Tally in the Valley Trail Race 100 Mile - Saturday, July 29th, 2023

 ..or maybe I should call this TallyTail?

..or FoxTally?

No matter what you want to call it, hard rain beginning 45mins before the start of any race is not an auspicious beginning.

(It actually got harder as 9am approached)

Having been up since 5:30am to arrive on site not long after 7:30am, we got there just as it had begun to sprinkle, so I was able to take care of most of my pre-race stuff without getting too soaked. I had all my kit organized under the drop bag pavilion tents, feeling a little extra about rolling up with a 72L tote plus my cleaning supplies caddy full of nutrition (which I sat on a little folding metal stool to raise it up so I wouldn't have to bend down too far).

Other people had at least as much stuff, though, including chairs and sometimes their own tents

The plan was simple: just go out easy and try to hang on as long as possible, especially with what would certainly be very muddy conditions. The course rolls quite a bit, but there's a little more than a mile of rail trail that - despite being all uphill at an average grade of about 1.5%, but occasionally tips upward of 10% - allows you to make up some good time, even if that just means a place where you can walk steadily without worrying about your feet going out from under you.

Those weren't looking to be common anywhere else on the course

Race Director Jeff took us through the pre-race meeting, advising us that if (more) lightning happened during the race, we would be sent off course to hide in our vehicles until it passed and the clock would stop. A lot of people started off in rainproof apparel of some sort or another - ranging from expensive technical jackets down to garbage bags with holes for head & arms - but it was warm enough that I figured I'd probably be fine. I mean, I hadn't actually had the chance to test the particular shirt I was wearing in hard rain yet (I tried but the storm stayed south of where I ran), and the skirt I was wearing had arrived 3 days before the race in time for a ~20min test run, but how bad could it be?

Off we go, then

The rain continued, though it did ease up a little. The damage was definitely already done, though: the bottom of the very first downhill in the field, not even a third of a kilometer into the course, was more than ankle deep in water.

This was not how I envisioned this race going down, but it's not like I could control it

My first couple of laps were spent just feeling out the course - it had been a couple of years since I'd done this loop - and seeing how my body was feeling. I'd tapered running pretty well, but had messed up my left hip/groin playing hockey a couple of weeks beforehand, and ended up playing hockey twice in one day the Sunday before the race. I also hadn't done too well at getting extra sleep due to it being audit season at work, and the thick, humid air made it more difficult to breathe. I was feeling ok for the time being, though, if a little soggy.

When photographer Sue saw me she said she didn't recognize me without my usual flouncy skirt.
I told her I was wearing a skirt, but it was too wet to flounce!

The course was very wet, but manageable for the most part - it was a clockwise/uphill year (which I'd confirmed before I registered), so Spring Creek Trail to Bumblebee Hill, then up the rail trail to the trail centre, then the Sawmill Trail loop and into the start/finish to do it all over again. Spring Creek was flowing with water in places and rapidly being mushed into huge mud puddles by the passage of runners, but you could get along pretty well. 

With the occasional step over an obstacle
(I banged each of my shins on this once)

Counter-intuitively, the best line (or at least the most stable one with the least chance of slipping) was right through the washed-out section where water was actually - or had been - flowing. The surrounding mud was frequently slippery, but the runoff troughs had been compacted a bit by the stream of water over its surface and washed clean down to the gravel, which offered better traction.

There were literal streams crossing the trails in places early in the day

By the second lap, though, the Sawmill Trail had become a muddy slip-n-slide of epic proportions. The pine forested sections were surprisingly sodden: you'd think the needle-strewn ground would allow good runoff, since there's very little of it that's flat, but it had soaked up all the rain like a sponge and was being churned into something akin to room-temperature butter as runners came through. The latter part of the loop was the scariest, though: there was one steep descent that was only possible (which remaining upright, anyway) by hugging the extreme left-hand side and using two small shrub-like trees to lower yourself down. I heard tales of people slipping and just sliding all the way down, and saw loads of people whose backs and bottoms attested to their having made a spontaneous up-close inspection of the slick mud.

I somehow managed not to fall, but mostly because I am very namby-pamby about slippery bits

To tell you just how bad it was, I didn't end up getting any photos: I didn't take my phone out to take pics until my 3rd lap, during which I found Tina at the crossroads to the trail centre re-directing runners along an additional out-and-back on the rail trail that would replace the Sawmill loop.

My darling bearer of good news!

Even the rail trail was flowing with water from the continuing rain.

While most rail trail is flat, this particular specimen has an 11km uphill from the Hamilton end toward Brantford

Reaching the turn-around, I realized I'd actually get to go back downhill for a bit!

As well as get more of a chance to see other runners, and offer some encouragement to them as we passed each other - I always try to give some positive energy to those around me

Except, it never feels like a downhill - the insidiousness of the grade is such that it adds an appreciable drain in energy in the uphill direction, without ever offering any tangible assistance as you descend. 

Nor was it without its own mud puddle at the Sulphur Springs Road crossing

Back to the trail centre, then along the gravel driveway past the Sawmill trailhead, where Tricia stood as marshal directing runners to continue along the driveway.

If you haven't done a Happy Trails race, you're really missing out - the volunteers are the absolute best!

Through the gate and past the parking lot - this section was covered with nasty, sharp aggregate stone and was slightly uphill again.

I wonder how many people DNF'd after passing their car?

Step over the speed bump, then descend an unwelcome paved stretch with a crumbling edge - the downhill begins mild, but gets steeper and steeper as you approach the race flags.

