Review : Enduroforce

• Type : Nutrition / hydration
• Use : Running fuel / tonic
• Price : 2,29$ ea. / 22.99$ box

Introduction
When you’re an endurance athlete, it’s really hard to carry your healthy eating habits into your running fuel and hydration needs. A vast majority of foods, drinks and supplements use highly-refined sugars, such as maltodextrin or glucose-fructose, to trick your body into high gear. For health-conscious endurance enthusiasts, this is less than optimal, to say the least.

Thankfully, there are a growing number of endurance fuels which use only natural ingredients, starting of course with Mas Korima, a collaborative enterprise I’m very proud to be a part of. There are also other new and innovative products out there, and Enduroforce is definitely one of them.

Enduroforce uses maple syrup and spirulina, mixed with sea buckthorn and ginseng. That’s it. Four natural ingredients, nothing else. I like that a lot and, after sampling the product, got enthusiastic about its effects, too.

Testing
The idea behind Enduroforce is to be a tonic, a natural stimulant that forgoes the use of caffeine and taurine and that helps maximize endurance. The ingredient mix is rich in antioxydants, vitamins and minerals, comes in a tiny dose of 15ml and still packs 40 calories and a gram of protein.

Upon trying it the first time, I was expecting a boost comparable to the use of a gel, or maybe like a shot of espresso. This is not at all the effect of the product. It didn’t change much in my intensity; what it did is to increase my awareness and focus, and mostly to rid me of the impression of fatigue while I’m running. It’s a subtle effect, but an important one when going on multiple-hour endurance runs.

Compared to a straight shot of maple syrup (which is what I now use as a gel replacement as well as the sweetener for my pinole mix), Enduroforce doesn’t pack a big punch, and I don’t think it’s its intended purpose either. As a tonic, it brings a balanced shot of stimulation, nutrition and supplementation that really starts to shine in the long run.

Taken 45 minutes before effort, then subsequently about every 2 hours, Enduroforce maintains my energy and focus and decreases my perceived effort without playing yo-yo with my sugar levels.

Analysis
Taste-wise, Enduroforce takes a bit of getting used to. Personally, I don’t mind an “exotic” taste, as long as it’s not too strong or pungent. I won’t go as far as saying Enduroforce tastes good, but I got used to it pretty quickly and the fact that it’s fully natural weights a lot in my personal balance.

My biggest qualm about it is the strange little package it comes in. It’s a small plastic tube with a break-off tip which isn’t easy to manipulate at first. Furthermore, when you’ve used the tubes, they often drip into running vest’s pockets and leave a sticky little mess. Lastly, I’m not a big fan of single-use plastic and would love an option of a large container and reusable screw-top type “shots” to save on trash and skip the mess all at once.

Conclusion
In my opinion, Enduroforce is a good element in an endurance nutrition mix for the health-conscious athlete who wants to steer clear from the chemicals and highly-processed compounds that make up most fuels out there. Used side-by-side with your liquid and solid nutrition of choice (Andale! pinole and Korimalitas energy bites in my case), it can help you perform well without a nagging feeling of constant effort.

High points

• Fully natural
• 4 ingredients. Period.
• A tonic that keeps you going
• Mitigates fatigue and perceived effort

Low points

• Break-tip containers are finicky
• Empty tubes are messy
• Single-use plastic

The material for this personal review was supplied by Leo Desilets / Enduroforce free of charge. Disclosure: I am part of Enduroforce’s ambassador team.

Jim Walmsley is a Champion

Canyon de Chelly, last fall. I had just finished setting up my little dirtbag camp (sleeping in the back of a rental Ford Escape with The Dragonfly) in beautiful Navajo country when a car pulled in our spot. It was pitch dark, and some guy stuck his face out the driver’s window and asked “Is it OK if I park it here?”.

“Sure.”

Two guys stepped out and we shook hands. “Hey, I’m Jim.” “Hi, I’m Myke.” And that was pretty much it. They got set up in the back of their car, just like us, cooked a little bit of dinner, and came to sit down at the Miller’s Casitalita. And you know what was really special about it all? Absolutely nothing.

We all took a seat and started chatting among ourselves. I found out that “Myke” was a photographer, that he traveled quite a bit, and that he documented Jim’s runs. My friend Nico was there too, and it was cool to spend a little time and have a beer before the grand day tomorrow, one of the most amazing runs an ultra runner could wish for. Everyone shared stories and like every eve before an epic ultra, it was relaxed and fun.

