Three Blessings

May you flow like water, gliding free and secure in an open space.

May you fly like the wind, your body strong and a twinkle of joy in your eye.

May you be light on the earth, carried by the true colors shining from your heart.


You are adaptable, swift and light. Your strength emanates from inside, where your true colors shine outwards and radiate in the broad daylight. Your power comes from your lightness, which makes you grow wings and fly. Your resilience is like stone, solid and stable, and serves as the foundation upon which you’ve built yourself.


You’re beautiful.

You’re strong.

Nothing can ever stop you.

Theland Kicknosway and the Nation of the Running People

 

This is a translation of an article published in Le Nord newspaper, who interviewed our friend Theland Kicknosway after he visited us at the Pandora 24 Ultra last week to share his message and his culture. He even made the front page :)

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PRÉVOST - The organizers of the Pandora 24, a trail ultramarathon, have created the event with love and respect for nature. This is why, for this year’s edition, they have continued their tradition of sharing and connecting by inviting two members of the Cree Nation, Theland and Elaine Kicknosway, his mother.

Theland has run 134 km between Ottawa and Kitigan Zibi to raise awareness for missing and murdered native women. He attended Pandora 24 to carry his message, but also to share songs, drum beats and traditional dances. He is a Hoop Dancer, an ancestral art of dancing with colored hoops to tell small stories. He is 13 years old.

Theland Kicknosway’s mother, Elaine, is proud of her son’s achievements. She says he breaks the silence and sheds light on all these native women (Over 1,200 Native women have disappeared or been murdered in our country since 1980). She comes from a small Cree community in Northern Saskatchewan. Theland lives with his father and is a member of the Potawatami / Cree Nation of Walpole Island.

An encounter
Elaine says Theland had a vision, when he was 9 years old, that he had to walk to raise awareness about the many children left behind and affected directly by the disappearance of the women. These children needed to know that he runs for them, so that they are acknowledged and can help one another. In Kitigan Zibi, each one of them has suffered the loss of a woman, disappeared or murdered.

«The race organization invited Theland and Elaine to share their culture and their message, which affects us all deeply. What Theland does goes straight to the heart of the Nation of the Running People because he runs great distances to carry this message», explains François Bourdeau, one of the runners.

Theland’s original idea was to run across Canada, «but at 10 years of age, that wasn’t safe.» After planning on running across Ontario, the young runner finally decided to run from Ottawa to Kitigan Zibi, close to Maniwaki. «This is a 4-year endeavor. There are 2 years left and, since the federal government has finally announced there will be a grand enquiry to begin this year, we will cover the same time period», says Elaine Kicknosway. She adds «as a young Native man who also experiences others’ perceptions, racism and often intolerance, he will have a lot to say at 16 years of age.»

A year after his first run, her son ran from Kitigan Zibi to Ottawa. François Bourdeau explains that performing the run in both directions creates a circle, which is an extremely important concept in Native culture. «You go around a circle. The first time you travel it, you learn. The second time around, you discover new things and you gain a better understanding», adds Elaine.

Theland has also participated in the Pandora 24 as a guest runner.

Ultra Fiord Patagonia 2016 - A Bad Plan B

An interview with ultra runner Augusto Gamero on Ultra Fiord Patagonia 2016

 

Augusto Gamero is a Canadian runner from the Ottawa region, member of the Pearl Izumi Run Team and a personal friend. Experienced, strong and fit, he takes on several ultra challenges each year and does consistently very well. For having shared many runs and events with him, I know he's a responsible adventure runner, aware of the risks and challenges our sport presents and I know he prepares accordingly. He is also of Honduran descent, well-traveled and a native Spanish speaker.

After I learned about the disappearance and tragic death of our friend Arturo Rueda at the Ultra Fiord Patagonia this year, I wanted to sit down and ask Augusto how he navigated the event, how he felt about the situation and what had actually happened, from his perspective. Here's the result of our conversation.