See them down there?

At the flags, pull a really hard right turn - like 150 degrees - then climb one more stinkin' gravelly hill.

You have to do this one after coming off the Sawmill loop, too - you emerge from the trail just a little further down the road, so it's uphill on the pavement to here that way

The entry to the start/finish chute had already become a quagmire of mud within the first handful of hours.

I can't help but think of some poor runner seeing the finish in sight, trying to run toward it, and going splat

Most of us were foolish enough to continue - Saturday featured the 12hr day race (9am-9pm), the 24hr, the 100mi, and the Gong Show backyard-style, last-man-standing race where all participants must be ready to depart for their next lap at the top of each hour (but may not leave before then) or be disqualified.

Aid station and "Gongster" tent on the left - drop bag tents on the right

Fortunately, I was under no such constraints - it would have gone poorly for me had I been in the Gong Show, as I only managed my usual 6 laps (42km) in the first 6 hours, partly hampered by a second hard downpour around the 5-hour mark. 

I had just been thinking "holy heck, I'm actually almost dry!" when it started to rain buckets again

My 7th lap - bringing me to 49k - took me just a hair over the 7-hour cutoff that would have seen me eliminated from the group of Gongsters. This included the time I spent at the aid station, grabbing freshly filled bottles and bags of candy and cookies that Tank had sweetly prepared for me while I wandered through the mud, alternating a bottle of water with a bottle of Skratch electrolytes each increasingly-pedestrian lap. Fun fact: if the Gongsters go the full 24hrs for their race, they actually complete 168km - 1 more lap than I needed to for the 100mi - in that time.

I am much too slow and pokey to ever attempt such a thing.
At 7h13m, I actually laid down my "fastest" 50k in a few years here!

I picked up my phone again for my 8th lap, as the sun had come out and I wanted to tourist a little.

Assuming I could stay on my feet long enough

The bottom of the hill continued to be a giant puddle in the grass - the sheer volume of water meant this would not disappear any time soon.

My inner 5-year-old had a ball with this for awhile - squelching through puddles and eating candy and cookies! - but by this point it had already had its fill

What complicated matters slightly was the water picked up by all the runners' shoes had been carried up the hill on the other side of the impromptu pond, which had become slick with the resultant mud.

Those slide marks are legit

It was no better as you got into the woods - there were monstrous mud puddles spanning the whole trail everywhere.

Several before the 1km marker

Some were really deep, too - the mud would just flow in under my gaiters and over the collars of my shoes.

I had to stop at least 7-8 times to remove stones or debris that washed in, which was problematic because then my hands would be covered with mud from my gaiters, and I'd be trying to scrape the stone or whatever out of the little splat of mud stuck to the insole of my shoe.

People would ask how I was doing, and my response was usually "Just out here living the dream!", which was part sarcasm (as I was starting to feel the effects of plodding around all day) and part truth. After all, the trail is still beautiful in any condition - I'm grateful I got to enjoy a look at my favourite spot while the sun shone.

I'd see it again in bright sun again on Sunday, but by then I was less capable of relishing the view

Mud was definitely the overarching theme, though, and my shoes were constantly full of squelchiness. I can't blame 100% of it on the trail, though: about 3.5hrs in I'd needed to pee, and knew I wouldn't make it back around to the portajohns at the start/finish, and there were lots of people about on the trail, so I channeled my old triathlete self and just let'er go...just as the first bouts of rain had stopped. The second blast of rain at 5hrs might have washed me off a bit, but I'm not going to tell you it's the last time that happened.

Trail running is gross and I am a feral forest creature when I'm in the thick of it.
Just accept it and let's move on, shall we?

In an effort to change things up, I tried eating a turkey wrap with mustard for a salty (instead of sugary) snack, but the vinegar in the mustard tasted very strong and off-putting. I finished it, but couldn't bring myself to try another for the rest of the race, despite it usually being one of my go-to food items. It never got particularly hot as the sun hadn't come out until it was well past the point at which it begins to lose its heating power, but that's not to say it had no effect: I would now run out of water each lap if I didn't stop at the spigot by the trail centre, which thankfully had been updated with a much more easily controllable valve than the one to which I'd previously been accustomed.

Whose only two settings were "tiny trickle" or "raging torrent"

I was keeping up hydration, having switched to just Skratch in my bottles for added electrolytes, but - despite moving quite slowly by this point - I was getting a bit lightheaded. I'd added even more electrolytes via S!caps starting a couple of hours in, but my non-bottle hand was getting sausage fingers. Maybe I ought to have taken even more, but I had enough to worry about with trying to keep myself running the downhills and flats, pushing myself to run at least a couple of hundred steps up the rail trail before taking a minute or so walk break, and dealing with a sudden pair of pinhole leaks in one of my hand bottles.

Luckily, I'd brought 2 more, so could still have Tank fill one while I "ran" with one

My neck and shoulders were getting sore, so I'd periodically raise my arms and try to stretch things out, but I knew it was only going to get worse. The day was beginning to fade as I came in from my 10th lap (70km) around 10.5hrs, and I knew my lap times were getting closer to 1h20m with the sun scheduled to set at 9pm. That meant I should grab my headlamp just in case I didn't make it back before the light dimmed enough to be safe, and I quickly gave my teeth a brush as they were starting to feel gross and sore from all the candy and cookies.

