The Ballad of the Ever Sexy Ghost Runner at Death Race
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| Fresh outta the box |
The Death Race and I have a complicated relationship. It's been a white whale for me, but since I got serious about running, and got off my combination Window/Fatkins diet I hadn't tried this bad boy. Which brings me to a happy hour on July 5th (or whatever the last day of registration was). I'd run 4 ultras this year, and was headed to Sinister 7 in a week. My season was full. I had 9 total booked for this year! But after a few beers....why not make it 10? That number sounds better right?
So here we are.
Pulling into Grande Cache on the Friday after work, you can see the signs in building, and billboards. They read something like 'You are an idiot, this is stupid, who does this?'. My first stop is the classy sky hy lounge. If alcohol got me into this mess, it can get me out right? The rest of Friday is pretty uninteresting, unless you find the personal grooming habits of ultra runners interesting, if so, you are creepy.
Leg 1-Dawn of the duck (it'll make sense later)
We do the march up the block, shot gun goes off, and about 50% of the people take off at a pace that if they can maintain, will be course record material...this is generally considered not very smart, and I found myself in this group (you are my people!). Leg 1 is my favorite. We should end the race here, all agree to tell everyone we went up a few mountains, and have a pint. I was feeling pretty good vibes on Leg 1, I still had that 'new runner' look and smell, liked they'd just pulled me out of the box. Then Leg 2...oh Leg 2.
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| The heart rate readout from 'Day 1' |
So I make a point to tell people, 'I am not a fast runner! I'm a slow moving force of nature'. I do however have one skill. I can climb and descend like a hot damn. I'm like the guy at the club with one dance move, 'the dice'. So leg 2 begins, and I start passing people on the climb up Flood Mountain. It's dirty trail, with unrelenting gain. Up, and Up, and Up. I hit the top, and can't believe my luck, the climb is over. That wasn't so bad. We begin descending down the mountain, and promptly begin to climb again. I don't remember Grande Mountain being so soon. Then I remember, oh yeah, this is the course creators idea of a sick joke, a little 'fake' mountain before Slugfest. I've learned to use my oldest pair of shoes on Leg 2, the ones my dogs have been chewing on. Slugfest is basically just mud, water, and vegetation mixed in to mud and water. I'm quickly losing my new runner look. Slugfest ends, and we climb Grande. This is where I began to hear a word the ryhmes with 'duck' but has an 'F' in it used as a verb, adjective, and noun. As in, this climb can go to DuckTown, and Duck this hill. I climb the 'Ducking hill', feeling amazing, get to the summit, and begin the world's worst descent. During my descent I keep hearing people yelling 'DUCK!' I look for a pond, or above me to see where the ducks are, but I tell you what, I did not see one duck the entire day. I must be blind. We finally hit the cemetery. This leg is almost over. Feeling great, I boogie it on in.
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| Leg 6 |
I take a quick break, eat a pile of food, cookie monster style, and set out on Leg 3. It's hot, and I'm sweating, but that's life. For the first time i'm running with a group. My boy Conor and Andrew (he's a doctor, so I figure we are safe). Leg 3 is what I hate most about trail running, it's the 'running' part. The whole thing is runnable best I can remember. We make good time, and reach the mine site quickly. Just a quick run along the highway and we are home free, right? Then we are reminded of the new section....everyone sees a duck. This section is awful. from what I can understand, it's called Ducking Hill, because that is what everyone called it. We climb up carved stairs, like the stair master from Hell, then down some good ol' fashioned bum slides. This patch of dirt was truly awful. It was a nice way for the Race Directors to turn a 10 minute highway jog, into 30 minutes of hell (I say thay affectionately.....now).
Leg 4- Duckpocalypse
I've lost that new runner look and smell by this point, but my crew patches me up, and sends me off to assault a poor guy named Hamel. Also know as 'Ducking Mountain'. I begin the climb, legs still feeling pretty good. Then, boom, three huge piles of scat. I ran past them, picking up the pace a bit, and heard a growl (please be my stomache?). The growl gets louder, and slightly angrier. I eat a snickers. It keeps going. I look into the bush, and about 20 feet away, a big face looks back at me. I make my own pile of scat. At this point, I am picturing this leg renamed, 'The Canadian Ghost Runner Memorial Leg', but then, the bear turns, loses interest, and heads into the bush. I carry on...quickly. I pass the bail out on Hamel, and begin the final assault. Finally, I summit, still lots of daylight, and I've been alone most of the climb. I am however out of water. I ask the volunteers at the top if they have any water, and they say, in no uncertain terms, they are not a water station, the next one is Ambler, I repeat they did NOT give me water (I got got you covered buddy). So I take a swig from my bottle and begin the run down Hamel. Things are going well until the cut across to ambler. I am super dehydrated. I start to cramp due to dehydration, and have to take it slow into Ambler. Finally, I make it into Ambler, and drink all the liquid at the aid station (if you didn't get there before me, tough luck!). I run/walk ambler, waiting for the water and food to work its way through my system, and finish the loop. After a little self care, I head down the glorious Beaver Damn (yup it's like that) Road. It's a transcendent moment. I finally hit the spot where my brain and body disconnect. I no longer feel any pain in my body, cramps, discomfort, all gone. I bomb down the road, and a breakneck pace, grooving to 'Eye of the Tiger' blaring from a slow passing truck. Leg 4 is finally in the books. Still light out.
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| Me looking sexy at the end |
Leg 5- Night of the living Duck
My crew gets me in tip top shape, and points me in the direction of leg 5. I hate night running. After my Leg 4 encounter, I see dark monsters. Luckily for me, about 4km in Conor (the protagonist from Leg 3) reappears. He's wearing a flood lamp, and asks if I have any interest in taking 5 slow. I totally could have run the whole thing, but to be nice I power hiked and slow jogged with Conor. Several times, I could tell Conor was going too fast, probably on my account, so I went a little slower, you know, to make him feel better. We are seeing a lot of ducks, usually by a root or hill but eventually make our way to the boat. I pull that God forsaken coin out of my bag, and pray to God they sterilize it before next years race, and we hop in. Across the river, is yet another aptly named 'Ducking Hill'. I'm starting to see ducks. Better pop a gel. Up, up, and up we go. This is possibly the best marked course for night running in the world, and only a blind man, or Conor and myself could get lost. After adding some extra elevation gain to prove our manliness, we finally hit the timing point. 8km to go. We make quickish work of the next part, and it's pretty tame until we get to the road. A road, thank God! these things have a consistent grade and are flat right?..right? After climbing up the 'Ducking Road Hill', we finally hit town. We are going to finish this. We can feel and hear the good vibes, as we chip in about 300m from the finish. We run it in together, and thank the good lord we never have to do this again...until next year.
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| Conor looking much sexier than me at the end |
Thus ends the ballad of the Ever Sexy Canadian Ghost Runner.
Find me on twitter @canghostrunner
Instagram canadianghostrunner
Strava Canadian Ghost Runner
Crush your Goals,
Ghost Runner out
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