distance. All my friends would be there, I had a lot of inspiration and I had been told by many that the moment was right, that my time had come.

But the truth is, I had my doubts from the very beginning. My body, although solid and healthy, was tired and worn from the many other races I had done. From my altitude training spree in Boulder to Nine Trails to Javelina Jangover to Water is Life to Hunter Gatherer to Canyon de Chelly, I didn't have a lot of time for a key element; rest and recovery.

Only a week before J-Day, I traveled back to Montreal to be with my loved ones; this proved to be an unexpected emotional roller coaster from which I haven't really come down yet. I'd also suffered a slight injury to my ankle and, although my Medicine Woman had taken care of it the Wednesday before, I could still feel the echoes in my foot and lower leg.

This man?
He's my pacer, Officer.

Since Javelina is such an awesome event, filled with creativity and crazy cool people, I focused on the fun aspect more than anything and thought I could draw a lot of inspiration and motivation from it. I had also the immense privilege of having one of the finest ultra runners and bloggers in my world, Patrick Sweeney, as my pacer for the later miles. His friendship, experience and devastating sense of humor were a promise that my last loops would be memorable. My friend Caleb was around, too, and offered to take the second night shift if Sweeney wanted to pace another runner. Things couldn't be any better.

Slamtastic
Michael Miller

From the moment I met my friends to drive up to Fountain Hills until the time we hit the starting line, I had a big smile on my face. It was time for discovery, for an adventure out of my comfort zone and for a test of my endurance. I wasn't the only one in questionable shape, either; Mas Loco Michael Miller had a bum foot and my brother Tyler had a knee issue and looked all serious and worried. Many more runners shared they felt ill-prepared or nervous. We were all in the same boat.

I hit the trails with La Mariposa, determined to not go out too fast and enjoy my journey. We shared almost the first half of loop 1, then I slowly drifted after abundant hugs and good wishes. I wasn't running a lot, trying to keep my energy for later. I ran flats and downhills, but walked all the uphills. The strategy seemed to work really well and I had a lot of energy, aside from a slightly upset stomach I blamed on my plan to take electrolyte pills from the very beginning.

My first loop ended in good spirits, running with lots of cool people and having fun doing it. Sweeney was hanging out at the Javelina Jeadquarters, dressed up as a mariachi. Flamboyant. Things were going well.

The ever-so-lovely
Kimberley Miller

Kimberley Miller was at the turnaround aid station, and gave me critical advice for the day. «Loop 1 is done; now what you want is take it easy for loop 2 to have energy for loop 3, which is the hardest in your whole run.» I ate some fruits and a burrito, and on I went.

The first half of loop 2 was pretty uneventful, as I shared the trail with more interesting runners. My hydration was good and I was eating decent amounts of calories, too. I crossed Hal Koerner and the other front guys, but the one I was keeping an eye out for is Ian Sharman. When I saw him earlier, he looked fresh and on top of things, a sight that made me happy. We said hi quickly and he just whisked by, light and efficient.

After Jackass Junction, the halfway point in the loop, the desert sun started to hammer down. The heat rose quickly and sharply, and soon everyone seemed to slow down and feel heavier. I am not easily affected by heat, so I just smiled, soaked in the warm rays and kept going. I was walking more than I would've wanted, but I thought there was no point in trying to run more and blow out. As long as I kept moving, I thought, I should be fine.

Tyler Tarzan
in the desert sun

I crossed Tyler for the second time around that point, and he looked worried. I asked how he was doing, and from his tone, I could tell he was thinking of dropping down, or out. He told me Michael Miller wasn't feeling any better, which the man confirmed himself moments later. It seemed like no one was having a good day; I was definitely not the only one feeling it.

I finished my second loop in much worse a shape than I thought. Out on the trails, I felt hot but all right, but when I hit the aid station, I realized I was incoherent and disoriented. I walked to a big plastic tub and a really nice guy splashed my head and neck with ice cold water until I started making sense again. I knew this couldn't be good. I grabbed some food, a couple fistfuls of ice and chilled out for some minutes.

