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.

Born To Run 2016. Breathe. Love. Run.

In the event like in the picture, the amount of awesome is off the charts.

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In my mind, I pictured the customs officer at the airport, opening up my bag with a puzzled look.

“You said you’re a runner. What’s the cowboy hat for?”

“It’s mandatory.”

“Do you always travel with a flag?”

“Everytime I go to the ranch.”

“You’re also bringing a Hawaiian shirt and a tie?”

“Yes. For prom night.”

“Sir. Where the hell are you going?”

“Dude. Born to Run!”

Born to Run Planet

No other event in the world gathers more goofy, drunken, crazy oddballs than the Born to Run Ultras, held every year on the Chamberlain Ranch in Los Olivos by the craziest of us all, the diva-basher himself, The Sheriff - Luis Escobar.

"Ask me again
where the microwave is"

The rules of engagement are as simple as they get. “Be nice or go home”.  Pack whatever stuff you feel appropriate, including a couple changes of running clothes, and you’re good to go. You can camp out in your car, pitch a tent, rent an RV, crash somebody else’s setup, hang your hammock or probably even find yourself a consenting BTR citizen willing to share their sleeping bag. It’s all good.

Happy Hour starts early morning Wednesday and usually lasts until late Monday night. You can have breakfast with your morning beer and brush your teeth with Fireball. That’s what the cinnamon’s for, right?

While at the ranch, you can choose from a wide range of activities, spanning from fuck-all to a wrestling match with US Marines, with anything from bola racing to the no-talent show in-between. Simple tasks such as going to your tent to get a t-shirt can take from several hours all the way up to never, including shit-I-forgot-what-I-came-here-for.

See what I'm sayin' ?

You will hang out with people named Wild Bill, Whiskey Jerry, The Marshmallow Man, Tarzan, The Skirt Guy or  Barefoot Ted while listening to mariachi music and watching the Copper Canyons Raramuris challenge some gringos to a ball game.

You will need an unspeakable quantity of your beverage(s) of choice, which will be abundantly shared with everyone to make sure no one ever runs out. Make sure to keep 4 cans of cold brew for the infamous beer mile, which keeps growing bigger every year. Matter of fact, we might just have ran the largest beer mile ever held. Be ready to get a swig of anything that’s passed around, with frequent encounters being tequila, whiskey and Fireball. Hydrate profusely or live the next-morning consequences… which might be unavoidable anyway.

BTR - Best enjoyed with buddies.

Whether you bring buddies or not, you will be surrounded with all your best running friends, making the whole event feel like a huge dirtbag family reunion. No one will remain a stranger and you will live many “I finally get to meet you” moments with very, very cool people. The age ranges from a couple months old to venerable, but no one ever acts their age anyway.

The 100-mile winner, getting ready
for her mandatory butt-slap run

You won’t eat a proper meal and get a decent night’s sleep the whole time and you will be extremely surprised to see how well you run when the time comes. You will know that moment has arrived when blaring norteño music and shotgun shots ruin the only two hours of sleep you thought you might scrape.

You will get to do anything you want, from cross-dressing to dancing like an imbecile and everything – and I mean everything – in between. Your cheeks will be sore from grinning, your voice might run out from the whooping and hollering and your arms will hurt from all the hugs you gave and got.

You might end up naked posing for a calendar or dressed as a Mexican luchador, running around getting your butt slapped. You might run up a hill as fast as you can for absolutely no reason. You might have a beer with a guy dressed like a tree or relax in a multi-hammock tangle under the oaks. You might also be served a side of rattlesnake.

Whatever you do at Born to Run doesn’t really matter, however. What does is, you will get to be a careless kid hanging out with some of the absolute coolest people on the planet. You will witness amazing feats of endurance and discover what an amazing machine your body is. You will fill your heart with laughter, friendship and love. You will breathe life with every pore.

And you will never, ever want to leave.

