Capes 100 - Halfway to a Buckle

CAPES 100

How long have I been waiting for this race?

My "A" race.

My first 50 miler; halfway to a buckle.

For over 3 years, I have been registered to run 87km in Mabou, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Covid delayed those plans for two years, but finally this August I was able to be present at the Mabou Gaelic College, at 6am, uninjured, ready to rock.

This was the third big event of 2022 for me. Between February to May, my focus was the Fredericton Marathon and improving fitness, but immediately after the marathon my focus had been increasing mileage, climbing hills (3100m of elevation gain for this event), and getting better on technical trails.

I was not the only Monctonian to feel the need to focus on these areas, nor the only to make the 4 hour trip to Cape Breton. Both Chester Dana (running 100 miles) and René Julien (RJ) (running 87kms) wanted to improve and train these areas as well, so they organized White Rock Wednesdays. White Rock Wednesdays was a weekly 9-12km run in White Rock Park in Hillsborough - it contains probably the nicest single track trails within 30 minutes of Moncton, and offers a whole bunch of elevation gain. I missed only a few weeks, and I got to know Chester and René quite well over the 3 months of WRW.  I also went to nearly every Thursday night Moncton Trail Running group run.

Call me stubborn, call me dedicated, I showed up regardless of how well, or badly I was feeling that day. 

35°C with humidity? - I'm there. 

Rain? - Count me in.

Rolled ankle? - Wrap it in a tensor bandage.

Dehydrated? - All part of training.

Some weeks, my heart-rate would spike to 200bpm, other weeks I felt like I could have pushed harder. I was stubbornly consistent.

As was hoped,  I got much better on trails, I got faster on downhills, and improved my footing measurably.

I noticed early on that I didn't do so well in the heat and humidity, so whenever I had the opportunity, I would run or walk in the middle of the day preferably on the hottest days of the week. Late in the training plan, René, Karine (also running 87 kms) and I, decided to tackle the Fundy Circuit (a 48km loop around Fundy) on what would eventually become a hot day.

In summary, I did pretty much everything in my power to learn, improve, and to secure a finish on what would be my biggest single-event distance.

My goals for this event were as follows;

1. Finishing is the most important thing
2. Time Goals
1. Run it faster than 13h30min
2. Run it faster than 16h

Race Morning

After a good carb-heavy pasta supper and a breakfast consisting of hard-boiled eggs, chocolate milk and salt tab - I was ready to get moving. It only hit me emotionally about 30 minutes prior to race start that I would be running 87kms, but I would not say that I got nervous or diffident at any point. I felt that I had planned my nutrition adequately (mostly consisting of baby food), I had plenty of socks to change into, and I had lubed everything twice, I was uninjured, and I was well trained.

Start Your Engines 
0:00 - 2:50
0 km - 20km

At 5:55am, I give a big hug to my wife and make my way into the start corral, say hi to Chester, RJ, Pat because I assumed that they would be way ahead of me for the entirety of the race. I tried to find Karine but could not see her. Settled midway in the corral. 

Unlike in 2019, I don't think Jodi shot an actual shotgun to start the race, but we nonetheless started running down the street at 6:00am. It was misty and cloudy in these first few hours of the run, but definitely not cold - I remember worrying that it might become a hot day.

The first 5km were extremely runnable; even though Strava says we gained between 30 and 45m of elevation for some of these kilometers - I really can't say that I remember any "hills", as I was in full conversation with two gents from Woodstock - Enrique and Hunter were both running 100 miles this day - I recognized Enrique from the Fredericton Marathon (he was the 2hr half-marathon pace bunny). We ran down a paved road, cross a little bridge and move onto the dirt road. As we kept going down this road, at 6:20 in the morning, a local fiddler set himself up to play us off into the day.

Photo Cred: Karine Godin

A big group of runners pass me, I felt like I was running at a consistent pace, and in the medley I lost the two guys from Woodstock and they were replaced by two friends who went to Acadia; Dillon and Nick (easy name to remember). The three of us share a few kms together, and we get to a fairly long section where we're skipping on rocks and running on the shoulder of the road, trying to keep our feet dry, as the road became a stream. I would rather lose 5 minutes of race time avoiding the water and tiptoeing on rocks than to suffer from trench foot and nasty blisters in 10 hours.