Walking back to our car, Julie told me “Wow, that guy I was talking with, Jim, turns out he’s just ran a world-record Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim just a couple days ago.” I had actually sort of met him before, running Mesquite Canyon in Arizona. He flew down a trail at an impressive speed, and I thought he really looked like Scott Jurek with his curly hair and his long legs. Julie was impressed. “He’s just this super casual dude”, she said, “He didn’t mention anything about his feat until I started asking questions.” Champions tend to do that, I thought to myself.

The next day started before sunrise as we made our way down to the sacred fire and shared the Dag’ha ceremonies, where elders and tribe members help prepare the runners for the long day ahead. I asked Nico where Jim was. “Oh, he’s just here for the experience”, he replied. “He’s not running today.”

I wished him good luck on what would turn out to be a pretty fantastic day for him (Nico flew like the wind and won the 2016 run) and set out on my own adventure with Julie, who was experiencing her very first ultra. It was an amazing day for us, too.

At the midpoint, atop the magnificent canyon after a tough climb, I got into the aid station with 1,000 things on my mind. Two hands eagerly extended at me. “Dude, do you have any trash I can take care of?” I lifted my eyes and there he was. “Are you eating well? Have you got enough to drink?”. Jim Walmsley was helping runners out at the aid station, and he wanted to take my trash to the garbage can. He was happy and excited and dedicated and he made me so proud of my sport.

“When was the last time you saw a sports superstar take care of some random guy’s trail trash and make sure he’s doing OK?”, I remember telling Julie, on the way back. A real champion will do that, I again reflected.

I never told this story until today, because I’m convinced Jim didn’t do this to get publicity or gratification. I’m convinced he did it out of his love for running and to share a special moment with the people who, he knows, “get it”.

So when some of these running people started speaking negatively of him after the Western States last weekend, it really bugged me. They accuse him of being brash. They find weaknesses in his strategy. They say all sorts of things, from the comfort of their little certainties, like they’ve had a front-row seat to Jim’s career all along.

The same people who would have written the exact opposite, should Jim have made it and won the race and smashed a course record. They would have lauded his boldness, they would have talked about every little bit that he’d done right. And that, too, is pissing me off.

I’ll be first to say, I don’t know Jim Walmsley that well. But I’m the kind of person for whom actions speak louder than words. And after seeing how he behaves and the respect he’s garnered from many ultra runners in the community I know and love, I’m taking his defense and I’m standing with him.

He went out there and he gave Western States his absolute best shot. He was convinced he could win, and he was unafraid to say it. And maybe some people didn’t notice, but he’s also unafraid to talk about despair and depression, of failing and mistakes, even of wanting to die. And then finding a way. Champions tend to do that, too.

I salute Jim for his bold attempt last weekend, as I salute every single one of us out there who builds up the passion and the determination to tackle ridiculously long distances in difficult environments with no certainty of success, yet who goes at it nonetheless. There will always be some naysaying bystanders to hit someone when they’re down. Often, they will also be the flip-floppers who will turn around and sing the praises of the same person when they actually succeed. I hope their words are as meaningless and inconsequential either way, to the people subjected to them.

After so many hours of training and sacrifice and dedication, ALL Western States runners, from Cat Bradley to Jim to that last person to cross the finish line to those who didn’t even make it to the start but tried, deserve a well-earned congratulations, a recognition of their hard work and some words of encouragement to keep going, to keep pushing the limits and to keep living this life to the fullest.

The bystanders are all the same to me. And I don’t care what they think.

Jim Walmsley’s a champion.



Photo credit : Myke Hermsmeyer

*** EDIT ***

I very rarely come back and edit a post, but I feel like this is important. Myke Hermsmeyer actually sent me a photo (that I didn't know existed!) of the exact moment depicted in my article. 

So here it is, Jim being a trail angel to my absolute nobody self, atop Canyon de Chelly :)

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.

Caribou Legs

Brad Firth, AKA Caribou Legs

I want to introduce someone you might not have heard about, someone who is doing something amazing right now and someone I think you would benefit in knowing and following.

His name is Caribou Legs and he is one of the Running People, an ultra runner from the Gwich’in Nation of the Canadian Northwest Territories. He is a Warrior For Peace.

Caribou Legs is running across Canada right now to attract attention on Canada’s terrible tragedy of violence against indigenous women all over our country. Since the 1960's, over 600 of them have gone missing, way too often with a complacent response from the authorities. This is a shame. 

One step at a time, he is encouraging peace and healing through the humble act of running. He is also symbolically leaving behind a past of alcohol and substance abuse, of loss and of despair to run Eastward and meet the rising sun. He is traveling on his own through the unknown, relying on his two legs and on the generosity of the people he crosses along the way.

