Sail

What does it mean to fail? Lisa tells me it is simply the “first attempt in learning.” Those were the encouraging words she gave me when I failed to complete the Sinister 7 Ultra marathon in 2023. I went back this year for another attempt. How do we frame a second failure? The acronym might be SAIL, second attempt in learning? It turns out this has been the song stuck in my head since just before the race, Sail by AWOLNATION. That’s a song that can get the motivation jump started. This race is hard. 56 people completed all 100 gruelling miles this year. 104 runners did not finish. Both my running buddy Lewis and I were among the fallen. I’ll admit to some deep mental lows over the last couple days. At my lowest point, I wondered if I’d make it out alive, literally, and I took a little comfort in knowing that I am well insured. Lisa and the kids will be fine. I had some words with my Master at 2 am under the blanket of the Milky Way. I shut the headlamp off for a few moments and stared into the immensity of space. There is an odd comfort under the stars. This may be a little dramatic. Less morbid lows had me wondering if it was time to throw in the towel on this sport altogether. Maybe I could take up something easier like marathons, hockey, or curling? With 24 hours of recovery I’m ready to sail right through to attempt number 3. I’m coming back next year.

Leg 1

This leg is just over 18 kilometres. You start on Main Street in Blairmore. The atmosphere is typical for these events. Sinister 7 sees some 1800 runners, most on a relay team. The tension is palpable. Leg one is a good introduction to the race. There are a few climbs but nothing daunting. The leg is just enough to stretch your legs. I didn’t bother with the checkpoint aid stations. I had everything I needed. I didn’t bring my poles on this leg. I debated taking nothing but hand bottles and some gels but opted for my full pack. Next year I’ll likely take that lighter strategy on leg 1. I finished this leg in 1 hour and 50 minutes. I felt great. I spent 6 minutes at the transition. This included a quick bathroom break, soaking my head scarf in the river, and picking up my gel flasks.

This was my first run using gel flasks. I am a big fan. I can fit the contents of 5 gels in a single flask. They fit nicely in my pack and I don’t have to mess with trying to open gel packs or deal with the garbage that remains. 5 stars, would recommend. I’ve been using Sun River Honey exclusively since last year as my gel of choice. This gel does not activate my gag reflex, which I much appreciate. However, I did have a little incident at the end of leg 2. I fuel every 45 minutes. I found myself just a few hundred meters from the end of leg 2 when it was time to fuel. Not used to the gel flasks I took quite the mouthful of honey. That creamy honey piled up at the back of my throat and sealed it off. I was climbing a hill with a blocked airway. I was close to panic for a moment or two. My airway wasn’t completely obstructed. I managed a few good swigs of water. I didn’t make that mistake again. Any longer and I might have blacked out. How embarrassing.

Leg 2

I love this leg. It has a gnarly single track climb in the middle of it followed by a quad shredding decent. Beauty. I like a steady climb where I can dig in with my poles and move with deliberation. “A body in motion tends to stay in motion,” I repeated over and over in my head as I passed fellow runners bent over poles and sucking for air. Stopping is death. Go as slow as you must but don’t stop. I passed a few older participants whose speed on that hill might be described as glacial. Still, they climbed it.

The heat was coming on strong by the middle of this leg. Though it is shorter than leg one, at about 16.5k, the elevation gain is significant. I took nearly 2 hours and 20 minutes to complete it. I rolled into the transition area over heating. I took in more than 3 litres of electrolytes, and I couldn’t have done much more. I took 19 minutes at this transition area. I had a couple hot spots on my right foot that Lisa took care of. I did all I could to bring the body temperature down before heading out on leg 3. Just before leaving I practically shotgunned a giant can of Monster energy drink. That felt risky. Turned out it was awesome! The next 20k felt wonderful.