Then I took my first really bad decision of the day. I changed my shoes. I went to my van and grabbed my Skechers GoTrail, which fit snugger than my other shoes. This was made worse by the fact my feet had swollen and that I was wearing two layers of socks. Stupidly, I thought I'd spent enough time fooling around already and had to go back out. This would fix itself up by itself on the trails, right?

As any runner with half a brain already knows, it didn't. My feet started hurting really bad, and there was simply nothing else I can do than tough it out for 15 more miles, on the notoriously critical third loop, in 100+ degree weather.

I'd also grabbed my walking stick to try and lessen the impact of my running and walking, and the change of form it caused was pleasant. People on the trail started calling me StickMan, which I thought was cool and funny, and partly took my mind out of the hurting spiral I had gotten myself into.

I spent many miles with Tess, a really nice and experienced Javelina runner. She provided a lot of advice and corrected some hydration mistakes I had done by having me swallow several more S-Caps to prevent cramping. She also calculated that, at the pace we were both going, we would be in very good position at the end of the third loop to be 100-mile finishers. «We need to keep this pace up if we want to have more wiggle room later on in the run». But I could feel she was slowing down, ever so slightly. We remained together for some more time, but eventually, I realized she had dropped behind.

Oppan Gangnam Style!

By the time I hit Jackass Junction again, things were looking pretty bleak. I was exhausted, overheated and pretty much unable to run. I tried to stay in good spirits and kept a smile on nonetheless. I had a lof of fun at the station with Justin, who was reviving zonked runners and distributing quirky words of encouragement left and right. I even broke a little Gangnam Style dance before taking off.

Leaving the aid station, however, led me back to my solitude and my lingering thoughts about my ability to finish. I'm grateful I had a lot of time on my own, so I took a long, deep look at my day and my goals, and I asked myself honestly if I thought I could make a 100-mile finish. There were 4 more loops to run at that point (1/2 to finish my third, 3 more, then a final half-loop); My question pretty much answered itself.

I was unable to finish my third loop in daylight, which meant I had covered less than 75K in more than 12 hours. That was both disheartening and hard proof that my coveted belt buckle was definitely slipping away. Coming into the final stretch of my third loop, Tess caught up to me and I was really happy. I had picked up Luke, who at that point was probably the most zonked-out runner I had ever seen. He was delirious and incoherent, didn't have a light and couldn't make much better than 3-word phrases. There was no way I was going to leave him behind in the dark, so we walked together to the aid station. I tried to get some life back into him a little bit by offering stuff to eat, electrolytes or some water, but he said he couldn't keep even a single sip in. As we approached the aid station, I asked him how long ago was his last bite of food or drink of water. «Six hours», he answered. His race was over. He sat at the aid station and Tess and I hit the last stretch together.

Which way, again?

«You know,» she said, «You've got plenty of time to at least make it to a 100K, and you'll get a nice belt buckle for that, too». I was ready for that decision. I told her I was happy that I would at least make it that far, and that I'd do some of it with her. «Dear, the last thing I need is another 100K belt buckle. I have 3 of those already. I'm done, but you go get it.»

We walked in the Jeadquarters together, where a semi-worried Sweeney was waiting for me. «I'm not going to impose a death march on you, man. This loop's gonna be a zombie walk. You stay here and party, I'll be fine on my own.»

His answer? «No way!»

«Get your stuff together, go change your shoes, freshen up and meet me here in 15 minutes». He jumped out of his mariachi suit, put some running clothes on, and I threw away my Skechers and put on a third pair of shoes, with a change of socks. My feet suffered some damage, but they still were in decent shape.

It's amazing the effect of having a fresh runner by your side, when you feel so down and out. Sweeney was patient and joyful, and didn't go for a drill sargeant routine, instead choosing to just talk smack and laugh with me while we walked the long up to the half-way point. This made me feel really good, to have a good friend by my side, and to feel he wasn't disappointed in any way. We talked a lot, laughed a lot and, at one point and to my great amazement, I took a couple running steps that felt really, really good. So I kept going.

«Frenchie, you've managed to make me sweat!»

With a smile back on my face, I ran and power-hiked all the way to Jackass again, and decided to take a longer break to try and gather as much energy as I could. I ate tons of noodles, squeezed a gel or two and relaxed while Sweeney and Justin drank beers and had fun.