Q. You wanted us to have this conversation.

A. Yes. I’ve had time to revisit the event and everything that has happened, and I want to tell the story of Ultra Fiord 2016 from my point of view. I want this story to sift through the filter of polished marketing and empty public statements so that my fellow runners get a real sense of what happened, for the sake of truth and accountability.

Q. So tell me how it all started.

A. I attended the Trails In Motion film festival with beautiful movies of awesome races and that really got me inspired. I wanted to find an adventure of my own, one that would mix travel and racing. My friend Maude and I started looking around for an event and found the Ultra Fiord Patagonia, with its gorgeous videos, its promise of adventure and its awe-inspiring mountain setting. It seemed to be everything I was looking for.

Q. Did you research the event? How did you get your information?

A. I quickly realized this was a young race and that the previous year had significant issues with logistics and coordination. However, it seemed the organization had made amends and implemented substantial corrective measures. One important thing to understand is that NIGSA, the race promoter, excels at marketing. They have a very slick-looking web site, high-quality images and videos and they make everything look highly-organized and professional. When I read their material, it became obvious that this would be a difficult, challenging course with extreme weather and I knew to expect a semi-autonomous environment because of the mandatory gear list and the seemingly rigorous application process, where you had to describe your experience as an ultra-runner before gaining entry.

It was also made very clear that manned aid stations with basic food and water would be available along the course, as well as medical support and runner tracking through electronic chips. The whole registration and follow-up process gave me the feeling that Ultra Fiord was a challenging race, designed for seasoned ultra runners and held by a high-tiered organization.

Q. So you journeyed down to Chile and got to the race site. What was it like?

A. It was quite messy from the start. The most apparent sign of that was the absence of your typical race headquarters; things were all over the place. There was a spot for drop bags, another for race packets and yet another for the ceremony. NIGSA changed some of the locations last-minute, too, and it got really confusing for the runners.

Q. Was there a briefing?

A. The “pre-race briefing” was unnecessarily long and pompous, and NIGSA boasted that there were runners from all over the world, yet provided very poor English translation with conferences and official speeches in Spanish only and about 30% of the race briefing being translated. You could see there were runners present who had no clue what was going on.

This is when we were informed of the course changes due to severe weather conditions to allow the race to go on. NIGSA published an edited map and informed runners on how the course would be affected. Some of the fjords would be missed because of the changes. We were told the weather would be pretty bad with high winds and low temperatures, including snow. The course changes were obviously last-minute, but I feel that we, as ultra runners, have to be ready for such things to happen and I think at this point, everybody seemed to appreciate that the event was still taking place.

Q. What was the “vibe” like, at this point?

A. There was a lot of confusion and frustration. A lot of runners did not understand much of what went on because of the poor translation and everyone was trying to figure out the vital information while the program went on with a Spanish-only conference on mountain climbing. I think it’s fair to say that the runners would have much preferred some clear, upfront information on the weather, the course and how support would be affected rather than sitting confused while some guy talked about a topic totally unrelated to the race’s scope and environment.

Q. How did you feel?

A. I was there for the experience and determined to do the race. I felt confident about my gear and my preparation; I had my own food and my overall experience to count on. I was bugged by some pre-race aspects of the organization, but I was determined to run and finish my 70K endeavour. I won’t deny I was nervous because of the environment and the weather; I knew some of the conditions, like the wind and cold, were worrisome. I didn't know how my body and mental would be affected, but I saw it as a challenge.

Q. Let’s get to race day.

A. The logistics issues started with the 6:00 AM shuttle to the starting line, where we were told there would be a delay to allow the 50K runners a head start in order to avoid aid station traffic. The 70K runners were left shivering outside to wait a full hour for their later start, in biting 38-degree weather. I was fu*%#ing cold! There were no follow-ups and I was surprised that there was absolutely no check for the mandatory gear at any point.

