Second time’s the charm

At the start of September, I ran the Finlayson Arm 100km. So let me give you a “these are the facts” description of this race. Staged just outside of Victoria, BC, the Finlayson Arm 100km is actually 105km, includes 6000m of elevation gain and loss that drags your ass over a healthy mix of terrain. There are (contrary to my memory from last year) sections of smooth runnable single track, a lot of trail littered with west coast roots and rocks, some steep slab “running” during which you’ll almost definitely use your hands, and very minimal gravel or paved road sections. You spend the majority of your time running through what feels like a green tunnel with a canopy of trees overhead, but when you burst out briefly onto one of the many summits on the course, the views of the ocean and rolling hills around you are well worth the time spent buried in the Tunnel. The 52.5km “lap” (which is more of an out and back) is just so nice you have to run it twice. The aid stations are stocked with local volunteers demonstrating the perfect balance of truly wanting what’s best for you and complete refusal to take any of your bullshit. It doesn’t matter who or how fast you are, you will spent 10-11 hours running in complete darkness since the race starts at 5pm and the sun sets by around 8pm. When it comes back up between 6 and 7am the next day, you’ll either still be going or have succumbed to the challenge of the course, already plotting to return with a vengeance the next year. It’s hard. But its fucking awesome. Okay, there.

2018 was to be attempt #2 to tackle this course, go read this if you missed attempt #1. In case you STILL haven’t read that one, all you need to know is that I went up in flames. A few things were different going into the race this year, but a lot was the same. Similar to 2017, I raced Sinister 7 100 miler nine weeks before, and Squamish 50 three weeks before, the same schedule I had last year except that I opted not to run the 50/50 event at Squamish and did “just” the 50 miler. I also had a lot more down time in between races, taking actual recovery weeks of 0-20km and not doing any rogue “Banff Triple” type adventures. I really only (reluctantly) chilled in between races because I was told to, not because I’m any smarter or wanted to. Strava tells me I’ve gotten faster and better at hauling ass uphill. But I think the only real difference going into Finlayson this year is that I knew what I signed up for.

Last year I wanted a fast, flowy course. I thought I was tough shit and that I could run the 105km in 18 hours “easily” which is kind of embarrassing to admit. Knowing the course now, I accept that that is NOT what it is. The second time around I just wanted to feel like I handled the challenge of the course well and didn’t let it completely demoralize me. I always considered myself a bad uphill runner and had accepted that I would just never excel on a course with a lot of elevation gain, I would never be fast up hills. But this year I’ve worked a lot to improve; now I am proud of how I do in the general up direction and I don’t assume automatic failure when I encounter a course with a lot of elevation gain. I wanted to finish the race, enjoy it, and feel like I played my cards right. I hoped this would end up with a finish under 20 hours but I didn’t want to hold on to that. Yeah, maybe that’s a wishy washy goal and I’m bitching out a little, but I’m still trying to figure out how to push myself to the limit and I should probably figure out how to have a good attitude and pace myself well first.

Having arrived in Victoria from Banff on the Wednesday evening, I had a lot of time to chillll before the race (all day Thursday and most of Friday). I went for a quick and easy 20 minute run (in which I sweat so profusely I was embarrassed to be literally dripping on the counter as I paid for a coffee after) and focused the rest of the day on putting carbs in my face and, well, relaxing. Lunch with my BFF Karen, then I met up with Tyler (also running the 100km) and his lovely girlfriend Sam for some afternoon beers, cause beer is a carb. 2 Hazy White IPAs later, I joined Bryon (boyfriend of said BFF Karen and now good friend of mine) for a walk with his pup, before catching the bus out of town to the start line area. Myke had invited me out to the volunteer meeting for a beer (which became 3). I rode the bus and also the pretty noticeable buzz lingering from my lunch beers. I got off at the last stop and to realize that I was pretty sure I was not in the right place and had ended up at Goldstream Campground instead of the Goldstream Group Sites, which was a few kilometres away and on the other side of the highway. Luckily a nice Italian couple had made a similar error and I was able to do the smart thing and get a ride with strangers to where the actual meeting was held.