The trail centre

I heard a nasty rumour that we'd be moving back over to the Sawmill trail at 9pm, for the start of the 12hr night race (9pm-9am) - I hoped it would prove false, as I was already slowing more than enough to make me cognizant that every second would count if I wanted to finish under the 30 hour cutoff. I saw a beautiful doe just off the Spring Creek Trail on my 11th lap, and shortly thereafter ended up meandering along with a fellow named Rob for the rest of the way. A nice fellow, he was a former road runner who had been introduced to trails by a mutual friend, and he was also attempting the 100 miler. We chatted about his work in outdoor education, nutrition strategies, and then bade each other farewell at the start/finish as we both went to deal with everything we needed for the next lap. I was pleased to have 77km done in the first 12hrs: one more lap than I'd managed in 2018 during the night race at Tally's inaugural year.

At 23 laps for 100mi, I was now heading into the rubber lap - after which I'd be more than halfway

On deck: I needed the portajohn (because some things even I won't do trailside), to re-apply lubrication to various areas, to put on my headlamp (which would mean ditching my hat and throwing a buff on my head as a cushion) and waist light, spray myself some insect repellent (as I'd donated some blood to the local mosquitoes on lap 11), and pick up one of my trekking poles. This last item was for 2 reasons: if we did in fact end up on Sawmill instead of the rail trail, I'd need it to keep me upright. Whether or not that happened, it would also help my posture stay a bit straighter, as my lower back was starting to complain about me slouching my way around the course.

Over which a bright moon had risen in a clear sky

I also needed my vest, as my waist light covered the rear pockets of my skirt (that had held all my salt caps, gummy candy, cookies, and crisp rice treats 'til now), and I wouldn't want to carry a hand bottle while using the pole, as I needed a hand free to help take in food and drink. Tanker assisted with everything with flawless efficiency, on top of my usual bottle swap and pickup of more nutrition, and I was back out again with only about a 6min time difference from my last lap.

I even picked up my phone for one more lap

My left knee had got grouchy about running uphill, so that put the kibosh on running up the rail trail at all, but I was still running bits and pieces on downhill and flat sections. My waist light bounced annoyingly, but I couldn't tighten it any further; I'd actually lost a few pounds this year (including my boobs, much to poor Tank's chagrin) and was at the lowest weight I'd seen in almost a decade. So, I'd just settle the thing back on my hips when I'd drop to a walk for awhile, and deal with it when it bounced. Fortunately the high waistband of my skirt and extra layer of my shirt (not to mention the re-application of lube) kept it from chafing - I did have a nasty spot in my right armpit, though, from my sportsbra munching on my while my arm swung carrying my hand bottle (possibly due to it fitting differently, being a little less full than usual). I'd get relief from that now that I was in the vest!

About halfway through the lap I finally remembered to look at my watch, and discovered I was now past the halfway mark by distance.

I was very grateful to still have another 17hrs and 14mins for the second half, as I knew that difficulty increases exponentially past 100km, and my lap times would get longer and longer

Fortunately the switch to Sawmill - which I knew would slow me down significantly if or when it happened - was postponed, as things were apparently still quite muddy. I knew the pine forest for sure would take days to dry out, as the sun (when it rose) wouldn't penetrate the shade of the coniferous trees enough to help it dry. I hoped with all my might that Race Director Jeff would wait until morning at least, to give us long haulers a fighting chance; sending us through there in the dark with the fatigue beginning to mount seemed like a recipe for disaster. The influx of new runners on the trail for the 12hr night race meant there were now a lot more people asking "how are you doing?", to which I could only respond "that's a terrible question at this time of night!", but at least I was still able to offer a "way to go!" or "good work!" to everyone I encountered.

I had the bad luck to get stones in both of my shoes on this lap, for which I needed to stop and rummage inside to get them out - just putting my foot up on something (a stump on Spring Creek the first time, then a bench along the rail trail), doing what I needed to, and heading on. I'd only sat down once, in the portajohn; chairs can be fatal when you're chasing cutoffs. I think I snugged down the laces on my left shoe a bit too tight, though, as my feet were swelling and I was getting an ache that I remembered from the 72hr race I did a couple of years ago. My shoes also smelled horrible; the mixture of mud, sweat, and peeing on myself had (unsurprisingly) made getting my face anywhere near them a misery, and just to top things off, the velcro on the back of my left shoe let go, so my gaiter was now only attached by the hook at the front.

Having seen how much mud was caked on my gaiters and calf sleeves (not to mention how badly everything stunk), when I stopped at the trail centre to refill my bottle, I also took a minute to wash off as many chunks as I could. Someone asked if I hadn't had enough of wet feet already, and I replied "this is how you lose 5lbs in 1 minute". The cool, clean water felt lovely on my tired, beat-up feet, and I continued up the trail to the turn-around feeling perhaps just a little lighter of step.

I was definitely not ready to hop along like this little fellow, though

I kept eating and drinking, now mostly sticking with water as the constant Skratch was starting to overwhelm my taste buds, but still taking in gummy candy, stroopwafels, Oreos, salted maple crisp rice treats, and the occasional blueberry muffin. I'd started adding in an Endurance Tap gel every so often as well, just as a fast way to get 100cal into me. I was still ticking off solid kilometres by power walking on the rail trail (around 10min/km, or 6kph) and just doing my best with the rest, but my pole brought up a small blister inside the web of my thumb. On my 14th lap, I reached the trail centre to find Race Director Jeff and someone else (Byron maybe?) standing at the crossroads. I said something to the effect of "this looks like unwelcome news" and Jeff just nodded, then pointed toward the Sawmill Trail. 

