Algonqu'in all over the place

After a motorcycle rally on the Labour Day long weekend and racing then volunteering at Wasaga Beach the weekend after, we took Saturday September 14th to pack the hell up and buggered off the next morning.

Algonquin is Canada's oldest provincial park - est. 1893.
Yes, this beauty is 120 years old!

Of course we arrived at Canisbay Lake just as the rain was settling in. We pitched our tent with a tarp covering one end and making us a dry place to sit and cook, then ended up having to dig trenches to re-direct the torrent of rainwater that was flowing freely under the tent itself! Turn out we'd pitched on a natural drainage route, but a couple of trenches and some channels to catch basins (all dug with a cathole trowel and a good-size branch) ensured a dry night.

Morning at Canisbay.

Monday the 16th dawned with the last of the rain, and we were up around 9am. After french toast, sausages and packing up camp we made our final preparations and headed out for our true destination in the park - the first loop of the Western Uplands Trail, located at kilometer 3.0 of the Frank McDougall Parkway (Highway 60), near the West Gate.

Packs at the ready - mine on the left, Tanker's on the right.

Map of the 1st loop - courtesy jeff'smap.

We didn't get going until about 2pm, and were going in the counter-clockwise (non-recommended) direction up the Eastern arm of the trail. I've done it in both directions, but Tanker had only seen the first section of the Eastern side on our last attempt in November 2004 - that trip was aborted by swampy conditions, freezing rain and general ill-preparedness. We were promised excellent weather this time, the trail had not just been subject to 5 days of rain, we were in much better condition fitness-wise (no longer smoking a pack a day!), and our gear has been upgraded significantly. We even brought a second tent just for the trail, so we wouldn't be setting up a wet one!

Over the bridge and through the woods.

Pretty water crossing.

Tanker contemplates an obstacle.

Guskewau Lake - halfway point for the first day.

Guskewau Creek

We hiked approximately 8.6km out to Ramona Lake and set up camp around 5pm - the day had been beautifully sunny, if a bit cool with a high of 12c/54f. We'd only seen one group of 4 young lads on the trail, heading in the opposite direction (toward the trailhead); the ranger at the West Gate who'd given us our permits had told us we'd be alone at Ramona that night, which suited us just fine. Even better - someone had left a fire already laid in the pit with a bit of wood beside it, so we'd have a cheery little blaze to warm up our little hollow by the lake! As the chill night drew in, though, we found ourselves crawling into the tent by 9pm. Real party animals!

Our campsite at Ramona Lake.
It was one heck of a scramble up to the thunderbox!

Cooking up dinner - pasta with smoked salmon & fresh veggies.
We ate amazingly well on the trail with very few dehydrated foods.

After a night that dipped to -3c/27f, we awoke around 8:30am to mist on the lake and a long day ahead. While the top of the 1st loop from Ramona Lake to Maggie Lake is not the longest section, it is the most challenging (at least in this direction) with a great number of steep, rocky climbs. First it was breakfast (scrambled egg, onion & bacon wraps with coffee) and filtering water from the glassy smooth lake, then packing up our campsite. We didn't get moving until almost 11:30am; something about cold mornings just makes it tough to get packed up and on the trail!

Mist on Ramona Lake in the morning.

Going up.

Grandma's House of Babes is nowhere to be found.

The weather warmed up significantly to about 17c/63f - while we left camp in our fleeces we ditched them in our packs at the first break we took, then got rid of our longjohns when we stopped for lunch, leaving us in pants and longsleeve merino wool shirts. It was a beautiful, sunny day to go traipsing through the woods and we made decent time until we came to the mess that was the Mink Creek crossing. The boardwalk itself was fine, but the 50-75m on either side were a ridiculous obstacle course of rotted, shifting logs that would roll and sink under you as you tried to use them as a bridge. It was only by the application of my trekking poles - one of which I had to lend to Tanker for the latter portion, seen below - and some luck that we managed to get through there without being launched into the swampy water. All of our packed items were dry bagged or in zipper baggies, but who wants to be soaking wet and smell like a bog? Our Gore-Tex boots also came in rather handy when the logs dipped below water level as they took our weight.

Tanker picking his way through Mink Creek.