I continued to carbload with beer at the volunteer meeting (feeling like a bit of a lurker since I wasn’t actually volunteering but running), but I noticed a lot of friendly, familiar faces from the amazing volunteers from last year that had put up with me. They made sure to make me feel included by asking questions like “What happens if a runner wants to drop out twice?”. I got to meet a few new cool people and chatted with Myke, and I was feeling really stoked for the race to start the next day, there were lots of good vibes out there. It was sunny and warm, but not too warm, and I pictured some great things unfolding on the trails just 24 hours later.

Unfortunately 24 hours later mother nature decided to be a bit of a bitch and the sky opened up to start the race off with rain, but it started nonetheless, and I headed off on to the trail with number 22 pinned to my belly. I remembered the first 7km as flowy, enjoyable trail and that’s exactly what it was. I ran a lot, hiked some, and chatted a lot with a small pack of runners. I had some major deja vu moments as Leon was one of the runners in the group, and we had stumbled through this section in the early morning light on our second lap of the race last year. Others in the group included two runners (one dude and one chick) from Montana, and another guy who I’ll call Hawaii, because I don’t remember his name but I remember that’s where he was from. As we ran the last of the “easy” part of the trail, I heard the girl make a remark that she didn’t think the course was very technical at all. I tried to warn her that what we had done was 100% the easiest part of the course, and not to worry, it will be technical enough very soon.

A few hundred metres later, the trail would turn up, getting steeper, narrower, riddled with more and more roots and rocks until we popped out of the trees and were scrambling up the clusterfuck of slab that is Mt Finlayson. This year involved less “WTAF” (what the ACTUAL fuck) and I didn’t find it hard, though I should mention that it was pouring rain which certainly added to the “fun” factor of this slippy slab. I felt like a kid putting my hands to work and scurrying up. Before I knew it I was taking it hella easy on the descent down the backside of the mountain and knew it was a cruise to the first aid station, Rowntree. I have a special love for Rowntree since I took up temporary residence there last year, but at this point I wanted to get in and out quickly. Shoe change #1 (following the son-of-a-bitch creek crossing #1), grab baggie of gels and GTFO. 11km done and dusted.

The 12km to the next aid station, Ross Durrance had me expecting not to see anyone for a few hours since the field of 40-something runners was already pretty spread out, and I was ready for the “sun” to set. I say “sun” like this because there was never really any sun as it was pouring rain, so it just turned from grey to black. Same dif really. I chugged back gels, chews and almond butter thingies every 30 minutes like clockwork. I noticed how much more I appreciated the rolling trails this year. The single track cushioned with fallen leaves seemed to involve a lot less rocks and a lot more runnable grades than I remember. A few climbs and descents popping out into slabby sections with a view of the ocean preceded a big ‘ol descent which I remember being a real pain in the ass, but again, I found myself asking why I was such a little princess last year. It was so fun to run downhill gingerly and just take my sweet-ass time. After a nice long climb leading up to Ross-Durance, strings of Christmas lights lined the last few hundred metres and I rolled in to catch up with some of the boys I had run the first few kilometres with.

The aid stations at this race are honestly the best I’ve seen. The people are like, really cool (I got to see Zoe and Andrew at this one and the whole aid station was Christmas themed). The snacks are unreal and they are buzzing every hour of the day, from what I’ve seen. I grabbed another Ziploc baggie of gels ‘n shit, decided I thought poles were for babies and left them nestled in my drop bag, and headed out while saying something super dorky like “Merry Christmas”. I was excited for the climb up and over Mt Work to the turnaround point of Lap 1 and back. The fact that I now look forward to climbs in races baffles me, but the ultrarunner wants what it wants. I also knew that soon I would start to see the leaders heading back and it would be cool to see how the race ahead of me was unfolding.

It was exciting when the first headlamps started making their way towards me and I saw Tyler was in the lead with a healthy distance between him and #2. The lead girl and I crossed paths as she was coming over the summit and I figured she already had an impressive maybe 45 minute lead on me. I found myself running near Leon and Montana-dude (who I encountered re-finding the actual course route for the second time so far in the race). The summit (at a lofty 450m above sea level) came quickly, and we got the fuck over that thing since it was actually pretty cold, windy and misty up there, which made it pretty hard to see in the glow of the headlamp. I lost everyone on the descent, but rolled into Munn’s aid station just in time for Jade to roll up in his van and yell at me. It reminded me of when I had run into him at Yakima Skyline 50km earlier this year and he recognized me from Finlayson 2017, as he had been one of the volunteers at the Rowntree “Jade-station” that witnessed the drop-undrop fiasco. That day at Yakima he had driven off screaming ” SEEYOUATFINNYNODROPSLIZ”.

