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Ragnar Trail

12 Saturday May 2018

Posted by in race, running

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I caught the Frontrunner train out of Salt Lake to Provo after work on Thursday. A borrowed backpack with its sleeping mat strapped to the side and a sleeping bag hanging from my arm painted a strange juxtaposition to my white shirt, tie and polished dress shoes. On the way out my colleague commented I looked like a business hobo. It’s a good look for me I think.

A couple hours later the son-in-law of an old friend, Harri, from Dubai picked me up at the train station. Aside from Harri I’d never met anyone else on our 8 man Ragnar team. I’d spend the night at this stranger’s place before making the 5 hour drive to Zion National Park and the relay trail running race I was easily talked into.

Turns out I’d be the most experienced runner on the team but a good bunch of guys nonetheless. One of the team had come down sick so we were short a body to make a full team. The race officials were chill about it. We simply added a “shadow runner” which would take us out of the competition but we were never really in it from the start. Our only competitors were ourselves.

That missing member moved me up in the relay. Instead of an early evening run I’d start on the red loop at about 3pm and the worst of the heat of the day. Let me back up a moment and explain how this race works. There are 3 loops of progressive difficulty (green, yellow, red) all starting and returning to the same point. Your team only ever has one person out running at a time. Based on your current runner’s loop and ability you can estimate the time of return and the next runner’s start. When a runner reaches about 400 meters from the finish they cross a RFID mat which relays their imminent return to TV monitors in the start line tents. There teammates wait anxiously for the appearance of their team name so they can enter the start gates, and put on a colored arm bracelet indicating the loop they’d run. The teammate coming in removes a race belt with the RFID bib number and passes it on to their teammate before heading out on the trail.

Each runner runs each loop. My team’s skill level meant that I’d have about 6 hours between runs. My first run landed on the red route, the longest and most grueling. It would have been a challenging but enjoyable run had I not been out in the heat. That heat was powerfully oppressive. The trails were a mix of single and 4 wheeler tracks with a few sections of dirt roads.

The first mile floated away easily but then the terrain rose sharply through the pine where the dusty track exposed the veins of those trees and the rocky bones of the mountain beneath it. Runners of every sort tackled the trail. Women and men of every body type some pushing hard up the long hills and others nearly crawling up it, sweat matting their hair, and their breath deeply labored. Brave to be out here, I thought.

The trail would climb nearly 750 meters and most of that within the first third of the loop (about 4 kilometers). The hill forced me into a walk many times. It finally spit me out onto a long ridge with impressive views of beautiful semi-arid desert valleys. Signs encouraged runners to stop for selfies but I couldn’t be bothered. The valley was impressive, inspiring even, but that picture could never do justice to the living sight of it. I’d take mental images and file them away with the thousands of others only glimpsed by intrepid adventures. Besides, it was hot and I wasn’t hanging around in the sun any longer than I needed to.

The remainder of the loop was a roller coaster trail down the mountain and passing through, at the valley bottom, the tents of the thousands of Ragnar runners camped out for the weekend. My adopted team cheered me on as I ran past.

I pushed hard through the last 1000 meters of the 12k loop. I passed my race bib to Jake, Harri’s son-in-law, and then collapsed into a chair in the shade of the race tent. Volunteers filled my water bottles and brought me a cold wet cloth for my neck. I lingered there in that chair working to bring my body temperature under control. I was hovering on the edge of heat exhaustion, I could feel the edges of it like an old familiar friend. Much like you know the approach of your father or other loved one by the sound of their foot falls or the pattern of their breathing before they come into view, heat exhaustion and her sister heat stroke were approaching quickly. I hid in the shade and covered myself with cold water. I was grateful that the loop had not been any longer. I don’t think I could have out run them had it been. I completed that 12 kilometers in about 81 minutes. Not a great time but given the terrain and the heat I was happy with it.

I now had about 6 hours before I’d run again. There were 425 teams (4-8 people per team) out running. That many people meant the event had a carnival like feel. The race fee included a dinner which I gladly devoured with my team. I was grateful for the showers in the park and doubly grateful that I managed to walk straight into one of these showers without standing in a line. I caught it at the right time – there seemed to be a perpetual line there for the remainder of the event.

I managed an hour’s rest in the tent before making my way back to the start line to head out on the yellow loop. It would be a little after 10 before I’d start. With a borrowed head lamp I cautiously moved into the night. The cool air was heavenly. This yellow loop followed a trail along the inside of the red loop which made the route shorter (about 7 kilometers) but it also meant the first third of this trail would make a staggering climb up to the ridge of a great hill. The steepness was greater than even the red loop but the cool air was invigorating and I bounded to the top.

At the top, along the ridge, the trail snakes through desert scrub. I asked another runner aloud, “who put this beach here?” The trail was soft sand and it swallowed your shoes and stole your strength. Up and down along the ridge I went. Cresting a hill I dared for a moment to remove my eyes from my feet. The trail dropped before me along the ridge and then snaked its way up and up over the next hill. Evenly spaced along the route moved headlights strapped to struggling runners. It reminded me of a late night pilgrimage to the top of Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka. What were these pilgrims seeking?

