The whole point

I've been putting a lot of energy into my foolish and desperate attempt to ready myself for the Dirty Girls 12hr ultra in July, so it might seem a bit incongruous to take 4 full days off running. As a matter of fact, I ended up only running 4 times in the 9 days after the Seaton Soaker 25k, as I'd taken Monday off as well (due to horrible weather and exhaustion from under 4hrs of sleep on Sunday night). I got in almost 14km on Sunday - the day after the race - and put in another 30km from Tuesday to Thursday, but come Friday I was off the clock.

It is vitally important that I not let running completely take over my life. I'll never be sufficiently good at it to reward that kind of focus, and there are simply too many other things I enjoy doing - backcountry camping and paddling being two that rank high on the list. We didn't manage to get out winter camping since there was either no winter to be found or entirely too much winter happening, so our last trip had been more than 7 months prior, when we paddled at Bon Echo Provincial Park for Campsgiving.

It it also vitally important that I not take myself too seriously, thus after making a small modification to my paddling hat and loading up our kit, we hopped in the car on Saturday, May 21st to engage in the great Canadian tradition of camping for the Victoria Day long weekend...affectionately known to Canucks as May TwoFour.

At last - truth in advertising!

We'd had our concerns about the weather, having booked this trip all the way back in January and what with it having bloody well snowed 6 days prior, but we needn't have worried. We sweated in the sunshine the whole way out to Murphys Point Provincial Park, finally gaining some relief in the wind as we launched our canoe full of gear onto Hogg Bay and headed for Big Rideau Lake.

Yes, all that for 2 nights.
Not exactly roughing it.

After a brief (and I do mean brief - 7 minutes going the "long" way) paddle, we arrived at the Rideau cluster of boat-in campsites and landed on the South side at our tiny sand beach in the lovely, quiet inlet at site # 402. We actually saw a couple of wee minks chasing one another on our way to our little point, and another on the shoreline of a shallow bay behind our site.

Home sweet home.

Our own personal point.

All set up.

With our gear deployed, we settled in for an incredible weekend. Our site on our little point was cozy and surprisingly clean, though admittedly it was only the secon weekend the park had been open. Unexpectedly, we found there was a full-on outhouse that we shared with the one other campsite (401) at the Rideau cluster - we had only anticipated a thunderbox! There was even a nice flat non-technica path to reach it, which really had us feeling lik we were in the lap of luxury. Tanker did some fishing from the point and nearly brought in a big one (over a foot long), but the jerk of a fish spat the hook at the last moment. We lit a fire as the sun set and I got dinner on the go as the wind dropped, then we were treated to a gorgeous blue moon (second full moon in a month) over Big Rideau Lake as we sat by our campfire eating chicken curry. The loons called around us, the frogs sang in the little bays behind our site, and the heat of the day plus some cloud cover kept the overnight temperature in the double digits celsius.

In a word - apart from some noise from cottagers using motorized boats on the lake - it was perfect.

A local swinging by for a visit.

Tanker still hoping on the one that got away.

Dinner view.

My bladder demanded I take a photo at first light.

The next morning, we had a lazy bacon-and-duck-egg brunch with a couple of French press-fuls of Tanker the Wonder Sherpa's amazing camp coffee, then set off to paddle the loop around the park and pick up some more firewood - we'd burned everything we had the night before, pleased to discover the park-supplied hardwood was nice and dry after spending the winter under tarps.

Two small portages to paddle around nearly the whole park!

We began by heading South to have a look at the Feldspar cluster of boat-in sites, which were easily visible from where we were encamped. Larger and with a dock to allow motorboats to moor (as all clusters except the canoe-in-only Rideau have), it was bustling with a large number of campers; every "backcountry" site in the park was fully booked for the weekend! After a quick turn around their inlet, we headed up to the boat launch and hopped in the car to hit the store so we'd have no worries about time later. Firewood acquired and left in the car at the boat launch, we paddled Northeast into a fresh wind toward the tip of the park's lands, pausing near the hike-in beach so Tank could get a line in the water.

Heading out of our site, looking at Feldspar

Up the Eastern side of the point

Rounding the point and turning off the wind into Noble Bay, we passed by the Narrows and Noble clusters of boat-in sites. Cormorants skimmed over the water and loons played by the tiny islands while we gaped at the landscape of Canadian Shield rock and forest around us.

And clear, clear water.

Paddling further along, we stopped at the day-use beach for a snack and to refill our Nalgenes from the water bladder we'd brought with us. It was another hot, sunny day so hydration was important, though the wind was enough to keep us cool on the water.

Day-use beach and my super fun paddling partner.

After a turkey pepperette and a granola bar each, we headed further South and lazed around in a little inlet so Tank could try some different lures. No luck, but it was very pretty.