Heading back out proved extremely difficult, and my body was seized up. From that point on, I knew there was no way I would go further than the 100k, and that thought actually made me happy. I was still out here, in the dark, pressing ahead after many, many hours, and I would still manage to complete a distance I had only run one time before.

I eventually loosened up and managed a couple decent running stretches, but I knew that, as soon as we would hit the rocky downhill patches, my feet would hurt too much and I'd have to walk. As expected, the stretch took a long time to go through, and when we finally hit the last aid station, I was weak, beaten down and starving. We had planned to just walk through and keep going, but I had to sit down and slurp some more noodles.

I finally got back up and on the trail for one last time. At that point it was past midnight and I had been on my feet for more than 18 hours, but I promised my friend we would come in running for the finish. We kept talking and joking until we hit the road crossing, at last, and I broke into a little jog, that sped up to a decent running pace. After all that time, it seems that I still had some energy in me after all. I passed the finish line at 18 hours and 58 minutes while Sweeney looped around the chute and welcomed me home with a big hug. Having him with me on the trails meant a lot, and the emotions started to flow.

I then walked to the officials' tent, looked Nick Coury straight in the eye, smirked and said «I hereby request to be dropped down to a 100K.» He winked at me, handed me my belt buckle and said «You know, running a 100K is no small thing. Congratulations!»

I turned around to a big hug from Aquaphor Girl, AKA Volkswagen Runner Girl, AKA Deborah Goodwin and many congratulations from my friends who had already finished or called it a day. I sat down on a chair and finally enjoyed some rest, some great food and great conversations before finally passing out dead in my van for a couple hours.

I really didn't consider my Javelina Jundred to be a failure. I went out there with all I had, gave it my best and had the wits to know when to stop before causing any damage. It was a good day to be alive, a good day for a desert adventure and a good day to realize I had still some learning to do before I could be among the Big Buckle People.

100 miles, it seems, would have to wait.



Je n'ai pas couru 100 milles, cette journée-là, parce que ce n'était pas l'aventure dont j'avais besoin. Celle qui m'attendait s'est déroulée loin des sentiers, et va ma ramener à la maison, le coeur débordant.



Photo credits : Patrick Sweeney, Justin Lutick

A New Frontier

I've been running for over three years now. Every time I go out, I learn something new. I've done 5K's, 10's, half marathons, marathons and ultras up to 100k. In my relatively recent running life, I've probably run 5 or 6 marathons and about a dozen ultras, which doesn't exactly make me a seasoned ultra runner, but I feel like I've been around the block a couple – thousand – times.

They say you should do something that scares you every once in a while. Something out of your comfort zone. This Saturday, I'm about to try something that's about three light years away from that zone.

This Saturday, I'm about to try and run a 100-mile ultra.

I feel like I know nothing about running anymore. I feel like my training has been so inconsistent and random that I have no idea what I can do or how far I can go. I feel unsure if I can chew all of that big bite. I am worried, nervous. To be totally honest, I'm scared shitless.

They call us virgins. Runners who've never crossed a 100-mile finish. Some envy us for the discovery we're about to make, others think we've gone batshit crazy and need an intervention. My soul trembles at the mere idea of the sheer distance this represents, and my spirit doubts.

But sometimes, for a short moment, a warm wave of something rolls across my body. I think it's hope. It's a dream, an idea that maybe, maybe if I stick to my goal and grind away, happily, mile after mile, some sort of miracle of endurance will happen.

I will be surrounded by the absolute best people in the sport, after all. I will cross the path of people who inspire me in unspeakable ways. My spirit is accompanied by roaming souls of legends, ancient blessings and benevolent thoughts for the four corners of the world. I'm a lucky man.

Saturday, I will draw every last atom of inspiration I have gotten from all of you, in many different ways. I will spend long hours by myself, connecting with the ones who give me the strength, energy and resolve to move me forward and elevate my will.

Saturday, I will follow the sun and the moon through a complete cycle in the magnificent desert, through moments of elation and despair, vitality and exhaustion. But no matter what comes my way, I will keep taking a step forward. And all of you will be with me.

I will keep going.


I'll see you on the other side.