The rest of this course went nearly completely down. A single track of soft sand wound down the mountain to the finish line. I don’t have the best depth perception so was being uncharacteristically cautious. Then I looked at my watch. I’d been running for 31 minutes and I had about 3 kilometers to go. Harri had completed this loop earlier in the day in about 48 minutes and I suddenly intended to beat that time. I abandoned much of my caution and lengthened my stride.

I was smiling. This was immense fun and I seemed filled with boundless energy. I poured it all out. I was feeling that elusive runner’s high and I relished it. Soon I was crossing that 400 meter marker and I really poured it on. The finish line was before me and so was a young lady who hearing the fall of my approaching footsteps quickened her pace. A challenge, I smiled and egged her on. “Let’s go” I said. “Dig deep!” She did. In the last 50 meters I was just behind her and the crowd was erupting with our enthusiastic finish. I could not help it. I bellowed behind her, “come on!” She answered by driving forward and we entered the finish line to the cheers of an amused crowd. She gave me a quick thanks as we looked for our running mates.

Where was Jake? He wasn’t there to claim the race bib and I waited impatiently. It wasn’t uncommon for runners to miss their handoff. I waited for ten minutes and then left the race bib at the announcer’s table with a handful of others and began to head back to camp to see if I needed to wrestle him out of bed. I met him about half way there coming up to the start line. They’d been watching for me to pass the camp before he’d head up. I guess I was traveling rather fast as they hadn’t seen me run by. Eventually he figured he’d missed me and started to head to the line.

I was still experiencing a terrific runner’s high. I felt like I could run it all over again. Instead I cracked a bottle of coke, found a chair and rode out the remainder of my high before washing my feet and crawling into a warm sleeping bag. I’d rolled in with a time of about 46 minutes. I’d won… though Harri wouldn’t know it, I knew it, and that was enough.

I rolled out of bed at 5am and headed to the start line. The others would take a little longer than we’d hoped. I hung out at one of the campfires near the start line chatting with other runners until about 7:30am. The air was chilly but I stripped down to a single layer as Harri came into the start tent. I traded my bag for the race bib. I was ready to crush this final race. It was about 5.5 kilometers and I’d heard it was relatively tame but for some tricky switch backs in the last mile. The trail was largely soft sand that stole your power like water to a sponge. I did what I could to regulate my breathing and to enjoy the feeling of power flowing through my body.

It was a quick run, though it still took a little more than 27 minutes. Jake took the race bib and headed out on our team’s final run. A good weekend that could only be made better with the presence of my family… and maybe if I’d brought a towel.

I’d recommend a Ragnar trail run. It’s a party like atmosphere coupled with a shared adventure. I expect I’ll be back next year and am already hoping Jaron will be ready to join the team.

A near death experience

16 Sunday Jul 2017

Posted by in race, running, USA

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I am in the hospital. This isn’t the type of place that I frequent, at least not as a patient. The heart rate monitor attached to my finger makes typing difficult but I suppose that is the least of my worries. Or perhaps it is my biggest worry at the moment? I feel great. It appears my travel insurance will cover these couple nights here too. The nurses, doctors and staff at the Logan Regional Hospital have been fantastic. I fully expected to wait in the emergency room for 3-4 hours (standard Canadian practice) before being admitted but I was in the door in minutes and had a doctor almost immediately. Since then the stay has been top notch. Though as we dialed up our insurance company before heading to the hospital and again on admittance (they were actually great too) I wondered whether I would take the 3 hour wait over the anxiety of whether I’d have to pay for this much needed visit out of pocket.

How did I get here in the first place? It started at the end of the Canadian Death Race in 2015. That was my second ultra marathon and it was awesome. My running buddy, Jeremy and I, immediately made plans for our next ultra together and we chose the 100k Beaverhead Endurance Race for the summer of 2017. Then life happened. Jeremy went home to Finland and kept running. The Beaverhead would become his 12th ultra marathon and for me number 3. I’ve got a million excuses. Some of them are even good. None of them matter when you are fighting to catch your breath at the peak of a jagged mountain staring at the next summit in your way. The Beaverhead is reportedly the most rugged ultra marathon in Northwest America. I’m no expert but I’d be surprised to find a tougher race. There were 89 entrants for the 100k option 44 didn’t complete it.

Jeremy and I camped out at the start line the night before the race. The alternative was to take a ~3am shuttle from Salmon, Idaho to the start line at Bannock Pass. Camping out gave us an extra hour of sleep. Not that the sleep was great. We pitched a borrowed 2-man tent that wasn’t quite long enough for either of us to fully stretch out. If it had rained we would’ve been soaked. I was grateful for it nonetheless, it kept the mosquitoes at bay. Bannock Pass is at about 7,400 feet in elevation and looks out on a green rolling landscape worthy of the artists paintbrush. It took the breath away. Literally. I’m used to 2,200 feet above sea level. 7,000 is a stretch. The course offers about 12,000 feet of elevation gain over the 100k distance rising and falling between ~7,400 and ~10,000 feet above sea level. I have zero experience running at elevation.

