Whoops!

I signed up for Black Canyon 100km the day registration opened for the 2019 event, back in June of 2018. The decision to return to the desert for a weekend in February of 2019 was easy (escape Alberta’s deep freeze? Lounge around under palm trees? Enjoy 100km of flowy singlestrack? Twist my rubber arm….). I felt like I had unfinished business with the course, like I could demolish my 2018 time of 13:41 and change. I didn’t have a specific goal, but under 12 hours sounded pretty good to me.

Over the last year I have become a little spoiled/accustomed to huge improvements and giant leaps in my own performance. In 2018 alone I shaved several minutes off of my 10km time and hours off of my 100 mile time. I was working hard, reaping the benefits of training with Myke; I got used to just showing up, and as long as I didn’t make some kind of logistical fueling or pacing error, I kicked my own ass. I was pretty sure that as long as I ran a smart race at Black Canyon 100km, under 12 hours would be pretty much a given and if I could  push myself mentally, maybe I could creep closer to 11 hours.

I had the most solid, consistent block of training under my belt ever leading up to the race! I was going to run TNF 50 miler in November which was cancelled due to forest fires, so I started training late November with several weeks of good mileage running amuck, at high elevation already under my belt since I spent most of November on a road trip through Utah, Arizona and California. The winter in Alberta even cooperated and we didn’t get hit with as much snow or as many polar vortex stretches as last year. In December I PR’d my half marathon time during a workout and ran a stupid-fast (for me) 10 miler over Christmas so I was pretty pumped to see what Black Canyon would bring. January tired me out since I was doing lots of miles but it all seemed manageable.

The month leading up to Black Canyon was, admittedly, not the best, and I wish that I had backed off on running. I ended up flying to Quebec, Denver and Toronto within the three weeks before the race due to a mix of family, work and fun stuff. I was feeling very tired, stressed, overwhelmed and just kind of like a train wreck trying to keep up with life’s demands. I was so committed to fitting in all of the training runs on the schedule at all costs but looking back, I really should have given myself a break and dialed back on the training. I’m proud of my ability to get training in no matter what the circumstances, but I sacrificed sleep and some general well-being to do it, which kind of defeats the purpose.

I drank almost every day. I mean, not like DRANK every day but I would be surprised if there are more than 3 days in that last month leading up to BCT100km that I didn’t have at least a rather largely poured glass of red. I ate enough but the quality of fuel going into my body was, err, not great. I’m not super serious about my diet, I’m pretty liberal with getting the calories in by any means necessary but I generally make sure I am eating a lot of fruits and vegetables and I got pretty lazy with that stuff. I was treating my body like a garbage can.

I would say the “rock bottom” of my training was the Friday night the weekend before the race; I wasn’t hungry at the airport so I had just a glass of wine for dinner, before flying to Toronto. By the time I got home that night I was too tired to eat and just went to sleep. The next morning I had no appetite, I fed the toast I had made for myself to my parents’ dog but managed coffee for breakfast. I made sure to get my 20km long run done (which I combined with a workout I had skipped earlier in the week) and forced a banana down. That night, I had a blast at the wedding I had flown home for (thanks to the epic buffet and dinner spread, appetite was not a problem the rest of the day) but of course the wine was flowing. I slept for 4 hours before catching my flight the next morning and when I got back to Banff I made sure to get my 60 minute run in. Writing this, and reading it back, it’s so obvious that I was just digging a deeper and deeper hole but in a sport where we spend so much time convincing ourselves that we should push through it and tough it out, it is really hard to take a step back and give yourself a break, even when you really need it.

Despite all of the aforementioned shenanigans, running managed to still look and feel pretty good fitness-wise, but I had some shin splints creep up towards the end of January. I get these every now and then and usually after wearing compression socks for a few days and maybe throwing in an extra rest day, they go away, so I never think too much of it. This time though, they never really went away and I found the pain getting a little worse through February, particularly in my right shin. I could alter how I would bear weight on my foot when I ran enough to run through it, and usually 10 minutes into a run, the pain didn’t bother me. I did notice a particular spot on the inside of my shin, just above the ankle, that was really tender. A few times I clipped it with my left foot while walking or running which had me erupting in mutherf*cker’s. I thought that at least once taper week hit and my mileage was almost nothing in the days leading up the race that THEN, the shin splints would finally go away. SAPRISE: They didn’t.

