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.

BTR 2014 - Whiskey Jerry, A Raramuri And The Marshmallow Man Walk Onto A Ranch...

The BTR Tribe

I woke up in my tent with a parched mouth and a terrible headache. The camp was still quiet, so I figured it was probably very early morning. Painfully, I turned over, opened the zipper door and fumbled out in the faint light to go get a bottle of water, kicking empty beer cans on the way to Sweeney’s car. My head throbbed and I couldn’t quite remember how the party ended the night before, aside from a vague memory of face-planting in the dark on my way to the Port-a-Potty.

Welcome to Born To Run, the Burning Man of ultra running.

This was the morning before my 50K, I couldn’t walk straight or mumble more than 3 or 4 relevant words in a row. Looking for some sympathy from fellow partyfaces, I stumbled to the Clemens camp to see if anyone had made coffee. Tyler handed me a Tecate, which I pushed back to him, gagging. “Are you nuts?!” I said, trying to keep my cookies. He broke the can open and handed it back. “It’s open now. Gotta drink it!”.

As more tent-zipper, groaning and can-kicking sounds arose, the camp slowly came to life on the glorious California morning of the Chamberlin Ranch. Everyone looked like shit, with some emerging out of tents that weren’t theirs, or others still buzzed from the craziness of the night before. If you’d taken a snapshot at that precise moment, no one would have ever believed you were among ultra distance runners, and some of the best ones at that.

Wheelchair-Racing-With-A-Wine-Drinking-Pacer
was not listed on Ultrasignup's event schedule.

I slouched down on a chair at Margarita’s camp with the most hung-over Josue Stephens I’d ever seen and we tried to slowly come back to life through excessive belated water drinking. On one of my first zombie pee walks to the Port-a-Potty, I came across one of my favorite running people. “Apache TONY!!! How’s it going, brother?” - The puzzled look on his face hinted that this maaaaybe wasn’t the first time I’d seen him during the past couple hours... “Hummm… you… don’t remember last night’s campfire much, do you?” he said, smirking. Oh man.

When your weekend of running includes half-naked men dressed like trees, archery runs, beer half-marathons and heavy metal mariachi shows, there’s no need to devise a hydration strategy or meticulously prepare your race-day food; your only job is to survive the party, surf the tidal fun wave and wait for the horrible Norteño music, 5:00 AM wake-up call and Luis Escobar’s broken voice over the PSA screeching “You have 15 minutes to show up to the starting line, dressed up and looking like a distance runner”.

Don't ask. No, seriously.

Seriously, though, what else could I expect? Born to Run 2014 was the literal gathering of everyone I love in the sport, with so very few exceptions that I could count them on the fingers of a single hand. Almost every person who’s made my life the homeless heaven it was this past year was camped out somewhere around me in concentric circles, starting from the “Mas Loco Village” established around La Mariposa’s car. It was a festival of love and a celebration of the running life.

Even our Raramuri friends were here, with Equipo Caballo Blanco running its first BTR-sponsored event. Despite grand fears that this whole freak show would terrorize them forever, it was delightful to see them walking around the camp, hanging out under the shade of trees and – yes, you read this right – smiling. They looked relaxed, perfectly at ease, in maybe what they might have interpreted as the gringo-style Tesguinada (traditional corn beer party) they are so familiar with as the landmark event before any big Copper Canyons running meet.

Surrounded by my whole tribe, I spent the rest of the morning trying to rehydrate and telling everyone who’d listen (read: nobody) that I wouldn’t drink another drop of booze until after my run.

BTR's idea of sticking to
a strict pre-race regimen

Since I chugged away my wise pre-race decisions at the Beer Mile just a couple hours later, I guess I didn’t deem it worthy to get my gear ready or to prepare a proper final meal before my 50K. I spent the rest of the afternoon sharing beers with Papa Jim and the Clemens Clan (kinda sounds like a rock band) and had a family-sized bag of chips for dinner with my friend Greg Lowe, while a very drunk Alejandro fell off his camping chair and was lovingly rolled onto a blanket in the shade. Then Metalachi showed up, so I *might* have had a couple shots of tequila and that god-awful Fireball crap, which seems to have become the official allwedoisrun poison of choice, while screaming along at “We’re not gonna take it” to the sound of distorted trumpets.