I live for stuff like this.

Reaching the end of our journey on Noble Bay, we portaged a couple of hundred metres past the park store - with an ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY stop for an enormous grape freezie and a bag of marshmallows - then finished our double-carrying down to Loon Lake where Tank tried hooking some of the numerous panfish we could see in the water.

Ironically, it was about the only place we didn't hear loons.

The fish weren't biting, though, so we paddled across to our second (and final) portage into the South end of Hogg Bay.

With a short pause for some rock god-ness.

Back up through the Bay past the campers' beach, we stopped one more time at the boat launch to pick up our bags of firewood before heading back home for the evening. 

Nowhere I'd rather be.

I think Tanker got a bit of a kick out of me using some found birchbark plus a flint and steel to light the campfire both evenings. It's good to know that at least in dry conditions my bushcraft skills are somewhat up to snuff.

Spark it up..

FIRE

And of course we put the bag of marshmallows to good use for a post-paddle snack before I finally got 'round to making dinner. The wind dropped completely as the sun set, and while not quite full anymore, we were treated to a spectacular show as the moon rose huge and red over Big Rideau Lake.

Damn!

The next morning I was awoken again by my bladder just a few minutes after sunrise. I couldn't really complain.

Because it meant I got to see this.

Back to bed until around 9am, we got up and breakfasted simply on oatmeal and coffee before tearing down camp and preparing to head out.

All packed up on the point.

PFDs on and ready to go!

Before jumping in the boat, though, I had to make one last trip to the privy...and finally spotted the first turtle we'd seen all weekend! This little painted fellow climbed up on a fallen tree in our "backyard" to bask in the hot sun that beat down on us.

I got a little too close and he dropped off this log.

But he emerged again on another.

Back to the boat launch again by 1pm, we loaded the canoe onto our car and dropped off all our camping gear in the back. Changing into our hiking shoes, we paused for a bite of lunch before going exploring on the park's trails for the afternoon.

To see things from the other side.

The Point Trail took us out to the hike-in beach and up to the Northern end of the park, with gorgeous Canadian Shield terrain and some lovely views.

Setting out

The bones of the land lie close to the surface, here.

View from the hike-in beach.

Another lovely spot for a picnic

More Canadian Shield

The very Northern end of the park, looking out over Big Rideau Lake

A mix of hardwoods and conifers take advantage of all ecological niches in the park.

We decided we'd do the Sylvan Trail as well, since we're not sure when we'll be back to this park. We really enjoyed our time there, but there are places within a similar distance (it was a five hour journey from KW with long weekend traffic) that are at least as lovely - Bon Echo in particular comes to mind, with the added attraction of Mazinaw Rock and no motorized boat traffic on Joeperry Lake. I can't say that Murphys Point was a bad choice - far from it, and I'm happy to have discovered a new-to-us park with such excellent amenities and scenery - but the drive is a bit prohibitive for a place that is merely one of many wonderful destinations.

In any case - onward through the Sylvan Trail loop! It's actually an interpretive trail with numbered signposts that correspond to a trail guide available from the day use parking area. Not having the guide (and starting oddly from the middle), we merely stopped and looked at anything interesting along the way.

View from near the Narrows cluster of campsites.
The boat-in sites are not accessible from land, though.

View of Noble Bay through a valley.

Boardwalk and more Canadian Shield

Loving the bright greens of spring at last

Returning to the Point Trail, we walked down to the hike-in beach once more and had a snack while watching a pair of loons play around the little island just offshore.

They're both in this photo, unperturbed by the approaching motorboat.

Then it was time to head back to the parking lot, while spending our last few minutes drinking in the beauty of the trail.

More of this, please.

We don't wanna go home!

Back at the boat launch, we both took the opportunity to change into flip flops and wandered down the ramp into the bracingly cool water. The hot, sunny day had left us both sweaty and a bit worn out from our 1.75-hour hike, so wading in Hogg Bay was absolutely delightful.

Saying goodbye.

We left the park around 4pm and didn't make it home until almost 10pm because the 401 is freakin' awful on a long weekend, but the incredible weather and the refreshing of our souls in the rugged beauty of Murphys Point made it all totally worth it. Training? Well, that could wait until Tuesday.

Cheers!

Seaton Soaker 25k Trail Race - Saturday, May 14th, 2016

I had no real expectations heading into this race. With ~75km in my legs in the 7 days prior and precious little sleep (ever), I was really just going to see what all the fuss was about at this highly spoken of event.

I was also taking the opportunity to try a new pre-race breakfast, because my habitual fare won't be terribly manageable at Dirty Girls - I don't forsee easy access to a toaster for my customary bagel while we're camped in a field. So, at 4:30am, I stood in my kitchen and cooked up some rice porridge with almond butter and a generous dollop of maple syrup, then blended some cashew milk with chocolate-caramel syrup (!) to dump into a cup of coffee we'd pick up along the way.

