You never forget your first

I don’t write a race report for every event that I complete, but Sinister 7  was a special experience and great story.  You only run your first 100 miler once, and this is how mine unfolded. Join me for each of the seven legs that make up the course, which one can choose to run as part of a relay team. Or, go as a soloist and string them all together if you’re looking to be served a special dish of hell and fun, the kind of fun that is hard to convince yourself is fun while it’s happening, but always keeps you coming back for more.  My strategy to tackle this distance was to ignore everything except the leg I was running, focusing on knocking them out one by one, and trying to keep my mind from processing how many more miles lay ahead. I have fondly captioned each leg with single quotation to summarize my interpretation, and added the advertised distance and elevation of each.

You’ll hear me bitch about the heat incessantly. The temperatures hovered above 30 degrees the entire weekend and I think the white sleeves and buff that I impulse-purchased the day before the race probably saved me from being burnt to a crisp out there. 2017 spit out the lowest finish rate ever for the course, it certainly kept things interesting and toasty out there!

Leg 1 – “Slow and Steady” (18.3 km, 535 m elevation gain)

Here we go! When the gun went off, it was hard to believe that the race was really happening. I was grateful for the “cool” (read: sub 30 degree) temperatures and gentle beginning to the race to let me find my groove. The running pack off the start line was super congested on the trail as we followed the railway tracks. Sometimes I felt like I was almost running on the spot, but I needn’t worry. I would have many chances to let my legs loose and run freely during this leg. I had never run a hundred miler before, but I knew enough to make sure I went what felt like slower-than-slow, since my primary goal was to finish. I imagined where I might fall in with the 80 or so other female soloists making their way through the course so far. I felt like I was going snail pace, walking even the slightest of ups, and imagined myself drifting to the back of the pack. And I was totally cool with that. Believe in your ability, but don’t be greedy and try to achieve other goals that might threaten your number one goal, to finish, I told myself. I don’t know if it was the freshness of the early morning, the cooler temperatures, the open, widespread views running through Frank Slide, but Leg 1 flew by. Before I knew it, I was in (and out) of the first aid station with 18 km down. I was overwhelmed (in a good way) by the sheer volume of rowdy spectators and volunteers at the transfer area, and the energy that they generated at the aid station. This race is no joke, I thought. My excitement grew, and propelled me out onto Leg 2.

Leg 2 – “Pizza IS for Breakfast” (17km, 852 m elevation gain)

Leg 2 was good stuff. I, again, felt like I was going slow, but I was going, and that’s all that mattered. I continued to hike the ups, and run the flats and downs. The first half of the leg was a prolonged, but moderate climb which leveled out to some fun, runn-able sections like this:

I did have some fun blasting (whatever, it felt like blasting) down the technical downhills once the climb relented and enjoyed a cheeky chuckle to myself. A lot of people were not having fun on these downhills, I was glad I was wearing almost-new, super grippy-and-sticky La Sportiva Bushidos. I was feeling generally good, even passing some relay runners within my easy pace and basking in the tolerable temperatures before I knew shit would go downhill. I gave myself mental high fivesies for my pre-race breakfast, which was the two leftover slices of pizza from the night before. MMmmm Pizza…and then my thoughts trailed off. HOLY SHIT, PIZZA. It suddenly occurred to me that I had walked out of the pizza restaurant the night before without paying my bill, and I assumed Andy and Saira had got stuck with it. I was 99% sure I had forgotten to pay. What an asshole I was, I laughed to myself. I tried not to stress about it as there was little I could do, running around on the trails, about to shrivel up like a raisin, but made a mental note to apologize profusely when I saw Saira at an aid station eventually (Andy and Saira – this is an officially documented Pizza and Beer IOU). I finished Leg 2 feeling good, which shouldn’t have been surprising anyways. We were only 35ish km into the race and had completed only a fraction of the elevation gain that the day(s) would bring. If I had thought that the first aid station had a big crowd and even bigger energy, the second aid station was NEXT LEVEL. I let this energy fuel me, along with some golden oreos, chips, watermelon, coke and some waffles for the road.