When they finally let us start, I went out at a comfortable pace and focused on my race strategy. I had about 30K-worth of food and hydration and knew to take it easy on the hard climbs. I arrived to the first aid station and asked about the drop bags. The volunteer I asked had no idea so I thought it’d be in the following aid station. That was about 12K in the race so I was confident to find my drop bag at the next aid station. As the race went on, and went through aid stations, it became apparent that I was not going to have access to my drop bag, where I had most of my food.

Q. What did the aid stations look like?

A. Very minimal. Semi-closed tents, the first of which had very basic stuff like water and some food. The 2^nd and 3^rd had nothing, and the only “food” I came across was a guy offering some cookies outside of the aid station area. I started getting pretty nervous.

Q. Were the other runners coping well at that point?
A. Yes. I think everyone was prepared to be autonomous, at least for the first several kilometres. But I wasn’t paying too much attention to other runners, at least not during the first 30 kilometers or so.

Q. When did it start to really go wrong?

A. By the time I reached the 3^rd aid station, around the 30K mark, I needed my drop bag to get my gear and my food. There were no bags anywhere. When I asked the volunteers, they didn’t even know what a drop bag was, and I got pretty rattled because I knew I couldn’t finish my run on a couple of cookies. I couldn’t get reliable information on distances in-between aid stations either, as no one seemed to know. I realized the organization was failing and that I couldn’t rely on anything at that point, so I rationed everything I had, slowed down and prepared to stretch very thin on my last 40K. At least there would be water from the rivers, and anyway I’d already seen the aid stations fill barrels in the same way because there was no filtered water available anywhere. Aid station volunteers even told runners to use the river water themselves.

Q. Wasn’t there any tracking? Was there medical staff?

A. All the race material said there would be chip timing and tracking as well as medical support, and it was confirmed at the briefing. I am positive that there were no medical personnel anywhere on the 70K course or in the aid stations, and the only tracking I saw was people writing down some of the runners’ bib numbers on papers. Although volunteers systematically scanned our chips at every point, we were told the chips had not worked because of the bad weather and that they were useless. Being a Canadian runner living in Ottawa, I have run in every possible wintry weather condition before and knew that chips couldn’t just “freeze” in weather close to freezing point.

Q. Could you just have dropped out of the race and be safe?

A. I could’ve stopped at an aid station, but I remembered the 70K course description said it was one of the wildest sections and there was no car access. I figured I’d only quit as a last resort, such as if I’d gotten injured, and even then I knew I would’ve been stuck there waiting in the cold for a long time. I also knew that if I slowed down to a hike and took a conservative approach, I would manage. At that point, I was angry and frustrated and just wanted to be done but the trails and views were of incomparable beauty, so that kept me distracted for a while.

Q. So how bad were the conditions?

A. It was really cold, windy and snowy. Many of the 50K runners I passed were “hangry” and tired, and I met some runners who had very little experience and were completely out of food, which made me question the whole “selection process” I’d gone through to get my entry into the race. Everyone I talked to knew that they would fare better by finishing the race than by dropping out.

However, you have to understand that I was running more at the front, where everyone seemed to have the proper equipment. I knew the back of the line was probably a different story and it worried me to think about people not getting their drop bags and running out of food. But at that point, I had only one thing in mind; get it done. By the time I hit the 50K mark, I picked up the pace because I had no intention to finish past daylight.

Q. Was it easy to get lost? How was the marking?

A. Probably the only thing that was well done. It would’ve been really hard for someone to get lost. There was a combination of posts and flags with constant visual contact, probably one of the best course markings I’ve seen. I even got sidetracked once and knew right away I wasn't going in the right direction because I didn't see any markings, so I turned and got right back on the course.

Q. So you finished?

A. Yes. I was tired, starving and pretty frustrated. When I got to the finish, we had been promised food and there was nothing else than a cereal bar I didn’t want to eat. I hadn’t brought any money and was very lucky that one of my friends could at least buy me a coke. I finished in about 9:20, and quickly changed into warmer clothing (yes!, my drop bag for the finish line was at least there) and jumped on the boat because my friend told me he didn’t know when the next one would be after that. I was later told that runners who came in past the 10-hour mark had to wait for hours for the boat and got back to town at about 2:00 in the morning.