Alas, the desert, cacti and palm trees called and I headed to Phoenix for 4 days where winter, work, and all other life commitments did not exist. I had an airbnb booked with Mandi, Adria and Dustin and we spent the day before the race wandering around in tank tops, shorts and flip flops (15 degrees celcius felt like 30 to us). I hadn’t planned to run the day before the race but joined the group on an easy trail wander of about 5km round trip with about 300m of elevation gain on a relatively technical trail because it was just so damned nice out. So nice I sunburnt the shit out of myself in the 45 minutes we were out there. I lagged behind the group as they ran up, and then back down the trail, mostly because I didn’t want to exert myself but also because my leg hurt. And the more it hurt the more stressed out I got and I started to question whether or not I should run the next day.

This was the first time I had been on any sort of technical trail in months. All of the trails in Banff are snow covered, hard packed and smooth this time of year and as I found mysel

f twisting and contorting my feet to navigate over the rocky trail; I realized how much more painful it was than all of the flat, manicured terrain I had been covering. This “run” flooded me with panic and the tears, hidden beneath my sunnies, burned my eyes as I hobbled back to the trailhead. I muttered to Dustin that I didn’t think I should run the next day. But every time I had this thought it was overruled by how long I had looked forward to this race, the money I had spent to sign up and fly down, the time I had booked off of work, how much patience it would take to wait another year, all the extra carbs I had shoved down my throat the week leading up to the race. The angel on my shoulder said to sit it out, spend the day crewing and cheering my friends on. The devil said to go and run the shit out of that desert.

The rest of the day was spent visiting approximately 7 grocery stores to take advantage of all the crazy flavors and products we can’t get in Canada, and to stock up on fuel for before, during and after the race. We hit up the race package pickup which included $4 IPAs and I KT-taped the shit out of my shin, convincing myself that I would get away with this “almost injury” like many times before. We strategized where to get coffee at 4:30am the next morning and put ourselves to bed early.

Race morning was pretty standard, up at 4, in the car by 4:30, everyone successfully pooped and got coffee at Starbucks, on the shuttle by 5:30. We found out via email while on the shuttle to the race start that the route had changed due to high water levels. I didn’t really pay too much attention as to the implications of this since our drop bags were in the same place. Basically the second half of the course would double back in various ways on the first half. I remember last year cursing every rock and cactus on the trail towards the end, so I wasn’t too upset. I hoped there would still be lots of climbing, since apparently I like that now.

Okay, if you read all of the boring injury bullshit above and you’re still with me – yay! Time to talk about the actual race. The first several km’s, as well as the second half of the course were different than the 2018 route and featured a lot more road, which played to my strengths as a road runner. The first few miles were along a paved and then gravel road and I was running low 5 min km’s easily. My shin didn’t hurt thanks to the way I had KT taped it. I had a “for fuck’s sake” moment when we had to cross a river that was pretty deep since its never ideal to soak your feet with another 95km to go, but I did expect a lot more of these throughout the day given the high water levels. I shared a few miles with Kristen from Edmonton, who was looking strong which was nice, I like badass lady company. We became social media frands after the 2017 Squamish 50 50 but had never really chatted in real life.

The first 13km breezed by and finished with a mild climb up a gravel road and then we dropped onto the flowy, net downhill, felt-more-technical-than-it-should single track that weaved in and out of the canyons. I felt really slow in this section and was moving at a slower pace than I had hoped to see considering the downhill profile of the trail, but I was very gingerly finding my footing and already getting warm. I kept a close eye on my heart rate and dialed it back to try and keep it under 150 bpm, sometimes walking to keep it low enough, committing to the idea that if I did this for the first 60km, I would be able to push myself towards the end. I think they call that “patience”.