Leg 3 – “Give me drugs” (31.4km, 1357m elevation gain)

I was 99% sure that Leg 3 was going to bring forth the worst moments of the race (I was right). What I did not know, was that it would also bring me some of the best moments of the race.

Still at the Aid station between Leg 2 and 3, I was completely consumed by shoving ice into my sleeves, buff and sports bra at the aid station that I tore out of there like a bat out of hell with no water. Like, zero milliliters. Luckily I noticed this about 100 metres from the aid station and quickly turned around in my tracks. Unfortunately, every single volunteer and spectator saw this, and I heard one person shout out “Well, I guess she changed her mind!”. Ohhhhh it’ll take more than that buddy! The full heat of the day had crept in towards the end of Leg 2, and Leg 3 was scheduled to unfold during the hottest part of the day. I think I left around noon, ready to fight.

With 3 litres of water on my back, I made my second attempt at Leg 3, power hiking up the gravel road from the get go and enjoying running the flats and downhills when they presented themselves. I chatted briefly with another soloist lady named Georgie. She told me she had done the race 4 times before. She also told me she just didn’t know if she wanted it bad enough this year, referring to the sauna-like conditions. I didn’t blame her. I was propelled by my desire to show myself that I could do this. If I had a few finishes under my belt, if I was challenged by the conditions and was watching the change of a personal best time slide away, I don’t know what would have kept me focus. You could argue that my inexperience would make my odds of succeeding lower, but my obsession to prove that I could do it was a solid card to hold in my hand.

Leg 3 made every single person out there ask themselves how bad they wanted it. It was one of the longest legs, with some of the biggest climbs, the most sun exposure and during the hottest part of the day. That sounds like a recipe for a whole lotta suck. I was grateful that I did know how bad I wanted it, any wavering would have surely caused me to crack. Georgie and I bid each other a good run and I took off as a nice gentle downhill opened up. I ran into Majo puttering along at a relaxed pace and he warned me to take it easy. I had seen him speak about his Sinister 7 experiences a few months earlier at Patagonia, where I had sheepishly announced my intent to run it this year. It was cool to see him out there, this guy radiates positive energy and can provoke a chuckle in the worst of times. I thought back to how well he raised my spirits during Iron Legs last year as I left him behind to take advantage of a creek, plunging deeper and deeper into leg 3.

As I continued chatting with people on the run, morale was still high at this point, I was optimistic. Or I was just completely lying to my brain as long as a could, like a parent refusing to confirm that Santa Clause is not, in fact, real. I was pretending it wasn’t as hot as it was. If no one talks about it, maybe it will go away……

I targeted mini-goals that would help me to achieve my overarching goal: to finish. One of those included: finish Leg 3 feeling good. I knew this was the leg that induces the most DNF’s. I knew it would suck so bad, and that I should accept that I would move more slowly than I wanted. I also knew that if I could get through it and feel good, things would only improve; it would only get cooler. I was very focused on whipping out every trick in the book to keep myself cool, heeding the advice of many to take advantage of every creek, to eat and drink decidedly, and to take it easy on pace. I did all of these things. I dunked my hat and buff in every creek I could find, I drank and ate like clockwork (even when the thought of food or water repulsed me) and I hiked anything that was at all uphill. I had coated myself in sunscreen at the aid station and was wearing my white arm-sleeves and hat to deflect the solar evil in the sky.

But after an hour or so on Leg 3, the inevitable happened and I began to wilt in the heat. Nausea set in, and my head started to pound. I forced myself to keep drinking and eating on schedule, but it became increasingly forced and my gingersnap waffles became increasingly DISGUSTING TO ME. My headache turned into a full blown migraine and the hope of feeling better was rapidly fading. I was already walking, now I would take a 60 second break every time I reached a patch of shade to try and cool down. I felt infinitely shittier than I had even anticipated as the climb seemed to go on and on forever. I started to become so overwhelmed with the fact that I felt so horrible, and the leg wasn’t even half way over. I was freaking out. I reached a creek and crouched down, splashing my face with water. I just sat there and soaked up the feeling of suck like a sponge as the first tears of the day trickled down my face. I felt so weak, and I prepared to let go of my dream of finishing Leg 3 feeling good.