Oof.

Fortunately, Matt - who was doing the 12hr night race as his last big training run before another stab at the Haliburton 100mi - had caught me up as I walked up the rail trail, and generously decided to stick with me for awhile. He had a pair of poles he was trying out as part of his training, so he was better prepared than I was (with only 1 pole, which had already brought up a small blister on the inside of my thumb webbing) for the mud that awaited us...not to mention he'd only been on the move for ~3hrs instead of 15+, so he was in much better condition to spot the best lines in the darkness.

This is the extent of what I can see after dark, and tired eyes & brains don't process visual information with any degree of accuracy or efficiency.

Hitting the trail, it was immediately apparent that dew had fallen heavily after sunset and only made things worse. Matt and I slogged up through the pine forest ok, but I slipped a couple of times in the hardwood sections, tweaking both my left knee (in a new and exciting way!) and my lower back as I threw down some interpretive dance moves to keep from falling. I tried to take an Endurance Tap gel to keep my energy and spirits up, but spilled a third of it on my arm and pole hand when trying to get it open; I looked for wet foliage to try to wipe it off (as my shirt and skirt were now dry, and I didn't want to get the handle & strap of my pole all sticky), but the grass seemed to be the only thing holding enough dew to be useful, and there was no way I could bend down to ground level by then. Matt is my hero for pausing to tear out a few handfuls of grass for me so I could wipe off the drops and streaks of maple syrup enough to carry on - I had a package of wet wipes in my caddy that I could use to finish the job, but this would get me there, and I'm so grateful for his help! 

When we got back to the start/finish, Matt let me know he wanted to push pace for the next lap, but he'd catch up with me again later - I thanked him (I think? I hope?) and bade him well, then trundled up to my drop bag spot to clean myself up, grab a sweater as a chilly breeze had begun to blow across the rail trail and mist was accumulating in the low spots, put a little pre-cut patch of moleskin on the blister on my thumb, and grab my second pole to give me a fighting chance on Sawmill. I also begged Tank to advocate for the runners and ask Jeff to reconsider the opening of the trail: I knew it seriously jeopardized my chances of emerging from this un-injured, let alone finishing.

Two Sawmill laps left - two rail trail out-and-back laps right.
The elevation works out roughly the same, but the difficulty level of the former was unfathomably higher

Some of the damage was already done: the tweaks to my left knee and lower back meant I could no longer run at all, even on downhills and flats. I hit the 100km mark at somewhere around 16.5hrs (1:30am), but with another 61km to go it was hard to feel like I'd accomplished much yet. I remembered how much harder things had gotten with every step past 100km during the 24hr race I'd run last October (which took me almost 19hrs, so I was at least ahead of that pace) - how I'd needed to sit down to get the weight off my feet every 3 laps, or about 5km, which is less than the distance of a single lap at Tally. I knew I had no time to do any such thing in this race, but my feet were getting really awful. I had to loosen off the laces to stop the ache of my feet being crushed as they continued to swell, and this let the shoes move a bit more as I changed from descent to climb, increasing the blistering that was beginning to fill my whole world. At one point I had to remove another stone from my right shoe, and when I did so I tried pulling up my sock as they had sagged in the wet conditions. When I did so and put my foot back in my shoe, a bright bolt of pain emanated from my baby toe; something had shifted (the seam of my sock? a lump of mud?) and would now spend the rest of the race grating away at the knuckle, but I had no time or energy to try to fix it again. I had another pair of shoes that were a half-size larger, but those were the same ones that had given me horrible blisters at the fatass run I had done back in March, and changing shoes and socks would cost valuable time without necessarily offering much benefit. After all, the mud puddles were all still there, so any relief would be fleeting. I kept walking.

The second pole helped a bit on Sawmill, and I tried to remember the better lines through the mud that Matt had helped me find, but it was still such a struggle and was only getting worse with the passage of more feet to mush the dew into the grass and dirt. I would find out later that at least 40 separate complaints were lodged about the reopening of the trail, and that some runners threatened to walk out en masse were the option to use the rail trail not re-instated. The complaints were apparently taken seriously, because when I neared the end of the trail on my 15th lap I found Race Director Jeff standing on the trail. I asked "is this the best news I've heard all day?" and he said yes - everyone would now be able to choose whether to do the additional rail trail out-and-back or take the trail. I thanked Jeff profusely, and he agreed that the heavy dew had made things much more challenging. 

Map from my Garmin - you can see both the Sawmill loop and the out-and-back on the rail trail

Back at the aid station, I ditched the second pole, got my fresh bottle, and got the heck out. On one hand I only had 8 more laps left; on the other hand, I still had eight more freakin' laps left to go. I did a lot of math in my head as I trudged along, pushing my buff and headlamp up on my forehead from time to time as they'd slip down, and trying to open my stride and straighten my back as I marched up and down the rail trail. My moleskin patch on my thumb rolled up, and I couldn't get it unrolled and re-stuck, so I tried to leave it be as much as I could. My biggest problem was my feet: their soles were horribly blistered, and mud had got trapped between the uppers of my shoes and my feet, abrading them badly. It felt like I was wearing socks lined with alcohol-soaked sandpaper, wearing away my skin and stinging with every step. It was made worse by the uneven nature of the trail: the sides of my feet below my ankles were agonizing as they would tilt side to side. I made the mistake of peeing as I walked again, and the abrasions on my feet and ankles lit up with searing agony. That put an end to that nasty business - much to everyone else's relief, had they known - but made things even worse in my own little world of pain.