I have packed a bunch of baby food for the race: on my person to start the race, I have 8 baby-sized banana muffins that my wife baked, and a baby smoothie package (Banana + Vanilla flavour [~100Cal]). I tried my best to eat at least one muffin every 30 minutes, and the smoothie within the first hour of the race.

The first 11kms until the first aid station (Mabou Trailhead) were quite easy; there was a slight hill, an easy descent, everything was runnable, but I needed to go to the bathroom - luckily the trail Gods heard my prayer and produced the only Porta Potty of the entire race course (just before km 11).  As I emerged from the Porta Potty, I see Chester running with a girl in a pink bucket hat  - I run the next 50 metres with them and into the next aid station, were I get my bottles filled with water, eat an oreo and a 1/3 banana. My aid station break was chaotic, and I probably lost a minute because I was disorganized. 

The first noticeable climb of the race was shortly after this aid station - it was not steep, but it went on for about 3km, and it was on extremely runnable dirt road (Broad Cove Banks Road). The road would level off at certain points that allowed people to run ~100 meters at a time. I pass Chester and pink hat again at some point, and I asked Chester if I was running too fast - this was a sincere question, because as I learned from White Rock Wednesdays, Chester is a very strong runner and if I'm running a race with him, either he's going too slow, or I'm going too fast. He said I wasn't going too fast, and also complemented my neon-green compression calf sleeves [which are 100% style and 0% function].

I swapped positions with a few runners for the next 4 kms. Runners with trekking poles seemed to be doing better going up the hills, but I felt like I could comfortably run faster down the hills. Runnable terrain remained the status quo until I hit the 15km mark at around 1h55min into the race. 

The orange and black course marking ribbons indicated that we would take a left turn onto a single-track trail, and the Beaton introduced the first "steep" climb of the race. For the next 1.8km, I followed this single track trail and climbed around 250m. There were plenty of switchbacks which made climbing the mountain manageable. A few of the slower climbers were nice enough to let me pass, and I caught up to a chain of about 10 runners which included Krystle Parrot (who I met at Keji a month earlier) and friends Helena and Gillian (henceforth known as the three amigos), and at least one runner with a bear bell. I would have liked to run this part a bit faster than this group was willing to run, but I told myself that it was still early in the day and I was enjoying this beautiful, very runnable trail. At around the 18-19km mark, there's a bit of commotion ahead of me, and as I'm wondering what it's about - I feel a sharp burning sensation on my right shin, through my compression sleeve. I am allergic to wasps/bees, and I worried that I would have to cut my race short at the next aid station (at the 20km mark). Shortly after the bug bite/sting, the trees clear up, and we come upon the first picturesque part of the race. There was a landing where people could step off the trail and take pictures of the scenic cliffside - nearly everybody around me did so. 

After our group was done taking pictures, we continued our way down the trail and towards the next aid station at the 20km mark - what goes up, must evidently come down. Once again, I was stuck behind a big group of runners who were going much slower on the downhill than I would have gone. It was at this point that the first place runner of the 46km race crossed our path. He was climbing at a pretty good clip - I never saw the 2nd place runner [who, as it turns out finished 37 minutes behind]. 

Climbing Till the Cows Come Home
2:50 - 5:45
20 km - 41.5km

As soon as we got to the aid station, we were checked for our running jackets. Each runner needed to have mandatory gear with them at all times. The picture above displays the items in my backpack as I started the race. 

Runners were allowed drop bags at the McKinnon's Brook Bridge Aid Station. I took a few moments to locate mine, sat down next to it - rolled down my calf sleeve to observe the bug bite and locate any swelling. It looked like whatever bit me took a small chunk from my leg - probably a deer fly, I can stop worrying about grabbing the Benadryl. I grab a dry pair of socks and a Zip-Lock bag containing my food for the next 20kms. Make my way to the aid station volunteers, get my flasks filled with water (drop a nuun tab in one of them), grab a banana and some gummies. 

This was once again an inefficient aid station transition. It took me about 10 minutes to get everything organized and going again. During that time, Chester came and went (as did many others) I said hello to Karine who had come into the aid station shortly after me. I kept looking for the 2nd place 46km runner to emerge from the trail - but he never did. 

So I'm off running again for about 100 meters. Just outside of visibility from the aid station was another big climb - similar to the first one; around 250m of elevation gain over a 1.8km stretch on a single track. I am climbing with Matthias Mueller, a gentleman in front of him, and a third runner who I had passed on an earlier climb. I think all three of them were running the 100 mile race, whereas I was "only doing the half". I thought it odd that I was running with Matthias, since he won outright the 50km Capes in 2019. He told me that his strategy this day was to "stay out of trouble", since this was his first 100 miler. 

