The Flurry 8k Not-a-Snowshoe Trail Race - Saturday, February 18th, 2023

Snowshoe races basically need 3 ingredients: the snowshoes themselves, people weird enough to try to run in them, and some manner of snow-covered surface on which to stage the whole business.

One of these was severely lacking

There was an abundance of ice from the freezing rain storm that had blown through late Thursday, the accretion from which had persisted through to Saturday morning.

Which did, admittedly, look pretty as we drove down.

I'd been a little later than usual with my pre-race bowl of oatmeal (7.45-ish), but we were out the door by 8am to grab Tank some breakfast and make the bit-less-than-an-hour trip down to Marydale Park in Mount Hope. I hadn't even brought my snowshoes with me, but I did bring spikes to help with traction on the ice, and hoped I wouldn't get bonked in the head by too many falling frozen chunks as the sun and wind worked on the tree branches above the course.

As we approached, though, I saw less and less ice coating the trees along the road. Had the storm bypassed Mount Hope, or had the weather been milder since? All I could see when we arrived was a dusting of snow on the grass and a sunny blue sky.

It would have been a lovely day, were it not for the powerful, bitter wind.

I picked up race kit and chatted with a few people, including Race Director Jeff who let me know there was very little ice out there, and it could mostly be avoided. It seemed my spikes would stay in their bag and I'd rely on my shoes alone to keep me upright, which left only one thing to be determined:

How stupid did I want to get?

So here's the thing about snowshoe racing: it's hard. Like REALLY hard. The slightest hill becomes a giant mountain, and even trying to keep yourself from dropping to a walk (or into a gasping heap on the ground) on the flats can be a challenge. Since this would just be a trail race, I had the option to just meander along as I usually do, walking all the hills and wherever else I pleased, shooting some photos and generally just lazing my way around the two 4km loops for which I'd signed up.

Or, I could try to actually race this thing.

I decided to go for a warmup run - something I never really do outside of snowshoe races, which are short enough to warrant it. See, when you run ultras, you sort of get into the habit of just trotting off from the start and letting the first few kilometers (or possibly hours) act as your warmup. I rarely feel good off the start of a run, but after 5 or 6 kilometers I've more or less figured out how my legs work again, and can comfortably amble along. With only 8km total, it seemed like I ought to be a little more on the ball when the gun went off, so around 9:30am (with half an hour to go until the start), I went gamboling out into the wind to see whether anything about me would agree to go fast.

The results were not exactly promising.

The wind was a physical force gusting across the open field - shoving me around as I tried to persuade my legs to perform something more akin to a running stride than their usual shambling gait. 

Sue used me as a test subject for her initial setup - not exactly gazelle-like

I didn't look at my watch, buried as it was under my thumbhole-locked-down sleeve; I just tried to run some of the junk out, sticking to the paved pathways in a bit of a loop before heading back to the heated building.

I got a look at the convoluted finish chute as I ran past

The whole business lasted less than 5 minutes, and had kind of made me give up on any further attempts at "fast". I figured I'd just keep my phone in my pocket and take some photos, and see if I could bring it in under an hour. I ate an Oreo, because I swear cookies are about 90% of the reason I run at all, and with 3 minutes to the start Race Director Jeff yelled at us all to go outside to the start line.

I got a kiss from Tank, lined myself up somewhere not-exactly-back, and when Jeff said go...I did.

Always interesting to see the different approaches people take to dressing for a cold, windy, but sunny day

Unable to stick to my convictions one way or another, I was trying to take photos and trying to run fast. 

It was sort of working

I passed a few people on the paved paths - being careful on the couple of patches of very slick ice - and headed into the trails via a different route than that to which I was accustomed.

The usual trail was closed for environmental regeneration, possibly required after a few years of the Sunburn Solstice Trail Run tearing it up

Instead of turning left after the gate, we continued straight on, curving to the right on a groomed gravel path.

A bit more snow on the ground in the shady spots

Right turn before the dock to hit the trail along the lake that forms most of the course.

I was surprised to see open water, but not surprised by Sharon & Nelson ripping past me

Race Director Jeff had been right about the lack of ice, but had lied through his teeth about the course being sheltered from the blustery wind. It came whipping along the lake shore, the bare deciduous trees offering almost no resistance as we pushed ourselves into it.

As if I needed any further impediments

There was even more open water visible as the trail came down right to the edge of the lake, the wind stirring its surface into tiny whitecaps as the blinding sun gleamed off the rotting ice.

Anyone for a dip?
Thought not

Passing the 1k mark, I wondered how long I'd be able to hold on at my current effort level. At least the course so far had been mostly downhill or flat; I knew there were hills to come, and I had no idea what my legs might actually be capable of.

It's not that I never run up hills, but it's certainly not something I do with much focus or frequency

It was around this time I decided I'd put my phone away, as I was struggling enough without adding the effort or complexity of juggling it while trying to keep my lungs from exploding. I did actually run up the hills, huffing and puffing like some sort of deranged big, bad wolf in the mood for bacon.

Mmm...baaaaaaaacon..

I started on the out-and-back section of the trail - a little more than 1.5km in - just as what appeared to be the lead pack of men were headed out through the gate to finish their first lap. The whole "fast" thing was definitely not happening for me, but I figured I might as well keep givin'er and see what I had in the tank, while still trying to offer a kind, encouraging word to the others I met on course.

The out-and-back section probably had more ice than anywhere else on the trail, and the two-way traffic made it a bit more challenging to avoid, but fortunately I neither slipped nor collided with anyone. I got to the turn-around up on top of a hill overlooking the west end of the lake at Tyneside Road, did my little loop around the garden, then plunged back into the trail to do the hills the other way.

I even ran up the stupid switchback-y one

I made an attempt at the steep hill on the way back to the turn-around, but my legs - already burning from the preceding efforts - outright refused. I trudged up, breaking into a trot again once it leveled out on top, at nearly 3.5km. Down the hill on the far side and across the wooden footbridge, then up another climb to the gate into the field.

In another diversion from the traditional Sunburn Solstice course, we had to do an extra section across the open field to make up the distance for the closed section of trail. Instead of heading toward the finish chute from the gate, we veered right, just touching the paved path and then rambling off across the grass toward the lake.

Playing follow the flags

Now, when I say "grass", what I mean is a collection of frozen clumps all hunkering at ground level, absolutely ravening to destroy an ankle or two.

Just what I needed

Crossing the field, I came to a familiar break in the tall marsh grasses and an arrow directing me across the little wooden bridge.

We'd done this bit in the other direction in last year's edition of The Flurry

Then, the real kicker: a long climb on that same lumpy, frozen grass up toward the buildings and the start/finish area.

I have no idea how I forced myself to run up this, though the word "slowly" is probably the best summary

Through the weird, switchbacked chute, under the arch, then back out for loop number two.

Lap 1: 25:11 @ 6:18/km

I actually had an unpleasant moment or two as I headed outbound on the paved pathway: remember how I'd eaten my breakfast a little later than usual? I generally like to finish up around 3hrs before the race start, to give full digestion time. It had only been a little more than 2 hours this morning, and I was working a lot harder than I generally do. My oatmeal - along with my pre-race Oreo - were making a bid for a second showing, while I tried to balance the twin challenges of maintaining a hard run and abstaining from decorating the course.

At least the sun had melted the ice on the path

I was fortunately successful in my containment, and soon the urgency of the issue passed, leaving me to concentrate on squeezing another lap out of my protesting legs and lungs. A fair bit of other ice had melted on the course, though the low-lying and shady spots were still somewhat treacherous. 

The ice was a bit thicker here due to flooding

The death whistling had started as I trundled up the ramped beginning of the finish chute, and continued throughout the whole of the second lap. I unzipped the collar of both my vest and shirt to dump some heat, and regretted wearing one of my favourite ultra sports bras: it's nice and secure, and usually leaves me chafe-free after long races, but its thick band around my chest felt very constrictive as I fought for breath. 

I was clinging to my pace by my fingernails

Through the turn-around once more, I thought for a few moments that I was being chased by a Canada goose - I'd heard flocks of them flying overhead, and one seemed to keep honking in my near vicinity. I soon realized that the honking was actually the sound of me inhaling - the counterpoint to the high-pitched wheeze that signaled my exhalations. 

Is it any wonder I seldom try to run fast?

Back through the hills of the out-and-back - with notably fewer people still out running - I came face to face once again with the steep one.

It's not even the biggest hill on the course, but it feels the hardest

I wasn't even going to try to run it this time, given the shrieky nature of my breathing - I stomped up the damn thing and walked a few more steps as it flattened out up top, forcing myself back into a run when I passed the bench there.

I had no chance of placing well, but that didn't mean I was going to ease up

Once more through the lumpy, frozen, wind-whipped field, using every last drop of energy I had to drag myself up the long climb to the finish chute. 

Just grateful I'd get to stop pushing soon

Lap 2: 25:18 @ 6:20/km

Random 2nd lap photo by Sue because there's no finish line pic

Official time: 50:28 @ 6:19/km

8/9 W40-44 - 15/34 Women - 30/59 O/A

(Official results are here - Garmin data is here)

It took awhile to get my breathing back under control, as I walked inside with my giant wooden finisher medal.

Seriously - look at this size of that thing!

There was hot soup of a couple of varieties, coffee, hot chocolate, and apparently doughnuts for post-race noshing. I scarfed back a couple more cookies, then got changed out of my wet kit. There were a huge number of draw prizes by bib number (though I didn't win anything), and awards for the actual fast people (top 3 men, top 3 women, and top 3 non-binary in each of the 4k and 8k races).

I had a sip of the hot chocolate I'd brought for myself, finally got my bottles filled up so I could drink some water (there was no aid station on course this year, and I hadn't taken a bottle with me for the race), and then - about 5mins after the 4k and 8k always-intended-to-be trail races began, I went out for another couple of laps.

With lots more walking, and much less death whistling.

To be honest I think the "snowshoe" racers had the better part of the day: the sun had melted most of the ice by the time I got back out there, and the frozen dirt had been churned into slippery mud.

I'd have had much more trouble trying to go fast through this

Some of the ice did persist throughout the day, though, so it was definitely a mix of obstacles for the afternoon trail racers.

Still not enough to make me regret leaving the spikes behind, though

While I ran a little quicker than I'd expected for my second outing, I still took an extra 10mins to make my way through two laps (plus a little bit from the door of the building to the start line).

..and I brought some water to try to do some dehydration damage control

The sunshine was gorgeous and the temperature had climbed above the freezing mark, though the wind stayed cold throughout.

Definitely a much different flavour than the scorching Sunburn Solstice!

While it was disappointing not to be able to race in snowshoes, I've had a lot of luck over the years and am rather shocked this is the first time I've been shut out of a race. It did give me an opportunity to just go out and see - without having really tapered or rested up beforehand - what I'm capable of when I really push hard, which unfortunately isn't much (just look at my placing; last but one in my age group!). As always, the Happy Trails crew made even this ridiculous suffering enjoyable with fantastic organization, course marking, a beautiful venue, and the family atmosphere that is one of the best things about the trail and ultra community. 

Now if only they could get the wind to behave itself!

Have a fantastic weekend, all!

Just a Shoe Race

 I only registered for one snowshoe race this season.

The only local one since the demise of the Winter Goose Chase after 2020

The trails were looking great last weekend!

..though admittedly ice cleats would be invaluable in some places.

The snowy conditions even seemed to survive a beautiful, sunny afternoon for the annual Valentine's Fatazz.

I was only out for the last 2.5hrs - from about 2:30pm - and was grateful for my spikes

By Tuesday, though, things were patchy at best.

As much sloppy, slippery mud as there was ice and snow left

Anywhere fully sun exposed was completely bare

Tuesday and Wednesday were no help, either - the former was mild enough to wear knicks even after dark, and the latter saw me comfortably out at sunset in gusty winds...and shorts .

Not very February-ish

Thursday evening brought colder temperatures and precipitation, but not of any useful sort for snowshoe conditions.

Though my hat and jacket did gain some interesting features

A dusting of snow has mixed with the ice and a few flakes were falling as I walked through Downtown Kitchener earlier this evening, but it would take something rather more substantial to see me strapping on the ol' tennis rackets tomorrow morning.

I can't say "something more dramatic" because it's inarguably very showy

Still, this is the first time I've had to face a snowshoe race that won't be - which is actually quite astonishing, given the capricious nature of Southern Ontario winters - and I can't help but be a little sad about that.

I had even trained and everything!

I will, nevertheless, be able to share some lovely trails with some wonderful friends, and there's a lot to be said for that.

My heart and lungs will probably be grateful to avoid the extra strain!

There's nothing saying I can't go run in snowshoes if winter does make its return, but in the meantime I can still go have fun in the woods - hope to see you there!

Dimensionality

 It does no-one any good to get stuck in a rut.

Even if it can be a rather scenic one

Saturday was business as usual: run down to the market in air of the sort of cold that frosts everything it touches.

Even when wrapped up in warm wool

It was -15c/5f when I left the house, but the thermometer rose nearly 10 degrees celsius by evening, which brought a snowshoe romp of transporting beauty under a bright, crisp moon.

Maybe not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoyed it

Sunday brought a trip out to a spot I've not seen in some time - the Lions Lake Trail around Woolwich Dam & Reservoir in Floradale. It almost always seems to be a chilly, grey, windy day when I head out there for a run, and this outing was no exception.

I'm sure I've run it once in non-winter, but I can't say I recall ever seeing the sun shine there

The temperature had continued to rise through the night and was well over the melting point by the time I hit the trail, with the snowpack destabilizing underfoot as I clomped along. I didn't need spikes, but everything felt the unsure surface: ankles, knees, hips, and even lower back as I ran it counter-clockwise and then clockwise.

And by "ran" I mean "walked along eating cookies and occasionally breaking into a brief trot"

So far, so normal, right? Well, Sunday evening is when things got a little unusual..

!

I had done some searching, and found a Sunday evening "stick and puck" session at RIM Park in Waterloo. The idea is basically an open practice: you can wear full equipment (though only helmet and gloves are mandatory, and go work on your skills. Scrimmages are strongly discouraged, and I figured I could go get my gear on without too much stress. Just relax, feel the equipment a little, face a few shots, and work on some positioning and drills.

With more than 20 years since the last time I played regularly, I could definitely use it!

On to the ice I went, just barely managing not to fall on my face here and there, and after a few laps and some stretches to warm up - including my right knee doing something quite alarming the first time I dropped into butterfly - I skated over and got in the net at one end.

That, my friends, is when I learned that stick and puck is possibly the most intense experience a goalie will ever have.

Imagine facing 10 or 15 guys, all of whom have pucks and will come at you with shots one after another, wheeling around the ice once they've fired it and picking up another puck, then circling back toward centre ice and turning back in for another go. No defense, no whistles, no breaks.

I found out later that the goalie at the other end would occasionally just skate out of net for a few minutes, standing over in the corner and drinking water, or even sitting on the bench for a rest. Apparently most of the skaters (22 of them, with 2 goalies on the ice) took a breather here and there, but my dumb arse just stood there and took it. I think I managed to sneak in three 30sec breathers to gasp and chug some water, while sweating more than I believe I ever have in my life before. In 45mins on the ice I must have faced 200-250 shots: for perspective, a really busy night for an NHL goalie is 40 shots spread out over 60mins of stop-time gameplay, with commercial breaks and intermissions between 20min periods that stretch the whole game out close to 3 hours.

By the end, I was ragged.

My braid was literally dripping sweat for 15mins while I got undressed - I had to wring it out when I got into my street clothes!

To make matters even more interesting, most of my equipment is from the 90s, and while I knew about some of the vulnerable points in it..

This one is an old friend

..some of them came as a complete surprise.

Well that's new

I mean it stands to reason: even if only 1% of the pucks find spots that'll give you a stinger, with the kind of volume I had flying at me it was only natural a couple would leave a mark.

I had Monday to recuperate, by which I mean going back to strength training and running. Repeat on Tuesday, and then out to a local public school for a totally different kind of fun that evening.

Have you ever heard of goalball?

Let's assume you haven't: goalball was developed after WWII to rehabilitate veterans with visual impairments, but because everyone wears an eyeshade to completely block their vision, even fully sighted people like Tank and myself can play.

There are purpose-made eyeshades, but they're a bit pricy - Tank and I are using pairs of cheap ski goggles with fabric glued inside the lenses

Two teams of three line up on either end of a court (or a small school gymnasium) and try to hurl a ball - around the size of a basketball, but heavier, with almost no bounce, and with bells inside so it makes noise as it moves - past the opposing team.

The green lines are twine covered with tape, creating raised marks for players to orient themselves

The defending team tries to hear the ball coming, and sprawl to prevent it getting past them. 

Self preservation tends to take a back seat

What does that look like when done well?

Glen from Ontario Blind Sports and some kids from W. Ross Macdonald School for the blind ripping it up

It's a lot of fun, and more challenging than you might think to judge the trajectory of the ball, or to bowl it in the direction you want. I can only believe that it might help my goaltending as well - it can use any help it can get!

So there you have it: even in the final stretch of the 100 runs in 100 days challenge, I've managed to step outside the bounds of my usual run-and-lift-and-work playpen to have some fun in both new and old ways. There's still a bit less than 2 months of goalball season, and I'm definitely hoping to get some more ice time in over the next 9 weeks as I'm once again going to participate in the Let's Body Check Cancer hockey tournament with my company!

For lack of any other goalies among my coworkers, at least

So here's where I add my appeal: the tournament - as you may have guessed by the name - is a fundraiser for the Canadian Cancer Society, who use the money raised to fund research into cancer prevention and treatment, advocate for healthy public policies, and offer vital supports for both those living with cancer and their families. I hope you will consider making a donation via the secure site at this link to support their efforts to create a world where no-one needs to suffer from cancer. I'd be so grateful for your sponsorship, and every little bit helps!