Campsite at Bannock Pass looking south (opposite direction of the race)

The bus with our competitors rolled in about 4:20am and we scrambled to get prepared for our 5am departure. The race crew kindly transported our camping gear back to the the finish line for us. The forty minutes before the race went by way too quickly. No time to even visit the loo. We lined up in the semi-dark, our headlamps and a full moon illuminating the way before us and counted off the seconds that slipped away on a big digital clock brought out for the occasion. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1” and off we went into the dark, reflective stakes pounded into the ground pointing out the way. What a feeling! Setting off on an immense challenge, feeling the muscles and tissues in your body reverberating with excitement and knowing the joy of being young and healthy. There is always a bit of anxiety of course and for me, on this day, not having put in the training I wanted and should have, there were variables that made me a little nervous. I was elated all the same to be running with my old friend Jeremy. It’s been nearly 2 years!

We soon moved into single track running and within a few kilometers the pack was spread out. The trail winds through an undeniably gorgeous backdrop and those first few kilometers were great for lulling you into a sense of ease. There were a good number of aid stations on this run. I can’t remember them all but they seemed to be spaced fairly evenly throughout the course. Arriving at the first station I was pleased to see PB&J sandwiches and Pepsi – these places were excellently stocked. The folks manning them were awesome too. There were no fancy GPS tracking gadgets so we found ourselves calling out our bib numbers as we came in and out, hoping the folks with the clipboards would get them down.

Jeremy set a manageable pace. We strove to keep the heart rate down by power walking the hills and running the downhills. My immediate goal was simply to keep up with Jeremy as long as I could. After that I planned to shift into a power walk with occasional light jog for the remainder of the race. As kilometre 18 drifted by it occurred to me that every K after this would be the longest distance I’d run in quite a while (a year perhaps). At about 20 kilometres my right toe caught the edge of a rock or a root and the shock instantly threw my right calf into a terrible spasm and cramp. I had to flex hard to keep the muscle from seizing completely. Not cool. It was very clear to me at this point, having hardly done a half marathon, that my fitness level was not where it should be. Jeremy gave me a salt tab and within a couple minutes the cramp began to release. Okay – clearly I was losing sodium more quickly than I’d anticipated. The day was growing hot fast.

Jeremy left me at about the 28 kilometre mark. He just slowly started pulling away. He kept looking back but I waved him on. I thought that’d be the last I saw of him but he was cheering me on as I pulled into the next aid station. He set out walking as I grabbed a few calories. He had to return when he realized he’d forgotten his poles. So off we set once more together. We stuck together for another 10k or so. I seemed to burst through something of a wall and we made some great time on a few long downhill portions of the course. Our drop bags were waiting for us at the 45k mark. Jeremy pulled away about 5k before then. My renewed energy and strength was waning and to tell the truth this is where the trouble really began. The heat of the day was pressing now and I made an error I’ve made many times before. I chose to wear a black long sleeve shirt and black hat when I set out in the morning expecting I’d reach my drop bag with lighter clothing before the heat could catch me. I was close.

With a few kilometres to my drop bag I ran out of water. I was doing everything I could to keep my body cool. At each aid station I would load my hat with ice and leave it to melt on my head. My sleeves drawn back and my collar as wide as it could go yet the sweat was flowing. I moderated my pace to keep my heart rate down but it hardly seemed to help. Worse even was the hot spots forming on my feet. I hate blisters and generally speaking I rarely get them. I’ve never lost a toenail like so many other ultra runners and I very rarely develop blisters of any significance. This one forming on the outsides of both big toes and the back of my left heel was giving me some trepidation. Where was that aid-station and drop bag? I was running on a fairly smooth jeep track winding its way through rolling hills and Idaho scrub when I seemed to spot the stop a ways out and up! My heart sank – “It must still be 2k away,” I thought. I pressed on worried about my growing dehydration and foot soreness knowing that at these temperatures without water a few hundred meters in either direction could spell relief or disaster.

Some race official was walking the course in the opposite direction. I wanted to quip he was headed the wrong way as I passed but I was hurting. “The aid-station is just ahead” he called. I thought him a bit of a Jerk – I’d clearly seen the vehicles at least another kilometre away now obscured by the hill I was climbing. To be fair a kilometre really is “just ahead” but it might as well have been a thousand in my mind. But then cresting the hill there it was hidden in a little bowl in the land like cool crystal waters in a land of fire. I made it and not a moment too soon. I queued up to the table and a volunteer was taking my empty water bottles and another asking after my drop bag. Jeremy was there looking like a master of his element, confident and cool, coiled to strike out on the course. He asked if he should wait for me but I waved him on. I knew I’d be at this station for a while. He pressed into my hand a small black bottle labeled “Hot Shot” and then sped off, words of encouragement lingering behind him.

I found a chair in the shade and downed a litre of water. I was suddenly ravishing. Normally it is a struggle for me to eat after 40k of running but here I found myself struggling to hold back. I ate and I ate and I ate. A volunteer suddenly appeared above me, in his hands he clutched an armful of sweating pop cans, their cool interiors reacting with the oppressive heat around them. We exchanged some words I’m sure but all I recall is the brilliant blue Pepsi can and his smile as it slipped from his hand to mine. A shaded chair, my shoes removed from my feet and the sensation of cool fizzing liquid sugar passing my parched lips combined for the perfect sense of euphoria. This is all I needed. I could stop the race right now. No, I finished repairing my feet and changed into my lighter shirt and hat. My body temperature fell, it seemed, a couple degrees. I was ready to press on.