At last, after about 11.6km of hiking in a little less than 5 hours, we came to the side trail down to the campsites on the point at the Eastern end of Maggie Lake - a magical spot where I've always had an amazing time. We found another gentleman named Mike had got there ahead of us and taken the campsite on the North side of the point; in the strangest of coincidences, he was also from Cambridge, planned to stay the same 2 nights on the point and hike the loop of Maggie Lake on the day in between. He even intended to hike the loop in the same direction! What are the odds? Mike was friendly enough - we both offered any assistance or supplies that might be needed to each other - but since we were all there for the solitude that the shoulder seasons usually offer we didn't have that much interaction with him. We ate a delicious dinner of stir fry, then were back in our tent and headed for sleep by 9:30pm. Yep, wild and crazy once more!

Our first look at Maggie Lake

Our campsite on the South side of the point.

The island at the East end caught in the golden glow of the setting sun.

Up around 8 in the morning after a much warmer night's sleep (it only got down to about 4c/39f), we had breakfast and headed back North along the main trail - actually moving in the correct direction for once! - until we hit the start of the circuit around the lake (which we did backwards as well). This particular loop hadn't been built the last time I did a non-aborted trip around the trail, so it was something new for us to discover together.

A lone red sugar maple flares brilliant red by Maggie Lake.

Pretty dam crossing at the Western end.

We had a pleasant little picnic of cinnamon raisin bagels with cashew butter and honey overlooking the South side of the lake before emerging back onto the main trail and heading back to camp. We'd left our site around 10:30am, and hiked the 8.5km (including a small detour as we walked right past the side trail to our campsite on the first go, then doubled back to it) in a little more than 4 hours with lots of stops for photos. 

Lunch!

Junction at the South end of the loop trail.

Arriving back before 3pm, we had heaps of time in the warm afternoon for Tanker to collect and chop deadfall for another campfire while I sat down on a rock by the lake and filtered litre after litre of water to replenish our stores. By 7:30pm, after we'd eaten and prepped as much as we could for our journey back to the car in the morning, and the sky lit up with an incredible show for our last night on the trail. Between the amazing near-full moon and our lovely, warm fire we managed to stay up until around 10pm. Really burning the midnight oil, here.

Sunset over Maggie Lake.

Coal bed from our fire - excellent way to finish our last night on the trail.

We were up early (7:30) the next morning to have a quick breakfast of coffee and bagels before packing up and heading for the end of our backpacking adventure. We finally got moving at a decent hour - 9:30am - and set off to explore the prettiest portion of the trail. The night had been mild - around 8c/46f - and the day promised to be the warmest yet, so we set off in t-shirts with fleeces overtop and then ditched the fleeces an hour or so later!

Big deadfall - about 5.5' of clearance below.

Wall of mossy rock.

On the move.

Little Hardy Lake

We broke for lunch at noon after about 7km, stopping at a rocky spot near Maple Leaf Lake to brew up some instant soup. We were making good progress - had only taken about 2.5 hours to do the first portion of our hike out, and the terrain gets easier to navigate the closer you get to the trailhead. We were both pleased to be within spitting distance of completing our challenge to ourselves and a bit sad to be leaving such a gorgeous trail behind!

North end of Maple Leaf Lake

Trail soup!

Pretty water spills

The beginning of the fall colour peak

After numerous stops to photograph beautiful sights along the way, we completed the last 12.7km Western arm of the first loop in around 5 hours, crossing over the bridge back to the parking lot and our waiting car around 2:30pm. Tanker was particularly elated to complete his first trip around the Southern loop - a total of 41.6km including the Maggie Lake circuit! It had come up very warm - we were sweating in t-shirts and trousers, and looked forward to setting up base camp so we could find our shorts again.

Finished and feelin' fine!

Sign at the trailhead.
"The trail is quite rugged and should be attempted only if you are in good physical condition"

After a transporting snack of a fresh apple and banana from the cooler in our car (which stayed lovely and cold while we were gone, having been packed with ice and left tightly sealed), we drove up to Mew Lake for 2 more nights of drive-in camping. We rigged up the faithful Mutha Hubba tent - which had time to dry out from their soggy adventures at Canisbay before we set up our sleeping pads & bags inside - and tarp again, as rain was expected the following day. We built another fire, revelled in access to unlimited drinking water (no more filtering - there was a tap mere steps from our site!), enjoyed brushing our teeth and using a flush toilet at the comfort station, and had a fantastic sleep after a bit later night (11pm).

