Having done some experimenting through this horrible mess of icy bullcrap they're trying to pass off as "winter" here, I'm now pleased to bring you an authoritative guide to footwear options for running in all seasons.
Wherever you may choose to roam
Yeah, 'cause I'm definitely a trustworthy authority. Please don't go do anything silly based on this.
Racing flats:
These are your slicks. They're all about speedspeedspeed with minimal lugs and generally a thinner midsole to save weight. These are basically strictly for good road conditions only.
Your classic Mickey Thompsons
Road shoes:
What we have here is your summer tire. It's got a bit of lug for traction, but the most you're driving through is a campground road (or running on rail trail). You can get away with running in road shoes in the winter better than rolling on summer tires, but in sketchy conditions you're still asking for trouble.
Trail shoes:
Now we're into all-season tires. Heavier lugs mean you'll get around, though there may be some wheel spin here and there.
*NOTE* It's probably best not to try chopping doughnuts in a parking lot.
Now you have the additives, specifically for tough conditions.
Like icy trails
Yak Trax / slip-on-spikes / screw shoes:
These are your winter tires. You can cruise on snow and some icy spots without issue, but on solid ice, deep snow or a mixture - like the lovely layer of ice pellets covered by a crust of freezing rain that hit many parts of Ontario this week - you can still run into trouble.
These will take you almost anywhere
Now here's the thing - while I'm pretty happy with screw shoes and my slip-on spikes (the kind I have - shown in the top left photo above - are these), they're not a perfect solution. I chronicled my frustrations with my slip-on spikes coming off my shoes - or out of position - during The Beav 50k last November. While running up or down hills on solid ice, I have experienced some slipping...which is not a wonderful feeling. I also have to be careful when cornering or on side slope in the slip-on spikes, as their contact patch under my foot is quite narrow. If I end up with more of my weight toward the edge of my shoe, I no longer have spike biting into the ice.
Though with caution they can make road shoes a viable option in icy conditions.
Since I made my own screw shoes (here's an excellent tutorial), I was free to choose a pattern that allowed greater edge traction.
I'm only really limited by the positioning of the lugs, as I need the extra sole thickness to keep the threads from poking into my foot.
However, if there's a layer of snow on top of the ice, the low-profile heads of the sheet metal screws can fail to make sufficient contact. Furthermore, in very cold conditions on solid ice, the screw heads may simply not be able to bite into the ice enough to provide grip.
They also can't be quickly moved from shoe to shoe.
I don't like to run in the same kicks 2 days in a row.
Yaktrax are even worse than either of the above in all respects (except ease of moving between different pairs of shoes). Frankly, I don't use them, and don't recommend them after seeing the results of other people using them.
If you're really serious about traction for winter - especially if you'll be traipsing off into the woods - you need to get yourself some microspikes.
Don't be like all those people leaving the slide marks!
Microspikes:
These things are tire chains for runners. Ain't nothing gonna stop you! While the "real" ones are made by Kahtoola, I use a (much cheaper) knock-off pair I got here.
With 19 large steel points per shoe and a stretchy rubber-ish framework that surrounds your shoe, they solve the issue of the slip-on spikes coming off and of being able to bite into ice through a layer of snow.
Much more aggressive than screw shoes or the slip-on spikes
They can shift around a bit, but the rubbery frame keeps them quite secure
Tuesday's dump of snow, then ice pellets, then freezing rain forming a layer of ice on top would have been a nightmare with anything less. Breaking through the icy crust into the ankle-deep soft layer below would have stripped my slip-on spikes off me in moments, and the screw shoes simply wouldn't have been able to keep up. As it was, I was able to run confidently...if not entirely pleasantly, as I was being whipped in the face by strong winds and freezing bloody rain.
Not an especially fun experience.
Alternatively, you could just snowshoe run...which is basically the equivalent of giving up on the car entirely and just hauling out the sled.
If you can't beat 'em..
Or, I suppose you could just stay inside or something weird like that...but what fun would that be?
Because of this - and only having snowshoes appropriate for hiking - I haven't really done any. In fact, I'd run a total of about 60 metres (being thoroughly gassed by that point) in my hiking snowshoes before I decided to sign up for a snowshoe race. I figured I'm a fitter runner now than I was, and I could always just walk it if I had to - it was only 7km. That was back at the end of October, when I snagged the last spot in the Dion Winter Goose Chase. While there had been many pairs of Dion running snowshoes available for rent, they were long spoken for by the time I signed up. I figured I'd just get by with what I had - I was just going out for giggles anyway, since I'd heard this was a really fun event.
Lots of people got to race in the rental shoes, though you did have to sign up early.
Months went by, and there was no snow. On the couple of occasions we did have some, I either couldn't get out on it before it melted, or it was so bitterly cold and miserable out that I was literally afraid of frostbite from the pressure of the bindings on running shoes - I'd only ever worn hiking or snow boots with them in the past.
To the point I only felt safe running laps around my office building.
A howling blizzard with 70kph wind gusts and 12" drifts was maybe not the best test.
I managed 4km in 30mins on the Monday of race week, and was thoroughly bushed from it - I'd had to stop a few times to catch my breath. While definitely lighter, the Evas still felt like cinderblocks on my feet, making my hip flexors protest quite a bit. They were also still wide enough that I gave myself a nasty bruise on the inside of my right calf, and long enough that I'd catch the tail of one snowshoe with the front of the other when cornering hard. They were amazing to walk in, as I discovered while cooling down after the run - very springy and fun, with good float and grip - but for running they were still not ideal.
I'd heard about Dion snowshoes for years, and have friends who own pairs and love them. They're designed specifically for running, with a modular system of frames, bindings and cleats to adjust to various situations (ice/deep snow/different footwear). Tank urged me to pull the trigger on a pair so I could have the best race experience possible, and also a pair to use for running moving forward - it's not like I don't run snowy trails all winter anyway, and the cleats provide better grip than screw shoes or my slip-on traction aids. So, having spoken with the Canadian retailer for Dion about needing them in time for the race, he agreed to send them Xpresspost so I'd have them by Friday.
Canada Post had other ideas.
GAAAHHHHHH
They sat for THIRTY HOURS of their supposed 2 business day shipping time before leaving the receiving post office. I figured I'd just run in the foamies, but decided to let the retailer know that he should place a claim for a refund with Canada Post as they failed to meet guaranteed delivery. He messaged me back to say that he'd spoken with Race Director and amazing runner/snowshoe running badass Lisa Leskien, and she'd agreed to let me borrow her personal pair for the race! Having known Lisa for a few years now, I wasn't surprised by her generosity - she's always been a wonderfully kind and giving person, even while dominating the competition on the trails - but I was humbly grateful for it. I did have concerns about the possibility of damaging her snowshoes, though; I'm no lightweight, and I know she uses them for serious racing. When I messaged her to say thank you but politely decline, she basically insisted I use them so I could have the best possible racing experience..and also mentioned any damage would be taken care of (as she's a Dion sponsored athlete), if I could manage to inflict any at all on the tough construction of the shoes.
Well, what can you possibly say to that?
I'm not at all used to Sunday races - I feel like they give me too much time to self-sabotage on Saturday. I ran 10km of lumpy, snowy, frozen trail to the market on Saturday morning, and it felt awful.
That rain - and the rise above the freezing mark - had me seriously wondering what snow conditions would be like for the race...to say nothing of what my legs would be like. Oh, and how the spicy Thai sausage dinner I'd made us on Saturday night would sit while redlining my heart rate.
He knows all my bad decisions, and still somehow has faith in me anyway.
No way to find out other than to show up, right? I did my usual pre-race taping of my bad ankle, bowl of oatmeal and stop at T.Ho's for coffee, though a little later than usual due to the welcome 10:30am start time. We arrived at beautiful, snow-covered Shade's Mills Conservation Area with plenty of time, and Lisa handed her snowshoes over right away - before I even managed to pick up my race kit, which included a slick ceramic mug, some samples of Clif nutrition (gel and blocks), and a commemorative card with the race logo with a place to record your time.