Q. When did you learn that a runner had gone missing and died?

A. There was not any info on the race course or at the finish, not even rumours. There were some postings on social media the next day, so we asked around when we went to town and heard stories here and there, but people were confused. They said one runner went missing and died and that the family of other runners were looking for information on their running relatives they knew were on the mountain but were unaccounted for. I only found out for sure at the awards ceremony the day after, when race director Stjepan Pavicic held a minute of silence to honor Arturo. He then went on emphasizing how gear and preparedness were critical in such conditions and mentioned the probable cause of Arturo’s death, although unconfirmed, was hypothermia.

It didn’t take long for very angry runners to blame the director, the race and the whole organization for their negligence and to say that if proper logistical and medical support had been there, he wouldn’t have died. One runner made it clear that the race organization had not even called the police or search and rescue because she, in fact, had been the one to inform them first. There was a lot of mixed emotions among the crowd, and I heard many very sarcastic comments about the RD’s attitude and the explanations provided.

Q. How do you feel the race organization handled the situation?

A. I still don't have all the facts and the real sequence of events. I know for sure the organization didn't inform the police. There was even talk that the police didn't authorize the race because of safety and emergency access issues. It took 3 days to bring back the body and other missing runners to town. The organization justified Arturo's death by hypothermia, but where was the promised support? Where were the first response teams? Where was the verification of mandatory gear? Not to mention anybody with a trained eye would have seen Arturo was confused coming in through one of the most critical aid stations on top of the mountain and would have pulled him out of the race.

As runners, we bear the responsibility for our security and for bringing the gear and sufficient supplies for the environment, but I also think what was promised by the organization should’ve been delivered. I payed to have fun and to get minimal services from the event, and I ended up getting no service and having my safety and security endangered, along with all the other runners.

It's still hard to comment on what happened to Arturo, part of the responsibility is on every runner to monitor their health and make sure they're not pushing themselves over their limits or just being stubborn, but as the same time the organization has the responsibility of basic safety and logistics and my sense was that basic minimal support lacked throughout the race.

Q. What do you think should happen now?

A. There should at least be a thorough investigation into what actually happened out on the course and into the responsibility of the race organizers. On top of that, there are many recommendations I would make :

• Have a single race headquarters in Puerto Natales, to avoid unnecessary confusion;
  
• If this is an international event as claimed, all the information needs to be available in English as well during briefing activities, both pre- and post-race;
• All runners understand that weather in Patagonia can swing drastically. But if the race is going to be held anyway using alternate routes, make sure plan A and plan B are equally sound and safe;
• If the race organization knows about Patagonia, they are supposed to be equipped and ready to deliver their service no matter what the current conditions are;
•  It is inexcusable that the chip system failed, and if it did, it is negligence to let runners out on the course untracked;
• Any aid station must have a captain with the authority to pull runners out of the race if they are putting themselves in danger.

Q. Would you recommend the race to anyone?

A. No. It seems the same mistakes that were made in the first year were repeated, with deadly consequences. If anything, the problems got even worse. In my opinion, if you’re going to have an ultra adventure in Chilean Patagonia without any logistical support, don’t pay money just to get a nice t-shirt and a buff…

FlintLand wishes to offer our most sincere condolences to the family of Arturo Héctor Martínez Rueda, a fellow ultra runner, a Copper Canyons Mas Loco and a friend. May you run free forever. Gracias para la amistad, y descanse en paz, hermano.

Fuego Y Agua 50K – Jungle Madness

Josue Stephens is not normal. He imagines and designs courses to chew runners up and spit them out, to yank them out of their comfort zone and into dangerous, difficult, uncertain predicaments that will leave them huffing and panting, doubting themselves, looking at each other, bug-eyed, in total disbelief. 30 minutes in.

