2023 World Mountain and Trail Running Championships…and how I got there

I’m three days home from a whirlwind trip to Germany and Austria, and already everything feels far behind me. Part of this is because we hit the ground running (as usual) when we got home in order to get back to coaching, writing, Nick’s grad school, and our animals, and the other part is because we leave for another trip to Lake Tahoe to run the Broken Arrow Vertical K tomorrow.

That will make more sense at the end of this post.

In order to explain how I ended up representing Team Canada at the World Mountain and Trail Running Championships, you can read this article by Jared Beasley at Ultrarunning Magazine, which explains a bit more about why I was selected by Canada, and chose not to try to qualify for Team USA. But, if you read that article, you’ll also realize that the most important part of this is actually how I got to the race itself.

You see, I have a fear of flying.

I’ve been working on this fear for about ten years and it’s gotten better, then worse, then better and worse again, but after spending 10.5 hours flying to Munich and another 11 hours flying home, I’m feeling confident about my future ability to fly. I imagine you didn’t come here to glean ideas on how to fly without fear, but some of these same tools could be applied to other fears or anxieties. Here’s a quick rundown of what I did:

I worked with Captain Ron at FearlessFlight. Along with my own therapist, Captain Ron prompted me to create a list of tools that I could use leading up to and on my flight. These tools included breathing techniques, music, distraction (Where’s Waldo, Lumosity, phone games), breathing through a straw, writing with my left hand, and trying to meet the captain of the plane. Ultimately, music, Where’s Waldo, and focusing on the following two ideas helped me feel calmer.

1. The first thought centered around the idea of what I would lose if I didn’t get on the plane. This was an easy list to create: I would lose the chance to represent my home country at one of the most competitive events I may ever race, I would lose the opportunity to travel, to meet my teammates, to push myself, to make new connections and friendships, and, importantly, I would be one step further from my goal of flying again. I boiled this idea down to the cost of inaction. My brain is primed to tell me the potential cost of flying (which, when my fear takes control, tells me that flying = plane crash = death.) If I ask myself the cost of not flying, however, I then have to take stock of what I lose if I don’t fly, which is everything listed above.
2. The second, and perhaps even more helpful thought, relates to the idea of intrusive thoughts. Nick has struggled with intrusive thoughts that are most commonly characterized by unwanted suicidal or homicidal ideas. Nick has learned to accept their existence, but to realize they don’t hold power without action. It wasn’t until I connected the idea that the scenarios my brain comes up with about plane catastrophes are intrusive thoughts that they began to hold less power over me. This has been a hugely beneficial process and I attribute much of my success on these transatlantic flights to the acceptance, then letting go of these thoughts.

So, with these tools available, I managed my anxiety on the flight from LAX to Munich and landed feeling tired but empowered. Nick and I spent a day wandering around Munich before catching the train to Innsbruck, Austria the next morning.

After meeting my new teammates and the tremendously supportive Team Canada staff and coaches, I prepared for my first of two races, the Uphill/Vertical K race.

Race One: Vertical K

The Uphill race covered 7.1km and 1,020m of climbing (which worked out to a little over 4 miles and 3,300 feet) and was the most competitive event I’ve been in, with over 100 women vying for top spots. The intensity was palpable at the start line, with women jockeying for positions closest to the front so that the entire group was moving as a mass before the gun even went off.

My strength is typically climbing, but I found I was at a disadvantage because of one problem: the race started out with about 1km of road running. This meant that when the gun went off, I was immediately passed by about 50 women, many of whom are extremely fast–as in, 1:10 half-marathon fast. While I’m improving each year, I don’t have that genetic speed, and so my goal was to simply hold on as best I could. Unfortunately, this meant that once the course routed runners onto single track, I was stuck in a conga line behind women who couldn’t climb as well as I could. The first few minutes of the race were spent attempting to pass while being elbowed and shoved. At one point, someone even whacked me from behind.

For the next few kilometers, I found myself passing about ten women as we wound our way up through steep, technical single track. Most were too focused on their own effort to worry about me, but one woman from the Czech Republic seemed to have it out specifically for me. She just wouldn’t let me get around her. I tried to pass her five times, finding success only once the trail widened out and I could pass quickly.

My legs began to feel stronger at kilometer 4 and I passed another ten women during the next section. After a 1.6km section of a fast, mellow grade, I saw the crowds. By crowds, I mean dozens and dozens of spectators lined up on each side of the trail, screaming and yelling and clanging their cowbells. Ahead, I could see three or four women climbing up the 40% grade, hands on knees, pushing as hard as they could to the finish.

“Canada! Go, Canada!” Spectators yelled as I ran up the final switchbacks. Team Canada was out in full force and gave me a huge boost of energy as I attempted to pass a woman in green, who I assumed was Ireland. My legs were burning at this point, and no number of hill repeats could have prepared my calves for the effort. Almost as soon as I passed the woman in green, she passed me again. Darn it, I thought, I have nothing left. But, with the finish line only a few feet away, my body mustered up enough energy to pass her by milliseconds, placing me 27th in the world.

Turns out, what I thought was Ireland was actually Australia (I have nothing against either country) and she immediately came up to hug me as I struggled to catch my breath. I enjoy competition, but I also appreciate that fierce competitors can quickly become friends once the race is over and done. Lara and I took a picture together and, with luck, I’ll be seeing her at this Friday’s Vertical K race at Broken Arrow!