Soooo, as you can imagine, 5:00 AM came in crashing, with a vengeance. I’m not sure what was the hardest: finding my running clothes in the dark and something liquid that was not alcohol to fill my hydration vest, or keeping in an increasing need to puke. I managed to shove a Clif Bar down my throat and walked to the starting line. In the half-obscurity of the early morning, things looked like the police had just busted in the ranch and were rounding up a herd of half-drunk hobos to put an end to this debauchery. At least, I thought, everyone looked equally “ready”.

Somewhere between the Beer Mile and the rock show,
I was officially adopted by the Clemens Clan

I don’t know if I spaced out badly or if the shotgun misfired, but without much ceremony, we somehow just got moving out the gate and onto the course. And then something really weird happened. We started running.

Between awesome segments with kick-ass Jody and my buddy Jon Zaid from Nine Trails, the first loop felt like an easy 5K. Shortly after that, I played catch with Durango Mike for a bit, saw Benedict whizz by like there was nothing to it and then came across the radiating beauty of Amy, closely followed by the highly inspiring Dan. I completed my second third of the run with my girl Crista, chatting and joking the miles away until we crossed the gate for the second time.

I really thought things were going OK, considering, but it only occurred to me that I might be doing really well when I reached the last aid station before my finish, with about 10K to go. I got in to get food and was really happy to see Margarita… and casually smiled at Michelle and Bobby, who were- Wait. What the hell were Michelle and Bobby, by all means WAY faster people than me, doing at that aid station?

This one serves to prove there was actual running involved

After some moments sinking in the realization that maybe I should get my ass back on the trails and actually try and keep up with my friends, we all took off together and dropped the hung-over hammer to get this thing done, I guess, and maybe see who still had a cold beer or two? Margaret was in a lot of back pain, so our merry band stretched out a little bit on the last long downhill. I only started to feel the burn on that last 1-mile stretch where you cross the finish line, keep going a half mile out then turn back for the real finish because, in the RD’s own words, “You still owe me a mile”. The heat had risen and the shenanigans from the last couple days had left my reserves, well, depleted to say the least, but I still managed to drag my carcass to the finish chute. I ended up ahead of Michelle, who forgot to run under the gate and had to turn around, which is absolutely unfair. But really, I don’t think anyone was counting that hard.

After catching my breath a little bit, I started wondering if I could really have ran my best 50K ever, ill-prepared and badly hung over, or if this was all some sort of withdrawal syndrome, post-alcoholic hallucination. So I went back, looked at the clock and marveled at what I can only call the Born To Run magic.

6:16. Go figure.

Born To Run, C'est le Woodstock de la course d'ultra, un festival de la folle amitié qui nous unit et la réalisation incroyable que ça se peut, courir 50 kilomètres sur un lendemain de brosse :)

Crown King Scramble 50K - Best. DNF. Ever.

«If you're hurt or injured, don't press on and make matters worse. Just know when to call it a day.»

Although it's not always easy, I try to live by my own advice. Mind you, I consider myself privileged because I run all I want and I seldom, if ever, get injured. Knock on wood, I haven't had any serious injuries for a couple years now.

But that comes with a little price to pay; I can't have an ego. Not that I want one anyway, but still, I like to keep up with my running friends and do well in the events I run.

So when my right knee started to hurt less than 2 miles into Crown King Scramble 50, the pinch I felt the most was to my pride. I was running with La Mariposa, and I was feeling very happy to be out in nature with my friend, about to experience a new part of beautiful Arizona. The morning was fresh and the day full of promise, but all I could feel at that point was disappointment and worry.

«What is it?» she asked, noticing my form had gotten weird. «My knee. It hurts. I'm gonna have to walk bits. Just go on, run your race, I'll see you at the finish.»

«No way», is what I got for an answer, and after a couple friendly «Andale, huevon», I gave running another shot. For about 300 yards. Things were getting desperate, and I knew I couldn't hope for a finish that day. I stopped at Nathan Coury's truck, less than 2.5 miles in, and looked at his passenger's seat. «Really?!» he said. «The day's just starting. Take it easy, walk bits. No worries. Make it at least to the first aid station, then see how it goes.» I returned his friendly smile, and went on.

The first aid station came, about 8 miles in. I hadn't run a lot, and when I did, I felt this shooting pain in my knee that I know too well. It's exactly like an IT Band symptom, except in my case, it's just my body screaming at me. Like a warning light on the dashboard. «If you keep going, I'm gonna mess you up.»

No one at the first aid station, including La Mariposa, had any pity for me. Most of what's ahead is hiking anyway, I was told, so no point in stopping now. Make it to mile 15, then you'll be at the bottom of the long steep climb. Keep a good hiking pace and you'll make the cut-offs, easy.

My buddy Richard

Ah, well. Walking didn't hurt, so I reluctantly kept going. I was really grateful that my friend was with me, even though it was turning her run into a leisurely walk while everyone else was whisking by. Soon enough, though, my other knee started to hurt, and then my hips. Walking was now painful, too, and my greatest fear, getting hurt, came to haunt me. Luckily, the mile 15 aid station was coming, and I told Maria I was done for good. I stopped and sat on a chair, massaged my legs in the morning sun and cheered on the other runners.

Soon, the aid station staff figured they had to do something with me, but no one was going in the direction of the finish line, where all my friends and El Capitan were. While they were breaking down, one of the local radio operators, Richard, showed up in his macked-out Rubicon. «Can you take this guy up the trail?». Richard just smirked. He pointed to his Jeep with his chin and said «The ride might be a little bumpy.» I smiled wide and said «Bring it.» Instantaneous friendship ensued.

Richard's macked-out Rubicon

We climbed in his Jeep and Richard gave me a preview of what his machine could do. We climbed rock walls, bounced off pitches and rocked left and right as we drove up to the next aid station, listening to French music and talking trail adventures. We picked up another tired runner on the way, Chris, who was more than happy to jump in with us and enjoy a little break. We all squeezed in the two-seater and we got to the third aid station before we knew it. I high-fived my new friend, thanking him for the awesome ride. «Chris will take you guys to the finish from here, I have to go back to work.»

Crazy Chris and his Trail Machine

A third fallen brother, Vance, was waiting for a ride, too. His face was pale and he looked like he was ready to call it a day. I figured we'd hop on some kind of pickup truck, but instead, we were pointed to a 4-wheel dune buggy-looking machine, which I later learned is called a Razor. There, another Chris waited for us, and he was smiling, too.

«Let me set up your guys' harnesses», he said, smirking. This guy looked like trouble, and I loved it. I called shotgun, not that I think any other guy wanted the seat anyway, and jumped in front, my camera in hand. So, instead of telling you how it went, let me... show you :)

My DNF ride absolutely made my day and allowed me to cheer on my friends and experience the trails they ran on. I got to the finish line dirty and grinning from ear to ear, excited with our trail shenanigans. It was an absolute blast, and a good reminder that whatever you do out there on the trails, including dropping out from a run, has always the potential to make you happy and enjoy a great day out with friends!


Post-race note. My knee's just fine. After 3 days of rest, I've been enjoying two days of pain-free running over all sorts of terrain. I guess my long drives from the days prior to Crown King kept my legs always in the same position and caused some sort of muscular unease.




Abandonner une course, ce n'est pas abandonner la vie. C'est juste prendre un autre chemin, qui peut se révéler aussi passionnant, excitant et mémorable que le plan initial:)

Epic - Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco 2014

It seems every time Tom Norwood shows up at a race I'm running, something epic happens. Last time around, we shared an unlikely lifetime achievement after crossing the finish line of Josue Stephens' Hunter Gatherer 50, stride for stride, in overall 4th place and as 2nd men. 

Tom's epic moment
with Luis Escobar, in 2013

I can't even start telling the story of Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco 2014 before I make sure everyone remembers Tom's feat from last year's race. He left a major mark upon the Copper Canyons running lore when he rose up from absolute despair on an Urique sidewalk, after receiving unforgettable words from our friend Luis Escobar, and finished his first-ever 50 miler against all odds. A victory Mas Locos and the ultra running world in general shared in absolute delight.

However, the only that that felt epic, this year, was Tom's stomach flu. After spending the two last days of UMCB race week in bed with a fever and an inability to keep any food in, he didn't look like half of himself. He'd already told me he wouldn't be running; his body felt too weak for the challenge. He'd stay with Margarita, our friend Margaret Schlacter, who was the event's social media journalist, and be the «Official Race Vehicle».

Tom was supposed to be
an Official Race Vehicle...

You now can understand my amazement when, at 5:30 AM Sunday morning, I saw him and my friend Scott Smuin show up at the starting line. His colours were back, he was smiling and looked as fresh as ever. «What the hell?!» I screamed, jumping into his arms. «Well, seems like I feel much better. I wouldn't miss this run for the world!».

I decided to take the start with another firend, Marc Seguin, who'd travelled all the way from back home with his Beloved, Shany, and who stood the chance of becoming Quebec's #4 Mas Loco. We'd shared numerous runs together and I was very proud to join him in the beginning of his Canyon journey.

The race started like every other time I've ran it; you're just standing there, smiling, taking pictures with friends and sharing a joyful moment and then every one starts moving. Fast. Before we knew it, we were running down Urique's main street and I was taking off on another UMCB adventure. My heart was full and my smile was wide.

My good friend, and Quebec Mas Loco #4, Marc Seguin

I shared several miles with Marc, until he somehow disappeared at Guadalupe Coronado, our first turnaround point. I guess he stopped for food, and I didn't notice he'd stayed behind until I was maybe half a mile ahead. Knowing he's a strong runner, I had the feeling he'd catch up with me sooner than later. In front of me, in the distance, I saw a very familiar silhouette; my friend Tom, running happily on the rolling canyon hills. Unable to refrain my enthusiasm, I darted ahead to catch up with him.

Tom is a great friend with a powerful, beaming smile. Just running alongside him makes me happy. We had tons of catching up to do, so we started talking enthusiastically while finishing the first loop, down to the bridge. When we reached it, we decided to stay together, as always, and share the whole run.

The climb to El Naranjo was playful and felt short. We ran with several friends and crossed others, cruising fast with the lead Raramuri. They were in a race of their own, but what was amazing is that everyone, from first place to last, was smiling. Running free.

The top mesa at Naranjo arrived quickly, and both Tom and I felt fresh and excited for the fast downhill 10K that lied ahead. We ate oranges and drank pinole, making sure we were fueled properly for a quick-paced, non-stop descent into Urique. Like two kids, we ran down the steep hills feeling like we were flying, revelling in the glorious morning sun and enjoying every moment we could spend running alongside our Raramuri friends.

We agreed to take a couple minutes in Urique. I had to re-lace my shoes and Tom wanted a little bathroom break, so we spent maybe 15 minutes in town under the shade of Mama Tita's front porch. We took off as the late morning sun was rising, along with the heat. Tom was running strong and, for a while, I felt like maybe he'd leave me behind. I felt a little weaker than I would've wished for, but it wasn't too late to avoid a crash. I ate more calories and drank generous gulps of water, and started feeling better and better, all the way to the La Laja bridge, which marks the end of the road and the beginning of the beautiful trail to Los Alisos.

The riverbed section was done in no time and, as we started the steep switchback climb to the trail, I accelerated a little. I felt great and strong, and made sure to tell Tom... who didn't answer. I turned back and realized he had lagged behind a couple steps. His face had changed a little, too. «Are you all right?»

«I'm OK. A little tired. I don't feel super strong.»

«Take it easy, amigo. I'll wait for you on the top of the hill.»

Earlier, on the way from Urique

I kept going, leaving my friend to his thoughts. I was looking forward to a little shade at the aid station on top of the switchbacks, and would use the time Tom would take to catch up to empty my shoes, which had filled with loose sand. My plan worked great and, by the time Tom reached the top, I was all refreshed and ready to go. We still had a rough stretch ahead, the one I call The Oven. A steep canyon wall of red rocks that slowly take in sun rays and radiate them back at the runners.

This is where my friend hit his first wall.