I peeled open the small black bottle Jeremy had given me. I wasn’t sure what I’d find… a powder, pills, no, an ominous dark liquid. I reexamined the bottled and confirmed I was supposed to drink it. It felt a little Alice in Wonderland as I tipped it back. It burned going down. I chased it down with some water and hoped for the best. I moved off down the trail thanking the volunteers at the aid station and falling in with another runner. Turns out Jeb, this runner, had completed the 55k last year but not without some trouble. He explained that last year he fell in the infamous “boulder field” and opened a cut below his knee requiring 8 stitches. In true ultra form he finished the race regardless, just a little bloody. Much more lay ahead I realized than what came before. I was climbing and my mind and body found a compatible mutual gear. More a walk than a run but my poles worked to push me forward with every step in a stubborn rhythm. I wouldn’t do much more running in this race but I had it in my teeth and I wasn’t letting go.

The next miles are something of a blur. I was racing the clock and much of my time was comprised of math. How fast was I moving? If I moved at 9 minutes per kilometre what time would I make the next aid station and how close to the cut off would that put me (10 minutes, 11 minutes, 12 minutes)? This terrain minus the increase in blister size on my right foot plus the possibility of elevation gain minus possible downhill sections divided by my time at the last aid station would put me into the next cut off with so much to spare. But if this rain storm approaching is at all severe how long might it take to put on the rain gear and what will the rain do to the trail? I hate math by the way. I made it into the 3:30pm cutoff station with hours to spare. I inquired after Jeremy and learned he was about 30 minutes ahead of me. I’d inquire after him at every aid station and watch him pull ever so slowly away from me.

A storm was gathering along the mountain I was ascending, The thought of rain was a good one. I could hear the growing repeat of thunder though. I was running along a high ridge of the Continental Divide when the rain began and I had to put on my shell. I stopped next to the charred remains of a past lightning strike to pull it on. The booming of thunder as I ran through a forest of historical lightning strikes was unnerving. My metal trekking poles lightning rods in my hands. I morosely wondered what it might feel like to be struck by lightning. Would there be any warning? I suddenly could run again.

As the race progressed the race directors seemed more and more masochistic. I seemed to be climbing all the time. I was playing leap frog with what I knew was the final half dozen to dozen runners on the course. Some of us were not going to make the next cut-off. Would it be me? I was starting to hope it would be me. The last cutoff was 7:30pm. I was watching the clock. I told myself I would run for it at 7:15 if I was still not there. It was with mixed relief that the aid station appeared on the hill above me at 7:15. I’d make it. I wouldn’t need to run for it. I’d make it. Was that a good thing?

I collapsed into a chair at the aid station next to a jovial volunteer flipping quesadillas on the barbecue. “You need a quesadilla my friend!” And magically a corn tortilla was in my hand. I’d beat the cutoff by 12 minutes and I thought I might just die right there. 5 minutes washed away as I fumbled with my phone to text Lisa. The urge to let her know I was still alive seemed urgent to me and I was glad to find a weak cell signal. “Um, not trying to rush you but you should know that the cut-off at 7:30 means you need to leave the aid station by that time.” Wait, What? This was news to me and not good news. I looked down at my legs. There were dozens of small flies feasting on them. I looked at my watch. 7:27. I stood and borrowed a can of bug spray to douse my shaking legs. I shoved half the quesadilla down my throat and suppressed a violent gag reflex. The remainder went in a trash bin. “Thanks everyone! #47 heading out!” It was 7:28pm. As I pulled away I heard the volunteers tell the gentlemen right behind me the next cut off was the last aid station 4.5 miles away at 11pm. 3.5 hours to cover 4.5 miles shouldn’t be a problem I thought even if there is some “boulder field” in the way.

There was no trail really. All that lay before me was a field of jagged boulders the bones of some ancient mountain reaching up to stab and slice at those that would dare to disturb their rest. The sun was falling in front of me and I worried that I’d be trapped on these mountains in the dark. To my right the land fell immediately away, a cliff towering above moraine lakes and scree fields below. Beautiful valleys to my left teased with the knowledge that somewhere among them we would descend to the finish line. We final three on the course spoke little. Though we took queues from one another. When one rested the others seemed to receive permission to rest too. When one moved the others seemed drawn to move too. Each peak seemed to be followed by yet another in an endless procession into hell. Planting my poles between a few rocks I bent and pulled for air watching my sweat splash against the parched rocks at my feet. “I don’t care” I said. “I can miss the next cutoff, they can pull me from the course – I don’t care.” #11, smiled. “Yes you do, you care” she said. “Ok, yes I care but I don’t care” I rejoined and raised my head and my poles. It was time this was over.