My teammates had strong races overall, with Anne-Marie Comeau finishing a tremendous 15th and teammates Kerri and Sasha contributing to Team Canada placing 8th overall.

We stayed busy between races, with my childhood friend, Erin, flying in from London to support me at the next day’s Long Trail race. While Nick explored new trails, Erin and I relaxed at Aqua Dome, a thermal spa in a neighboring valley. Unlike most American spas, European spas are often comprised of dozens of steam rooms, saunas, and pools of varying temperatures and conditions, which can make spending three hours there easily feasible. We tested out each of the spa’s rooms, finding ourselves sweating away the afternoon.

And thus my second race was ruined.

Race 2: Long Trail

The Long Trail was already a daunting course before officials revised the route a few days before the start. With avalanche risk high, the race was changed by a few miles and 1000m, making the final stats look scarier than Hardrock 100’s profile. It is what it is, I thought as I prepared my pack with the hefty gear requirements. Despite the forecasted temperatures (hot), the race required runners to carry long pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a rain jacket (weighing over 150 grams), an emergency blanket, a bandaid/wrap in specific dimensions, 200 calories of emergency nutrition, the carrying-capacity for 1L of water, front and back bibs, the race-designated tracking device, and a headlamp to be picked up after 5:30 pm. It was a stretch to fit everything into my pack and upon check-in on race morning, officials wanted everything pulled out of the pack to verify athletes had met the requirements.

While the Long Trail race morning was busy, the energy was considerably less frantic than the Vertical K, and I felt relieved that I didn’t have to vie for position. We would have 50-something miles for that.

Once the gun went off, I followed the pack of runners down the mile-long bike path until the route turned onto a brief section of fire road before runners bottlenecked at single track (a common theme for these races.) If I thought the Vertical K was steep, most of the Long Trail was even steeper and by the time I hit kilometer 10 (mile 6ish), we had already climbed 1300m (4200 feet). Even with the hefty vert this early in the race, something felt off. My heart rate was too high given the relatively easy effort (my goal was to treat the early miles of the race more like a long run) and I had a headache, which is rare for me to ever experience. As the trail flattened out and we cruised along the technical ridge line, I found it increasingly difficult to stay focused and it seemed as though my legs couldn’t keep up with my brain, or was it vice versa? I assumed that the descent would get better so I worked on staying within my effort levels and letting people pass me. Unfortunately, no matter how much I descended, I only felt worse. A few kilometers later, my vision seemed to be fading peripherally and I knew that I’d be dropping at the first aid station.

It was a struggle to get to the aid station though, and I walked several sections simply because I didn’t trust my coordination. I was also getting very sleepy, which I’ve experienced when affected by altitude. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake, I chanted to myself as I slowly made my way down. Once I hit flat ground again, I began asking my legs to keep working. Come on, legs, just a little bit further. When I finally reached the aid station, two of my teammates were cheering me in. Though I gave them a smile, I couldn’t meet their eyes because I knew I looked rough.

Nick had volunteered at the aid station, so it was him I was lucky enough to speak with first. After describing my symptoms, another Team Canada athlete rushed out to get medical who quickly evaluated me and decided I needed to come to the medical tent to lie down. When I was hooked up to IV just a few minutes later, I wasn’t disappointed because I knew it wouldn’t be safe to continue given my symptoms. And, after hearing the race doctor tell me they were sending me by ambulance to the hospital, I wasn’t very bothered that I would, by default, be pulled from the race. It is what it is, I thought again, which is a good way to get through most things that can’t be altered by will alone.

Sam, the partner of a Team Canada athlete and probably the most supportive person on the team as a whole, accompanied me to the hospital while Nick and my friend, Erin, rushed to get the car and follow me to the hospital.

It’s here that I should mention that I have two fears: one, we’ve covered. The other is blood draws and IVs.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was transported by stretcher to the ER where I was transferred to another doctor who asked me to describe my symptoms again. I’ve been medically very lucky/healthy, and, disregarding a bout of jaundice when I was a baby, have only been to the hospital (for myself) twice in the last 30 years—once when I broke my collar bone as an eight-year-old and another time when I was prepared for surgery to remove my appendix (“Psych! We said you have appendicitis and you’re prepped for surgery but actually you just have a stomach virus so go home and rest.“). So, there was at least some interest in being in the hospital and seeing what the Austrian healthcare system is like (wonderful people; not enough beds.)

After receiving an EKG, I was told I’d be getting a blood draw, which I’ve avoided for five years, so there’s nothing like going to the ER, and ripping off the band-aid, so to speak. Sam held my hand as I looked away and tried not to think about the fact that I was challenging my two greatest fears in the span of a couple days. I survived (surprise, surprise), then was given an echo, more fluids, told everything was fine and I could resume all activity the following day, and finally discharged into the streets of Innsbruck.

It took me a few days to put the pieces together, but upon reflection I realized that I likely contributed to my dehydration by spending so much time at the thermal spa the day before the race. So, if you have a desire to check out these amazing thermal spa, wait to do so until after your race.

Having the opportunity to represent Canada was an immense honour and I’m grateful for my teammates who pushed through so much to finish strong for our country. As for the future, I decided to jump into the Broken Arrow Vertical K on Friday and see how things go! With that said, I will be waiting until Saturday before I spend any considerable amount of time in a hot tub, sauna, steam room or pool.