Sinister 7 Recrap
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| The Dude Abides |
The Following is my solo experience of about 58miles of the Sinister 7. Trigger warning: The following may disturb you.
So.....those of you that have read my amazingly written recaps (*cough *cough) know I've had a good year this year. Put down some good ultras, had a blast in training, and have just been loving on life. I put a lot of training into running this one race (seriously folks 100-120 miles a week all bloody winter!!!). So, how does one deal with a DNF, or just a crappy day (if you know what I mean *winky face emoji). This is the tale.....
The year was 2017, It was a warm July morning, Trump was in the Whitehouse, Oil was 40 bucks a barrel, and a rather shaggy looking runner, was donning his camo bucket hat and proudly affixing his bib # (#1 of all numbers, thanks for the cursed # Brian, lol)for what promised to be a great/hot as hell day of running.
I was determined to not get caught in the snake on leg 1. We all know the long line of people, stuck behind the one guy (a lady would never do this!) that went out too quick, gassed in the first km of single track, and is forcing 2/3 of the runners to go his pace (again, I'm sure this is always a guy!). I took off at the beginning. I planned a sub two hour first leg, I've done a few of these legs before, and I'm no stranger to pacing myself for a long day. I felt good vibes all through leg 1. The miles clicked by, I sweat like a beast (I always do), and I arrived 15 minutes of so ahead of schedule. Life was good.
I hadn't planned on the sweat being quite so bad, so I needed to change shirts. The only problem, I hadn't directed my wife/support crew/primary care nurse to bring one. So, like any good woman would do, she took off her 'Victory or Valhalla' tank top (with a flowing bottom) and offered it to me. I went to put it on, but I couldn't do it, that tank top would never be the same. I opted to run shirtless for leg 2. I apologize to everyone that had to see that. With the beard of a homeless man, and the taped nipples of an exotic dancer I took off for leg 2.
Leg 2 is my favorite thing in the world for 2 reasons. #1 because I love elevation gain, my routine training weeks aim for 15000-20000 feet, #2 because its off the road, so townsfolk wouldn't have to see my pasty white body dancing along the trail. Leg 2 went well. Like really well for me. To my luck all Brian Gallant's changes suited my running style, long grinding up hills to gain elevation, then quick drop offs to lose it all, basically unrunnable. I love to hike, so I grooved along and made great time on 2, thinking I had to remember to thank Brian for his lovely work.
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| My Partner in crime/wife/crew |
Leg 3 felt good. Brian had kindly decided to put a nice 20km of slow uphill at the beginning of this Leg, so we wouldn't have to rush our experience, and could enjoy working on our tans in the exposed 100 degree heat. As someone from the far north, that doesn't see a lot of sun, thanks Brian! Anyhow, I had a race plan, and knew the back 12km was super runnable, so figured I'd drop the hammer on the back half. It was going pretty good, until we left the last aid station, and boom! Brian had figured we probably needed another hill (he's always looking out for our best interests). So up I went, legs still feeling great, got to the top, and was happy to see we got to run along a goat trail on a 50% grade to lose the elevation, the trees blocking the path were a nice touch, I love obstacle course races too! Still feeling great vibes, and legs still feeling pretty good, I began the last few Km of leg 3. Then something weird happened. I felt like I was running in a swimming pool. No worries though, I like pools, and I was at the transition area.
The volunteers at the TA were spot on. My wife wasn't there as she was volunteering a shift at TA5/6, but the volunteers looking after us were great. I sat down, took 20 minutes, ate, drank, laughed, and got ready too head out on leg 4.
Leg 4 begins, and I'm still in a swimming pool. Not super cool, and I've noticed a new development, my lungs can't seem to get air. It's like 3/4 lung capacity. I'm not worried at this point, as my legs are fine, so I figure I'll walk for an hour and get my crap together. I'm hiking along on these mountain bike trails, hoping to get my engine going, and thing start to really dive downhill. By the time I get to the aid station, I'm on like 1/2 lung capacity. I keep hydrating, and head out, when it occurred to me, I've been running 11 hours, and haven't peed (TMI, I know!). I've steadily put down 2L of liquid an hour, and not a drop. I've also developed some uncomfortable chaffing due to wet shorts, but there really is nothing like having your man bits feel like they are being run over a cheese grater to keep the adrenaline going. I tell the aid station people I'm heading out, and off I go.
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| Poor man's garmin readout |
So a DNF. One could be sad. I hadn't even seen heat this year before the day of the run, so I couldn't beat myself up. My wife and I went on to holiday in Radium, and Hike 100miles and gain roughly 40,000ft of elevation the next week, so I had to look at the positives. My legs were fine the next day. I had a lot of gas left. Within a few days my lungs stopped hurting and I could run again, pretty grateful for that too. But most of all, I got to run for 12 hours on great trails with great people. If that doesn't make you chill out and not be angry, nothing will. Running is a blast, it brings me to my happy place and my life is pretty darn good. I have another 4or 5 races this year, and will sneak in 10 ultras total this year. So one bad race is just that, one bad race. Pick yourself up, secretly curse Brian for his addictive race in a beautiful place, and get on with it.
Keep Trucking,
Canadian Ghost Runner
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