Mesquite Canyon 50K

6 days after running with our friends in Urique, Michael Miller and I headed out to run Mesquite Canyon, presented by one of my favorite running companies in the world, Aravaipa. The run is pretty typical of the Arizona ultras I enjoy so much, and since many of you often ask what it's like to head out and run in the desert, I present to you this awesome recap video made by my friend Michael Carson. It captures it perfectly.

I'm a black dot wearing a blue thing at some point in that film.

Enjoy!

Pandora 24 : Magic, Misery and Coming Full Circle

Endurance running has been a defining discovery in my personal journey. There are times when I hardly remember what my life was, before running. When I find myself out in the forest, knowing I will spend hours traveling around on my two feet, something magical happens inside of me. I become peaceful, happy, content. Elated. I become alive.

Pandora 24, in 2014, was a true discovery for me as well. I experienced the Prevost forest for the first time, but I also met brothers and sisters, true trail runners from my very own neck of the woods. I used to think Dirtbags only came in shades of American; to my absolute delight, people like El Kodiak, Martin Coulombe, Dominic Melancon, JF, Judith Strauss, Benoit Beaupre, Sandrine Mathias and so many others bloomed all around me and quickly became family.

Mighty company

So gathering again in Prevost for the second Pandora was something I was really, really looking forward to. Not only for the endurance and the transcendence that comes from this magical place, but also for the fantastic Humans that inhabit it. I was in the mighty company of two brothers; Norbert, who’d traveled all the way from Georgia, and Daniel, who’s spending part of his summer with me. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

We got to the race site and set up camp among the other mountain creatures, celebrated life and friendship, slept under the stars and woke up to a glorious morning full of promises. Wanting to give everything I had on the trails, I opted for a peculiar strategy I’d never tried before; since Pandora is a 10K loop race, I decided I’d walk my first loop entirely, to make sure I didn’t start too fast and to slowly warm up to multiple hours on my feet.

This allowed me to share the trails with Dan, for a full loop, talking about our lives and marveling at the pristine old-growth forest that surrounded us. What a treat. My energy was super high, my spirit was soaring and I was ready to get started and run through the night until the next day.

I had strong legs, my breathing was great and my smile was wide. I took off on my own, excited, happy. But about 6K in, an old ghost showed up, the one thing I’ve been dreading every time I go out for the past two years. That pain, that little, numb pain in my knee. That faint feeling of rubbing at first, which you can brush off for maybe 20 minutes. That sharp shooting pain that forces you to stop running, take a walk, then start again… for 15 minutes. That decrescendo leading inevitably to the last place I wanted to go.

I changed my approach. I slowed down, finished my loop and went to see Josie, my personal wizard with her magical K-Tape. She applied a fix, lifted my spirit with her jokes and sent me on my way. That lasted the best part of 800 meters.

I refused to let the pain take my Pandora away. To hell with it, I thought, I’ll hike my ass off all day, all night and all morning. I’ll stay the course. I’ll make this work.

With great determination and motivation, I climbed the steep sections at a pace that impressed me and made me feel strong, revived. After all, endurance can come in many shapes and the Pandora course, with its 1,200 feet of elevation gain, makes power hiking a very viable strategy on the long term.

Content with my decision to move on, I continued at a good clip, eating voraciously and drinking plenty of water. I obviously wouldn’t be a speed demon that day (not that I’m usually one on any day anyway) but I would be an endurance beast. Unstoppable. Unbreakable.

With another loop over, I went to my truck to get my hiking poles. Running was clearly not an option anymore, so I wanted to be ready and well-equipped for long loops of power hiking. Seeing how I tore up the ascent one more time, I grew more and more convinced that this would be a great adventure, as worthy as any other ultra I had experienced before. Maybe even better.

Then the unthinkable happened.

The same shooting pain hit me right in the knee, while walking. It was so sharp that it startled me, almost as if I’d turned an ankle or been bit by some invisible snake. I shook it off, moved around a little bit and started walking again, unsure of what had just happened. Not 5 minutes later, it happened again. And again.