We came off the boulder field suddenly and in a steep dive. The trail snaked sharply down the mountainside requiring you to use the surrounding trees to arrest your descent. It was nearly steep enough to slide down on your backside. If my quads had anything left it was about to be spent on this. The sun failed and I stopped to retrieve my headlamp. The trail was marked by a series of reflective stakes like glow bugs in some enchanted forest. I pulled into that final aid station about 20 minutes after 10pm having spent nearly the past 3 hours covering 4.5 miles. It was by far the most difficult 4.5 miles of my life. I felt like throwing up. A volunteer handed me a small cup full of fruit smoothie as I settled into a chair. #11 was there reminding me to be pleased with my achievement. I liked her attitude.

This was it. Just 9 more kilometers to go on a trail from all accounts that was relatively tame. I could cover that distance in my current condition in about 100 minutes I calculated. It was about 10:30pm when I stood up. I was going to finish this thing. I found a pace and pushed it a little harder. Down to the finish line. The river crossings at the end were a nice touch. The cool water on my feet was amazing. Soon enough I could see the lights of the finish line in the distance. Every time the trail veered away from the finish I felt the sting of annoyance. I concentrated on the time. No sense expecting the finish line before midnight. Then it was midnight and I was still on the trail. 10 more minutes. 10 more minutes. “Go James.” It was Jeremy’s voice. Jeremy was there on the side of the trail in a chair, the finish line out of sight. Was I hallucinating? “Go buddy, you’ve got 200 meters left.” 200 meters! My poles were in my hands and I was running, running down hill, running to the finish line. Running to my family, to freedom to relief and ecstasy and… I was running. Breathe. I fought tears, joyful tears. There was the clock (19 hours and 11 minutes) and the finish and tears desperately wanting to spill down my cheeks and pour out the last of my energy onto the ground. My girls were there and running with me. I crossed the line and felt my knees go. I was on my back staring up at smiling faces and thanking God for my life, for this body capable of so much. I knew that were I to finish it would be a triumph of mind over matter. It was an epic battle and my mind won. Though I would learn that my body wasn’t going to go quietly.

 

I won’t try to describe the feeling of finishing such a race. Those moments right after when you chat with competitors (there were only a handful of us left) is surreal. It was after midnight. I hoped to crawl straight into a tent and fall asleep. Lisa informed me we were instead going to drive three hours south to our friends the Anderson’s. She figured the ride would be worth the real bed. I couldn’t argue that. We had already imposed on the Anderson’s for nearly a week and I was reticent to inflict myself on them anymore but who was I to argue. Matt and Yvonne if you read this you need to know you are the embodiment of sainthood. Thank you.

It was a fitful ride back but I was hardly conscious even when I was technically conscious. At some point in the wee hours of the morning I took a shower and scrubbed myself as clean as I could. Then I threw up. That Hot Shot at kilometre 45 seemed to return with vengeance. At least the black vomit that swirled below my parched lips looked, smelled and tasted like the little vial I’d downed earlier. I felt marginally better. We rested at the Anderson’s where I fought recurring episodes of vomiting until about 4:30pm. Then we piled into the van with its poor attempt at an air conditioner to make the 3-hour drive to Logan, Utah where we planned to stay with friends before dropping the kids at summer camp at the University of Utah on Monday afternoon. “If I throw up one more time I think I’d better go to the hospital.” I told Lisa. Then the hiccup fit began. My feet on the dash and a bucket in my lap my chest spasming every few moments threatening to expel what little fluid I had left in my body. I took some anti-nausea meds (Gravol) just before getting in the car but they didn’t seem to be doing much.

I held on as long as I could before puking in the car. Lisa cracked the windows and we stopped at a gas station to rinse out the bucket. It was time for a hospital. We arrived at our friends’ home and announced my predicament. We could not have better friends. Marvin loaded me into his car after we called the insurance company and took me into Logan Regional Hospital. I figured they’d give me some anti-nausea medicine and some IV fluids. I’d be out in a few hours. Dr. Stolworthy had other ideas. He seemed rather concerned when he told me he needed to admit me for 3-4 days and that I’d developed something called Rabdomyolysis. Essentially my muscles had begun to break down and the resulting proteins were too large for the kidneys to handle. Eventually the condition would lead to renal failure, possible nerve damage and other nasty things. Lisa got on the phone with the insurance company and we proceeded as the doctors directed. There were all sorts of folks popping their head in and out of the room before I was officially wheeled off to the ICU. One young doctor appeared next to the bed and announced that Dr. Stolworthy had told her to come by and look at me. That my case was “interesting.” Everyone that saw me over the next couple days mentioned how impressive it was that I’d run 100 kilometres. Naturally, I thought it’d be much more impressive were I not lying in a hospital.

Honestly, I don’t feel any less about that 100 kilometre accomplishment even though it ended in a stay at the hospital. The hospital was about the best thing that could have happened. Sure they came around every few hours to stick needles in me but I slept. That first night I was racked with the worst hiccups I’ve ever experienced but they pumped me full of enough anti-nausea medicine that I did not throw up again. They hung bag after bag of IV fluids and kept a close eye on my sodium, potassium, “CK-protein” and other levels. Sure I had to get up every hour to pee but for the first day someone was there to unplug me and help me wheel the IV stand to the restroom. I was admitted Sunday evening. By Monday evening I was unhooking myself and getting in and out of bed unassisted. By Tuesday I was writing this post and feeling amazing. At least comparatively.