Like more and more across the world, Caribou Legs is a man standing up for women and vowing to honor, protect and celebrate them, away from all forms of violence. His journey for peace is uplifting and inspiring, and I invite anyone who can help him along the way to show the kind of solidarity and sharing the world needs so much right now.

I write this to honor this man, but I also do it to create a connection and make you aware of his great journey. So we can all be inspired to be, think and live better.

I will be following him on his journey and keeping you up to date as well. You can also connect directly through his Facebook and or his GoFundMe campaign.

Last Saturday, a group of mountain runners I shared many miles with dedicated their morning run to Caribou Legs, celebrated his spirit and sent some thoughts of resilience and strength. I invite you to do the same.

Run long, light and free, brother.

 

You can donate to Caribou Legs right here.

  

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!

A Homecoming

Standing at the UMCB 2016 starting line, I felt like I had been catapulted into this moment through a whirl of events which started 4 years ago, when I showed up in Bauichivo, dusty, tired and absolutely amazed only to stumble onto Caballo Blanco and have my life changed forever.

With a single color bracelet at my wrist, I contemplate the extent of the day ahead of me, but quickly wipe that thought and concentrate on what matters; the sun will shine in the Barrancas today, I'm here and so are my friends.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and we are off in a crazy cavalcade, as always, through the early cheers of excited Uriquenses standing on their porches in the early light of a new Canyon's day. I take a couple of weary steps, and everything suddenly falls into flow. I'm a the right place, and this is the right time. It's all going to work out exactly as it's supposed to.

I don't know exactly where this chain of events started. Is it when my brother Dan gave me that book, or when I could't just finish it, put it down and go on with my life, and went online looking for the Raramuri? Is it when I got down from the train and ended up drinking a beer with Micah True 15 minutes later, or when he left me and all my new Mas Loco family to go run with the Elders forever?

All I know is I found myself surrounded with a handful of close friends in a human ocean of Raramuri runners, and that all was right in the world again.

La Plaza, the day before the race

I'll never really know what the Canyons folks really think of us weird gringos and our crazy ideas. What I do know is that they had a twinkle in their eyes this year, and a palpable excitement to see us that felt genuine and almost overwhelming. Sweeney, Tyler, Mike, Muldonado, Kimberly, Tony, everyone was called by name and cheered on like the long-awaited return of a family member. Even Raramuri families on the side of the road seemed to forego their legendary shyness and shouted "Weriga!" for me, something I had never witnessed before.

The miles started piling and my excitement didn't fade. It seemed like everyone shared a little extra friendship, a little extra joy of seeing that no matter what happened before, we were all still here, we were all still running together and we were all, as it always will be, one.

I don't know if it was because so few of us had showed up, but the Raramuris and the local runners showed heartwarming hospitality and shared the trails with large smiles and nods of approval at every corner. I ran some sections with women, who usually step out of the trail at the first sign of a chabochi, looking down or away in silence. With a smaller group of younger Raramuri girls, we even joked about the fact that a faster girl and me, who ended up progressively passing them, were a weird pair with my huaraches and her running shoes. It looked like we were all just a big family out on a long run together, and it was a fantastic feeling.

Coming out of my first stop in Urique, I stumbled upon two very young boys from town, who told me they had been training and preparing for months to be able to run the race. I grinned from ear to ear and congratulated them on their achievements. We shared a good section of the way to Guapalayna, until they decided to take a break away from the rising heat.

The aid stations were filled with happy, giggling teens very eager to help and offer us fruits, pinole and abundant water. There were teams of Red Cross volunteers everywhere, ready to step in and help out struggling runners even on the way out to Los Alisos, far away from the closest road. One of the unit chiefs, a young girl all decked in her Red Cross uniform and vigorously hiking the trails under the burning sun, cheered me on and made sure I was all right before giving me a little slap on the butt and shouting "andale!" which gave everyone, myself included, a good laugh.

As always, showing up half-dead in Los Alisos and being revived by Prospero and his team was a high point of my day. Seeing our friends so busy and dedicated to the race was both humbling and heart-warming, and the hugs and cheers at the end of the trail gave me energy to keep going and reminded me of the importance of what we were doing; we were showing our friends that we love them, the Barrancas and this event, in whatever shape of form it takes.