Not 30 seconds later, a group of soloists that had formed during the leg came upon me. I recognized Alex from Iron Legs last year and from mutual friends. She was so damn bubbly and positive, I felt like I must have looked pathetic whimpering in my shitty little creek. Alex asked how I was doing and invited me to power hike with the group when she saw how deep I was in the pain cave. She offered me a pepto bismal and a salt pill when I told her I was nauseous and head-achey. I declined at first, since I don’t usually take either and don’t like to try new things during a race. But I quickly said fuck it, it can’t really get worse. I reluctantly tagged along with the group until the checkpoint a few hundred metres up the trail and decided I would try and hang on as long as possible. At the checkpoint, one of the volunteers asked us if we were having fun out there, as we scarfed down watermelon. “Heck yea we are!” said Alex. Um, Are we?, I asked myself in my head. When everyone burst out laughing, I realized I had muttered it out loud. I still wasn’t quite sure.

20 minutes later, I came back from the dead. My case of the pukies and headache had disappeared completely and I was so distracted by the fantastic new company I had found in Alex, Brayden, Saya and Kyle that I didn’t even notice the kilometers melting away. The fact that we had completed the big climb and were leisurely heading downhill probably helped. I became more and more encouraged as the hours ticked by and I knew we had survived the worst of the heat. We reached the end of Leg 3 just after 5pm and having the weight that is Leg 3 lifted from my shoulders; to have bounced back from such an epic bonk, I felt like I had just overcome a massive hurdle. And somehow, I had achieved my goal of finishing Leg 3 feeling good. I can’t thank Alex and the others enough for cheering me up, giving me the good “drugs” and for the awesome company and conversation for the second half of Leg 3, which probably passed by more quickly than any other part of the race.

Leg 4 – “Are we there yet?” (23.4km, 974m elevation gain)

I was out of the woods in terms of feeling pukey and too too hot, but my energy level felt like it was at 1% starting this leg. Also, we were literally heading into the woods (lol). Alex and I had decided we would set out together since we paced so well in Leg 3, but I could not keep up with her pace on the flats and mild uphills without feeling like I was working way too hard, so I braced myself to let her go and resume my solo mission. I had so enjoyed her company during Leg 3 and was worried without the camaraderie, I would lose my momentum, but I knew I couldn’t maintain someone else’s pace, the race was not yet half over. Unfortunately, Alex’s stomach started being a real asshole during Leg 4, and I moved ahead and continued on my own anyways.

Other than many more beautiful views, Leg 4 was otherwise pretty uneventful. The climb was long and steady, and I made a mental note to thank Jayden for recommending I whip out the poles for this section. Thanks Jayden! I started to feel my “start of the race” momentum fading and my energy and level of stoke were going with it. I was counting down to the halfway point in the race on my watch, and watching the kilometers run and meters climbed tick by constantly did not make things feel like they were going any faster. I reached 80 km and 3000+ meters of climbing in 13 hours and 10 minutes. Meaning I had just under 17 hours to finish the second half. I couldn’t tell if this was a lot of time or if it would be a little too easy to slow down and lose my time cushion I had built to remain under the 30 hour cutoff. To my horror, my pace had slowed to about 5 kilometers an hour since the downhills were starting to feel really steep  and I told myself I definitely needed to speed up, it’s the first time in the race that I worried I was moving too slowly. The steep downhill was punctuated by repeated ass-planting and swearing. Each time I arose from the cloud of dust, not feeling any more confident about my pace.

I coasted into the checkpoint after moving past a male soloist having a chunder (that’s Australian for puking), he didn’t look so good but said he was fine to make it to the checkpoint. I was super pleased to see Kayla volunteering at this checkpoint of the leg. I had only met Kayla (a Blairmore local) the night before, as she was kind enough to take me, a runner stray, into her home. Two weeks ago I realized: Hey dumbass! Where are you going to stay the night before the race? I don’t think I really believed every hotel/bed in town would be booked, and just expected one to appear, but I was proven wrong. I posted on the Sinister 7 facebook group and within minutes, Kayla offered up her spare futon/couch, only accepting wine as a form of payment. These are the types of people you find in the running community, its so awesome. My voice definitely cracked when she asked me how I was doing, so I tried not to stay too long to avoid leting myself think about the 70+km still looming.

Luckily, the last several km of this leg are almost flat and completely runn-able. My mood improved as I laid down a few “fast” kilometers (and by fast kilometers, I mean anything under 9 minutes) and coasted into the 4th aid station, not before turning the complete opposite direction and being lucky enough to be called back onto the trail by some runners behind me.

As I ran in, I high fived Keith, all I remember is that he was wearing a super awesome sweater. Then I saw Antoine, Matt and Theo and I literally almost lost my breath. I hadn’t expected them for another few hours at the next aid station and my mind had trouble processing how excited I was to see them, how I needed to feed myself, if I needed any more layers and to get my headlamp on, as it was around 10pm and the remaining twilight would soon be gone. Amid the blur of thoughts, that they told me that I was in 7th place (what the actual FUCK!?) and that less than 40 women remained of the 83 that had started. I was glad I was doing well but I was sad to hear that so many other women (and men) weren’t. The heat was not letting anyone show what they were really capable of, and the race had really become a game of “who can avoid puking the best”. Except for that Ailsa chick (who would eventually win the solo race, finishing before any other women OR men). Ima find out what she had for breakfast and get me some of that next time. I threw on my headlamp, apologized to the boys for my smell as I hugged each of them, requesting coffee for the next aid station, and threw myself into Leg 5.

Leg 5 – “YOOOOOOO Bear. WOOP WOOP” (27.4 km, 962 m elevation gain)

If you heard me speak about Sinister 7 leading up to the race, you would know that I was most nervous for running through the night. I didn’t know how my already deteriorated mental state would cope with the dark of night, after a full day of running and a tired body. During the race, anxiety for nightfall was replaced with pure stoke. I wanted the sun to die. Forever. And for it to never come back. As I set out for Leg 5, my wish was granted and I followed the beam of my headlamp into the night, fueled by adrenaline after seeing my three favorite boys and energized by the tolerable temperature. I found a consistent, almost robotic rhythm between running and hiking. I felt like a well oiled machine and was passing people running while I was power hiking, eager to take advantage of this high. I caught up to and joined forces with Fanny, who had passed me while I was kissing the dirt with my ass in the back half of Leg 4. We chatted and agreed we could both use a “buddy in the night” and urged each other on for the first 7 or so km. As the trail lurched upwards, I powered on and eventually pulled away from Fanny as her stomach started to give her the old FU. I had enjoyed her company, but knew I needed to take advantage of my high. I felt fan-fucking-tastic. I didn’t see Fanny again until the end of Leg 6, when she flew by me, clearly having bounced back from her tummy troubles.

The only rain on my parade was that I had to pee approximately every 5 seconds. During Legs 1-4, so about 14 or so hours on the trail, I had peed once, even after drinking several liters of water. During Leg 5, I peed 8 times. Only then did it occur to me just how dehydrated I had been throughout the day, despite my best efforts to drink up. ANYWAYS, I continued in my groove and I ambled up Leg 5, maintaining a steady mix of running and hiking, the incline felt very gentle and manageable. I celebrated as my watch hit 100, and then 110km, and was overjoyed to find that I could still run sections of trail and my body was staying strong. My training was paying off, this was happening. I hollered into the darkness every now and then when I couldn’t see a headlamp ahead or behind me. I felt free and wild in the night.