The doctors seemed to think my situation was concerning. They put me through a few tests including an EKG. My heart rate was concerning for me, resting in the 70s when it ought to be in the high 40s. There was some concern about a high “T wave” but in the end everything checked out. In fact, I checked out of the hospital Tuesday evening and Lisa and I headed into Salt Lake City to dinner with an old mission companion. I felt like I’d just been raised from the dead. I’m sure my family will never let me live this down. Most of them have promised to kick my butt when they next see me. I’m not too concerned.

So what have I learned? I’m not sure I know yet. There is the obvious: clearly I need to spend more time and effort on my preparation for these things, my mind is capable of killing me and I’m happy to be alive. Jeremy finished his race in just over 16 hours. I was about 2 hours behind him. The apprentice has truly become the master. What I’ve really been reminded of through this whole thing… how much I love my wife. She cried for just a moment in the hospital and it struck me how meaningless it’d all be without her.

Staying the Course

14 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by in race, UAE

≈ 1 Comment

My last post was August 23rd.  It has been over a month and a half since I’ve written, not that I have not tried.  There are two draft posts sitting in the queue waiting for me to conjure the determination to finish them.  Though, the chances of that I must admit are rather small.   It seems that just as life gets exciting I lose the determination to write it down.  I really ought to finish the story of our trip to Salalah.  Since Salalah Lisa and I spent a week in Hong Kong the kids have started school and I just competed in my first triathlon a few days ago.  Life here in the UAE is taking on a familiarity kin to home and while that is allowing us to stretch out and feel more comfortable it is eating away at the defences that keep us from complacency and too much ease.

The last year I believe has helped us grow closer as a family than any year previous.  We have had to rely on each other in a strange land.  My kids will probably grow up and find someplace to settle down never to leave it again.  Last night Kirsten was telling me how she wanted nothing more than a log home on a lake with a couple horses.  I challenged her to think about what she might need to do to make that dream a reality – that was not an easy conversation.  As always I think she took it as me punching holes in her dreams.  Of course that could not be farther from my intent.  I’ve learned that dreams rarely become reality when they are not sought after, struggled for and pursued.  We all need plans and the capacity to alter them when we must and a thorough enough understanding of the course ahead to avoid those alterations where possible.

Jeremy and James ready for swim

Jeremy and James ready for the 750m swim.

My first triathlon was more difficult than I anticipated.  It was only a sprint triathlon but that was far enough.  The course included a 750 meter swim, 21.5 kilometre cycle and a 4.6 kilometre run.  At the start of the race I lined up with my competitors on the beach waiting for the signal to enter the water.  Swimming is probably my worst event and I should have known that I did not belong at the front of the pack.  The guy next to me was psyching himself up breathing deeply and bouncing in anticipation.  He looked bent on murdering that course.  The signal was given and 150 men and women exploded into the water.  It was a wreathing mass of arms and legs.  I could feel my competitors slide past me brushing my sides and slapping my feet as they surged to overtake me.  Soon they were swimming full over me pushing me beneath the warm waters of the bay.  A few times I took massive swallows of the salty water before I could carve out a space for myself.  Two thirds of the racers would pass me by.

We made two laps of a triangular course.  I had long ago given up the front crawl and resorted to a breast stroke when I saw the second wave of competitors enter the water.  The rhythmic slap of a hand against my foot forced me to push harder determined to give no more ground as the final lap neared the end.  I was pleased to leave the water but was concerned about my time.  It turned out that I was 30 seconds faster than I’d predicted, emerging after approximately 17 and a half minutes.

I wondered about my friend Jeremy who was racing with me.  Was he at his bike already?  I was glad to see it still there when I pulled into the transition.  I worked frantically to prepare myself for the cycle.  Jeremy would arrive before I left the transition. I was not far ahead.  I lost one of my water bottles when I entered the course. As I crossed a speed bump I heard the bottle strike the ground and then saw it roll away.  I would not stop for it.

Biking is not my favourite event.  I don’t even own my own bike.  Some friends have lent me a bike for the past few months.  It was collecting dust in their home with a flat tire.  Unfortunately the frame is much too large for me.  With the seat as low as it can go I can just make it work.  I was awed by the intricately engineered master pieces that glided by me again and again, both man and machine.  Lithe and tuned machinery was matched by sinuous and practiced bodies.  The course was a mind numbing 4 laps of a nearly flat out and back road.  It was difficult to keep the correct number of laps in my head (is that 2 laps or three I just did).

As I transitioned from bike to run I moved into my element.  The sun was up now, however, and the temperature rising fast.  I finished off what was left of my remaining water bottle ignored my gel pack and stretched into the run.  I’d practiced this and knew what that bike to run transition could feel like, frankly terrible.  My practice had paid off though, I felt hardly any disadvantage as I moved into the run.  It was my turn to glide past my competitors.  As I approached the first aid station I wanted to drink the entire table of water. I settled for a sloshing glass as I ran past; the majority of its precious contents watering the pavement.