The snowshoes were super slick - incredibly light, and much narrower and shorter than my foamies. Actually half the weight of them!
Then I looked more closely, and got a little nervous..
Totally appropriate for their owner, but how was I going to live up to that?
After my usual flaily warmup, I headed outdoors to give the Dions a try - just a couple of minutes of gentle running to try to get my legs used to the idea of moving, and see how the shoes felt. They were very confidence inspiring! Super light, but with some nice float in the moist, packable snow, and definitely narrow and short enough not to interfere with my natural stride.
Definitely a far cry from the foamies
I might not totally suck at this!
Soon after, we headed down to the beach for some pre-race announcements, and I took an Endurance Tap gel to try to give me a boost and ward off the hunger I was starting to feel. Fortunately the freezing rain they'd predicted was holding off, and sine I found some friends were doing the race there was some inevitable clowning around before the start.
Wheeee!
Surprisingly enough, though, I didn't take my phone out on course.
We were told that the snow on the beach was a bit deep, but things got better packed down as we moved into the forest...except in a couple of lesser-used places on the course, which had actually measured 6.5km that morning. The Goose and Gander - usually last year's male and female overall winners, though this year some substitutions were required - made their way to the front in their black jerseys bearing either Goose or Gander on the back, and moments later we all set off to chase them.
The Gander in hi-viz short sleeves
The Goose up front in all black
I figured that was the last I'd see of her before the post-race brunch
As you can see we kicked up one heck of a snowstorm in the un-packed snow at the start line, though it tapered off as the crowd started to stretch out a bit.
Some of us taking a moment to ham it up a bit while passing a camera.
I anticipated I'd have well-packed trail to look forward to, as I expected I'd be toward the back of the pack of runners, though the people wearing snowshoes clearly designed for hiking (some even bigger than my Atlases) and one fellow optimistically clad in jeans made me think I probably wouldn't come in dead last. I was quite surprised, though, to find myself picking people off steadily as we made our way along the first trail, across the bridge, and into the woods.
Lifted from Lisa's instagram - shot from when she was out marking the course
I'm not going to lie - I felt like my heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest, and I was well aware that I'd done nothing but slow-and-steady trail and ultra racing for the past few years.
Would I blow up and end up walking it in?
The opening kilometer plus of the course is mainly flat, then you start to get into some climbing and descending just after a mile in.
Elevation profile from my Garmin - we didn't actually fall off a small cliff at the start, though
I found the Dions gave reassuring grip on the wet snowpack in all directions, though the snow itself was slowing and fatiguing me severely - I was already death whistling not even 15mins into the hour I expected to take. By 2.5km in I was having some vague unease from my digestive tract, and I wondered if my decisions to eschew bringing any water along (and eat spicy Thai sausage the night before) might cause me grief. This was far too short and high octane an event to pop a squat in the woods!
Not to mention far too pretty a place to befoul.
Fortunately as I pressed onward - having to walk the climbs to keep my heart from actually exploding - things settled down a bit and I was able to focus completely on pushing myself to run as much as possible. I'd passed the last person around 3km in and caught fleeting glimpses of someone ahead, but didn't seem to be able to gain on them at all. I was all alone for several minutes, and was forced to walk some flatter ground that had much deeper and less-packed snow than most of the course. I pushed myself back into a run as soon as I could, though, knowing that someone could easily be gaining on me.
The winding trails don't give much opportunity to sight ahead or behind.
As I power hiked up a hill, though, I started to draw nearer to someone ahead all in black. I was incredibly surprised to discover GOOSE in white block letters on their back! It would seem today's Goose had a stomach bug, and it was hampering her rather significantly - poor girl was fighting hard, though! I passed her around the 4k mark, and was passed back again a little while later. Finally, as we neared the end of the loop on the East side of the bridge, she stopped for a moment and I passed her for good.
This is actually the entrance to the East woods, but you can see a little bit of the exit at bottom left.