My body wasn't the only thing whose condition was worsening: the hill from the Spring Creek Trail up to the rail trail, known as Bumblebee Hill (leading up to Bumblebee Park) had been deeply cut by washout early in the day.

Like so

By evening, the middle third had been smushed into a slippery mass of yellow mud over it gravel surface, making it much more treacherous to climb.

Numerous slide marks attested to some people's shoes having inadequate tread depth to reach the gravel through the mud

I think the dew must have also fallen heavily here, as it continued to get more and more slippery through the night. I was grateful to have my pole to help hoist myself up and to stabilize when my feet would slip a bit - the lugs on my shoes are really good and I had better grip than most, but it still wasn't a sure thing - but that also put a lot of strain on my lats and mid-back on my right side that became painful as the hours wore on. I'd been periodically trying to stretch my arms and shoulders by bringing my arms up overhead or pulling with hands clasped in front of or behind my chest, but any relief was fleeting. 

This was shot before I got my pole, and even then I was hesitating, testing my traction before proceeding

Tank had asked if it would be ok if he went down for a nap for an hour or so, and I told him it would probably be more like an hour and a half before I was back, so go for it. I also asked if there was any coffee available, but was told the only option ready was instant - I'm not that masochistic, so I headed off again without. As I came up to the top of Bumblebee Hill on this loop, some cyclist came whipping past on the rail trail (headed downhill toward Hamilton) just as I was about to step on to it, so was perpendicular to his direction of travel. He screamed what sounded like slavic obscenities at me, then yelled in a thick accent for me to "FIX YOUR LIGHT". I just loudly said "Dude, I'm out here running a hundred miles - I ain't fixing sh*t."

Not my kindest moment, but damn man - it was just some unlucky timing, you got a little dazzled maybe, but no-one got hurt. He continued on his way, I continued on mine, and that was that.

Lap 16 took me fully 90mins, coming in just after 4am with 112km done and less than 50k (49km, to be exact - 7 laps) to go. I was a little quicker on my next lap (1h27m), and hoped to ditch my headlamp and waist light when I came in as the sun was set to rise around 6am. That unfortunately wasn't to be: there wasn't enough light in the sky at 5:30am for me to feel safe getting rid of the lights, and that wasn't my only disappointment. Tank was nowhere to be found! Jesse was kind about helping me replace my moleskin patch and filling a bottle for me, while I popped some sour peach slices in one of my little stasher bags and headed out again. I was flustered enough by Tank's absence - I later found out he'd been unable to sleep when he first tried on lap 16, so tried again and then overslept, so he was in our car when I came through at half past five - that I forgot to grab my phone, which I'd wanted to take photos of the sun rising over the rail trail.

The aid station at night - I only ever took 1 chunk of banana from it, apart from refills of water and Skratch

It's too bad I missed picking up my phone, as the sunrise was spectacular: a bright orb cresting the trees directly over the trail behind me, casting a brilliant red path of beams uphill ahead of me, eventually filling the whole trail except my silhouette as I walked and poled my way along. After the out-and-back, I saw a beautiful doe and her fawn by the trail centre, gently munching grass with a watchful eye in my direction, but not backing away. 

An hour and 25mins brought me to 125km - just 35k/5 laps to go - and Tanker was back, with Maryka also stepping in to help him out (she was crewing Garchun, who was having a tough time with a rebellious GI tract). I was able to ditch my lights - which had just barely lasted long enough to get me through the dark portions of the trail, dimming to a faint glow by the time I crested Bumblebee Hill again and no longer needed them. It was nice to lose the weight and not have to fuss with my headlamp slipping down my forehead anymore, but I picked up my little "lipstick" power bank and the charge cable for my Garmin so I wasn't completely free of electronic burdens. I'd been checking my charge level and was sort of sure I'd have enough charge to last the full race (I think I still had about 30% left; my fenix 6 is supposed to have a 30hr life when GPS tracking is active), but didn't want to chance it. I plugged it in, grabbed water and nutrition, and trudged off once more just before 7am.

Counter-intuitively, I started having more trouble with drowsiness now that the sun was up - I had hoped it would be energizing, but while it was certainly easier to see where I was going, I had been in so much pain for so many hours by now that I was feeling completely wrung out. I actually tried smiling to see if it might help, which maybe it did, but not enough to be meaningful. Every single step was agony, made worse when shifting from downhill to uphill or vice versa. If felt like the whole sole of each foot was a huge blister filled with abrasives, and when the direction of pressure would change from descent to climb, it would sear the bottoms of my feet like walking on hot coals. The only place it was tolerable was the rail trail, where I'd have an extended period of gentle climbing that wouldn't shift the blistering. Even the almost imperceptible downhill from the turn-around was enough to make it hurt again, though, and to make matters worse another blister (just behind the base of my right big toe on the inside of my foot) had burst and filled with stinging mud when I stepped in another puddle on this lap.