Where any other race director would fence a rough area out with caution tape, Josue flags it with trail markers, making sure you go through every quick mud pit, thorny bush and steep cliff he can find. Then, he'll run it himself and change it, because he found a new way to make it more challenging. He admittedly aims for high drop rates and would consider his race an absolute failure if everybody finished. His slogans leave little to guess about his philosophy; «Adapt or Die» and «Challenge your Body, Discover your Soul».

Welcome to adventure running. This is ultra, without the training wheels.

The truth is, Josue Stephens is on to something. As one of the very first survival run conceptors, he developed a strong reputation of creating challenges at the very edge of the strongest contestants' mental and physical capabilities. But this has also spilled over his ultra races, and I think he has created a new breed of long distance events that include much more than running a course.

The terrains he makes you travel are not, by definition, ultra material. At Hunter – Gatherer, earlier this year, about 65% of the way was trailless, absolute bushwhack. This time around, Ometepe redefined both my definitions of steep and runnable.

Concepciòn, the fire part
of Fuego Y Agua

The race starts at water level, on the beach of Lake Nicaragua. Less than 3 little miles to warm up, and you're already at the skirt of the 4,575-foot Maderas volcano, an imposing mountain covered in rain forest. My starting strategy was hard to establish; as much as I usually love to begin my races at the back of the pack, I knew that I wouldn't have a lot of room to move forward in the column of runners. That meant if I was around people too slow for me, my ascent would be long and miserable. Of course, that also meant if I went too far ahead, I'd be slowing down others behind me, and that would stress me out and exert me, because I would try to keep a rhythm unsustainable for my abilities.

I picked a spot close to the end of the pack, but not completely. I drew a mental line between the ones I thought would start out running and those who would walk. We took off and, although I was focusing on taking it very easy, I started to slowly move up the line. When the first uphills came about, I decided to keep running, although slowly, and passed more people who'd preferred to walk.

The trail head to Maderas came quickly, and I didn't stop at the aid station. This put me ahead of the pack a little more, and I was delighted to see that the column I was in on the single track moved exactly at my speed. This took a huge weight off my shoulders, so I spent the early ascent enjoying the company of my fellow runners and glancing at the magnificent jungle trees waking up in the early daylight.

Less than a third of the way up, the trail starts to change from steep to steeper, and you know it won't get any easier any time soon. So the best strategy is to smile and embrace, and I took great joy in my climb. I felt great and I was excited with what laid ahead.

The cloud forest on Maderas

When the treeline starts to switch to a cloud forest, a permanent mist starts surrounding you and everything becomes wet and cooler. The immediate effect is visible on the trail, which changes from rocky, beaten earth to a muddy, slippery path meandering through enormous tree roots sticking out of the ground. This is where you stop using only your legs to propel you forward. The trail is so steep that you need to use your hands to grab on roots and tree trunks and yank yourself up, effectively transforming the run into a full-body workout.

The further up you go, the wetter things become, until you are literally ankle-deep in wet, sloppy mud and you start wondering if this is an ultra run or a figure skating event. My morale was way up, as I laughed my way through the insanely dirty, twisty mud river of a path unfolding before me. Reactions from the other runners around me varied widely, from absolute bafflement to exhilaration. This, definitely, was not your everyday ultra.

When the climb finally leveled a little bit, the trail quickly disappeared under massive fallen trees, whose roots and branches covered everything and forced us to weave our way through, carefully placing our feet on the ultra-slippery wet wood, twisting, rolling over and grabbing anything me could to not tumble down crashing. My heartbeat pounded from excitement more than effort, and I thought this was by far the craziest trail I'd ever been on.

Dirt in your... shoes

That was before hitting the crater on top, and its aid station. The brave volunteers there had to hike the volcano at night to be there before us, carrying heavy backpacks of food and supplies only to get there and stand in the cold, rainy, windy valley for hours on end. My friend Peter was up there, and I thoroughly hugged him and thanked him before taking off.

