Dion Howlin' Husky Snowshoe Race - Saturday, February 22nd, 2020

The things I will do for a cute buff.

And a beautiful variety of trails.

With this race being more than 300km from home, we didn't want to rely on February weather being amenable for an early drive out, so we headed to Kingston straight from work on Friday evening and stayed in a hotel that night. You know you're in the classy part of town when the check-in desk has a prominently displayed sign reading "NO REFUND AFTER 15 MINUTE STAY".

As a place to sleep it was fine, but we tried to touch as few surfaces as possible.

Race day broke sunny but chilly and windy. We made our usual pilgrimage to the caffeinated shrine of T.Ho's, then headed out to the tiny town of Glenburnie to find MTB Kingston. We managed to totally miss the Dion Snowshoe Race Series signs at the entrance and had to pull a quick U-turn to hit the driveway, but we arrived in plenty of time. What was a little disconcerting was our approach: as we drove down a bumpy, icy laneway, I saw orange pin flags being whipped by the wind in the field to our left.

I was told there would be trails.

With the temperature hovering around -2c/28f but a windchill of -10c/14f, I rather rued my decision to eschew bringing a jacket. I had a wind vest, but I wasn't sure if it would be enough if we were going to be out in the open. The only other things I knew about the course were what Race Director Derrick Spafford had included in his pre-race email: it was approximately 6.5km long, over a "wide variety of terrain", and the final 100m would be up what he was referring to as "Spafford Sucks Hill". Before I got to any of that, though, I had to deal with the fact the parking area was on a huge sheet of ice!

View from where I clung to our car in an effort to stay on my feet.

Fortunately, I'd brought my spikes along in case it was deemed too little snow for a snowshoe race and became a trail run instead. I slipped them on, and suddenly the world was a much less terrifying place. I was able to say hello to a few friends who had turned up, pick up my race kit, flail my limbs around a bit, then head out for what we'll loosely term a "warm-up" on the wind-whipped field.

Howling blasts from the left.

I'd been telling Tanker for days that I wasn't sure how this one was going to go - I had been feeling a bit under the weather since The Flurry the week before, with some un-shakeable fatigue and a congested feeling in my throat and chest. I was tempted to just tourist this one by taking my phone along and taking photos, but then I thought I might as well give it my best whack and just see how things went. I did, however, take my phone out with me for my few minutes of warm-up.

Obligatory dorky selfie.

As the temperature had risen close to the freezing mark in the bright morning sun, I'd decided to go with just a wool shirt that I know is good at managing windchill and no woven layers. I knew once I was actually givin'er on course I'd be in more danger of overheating than freezing, but that didn't make it any easier to take my jacket off for the warm-up run!

I'm actually really glad I did run on the field a bit before the race itself, as there were a couple of different types of snow: most of it had a crust on top that was just barely enough to support the frames and decks of my snowshoes, so just my cleats would bite in, but there were some patches of softer snow into which I'd sink immediately. My warm-up gave me the chance to learn to read the snow conditions by sight, which would come in handy in the first part of the race.

Crusted snow and cleat marks

One last portajohn break - there were 2 on site, and with only 42 competitors plus a few volunteers there was never more than 1 person in line ahead of me, so no marking my territory like a dog before the race this time - then we headed over to the starting flags for some pre-race announcements. Spaff told us the course was actually 6.66km (man after my own heart!), and mentioned it was only the second year of the race, which is something I hadn't known. He also asked that we all give a big howl when the horn went to start Howlin' Husky off right!

I kept my jacket on until just seconds before the countdown, staying well at the back so no-one would step on it with the cleats of their snowshoes when I cast it off (Tanker had said he'd come and grab it, but wanted to head up a hundred metres or so to get photos of the start). With a 3-2-1-GO we were off, with at least some of us howling away!

I'm in the light teal at far right, doing my best wolf-at-full-moon impression

Spaff had told us the field would likely be the most difficult footing of the day, and I hoped he was right as it was TOUGH, particularly as the first section was straight into that nasty wind. Other racers had broken the crust of the snow up ahead of me, leaving me pitching wildly from side to side as my snowshoes sank into the soft snow beneath it. Nevertheless, I started to pass a few people right off the bat.

Making some headway

Moving up the conga line

The leaders in the photo above had just made the turn away from the wind to follow along the driveway, and the flags I'd originally seen on arrival. 

After passing through this gateway made of snowshoes in which I would never dream of attempting to run

While passing someone just past the oldschool snowshoe gateway, I realised that I was better off staying to one side of the main line of runners so I could run on snow with an unbroken crust, as it was still just barely stable enough to hold up under my weight (when distributed by the frames of my snowshoes). 

Bite marks from the cleats all over, but no real snowshoe-shaped prints

That went out the window when we'd hit a soft patch, though, where it was actually slightly better to follow in the tracks to try to find snow that had packed down a bit.

Soft patch where you can clearly see the prints from snowshoe frames and decking

After what felt like an eternity - and having to sternly tell myself that I was NOT PERMITTED to drop to a walk in the first, flat kilometer of this race - the course veered to the right away from the driveway (and the vicious crosswind) toward some trees.

*gasping*

Having passed a couple more people in the field, I fell into line behind a lady in a Paris to Ancaster jersey as we hit the trails.

Tailwind!

Much better!

Snow conditions on the trails were fantastic; plenty of snow cover, but nicely packed for the easiest running possible. The course marking was excellent, too - not only were there wire flags every 50 feet or less and directional arrows at key points, the few hazards on course had been marked quite zealously with bright trail tape.

Like these two trees forming a bit of a low bridge

..and this broken branch that could get a little handsy if you weren't careful.

The trails were beautiful with the sun beating down, even as we started to get into a bit of elevation change. Mostly just very gentle undulations to start, but anything other than a downhill feels difficult when running on snowshoes!

Singletrack through the trees

We had been told there were a couple of stream crossings, and the first one came up quite quickly.

I managed to dunk the tail of one of my snowshoes, then chuck water up the back of my leg & butt as I started running again.

The trail followed along the stream for awhile, giving us a lovely view that I was almost completely unable to appreciate on account of trying not to trip over my own feet, drop to a walk, or let my heart explode.

It was very pretty, though.

Over a short rise into the sun

I did manage to pass the lady in the P2A jersey for a bit, but as the course started to climb a bit she passed me back again. Sometimes you've got it - sometimes you don't. I was just happy to be out enjoying the sunshine, especially since the trees were blocking the wind!

The second stream crossing, in which I managed not to soak myself.

Well, not soak myself with the chilly stream water, anyway - I was feeling pretty solid about my decision to forego my wind vest, as I was already starting to feel like I was overheating a bit! I thought about trying to zip down my collar, but honestly it was taking everything I had to keep myself upright and moving forward. I was pushing as hard as I could, but felt like I was unable to access my real top end; I suspect the fatigue and congestion from whatever mild illness I'd been fighting off handicapped me, as my heart rate data shows I never quite reached the same level of suffering as the other two snowshoe races I'd done in the prior weeks.

Oh look - a downhill!

Happy for some gravitational assistance

We had been told we'd end up on the fat bike trails for a bit, and to watch for oncoming bike traffic - MTB Kingston is owned by a private landholder (Rob), who has mountain bike, snowmobile and nordic ski trails cut through the property, and offers access for a modest membership fee. The turn onto the fat bike trail was well marked, but also made me happy I had my ice cleats!

Ooh, shiny..

Into the trees

Spaff had warned us in the pre-race announcements that some of the footbridges over streams might be in need of repair, and maybe to take the precaution of walking them, especially if wearing snowshoes with longer cleats (like the ice cleats I was using). 

Not too worse for wear.

I completely and utterly failed to walk the bridges, waiting to be vaulted into the water below at any moment...but in a pleasant surprise, I actually stayed high and dry!

I'd rather just see the pretty stream, rather than bathe in it.

Speaking of "high", it was just after the bridge that we departed from the fat bike trails again for some singletrack, which was also one of the biggest climbs on the course.

Follow flags and arrows to the left

Neat sort of pump track up the hill

Into some switchbacks

Pretty bus EXHAUSTING

One last rise

Elevation for the course - the bridge was the bottom of the first dip.

While there wasn't really much climbing and descending - as you can see above - I was still having to walk the uphill bits and was losing touch with the lady in the P2A jersey as she steadily pulled away from me.

Another footbridge that I failed to walk  - I definitely trudged up the other side, though!

Softer snow made the small climbs even more challenging

Soon we found ourselves on the ski trails, running along the edge of a pine forest.

The shade was actually quite nice after the glare off the snow

A right turn into the forest brought us winding through a section with a much different character than the opening third of the race.

Wider open and flatter

Mildly undulating

Either my quarry was tiring or I had a bit more leg speed on this flatter section, as I managed to catch back up to the lady in the P2A jersey. Shortly thereafter, I had to once more thank my luck in having my ice cleats on my snowshoes - when the lady ahead went wide around a left-hand turn to avoid this sheet of glare ice, I took a more aggressive line directly across it and passed her on the inside.

I don't blame her for taking a safer routing, though!

With more flat trail ahead, I now had to try to hold her off...which meant just trying to keep my foot turnover up and get my Death Whistle™ under control as best I could, as I definitely did not have another gear at my disposal. 

My heart rate data - the first spikes are my limb-flailing and warm-up run, then the red section is the race.
Definitely pushing hard, but just not able to achieve as high a heart rate as the week before. 

Back into the sun

More gentle undulations

A bit of uphill again

An odd nearly-bare patch - the only spot on the course I noticed that didn't have full snow (or ice) coverage.

MTB Kingston certainly seemed to be a nice facility - apart from the variety of trails, there were some warming/time out huts along the way for either race marshaling or just a quick stop while out on a ride.

One hut seen here

The hut overlooked a frozen pond beside the trail

As usual, I was struggling with the flat terrain - I don't have the fitness on my best day for sustained snowshoe running, and this was definitely not my best day. I pushed as hard as I could to keep up a decent clip, though, as the footsteps of the lady in the P2A Jersey sounded very close in behind me.

My saviour - a downhill!

Neat old rear end of a classic car - it's clearly been used for some target practice 

Emerging from the woods

The course really is super well marked

Onto a wide laneway, it was time to cross that little creek one final time.

One last bridge that I totally failed to walk!

Beautiful day

A turn back onto the private property 

Wide open, flat and packed

All this variety already, and we're only about halfway through the race! I couldn't believe it either - my legs were seriously starting to mount a protest about all this abuse, and my lungs were ready to lead the revolt. I was still holding off the lady I'd managed to pass (again), but had no idea by how much.

Not sure what this was carved into - it seems to have broken off at some point

Such a lovely day to be in the woods!

Another warming/time-out hut

Emerging from the woods again

As I came through this section I caught up to two ladies and one fellow who'd been ahead of me the whole way so far, and actually managed to somehow pass them on a flat section. I gasped out  "good job" as I went by, and then it was into another distinctive portion of the course.

Hard right into a mild decline

Winding through some more open trail

A left-hander with some soft, energy-sucking snow

Suddenly wide open!

Coming into the open fields had two effects, the first of which was that we were instantly being whipped by the fierce, gusting wind once more. I was suddenly very happy I hadn't been able to spare the effort to zip down the collar of my shirt; I definitely wasn't overheating anymore!

Note the bend in the evergreen ahead

This was uphill, into the wind, and very soft - you better believe I walked it!

The other effect was that the course began to wind around through seemingly endless twists and turns in the wide open fields, across ridges and through shallow valleys. The effect was such that - middle of the pack as I was - I could see runners all around me, heading in almost every direction at once. I couldn't tell at all who was ahead of me, who was behind, or what kind of proximity I might be to any of them.

Along this ridge

Dip down and curve around

Map from my GPS watch - the section from 4k to 5k seemed much more convoluted on the ground!

Around another curve into the wind

Up the rise and curve to the right

The one nice part about all of this was that I would occasionally get a glance sort of behind me, just in my peripheral vision as I'd come around a bend - I could glimpse the two ladies I'd passed somewhere around 100 metres back, with the fellow that had been with them and the lady in the P2A jersey nowhere in sight. It seemed that even as I struggled and had to walk some rather mild rises, I was still outpacing the chase pack.

Coming through a right-hand turn and approaching the edge of what seemed to be a Christmas tree farm, I could see stepped hills stretching off into the distance ahead down a straightaway that was fortunately downwind, and some clearly much faster people beginning their ascent.

This looks exhausting, but at least uncomplicated.

Of course nothing could be so simple - as I progressed a bit further, the flags led me off to the right into the stands of pine saplings.

Full of surprises.

Follow to the left through the baby conifers

I continued to push to my limit as the trees got taller, trying to buy myself some more space between me and the racers behind me before I'd have to drop to a walk again to manage the hills to come.

*gasping*

Another right-hand turn brought me face to face with the stepped hills I'd seen in the distance, turning my legs to lead and forcing me to a walk.

Up we go

Just at the bottom of the final incline, though, another flag-lined curve to the right. As it flattened out, I managed to coax myself into a run - or something resembling it - once more.

I'll definitely take one less hill.

Skirting along the edge of the tree farm

Uphill past the interesting broken-off tree

This was about the highest point of the course, with a view for miles

Seeing 6km on my watch, I knew I had to be getting close to the finish, but I had no idea at this point how close in behind me the two ladies who were my current wolves might be. I knew to expect a sizeable hill before the end, but couldn't gauge how far away that might be. Snowshoes running and treadmill running have something in common: both seem to take an inordinate amount of time to cover any given distance compared to just regular, everyday running outside on a lovely day.

Through the gap in the fence and off to the left

More soft snow and uphill, which meant more walking

Walking and swearing I hear footsteps approaching from behind..

I was sufficiently motivated by trying to hold off my chasers that I actually managed to persuade my loudly-complaining legs to carry me up a very mild hill at a run.

This one

This was also marginally aided by the fact there were a couple of photographers there, and where possible I really try not to be photographed walking in a race.

Sucking wind

Really stark example of that weird turn out of my left leg

I resolved to keep running until I got past a couple of big berms up ahead - effectively until I was out of view of the cameras, and anyone behind me who might smell blood.

Not gonna say I wasn't tasting pennies..

Rounding another corner or two and looking uphill, I could see what looked like a farmhouse ahead - with the distance I was seeing on my watch, I didn't think I'd quite reached Spafford Sucks Hill (which we'd been told would be the last 100 metres to the finish), so permitted myself to walk this one. I desperately needed some recovery if I was going to try to run the whole final hill..

Less a power hike than a waddle

Turning right, I saw a sharp downhill with some soft spots of snow, but figured I'd go for it anyway. If I bailed, at least I ought to have a soft landing, right?

I probably wouldn't die.
Probably.

This is way steeper than it looks.

Definitely the fastest I'd moved all day!

Reaching the bottom of the valley - fortunately still upright - I spotted a left hand turn..

Time to try to get the legs under control

Then - at long last - I was face to face with it.

Mrph

Nothing else for it - I leaned forward, and just concentrated on driving my knees up, one step at a time. By halfway I felt like I was digging my own grave with every step; the Death Whistle™ was in full effect, and I could feel the oxygen debt accumulating in my screaming legs.

View from halfway up - coincidentally showing the 4 people I managed to pass on the trails

I kept trying to turn my feet over, able to see the big red inflatable finish arch through the trees as I gasped my way up the hill. A volunteer at the top shouted encouragement to which I had no heckin' chance of responding - I was just a pair of tortured legs, without enough air to even keep my brain functional.

Yeah, I know - how could anyone tell, right?

The finish line was beside the big quonset hut garage

You had to cross the plowed pathway just visible here, then jump back up 6" or so onto the crusty snow

Trying not to die

The finish arch with the Snowshoe Canada flags.
The entire Dion series received endorsement from the national organization in 2020

Of course, my clumsy arse almost fell as I struggled my way up the hill, catching the toe of one of my snowshoes on the crusted snow and nearly pitching over.