No, they hadn't disappeared in the night

So much of the course was strewn with sharp bits of stone; it was impossible to avoid stepping on them, and despite the thick soles of my shoes they seemed to jab directly into my poor, tortured feet. I began to seriously doubt my ability to finish this thing - not just in time, but at all. I was so exhausted from moving for 23+ hours and the continued breakdown of my body that I seriously considered quitting, just to make it all stop. Horrible thoughts intruded: if there was no-one around, what did it matter if I turned around a few feet before the sign? I shut those down: by our actions we choose who we wish to be, and I would like to believe I'm neither a quitter nor a cheater. I was getting warm, so I pulled my arms out of my sweater, leaving it stuck between my back and my vest from the rail trail onward. By 8:24am, when I finished lap 19 and dropped off my Garmin charger (having hit 71% battery on the rail trail, which was plenty to get me through) and sweater, I'd covered 133km in 23h24m: 12km more than I'd managed at the 24hr race I'd done last October. I still had 28km to go, though, and thigs were getting worse with every step. Maryka convinced me to drink some cola, but it was so gross on my teeth; I desperately wanted to brush them again, but I knew I didn't have time. With how badly I was deteriorating, I knew that the only way I'd have a chance to make the cutoff would be to push as hard as I could to keep a time reserve; my laps were averaging about 90mins, but I wanted at least 2hrs to make the final lap. My fresh moleskin patch on my thumb rolled up a little on me, but I didn't have time or energy to try to replace it. 

It was getting hot out as the sun climbed, too - much hotter than it had been Saturday. I had brought a couple of cotton bandanas to soak in water to cool me down, but again I had no time to try to grab one to tie around my neck, nor to put on my cooling/UV protective sleeves, or even get a spray of sunscreen.

Fortunately there was a bit of shade even on the rail trail, but the sunny portions were particularly hot and difficult

Now past 9am - into the final 6 hours with a bit less than 4 laps to go - additional runners began to appear on the course, as the 6-hour started at 9am. More bad luck: some tiny green worm-like bug smacked right into my left eye, probably hanging from a thread over the rail trail. I wiped it out, but I guess I didn't get all of it (as I found the rest after I finished) and it caused my eye to start manifesting huge amounts of sticky white goo. I still managed to get through lap 20 just before 10am, when the 7k & 21k races were set to begin; I was lucky to be able to find an un-occupied portajohn to take care of some necessary business - not to mention sitting down for only the second time since 9am the previous morning, the other being my portajohn stop at ~12hrs. It was delightful to get the weight off my poor feet for a moment, but standing back up was brutal. Nevertheless, no time to whinge - I staggered up to my drop bags for a fresh bottle, slurped back a caffeinated Endurance Tap gel to try to wake me up, and headed back out just 2mins before the starting gun for 7k/21k. That also meant Sue Sitki was back out and taking photos at the top of the first grassy hill.

You'd think all this fresh energy around me would help, but actually it ended up being a bit jarring as the flood of 7k & 21k runners bumped past me, some choosing to go by on my left despite me trying to stay the heck out of the way by hugging the leftmost side of the mowed trail

It was kind of cute when I ended up in a pack of 7k runners at the first big mud puddle in the woods: I saw them trying to pick their way 'round it, and told them there was no point - it would only get worse. Someone asked how I knew, so I told them I'd already been on course for more than 25 hours.

Then I went splashing right through the middle

My brain was definitely trying to check out on me by this point: I was feeling drowsy and lightheaded, and fighting to keep moving with less than a half marathon to go. My lower back was agonizing, and I had to repeatedly re-cue myself to straighten up and not slouch on the rail trail. I was still able to walk at about a 12min per kilometer pace there, but that dropped to 15mins per kilometer along the Spring Creek Trail as I minced my way down the hills and poled my way up. The additional runners on course had squished up Bumblebee Hill even more, making the footing more unstable even as I became less and less capable of dealing with a slip. 

This was still Saturday evening - I didn't have time to take my phone out on Sunday at all

I came through lap 21 - 147km - just seconds shy of 90mins, and was not at all sure I had two laps left in me. I tried to eat a cold brew coffee Gu Roctane (with double caffeine) gel, but it was so gross I could only get about 2/3 of it into to - Maryka was kind enough to take it away and dispose of it for me when I reached the start/finish area, which was finally starting to dry out in the hot sun. I trudged up to my stuff, and then salvation was offered: Heather asked if I'd like her to accompany me for the last two laps, and I eagerly accepted her generosity as I could barely trust myself to stay awake and moving by that point.

I swear my eyes are open, but I'm not sure I could have counted my legs

Heather quickly grabbed her phone and bag while I got a fresh bottle of water, and Race Director Jeff told me "Oh, you've got Heather pacing you - now you're invincible!" (Heather being his wife, who has paced him through more than a few 100 mile races). I smiled and slowly wandered off through the flags with her, feeling very vincible in spite of Jeff's assurances.

At 90mins per lap I was averaging just shy of 13mins per kilometer, and had just 3.5hrs to finish the final 2 loops/14km

I have no idea how Heather put up with me - I suppose having raised three babies of her own and living in a household with six children must have prepared her somewhat, as she dealt with my sniveling and whining with limitless patience, grace, and love. I greatly dislike who I became in those last hours: I behaved like a toddler who was badly in need of a nap and a snack - which was not entirely inaccurate, as I had now been awake for 30 hours and was having a bit of trouble getting food into myself, partly due to my stomach not feeling great and partly due to my teeth hurting from too much sugar. I whimpered endlessly about my sore feet and back, and voiced my doubts about me making it before the cutoff, while I munched a couple of gummy worms anyway.