Thinking I would run down from that point, it only surprised me more to get to a rock face, a mere couple hundred feet away from the aid station. I stood there for a second, facing the pure, vertical, mud-covered wall and wondering where in the race briefing I had missed the part about the importance of being a rock climber. Doubtful I would even make it to the first of several ledges, I started grabbing and pulling and pushing. To my great astonishment and delight, I was able to climb at a decent speed and get a grip on very little steps (thank you, Saucony Kinvara Trail!). With a grin now larger than my face, I put my heart into it and heaved and ho'ed until I could stand vertically on my two feet again.

Wheeeeee!

Now several hundred feet above the crater, I went on to the next challenge, called the Jungle Gym. It's actually quite impossible to describe it accurately, and chances are you simply wouldn't believe me. But let's try anyway.

Take the steepest downhill single track you can imagine. Drench it in permanent rain and mist, until it becomes no less than a 2- to 18-inch deep river of slick volcanic mud. Now slam the trees down so either their branches, their roots or a combination of both block the trail completely, forcing you to climb up and through as you descend pitches sometimes higher than yourself. This stuff, I yelled to the runner behind me, makes Indiana Jones look like a prissy wimp. It is raw, it is dirty, it is hard, and it is the absolute best trail segment I have ever been on in my entire running life. Pure adventure.

And so I monkeyed on for several hours, finally coming down Maderas ecstatic, filthy and absolutely elated. I had successfully ran up a volcano, bushwhacked through the jungle, rock climbed a muddy cliff wall, sloshed through knee-deep mud pits and snaked through a forest of slick branches and roots. I felt like Tarzan. On steroids.

The Jungle Gym, nothing short of epic

I emerged out of the trail and onto a road, made a quick stop at the aid station and went on my way. I expected to follow the rock-covered dirt road for a while, then swerve off some trails and be back again, maybe skirting the fresh pebble beach by the lake. I was probably already delirious and forgot that this is a Josue Stephens race, where every segment presents a challenge. I called this one the slow-roast.

As the miles were piling almost as much as the mid-day degrees, I eventually realized there would be no fun segment off that road and not much shade to shelter me from the blistering tropical heat. Runners around me slowly turned into zombies, and I knew I didn't look too good myself. I got kinda bitchy, too, which is out of character. But I couldn't help it. After the high on the volcano, that was an unexpected, unwanted low point and I felt like I wasn't about to come out of it.

Luckily, I got to the next aid station just in time to stumble upon my friend Margaret, who didn't look in any better mood than I did. So we joked about it, I pulled her by the sleeve and, nodding back at the road, suggested we «get the fuck outta here».

On the home stretch

Margarita, as I affectionately called her that day, kept my mind together. My poor friend had to endure much more whining and moaning than I care to admit, and I'm not proud to have lost my positive attitude somewhere along that dusty, rocky road. But there was no avoiding it; although I understood this, too, was a challenge, I was hating it and would've gladly turned my heels around and done the volcano a second time instead.

With half-fried brains and not much kick in our step, Margaret and I covered what felt like a mammoth distance, a little over 30k of unadulterated misery. But eventually, like all things, if you keep at it, you'll see the end. After hours of great conversation, all-time lows and great laughs, too, Margarita nudged me and nodded her head to a chalk arrow on the road, pointing back down to the beach. It gave me wings.

We kicked up the pace and started running, picking up our friend Ian on the way and trying to coax Zoli and a nice Brit girl I'd ran with earlier to join us for the last bout. As the finish gate was approaching, I reflected on a day filled with a mix of absolute elation and total misery, and how that run had made me go through so much. And helped me get a little better. A little bit like life. A little bit like challenging myself, to see what comes out on the other side. That's what Josue's on to. Adventure running.

He throws in the crazy running.

You live a real adventure.

Josue Stephens n'est pas un organisateur de course ordinaire. Il réfute les limites habituelles de sécurité et de confort et vous précipite dans une vraie aventure, avec ses défis, ses dangers et ses remises en question. Vous en ressortez invariablement épuisé, ébahi... et transformé.

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.