By 5:10am, Tanker the Wonder Sherpa and I were on the road, arriving WAY BEFORE Google Maps said we would - I wanted to be there by 7am to give me an hour before the start to pick up kit and get ready, but we were at Pine Ridge Secondary School by 6:30am.

Unfortunately, the weather beat us there.

I said good morning to some friendly faces while the rain fell in fits and starts, availed myself of the facilities to get into my race kit, swung my appendages around a bit in an effort to loosen up, and waited for my cup of delicious sugary coffee to work its magic on my digestive processes so I could "get down to race weight".

This did not happen. I was not pleased. I foresaw poor things in my future, especially since I didn't know if there were any portajohns on the course.

At least I managed to get my calf sleeves, socks, gaiters and shoes on in the correct order...both times!

With about 10mins before gun time I loaded my gel flask into the pocket of my vest, donned a pair of lightweight gloves because my hands get cold easily in wet, windy conditions, and grabbed my hand bottle. With a straw in my hat from Ron Gehl (who gave me crap for doing the 25k instead of the 50k) and a kiss from Tanker (who is wonderfully un-judgmental about my poseur status), I was as ready as I'd get for the start.

Ooh, look at all the soggy skinny people.

After a few words from the race director - who stages this event as a memorial for his brother, who holds a course record at Seaton - we were off. We'd been told that beavers had flooded the course around the 2km mark so to slow down and be careful as there were pallets placed to help us over the worst of the mud (and wet wood is teflon-like in its slipperiness), I'd heard that there was a set of stairs somewhere along the way as well as the river crossing, but someone in the Run Trails Ontario group on Facebook had said it was all quite runnable. I was hoping that with all the trail running I've been doing lately since I got my Garmin fenix 2 I'd be in decent shape for this and be able to cross the line of the out-and-back course in less than 3 hours.

From the race director - see further details here

We started off along a paved pathway through the school's athletic fields and Beverley Morgan Park, then ran up a small incline to Valley Farm Road and across the stream before diving back into the trails. Reaching the 2k point things started to get muddy, and turning a corner I found the pallets in the mire. I managed to get through them without falling (though someone near me wiped out just trying to make the turn), and then we were trotting along into the forest on the Seaton Hiking Trail.

Photo from race site's gallery

All was pretty much well and good for the first 4km or so - there were some undulations, but it was all looking as runnable as described. I was feeling pretty tired and weak, though: I couldn't keep my breathing under control, and I found myself really wanting to walk despite the terrain not being that challenging. I managed to keep running, though, and chalked it up to accumulated fatigue from over 200km in the 3 weeks prior to raceday plus the fact most of my recent long Saturday runs have included either walk breaks up significant hills or pauses to check routing/take photos/kiss Tanker within the first 4km. I kept pushing, hoping that my legs would warm up after awhile and I'd be able to settle into a comfortable rhythm, as had happened after about an hour the week before while running at Dundas Valley Conservation Area.

Then, nearing the 5k mark, the first of what were described as "two major climbs" hove into view.

Yipes.

Whoever it was that said this whole course was runnable is either a mountain goat or a jackass. This thing just kept going up - a singletrack washout littered with loose rocks, roots and sweaty, panting runners tottering somewhat unsteadily toward the rain-washed sky. I became very happy I'd worn my compression sleeves as my calves began to protest this treatment, threatening to go on strike by cramping.

Ow.

Around this time I zipped my vest down a bit and ditched my gloves in my pocket, as I was getting quite warm despite the damp and occasional gusts of wind. I bypassed the first aid station at around 4km in as I still had plenty of water on me. I had a sip of EFS Liquid Shot from my flask around 40mins in and kept drinking from my bottle, but things didn't seem to be getting any easier - effort level was still very high while my pace remained distinctly uninspiring. I tried to console myself with the fact I'd seen that the course was a net downhill on the way back and kept plugging away. At least the trail was beautiful - lots of rooty sections of conifers with patches of hardwoods carpeted in trilliums.

Ooh, a flat bit!
Near 7km in.

Coming down a long, paved hill on Whites Road (that I knew I'd just have to get back up on the return trip) I hit the Bridge aid station - which marked the turn-around point for the 15k race - and got my nearly-empty bottle topped up with a couple of cups of water. As always, I made sure to thank the volunteers, as I had been doing all along the course. The rain continued on and off and the course marshalls and aid station staff tended to be in less-sheltered and thus windier areas, so it was extra wonderful of them to put up with the miserable weather just to help out a bunch of smelly people out trotting around in the forest.