I don't believe in wearing pants before coffee.

The next morning we rolled out of bed for a big breakfast of scrambled eggs and back bacon, then went paddling out of Algonquin Outfitters' store on Lake Opeongo and hiked the rough-and-tumble 10.4km Centennial Ridges trail before returning to our base camp, bringing our hiking mileage total up to 52km. It was a gray and windy day that threatened rain at every moment, but it held off long enough for us to do our day tripping, make dinner and get a good fire blazing before things got wet again - we actually kept the fire burning until we went to bed, burning through 2 full bags of wood! That night we were lucky enough to spot a red fox on our way back from the comfort station, and marvelled at the spectacle of a massive thunderstorm rolling in over the lake. It crashed and boomed around us as we stayed snug and dry under the tarp at our site, just proving that you can have an awesome time camping in any sort of weather if you prepare properly.

Tanker rockin' out as the rain begins to fall.

We have hundreds more photos from our canoe & day hike adventures that I may get around to posting at some point - I haven't even had time to properly go through them all yet, having shot almost 600 in the 6 nights we spent in the park! After our return home on Saturday the 21st I launched straight back into the final bit of training for the Run for the Toad 50k, including a 29km run on Sunday aa a last long run. With a couple of walks around our neighbourhood, that brought my total distance travelled by foot up to 97.6km for the week of Monday, September 16th to Sunday, September 22nd - now it's time to taper and hope I'm ready to take on the hills of Pinehurst!

Wasaga Beach sprint water safety - Sunday, September 8th, 2013

The morning after my semi-fail at the Wasaga Olympic tri, I got to massage my soul with the double delight of volunteering and being out on Georgian Bay. I hopped on Tanker's bike at some absurd pre-dawn hour to cycle the 15km from our hotel to the beach.

With a necessary stop here and there.

The sunrise was beautiful as I rolled along Mosley, so I couldn't resist popping down a side street to shoot the gathering light over the lake.

It was shaping up to be the antithesis of Saturday - dry, sunny, windy and cool. The river on the beach had disappeared into the sand, but the freshening breeze had stirred up a break.

Wasaga Beach - Canada's answer to the Jersey Shore.

The Blue Mountains off in the distance.

Wind from the North brought some surf.

I helped out setting up the swim course, then the water safety team headed out in Zodiacs and on paddleboards to help shepherd the swimmers for the sprint race. With as chilly as I'd been on the shore I feared I'd freeze to death, but it turned out the water was pleasantly warm on the arms (and the face) and the waves actually seemed to shelter me from the wind.

A couple of young lads tried surfing the break on their paddleboards.
It didn't go all that well.

Not bad so far.

A little more interesting.

The wind continued to rise and the break actually deepened by at least 50 metres in the hour before the start of the race - it was past the final sand bar, so athletes would have to wade deeply to get past it, or just suck it up and swim it. I was having a great time on my board with my waterproof camera in my PFD pocket!

Wheeeee!

In the mix.

Eep.

The start was delayed about 10mins while they did a safety briefing down at the shore. I hung out near the government buoy line - a bit more than halfway to the first turn buoy - and waited, watching as the first waves of swimmers began to approach. As they passed, I'd offer encouragement to those who looked less confident, and provided direction to some who had trouble navigating in the swells, which reached over a metre and a half (nearly 5') in the deeper water.

The elites in wave 1 - red caps.

Wave 2 in yellow caps.

There were 7 waves of racers in total, and the weakest swimmers seemed to be in the final 2. As I watched the purple caps of the penultimate group make their way through the water, I heard a call of "HELP" to windward and paddled over to a gentleman who had utterly lost his confidence. I offered that he could hang onto the board as long as he liked to catch his breath, and he gratefully clung to the nose. He started saying that he couldn't do it, but I pointed out how close he was to the first turn buoy - the farthest point of the course. He decided to try again, so I followed along beside him. He needed to stop and rest again after a minute, then made the turn and was headed broadside to the wind to the final turn buoy. I thought he'd be ok, but a moment later he was calling for help again. I paddled over and let him rest again - he was just about ready to quit and I was about to hail a boat to bring him in, but I told him once he made the final turn he'd be able to surf the waves all the way back to shore. He gave it another try, asking me to stay with him, and I faithfully followed along a few feet away until he was in water shallow enough to stand and wade. Tanker tells me his son was racing as well, but waited for him on the beach until he finished the swim - making sure his Dad was ok before continuing on to the bike.

There was a lot of shepherding to be done for the final wave, as a powerful current was sweeping everything off to the West (including me and my board if I let my guard down!), and many swimmers went far off course. I'm not sure even the elites were able to escape its effects, and Tanker tells me MultiSport Canada founder John Salt was heard to remark "well, this 750m swim just became 900". Myself and the other water safety team members did our best to bring everyone in safely - to the best of my knowledge there were no incidents, which is a testament to the hard work of everyone on the team in those conditions. At times I even had trouble staying on my board - which was the only one without a skeg, so a bit less stable - as the surf would come down on top of me and just roll me over! I had to use my feet to grip the outer edge in an attempt to stay on and right side up, but even so..

ARRGHBLUBBlubblub..

I'm ok!

Nonetheless, it never happened while I was actually trying to guard athletes, and I had massive amounts of fun on the water - I've never minded a good dunking! I helped out with swim course tear-down afterward; deflating and packing away buoys, hauling cinderblocks and winding tether lines, then went and collected Tanker after he'd finished volunteering on the run course for a lovely stroll down the boardwalk to end our weekend at Wasaga Beach.

Good times!

Where else would you choose to spend a beautiful Sunday morning?

In other news, the blog passed 20,000 hits some time early Monday morning. Twenty. Effing. Thousand. You folks are absolutely amazing for putting up with my drivel! I'll give you a solid break for once, as I'll be offline all next week trekking out into the woods of Algonquin Park so far that noone can hear me scream. I don't know who should be more terrified: me, Tanker or the bears! In any case, if we don't come back, you'll just have to make up your own poop jokes...or send out a search party, 'cause who doesn't like a party?

Wasaga Beach Olympic Triathlon - Saturday, September 7th, 2013

Sometimes it's just not your day. Come, sail the seas of fail with me!

Awoke to pouring rain outside our hotel in Collingwood, with our new Gore-Tex rain jackets conveniently packed in the laundry room at home. The forecast had been clear 48hrs prior when I last looked.

Rather less clear.

Not an encouraging start.

The owners of the hotel were kind enough to lend us some stylish Niagara Falls souvenir rainwear when I called and asked for a couple of garbage bags to make ourselves some hobo ponchos. The difference: we had hoods!

And blurriness.

Getting a lot of use out of that hood, I tell ya.

We got Café Mochas and made it to the race site with plenty of time, despite a couple of flubbed turns. I had lots of time to go through the new bike check-in procedure (with wrist and bike bands to ensure no stolen steeds), get myself ready, and even boogie a little.

World's worst go-go dancer.

Pre-race talk done as I stuffed myself into my wetsuit one last time for the season, and I was pretty relaxed - I was just out to enjoy the day, and the rain was part of that. Through five full seasons of triathlon this was only the second time I'd had to deal with foul weather (the other being my first tri ever), so I couldn't possibly complain! The poncho and a hoodie were enough to keep me warm up until the start, and I felt awful for the people who were doing the swim without a wetsuit.

That's a river. On a beach.

Into the water, I got a couple of hundred metres of warmup in before heading back to the beach for the start; my first open water swimming since Belwood back in mid-July. While the water was chilly and I had a bit of that fatigue that always accompanies the first 200-300 set of a swim, my suit and stroke felt pretty good and I know I've been strong in the water this year. In any case, I'd just go out easy and see what the morning held.

Other than rubbery dorks.

The rain stopped not long before the first wave went off. I was the the 4th wave, in a stylish pink cap (again!), as MultiSport Canada was trying a new concept: seeding by predicted finish time. I'd estimated I'd probably go about 3:05:xx (with little bike training and no real taper to speak of), so I was in the 2:52:xx-3:09:xx category - the theory is that you end up with fewer people swimming over you or passing on the bike, plus you're more likely to be racing the person next to you. I can't say I found that much difference. I did, however, realise that I'd forgotten to apply BodyGlide to the back of my neck - since it was up in my bag in transition and I'd no hope of retrieving it before the start, I'd just have to hope I wouldn't end up with a wetsuit hickey.

After a final kiss from Tank my wave set off, and I had fairly clear water for most of the swim, partly because I refused to kill myself running through the sand bars and mostly just plodded and dolphin dived - I didn't want to spike my heart rate too much off the hop. There was a bit of a ground swell running that meant you could either sight really well (if you timed it right and hit the crest of a roller) or bloody poorly (if you were in the trough). I got a good rhythm going and seemed to be swimming fairly straight, though it felt very slow. Wasaga Beach is a bit deceptive like that; the water is incredibly clear, and you can see the little ripples in the sand all the way out to the far turn buoys, where the depth is at least 15 feet. Since the bottom drops away almost imperceptibly, it seems as though the ripples pass beneath you slower and slower as you swim out from the shore. With no landmarks except the buoys to give you perspective, it can trick your mind into thinking you're hardly moving at all.

I was, however, passing people from my initial position at the rear of the wave. I ran into some feet near the second turn buoy after a fairly uneventful swim out, and got a bit stuck behind a couple of ladies until I managed to power past and make my turn toward the shore. My navigation had been excellent, and I passed within a metre or so of each buoy - now into the final stretch, I used the big yellow awnings of the building by the swim exit as my landmark and continued to scoot past others. My calves gave some warning that they weren't liking the chilly water - they tried to cramp a bit, and I had no choice but to dorsiflex my feet to ward them off, but it resolved without incident or too much loss of speed. I was able to nearly surf the swell now, and as I reached the shallows it was astonishing to see how quickly the ripples zipped past beneath me. I swam on until I was in less than 2 feet of water, actually pulling myself along the bottom with my hands before standing on what turned out to be the second last sand bar.

I believe I can fly!

Wading in, I decided I was done swimming so started to unzip my wetsuit, when I stepped down off the sandbar into waist-deep water again. With my goggles pulled up and my suit undone, I wasn't going to dolphin dive, so I just plodded along for the 8 or 10 feet to the final sandbar and finally picked it up to a bit of a run as the water receded to calf and then ankle level. By the time I hit the timing mat I was in full stride with the top of my suit off, headed for the run-up to T1.

Obligatory haggard post-swim photo.

1,500m swim: 30:31 @ 2:02/100m

3rd in W30-34 - PR at Olympic distance by 01:18

The run to transition is a bit nasty, as you have to hop a curb and then run up a sharply ramped bit of pavement, through the fenced-off entryway, then pull a sharp turn to get to my rack position. I was gasping a bit as I made the swim entrance, but knew I could catch my breath at my bike a bit as I changed.

Run-up: 0:52

Moving through molasses.

I managed to stomp my way out of my wetsuit easily enough, then donned my helmet, glasses and race number belt. I told Tanker I love him, then started to run with my bike...the stupid way. Remember that whole thing at Woodstock when I tried to lead Dolph along by the stem? Yeah, did that again. I remembered about halfway to the bike exit (which was only about 30 feet from my rack position) and shifted to a grip on the saddle. Stupid tridork! At least I didn't get my hand caught this time.

Time to get moving.

T1: a leisurely 01:40

Either someone hit my bike or I managed to mess up the careful preparation of my crank I'd done when I racked, as the left pedal was not at the 10 o'clock position as I'd placed it. In any case, I got it spun 'round to where I wanted it after running a bit past the line to get out of people's way, saw a friend shooting photos at the mount line (and I swear he yelled "NOOB" at me, which is totally legit), and got the hell on with it. I even managed to start my cycle computer, then twist the mount around on the stem so it was in its proper position again after my idiocy in T1. I was feeling pretty good despite the rain starting up again, and had every intention of just cruising through the bike leg - my only goal was not to crash out, since I have so much invested in the Toad 50k next month. A number of people passed me, and I just let them go with no motivation to chase. I did pass one or two, giving lots of warning as I did so. I don't want to see anyone hurt!

Finding my stride after all the corners and the hairpin turn-around of the out-and-back section at the start of the course, I took a sip off my flask of EFS Liquid Shot around 10mins in, then passed the 5k marker shortly thereafter. I passed a couple of people fixing flats on the side of the road, making sure to ask if they were ok as I did so and happily seeing no injuries. I heard a strange noise from my bike, then realized it was my check-in band flapping; the sticky end had been wet when I'd put it on, and it hadn't adhered, so I tried to tuck it in and re-stick it so I wouldn't lose it. I'd shifted up through the gears to the big ring as I got my legs spinning, and despite my cadence sensor not reading (magnet out of position, I'm sure) I felt like I was rolling well. I was almost at 9k as I turned Northwest and hit the first real hill on the course: a short, sharp little thing on the way up to Crossland Rd/29. Shifting back to the small ring and keeping the cadence high, I tried to carry some speed into the start of the hill as I watched the people ahead stand to grind out the last of the grade. The tension on the pedals mounted, and I shifted to larger and larger cogs as the nose of my bike went vertical, then suddenly my legs spun furiously as all resistance disappeared! Shit, I'd dropped my chain!

I managed to unclip from my pedal, brake gently and set a foot down, then looked at the crank expecting to see the chain sitting on the bottom bracket shell. Nothing there. What the hell? I looked back at the cassette and saw with a sinking heart that the chain was loose and dragging on the ground behind the rear derailleur cage - I'd managed to snap it, and had no replacement. My race was over. We'll just go with the idea that I was putting out too much raw power for a mere chain to withstand. Damn it, stop laughing! It could happen..

Well there's your problem.

Other athletes passed me, with a heart-warming number of them checking to ensure I was ok. All of them groaned and commiserated with me when they heard I was fine, but wouldn't be finishing the bike leg. I took a couple of sips of water and counted my blessings: the chain hadn't whipped forward and taken a bite out of my leg (people have lost chunks of calf muscle that way), nor had it got caught in the spokes of the rear wheel and sent me sailing headfirst toward some real-world testing of aerohelmet safety standards. I'd even managed to get stopped without incident instead of falling over like an idiot! As I waited for a race vehicle to come along, I just had to laugh and be thankful that I hadn't really put too much of myself into this particular event. I noticed what looked like fog drifting from behind me, then realised it was actually steam pouring off me as I started to cool down from my efforts. It having been a fair while since I stopped and the stream of cyclists passing having petered out, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands and set out on foot back toward the race site.

Of course, I'm a complete moron, so thinking that I didn't want the chain to get wrapped up any further I shouldered the bike and walked along carrying it for over a kilometer. Still no race vehicles in sight, and the chain was banging against the spokes, so I set the bike down and wrapped it over the cassette before experimentally rolling it a foot or so...which of course didn't move the cassette at all. That's what "freewheel hub" means, dummy. With a bit of a slap to my forehead I continued to walk back toward the start wheeling the bike along by the saddle, wondering if I could still pin this stupidity on racer brain. I can't say that I was even angry, though; in 20 prior multisport races I'd never suffered a mechanical failure, so I can't complain when I do finally get one. Many others would trade their eye teeth for that kind of luck!

Not performance.

After walking about 2km back, I found two other fellows on the side of the road with their bikes, one of whom I had passed changing a flat earlier. Turns out they were both completely out of spares, having both suffered multiple flats, and were going to get a ride back with a local who had offered a lift in his pickup truck. This sounded like a damn sight better deal than walking all the way back in cycling shoes, so I loaded up with both of them, sat in the box of the pickup to stabilize the bikes, and ducked down below the cab of the truck to try to keep from freezing to death - it was windy and I was still soaked, though the rain had stopped again.

Spotting Tanker by the dismount line, I yelled to him that I was ok (absolute necessity after my only other DNF!), but my chain had snapped. I'd also come to the conclusion that I was going to do the run anyway - after all, I was there to race, and only doing so for fun! I spoke to the Triathlon Ontario official, assured her I was unhurt, and eagerly accepted the offer to do the run - neither of the two other fellows with mechanicals seemed inclined to continue, though. I gave her my bib number so she could make sure the results reflected my technical DNF, handed my now-useless bike over to Tanker, then moseyed into transition to change up for the run.