Back across the bridge and then up the biggest climb in the park - a winding, multi-stage ascent that every past Conquer the Canuck racer knows all too well.
Fortunately, you get most of that elevation back.
Knowing this section from years of hiking, mountain biking, cross-country skiing and running at Shade's Mills, I was able to adjust my effort pretty well to the rolling terrain in the highest elevation portion of the park - advantages of a home-town race. I couldn't see anyone ahead of or behind me, but knew I had to keep the pedal to the floor as I was into the last kilometer or so. I also knew that Tank had been stationed as a course marshal at the road crossing with 200m to go, so I had to last at least that long before I blew up!
Which might prove difficult, as I was already ready to lay down and die.
Eventually, I found my way to the winding downhill to the road, yelling at Tank that I had actually managed to pass the Goose! He gave me an encouraging holler and enthusiastic ring of his cowbell, snapping a couple of photos as I passed.
Almost looking like I know what I'm doing!
Another flat section through pine forest, I tried to give a bit of a kick but don't think I managed to accelerate at all. Within a few moments, though, I spotted the finish line and gasped and wheezed my way across it.
To a friendly cheer from the competitors who had already finished.
I thanked Lisa profusely at the finish for the loan of her snowshoes, asking her half-jokingly if she'd loaded them up with nitrous - I had blazed past all my expectations for the day! It certainly would have been a very different event for me had I raced in my big, bouncy foamies instead. The best was really yet to come, though: after enjoying - if one can call the lung-searing, leg-burning venture I'd just been through enjoyable - the gorgeous and challenging trails, there were still the post-race festivities!
A lovely bonfire to warm up by
And an INCREDIBLE pancake brunch!
If there is one reason for anyone - and I mean ANYONE - to do this event, it would be the pancake brunch. I've never seen such a spread at anything under ultra-distance races, and even most of those would be put to shame! They had gluten free pancakes, prepared so as to avoid cross-contamination (which meant I could actually have some!), as well as regular and vegan pancakes as well. To top them they had loads of maple syrup, whipped cream, fresh fruit (blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and bananas), Nutella, and even a small crock pot full of homemade blueberry syrup! To make things even more accommodating, there was delicious French vanilla almond-based creamer for the coffee, so I could have a hot post-race beverage. Lisa and her wonderful crew of volunteers had everything operating seamlessly; there was no reason for anyone to feel left out, and the whole morning was perfectly organized while still having a fabulous low-key vibe to it.
Everyone enjoying pancakes in the Nature Centre post-race.
I got the shock of my life once the award ceremony began, though. I was just hanging at the back of the crowd with Tanker and Ron, chatting and cheering for the award winners, when they announced the Women 39 and Under winner...and Ron turned to me, as I stood there clapping obliviously, and said "That's you!"
WHAAAA...?
Turns out there's no duplication of awards, and the overall women's winner was the only one in my age group to beat me. So, I got a lovely prize with the cute snowshoeing Canada goose race logo on it!
Everyone else looks all professional accepting their award with a handshake or whatnot,
then there's me.
Who knew?
So I guess it turns out I still know how to push a little in a short race, and there's definitely something to these Dion snowshoes after all! I'm so glad I decided on a whim to grab that last spot in the race those months ago; even had I come in dead last it would have been a super fun way to spend a winter day.
Of course, after that kind of exertion I went home and took the rest of the day off..
Pfft - as if. I actually went and did another 5k of road running in the mild air, enjoying not wearing a jacket as I splashed through the slush!
Then Tanker brewed me up an excellent cup of coffee in my new mug.
Cheers!
And, of course, my own spanky new set of Dion 120 Laser LITEs showed up on Monday...just as the snow melted past the point of being able to use them. Hopefully we get another good dump soon (though not for our commute, please) so I can see if Lisa really did put boosters on hers for me, or if they're just that awesome!
You all know I'm a weirdo, but I'm going to tell you something that will prove it.
Don't worry - there will also be some photos that highlight the beauty of winter to distract you from my idiocy
I have this habit when I'm running - it's been happening for years, and I don't seem to be able to stop or control it.