The folks at the Bridge aid station were mucho festivo, too!
If I'd known there was guacamole and tortilla chips on offer I might still be there eating..

Back onto the trail, we ran past the top of a staircase that was cordoned off with caution tape and I wondered if they'd taken the steps out after all. No such luck - I would discover there was not one, but SIX flights of stairs to be climbed on the way to the turn-around.

Example from Stu Hall

Oh, and I nearly bailed stepping on a wet, muddy root that sloped sharply down to the left on a heavily side-sloped bit of trail. By just past the 8k mark runners were starting to come back the other way on the trail, and in an attempt to stay out of their way I ended up sliding violently sideways and wrenched my back a bit contorting myself to stay upright. Yes, I achieved my goal, but now my left mid-back was grumpy. And it was starting to rain some more, and the wind picked up just as I was running on a more exposed section.

Somehow, though, I was still kind of enjoying myself...despite getting an inch taller and five pounds heavier with every step at some points in the sticky mud. If you'd like an impression of what the morning was like, you can check out this video from Get Out There Magazine.

At an hour and 20mins I slugged back another ounce of EFS Liquid Shot from my flask and just kept trying to use my glutes to hoist myself up the climbs - that huge arse has got to be good for something, right? - while being cautious and using the upslopes to stretch out my grumbling, mutinous calves. I finally made it to the turn-around at Whitevale Park and got 2 more cups of water for my bottle at around 1:29:xx, then began the arduous journey back to the finish.

Net downhill. Net downhill. Just keep telling yourself that. Ignore the fact that some of the descents have been tricky as hell due to tangles of roots and loose rocks.

On the bright side, I wasn't feeling any ill effects from my uncooperative digestive tract. I was a bit gassy (and my sincerest apologies to any and all of the runners whom I inadvertently crop dusted), but my belly wasn't causing any troubles. What was less encouraging was the rain, which continued to conspire with other runners' feet to churn the trail into a quagmire of slippery mud.

Near the 18k mark

Back I toiled, surprised at the number of people I managed to outrun on the way to the turn-around, but having to be extremely cautious on the steep, technical hills so I didn't end up sliding or just rolling down them in a broken heap of flailing limbs. I once again had to resort to interpretive dance in order to keep my clumsy self upright, and there were some flat sections on the return trip that had got so muddy I had to walk them because even my wildly windmilling arms were not going to be enough to prevent me from falling on my face.

I will do you the dance of my people!

From the looks of a lot of other runners on course, I made the right moves - lots of muddy legs and bloodied knees out there, and a couple of people fell quite hard in my vicinity (all of whom I made sure were ok before continuing on my somewhat merry way). I was seriously pleased at one point that I make it a habit to ensure my shoes are tied securely - there were two short patches of ankle-deep mud that threatened to pull them right off my feet! My back was still grouchy, but I had to ignore it and just shuffle on, scarfing back a packet of vanilla spice-flavoured Gu Roctane around the 2 hour mark.

The out-and-back nature of the course was nice in that I had a decent idea of what to expect on the way back, and was excellent for being able to say hi to friends who were also running but at very different paces than myself (read: much much faster). The organization and marking was fantastic, too - I can see why so many Ontario runners return year after year, even apart from the beauty of the trail itself as it winds along the stream.

On a much nicer day - from oakridgestrail.com

I never really did manage to fall into any kind of comfortable pace throughout the entire race, though, and spent more of it than I would have though possible death whistling. By the 20k mark I was ready to be done, but I was nevertheless still pushing myself and trying to catch people ahead of me. I also managed to direct a fellow racer who was heading off course to get her back on track - everything was brilliantly well marked with pin flags every few feet and marshals to direct athletes at most intersections, but fatigue is a factor for which it can be impossible to fully compensate.

Down the now incredibly slick, muddy washout that had been the first major climb, I knew that most of the rest of the course was runnable so I tried to pick up my feet and get after it. With my bottle totally empty I paused at the Forestream aid station to get a couple of last cups of water from the wonderfully cheerful volunteers, then made the hard right at the base of a downhill to see the only part of the course that would come as a surprise.

I hadn't been totally sure what to expect from the river crossing - I'd heard the water was typically between ankle and knee deep, and there was a rope strung across to aid tired runners. Unfortunately for me it was on the right-hand side, which meant it was only usable with the hand that had my bottle on it. I have got reasonably adept at working around it, though, and grabbed ahold anyway...only to have the rope dive under my hand as the runner ahead of me nearly fell over and leaned his whole weight on it! He was able to save himself a premature ice bath, and once he was clear I managed to safely pick my way through the ankle-threatening, shifting riverstones. My back even quit complaining, and I emerged on the finish line side unscathed (not to mention slightly cleaner) with 2.5km left to go.

Into the home stretch, I was totally roasted and had to fight the overpowering urge to drop to a walk on the mostly flat, easily-runnable trail. I just focused on keeping my legs turning over, and was rewarded by passing a couple of people just before emerging from the woods into Beverley Morgan Park and heading up a gravel path that I'd noticed on the way out, climbing back up the downhill we run on the paved path to start the race. Knowing I was less than 2 minutes away from the finish I flogged myself to keep running up the hill to the Pine Ridge Secondary School athletic fields, heading straight for the arch and seeing Tanker waiting for me beside the paved path. I was nearly there!

..except I wasn't. When I reached Tank less than 100m from the line, he told me I had to turn left and run a lap around the field! AAARGH NOOOO - what a dirty trick!

I followed the runner ahead of me onto the wet, energy-sucking grass, making a big square as my legs screamed at me for a rest. Finally I was back to the very spot where all this had started, crossing through the arch the same way I had hours earlier.

Kill it - it's in pain!

Official time for 25k: 3:01:01

Seeing the clock displaying over 3 hours as I approached the end was a bit depressing - the only other time I've taken more than 3hrs for the 25k trail race was at Pick Your Poison last year, and that's at a bloody ski hill.

I'll still take the medal, though.

So, not hugely happy with my time, but I felt quite weak and tired right from the start - no taper and very little sleep might have something to do with that, and I think the wet weather may have been a factor, too. A couple of friends of mine DNF'd at 25k (they had signed up for the 50k and are both super strong ultrarunners) because their asthma was playing up in the rain. I noticed myself death whistling a lot more than I would have expected and suspect that I may have a touch of exercise-induced asthma (my dad was full-blown asthmatic), so that may have contributed to my effort level feeling absurdly high for the way I was running.

Full results available here

The results say I didn't really do too badly, though - I know I could easily have found a couple of minutes on the course had it not been so treacherously muddy. I certainly didn't envy the 50k runners who would have to deal with even worse trail conditions and greater fatigue as the day wore on!

I am, nonetheless, satisfied with the way I kept pushing right to the finish. There were several times that I really wanted to give myself an excuse to walk a bit, but I buckled down and even managed to pass some people right up until a few hundred yards from the finish. I'm also pleasantly surprised that I managed to get through a technical trail race without tripping over anything - possibly a first for my clumsy arse!

If I'm not really racing..

..can I still call it a "race preview"?

In the name of trying new things in 2016, I signed up some ridiculously long while ago for the Seaton Soaker 25k. It's one of the many races in the fantastic OUTRace Series that I have yet to experience, and I figured the 25k distance would let me get through the first spring in a couple of years without any pressure to put in big mileage prior to a long early-season race.

Heh, yeah - I'm a master at sabotaging my own plans.

Not again..

With the introduction of the Dirty Girls 12hr and consequent transfer to the 50k at Conquer the Canuck, tomorrow's race was unceremoniously downgraded to a fully supported training day.

I'm in a weird place about racing tomorrow. No nerves have hit so far (they're entirely reserved for what's happening later in the season - eek!), and it feels a bit late to be starting race season...yet at the same time I know that the weeks will now start to fly by, and the next thing I know it'll be time to go trudge around in circles for a dozen hours. 

My "taper" for this race has consisted of:

1) Doing bodyweight-only strength work on Monday & Tuesday (instead of weighted lower-body work), foam rolling Wednesday morning (instead of upper-body weightlifting) and a bit of yoga & stretching on Thursday morning (instead of my usual 20mins of pilates core work).

2) I ran on my lunch break (6.6km instead of 7+km, due to lack of time) on Wednesday instead of cycling at lunch & after work, then running when I get home from visiting my mom. The idea was to get to bed earlier. Midnight qualified as "earlier than usual" for a Wednesday.

3) I skived off swimming last night to get to bed earlier. 11:30pm was an improvement.

Now, I'm pretty confident I'll make it through, considering I've run 3+hrs and between 24-26km each of the last two Saturdays, with more elevation change than this course is purported to have. I'm just not sure how well I'll perform, given that I don't feel very rested and my legs were pretty trashed last night.

The weather doesn't look to be super helpful, either.

May the 14th. Seriously.

Between the "liquid sunshine" and the river crossing that apparently rears its head with 2.5k left to go on the more-or-less out-and-back course, I'm really just hoping not to fall on my face due to mud, do a nosedive into the river, or end up catching a cold in what will undoubtedly be a chilly wind.

Apparently there's a rope to help keep you on your feet through the water crossing..

The biggest challenge of all, though, will actually be kicking my butt out the door for another 12-15k run on Sunday on legs that I'll undoubtedly have pushed harder than I really intend tomorrow. There's just something about a starting line and a gun that flips a switch in my head..

Really, all I wanted out of this event was to try something new and see some nice trail. I should probably be thankful that I have this on tap, because otherwise it would be far more difficult to get my lazy arse to trot 'round the woods in the rain for a few hours...not to mention I'll have much better company than just the voices in my head.

And really, it's not like it could be as cold as the last time I raced..

Attempting to chew

..what I've bitten off.

I'm not known as a great decision maker, but this year is really taking the cake as far as getting myself in over my fool head.

Not the delicious kind of cake, either. The kind of cake that is made of layers of fatigue and soreness frosted with trepidation and doubt.

I'd still eat it, because I'm always hungry.

As I've intimated previously, I signed up for the Dirty Girls 12hr day race. Twice as long (give or take) as I've ever run before, with multiple climbs of the escarpment on each 8km/5mi loop. This was probably very stupid. I'm really too chubby and talentless to be anything more than a poseur ultrarunner, but here I am going to give it a whack anyway.

I'd already registered for the Seaton Soaker 25k, which is next weekend. This got demoted from "race" to "fully supported training day", especially since I'm running out of time to get myself in proper shape for the next event.

I had originally signed up for the 25k at Conquer the Canuck, which I decided to race instead of the Woodstock Triathlon (which I'd raced every year since its inception in 2010, except 2011 when I was injured). It's a hometown trail race at a beautiful conservation area at which I've run, cross-country skied and mountain biked in the past (not to mention doing some canoeing and open-water swimming in the lake).

It's also rather lumpy. I couldn't really imagine doing the 50k there, especially since it's an 8.33km loop, so you'd have to go 'round 6 whole times in order to get the full distance in. Remembering how difficult it was to go out for a 4th loop at Run for the Toad in 2013, that just seems like a bad idea.

Now it looks like I'm going to find out exactly how ill advised it truly is.

Aww crap..

See, the thing is that I need to get a really long run into my legs somewhere around a month out from Dirty Girls, and we'll be motorcycle touring through Quebec from June 18-25th. That left me with basically no choice but to turn Conquer the Canuck into a huge training day, then hope like hell I can recover from it sufficiently in order to arrive at the start line for the 12hr with any hope whatsoever of getting through without a Vulture Bait 2015-esque total breakdown.

I am also currently running a heck of a lot, for me. Like my highest consistent mileage ever. I'm less than a kilometer away from breaking 1,000 for the year to date, and for the first time in my life I have the dubious honour of having cracked the leaderboard on Slowtwitch.

Still a long way from the top, but..

So I have to trust that the work is getting done and that I'll be able to show up at Dirty Girls with some small hope of blundering through.

What lends an extra-thick layer of trepidation frosting to that cake of queasy doubt is just how exhausting the training is proven. I've dropped all but the easiest and shortest cycling - a lunch ride and after-work trail jaunt to my mom's, or a quick Saturday-morning spin down to the farmers' market if weather is amenable - and I'm down to 2 or 3 weekly swims instead of 4.

I'm still so bloody tired, though, and that isn't exactly confidence inspiring considering that my weekly distance at the moment - which I will be endeavouring to increase as the weeks go by - is just a little more than I'll be attempting in a single day at the 12 hour.

My sense of duty is the only thing that gets me out the door most evenings lately. It's not as bad on Saturday long run days since I've been visiting lots of interesting trails and the arrival of spring is finally bringing the forests to life...not to mention it being right after my one day off.

The snow is finally all gone!

Moss and budding leaves

The first trilliums were even in bloom last Saturday

But by and large, between sore legs, beat-up joints from my remaining pudge - which is diminishing, but dammit it's hard not to feel justified cramming a cupcake in my face (along with anything else in arm's reach) after traipsing around in the woods for 3 hours - and general fatigue, I still spend most of my time lacing up my shoes wishing I could just go to bed instead and sleep.

Just a quick nap - 10 or 15 hours ought to do it.

I can only hope that as I continue to slowly build mileage I'll hit some kind of break point where it all becomes a bit easier, but I know I'm not likely to start miraculously getting more than my usual 5-ish hours of sleep per night and I am pretty pants about recovery diligence (my foam roller is very lonely). I often question my judgement in attempting this at all - I mean, there are 32km and 6 hour options at Dirty Girls as well, both of which are safely within the boundaries of things I've successfully done in the past.

The thing is, though...how do you really know what you're capable of until you try something of which you're not?

Pump up the volume

No, I'm not going to start blasting 80's techno, nor will this serve as the intro for a Christian Slater flick.

I am, as usual, prattling on about running. Specifically, running more.

With a thoroughly ridiculous race now on my schedule for July (seriously - why did I ever think this was a reasonable idea?), I've needed to make some adjustments not only to how I run but also to how much I run.

The "where I run" has been an added bonus of adjusting the "how".

The thing is, you can't cram for an ultra. After dealing with a nasty injury last summer that held me to some of my lowest mileage in years, I tried to do a fast build in time for a fall 50k while mediating the ramp up in order not to aggravate the injury.

The result was not pretty. I barely managed to limp in a personal worst, and then 2 weeks later did so again.

Despite having a couple of shorter (25k) trail races between now and July that don't require nearly the same sort of build, I'm actually running some of the highest, most consistent mileage of my life right now. The key here is to realise that endurance adaptation takes the longest out of any sort of fitness to achieve, and the work I do now and next month is really what are going to make or break my durability come July.

When things will be much greener, though they're coming along now.

My highest mileage month ever was March of 2014, during which I ran 257.8km as part of my Waterloo Marathon campaign. I ran well (probably the best race of my life) at the Sulphur Springs 50k last May after my second-highest volume month in March 2015 (252.3km). My third biggest running month - September of 2015, with 250.3km - came too late to get me properly conditioned for the Vulture Bait 50k in mid-October.

Adaptation takes time and consistency, and I did not have it last year.

This year, I haven't actually run less than 200km in a month - as of last night the full tally is 925.6km for 2016, and I've already laid down 254.2km for the month of April alone. While tonight is my night off, I do my long runs on Saturdays, which means I should be able to add another 20+km to that on the last day of this month, heartily smashing my previous best total.

The only problem with all this is that I'm probably the worst runner ever at recovering. I don't sleep enough (ever), and I'm still a solid few pounds over race weight. That leaves me in the precarious position of trying desperately to avoid hurting myself simply by being heavy and pounding on my poor, overworked joints. As much as I would love to run on soft surfaces all the time, my work schedule pretty much means that 4 out of my 6 weekly runs will be on city streets, which will certainly toughen me up for the trails...if I can emerge from all this mileage unscathed.

DO NOT WANT

So I'm attempting to pay a little more attention to recovery, and trying to be reasonable about increasing the time I spend on my feet each week. I actually felt stronger during last Saturday's 2h48m run with 453m of elevation gain than I did during the previous week's 2h30m run with only 259m of climbing, but then I've been pretty wiped out since Sunday. I'm hoping it's just an effect of the cold that I came down with and seem to have finally beaten into submission (knock wood!), because the exhaustion levels have been pretty bad.

I've managed to struggle on through and put in 34.5km from Monday to Thursday - including my first-ever lunch run from the office, just to sneak in 6.5k before going out to dinner on Wednesday to celebrate Tanker the Wonder Sherpa's birthday - but it's been tough to kick my arse out the door when I can hear my bed calling to me.

All stick - no carrot in sight yet.

I can only hope this will all pay off later, in the form of things sucking slightly less when I try to push myself far beyond any challenge I've attempted before.

Only time will tell.

Why even tri?

I have a confession to make.

I have almost no excite for the 2016 triathlon season.

Sure, I'm still going to the pool a few times a week and even getting out on a bike here and there (now that the weather is finally starting to cooperate), but it's mostly just swimming to recover from running and some commuter cycling. For the last couple of years I've really been prioritizing running, and this year that focus has ratcheted up a notch or two.

Really, I think I may be falling out of love with tri.

Did...did I just say that out loud?

I do have my reasons, which I've spent some time thinking about recently. Namely:

1. Cost

Triathlon isn't cheap. I mean, neither is ultrarunning, but when you look at a dollars-per-hour-of entertainment (yeah, we'll go with that as a description instead of "hours-of-suffering") it's hardly even a contest. Tri might win out on distance, because you can cover quite a bit on the bike course, but in a price/time comparison ultra definitely has an edge. I understand it's because triathlon involves a great deal more overhead to produce a safe race - swim buoys need to be set out (which requires at least one boat), lifeguards must be brought in to supervise the swimmers, swim caps need to be provided, bike courses should be patrolled, there are tons of extra timing mats to procure, and the permits alone for producing a race are much more complex than just getting in touch with a conservation area or trail association and having a bunch of people show up to trot around in the woods. Hell, a lot of ultras don't even bother with chip timing because it's really not that difficult to write down the time that a runner comes past a line, but it's pretty much essential with the absurd number of split times (swim, bike, run plus two transitions) that tri races generate. I get it, and I don't grudge triathlon race directors charging more to cover their costs (or even turning a bit of a profit). That doesn't, however, mean I really want to pay for it.