I was hoping to hit 50km around 5 hours but started to realize this probably wouldn’t happen. I also realized that would be a 50km trail PB and gave myself a pep talk to the effect of: dude, why would you expect to hit a 50km trail PB in the first half of a 100km while also trying to keep your effort in check? That turned my attitude around and I was able to change my thoughts from “you’re going too slow” to “you are executing your race strategy properly!”. I was eating 100 calories every half hour at least and had yet to poop behind a cactus so things were already going better than last year. The only things that really bothered me the first half of the race was feeling hot (it was around 13 degrees and sunny which I swear felt like 30 degrees to me) and my feet were in terrible shape from the water crossing! I had to re-lube my feet 12 times during the race which is pretty nuts since I was wearing the same shoes and socks I usually race in.

I hit 50km in 5:32 ish and felt that sub 12 hours was definitely still a good goal. Soon after that, with the high water route, we were spit out onto a section of road maybe 4km long and I started to see the front runners of the race heading back onto the course which was super cool. Realizing we would cover this road section 4 times made me realize I could get some fast km’s in and 12hours sounded even more doable. I saw a few people on this section that I knew from back home in Alberta. I was very surprised to pass Myron, who was walking on the road section because Myron is a (very fast) road runner and I knew that if I was passing him, something was definitely up. Turns out he had a nasty fall earlier and suspected he had cracked some ribs. Myron will pop back into the story later.

I rolled into Black Canyon City around 60km in, my only sources of misery being that I felt uncoordinated and slow on the downhill and I was hot hot hot but nothing outside of normal ultrarunning complaints. I went out for a small out and back that included a climb up and over a little ridge down to where the course usually crosses a river. As I climbed back up from the river and realized I was 65km in, I allowed myself to push the pace uphill and was able to pass most runners as we climbed. I can’t remember at which distance/time I checked, but I did the math and realized as long as I averaged sub 7 min km’s the rest of the race, I would come in under 12 hours. I knew there was one huge climb around 75km which might challenge that pace, but it seemed really manageable, especially since I felt like I had energy in the tank. My legs were relatively not tired, it was cooling off and I was well fueled. I began the long out and back that would make up the rest of the race and passed the road section in sub or low 6 minute kilometres. My body felt good, but at times, my brain wanted to take a break and walk. I would tell myself every second of every kilometer I ran was worth gaining to keep my average pace where I needed to, and it kept me motivated and feeling confident. It was awesome to see the lead men and woman on the same stretch I had seen them earlier, but they were just a few miles from the finish, and I still had about 15 left.

When I reached the big climb I remembered descending on the way out, with only a quarter of the race left, it was “now or never” and I’ve never felt so strong so late into a race, I was able to run most of the 8% grade and I passed about 15 people, one of which was a chick that had passed me earlier with a “thanks sweetie” as I stepped aside for her on the singletrack. I don’t, in general, enjoy being “sweetie’d” and though its not very nice to admit, and though there was plenty of room for the two of us as I powered by on the dirt jeep road, I made sure to send a “thank YOU, sweetie” in my head. I’m gonna brag because its one of the only redeeming moments of the race, but I ended up getting 5th woman on a Strava segment up this road and my time wasn’t THAT far off some pretty friggin’ fast females. As I crested the top and realized I was still on track for sub 12, I was stoked.

Then, everything fell to shit, because the long climb was followed by a long(ish) descent and the pain in my shin, came on hard and fast. I was overtaken by everyone I had just passed uphill. I walked the descent and when the trail flattened out or even tracked uphill again, I realized there was no relief and there would be no more running in this race for me. I tried to push through and maintain a run but the flood of panic and tears that had hit me the day before on our “shakeout” run returned, along with what was now an inescapable, sharp pain radiating up my shin in new places, and I had a brief freakout. I got to see Dustin on his way to the finish with a big smile on his face, and Mandi not far behind. I let them know they would be waiting for me for a while at the finish. I saw a few other familiar faces like Brandon Miller who was way off of his goal for the day, but was out there grinding and sticking it out like a champ. He shouted some words of encouragement over his shoulder as he headed for the finish and I hobbled along, begging for the final turnaround to appear.

I got to the aid station which was the final turnaround point and marked 19km left. As I “ran” in, a photographer yelled “smile” and I yelled back “Does it have to be genuine?” and she laughed “Of course not”. You tell me, was I convincing?