As I approached the last checkpoint of this leg, I felt myself crashing, pulling into the checkpoint like a car sputtering on fumes. Leo was there, yay Leo! Leo recorded my race number all official-like, then his head popped back up and he said “Liz! Wait, you’re still alive?”. Damn straight, except that I am dying again. I needed some magic, and Leo had a box of tricks. I mowed down a pack of Jelly Belly sport beans (Annie calls them Magic Beans, and I tend to agree), threw back a caffeine pill and then a salt pill, and let Leo spray his magic topical spray to make my knee SHUSH. Just as I had celebrated my body holding up so well, my left knee had protested with a hot, sharp pain I had never felt before every time the trail sloped down. Off I went, Leo shouting ” I better see you back here, don’t you disappoint me now!”.

The rest of Leg 5 seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. I was launched to a new high because of the caffeine, salt, jelly beans, or placebo effect of it all. I was……having fun!? I feel like I ran a lot of it, laying down some more “fast” kilometers, and cruised into TA 5/6 in what felt like no time.

Leg 6 – “This is fucking stupid” (31.9km, 1400m elevation gain)

TA 5/6 was lit up with Christmas Lights, and the spectators still hanging around at 2:30 am provided a great motivational boost. Solo-ists were a dying breed in this race, and I felt the love as I came in. I didn’t want to sit for too long and think about Leg 6, which was rated as the most difficult part of the race, with 31.9 km and 1400 ish metres of elevation gain. I considered the trail’s profile, but I doubted anything could be harder than Leg 3, so I wasn’t too worried. I had covered 119km, only 42 to go. All I needed to do was get out on Leg 6. If I got out onto the Leg 6, I would finish it. If I finished it, I had the race in the bag, the last leg was a measly 11 kilometers and there is no way I would quit then. “I am not quitting this. There is no way”. Saying it out loud to the boys helped me believe it.

I got to see Saira and Carl who updated me that Andy was doing well, already out on Leg 6, but having been through the same ringer we all had with the heat, it sounded like he was ready to be done too. I enjoyed some coffee and chicken noodle soup, the boys filled my water and I set out with my thermaball jacket and extra pair of socks at the ready. There were now only 12 women left, I was the 5th one in. Theo joined me for the first few hundred meters, giving me a coach-like chat before sending me off into the night. This was it, I thought. You just need to get through this part.

What can I say. The climb was a bitch. It started out okay, moderate, runnable. I played tropical house and electronic music from my phone and bopped happily along the fire road, letting my thoughts wander, every now and then, to how funny it was that I was running around the woods in the middle of the night alone. It would be an hour or two between seeing other runners because of how many people had dropped out, and how far we had all spread out. One of my favorite songs came on and felt so perfectly fitting for the moment, so I grooved up the trail to Matt Simons’ Catch and Release.

There’s a place I go to, where no one knows me

It’s not lonely, it’s a necessary thing

It’s a place I made up, find out what I’m made of

The nights are stayed up, counting stars, evading sleep

So let it wash over me, I’m ready to lose my feet

Take me on to the place where one reviews life’s mystery

Steady on down the line, lose every sense of time

Take it all in and wake up that small part of me

Day to day I’m blind to see, and find how far, to go

Eventually, the gentle fire road became a creek bed/drainage which became steep, loose dirt, narrow, obstructed single track and I was having less fun. The trail sneakily transformed itself from manageable to enraging. I popped out of the trees into a meadow, which gave me an unsolicited view of the steep trail that still remained ahead. I was getting tired, and having trouble keeping a steady pace without stopping every so often to catch my breath. Luckily, I had hoards of mosquitos and other insects urging me on every time I tried to stop and take a rest, thanks for the effing encouragement guys. I cursed loudly, I may have actually shouted, into the valley. I stopped to compose myself, struggling to perch on the slope, and felt a something warm and wet in my right shoe. A blister self destructing. Gross. I was mad that Leg 6 felt so hard. I wanted it to be hard, but not this hard. Wahh wahh wahh.  Whiney whine whine. And then, I was silenced. I topped out, just as the sun was cresting over the mountains in the distance. I had timed the sunrise perfectly, and there was nothing left to be angry at. (For now, lol)

Feeling like the worst was behind me, I gingerly made my way down the rest of Leg 6. My knee was becoming disagreeable again, and my legs were running low on gas, even with my trusty poles to help guide me downwards. I knew once I reached Leo’s checkpoint again, I would get to run that section of Leg 5 that had felt so easy and fast. It would fly by! I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of this leg, but let’s just say it did not live up to my expectations. My experience running on the same section of trail twice would prove to be drastically different. Let me demonstrate through a Paint illustration.