About 1/3 into the climb, the third runner let us by, and Matthias and the other runner took off and within minutes were outside of eyeshot. After another minute of passing this runner, I turned around to see if anybody was hiking behind me - and I was alone. Once I got to the top of the climb, I see a tall runner just standing near the top where it leveled off - catching his breath. I make a joke about giving the heart a little break - he was wearing a YUL hat, which made me think he was from Québec. At the top was a nice, runnable single track. I take it pretty easy for the next minute to catch my breath and stabilize the heart, and as soon as I started running again, on the trail was a giant pile of moose poo in which I nearly stepped. 

The single track trails up here were beautiful, there were hardly any roots to step on or trip, the foliage around us was a mix of tall grass and trees, and the serpentine trails winded just enough so that you could only see about 50 meters ahead or behind you at any point, until I reached the end of the trail head. 

I took a right, onto a double-track road (think ATV trail). The road was wide, had a slight descending slope, straight and smooth, and bordered by arching trees on both sides. It was like running through a long tunnel, covered only by branches and leaves. We had cover from the sun for this ~3km stretch. At some point I caught up with a gentleman with rainbow socks (gaiters) and I stop to chat with him because I distinctly remember his socks from the 2019 race. He rolled his ankle earlier in the race and said that he would unfortunately be hiking the rest of the race rather than run. The man in the YUL hat ran by us, as did the three amigos. 

At some point, I bid this gentleman adieu and got on my merry way, re-passing the three amigos. Gillian had accidentally dropped some trash on the forest floor as I was passing them. 

We had been warned that the next water-access might only be 15kms from the last aid station - so I made a note to conserve water for this stretch, however once we got to the Cow Pasture "unmanned aid station" at 25km, water was present. I took the opportunity to fill my mostly full water bottles and headed out for a run. I get passed, and pass Dillon and Nick on this stretch, but I enjoy the company of the hundreds of cows around me. The downhill sections were my forte; the steeper and more technical the downhill the better - I felt like I could complete these sections much faster than the runners around me with minimal pain to the quads. 

 Over the 26km and 29km marks, there is a section of about 50m downhill/50m uphill. I bombed the downhill section with good foot placement and met up with the YUL runner on the climbing section and started chatting with him. The climb was not too steep that it took your breath away, but a bit too steep to run. So I started chatting with this guy, noticed that he had a Gaspésia hat on and asked him if he had done that race this year. I noticed his francophone accent right away, and started talking to him in French. Jacques Friolet of Caraquet, NB and I had a pretty good conversation about kids (his kids were now old enough to stay "late" and see their dad finish an ultra for the first time), experience in ultras, we tried to think of mutual friends as we ran for the next ~5 km together trying to chase down a runner in a neon-green singlet ahead of us (which we eventually did). We probably averaged a 6:30/km on this stretch - which meant we were moving well, but still slow enough to engage in conversation. Once we were 400m to the Broad Cove Banks Road aid station (at 35km), Jacques took off at a pace that I thought was aggressive and I did not follow him. 

I moved quickly through this aid station, because my crew (wife Katie, brother Mario and parents Ginette and Moe) would be available for me at 41.5km mark. The previous night, I told my crew to expect me between 6 and 7 hours into the race (between noon and 1pm), however given the nice temperatures, overcast, runability of the course, and great nutrition and hydration planning on my part - I would be getting there earlier than my earliest projection. 

At 11:09am I took out my phone and texted Katie "B4 noon" hoping that they would be ready for my arrival. 

I ran down a paved road, and out in the distance I could see the town of Inverness, the beach, and what I've been told is the nicest golf course in Canada. Some of the faster runners were making their way back from Inverness - for all of them, I applaud and tell them they look great! One of the runners advises me to stick to the wet sand when running on the beach. In the distance, I see Jacques' red YUL hat and a few other runners descending this road. By 11:00am the skies had cleared up, and I could feel the heat radiating off the asphalt. At the bottom of the hill a volunteer directed me to cross the road, onto a sidewalk up another small hill and on the sidewalk through the town of Inverness. *All of the Strava data that I looked at indicated that I should have crossed paths with RJ here, but I don't remember seeing him.* A bunch of locals were sitting on park benches, watching runners go by. I pass one or two runners who seemed to struggle a bit, but I was also moving quite well - everything is relative at this point. Another volunteer directed me to cross the street, take a short trail down to the beach, and run on 1.5km on the wet sand, towards the Inverness Harbour, where my crew is waiting for me. 

