My First Sinister 7!

[JoaniB]

Cross-posted from my running blog. I wrote this late last night and revisited this morning. I think I caught most of the rambling, but it's still a long report.

I am elated to say that I have survived my first ultra-marathon! Ragnar and I went down to Crowsnest Pass and participated in the Sinister 7 ultra marathon this past weekend.

A bit of back story on how we got caught up in this crazy idea: my friends and I were out at Wings Night at the bar (it always starts at a bar). I discovered that one friend was expecting, due two months before this race. I didn't want to make assumptions about her fitness and ability to run, if she felt she was really ready, so I just said, "If you don't think you'll feel ready for this, I can take your spot. Sure, I'll totally be ready to run." (I have since learned not to say this because it's inviting disaster)

My friend was more enthusiastic than I expected, and then Ragnar got involved (though this wasn't his first race), then some friends had to back out...

And then the area where the race was to take place got flooded. Southern Alberta flooded with the vengeance of a 100-year flood plain that was doubted. Google 'Alberta Floods 2013' to see how it went. Ragnar was sent down with the army, interrupting any running regime he was doing, and only just made it back in time. We thought the race might be cancelled, but as Alberta is so fond of doing, we made it happen.

In any case, the race was on, and Ragnar and I were up. My boss has done Sinister 7 in the past, so when I brought up the subject of taking Friday off to drive down, he completed my sentence with, "and you'll need to take Friday off." Easy.

The drive through southern Alberta is gorgeous. It's six hours of beauty from Edmonton to Crowsnest Pass... blah blah blah. It's wonderful, and I suggest you do it. Stop in Nanton: the local aviation museum has a Lancaster aeroplane.

Anyways, this is a race report, not a weekend-get-away report.

The race started at 7 a.m. Funny story here: we camped next to a train track. The train went by at 1:30 a.m., 3:30 a.m., and 5:30 a.m. The first time it went by, our tent was so bright that I thought the sparse two hours of sleep was actually longer, so I got up to get ready... only to find the light was a street lamp over us. The extra four hours of sleep were tortured with train whistles, pre-race jitters and too much light.

Finally I gave in to awareness at the last train whistle, made a quick cup of coffee, downed a scone, and got dressed. And over-dressed. Mountain areas are cold first thing in the morning - but they can warm up quick... or they don't.

I was doing Leg 1 of the Sinister 7, 16.5km of which the first 10km is road-work and the last 6km are up into the hills.

With a farewell kiss to Ragnar (my teammates were around, but unfound at that point), I got ready for the gun to go off. Leg 1 runners begin their run along the road, but closer to the train-tracks. The path was a good introduction for what we would see later in the off-road portion of this leg: weeds brushing by our legs, slightly muddy, and we had to pay attention to the track before us.

Next we moved onto the Frank Slide. We ran along a side-road to the main highway, which took us through the awe-inspiring man-sized boulders and gravel that was once a solid piece of rock. The description in the race package says that the boulders could move again at any time (presumably fatally). Thanks for that note of confidence! But really, if you're ever in the Crowsnest Pass area, run around the Frank Slide roads, look up and see the boulders... It's a 'holy ****' moment.

Then the race proceeded through the town of Hillcrest, and while it was geographically the least favourite part of the run, the best part was the people interspersed, cheering us on. They were like the birthday present you don't expect around every other corner - surprise, sucka, we're cheering for you!

We left Hillcrest at around 7 km and started on a remote hill climb to the one water-point of this leg, at the 9km marker. That's when the fun started. We still had some more hill to do... but then there was a turn right and road gave way to four-wheeler track, and we were in the dense foliage of the Rocky Mountains.

Some of my very first impressions of this stage were: Lead cyclist with a raven on his helmet; huge green liquidy puddle of random wild animal poop; oh wow, mud; more mud; more poop; thank goodness this is too steep to run because my knee wouldn't let me.

From there, it was some steep ups, some steep downs, some steep flats even (I really don't know how they managed that). I learned quickly to look ahead quickly to check if I could run on even ground or if I would have to pass someone, whether there was an obstacle or a wash-out to navigate, and to keep my feet very directly on the goat-track before me - a mis-step could lead to a sprained ankle in some places, or a blown knee.

I really don't remember having so much fun while running. We ran through heavy trees and foliage, along a hillside that could send us tumbling to doom, past mocking cows; we got to see some amazing views of hillsides in the mountains that are possibly comparable with sunrises on beaches, but it's debatable. I wasn't allowed to have music with me, but it didn't matter. Once getting into the trees, the distance seemed to melt. When I got to the 15 km mark, I could see the buses at the end of Leg 1, and hoped they were further away than I expected them to be. Up to this point, I had been running when my right knee would allow me, but then my body seemed so very excited because I just wanted to run. The end came in the form of a downward hill which I tried very hard not to trip down. I managed to get the timing chip passed off to our Leg 2 person, and then went for snacks.

The only transportation allowed to that transition point was the shuttle bus and I was lucky to get on the first one I saw... but as I sat, chatting with a fellow Leg 1 runner, I felt disappointed that it was over. It wasn't just the stiffening up that my body was doing - I wanted to run more in the outback and beyond.