A stitch formed in my chest.  Its been a long while since I’ve felt one of those.  I compensated by drawing deeper breaths, the pressure of my full lungs easing some of the pain.  I ignored the pain and pulled a little harder.  I made the second u-turn and felt great except for that annoying stitch.  As I approached the half-way mark a race marshal pointed me left but within a few moments I was feet from the finish line.  This can’t be right!  I turned around “where do I go?”  It was chaos. The marshals now pointed me right and I fell in behind the racers I’d been stocking the last couple minutes.  Those following me breathed their frustration as we altered course and returned to the track.  One more lap.

Again the aid station was looming before me and I slowed even more this time determined to get the majority of that water into my system.  It was nearly over.  No one had passed me on the run so far.  I made my final u-turn and opened up.  One, two, three, four I glided by others.  A few minutes more and there was the finish line. The announcer called “Here comes number 15 and he’s flying.”  I poured myself out into those last few meters until there was nothing left.

They really needed a longer breakaway after the finish line it was hard to stop.  A volunteer took my timing chip and I made my way to the aid station and water.  I’d had three cups of water before I was approached by a race volunteer.  “You missed the third u-turn, you know?”  What!  She explained that there was this awkward dog-leg to the course right by the finish line (that place of chaos) that I was supposed to run.  I was defeated, how could I have worked so hard just to mess it all up.  The dog-leg was a mere 25 meters one way (I was supposed to do it twice – I shaved 100 meters from the course).

I had no one to blame but myself.  Yes, it was a poorly designed piece of the course.  Yes, it should have been better marked.  Yes, I clearly was not the only one who missed it (likely the reason I was not disqualified for the oversight).  In the end though I did not study the map well enough but relied on the runners ahead of me and the well intentioned marshals on the course.  In that moment when I was told I’d missed the turn I was defeated, crushed.  Joseph once said that “hell is the torment of disappointment” and in that moment I fully resided there.

I returned again and again to the aid station.  I could not get enough water.  I tried cheering Jeremy through the finish line but I’m afraid I was not really present.  We skipped the awards and breakfast and headed for home.  I was feeling off.  At home I crawled into bed – I was freezing.  It was the flu or dehydration I couldn’t be sure.  Several hours of fitful rest took me through hot and cold flashes.  It was only sheer mental determination that kept me from throwing up in bed.  My back was out too. I could not move without the feeling that something might break.  It had to be dehydration.  By the evening I was nearly 100% again.  Rest and electrolyte replacement did the trick.

In the end I was not disqualified but I’ll always know my time is just a bit off.  I had the fastest run of all the novices even when calculating for the missed section of course.  Yet that little victory is tainted by the memory of disappointment (I’m sure it will fade).  So Kirsten when I ask you how you plan to reach your dreams I just want you to study the course so that even if they don’t work out the way you envision you’ll know that you did your best.  In the end its not the obtaining of the dream that really matters but the pursuit of it. You’ll have race marshals on the ground directing you, peers that you will follow and certainly peers following you too.  Your peers and the marshals directing the way aren’t perfect they may steer you poorly so don’t rely on them fully.  Study the course so you can be confident in your decisions.

It is fine to stay the course but no matter the temerity of spirit or determination of soul it will prove futile if you do not first know the course you pursue.

Mortality and Wadi Adventure Race 3

28 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by in race, UAE, wadi

≈ 5 Comments

I’ve just spent several hours piecing together a short video of the race i participated in on the weekend. The hardest part… picking an appropriate sound track.  In the end I think the choice was appropriate but feel free to judge me.  Having spent all that time on the movie I really don’t feel like writing so this post may be short poorly written.

I’ve been sick for the last two weeks.  The fever, stuffed nose and sore throat were so bad that I missed work on Tuesday the 16th. I spent the day in bed.  Sometime in the afternoon while reading the bed started shaking and I thought – “stinkin kids.”  Then I said “hey! you kids better not be shaking my bed.”  I looked around the edge of the bed but no kids.  Then I thought, boy I hope whatever i got doesn’t now include vertigo.  A few moments later the bed was shaking again.  Oh crap!  What kind of illness is this?  Then Lisa informed me from downstairs that we just had an earthquake.  She didn’t feel a thing and only knew because she happened to be sitting in front of a portal to the interwebs.  Crazy.  Apparently the epicentre was in Iran someplace.

The earthquake has had me thinking about disaster preparedness.  I think it is time we stalked up on a few canned goods and some bottled water.  I’m sure the university would do their best to take care of us in the event of a disaster but really I’d rather be prepared to help rather than be helped.  So now just to find the space for a dozen extra water bottles.

Last week a tooth on the upper left of my mouth began aching especially while running and under pressure.  The pressure being from diving deeper than 8-10 feet of water.  A cavity I was sure.  By Tuesday the 23rd the tooth was aching all the time.  I was hoping it would just go away but it doesn’t generally work like that does it.  Off to the dentist I went.  By the time I got there I was in full fever mode.  35 degrees Celsius outside and I was freezing while wearing a sweater.  The dentist prodded around for a while and then took an X-ray.   The verdict… I had a sinus infection that was presenting as tooth pain.  Awesome.  He prescribed some antibiotics and sent me home.