As I run form the beach and up the stairs, one of the volunteers asks me how I'm feeling, "Pretty good", I reply - and then there were like 3 follow-up questions to make sure that I was actually feeling good or if I was pretending to feel good. Maybe I didn't look good? Maybe I was a little sunburnt? Volunteers have the ability to pull runners off the course if they feel that they should not continue. 

Meet the Rest of the Crew
5:45 - 8:49
41.5km - 59km

I reached my crew at 11:45am, 15 minutes before I was expected. The crew accessible location was just under the midway point of the course. I planned to sit here for ~20 to 30 minutes, eat some real food, replenish fluids etc. When I made those plans, I assumed that I would be much more tired than I was. My crew was not ready for me to be here this early. They had the BBQ, tent, and chair set up, and Nora was enjoying her play pen. 

I sat down in a chair, took off my sweaty teal singlet and orange hat, and replaced them with a red shirt and rainbow hat, drank some Gatorade, switched out to new socks, stuffed my pack with a new batch of muffins and baby smoothie, and chatted with them until my chicken and cheese quesadilla was ready to chow down. 

I was feeling unbelievably fresh for somebody who just ran 41.5km with ~1200m of ascent. I spent 25 minutes here before heading out again - in hindsight, I probably could have cut that time in half, but this was essentially the plan that I had set out for myself in the weeks prior to the race.

One of the lofty goals I had set for myself was to finish this race (87km) in 13h30min - I thought that it would be possible, but I would need a great race day to achieve it. The reason 13:30 is significant is that the Vermont 100 mile race accepts runners who have:

• A 50 mile race under 12 hours
• A 100km race under 16 hours
• Consideration would be given on a case-by-case basis for "other" distances

I felt that 13:30 could get me into Vermont for 2023.

Another reason I wanted to finish in 13h30 was that this was my daughter's (11 months old) first trail race, and I wanted to carry her across the finish line - but her bedtime was essentially a cutoff.

To Mabou!

At 12:10pm, I finally get up and going again. A brisk walking pace to start, and then a slow jog to warm up the legs again.  

I made my way back towards the main street of Inverness, where I give a big high five to volunteer and ultrarunner Chalmers Blinkhorn. Make it down the sidewalk section and back across the road for another climb (all on pavement). During this climb, a car came up from behind me and honked - my brother had hitched a ride, and in his possession was my cell phone (which I forgot to pack up before I left my crew). It was only 3km from my crew access to the next aid station - so I quickly fill my water bottles a the 45km aid station, readying myself for the 13km trek back to MacKinnon's Brook Bridge Aid Station (at 58km). 

The next section was mostly a dirt road with some steady ups and downs - a Prius might not have been able to make the trek, but a Corolla could have (to give you a sense of the roads). I could see several runners ahead of me in the distance, amongst them were Jacques, and the girl in the pink bucket hat. Generally speaking, miles are easier when shared - I sped up a bit and caught up to the girl in the pink hat. This was Sophie's first 100 mile attempt, though she came in with multiple 100km runs under her belt and 7 years of ultrarunning experience despite being ~20 years old. We probably tackled a good 8km together, hiking up the hills and making sure to run the downs. It was just a delight to chat with her for such a long time about ultrarunning, Dalhousie University, and healthcare. I talked to her about my baby smoothie and baby banana muffin nutrition strategy, and she said that she used diaper cream (white zinc cream) on her feet for blister prevention (which is a terrific idea). This section of the course breezed by because of the company. I was doing some mental maths, and I was still pacing for a 13h30 finish time - she had informed me that she was a bit ahead of what she had expected for the race, but the first 55km were quite runnable. I got to thinking that I am either phenomenally well trained, or this course was not as difficult as advertised.

Sophie and I finally get back onto a single track - for the next 4kms, we are treated with some of the most picturesque vistas of the race. The single tracks here were just magical to run through; a slight downhill which minimized the effort, no roots, partial tree cover, a periodic glimpse of the Gulf of St. Lawrence on our right - at some point there was a field of lavender. We got to a point where other runners were stopped to take pictures, Jacques being among them. I stopped to take a quick picture, and continued on my way - not far to the next aid station. Sophie stopped to take some pictures, and ended up a few minutes later to the next aid station.

Beinn Bhiorach, Where Did the Time Go?
8:49 - 11:56
59km - 68km

The aid station was at 58.8km according to my watch, and I reached it at 2:45pm, which meant I was about 20 minutes ahead of my 13h30m goal (which at this point still felt achievable). At the aid station, Jacques, Dillon and a few others are hanging around their drop bags. I went over to my drop bag as well (I'm not sure for what purpose), got both of my water bottles filled, had an Oreo. I met a runner, Jeremy, who was having some stomach issues and he was taking it easy - he gave me a nuun + caffeine tab, which I popped it in my bottle. I talk with Jacques about how his day is going (I guess he had stomach issues at the beach, but he is better now). I was the first of this group to get up to start the loop and asked the volunteer how long was the next section. If you look at a course map on the website, we reach MacKinnon's Brook Bridge aid station at 58km, go out on an 8km loop to reach it again at 66km. 

"Oh, are you going up steep mountain? It's about 8km until you get back here". 

"The literal name of the trail is "Steep Mountain"?"

"Yup" 

 

I just noticed this at this moment, but the name of the trail on the Mabou trail map is "Beinn Bhiorach" which is Gaelic for "Steep Mountain"

I make my way up steep mountain still feeling pretty good thinking about finishing in time for Nora. I'm climbing at a good rate, and even pass Dillon on the way up. At some point, there is a runner in front of me who is completely stopped and hunched over his trekking poles... 

"Are you OK?", I asked. 

"I'm stabilizing". 

I don't know if the heat of midday mixed with a steep climb,  or if it was psychological seeing this other runner in this state, or if it was the nuun + caffeine that I took 10 minutes earlier, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. My heart rate spiked, I was suddenly feeling extremely tired, and hot, and drained, and I didn't know whether I could keep climbing. 

I found a single pine tree that could give me some shade, and I sat in shade for a few minutes. Dillon whizzed by me as he continued his climb looking strong. 

Full of doubt and despair, I strongly considered turning back and quitting, but that would mean moving again - which I didn't feel like doing. After a minute I thought that I was good to continue, I keep climbing for about 5 minutes, stop for a minute, climb for 5 minutes. It took me about 35 minutes to complete the first two kilometers of this loop. Steep Mountain was ~250m in incline, same as most other "major climbs" on the day, there were just no switchbacks to ease us atop the mountain. 

Once I got to the top of the climb, I was not even in the mood to appreciate the scenery (a huge field of blueberry bushes on the top of what seemed like the highest peak of the mountain range). I make my way down the next trail section, and even though I was a solid downhill runner for most of the race so far, I could not muster the willpower to run the next two kilometers downhill properly.

At this point, I know that this loop is going to take a lot of time, so I make the prudent move to stop at a stream and fill up my water bottles (I borrowed a Katadin BeFree water filter from Blair Mann in case something like this would happen) Two runners who were stopped at the top of the mountain pass me as I fill up my bottles.

One massive climb was hard enough for this section, but there was a second massive climb coming up. There was a runner ahead of me who was hiking slowly, but seemed to make consistent progress. I saw him splash his face with cold water from a stream to refresh, and I did the same and tried to regain some mental energy. I was not running, but at least I could move at a consistent pace and not stop for breaks. I took the second climb better than "Steep Mountain", it may not have been as gnarly as "Steep Mountain", but it was nonetheless ~200m in elevation gain. After I reach the top of the climb, I walk/run the remainder of the loop, constantly checking my watch. I expected the aid station at 8km +/- 200m. The 8km mark came and went, and then I thought it would be around the next corner, and the next, and the next - but it would not come for another kilometer. I compared notes with other runners, and it looks like the consensus is that it was a ~9km to ~9.5km loop. 

Regardless of exact distance, it took me 2h30 to complete this 8 or 9km loop, and I needed a break - and I think others needed one too. Steep Mountain lived up to its namesake.

As I got my bottles re-filled, I drank 500ml of water and 500 ml of Coca Cola - as I drank both of these, I look around at the aid station observe my surroundings. For a second, imagine a sanctuary for wounded soldiers - a bunch of people in various types of pain, hunched over or lying down, unwilling to move, requiring aid from the two or three good Samaritans who volunteered their time. I asked the aid station crew if they had ice, and they did not, but I look over and there is a stream not far from the aid station. I needed to cool down, so I laid down in the cold stream for a few minutes and closed my eyes. A runner who was at the aid station and hurting, Joel, had brought a therapeutic massage gun in his drop bag. At the time, I didn't think I needed it - my issues were mostly heat exhaustion and mental willpower, but my feet were so grateful as soon as I applied that sweet vibration to my arch. 