The following hours are much more mundane: I got picked up by the boyfriend, we got him ready for Leg 3, to the transition point, and then waited for Leg 2 to come in. She actually arrived while I was looking the other way or something, so I didn't get to watch Ragnar leave on his leg. I did have his car keys, so I drove Leg 2 back to her campsite and had the most welcome six-minute shower I've ever had. Then I went and picked up some pasta, took a lovely nap in our tent, and boiled up some pasta on a large camping Bunsen burner. I took myself over to the transition area where Ragnar would come in, and waited and enjoyed the sun.

Ragnar actually came in better time than when he did the Death Race, and later said that Leg 3 of Sinister 7 was more challenging. He was drained when he arrived; not even tent food or a shower really made him feel better, so I took him to the Tin Roof Bistro which boasts European fare. He ordered a hearty, heavily sauced dish that made him feel much better and then went for a nap in our tent, and I went and spent time with my friends until our Leg 4 runner came in.

Procuring Leg 4 was easier because Leg 2 drove us up there (I'd had an excellent glass of Tokaji wine with dinner and wasn't exactly good for following mountain driving directions). Leg 4 traded off to Leg 5 at 9 p.m. after some confusion involving an out-house, and we went back to the campsite and found Ragnar there. That was the beginning of a very long night.

Getting to the transition point for Leg 5 to 6 was... adventurous. I'm glad I wasn't driving. To call it the middle of nowhere is to actually declare an approximate location for this transition point, but somehow we made it. It was cold, and I was tired, but there were Christmas lights celebrating this hand-over point, and lots of loud music. We saw a lot of runners come in including some soloists (doing the whole 150 km on their own), but finally Leg 5 came in and 6 went out into the darkness... And we all collected in the truck to go back to the Transition point which we'd visited earlier (4->5) which became the point of transfer for Leg 6 to 7.

Things become a bit blurry at this point, because we were napping in the truck. It was approximately 2 a.m. at this point. I know our Leg 6 came in and transferred to Leg 7, but I don't think I was present for that hand-over. Sleep. Sleep is good. Somewhere in here, I had an inner debate about the meaning of 'team' and why I couldn't just say screw it, I'm going to bed: they're my team, and when I'm doing a leg, they'll be there for me. It's my duty to be there for them.

We made it to the finish line for the race - the plan was our racer of Leg 7 would come in at 4 a.m, we would get our photos taken, and then we would lay down and get sleep. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Four o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of our Leg 7. Since I know from personal experience that the track is muddier than hoped or expected I figured he was delayed. No problem. But it was cold and I really didn't want to see the sky getting light, so I went inside to the Sportsplex. I may have started a female revolution at that point because all the women joined me. There was a false alarm at around 4:45 a.m. and there may have been sotto voce threats, but I certainly didn't make any...

Finally, our runner came in... sometime around 5 a.m. At this point, things are a bit blurry in time and crankiness, so I remember: Oh thank god, he's here; let's get our damn photo and go to bed; okay, medals are cool now; can I sleep now; okay, another photo with medals; no, I don't care where I stand, I just want sleep; do I have to smile or can I do this photo with a vacant expression; no more photos, let's sleep.

Why was Leg 7 so late? He took a wrong turn and went racing 5 km through cow fields.

Finally, FINALLY, Ragnar and I picked up the car and crawled into our sleeping bags. I'd had the uncommon sense to set them straight earlier in the day and boy was I thankful.

We got to sleep in to the rosy hour of 9 a.m, wherein the tent got stiflingly hot and I couldn't pretend it was sleeptime anymore. After four hours of sleep, Ragnar and I got up, packed the car, and drove back to Edmonton, even managing to navigate Calgary for a stop at the local games store, Sentry Box.

Anyways, I'm fading and it's 11 p.m. so here are some observations:
I may have been ruined for road-running. Trails are... like crack. The controlled substance of the running world.
Sinister 7 needs to solicit more frequent service for port-a-potties.
Sinister 7's transition points should be marked more clearly, and their late night runs need clearer marking. Maybe with flashing neon lights. Like in Las Vegas.
Fail to prepare, prepare for your knees to hate you. And when you ignore them, expect them to attempt revenge. I'm still putting down the revolution.
Get sleep whenever you have more than five minutes to yourself. Make time during the day for naptime because you're not going to be sleeping that night anyways.

[grimskot]

Good job and great report. And yes, trails are awesome to race on.

[Habs4ever]

What a great report! Congratulations to you and your team.

[JoaniB]

Thanks so much! It was so much fun that I'm already planning next year.

[runJrun]

Awesome report, congratulations to you and your team! I would like to give this one a go one day as well. Hopefully you are getting caught up on sleep!

[Tisha]

Great report! A friend has been trying to talk a few of us into doing this with him. It sounds beautiful!

Great run!

[barebuns1]

Thanks for the great race report. I have hiked to the top of Frank's Slide. it is a beautiful area.