I took my antibiotics regularly as I had a race on the coming Saturday I’ve been looking IMG_0629forward to for months. I kept training too.  I ran a 5k on Wednesday night in 20min and 19sec.  I felt strong despite the teeth and the sinus headache.  We made an adventure out of the race held at Wadi Adventure in Al Ain.  Al Ain is just under two hours from here.  We drove down after church on Friday and stayed at a hotel.  The kids loved the hotel – most especially the giant bathtub and the opportunity to beat their dad up in a pillow fight.

The race.  Called W.A.R 3, the race is 10 kilometres long with over 20 obstacles involved.  W.A.R 3 by the way stands for Wadi Adventure Race 3 (being the third time they’ve held it).  Wadi Adventure is a massive outdoor surf park in Al Ain.  I’m going to have to take Lisa down for some surf lessons at some point.  The race began in the desert in one giant mass start with all 160 participants.  They lined us up like an ancient army ready to charge the lines of the foe.  I half expected the leader to drive up in  4 wheeler and give the Braveheart speech before the charge began.

Hurdling-AndyI expected to contend with plus 40 degree weather but we were met with temperatures in the low 20s and rain.  Rain!  The weather was practically perfect.  We charged through the desert in a 3k loop before heading back into the adventure park.  The rain beating against our faces as we made the return journey.  My friends Jeremy and Andy were also racing.  All three of us meet up at running club twice a week.  Andy and I are pretty well matched in a run despite his lengthier legs.  As we left the desert we approached the first obstacle, our path was blocked by some highway dividers.  I was pacing Andy about 15 meters back when he reached the 3.5ft barrier.  He hurdled it.  That was my first indication that I wasn’t going to beat him in this race.

Entering the park we headed across some low balance beams (piece of cake) and on to

Jeremy queuing up to enter the surf return channel and the 150m swim.

Jeremy queuing up to enter the surf return channel and the 150m swim.

the surf pool. The race marshals directed us into a tight access panel leading underground where we found a 150 meter long water filled tunnel – the return channel for the surf pool.  the water was choppy from dozens of swimmers battling there way to the end.  When you did reach the end you had to wait for the person or persons ahead of you to ascend the ladder – this entailed treading water of course.

Emerging at the top of the surf pool you promptly threw yourself off the wall and into the pool 15 feet below where you were forced to swim across before ascending some stairs on the other side.  From here it was on to the man made rafting river.  Fighting the current in waist deep water (at least for us short guys) for 250 meters we pushed on.  If you were lucky or smart you put yourself directly behind a big guy who could cut a wake for you.

At the top of the river you found a pool with a mushroom shaped waterfall.  We were directed through the pounding water fall before pressing on to the edge of the pool and a seven foot wall you had to scale to move on.  From there it was a quick jog down to the lake and one of my favourite obstacles.  There were dozens of overturned rafts crossing a lake.  The rafts were three across then two then one before they widened out again.  This was a great setup as it allowed you to overtake and pass others.  I passed two guys struggling to make the crossing and watched a third miss his mark and plunge into the waters.  I was thrilled when I emerged unscathed and ahead on the other side.

The race carried on up a short hill where we were met with an odd obstacle.  Simply throw two bean bags into a 5 gallon bucket about 10-15 feet away.  Simple.  Or maybe not so simple when you are winded.  I made 4 tosses to get two bags in the bucket.  Others were not so lucky.  Turning around we went back down the hill.  Just before leaving the park for another 3k in the desert we were met with a set of monkey bars.  Falling off the monkey bars would require starting them over.  They were wet and I couldn’t keep my hand wrapped firmly around each bar.  Holding on with just the crooks of my fingers I strained at every swing but I made it first try.  I could not have been more pleased as I headed into the desert.

The desert run included a set of 4ft walls to hurdle… well maybe Andy.  I looked much more like a fat guy climbing a fence.  Then it was time to get dirty.  They had ropes strung out like barbed wire across the path forcing you to army crawl in the sand for 30 meters or so.  When I reached the sandbag carry I was feeling it.  22 pounds of sand on the back is approximately 15% of my body weight.  I managed to run with it but not fast.  I hate being passed and at least 2 guys pushed by as we carried the sand for a kilometre (I caught one of them later at the wall).

Leaving the sandbag behind it was a dash back to the park and the final obstacles.  Passing through a web of ropes we emerged to a group of rugby players ready to impede your progress with blocking pads.  Once you fought your way through you reached the wall.  A ten foot flat barrier is all that stands between you and the finish line.  It took me two attempts to get over.  My height was a slight disadvantage but unlike the sandbag carry my size in the end was an advantage I think.  Triumph!

They are holding another race in the fall.  I will be there.  I’d say watch your back Andy but its more likely you’ll be watching mine continually pull away. 😉

In the end the first place guy came in at 00:40:40:00. Andy made 8th place with 00:44:57:00, I took 13th place with 00:47:02:00 and Jeremy took 54th place with 01:05:56:00. There were 74 individuals and the rest of the 160 participants were made up of teams. (teams had to cross the finish line together it wasn’t a relay for them).

Heres a write up of the same race from the 10th place finisher.  Neat to read others perspectives.

Here is that video I slapped together: