Wednesday Morning Adventure Run

Last night, I was inspired by stories of barfing runners.

First, I read with great interest David Crerar's chronicle of the places where he has puked on the 50K Knee Knacker course.  Second, it was hot last night and I wasn't expecting to get much sleep.  I had a cool one and hit the hay around midnight with a copy of Dean Karnazes's book Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner.  I got as far as chapter 5 where Dean describes how he gorfed all over the interior of his brand new Lexus after his first 50 mile run.  In the book, Dean was running the 50-miler to get in a qualifying run for the Western States 100.  This brought back fond memories of 2007, when I was pacing some elite ultrarunning pals at the WS100.  All 3 finished their attempt at the 100-mile distance dry-heaving in the med tent at Michigan Bluffs after loosing their cookies all over the previous 50K of the Western States trail.

I've been injured for a long time.  The old body has a lot of kilometers on the odometer and it's in the shop more than on the road for the last few years.  That in mind, I still hope to get in about 100 more ultraraces before I fall apart for good. I've been running some tests these days to see how hard I can push it before I break.  Stories like David's and Dean's remind me how fun it is to ultrarun!

Every Wednesday, my pal David Greer hikes the BCMC trail at 6:30 am.  He's invited me to join him several times, but straight up, I don't love running on trails that are mobbed and where people get pissed at me if I run back downhill.  But I was looking forward to catching up with David.  So, I figured I'd weave a hike with David into an adventure run and so set my alarm for 6:00 am.

My house is a few kilometers and downhill from the base of Grouse where David was starting his hike at 6:30.  Without him knowing about it, I decided to race him to the top.  Didn't have a watch, but I figure it took me 40 minutes to run to David's start.  It had been about 5 years since I'd been on the BCMC and I forgot how steep it was.  He was alone and on a good pace.  'Almost puked up a lung before I caught him near the peak!

The view from the "Peak of Vancouver" was stunning.  Cloudless blue skies.  Ships in the harbor.  Stanley Park and the skyscrapers of the west end and downtown.  Even at 8:00 it was getting hot, so I filled my water bottle, wished David a good day, and set off on a little adventure run.

My immediate goal was to bag a peak or 2... and thereby creep up a notch or 2 in the Bagger Challenge.  Not a soul to be seen as I made my way up to the south and then north peaks of Fromme Mountain.  Bugs were getting bad.  Dry as a fart and, by now, hot too.  I found a nice little lake that I didn't know even existed.  Considered going for a skinny dip, but named it Bug Lake instead and promsed to come back in the fall when the berries that surrounded the lake were ripe and the bugs dead.

Back on Mountain Highway (which, at this point is still a dirt access road for the ski resort), I heard a dumptruck rumbling downhill in first gear somewhere behind me.  I decided to try and outrun it.  This section of the road is fairly flat and fast and I was able to reach the stone quarry and duck off on Per Gynt trail before he caught me.  (I wonder what he was thinking?  Runner dude in a Hawaiian shirt.  Alone.  Way up in the stix.  Running faster I can drive the truck.  Where'd he disappear to?)

I was on a tear!  First, I beat David to the top, then I beat the dumptruck.  After ripping 15 times in the last year-and-a-half, my calf was still holding.  I was running well.  Then I went over on my ankle.  Shit!

'Never puked on a run.  But have gone over on my ankle more times than I can count.  This was a bad one.  Yes, I had a gel.  No, I didn't have my cell phone or even my whistle.  Was I to die of starvation?  Of exposure?  Or would I get eaten by a bear?  I'd sure be lucky if anyone came up this trail in the next 3-4 days.

I swore and hopped around a bit.  That seemed to help. 

At the next junction, I opted for a bit of bushwacking.  There's an old gravel road, decommissioned in the 1930's I think, that I'd always wanted to explore.  It was completely overgrown, but between the chest-high prickle bushes that tore at my legs and aloha shirt, I could make out a bit of a trail.

Hummm.  Fresh bear skat.  Not sure if this was a good idea? 

Found a neat old insulator and an antique kid's ski glove way back in the boonies somewhere in the Mosquito Creek watershed.  (No bones, so guess the kid make it home safely.) Eventually, I made it back to the old skyline chairlift trail, just below where a US Navy plane crashed into the mountain about 50 years ago.

Unless you count the truck driver (who I didn't actually turn around to look at), I'd didn't see a soul until I reached Skyline Drive and the fringe of civilization.
 
Arrived home just before 10:30 am, sweaty, pine needles in my hair, dirt all over my legs, bloody legs and torn aloha shirt from the prickle bushes, sore ankle, but otherwise intact. 

Can't wait to get to the next chapter in Karnaze's book where he gets stoked to do Badwater... something I've thought about running one fine, hot day.