Leg 3

This leg is my nemesis. It took me out of the race in 2023. It was hot then too. I mismanaged my electrolytes and came off the leg in full body spasms. It was a terrifying and fascinating experience that I had no wish to repeat. I am proud to report that I did not experience a single cramp in my entire race. I managed the electrolytes well. Still, I made a couple fatal choices. First, I ran with a light and long cloth over my head. It was held in place by my ball cap. This seemed like a wise move. I soaked it at every creek. It protected my neck and ears from the sun too. It felt like a genius idea until it was not. In this sport you need to be hyper aware of everything going on with your body and respond. I noticed several times that this cloth on my head dried out fairly quickly. It was trapping the heat while giving me a false sense of protection from it. There were little signs of this throughout legs 2 and 3 but I was committed to this strategy. Sunblock and a wet bandana around my neck would have been a better option. 

The second mistake I made was wearing sleeves. I picked up a pair of white sleeves the day before. These are tight spandex like material. I thought this would be better than sunblock. It might have been too. At the last check point on leg three I thought to soak the sleeves in the creek along with my hat and head rag. I started leg 3 with the pockets on the sleeves full of ice (that was pretty great). Why I did not think to soak the sleeves as I went is beyond me. Foolish.

Both of these mistakes are really the same mistake. I make this mistake regularly. Every piece of gear I start a race with should be battle worn through hundreds of kilometres of training. Those gel flasks turned out great but they could have been a disaster. The shoes I wore this race had a single 30 kilometre training session on them. I am paying the price for that today. I’ve got some ugly blisters. These blisters could easily have been prevented with a little more experience in the shoes and the knowledge that comes with that, where to pre-tape my feet.

I felt powerful and on top of the game through the first 25 kilometres of leg 3. Things rapidly unwound. There is a daunting climb in the last 5k of this leg. My stomach began feeling off about half way up that ascent. I dialled it back a little but this didn’t help. Around kilometre 26 at the top of that ugly climb I took half a step off the trail and projectile vomited. It was tasteless and mostly fluid. A few steps later I did it again. This time a few globs of honey joined the exodus. I felt much better after that, for a few hundred meters anyway. I had to find a tree to ensure I didn’t crap my pants. After that I remained light headed but all-in-all fairly good. I rolled into the end of leg 3 in good spirits but extremely heat exhausted. It was the end of my race but I didn’t know it yet. I spent more than 30 minutes in transition. I did all I could to bring my body temperature down. I was still able to eat and take in fluids. These were good signs. I still felt like I had a good shot at this race. I learned the heat had reduced Lewis to something akin to a corpse from an Indian Jones flick. He wouldn’t make it through leg 3.

Leg 4

I don’t recall much of leg 4. There were some pretty spots. Nothing seemed particularly challenging. What I do recall is vomiting around kilometre 19. I hate throwing up. I generally have an iron gut. It takes a lot for me to give up the contents of my stomach. The power and ease with which these three expulsions came, gave me some concern. I power hiked the remainder of this 25 kilometre leg. After the last checkpoint (which must have been before I threw up) I was feeling pretty off. My ears were full of fluid. It felt like I was under water but I could do nothing to alleviate that. I sat down on a log at the bottom of an ugly looking climb in a moment of self pity. I was there less than 30 seconds.  “Bodies in motion tend to stay in motion… and bodies at rest tend to die,” I told myself. There would be no sitting.

My watch died a kilometre from the end of leg 4. I would lose all the data from that leg. I rallied in the last 100 meters to come into the transition with my usual attempt at high energy. I like to get the crowd fired up when I can. It was nice to see my nephew Steven amongst my crew. They doctored me up well. I considered pulling the plug here but I was able to eat 4-5 pirogies, a pickle, and a few other things. Maybe my stomach was turning a corner? It was a little before 10 pm and things would be cooling off. I could power walk from here if necessary. I hoped the temperature would drop rapidly and I’d be able to fuel consistently.

Leg 5

The temperature did not drop, at least, not quickly. I prepared for cooler temperatures at the transition but wish I hadn’t. I soon had my light sweater around my waist. Leg five is comparatively gentle. Under different circumstances this would be a speedy leg. At 26 kilometres it isn’t particularly long either. My legs were in decent shape and I believe I could have pushed myself into some speedy splits. My stomach had other ideas. Anything past a speed walk drove my temperature and my heart rate up. My stomach felt like it would expel its contents if I dared to introduce anything besides the smallest sips of water. At the first check point I sat down for a moment. The volunteers gave me some Gin Gins (ginger candy) for the upset stomach. I managed to take 3 of these between the first and second check points. It did nothing to settle things down. For 3 hours and 45 minutes I worked through 18.4 kilometres of leg 5 with nothing but a few sips of water and those Gin Gins. 

Alone in the dark, skirting the edges of large puddles and contemplating the choices that brought me to this moment, I brushed past despair. I felt much like I did when I had rhabdomyolysis at the Beaverhead Ultra in 2017. Maybe it was just in my head, but it seemed like I could feel the fluid in my kidneys moving through them like thick oil in a poorly maintained engine. Would I push myself into renal failure? It was nearing 2 am when I shut my headlamp off and peered into the inky sky. I was looking back in time, seeing the light of stars that travelled thousands of light years to fall upon my eyes. If I were to die I would leave this world far before I want to, but with an immense gratitude for the ride. I would live to run another day. I might make the final section of this leg but I wasn’t going to push it. I have another ultra run in 3 weeks and any further progress here might put that race in jeopardy. It was also clear that to finish this race I would need to press through the night and into the heat of the day. That heat would kill me. If I wasn’t already going into renal failure I would be then. My race was over.

Shortly after arriving at the final check point and declaring my intentions to quit, a runner came in looking a bit broken. Her face was streaked in mud, and she carried a broken pole. She was determined to press on. She tried some duct tape on the pole but It wasn’t happening. She asked if anyone had poles to spare. I did. I bought these poles for the Canadian Death Race in 2015. They no longer have straps for your hands. One of them is fairly bent from arresting my fall down the side of Deseret Peak in Utah (it likely saved my life). They’ve been on a thousand adventures with me and it is probably time for a new pair. If this was their last useful act they deserved the chance. I got her name and bib number and wished her the best of luck. I learned later that this was her third attempt at Sinister 7. She would go on to finish the race in 29 hours and 33 minutes. Legend. It has not escaped me that this was her third attempt. Is there a cosmic connection there? I love the running community. 

The Hospital

I stopped running at 2:04 am. The search and rescue volunteers had me to the next transition area about 3:20 am. This would have been about exactly when I anticipated arriving. It turns out my crew were all fast asleep in the trailer we had parked there. My sister, Alison, true to form borrowed the trailer from family and generally made me feel like a deserving brother. I have the best crew. I let them know I was done. I laid down in my filthy running gear and did my best to fall asleep. I did. It was fitful and uncomfortable, but I managed to drift off a few times. Around 6 am I was too uncomfortable to remain still any longer. Lisa packed me in to the car and took me to the sports centre for a shower. I still couldn’t eat or drink anything. I was confident that any addition to my stomach would immediately see it come up again. I needed a doctor and blood tests to ensure my kidneys were still doing their thing.

A big thanks to the staff at the hospital in Blairmore. They took wildly good care of me. A couple bags of IV fluids and two different anti-nausea meds had me straightened out. My CK levels were high but nothing extraordinary. It confirmed for me that pressing on would have been a poor choice. A day later and I managed 15,000 steps wondering through the Calgary Zoo with the family. The failure to complete this run throws my shot at the Sinister Triple out. I think I’ll continue on with the other two races in the series nonetheless. 

A Final Thought

Somewhere in the Canadian Rockies, in the deep of night, after more than 100 kilometres of running I turned out my light so I could see the ancient light of the stars smiling on me. Sometimes, after we’ve poured out all that we have, we need to take a moment to be reminded that we are part of something more vast and beautiful than our own light will allow us to see.