As I'm applying the therapeutic-gun, I hear a group of 5 or 6 runners complete that hellish loop, amongst them were Jacques, Sophie, and two of the three amigos - Helena and Krystle. 

Since my Vermont hopes were completely dashed, I made sure to take care of myself so that the last 20km would be completed. I changed shirt and hat (green singlet with white hat), and socks - took out my last bag of food (baby smoothie and muffins), and my headlamp. It was at this point that I texted Katie that she should put Nora to bed, as it will be well past her bedtime by the time I arrive to the finish line. I texted her at 6:15 that it would probably take me another 4 hours to complete the course. 

Did They Ever Take Out the Cocaine from Coca Cola?
11:56 - 15:00
68km - 86km

Jacques was the first one of the runners to get up and get going. I am not sure if we agreed to run together, but I think I just wanted to wait until I had some company to go out again for the final 20km. So we started up the last "big climb of the race, Krystle and Helena were right behind us as we got back onto the single track. Jacques and I are chatting away during this climb - and I felt like myself again (it was probably the Coca Cola). Once we hit the hill crest and had runnable terrain, I took off running. Jacques was keeping up with me for most of this section until we hit a technical descent. On the downhill I caught up with a runner ahead of me (Jeremy), and dropped the runners behind. I chatted with Jeremy for a few minutes - he seemed upset and preoccupied that he had forgotten to retrieve his headlamp from his drop bag. This would unlikely be a problem for him from 66km to 85km, but he would be in complete darkness for the return trip from 85km to 104km, plus a headlamp was part of the mandatory gear list and he could be disqualified if he did not have it on him. So I told him once I finished my race, I would find his crew and he could use mine. I think emotionally he needed to hear that, because he still needed to run another 90km, and he was starting to worry about things that can unravel quickly.

As I'm chatting with Jeremy, I turned around and couldn't see Jacques anymore. 

"JACKO!" 

"Oui?" 

"Es-tu OK?" 

"Oui!"

"Veux-tu que je t'attends?"

"Non, fais ta propre course" 

I'm feeling pretty good physically and mentally at this point, and with Jacques' "blessing" I decide that it's time to make a move, so by the time I crested the hill at the ~75km mark, I was all business. Karine Isenor (Race Director) was driving down this road with her car, honking her horn and encouraging runners as they went by. I ran this entire downhill section strongly. At the bottom of the hill and just before the aid station I pass Joel and another runner who are walking downhill, both comment on how strong I look. With every step, I'm also gaining confidence with every step. I get to the aid station, and I tell them that I want Coke, because my last section was amazing and I ran the whole downhill. They joked that they didn't have any cocaine at this aid station. I drank my Coca Cola, re-filled my flask with some water, sat down for a minute as I'm chowing down on banana and watermelon. 

At this point, I tell myself that I want to finish in 15 hours, and I also don't want to let anybody pass me. Jacques runs into the aid station about a minute after me and asks about how hard I ran that last downhill. The answer was "very hard". A minute after Jacques, appeared Krystle and Helena, and Joel and Joel's counterpart - my competitive instinct kicked in and told me that that was my queue to leave. 

By this time, some of the stronger 100-mile runners had passed me for their second loop, I counted 6 or 7 runners by the time I got to that aid station. I made sure to encourage every one of them, 100 miles is one hell of a goal to aim for, and even if you fail - you should be applauded for braving the attempt. 

It's weird to say in words how I was feeling at this point - I had run for about 14 hours, nearly 80kms, ~20km more than my longest ever run and 5 hours longer than my longest ever activity - and for the exception of slightly sore quads, I was feeling fantastic.

At this point, there is 9km between the last aid station and the finish line - the twilight is starting and it's becoming increasingly difficult to see the path ahead without a headlamp, but it's also that awkward time when headlamps are not effective. I make my way up the climbs, avoid the water as best as I can, and encourage the odd 100-miler that crosses me. 

Then, in the distance, wearing the unmistakable orange Solstice singlet that I've seen every Wednesday for the past three months, is the most beautiful, majestic scene of the entire race. Brewing in pure grace, I could see his moustache from half a mile away, bounding down the trail, in ~11th place...