Nothing much stands out about the 23km back to the start line to complete Lap 1 except everything was going like, really well? I was running and enjoying moving uphill and time was passing quickly. I was getting lots of calories in, drinking well and even had to pee regularly; I guess my body is used to the dry Alberta weather. Speaking of that – I was absolutely drenched the entire race and could wring my shorts out at any given time from the combo of light rain, sweat, and general humidity. I remember telling myself to enjoy how easy things still felt because surely shit would hit the fan later. I made another dumb dad-joke passing through Rowntree, where I dropped at this point the first time last year. Something like “Sorry guys I’d love to stay but I can’t LOLOLOLOL”. Good one Liz, you so funny. The truth is, I knew there was no chance in hell that anyone at any of the aid stations would let me even try any bullshit about dropping unless I was in some kind of medical situation. And even then I think it would have to be pretty serious. Not Geoff, not Andrew, not Zoe, not Lisa, not Jade and definitely not Myke who told me if I dropped he would come out on course and find my ass. So yeah, I didn’t think about it. Instead, I cruised through the place where I had sat, 365 days earlier with my elbows on my knees and hands on my face and given up, and that felt good. The 6 ish km to the start/finish line rolled by in less than an hour (yeah, I know that doesn’t sound fast but its faster than the rest of the course OKAY). Especially because I came across Montana-dude and we ran most of this section together. Montana-dude had a name, Daniel, and we finished the lap together, in about 8 hours 50 minutes. Not bad for 52.5km, 3000m of technical climbing and mostly in the dark, and I was ready to go again. I decided I would do this thing and finish under 19 hours.

The theme of this aid station, at least for me, was bacon and coke. Sylvia made the comment that she had never seen a woman eat bacon so fast, which I found oddly flattering. Thank you Sylvia. I didn’t see Daniel around so I figured he had left already and headed out for round 2 of the Finlayson beast just before 2am. I was even less appreciative of the creek crossing the second time around, and its the first time I remember really thinking “fuck this race” this year (Myke, I’m sorry for what I said when I was ultra running). The second time was not very long after, when I realized I hadn’t seen a flag in a few hundred metres and I wasn’t sure if I was on or off course. It’s not fun to question whether you’re on course, and its even less fun when its 2:30 in the morning and your fucks to give are quickly depleting. Luckily Daniel ended up making the same mistake and we met up as I was heading back on course. We continued on the actual race together, and the kilometres leading back to Rowntree went by much more quickly with his company. Back over Finlayson we went.

I realized I hadn’t taken any caffeine or salt, which is weird for me so far into a race this long so I decided to take a combo of salt tab, caffeine pill, tylenol and pepto bismal around 3am. I don’t really know why I did to be honest, I don’t think I really needed any of those things but I figured “why not”, this combo had served me well at Sinister earlier this summer. Well, the “why not” is evidently “SO THAT YOU DONT BARF FOR THE NEXT 9 HOURS”. Soon after I became really nauseous, and couldn’t choke down any more gels or other fuel I had on me. DO NOT PUKE I thought, calories should go IN not out, and I didn’t want to get dehydrated. Get to Rowntree and some actual food will help.

I was rushing to get through Rowntree and tried to seem better than I felt because “I want to smile through the whole race blah blah blah” or whatever. I had some broth, pickle and maybe a bit of other stuff while I executed Shoe Change #2 and the volunteer said that if I don’t feel better maybe it’s better to just let myself puke and hit reset. Daniel seemed keen to stick together and I was glad he didn’t seem to mind waiting an extra minute or two before taking off again. Soon after leaving, my stomach knotted, almost felt like it was burning and convulsing like the most wicked of hangovers I’ve endured, and I realized I was about to puke whether “I let myself or not”. I let er rip and felt bad because I sounded like a fucking demogorgan. I did instantly feel better and rallied pretty quick to keep moving. I realized this was my first ever ultra-puke, and while it sucked, I feel as though I have somehow now experienced a true ultra running right of passage. Daniel led the way and was incredibly willing to take it slow, he encouraged us to slow down and walk for a while to let my stomach settle, but I always felt bad. Every so often I would start demogorgan-dry-heaving again and then carry on as if nothing had happened. I went from 200 calories an hour to 100 if I was lucky, but at least we were still moving.