Heather just kept reassuring me that I was moving well, and that I had time - she kept an eye on my pace so I didn't have to

She also gently coaxed me to find a rhythm on the rail trail, knowing it was the only place I could move anywhere near effectively. I tried to put my own advice - "if it hurts to walk, you might as well run" - into action, but I was just too destroyed to make it happen. 

This was the closest I could come, even on a downhill

Apart from my childlike whimpering, I became almost incommunicative - it was just too much energy to speak. When other runners would offer encouragement, I'd just manage to squeak out a "thank you"; I'm grateful that Heather was there to give the other participants a kind word in return, and to explain to a couple of horseback riders who asked if I'd hurt myself during the race that "Her body is just broken right now, but she's getting it done!" The riders made sure Heather was sticking with me (as I apparently looked in need of a guardian), then continued on their way. 

I wouldn't have believed that things could get worse, but the universe seemed to be throwing everything it had at me to keep me from finishing: a blister between my big toe and 2nd toe on my left foot suddenly inflated to the point it was shoving my toes apart, putting painful pressure on the blister itself. I nearly fell asleep almost every time I blinked, and my lower back was stabbing me with almost every step. I told Heather it would be all I could do to get through this lap, let alone another one - she assured me I was moving well, and that the last lap would let me say goodbye to all the bits of the course that had tortured me for almost 27 hours now.

Like the flinty rail trail with its stabby stones

She was messaging with Tank at the start/finish while I was out trudging, and asked him to have a bottle of water ready for me - when we approached, she ran ahead to grab it, taking my empty bottle from me so I could just cruise through the chute without stopping. Lap 22 - taking me to 154km - had been my slowest yet at 1h37m, and things were getting even worse. The left side of my groin had suddenly become painful at the turn-around, and I was already struggling with managing the pain I'd been dealing with for hours. This new damage, along with a brand new blister coming up on the outside of my left foot, almost completely overwhelmed me. Heather asked if I'd like her to come along for the final lap, and I gave an unequivocal yes: I'd never make it through on my own, and doubted if I could even manage it with her company.

Once again, she calmly reassured me that I had plenty of time - in reality, 1 hour and 55 minutes, which was not exactly a big cushion to work with, particularly as the first kilometer took me more than 18mins. I lamented that I'd time out and all this would be for nothing, but Heather was steadfast in insisting I had lots of time, and I'd get this done. One last splash through all the mud puddles on the Spring Creek Trail with my stomach growling from hunger, and one more Endurance Tap gel just to try to get some sugar and energy into me.

To deal with this one more time

(video by Heather)

I managed not to fall or drown in a puddle in the woods, then I was carefully inching my way up Bumblebee Hill for the 23rd and final time to the rail trail.

..which is not without its lovely views

I felt so weak, though - like my legs might just buckle at any point, and I'd land in a broken pile, unable to get up. I struggled to walk even on the rail trail now: the sun was overhead beating me down, though there were pockets of shade with a deliciously cool breeze. I pushed so hard to try to get into a stride, but nothing would respond the way I wanted; my body just seemed to be shutting down. I whimpered and whined so much that it's surprising Heather could stand me: fortunately she's the sweetest person alive, and instead of beating me to death with my own trekking pole, she continued to encourage me and tell me I was doing well, and had plenty of time to finish. With her help, I was even able to crank out one more 12-ish minute kilometer, but I ran out of water on my way up the rail trail - my throat so dry from all my useless crying and sniffling in the hot afternoon sun - and Heather even ran ahead to the spigot to refill it for me so I didn't have to waste precious seconds stopping. 

I'd swear that even the wildlife responded to her wonderful nature - deer began to appear everywhere on that last lap, including right at the rail trail above this sunny valley past Sulphur Springs Rd

I finally made the turn-around with about 30mins to go, and was certain I'd run out of time.

Of course, Heather was right there telling me I was doing fine

Heather also talked about "smelling the barn" - the effect at the end of a race when a runner knows they're nearly done, and begins to pick up speed as they come into the finish. I was too broken for that, though - there was just nothing left in me. I limped back to the trail centre with about 25mins to make the final kilometer, and even the little downhill past the spigot was a challenge to navigate - the big dip in the stone-strewn driveway was murderous, and I had to pull myself up the far side with my pole, my lats screaming with pain after poling my way along for the past 17hrs. Heather messaged Tank to let him know I was coming in, and to have my buckle ready for me; I dragged my destroyed carcass past the parking lot where we met Tina, who'd heard I was on my way and walked in with us. I managed not to trip over the speed bump, and agonizingly trundled down the paved hill to the final gravel climb to the field. Heather ran ahead again to film me coming in to the finish.

Looking like I'm propelled by broken clockwork

(that's my dear friend Nat who runs in behind me, finishing the 6 hour race)

Official time: 29h50m4s @ 11:07/km

7/7 Women - 12/12 Finishers (19 started)

(Official results are here - Garmin data is here)

If you wonder what I'm saying to Tank, I'll tell you, even though I do so with shame: he gives me my medal (which I didn't know I'd get) and I whine "You mean I don't get a buckle? After all that?" - he immediately reassured me that Jeff had it for me, then Byron got me a chair and I finally sat down. 

Apparently Tank and Jeff had discussed it, and Tank wanted Jeff to be the one to give me the buckle as we'd both been waiting almost 4 years for this to happen

With that, I finally stopped whingeing!

About damn time!