I count.
Deep breath, 'cause it gets weirder.
I count to 100, over and over again.
Look - pretty snow and blue sky and sunshine.
It lines up with the timing of my footfalls, but I don't count each step - it's usually either every 2nd, 4th or 8th step.
Some of which are heavier - and more difficult - than others.
It's not an intentional act; I've never once said to myself "let's start counting". As a matter of fact, it happens so unconsciously that I'll just be out there boppin' along and suddenly realise I'm already at 42.
I told you it was weird. Here's some singletrack along the Grand River.
I haven't listened to music on training runs in many years. I used to love my mp3 player - nothing like some punk rawk, metal or industrial to keep the legs ticking over when you're feeling a bit ragged - but when I started to run again after an injury (and almost a month off) somewhere around February 2012 I decided it would be better to listen to what my body was telling me than to some hard, crunchy beats. I was only running for a few minutes at a time to begin with, anyway - hardly worth it to get headphone wires sorted through winter clothing for a measly kilometer.
Not to mention that winter running surfaces can be a little...uncertain.
Without music, I was better able to tune in to what my body was telling me. I could also spend time alone with my thoughts, processing things that needed working through or simply taking in the world around me as I plodded through it.
There's so much beauty out there, if you take a moment to look and appreciate it.
Somewhere along the way, my brain decided I wasn't giving it enough to do, and started to count. Not in a meaningful way - I have to focus very hard to come up with an accurate number of anything, as I'll automatically reset at 100 if I let my mind wander at all. I did manage to count my steps over distance on a rail trail with kilometer markers one time (about 1,400 per kilometer, in case you wondered - my stride is short, choppy and awkward), but it took an immense effort. The background-noise counting endlessly from 1 to 100 is so effortless I seldom notice myself starting it at all.
Seriously.
While it's not purposeful, that's not to say it's completely without purpose: over the years I've actually discovered that it's a pretty solid barometer of how I'm feeling on that particular run.
Especially when doing something weird, like running around 1 city block in extreme cold and blowing snow.
While I say I count from 1 to 100, sometimes it's actually the opposite - counting down from 99 to 1, then starting over again. I never make a conscious choice as to whether or not I'm going to count up or down; the difference maker is my mindset in the moment.
Stay with me here..
If I'm counting up from 1 to 100, I'm generally feeling pretty good about the run.
If I'm counting down from 99 to 1 - or worse, sometimes it's just from 20 to 1 over and over - I'm having an awful time and can't wait to be done.
Like maybe I'm being whipped in the face and blinded by snow driven by 63kph/39mph wind gusts.
It can actually surprise me to find that my brain is doing the opposite of what I'd expect. If I'm having a lousy day and generally feeling crotchety or depressed, I'll sometimes find myself counting up...which tells me that while I might be hating life, I'm not actually hating that run. I expected that last night's outing at -20c/-4f with -30c/-22f windchill would have had me counting down, just trying to get my sore, tired legs to crack out a minimum-time-and-distance slog to qualify for the 100 runs in 100 days challenge. Imagine my shock to find myself ambling along quite happily, with my internal counter ticking ever upward.
I ended up even frostier than I did the day before in sunlight at -18c, but was happier doing it.
Another nuance that tells me how well or poorly I'm doing is how many steps my mind chooses to let pass for each increment. Generally the better I feel, the lesser the frequency of the count - I'll only count every 4th, or even 8th footfall.
If I notice I'm counting down by 1 every time my left (or right - I don't necessarily seem to have a preferred foot as a trigger) foot hits the ground, it's generally a very poor outing indeed.
Sometimes all the sunshine in the world won't help.
So that's my weird little habit. I've heard vague tales of other people counting to 100 repeatedly in their heads while training, so maybe it's not just me - are you a counter too? Or do you have some other strange/interesting habit while you train? Let me know in the comments; in a winter that's doing some very odd things (from hovering near -20c to a predicted high of 4c two days from now), let's celebrate our weird!
And make some snow angels before it all turns to slush!