The sun came up (yes, actual SUN this time!) and we experienced the parts of the course we had only seen at night with new perspective. It was pretty pleasant. We saw the leaders come through, and Tyler, now in second, looked strong. I love that about the course, that you get a chance to see everyone at least once. I tried to eat more at Ross Durrance but ended up puking everything up not 10 metres from the aid station. What the fuck was happening? I managed to down two oreos to-go at least on the way out to Mt Work. We saw more and more runners on their way back in the final 20km or so. First lady looked strong, but admitted she wasn’t looking forward to the big climb on the way back. I was happy to notice that our relative paces were still about the same as the way out, so even if I wasn’t feeling great, we were still moving well.

Daniel and I ran the rest of the race until the 100km mark together, which means we stuck together from about 1am-noon. I’m super grateful for this, because it was super fun and some pretty dumb shit was coming out of our mouths. Some highlights include

” Oops gotta fart” *farts loudly*

*Burps loudly* “Nice push”

” I thought I saw a lime green iguana in that tree”

Likely referring to Jocelyn Hill: “This Jacklyn woman’s a real bitch”

” I don’t care where I am in 3 hours and 26 minutes, I will stop running at that time” Said 16 hours and 34 minutes into the race

I made it my new mission to finish under 20 hours. It seemed like a stretch given our estimated 5km per hour crawl, but possible. Andrew had given me some candied ginger which definitely helped the nausea. I gave up on eating enough, and just ate as much as I could, and I was feeling really gassed. My legs were tired but there were no niggles, no pain points and they actually still did whatever I wanted them to. I was most surprised to find that I could actually run downhill pretty comfortably with little protest from the quad I had partially torn 9 weeks before, and the anterior tib ankle tendon that had made me think dark dark thoughts at Squamish a few weeks earlier. Turns out KT tape is kind of amazing, and actually taking the descents easily early on means you CAN run downhill later. Like, whoa.

We left Rowntree for the final time (at which time I announced I would never be back there 😉 ) with 65 minutes to cover the last 6 ish km. Sounds easy, but it was pretty slow going by this point. With 5km to go Daniel took off while I lollygagged and walked more than I needed to. I had stopped using my watch at 84km in anticipation of it dying, but it was still showing me the time of day. I had no way to see how far I had left or what my pace was, which is not how I like to operate, I WANT TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS! I desperately wanted to finish under 20 hours and knew I could do it if I pushed, but something was holding me back from putting in an honest effort. And I started getting worked up, alone on the trail, pissed at myself and wondering why. For the first time in the race I wanted to cry, but I caught myself just in time and forced the dialogue to continue in my head.

I knew that I was afraid to try, to push, and for that still not to be enough. I thought of other similar situations and how, when the pressure is on and the margin is tight, I back down and avoid finding out what is really there. I felt in a way that the last few kilometres were a write off, because I had already hiked a lot, because I had already taken it easy on sections I know I could have pushed harder on. I asked myself how I would feel if I crossed the finish line 1 minute, or 5 minutes over 20 hours and what it would feel like to wonder if I tried a little bit harder. I didn’t want that, that feeling sucks. Then I told myself that even if I didn’t know exactly how far was left, exactly what pace I was “running”, even if I had copped out at times earlier, I could still choose how the last few kilometres would go. It would still matter that I changed my attitude, even if I didn’t make the time I wanted. And that was the kick in the ass that I needed. I can’t say I ran every single step the rest of the way but I ran uphill whenever I could, and brought it in nice and strong, in what felt like a full on sprint the last few hundred metres. In the end, I had 8 minutes to spare, finishing in 19 hours and 52 minutes (and change). I think if I had walked my ass the whole rest of the way I would have still come under, but this felt way better.

Thank you Finlayson Arm 100km for teaching me a lesson two years in a row. Maybe I’ll just have to come back for a third.