Hope my shoes don't fall apart..

T2: 01:50, because why rush at this point?

Heading out on the course again, I found myself in the company of the super studs who would finish in the 2hour-2:15 range - it was amazing to watch them floating past me almost effortlessly, as though I was standing still. My legs felt good as I started to get into a nice stride, just smiling and enjoying the wonderful feeling of being alive and fit and able to push my own limits. I grabbed a cup of HEED from the first aid station - it had been awhile since that single shot of gel, though without a watch I couldn't tell how long, and I needed to hydrate a bit. The course had changed since the last time I was here in 2010 - the boardwalk and park sections were gone, in favour of a simple, boring P-shaped loop along Mosley with a brief tour around a block or two of beachside cottages. I got a cup of water at the furthest point of the course, then headed back to Beach Drive on a long false flat downhill, feeling really strong through 4.5km before the sharp downslope to beach level. Spotting Tanker, I asked him to take my sunglasses from me as I hit the turn-around - the day was still quite overcast and I didn't really need them, but didn't want to put them on top of my hat for fear of losing them.

Cargo shorts dude is unimpressed.

Out for loop number two, I was starting to fade a bit from my initial enthusiasm, and even caught a bit of a death whistle starting around the 6k mark. I tried to shut that down as I fiddled with my race number belt, which didn't want to sit still; it usually sets ok around my hips, but today despite tightening it up a bit it just wanted to fall down my butt. I just kept my legs turning over, keeping the effort high but sustainable and grabbing one last cup of HEED to see me through the final 4km. I pushed hard to the furthest point, cheering on other competitors as I passed them and loving the couple making lots of noise with a vuvuzela from their front porch, then let it all unwind on the false flat downhill of Mosley as I started to pant and gasp.

Back in the air.

Still having fun.

Hitting the final stretch on Beach Drive, my stride opened up automatically and I poured whatever I had left in me into the finish. There was a bit of kick there, but not much, until I finally hit the arch and went airborne for the camera. I wouldn't know it until later, but I'd actually run within less than 2mins of my open 10k PR from last May.

Artist's conception since I've had this written for a couple of days now,
but it's Wednesday and the on-course photographer's pics aren't yet posted.

10k run: 54:11 @ 5:25/km

5/7 in W30-34 - PR at Olympic distance by 02:41

This race felt like a test of character - first to toe the starting line at all in the cold rain, and then to continue on to do the run after the technical DNF from the snapped chain. I'd like to believe I passed, and that in this case, DNF stands for Did Not Fail. After all, you can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you react to it.

Cold-blooded chain murderer!

Back to the beach!

It's here already - the last tri (for me) of the year. Of course, I've done some really serious bike mileage to prepare - over 700km just last weekend alone!

These don't count, do they? Bugger..

Yeah, that's right. My idea of training for an Olympic distance triathlon is to spend the 3-day weekend beforehand at a motorcycle rally, getting up to some rum- and moonshine-fueled shenanigans and a modicum of hooliganism. I still have some bruises on my right shin from the "pool", about which I decline to elaborate.

It pleads the fifth.

In reality, I did get a lot of running done in prep for the Toad 50k, and only had a few drinks on Sunday night. Yes, I'm still lame and boring even when I go hang out with bikers. In order to keep things interesting for tomorrow's race, then, I've been surviving on about 4hrs of sleep per night all week, caught a mild case of the sniffles, and utterly failed to taper.

It's about time this graphic existed. It's an every-day occurrence.

Fortunately, this race is just for pure fun. Wasaga Beach is one of my favourite venues - I get to swim at the longest freshwater beach in the world, cycle a relatively easy course, then run along the boardwalk and through Wasaga Beach Provincial Park.

Now that's a run course!
Image courtesy of Wikipedia

Even better, come Sunday morning I'll be heading out onto the chilly blue waters of Georgian Bay in a kayak to volunteer with the water safety team for the sprint race! At this point, it really doesn't matter that I've got bugger-all for cycling fitness and am carrying too much fatigue to race well - it'll just be about enjoying the day at a venue that means a lot to me, and finishing with a smile.

Perhaps even a leap, as in 2010.