No matter how hard the day went, people everywhere went out of their way to help out, from that police dude in Guapalayna who literally showered me with a bucket of water to the young girls in La Laja who sat me down and gave me an awesome leg rub with a local analgesic pomada, all the way to that lovely young woman on my last way out of Guadalupe, who popped open a Tecate for me, offered a couple sips and assured me her boyfriend wouldn't kill me if I gave her a kiss. So I gave her two :)

My Oso's and my colors :)

Absolutely everything went as well as I had hoped, and even better. My Raramuri friend Javier placed 7th overall in the race, smashing his previous record and finishing ahead of some legendary runners despite a pretty bad cramping bout on his last stretch. Tarzan Tyler had an amazing run and finished first gringo under a thunder of cheers. All the Mas Locos in our caravan finished their runs and crossed the line with a lot of emotion, as some were experiencing this for the first time. No matter where you were in Urique, UMCB 2016 brought joy, excitement and a whole lot of positivity.

I managed to have an about-12-hour overall run, which I am very satisfied with. After a rather demanding stretch from Los Alisos almost all the way up to Guadalupe, I pumped myself full of the gels my friends had scrambled for me in Urique and pulled a pretty impressive last 5K, catching up with my friend Muldowney and finishing in daylight, exhausted but filled with joy.

The Urique government did an amazing job at organizing the event, from super-well-staffed aid stations to the 100% local cultural program. They pulled a world-class event pretty flawlessly, providing food and camps for the Raramuri runners as well as cash prizes and food vales like has now become tradition.

Like every year, I left Urique too soon, my head filled with memories and my heart filled with the pride of knowing that Ultra Caballo Blanco is in good hands with the people of the Barrancas, that it will go on for a long time in the future and that I, for sure, as always, will be back in the beautiful Copper Canyons as soon as I get the chance.

I kept my 5 colors on my wrist like a trophy up until today, not so much for the running achievement, but as a reminder of the love, friendship and peace we helped create.

I will be back in 2017 and I'm sure that I won't be alone. Until then, I have a year's worth of daydreaming and memories to cherish and a ton of new projects with my friends who live in the Barrancas, the home I will always love coming back to.

Moldonado, friends, and me, sharing
a celebratory cold drink at the finish line

Cubarathon – Day 2

Miles for the day : 6
Total miles : 18

Remember yesterday, when I stopped to re-fit my sandals and tape up my toes? Turns out I left my roll of Band-Aid tape somewhere on that bench! That stuff is the only tape I know that stretches, has a soft padded material and stays on even if you sweat, so I was really bummed when I flipped my vest upside down and inside out and couldn't find the brand new roll I'd brought.

So instead of running the beach today, I put my shoes on (no tape, no sandals) and headed back the same way I headed yesterday. Funny how distance seems so much smaller when you run a route for the second time. In what felt like minutes, I was there, at the little public park with benches, looking all around. No luck. No tape. It's just gone. Ah, well.

Since I was already out and wearing shoes, I figured I'd make this run a little road adventure. The street my hotel's on has several nice shaded sidewalk stretches, so the mid-day sun wasn't too brutal. I'm already doing better in the humid heat, too, which means I can breathe well and not feel smothered by the damp sea air.

I probably picked up some speed, because I started to feel really, really hot soon after. Dodging fat tourists around the sidewalks felt like a game, and I guess I was imagining myself a super nimble parkour runner or a ninja. I decided to take a break under a big tree, drink some water and chill for a couple minutes.

Almost immediately after resuming my run, I ended up at the same crossroad joining the autopista. I really didn't feel like running along that thing again, so I veered right and aimed for the first street that would take me back to the village. I crossed a pretty little fair with playing kids, restaurants, cafes where friends sat to have a drink and chat. I think I like Varadero much better than any other place I've seen in this country.

Lost in thoughts, I just kept jogging along, twisting between rows of slow beachgoers and tourists, winking at local kids and smiling wide. The day was very hot, however, and I remember being surprised at how much I was sweating. Before long, I realized I had gotten back to my starting point, and the hotel lobby felt very, very appealing. The midday heat had made me feel a little dizzy and the prospect of a cold beer under the shade got the last part of my motivation. I called it a day at a little over six miles, spent several more minutes stretching in the shade and enjoyed the rest of day napping in a lounger, reading a book and fantasizing on awesome exotic fruits, champagne and lobsters.

On a sidenote, I discovered that some of the food served at the hotel is actually quite decent. They make a very simple, paella-like rice dish that's very tasty and they serve root vegetables I'm not sure I've ever had before. One is pasty and orange and reminds me of yucca, the other one is tubular and looks like a potato, but is very fibery and has some sort of “spine” you can't eat. This particular one I like a lot. And since they serve both fresh-cut and cooked cabbage, I'm pretty happy with what I eat!

I'll go to bed early tonight and see if I can wake up earlier and head for the beach for an early morning long run tomorrow. Aside from a couple blisters, my body feels great and eager for more!

Cubarathon – Day 1

Welcome to my little playground :)

Miles for the day : 12

With my body constantly getting better and my fitness almost back where I want it to be, thanks to an unbelievable autumn and early winter that were the mildest on record, I decided to make my Cuban vacation a personal winter training camp. I brought three times more running gear than standard clothes and enough gels and bars to run a hundred mile race. Actually, if everything goes well, I should pull off about that distance if I streak and remain constant... Hell if it goes better than planned, I might run more than that. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I got here yesterday night, eager to start a week of running and relaxing in the sun. I'm on my own, which has a lot of advantages. I do what I want, when I want, I can sleep, eat or simply be contemplative to my heart's content.

My hotel is indescribably crappy, with chipped walls, rotten doorways and terrible mattresses, but I find it has a lot of charm for some reason. I don't know if it's because my Spanish has become so much better, but the personnel is super friendly and even random people I met on my run today were open, helpful and smiley. That makes me happy, because my previous Cuban experiences have never been too great, socially speaking.

I woke up at my own rhythm this morning, after a night of watching my TV's only channel, which plays back-to-back episodes of Anthony Bourdain's series. I sorta knew who the guy was, but I'd never really watched the show. I really enjoyed watching him travel through China, then Vietnam, then Thailand, making friends and trying all sorts of exquisite foods and alcohols. He's got nothing on my friend Dan, but it was fun to follow his gastronomic adventures.

As soon as I pulled the curtain, my room got flooded in the gorgeous yellow light of a sunny day, and I marveled at the blue expense that spreads from my window to the horizon. I made my way down to the restaurant, which is 7 flights of stairs each time I go to or from my room. I figured that's part of the training.

Most of you probably don't know Cuba (although that's about to change really soon), so you might not know that it's infamous for its food. Being economically choked by the world's strongest superpower for more than 60 years is sure to leave a trace, so the country relies pretty exclusively on basic staple foods it produces. Add to this fact that I chose the lowest possible grade of accommodation because I'm a dirtbag, and you've got the right ingredients for terrible buffet-style dining... So much so that I've only eaten fruits and white rice so far, and I don't plan to change my diet much if I want to keep a straight stomach.

So after a plateful of decent fresh fruits like guavas, bananas, pineapple slices and something that looked and tasted like a mix of of a lime and an orange (yes, it was delicious), I filled my running vest's bladder and took off.

I didn't have the first idea where to go, so I thought I'd just follow my hotel's street until the miles pile up. It turned out to be a good plan, since I happen to live on one of the longest streets in the peninsula, it seems. I crossed little markets, shops, smiley little kids playing outside and old ladies going about their daily chores. It felt great to see the ordinary, everyday Cuban life, as most resorts are so remote from anything local that you hardly ever have contact with anyone when you come here on an all-inclusive plan. Some people even smiled or waved at me, and I felt perfectly comfortable to wander around on my own two feet.

After about an hour, I made a stop to fiddle with my Luna Origen ATS laces, which rub in-between my big and second toes. I'd specifically brought a roll of Band-Aid tape, expecting this would happen. I took two bits of it, wrapped my second toes and put the sandals back on, with a slight adjustment of the laces. Perfect.

When I finally reached the end of my street, I looked up and decided to veer in the direction of the ocean. Mid-day was coming and the heat here is extremely humid, which makes it a little harder for me to withstand. Add the fact that my skin hasn't pretty much seen a single sun ray since the Copper Canyons, and you'll probably understand why I started to aim for some shade.

I thought I would soon reach some shaded areas by the beach, but instead ended up on the Autopista, a crappy highway filled with exhaust-spewing 50-year-old trucks and cars your grandpa used to drive (they do look amazing, on the other hand). I wasn't very happy with my predicament, and it took a while before I spotted a posh-looking resort and decided to head that way. I'd just walk in and head for the beach, I thought, and run from there back to my point of origin.

I got to the beach, took off my sandals and grinned wide at the idea of a long barefoot run in the sand, but my smile faded pretty quickly when I realized the hotel was built on some cove, blocked on two sides by extremely jagged rock formations. Dammit.

I turned back and followed the directions a nice dude from the hotel gave me. A little while later, after inhaling the black highway fumes for the second time, I finally found a little pathway that lead directly to the beach. It is probably the longest ongoing strip of sand I've ever seen; it took me straight back to my hotel, some 7 miles away. And it keeps going as far as my eyes can see!

The only not-so-great part is that the beach has a sizable slant, which means I can't run anywhere that's flat. After some time coming back, my left hip started to feel the burn. My feet are doing great, however, thanks in part to the barefoot running I've been doing on treadmills this fall. And both my knees feel perfect.

My plan for tomorrow? I'll try to wake up early and get my run early in the morning so I don't get beaten down too much by the sun. I'll run the other direction on the beach, so if my hip starts to hurt, I'll turn around and use the slant to my advantage. And who knows, if I can get some decent mileage, a good nap and a decent mid-day meal, maybe I can go on a sunset run later in the day?

Life is good.

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.

Review : Skechers GoRun Ultra

• Type : Maximalist
• Use : Road
• Price : $90-$110

Introduction
Sometimes, I get desperate. I’ve been experiencing a weird knee pain every once in a while for more than a year now, and I’ve never figured out what causes it. One thing for sure, I know asphalt doesn’t help it. To get rid of my problem, I’ve followed about every piece of advice I’ve been given, except maybe for one…

“Run in Hoka’s, man”.

No way. That goes against everything I think to be true. But then again, I have to admit I’ve seen tons of runners, some very good ones, too, use them and harp about the benefits of super-cushioned shoes. So right after my last asphalt adventure, I had the Ottawa Marathon coming up and I figured, this is a good a time as ever to see if maximalism is for me or not.

I had a pair of Skechers GoRun Ultra lying somewhere in my closet. They’d been sent to me to be reviewed about a million years ago (sorry, Skechers!) and I’d never got the nerves to take them out for a spin. Now with a bum knee still hurting from the last time I ran on asphalt and a road marathon to go, I thought the time had come.


Road test
I showed up at the marathon starting line in my brand-spanking new, never-before-worn bright red Ultras, feeling like I was wearing moon boots. The cushioning is so massive, it actually makes you taller. Any notion of proprioception is erased and flex also becomes a distant memory. I felt like I was thumping around with my feet shoved in a pair of giant marshmallows.

The gun went off, and my first thoughts were to try and maintain as much of a forefoot strike as I could. Pretty much impossible. This is a midstrike-at-best situation; there’s over 40mm of material between your foot and the ground. The sole feels square and flat, which is not unpleasant, even if it doesn’t “roll forward” like I expected it to with its monstrous 14mm heel-to-toe drop.


Analysis
You have to understand that I come from a minimalist background, running in shoes that keep my feet close to the ground and as close to zero-drop as possible. So for me, wearing the Ultras was overwhelmingly different and an experience for which I don’t have a lot of reference points. I have to say that they did an admirable job of mitigating the pounding from the asphalt and absorbing any irregularity in the ground under me. I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of running in moon boots, but that didn’t bother me much for most of the course. As the miles piled up, I was increasingly pleased with how fresh my legs felt.

Straight elongated leg,
toes pointing up...
Awfully looks like heel striking.

However, this massive shoe quite literally transforms the way you run. You have to basically yank your leg up using your hip muscles. I’m used to pushing off with my toes and landing lightly on the front of my foot; while wearing the Ultra, you kick your leg up and thrust it forward, elongating your stride. I’ve seen some race pictures where I quite obviously heel strike, which is consistent with the slight wear pattern that formed under the shoe. That’s a big worry on the long term.

I managed to finish my marathon with a less-than-optimal body, a finish I attribute at least in part to the thick protection of the Ultra’s Resalyte cushioning. The pain and unease I felt toward the end, I’m pretty sure, can be attributed to the radical difference in running form, to which my various next-day muscle sores can attest.

Analysis
It’s hard for me to see the Ultra as a usual, every day running shoe. I think it can be useful to the runner who wants a shoe for every situation and who contemplates running long distances on pavement when previous similar experiences have proven painful. I think it is worthy of noting that it’s really hard to run fast in these shoes because of their inherent design philosophy. I’d add it might be a great mitigation shoe for someone who’s heavier and starts being active again and / or experiences pain, although I remain convinced pain should be a guide in respecting one’s body, not something to be masked by technical solutions. But that’s another debate.


Conclusion
While Resalyte once again proves its worth, I think there is such a thing as too much. However, it’s obvious to me I probably would’ve had a very hard time finishing my marathon if I’d wore anything that resembled my usual shoes, because asphalt just hurts. The impact absorption capabilities of the thick, cushioned GoRun Ultra will, ultimately, help you last longer on unforgiving hard surfaces. So I’m left with a conundrum; stop running long distances on pavement… or wear maximalist shoes when I do.


High points

• Resalyte. Like, a metric ton of it.
• Obvious impact mitigation
• Very reasonable weight, at 9 oz
• More than half the price of a pair of Hoka’s

Low points

• 14-mm drop is way too much
• Outsole lugged design is questionable; this can’t be a trail shoe
• Will change your running form if you are a forefoot runner

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

Why I Run

 

I run for health.

I run to make every step matter, to fill my eyes with the beauty of nature. I run to slow down and think, to feel instead of rationalizing. The crunch of my feet against the surface of Mother Earth gives meaning to my being out here.


I run for silence.

It’s the only time I feel the noise I make is fully part of something larger, better, balanced. I give and receive sounds that stay with me long after I’m back. Sometimes, I get so sunk in that it’s hard for me to pull out of the silence and deal with the real noise of the busy, confused and disconnected world I come from.


I run for peace.

I was born angry. I spent years banging on the walls inside myself, crying out in rage and despair. The first step I take outside, for a run, is also a step outside of these inner walls. It’s a true gesture of venturing, a commitment I make every time to reach out and assume my deeper nature.


I run for discovery.

It’s my non-verbal way of reaching out. Very often, it is through this simple gesture that I connected with other humans who’ve become friends, family, kin. I was recognized by others who welcomed me with open arms and hearts, sharing their own journeys and passions. It’s my entry into an alternate world of beauty, humility and compassion.


I run to live.

Je cours pour la santé, le silence, la paix et la découverte. je cours pour vivre.

Mourning Doves

Peaceful. Quiet. Spiritual. Words that will often be used by those who visit the Copper Canyons of Mexico. Whether they came to experience a running journey with the Raramuri or they wandered down on a traveling adventure, visitors of the Barrancas Del Cobre emerge back transformed, changed.

At the heart of the Caballo Blanco Ultra is such a story of personal, spiritual transformation. One man, Micah True, intrigued by what he had witnessed at the Leadville 100, began a journey to the Sierra Madre that would not only change his life, but the lives of many others. He would meet the Raramuri and, through his cultural sensitivity, adjust his behavior to allow ever more proximity and mutual understanding. By taking the required time to wander around the Canyons, by refraining from intrusion into the houses and villages, by remaining a humble and peaceful observer, he was offered a great privilege of growing access and exchange with The Running People.

After several years of a growing relationship, he decided to do something he felt was important, something he felt his new friends would understand and appreciate. With the help of local sponsors, he created a running event. A gesture of immense symbolism for a People who define themselves by the very act of running. They understood, and they responded. Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco, and the history that ensued, was born.

It was never easy for Micah True to realize his dream and vision. He understood the social, economic and cultural challenges both the Raramuri and Northwest Mexico face on a daily basis. He struggled with the local powers, both official and non-official. He was always culturally conflicted between establishing a bridge connecting the running people of the world and intruding on a millennial culture that had done well without interactions with others.

But he never gave up. He searched his soul for answers and he based his actions on a set of values which he would never compromise. Truth. Integrity. Peace. Openness. He would follow them to a fault, not hesitating to refuse commercial opportunities or widespread endorsement. He followed an uncompromising path of action very few can claim for their own.

When he left, Micah left the world, the Running People, the Mas Locos, the inhabitants of the Barrancas and his friends with a work of love that needed to continue. All of them united behind the importance of that work to agree it had to be perpetuated. Josue Stephens and Maria Walton stepped up, against all the unknowns, the risks and the open questions. They, before everyone else, realized that above all, UMCB had to carry on. Others soon followed.

2013 rolled in, and a first running celebration happened. It was moving. It was difficult. It was beautiful. It brought the realization that UMCB was still the life-changing experience Micah True had created. Facing the same challenges, risks and uncertainties.

2014 confirmed the commitment of international runners, an ever-growing group of Mexican nationals and the whole population of the Canyons to perpetuating a tradition that has become charged with meaning and purpose. “Race week” is not only a time for festivities in Urique; it is a time where runners from the whole world can come down to a sacred land and share what they do best. Being Humans and being runners who share the same footpaths, unhindered by politics, language, culture and appearances. It is a time for the Raramuri to witness good will, respect and support from the four corners of the world; to be given a mirror image of the beauties of their own culture and to humbly feel pride to be a part of it.

This is the true tragedy of UMCB 2015. This year, just as we were crossing that symbolic Bridge of Nations, we were faced with a surge of brutality and death right on the doorstep of our friends’ homes. We were confronted with the harsh, unfiltered reality of life in the Barrancas. We were victimized, just like the local people, by inhuman acts of violence.