"Is that Chester Dana?!"

We meet up and chat for a few seconds, and he tells me that he's feeling pretty good, he looked like he was in a fantastic mood and moving well. He congratulated me on a good race and went off to tackle his first 100 miler.

Seeing Chester in this state put me over the top - anything can happen at these events, but I saw Chester put in a lot of work to train for this race, and he deserved a good result. He looked mentally strong and focused, physically he looked perfectly fine - I was confident that he would go on to finish.

After having crossed paths with Chester, it was all downhill from there. Quite literally, the last 5km of the race were downhill - and true to form, I let gravity propel me down towards the eventual finish line. It was dark, and I had my headlamp in my hand to make sure that I did not trip on any rocks that might be on the road. I kept looking at my watch, hoping to get to the finish before 9pm. I wanted to finish strong, and eventually I saw a line of vehicles parked on the side of the road, and a whole bunch of people started clapping as I pass by. It felt like a proper victory lap. Jodi ushered me to the right hand side of the road and towards a chip sensor. I beeped in at 9:00:08 pm, and my chip time was 14:59:57. 

My first 50 miler was complete, and I finished strong.

Post Race

I wanted to find Jacques' family and tell them that dad would be in soon, but before I could even start to think about it, he had already crossed the finish line ~3 minutes after me. 

I start looking for my crew, who I assumed would be there - but I don't see them. A few crews and runners were hanging out at the finish line to help out and cheer on the runners and support the 100 milers. One guy offered me to sit in the back of his SUV and gave me some watermelon to eat. I called Katie to see where she was; and she had missed my finish because she had to put Nora to bed. My brother and father were supposed to be at the finish line, but I didn't see them - I called them, and they seemed surprised to hear that I had already finished. 

My brother apparently saw me running, but he could not tell that it was me due to the darkness - he apparently told dad that "That guy looked like Nick, but he was running too strong".

I went back the following morning to see Chester finish in 5th place.
RJ finished well ahead of me, in 13:09, Pat had an good run, coming under the 6h30min
Karine unfortunately injured herself and had to drop - but I have confidence that she will bounce back

Final Thoughts

This was a great event to participate in, and it was a long time coming. I'm very happy on how things went personally, and I had a fantastic time chatting with awesome people. The event was super well organized, and I love that Karine and Jodi, and the rest of the NSTR team want runners to succeed.

The race was a little bit easier than advertised, notably because NSTR projected that only 20-30% of 100 mile runners would actually finish (closer to ~60% actually did). Maybe there was a little bit of psychology happening there, pushing runners to train harder than they otherwise would. 

Aside from the Steep Mountain Loop which took me 3 hours to complete 8 or 9km, I thought the course was fairly easy and runnable, the vistas were beautiful, the trails were awesome, and the volunteers rocked it. I'm happy with how strong I felt at the end - I definitely had more gas in the tank, and probably could have done 100km to 120km on this day.

Doing hard things is a worthwhile investment. Overcoming challenges changes us for the better and acts as stepping stones for more difficult things in the future. This race showed me that I can bounce back from adversity. I bounced back from the disappointing result I had in Keji a 6 weeks earlier, and I also bounced back from the Steep Mountain loop to finish strongly. I hope to continue on this journey and to eventually earn a buckle (100 mile).

I would like to thank my crew for being awesome, present, and for cheering me on. Thank Chester, RJ, Karine, Pat, Blair, and the rest of the Moncton Trail Running community for Wednesday and Thursday night trail runs. Thanks to NSTR for putting on a fantastic event and to the volunteers who showed up. Finally, a special thanks to my wife Katie, who took care of Nora every Wednesday and Thursday so that I could chase dreams - this would not have been possible without you.

 

Lessons for Next Time

• Steep Mountain earned its namesake
• Be more efficient at aid stations
• Coca Cola works
• In my drop bags, instead of using ~8 muffins and 1 smoothie; double the smoothie and halve the "dry food"
• Baby foods are gentle on the stomach
• Wear sun screen
• Hydration strategy and nutrition strategies were good (early and often)
• Consider a bucket hat
• I did 4 sock changes, 2 might have been sufficient
• Topo shoes were minimalist, a bit more structure on the bottom would be good, toe box room was great had exactly zero blisters
• Moving consistently, even slowly is better than not moving
• Get a better headlamp

https://www.capes100.com/

https://www.capemabouhiking.com/