BASKET CASE INBOUND

With a bit of luck, I made it up and across the line without tumbling or actually having my heart or lungs literally explode.

Just barely.
Note that Spaff - at right - hung out by the arch to watch the suffering he'd imposed on us all!

Official time: 46:42 for 6.66km @ 7:01/km

17/42 O/A - 5/20 Women - 3/16 Masters Women (40+)

(Official results are here and here)

(Garmin workout data is here)

Despite not being able to push as hard as I felt I should be able, I am certain I squeezed out every ounce of effort I had in me on the day. The conditions were variable, and the sun and near-freezing-mark temperatures combined to make the snow particularly sticky on the steel of my ice cleats.

A lovely little ice ball built up underfoot, which also meant I was carrying even more weight!

We'd been warned there wouldn't really be any indoor facilities for post-race, but as promised there was a roaring fire in a barrel to ward off the chill once I had walked around a bit and was finally able to breathe like a normal human again.

At least I could do one thing like a normal human.

There was also an enormous spread of food inside the quonset hut garage, which was also delightfully warm - the sun shining through the glass of the bay doors created a greenhouse-like effect which meant I felt no need to change out of my wet clothing.

Lots of snacks, and a most welcome urn of coffee.

This being the final race of the series, there were cinnamon bun pull-apart cakes with photos from the other races stuck into them as a season wrap-up celebration. There were definitely some familiar faces in some of the photos as I'd done 3 out of the 6 races for 2020.

Tank spotted a really dorky looking one, too..

Given that I hadn't had my best day, I was most surprised to discover that - due to the small field and no duplication of the overall awards - I'd actually been awarded 1st Masters Female! 

Getting my prize package from Spaff during the award ceremony.
Yep, back in my spikes again, though a lot of the ice was starting to melt.

An adorable medal, a tubular neck gaiter, and a pair of wonderfully warm fleece socks handmade by Spaff's mom!

Happy dork!

There was a huge variety of draw prizes, too, culminating in a draw for a pair of Dion racing snowshoes. Out of the whole 42 person field there were only a handful who walked away without some sort of prize, on top of the super cute buff for which I'd come in the first place!

Having spent an hour or so milling around after the race and at the awards ceremony, I cleared it with Spaff to head out for another lap of the course (just in my spikes this time) so I could get most of the photos seen in this post, as well as getting a double run day in for the 100 runs in 100 days challenge. Spaff - who recently celebrated 11,000 consecutive days of running (more than 30 years!) and received a special presentation from Jack Judge at the end of the awards ceremony that day - totally understood.

The wind had got even worse, so the vest went on this time.
I was even slower, too!

It was such a fun day - I've had a blast at every snowshoe race I've done, and while Howlin' Husky was the smallest yet, I really hope more people will come out to support and grow this awesome event in the future.

Of course, it can't all be sunshine and medals - we stopped for lunch at the Flying J in Napanee, and our car's ignition cylinder tumblers went to heck. We couldn't turn the key to start the car, so we had to call for a tow; fortunately CAA was able to upgrade our coverage for $25 so the whole 298km trip to our dealership would be covered, rather than charging us hundreds of dollars for the extra mileage past the 200km our then-current package offered.

Also a good thing we made it to Napanee before the problem occurred, as the race site would even have been beyond the 320km the upgraded package covers.

With the time spent waiting for the tow truck, then the trip to Cambridge (with one single stop to stretch our legs, use the washroom, and refill our water bottles), it was well past 9pm by the time we dropped the car off at the dealership...only to have to walk a couple of blocks up to the terminal to catch a city bus home, with all our bags of gear from the stay in the hotel and the race.

At least we had warm clothes for the walk, and had just had a big meal before we had to call for the tow.

When all was said and done, it was 10pm before we got home - having left Friday morning - so I could finally get a shower and try out my wonderful new fleece socks. 

Sure seems like an awful lot of fuss for a cute buff, no?

But I totally wore it to run to the grocery store on Sunday.