This hurt my body, but what it really did is hurt my soul. It drained all the confidence and the determination I’d been building, it tore apart every bit of enthusiasm I had and dragged me down to an abyss of despair. My body had completely failed. I wouldn’t even be allowed to hike to my heart’s content. Movement was being taken away from me.

Unable to press on, I had to face the very real possibility that I might have to sit by the side of the trail and wait for a rescue team to pick me up and get me out of the mountain. I was crushed.

Moments later, El Kodiak, Nicolas and Maria showed up. They looked worried and asked me how I was. I didn’t lie. They stayed with me for a little bit, then kept going, assuring me that they would let the aid station staff know I was coming and to be prepared in case I didn’t show up. This, for me, was a tragedy.

Alone again, despaired, I hobbled as best I could. The trails are pretty hardcore and the technical segments require some attention on two feet; they became quite a challenge on a leg and a half. Step by step, however, I managed to make my way through and end up at the aid station, half way through the loop.

Brenda, a new runner friend, was hanging there, eating and drinking. When I asked how she was, she told me both her knees were shot and that the descent to the start/finish would be a long, lonely misery march. “It might be a long march” I said, “but if you want, it won’t be lonely”.

So we took off together, sharing the hurt of movement and mutually taking our minds off the pain through each other’s company and conversation. It wasn’t pretty, but we made it back, together. I was immensely grateful to her to have stuck around, since she was in way better shape than me. It was very generous of her, and a gesture of compassion that put a real balm on my wounds.

Finally back at the runners’ village just as the sun was coming down, I knew the run was over for me. Defeated, exhausted and sad, I went back to my truck, sat down for a long while with some friends and made a decision.

Things have to change.

Pandora 24 - Friends, Space And Beauty

My running life is funny. I live and train in Montreal and its surroundings, with a lot of different friends from all over. I’m happy that I get to know such a wide range of people and share bits of their running lives. Yet, when it’s time to sign up for trail ultras, I never run in my home country. It’s like flicking the switch to another life, with a whole other group of people I equally love and share stories with. I take off to some part of the world, meet my hobo traveler friends and have an adventure.

After spending a full year of doing just that, I had to come back home, settle back down and go back to work. Funny. Back to back to back. But I digress.

To make sure I stay happy and not experience a crash landing from my wanderer’s life of the past year, I decided to look around and find some trails to run and, who knows, maybe an event or two. I was delighted to discover that a lot of stuff had started happening in Quebec, and previous trail events had started offering some pretty interesting ultra distances.

Awesome race directors Dominic, Martin and Jeff

However, one event immediately stood out. Maybe because it was a premiere. Maybe because a lot of my friends were already excited about it. Maybe because it was so close to home. The race was called Pandora 24, and not only would it be the first-ever 24-hour trail ultra in Quebec; it would also be an important fund raiser to save the beautiful, old-growth forest of Prevost, less than an hour drive from my front door.

I registered and made friends with Martin and Dominic, two of the RD’s. Then they got excited. And I got excited. We talked about the Copper Canyons, the Mas Loco family and my running friends from all over the world. They made a crazy cool offer; if La Mariposa Maria Walton, the heart and soul of Mas Locos, wanted to travel up, she would be made an honored guest.

Claire, Norbert, Flint, La Mariposa, Josie and Donald.
El Kodiak? Gone for breakfast :)

What felt like five minutes later, all was set. My crazy Apache cousin was on her way, and more Mas Locos had answered the call, too. Locals like El Kodiak Marc Séguin and Donald Audet, of course, but also the only Mas Loca massage therapist, Josie Hémond, and the travelling lovebirds Claire Denise Johnson and Norbert Blobel would join us on the trails!

We got to Prevost on the Friday night and set up camp at the start / finish. Since the Pandora is a loop course, El Capitan would double as our personal aid station. Maria and I gave a conference that night to talk about the Raramuri and the Copper Canyons experience, then we met up with several runners and chatted the evening away until bed time.

