Canadian Death Race 2019 Solo – The Preamble (aka the “why”)

The introduction to this race actually begins with how I got into trail running. In 2009, my husband-to-be Trevor introduced me to his lovely friends Kamren and Karina Farr. Kam was in the process of getting the 5 Peaks trail running series off the ground in Edmonton. I said “I like running. I’ve never run on a trail. But I like hiking on trails. I think I would like it?” My first race was at Sunridge. I ended up on the age category podium with bloody knees from bailing down a hill. I was hooked.

The next year, Kamren planned to solo the Canadian Death Race, so a bunch of other running friends made teams. Karina and our other friend Iva convinced me to join their “Run Like Girls” team on Leg 3. We went out to Grande Cache to train on the course and I was able to preview my leg – I came away feeling humbled and possibly in over my head – what was all this downhill rocky stuff? The pre-run was the mental preparation I needed however, and I ended up crushing my leg and passing 70-80 other runners (suffering soloists in the middle of their run, now I have much more sympathy). Kamren finished in about 16.5 hours, a couple hours past his goal time, but an impressive time by any standard. He came across the finish line and said something like “Fuck! That was hard!” I had mad respect for Kam, but at this point I really saw people soloing as some other level of athlete, some other brand of crazy. I knew he’d been training for 8-9 months and I just couldn’t imagine wanting to run that much. I thought the training sounded like torture.

By 2011 I was starting to feel at home in the trail running scene. I was asked to join a “fast” ladies team sponsored by 5 Peaks. I was getting stronger but I still had major imposter syndrome. I trained to run leg 5, but one of the other women on the team who was going to do 3 and 4 was having some health issues. Some tiny voice in the back of my head secretly wanted to do something harder, more challenging. So I ended up running Leg 4. A similar outcome followed: I felt in a little over my head but I met/exceeded my own expectations and successfully crushed Mt. Hamel. We were the top ladies team that year. This stuff was kind of addicting. By now I had seen a few other friends complete the solo event and watched some elite runners (Ellie Greenwood!) set new course records – inspiring stuff! The little voice that wants me to push and challenge myself gained some volume and I brazenly, flippantly said, “this race is always the weekend of my birthday… maybe when I turn 40 I’ll solo.” Easy words for a 32 year-old to toss around.

The intervening years contained an unexpected amount of Life. Motherhood x2 and Widowhood x1. But those words never left my mind. There were years in the middle when it felt like maybe my life was taking a different direction, I got sucked into the vortex of young kids when running more than 8-10k seemed impossible. But after Trevor’s sudden death in 2017, running was the only thing that made sense. We had an incredible trail running family that circled around me and held me up. Interestingly though, when I started racing again, I discovered that I didn’t actually know many people at races anymore. Other people’s lives had moved on too, I guess. It was just another way that my own life no longer seemed familiar to me. But I kept showing up and putting one foot in front of the other, the same way I did in the rest of my life in those grief-filled first months. I didn’t know what else to do. The running community honoured Trevor’s memory with a number of Spirit Awards and my need to be a part of that remained strong. Slowly, I made new running friends. My life started to take shape again. I started racing again and found myself occasionally back on the podium. These successes felt so good. It gave my life some direction. And the words remained: “I’m going to solo CDR for my 40th birthday.”

As it happens, Trevor and I had planned to run CDR on a relay team in 2017 with our friends Matt and Denise (who had never done anything like this before) and Trevor’s sister Kirsten. After Trevor’s death, we decided to run the race in his memory. In the end (after a few injuries to other potential runners), Trevor’s good and very speedy friend Andrew Forrest filled in for Trevor’s leg 4, and we WON the relay race that year! Standing at the finish line with Andrew (and possibly under the influence of a glass of prosecco) we chatted about my future race plans and I realized that soloing CDR in a couple more years was no longer a far-fetched goal. “You could totally do it” Andrew said. I think I replied something like “yeah, I probably can.”

I also started to think about something my friend Joanna said about her second and successful CDR solo, which was that the training was at least as much fun as the race, that the process or journey had been as significant as the destination. I can honestly say that this also ended up being the case for me. Training to solo this year was anything but torture. It was exactly what I wanted to be doing with my life (ok, well there were a few 4 am alarms on Sunday mornings that I might not have chosen without the push towards this goal… even though those runs ended up being enjoyable too). I don’t actually know if I would be here soloing CDR if Trevor was still here. It’s a weird question to ponder. I know he would have been supportive of whatever I wanted to do, and he certainly thought I COULD successfully complete an ultra, but if I hadn’t needed running to cope, I’m not sure I would have been physically ready in time or if I would have met the people that have been instrumental in reaching this goal. My social life now revolves primarily around running, and I have had so many great adventures shared with wonderful people as a result. I recently read another blog that said the race is actually just a celebration of all that you have accomplished. This really resonated for me, and while the race was still a big deal, it did feel like arriving at the end of a very enjoyable journey. Or maybe more accurately, one of the main stops of a big adventure (because I certainly don’t think this is the end of the journey, I’m just not yet sure about where these feet are going next). Running is a celebration of being alive. Every run. This one is just a little more epic, to satisfy the part of my brain that wants to know just what I AM capable of at 40.