So I'd say that I made it by the skin of my teeth (which actually had more like a fur coat - one of my first priorities was to brush them), but it was truly more like the skin of my feet. I worked it out, and had I been just 3.7sec slower per kilometer (25.9sec slower per lap), I'd have missed the cutoff, though Jeff had said to Tank during the race that due to the conditions he'd honour anything under 31hrs as a finish.

I still had rather a large problem to deal with, though

I truly hate how slow I was, how close I came to missing the cutoff, and the sniveling wimp I became in the dying hours of the race. Had the mud not been so persistent - and my feet not been so destroyed as a result - I think I could have finished much sooner, particularly had I not tweaked my knee and back when the Sawmill Trail re-opened at midnight. 

I will say, though, that the 133km I was able to cover in the first 23h24m would have put me in podium position in the 24hr race.
Apparently I just ran the wrong event..

I am still ashamed of my behaviour in the last few laps: I came so close to quitting with 5 laps to go (which it turns out Rob, with whom I'd spent most of Lap 11, actually did), and on every lap thereafter. I hate that thoughts of turning before the actual turn-around even entered my head, and that I was such a trial to Heather's patience with my whining and negativity in the last 2 laps when she was just trying to help me finish.

The final lap took just shy of 1h45m - almost twice as long as my first loop

I am grateful to Matt for his company and help on my 14th lap - I wouldn't have made it through Sawmill without you, my friend, and I hope your achilles issue resolves soon!

I am thankful for Jesse's help during Tank's absence in the early hours on Sunday - I was not in a good mental place, and a friendly face was just what I needed then.

I was able to get my shoes off at the race site, but my ankles had swollen so badly it looked like I might have to cut off my socks and calf sleeves

I am grateful to Maryka for stepping in to assist with such kindness. Your gentle manner and quiet confidence were so helpful as my body and mind broke down, and it was lovely of you to put your incredible wealth of long-haul experience at my service.

I absolutely owe my finish to Heather - without you, I might still be a broken, crying heap of human remains asleep in a mud puddle now. I am sorry for all of my whining and negativity; it is a testament to what a wonderful person you are that you could take it all and offer nothing but sweetness, grace, and unshakeable confidence in return. I love you, and I'm beyond grateful to you for seeing me through both the worst part of the race and the worst part of who I am.

I wouldn't have this without so much help from wonderful, selfless friends

Most of all, I need to express my gratitude to my dear husband Tanker. I wouldn't have even made the starting line without his endless patience and faith in me, let alone sacrificing an entire weekend to stand around in a muddy field and wait for my cranky, smelly, increasingly short-tempered carcass to drag itself in to make demands for 2 minutes and then bugger off again for an hour or so. I'm sorry for all I've put you through - the stress and worry, the sleep deprivation, and my total lack of appreciation at the finish. I love you endlessly, and I do know how lucky I am to have you in my corner!

You're the best husband and crew I could ever ask for, and I appreciate all you do!

Of course, I'm also grateful to the amazing volunteers and organizers of Happy Trails for staging all this madness. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to test ourselves while surrounded by the love and positivity you all bring to these events!

I'm not necessarily happy with being DFL and so close to not finishing - sure the conditions were tough, but they were the same for everyone in the 100mi race, and most people who did it finished hours before me. However, it's telling that out of 19 people who started in the 100mi race, 7 dropped out between the end of their 9th to their 18th lap: that means more than a third of the folks who set off Saturday morning with high hopes of receiving a buckle did not finish at all. I was stubborn enough not to give up, despite it feeling like the universe was throwing everything it had at me to make me quit (the rain and resulting mud, my leaking bottle, the oppressive sun and heat on Sunday, and my destroyed feet and body)...though I'm not entirely sure that's to my credit; if I were a little less dumb, I might not have blundered on and sacrificed my feet.

I eventually got my socks and calf sleeves off, after soaking and swishing them in a bucket of cool water to help loosen them up.
Dealing with what I found inside them - without having slept, and still with an utterly broken and depleted body - was almost as difficult as the race itself, and I'd need strong antibiotics to fight the infection already beginning to set in.

I can't say I did it for any noble reason, either - I just didn't want all the pain I'd been through to be for nothing (again), or to have to explain to all the people I'd told that I was running 100mi that I didn't make it (again). Fear of failure is a powerful thing. Even with having (barely) finished, though, I rather question the validity of it: it was a pretty entry-level race to begin with, and then the re-route to even more rail trail made it more achievable yet. Especially with having just scraped in under the wire, I sort of feel like there ought to be an asterisk attached to my result, or engraved on my buckle. It does, however, feel a bit poetic that after my flaming DNF at Foxtail in 2019 I ended up getting it done on a course that was adjusted to be very Foxtail-like...hence my opening line about this maybe more appropriately being called TallyTail.

In any case, it took me til Thursday after the race before I could walk without a cane, and I had to wear Tank's sandals - 4 sizes too big for me ordinarily - until the swelling in my feet and ankles finally came down.

So much oozing and edema

It was Sunday before I was able to wear regular shoes and socks again, and Monday before I attempted a little bit of running on a hike in the woods.

I did get out on the ice for a little twirl Sunday evening, though just an open skills & drills session so I wouldn't have to push hard to keep up to anyone

So the TL;DR is I spent 30hrs playing in mud puddles and destroyed my feet, just barely making it in time to earn a fancy belt buckle after a monumental amount of help from really wonderful people and a bunch of whining.

..and I'm probably dumb enough to try it again sometime.

Now to see if I'm ready to get back in net this Sunday - wish me luck!