The guys had planned the event the Quebec way; no crazy-early start before daybreak. We would hit the trails at 10:00AM, plenty of time to wake up, get some breakfast  and soak in the morning sun. Everyone was in high spirits and we decided we would all run the first 10K loop together as a little Mas Loco family. Claire, Norbert, Donald, Marc, Maria and I took off for the woods and spent some wonderful time dancing, laughing and sharing stories.

The day was young, the sun was out and the forest was, as always, stunning.

When the second loop came around, we split up in smaller groups and some of us left to come back later. I decided to keep running with El Kodiak, who’s always about the same speed as I and a good friend I like to share adventures with. We were swift and efficient, and both felt that this would be a great day. The mood was good and the second 10K felt breezy.

"Lime and pepper chips. Excellent."

We didn’t make much of a stop at the start / finish and headed directly back on our third loop, both making a decision that would prove problematic a little while later when we started feeling the ground a little too much in our minimalist shoes and suffered a bit of bruising. It wasn’t too much of a biggie, but we both looked forward to changing into our Altra Lone Peaks to get some extra comfort and cushioning.

After a little break and some re-supplying, we took off on our 4^th, accompanied by a charming team runner, Audrey, who was running her first-ever trail event, and her first-ever distance over 5k. We shared most of the loop until the long downhill to the aid station, where I started noticing an annoying feeling I know too well. Just like at Crown King Scramble, my knee was hurting, with that nagging, specific little pain I know won’t go away. I was really disappointed.

Marc told me he was starting to feel the distance and elevation, too, and said he would stick with me. We slowed down a little bit, but managed to finish the loop with a smile on our face. Back again at El Capitan, I took a little longer to get started again and did something I’d never tried in an ultra; I picked up my hiking poles.

Audrey, myself and El Kodiak Marc Séguin

With 1,400 feet of vertical per loop, the course isn’t easy. There are steady climbs over pretty technical terrain, some rolling single track and pretty much all types of obstacles a forest can throw at you. Between roots, rocks, creeks, logs, boulders and mud, your feet have plenty of dancing around to do and your mind has to stay alert.

Marc had a friend waiting to run with him for that 5^th loop, so I did this one on my own. With a lot of thinking to do, I was happy to have a long, solitary moment in the forest to answer some tough personal questions and think about what lays ahead for me in my life. It felt very calming and peaceful to be out on my own.

I came back down with a knee that was getting more and more painful. I still could hike pretty quickly, but there was no more running. At 50K out of at least 100 that I’d set out to do, this was a major disappointment. I considered calling it a day, but decided to keep going when a good running friend, Martin St-Pierre, suggested we do that loop together.

Nothing like running among friends. Family.

Night had settled and the forest was transformed, and it was awesome to be out. I’d been looking forward to a deep-night loop since the morning, and now was the perfect time. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I hadn’t seen Martin in a long time, so we spent plenty of time chatting the loop away. But the closer I was getting to the start / finish, the more I was thinking I needed at least a long break. After a pretty tough last descent, I stopped and pulled a chair.

I sat down with La Mariposa, who’d made a bad fall and hit her head. It was pretty clear she had a mild concussion, so she decided to play safe and end her run. We hung out, ate and laughed for a while and, just when I was re-considering my decision to stop and pondering if I should head back out, it started raining. Hard.

That was it. The bulk of my motivation flew away instantaneously, and I hit the sack. A 100K – or more – in the forest of Prevost would have to wait another year.

My friends at Pandora 24 pulled together a world-class event, which I’m really proud to have been able to experience. My ultra running friends from all over the world should consider a running of that beautiful, challenging race with the emerging Quebec ultra community. This event has everything it needs to find a spot in the international ultra running circuit. Come see it for yourselves!




La Pandora, ce n'est pas seulement le premier événement d'ultra trail de 24 heures au Québec. C'est une forêt magnifique et des gens extraordinaires, tous réunis autour de la cause de la préservation de la nature et tous unis par des valeurs de santé, de partage et de respect. La Pandora 24, c'est un événement de course de classe mondiale.