This is how I remember the last 9km of Leg 5

THIS is how I remember the last 9km of Leg 6

I know the clown in the trees seems unrealistic, but it was there, LEO. I just didn’t happen to notice it during the night. Also, before you focus on why I have so much free time to create Paint Art, let’s move on. Why was it so hot again, who put these hills here and why is this happening!? I finished Leg 6 just before 9:30am. It was nowhere near as hot as the day before, but I was on struggle street again, I couldn’t wait to bring this thing in. I found it hard to believe how the same terrain could feel so much harder. But I guess that’s what another 6+ hours of running can do to you.

Leg 7 – “WHY” (10.9km, 321m elevation gain)

I had a brief meltdown just before heading out to finish this thing on Leg 7. I let the tears go to Antoine, I just want it to be over. I knew I was going to finish it, I just wanted it done. I wanted to get out of the FUCKING SUN. I wore the same shoes for the first 150km, but decided to change into a nice, cushy pair of Brooks Calderas for the home stretch. With a fresh coat of foot lube and a new pair of socks, the “new” shoes felt like slippers. I unleashed a solid bout of maniacal laughter as I told the boys about mistaking large rocks for bears and wolves, and thinking that a burnt log was a cow during Leg 6, before heading out for the last push.

I expected one big final climb for the last leg, followed by nice, flowy, runnable, net-downhill single track to bring it home. The climb went as expected, but the downhill was not what I, in my humble opinion, would call runn-able, in the state that I was in. I found it hard to navigate my way down the steep single-track, even with poles. I wish I could say I sat back and really took in the moment on those last kilometers, but I did not. I felt increasingly desperate, desperate to reach the end, desperate to escape the sun. I couldn’t find a flow and keep my stride. I knew I was about to finish, but I wasn’t finishing strong like I pictured. I was drinking so much water, but no amount of water could stop my tongue from feeling like sandpaper, it was as though my body could not absorb any more. Luckily, as I emerged from the trail, through the residential area and then within sight of the finish line, everything else melted away and I just ran for it.

I picked one of my favorite songs to play as I run it in, let a huge smile creep across my face and soaked in those last few hundred meters. With a big, stupid, unstoppable grin I ran past Theo, Andy, Saira, Carl, Matt and Antoine cheering me in to the finish and just like that it was all over. 28 hours and 24 minutes and change. I was 6th place out of only 9 women that would finish under the official time limit. Overall, only 18% of soloists finished that day, and somehow I had made it through. I celebrated with a spicy finish-line Caesar (seriously you guys are the best) and sunk into a chair, basking in my cloud of stinkiness and sleep deprivation.

This race was really important to me, because I really didn’t know if I could do it. I found myself almost embarrassed or shy to tell people that I had signed up, for fear that they would think I was way out of my league, and for even bigger fear that they would be proven right. I felt good about the training that I had done, but I was worried about my mental strength and my ability to push through when things got tough. I didn’t know if I was at that level, and I questioned my right to be at this race as a soloist.

But at some point in the weeks leading up to this race I made a decision that I was not going to choke. I could do this, and I spent a lot of hours thinking about how badly I wanted it, leaving no doubt in my mind when the gun went off. I’ve shown myself that I can be a lot stronger than I thought I could, and I think we all have that in us. If you had told me a few weeks ago that so few people would finish the race this year, I would have given up and said ” then I might as well not even try” rather than believe that I could be one of those people to finish. I’m sure I’ll have my DNF day(s), but I promise not to ever take myself out of the running before the race even starts again.

Despite a challenging course profile and even more challenging temperatures, this was an incredible, emotional, toughening experience and one I would highly recommend to anyone considering their first 100 miler, or first trail race, period. There is a leg or two out there for everyone 😉