Progress became slow, and his steps got shorter. He felt dizzy and nauseous, but I pressed him on so we would clear The Oven and get to the shade. This probably didn't help, because his energy faded quickly, until the point we had to stop. We took a little breather and tried to start moving again. After several minutes of stop-and-go, Tom gave me the look I didn't want to see.

«No, man. I'm not going. I'm staying with you. Take your tim-...» but he raised his hand at me. «Dude. I'm going back to that river. I told you. Just go.»

There was no arguing. His eyes talked the loudest. He was tired, he was sick. He was done. Saddened, I turned and moved ahead, reaching Los Alisos in a couple more minutes. I waited for my friend there, but he wasn't coming. After some more minutes, I took the decision I didn't want to take, and started going back down on my own. I really wanted to finish the race with my fr- «TOM!!!»

I wasn't 100 yards down the trail when I saw him. The Happy Badger, El Tejon Feliz. He who refuses to quit. He was walking slowly, but hell, he was walking! «I'm so glad to see you!!!»

He was still a little pale, but he looked way better. I sat down on a rock by the trail side, and refused to move an inch before he joined me. After trying a couple times to get me going, Tom smiled and promised to take a decent break at the aid station, then come back down to continue together.

We spent the whole way down trying to figure out a way for him to eat and drink sufficiently and to get back some energy for the last loop. This segment to Urique, we agreed, was the stretch we would use to piece him back together so that we could finish happy and strong. Things looked great for a while, with even some running stretches on the road back. But soon enough, my friend was on the side of the road, sicker then before.

«I don't think I can do this», he said, looking defeated. «You stop this right here!», I yelled back. «We're going to do this together, and we're going to finish this together, a'ight?». My failed drill sergeant routine, at least, made him smile and we kept going, slowly but determined.

Before reaching Urique, I started fearing Tom would call it a day and tried everything I could to make him feel better. «Give it a good thought, and tell me something you would really, really like to eat right now.» He gave it a minute and said «well, this little shop in town has watermelon smoothies. I think I'd like that.» «I'm on it!», I yelled, running ahead. «See you in town!»

Aaaaaah. Watermelon juice.

I got to the shop, happy I'd had the wits to put some money in my running vest the night before. I bought the smoothie and made it back in time to see my friend get to town. He didn't look great, but the sight of the cold drink seemed to make him happy. A lot of our friends had finished their race and were at the Plaza, cheering other runners in. They gave Tom a real boost and made sure we had all we needed for the obvious long haul to Guadalupe and back. At this point, there was no running anymore and our progress was slow at best. But we were moving, and we were together.

It took us several hard hours to get to and back from Guadalupe, with numerous stops on the way. Tom was really sick, all the way, and none of what we tried seemed to make him better. Every step he took was hard, and not a single moment in that last stretch gave him a break. But he pressed on, kept moving and never, ever lost his determination. Badgers, you see, don't ever quit.

As we had done before, we came closer and closer to the finish line, stride for stride. As before, we'd drawn on each other's energy until we savoured the incoming victory. We celebrated the memory of Caballo Blanco, who had brought us together, and we celebrated being alive. We finished in the arms of our friends, exhausted but satisfied.

It was a great day to be out there.

It was an even greater one to share it with my friend Tom.

Five colors - and a beautiful gift -
which mean the world to me

************
Meanwhile, my friend Marc had an epic day of his own, with his Shany covering over 40K to get to him and pace him to his finish, hand in hand. She'd never ran anything more than a half marathon.
************



On court souvent des ultras pour se découvrir et explorer ses limites. Parfois, on court un ultra pour atteindre celles des autres, et les aider à les dépasser.

Fuego Y Agua 50K – Jungle Madness

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

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

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

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

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

Concepciòn, the fire part
of Fuego Y Agua

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

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

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

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

The cloud forest on Maderas

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

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

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

Dirt in your... shoes

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

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

Wheeeeee!

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

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

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

The Jungle Gym, nothing short of epic

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

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

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

On the home stretch

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

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

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

He throws in the crazy running.

You live a real adventure.

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

The Story Of My Very Unlikely First 100 Miler

Ultra running is weird. The more I do it, the more I realize I don't know anything about it. Our bodies are such amazing machines, capable of so many wonders, and yet if "the stars are not aligned" on a given day, we won't be able to do much of anything. On the other hand, there are days when you seem capable of doing anything, like you're boundless. Like you have forgotten your limits at home.

I came to Across The Years almost by coincidence. I had many plans to do many things; drive up to Los Angeles to meet Sweeney for a road race, take advantage of my short stay in Phoenix to go to the junk yard and salvage some parts for El Capitan, go check out the famed hippie hangout Slab City, or go meet my friends the Coury's and offer a little giving back for all the awesome running events they manage. Since many of my running friends were headed there as well, I chose to tag along with Maria, and show up for a couple of aid station volunteering shifts with Patti's crew.

We got there early the first day, just in time to watch the start of The Crazies, the ones who would run for 6 days straight in 500-mile + attempts. I was both in awe and in despair at the sheer amplitude of the task they had ahead of them.

The sun rose a little higher and we enlisted as volunteers with Nick, who started to scribble on the runners list as well.

"What will you run? 48? 72 hours?"

"Oh, you don't need to do that. I'm not running. I'm just here to help out with the aid station."

He looked at me funny.

"But you're gonna run at least a little bit, right? Might as well have your miles logged in, plus I'd rather have you wear a bib if you're gonna do loops around the track anyway."

Before I knew it, I had a bib, a couple volunteer shifts and a bright sunny day ahead of me.

That was the original plan; hanging out on the course...
El Capitan quickly turned into my personal aid station.

Maria and I hung out for a while, cooking breakfast, cheering on our friends and making coffee. We were really out there for fun, just joking around and having a good time. around 11:00, the sun was warm enough to ditch a couple layers.

"Wanna do a couple loops?", said Maria. She already had the spark in her eye. Sure. We changed into running gear, snapped the bibs on and started running around the 1.05-mile course, that basically weaves around some baseball fields and walkways in a huge sports complex. I thought I would get bored pretty quickly, running around in circles, but the track offers enough variety that it keeps things fun. Of course, the nicest part of this type of race is that you're actually running with everyone, from the champions to the last of the pack. We're all in this together, and this creates a very unique spirit.

Running with Jamil...
A rare chance for me

I was all smiles and happy, and soon realized I was running really fast. I had been resting a lot in Mexico and my legs were fresh and springy. Since I had no distance to go for, I simply enjoyed my speed and energy without a care in the world. This allowed me to run loops with some of my very fast friends, like Jamil and Dave, and it made my day. I got a little tired after about 20 miles, so I simply stopped, changed back into my jeans and t-shirt, opened a cold Dos Equis and walked to the Millers' RV for an afternoon chill session in the sun. Or at least, that's what I thought.

See, it's all the Redhead's fault. Under her guise of good looks and smiley gentleness, really, she's pure evil.

I wasn't half way in my first beer when she started playing her tricks on me.

"You looked really good out there, why did you stop?"

"I ran what I felt like running. I'm not here to do anything else than volunteer anyway. My shift starts at 1:00 in the night, until the morning."

"But it's only early afternoon! You could run 3 or 4 more hours, take a nap and then go to work?"

"Why would I do that?"

She looked at me funny.

"You have three full days ahead of you to run as much distance as you want."

"..."

"You know they'll give you a sweet buckle if you do a hundred miles..."

I looked at her funny.

She said nothing more, smiled and started fiddling with her phone. I went back to my beer. But a couple seconds later, she turned the screen around and produced an image of the very nice 100-mile buckle, something I've been coveting for a while and failed to get at my last attempt. I quickly got back to my beer again, but it was empty.

"Fuck it."

I sprung up from the chair, shaking my head, and headed back for my van. The Redhead smiled. Her sneaky deed was done. She had successfully nudged a perfectly happy slacker and totally unprepared runner into a 100-mile hopeful. Evil, I tell you.

I changed back from my jeans into my running gear, and joined the flow of runners again. The weirdest thing; no one was puzzled or seemed surprised by my back-and-forths. I just got welcome back smiles and nudges. What kind of crowd had I gotten myself into?

So I ran again. 10 miles, maybe 11. And again, it was great fun hanging out with everyone. I saw Deborah the Aquaphor Girl and Jaime, Ed The Jester, Mark Hellenthal and I met many new friends. By the time I was back at the van for a little nap before my shift, I had run 30 miles.

I showed up to work with Patti's crew in the main aid station and hung out with Zach, a veteran volunteer. We kept busy filling up the food plates, drinks and attending to the runners' needs. When Patti realized I was also running in the event, she came to me.

"So you're going to work AND run?"

"Is that OK?"

She looked at me funny.

The hours flew by, in the cold desert night. Lucky for me, we had a propane heater in the aid station tent to keep warm. But we felt for the runners out there in the shivering cold, so we worked on the double, making hot chocolate, cup-o-noodles and fresh coffee. My shift was supposed to end at 9:00 the next morning, but at 7:00, Patti gave me a little tap on the shoulder.

"Go get some sleep, things have slowed down, we'll be fine here."

I headed back to the van, slipped in my bed and fell hard asleep. Two hours later, I woke up to a beautiful sunny day, the sound of runners' steps on the track... and what felt like a mammoth task ahead. I was tired from a long day, and had to run 70 more miles if I wanted to score a hundred. I had another work shift coming up that night, at 8:00, so I had to squeeze in some sleep as well.

Deciding that the best course of action was "more running, less thinking", I reluctantly got out of bed and started putting my running clothes on. The morning was cold and my first steps out of the van were painful. I couldn't quite run, I was just too sore. Things didn't look great, but I was moving. I just started real easy, walking around the track for a couple loops.

Beauty and the Blistered

"HEY!!! Look who's here!"

A very happy Mariposa was already dancing around the track, side-by-side with my friend Jess! I had no idea she was coming, and was super glad to see her. She looked fresh and as beautiful as always, and I started trotting along just to be with my friends. Not a half loop later, Jess and I are running strong in the warming sun. What happened? I can never keep up with her, as she's such a better runner than I am. I just started feeling as good as the day before, and Jess and I went on running together, stride for stride, for many hours. Things felt easy and it was great to spend some time chatting and having fun. By the time the afternoon was over, I had 33 more miles in. And a plan.

Jess would volunteer on the evening shift with us. Since we brought a third person in, we would take turns doing a loop while the two other friends would be at work, if things weren't too busy. It didn't look like the plan would work at first, but around 9:30, we started going out for a loop, one at a time.

I was a little desperate, because reality struck me sometime that night. I had 63 miles in and a work night ahead, which meant I would need to get up the next day to a 37-mile run before I took off to Gilbert and then San Diego, 7 hours of driving away, to pick up my Belle and start our vacation. It was nuts.

Again, "Less thinking, more running". Every chance we got, we went out for a loop. I told my friends that when our shift was over, I didn't want to go to bed until I had 71 miles in. Why? Really, I don't know. It was just a stupid notion in my head that I could pull off a 29-mile day on the next morning, but not more. So I kept going in circles in the night, after my shift, until the counter said I had 71.4 miles (68 loops). It felt lonely and pointless, but at least I got to meet more interesting runners like Marylou from Ontario, who was steadily building mileage all by herself in the night, offering me a beaming smile each time we would cross paths.

A visit in the World of Hurt

I managed to get a little sleep, but my body was protesting my sudden change in lifestyle. My legs were twitchy and I had a hard time staying warm, even though I had a heater in the van. I wasn't eating too well (not at all, really), except the handfuls of aid station snacks I would grab here and there and the gels I was doing when running. Not exactly a winning recipe for a successful 100-miler.

The next morning was brutal, with a sore body and the realization that I needed to run all day, and possibly into the night, to hit the 100 mark. My feet had started to blister pretty badly, and I had already popped two bad ones which started to hurt way more than I care to remember. I couldn't put my feet in my shoes because the pain was too bad. Desperate, I got my first-aid kit out and used blister pads, taped over with Band-Aid tape (works wonders!). But now the problem was that my feet didn't fit my shoes! I'd been wearing my Skechers GoRun Meb Speed, my usual choice for road runs, because of the Resalyte sole and the overall lightweight feel. But now I couldn't even squeeze my foot in it.

Taped blisters...

... Under taped socks.

I dug into my shoe stash and tried many other ones, but the only that fit was my GoRun2, an even more padded shoe with a slight arch support. I had worn those for a marathon without any issues, and anyway I had no other choice if I wanted to keep going. The blistered spot under my right pinky toe was so bad that I had to tape the Injinji sock over the taping I had already done on the toe itself. I winced as I squeezed in my foot, and the first steps were horrible. But I was back on the track. Walking.


I had a moment, that morning. My run had gone so well and I was so ill-prepared for a 100-mile, I thought, that it had to come bite me in the ass at some point. I had run almost every single loop up to 71, but now things were about to go south, quick. I was more hobbling than walking, and a single loop felt like a 5k. My moral was sinking.

I got my MP3 player out, something I hadn't done in maybe 2 years. I hit the button and the music started, with blaring heavy guitars. It was Five Finger Death Punch. And they had a message.

"You won't break me,
No matter how hard you try.
You can't shake me down,
I'm fucking bulletproof!"

From the bottom of my toes all the way up my spine, I felt a wave of something, like a warm liquid injected in my veins. A nudge forward so palpable that I think I even felt a push in my back. I leaned forward and started running. To my absolute amazement, I discovered that running didn't hurt my feet. Only walking did!

From that point, I knew what I had to do. Let my legs go, breathe and sink into the music. One loop. Two loops. Then I stopped counting. Yes, that's it. Float in that timeless spot inside, where nothing gets to you. Look through your own eyes like they are the window of some vehicle taking you on a voyage. Daydream stories that make no sense and amuse you. Smile. Catch a glimpse of other runners' eyes for a tiny moment in time, connect, then come back inside.

By the time I looked up at the monitor, the afternoon sun was high in the sky and the counter said 85 miles. I started getting mixed feelings. On one side, I was getting more and more certain that I could do it, at long last. I could cross the finish line of a 100-mile run, something I sincerely doubted was in my reach as a runner. But on the other side, the pain in my legs and the fatigue were getting to me, poking holes in my confidence. I couldn't take any walking breaks, it simply hurt too much. Was this a blessing or a curse?

The MP3 player, once again, provided my answer. It played one of my favorite tracks, from Rise Against.

It's called "Give it all".

I resorted to an old marathon trick. Run one loop with someone. During that time, think only of that person, of what they represent for you. Be that person. Incarnate what it is you admire about them, and bring it to life. Pierre. Donald. Karine. Juan Pablo. The Navajo.

90 miles.

The Raramuri. Terry Fox. Dan. The Red-Tailed Hawk. My brother. Méganne. The Leaf Warrior. Nick.

Micah.

By the time I was surrounded with all the inspiration that came to me, I had one mile to go. One loop. I was running side by side with Rachel, who showed up like an angel and acted as my own brain, calculating for me and keeping me on track, and then with Casey, all smiles, who brought me to the finish line. I crossed it to the sound of an Apache cry from Maria, and emerged into a brand new world on the other side.

A world where little me runs 100 miles.

A setting without any limits.

A place where my thirst for life becomes endless.

My friends went on to run incredible distances and perform astonishing feats of endurance. Michael Miller won the 72-hour event with 243 miles. Marylou smiled away and won the 72-hour with a mountain of 265 miles. Kelly Agnew flew through and won the 48-hour with 201. Ed The Jester traveled an amazing 476 miles. The Evil Redhead finished a hundred of her own. Jess did her hundred like a walk in the park. And Maria Walton covered two hundred smiles, floating free with inspiration. To all of you, hearty congratulations!




Qu'est-ce qu'on cherche en courant en cerlces pendant 3 jours et 100 milles? C'est mieux de ne pas le savoir. La découverte en est tout autant plus merveilleuse lorsqu'on émerge de l'autre côté, avec une soif de vivre sans fin et l'émerveillement face à ce dont nous sommes capables. Nous sommes des machines absolument extraordinaires. Des miracles de la vie.


Photo credits: Bret Sanquist, Aravaipa Running