2. Complexity

Racing a tri is a logistical nightmare, really. From packing up and trying to make sure you've got the yard-long list of gear you'll need to sport along just in order to get through the race - lord help you if you forget your cycling shoes at home! - through the setting up of transition, and then the actual racing...it's just so much faffing. Showing up 90mins before race time to stuff myself into a rubber sausage casing and wallow around in the water a bit to try to loosen up and get my heart ready to nearly burst from my chest. Try not to drown while negotiating my way through a gauntlet of flailing limbs and turn buoys. Endeavour not to fall on my face while attempting to remove a wetsuit, cap and goggles while running (or at least staggering)...only to arrive in transition completely out of breath and having to try to get the order of helmet-cycling shoes-number belt-pull bike from rack and run straight.

Even if I make it through all that, I'm only a third of the way done. I've still got another transition and the run left to go.

Somehow I need to get from here to there..

When I compare that to the easy-going nature of ultrarunning, it hardly seems like a fair contest. Show up at least half an hour beforehand to get my number on and use the restroom facilities. Meander up to the starting area, staying well toward the back 'cause I know my damn place. Sooner or later someone will say "go" or make a loud noise that I may or may not hear - when everyone in front of me starts heading into the woods I follow like a good little lemming. 

Pick up foot. Put down in front of other foot. Repeat until finished, too injured to continue, or dead.

That second condition can be rather relative, too.

As a bonus, the scenery tends to be much prettier, too. There are precious few off-road triathlons in this area (and history has proven that I attempt them at my peril), most taking place on country roads in rural areas. This means that pavement quality on the bike course can be bloody awful, and while rolling vistas of cornfields may be wonderful for feeding humanity they tend not to be sufficiently interesting to distract me from the horrible things the combination of uneven tarmac and the aero position is doing to my saddlery regions. 

Most of the ultras take place on trails, many of which are positively stunning in their rocky, rooty, mossy glory. I may fall on my face, but I'll generally be grinning while I do so because it's so very pretty.

It just feels...pure. I've often referred to racing an ultra as "going for a bit of a wander in the woods", because even on the worst day of ultrarunning there's going to be some point at which I simply lose myself in the glory of the trail.

I may not know where I am, but I'm right where I want to be.

3. Challenge

I originally started thinking about racing a triathlon back in the winter of 2008/2009. I had just begun running after spending about 8 months getting myself from "holy crap I've been attacked by the fat monster and can't ride a bike 2km up to the coffee shop without needing to stop repeatedly to catch my breath" into fairly decent shape, and thought that triathlon presented the ultimate challenge. Could I really swim, ride a bike and then run? Would I make it through a 750m - 30km - 7km sprint? I started hitting the pool regularly in January of 2009, added in cycling as spring rolled in, bought a triathlon bike (the same one I still ride - occasionally - to this day), and went about preparing myself in the dorkiest ways possible. I decided to race a 375m - 10km - 2.5km super sprint tri in June as a dress rehearsal, and then went to the race site and did my own swim-bike-run brick workout as a dry run before that.

I joined a tri forum or two, geeked out on details, and generally took myself far too seriously.

Which tends not to be the case at ultras.

I did ok in the super sprint despite it pouring rain for my very first race, and then made it through the sprint in September as well. I went a little nuts in 2010, racing 4 solo triathlons, a relay tri, a duathlon, plus a few other single-sport things, including my very first ultra at Horror Hill in October 2010. In total I have racked up 30 multisport races since June of 2009, all the way from super sprints through two half-iron (2k swim, 90km bike, 21.1km run) distance triathlons.

I've learned that not only can I finish a tri, I can do so while undertrained (see most of my race reports), with a broken wrist, or even a broken heart.

While I know there are longer triathlons out there, the available training hours I have limit my ability to put in the sheer volume of cycling required to race comfortably at anything above the half-iron distance. More importantly, though, I don't really have any desire to complete a full iron-distance race - I've done a century on my cyclocross bike once and the idea of spending an additional 20km learning to hate my bike in between a 3.8km swim and a full road marathon (which is a thing that sucks all on its own anyway) holds approximately zero draw for me. I may be masochistic, but I try to be marginally kinder than that to my soft bits.

The idea of spending increasingly long times frolicking in the woods, though?

I am convinced that it's only a matter of time before I attempt a 100 mile running race. I know it will require that I run an absurd amount of mileage per week, and I stand a very strong chance of not finishing my first attempt...or even my tenth.

I think that's really part of the appeal. It's both simple and incredibly difficult at the same time - as easy as putting one foot in front of the other, but as hard as walking across live coals with broken legs...which is pretty much exactly how I feel by the end of most ultras, yet with a deep sense of fulfillment.

I'm not completely giving up on triathlon yet - I do have plans to race a short one in September - but for the most part this year will be dedicated to one of the most ancient forms of human locomotion in all of its simplicity and purity.

I'm going to go out and run.

Yep.