I had 3 hours to do 19km and I would still finish around 13 hours, and beat my last year’s time, so I decided that I would walk it in. I sat at the aid station in a tent chatting with some runners that had already either dropped or were on the edge. A guy in an Altra hat asked what he could get me and I asked for some broth and gingerale. While he left to fulfill my snax request a runner beside me said “must be nice to have Zach Bitter getting you broth right now”. It IS nice, I thought. I lingered for a while to layer up, get my headlamp ready for the march back to the finish and change my shoes. I chatted with a guy who dropped because it was too cold and he didn’t have enough layers and tried to understand how one could possibly be cold because I was barely just cooling down. Eventually I stood up and announced, “I am going for a very long walk now, if anyone would like to join me”. One of the runners “on the edge” looked up and said, “Yeah, I’ll come for a walk”.

Off we went, me and my new buddy Dylan from east coast USA. A few hundred metres from the aid station Dylan realized he forgot his headlamp, he ran back to the aid station to get it while I marched on and I started to realize that walking was now so painful on my right leg, that I didn’t know if I could actually endure walking it in. I turned around and almost went back to the aid station to drop, but somehow convinced myself; not yet. When Dylan caught back up and we started chatting, I was distracted enough from the pain. We celebrated any time we “ran” a “fast sub 11 minute km” and I was super grateful for the company as runner after runner after runner passed us. We eventually picked up another runner, Patrick from BC, who had been reduced to a walk, and then we were three. I repeatedly encouraged the boys to take off at any time if they felt good. I was definitely slowing them down on the few sections that were technical or not flat. But the sun set and we powered on as a group of three. As we were now heading back to the finish line, we were still crossing runners on their way OUT to the out and back. These were the runners that would be out there for 15-20 hours and it was really inspiring to see them out there, it reinforced my decision to not drop and to still respect the finish enough to walk it in.

Soon enough we were back on pavement, meaning only 6km to go. Myron caught up, still mostly walking but managing a run and that’s when I learned he had been walking since about 40km in after a nasty fall. Fuck, walking 20km seems really hard, and hes had the patience to do this for 60 km!?!? Mad respect, Myron. In the dark, I was getting cold. A few times we tried to run and I just couldn’t do it, it hurt too much. With maybe 2.5km left I got a gnarly hot spot on my foot and had to sit and relube my foot for the 92343297498274902th time. It’s then that I finally convinced the boys to run it in and I would see them at the finish. I’m glad I set my little birdies free because they gained over 10 minutes on me in those last few km. I hobbled the last few km on rocky, downhill trail wincing, getting emotional and just wanting every second to end and I broke down fully as I limped across the finish. I didn’t think I could have a more physically-disabled finish than Sinister 7 last year with my partially torn quad but this was next level. I still managed a PB of 10 minutes from last year.

I cried like a baby right after I finished. I wasn’t disappointed with my time, I’m actually pretty proud of how I shifted my attitude and didn’t self implode as my day took a turn, but the pain that I had pushed through the last few hours just hit all at once. I felt so bad that the others had had to wait so long for me, but it was so nice to hear that they had all really crushed it out there and they all had super impressive (and I think PB) times. The always supportive Karl appeared at the finish (which I expected because he was in the area, and that’s the kind of guys he is). We regrouped at our airbnb after Dustin and I detoured to McDonalds and ordered a shit tonne of food while demonstrating the mental capacity of 3 year olds. Every menial task felt insurmountable. I could not stand so for the first time ever I resorted to literally crawling around on my hands and knees. I crawled into the shower and sat on the floor. We all laughed our asses off as I displayed amazing upper body stretch to pull myself into the top bunk to sleep that night.

Its been just over 4 weeks since the race and I haven’t run since, since I learned pretty quickly after getting home that I have a stress fracture in my tibia. Surprising; since I ignored literally every sign my body was giving me and displayed textbook behavior of “what not to do when you have really bad shinsplints”. I feel kind of……empty after the race at Black Canyon. I just feel like I did not get what I was expecting out of the race. I feel embarrassed that I put myself in the position I’m in now, injured and unable to run the Boston Marathon as planned in just a few weeks. But I know I have learned and am learning a lesson that was probably long overdue. I am refocusing on just taking care of myself from the ground up and I am, for the most part, enjoying taking a break. Business feels unfinished in the desert and I already know I need to go back to Black Canyon 100km for a third time, anyone wanna come with?