Now I want to ask you; does it matter what the source of that violence is? Are there clear-cut sides in that conflict that can be oversimplified to the Good and the Bad people? Should all the deaths be accounted and described in gruesome details? Should that critical situation of personal and global security be used for sensationalism and shock value?

No.

Whether 2, 20 or 200 people were kidnapped and murdered, whether hand guns, machine guns or grenades were used is completely and utterly besides the point. It doesn’t matter how many troops had to be brought in. It doesn’t matter what affiliation the people partaking in the conflict had. It doesn’t change a thing where the dead bodies were discovered.

What matters is the People of the Canyons are our friends. The People of the Canyons are human beings who suffer through violence, hatred, confusion and bloodshed. What matters is that mothers cry for their disappeared sons, and families are torn with grief in a silent, constant storm fueled thousands of miles away by people who simply don’t care and turn a blind eye, while rolling a Friday-night joint with their friends. What matters is, as I was told, this whole situation could not happen if not for the tacit approval of everyone. Everyone.

Photo : Mikko Ijas

And this is where Norawas de Raramuri, the race directors and the family of Mas Locos drew a line. Saturday, February 28, 2015, in the face of violence, we decided to take a stance. We decided that, notwithstanding the clear and present danger of the situation, cancelling the race would not be a matter of security. We would do the only thing in our power to protest the madness and destruction. Cancelling the race would be a humble, quiet, nonviolent statement for Peace.

We would speak with our bodies the same universal language we have shared since the beginning with the Raramuri. We would not accept to perform an act of friendship, openness and sharing in the face of a fratricidal war. We would not run.

With unspeakable sadness, I walked back to my camp in the comfort and company of many. I was stopped on my way out by countless townspeople and Raramuris who either voiced their thanks for our gesture or silently bowed their head, expressing more than a thousand words. As the hours passed, I was consoled by witnessing people coming together for impromptu meals and celebrations, sharing together like we have always done. I was visited by friends who could not hold their tears in a mix of resignation, frustration and despair at a situation that poisons the lives and the minds. We shared those feelings, together, as well.

When later in the evening, word spread out that an ad-hoc, unsanctioned race would happen the next morning, nothing had changed in the minds of many. The decision that had been taken had, truly, nothing to do with immediate security. The statement that had been made remained. The only thing that anyone could do, in most runners’ mind – and no matter how much everyone yearned to run with the Raramuri - was to quietly stay the course and maintain that stance of peace. The symbol was powerful, meaningful and direly needed. We were saying “We know, we suffer and we oppose.”

Turning around and running the ad-hoc race would have been a blatant approval of the very workings we deplore. Using the language of our bodies to support a façade would have been a lie and a misrepresentation of the values that brought me to the Copper Canyons in the first place. Joining the remaining Raramuri in Urique who literally ran out of options and lined up because they had so much more to lose was, to me, the worst thing I could ever inflict on a People known to turn away and leave at the first sign of aggression.

I packed my bags, hugged my friends and swore to them I will be back, no matter what. “We know”, they simply answered.

Leonardo Cleto. Runner, father, husband, friend

As the dust kicked up on the view of Urique, climbing up that wild winding road in my friends’ truck, my stomach, my heart and my soul were sick. I felt the worst abandonment, powerlessness and despair. I still do to this day and will for a long time. I cry for the loss of my friend Leonardo Cleto, senselessly murdered in the cycle of violence. I cry for my Raramuri friends who could not walk away like those from closer villages and stayed behind, caught in the confusion and face-saving sham. I cry for the selfishness and insensitivity of some foreigners who used the events for self-promotion and glorification. I cry for Mexico, The Beautiful, from which I received numerous messages of shame and sadness. I cry as I still receive horrible news of substitute policemen reeled in for the unsanctioned race being kidnapped and killed as retribution. I cry for the fear that eats away at the weary heart of the Uriquenses.


I, as many others who were witnesses, am losing sleep over such terrible events. But, like many of my friends, my determination has not wavered. My love has not faded. I hold no grudge to others who have lived the experience in their own way, following their own hearts, values and interpretation of events.

The message has not changed. Peace, truth and openness are what make Mas Locos. I will be back in the Barrancas. We will be back in the Barrancas.

The iconic bird of the Sierra Madre is the Mourning Dove. It is a quiet, shy creature. But its soft song can be heard everywhere in the Canyons.

It’s time to show the Raramuri that we understand the true meaning of Kuira Ba.

We are one.






Le sensationnalisme et la peur ne sont que la voix de ceux qui l'imposent. La paix, l'ouverture et l'humilité sont les seuls moyens pour les contrer.