By Michael Bryan Wentz
I completed The Canadian Death Race in 2010 in a respectable time of 20:53. Given the amount of time that I contributed to training for this race, I was very happy with my result. That said, in no way, do I want to diminish the time and effort I spent during my training, as I really gave it my best given the time constraints in my life at that time, including my job, wife, and social life.
Before I begin my story, I’d like to point out that my training differed slightly from my training for The Canadian Death Race in 2010. It is important that I state this, simply because training for one race doesn’t necessarily prepare you for another race. I will also point out that over the course of my training for the Sinister 7, life just got in the way. I had to deal with certain challenges that did not present themselves in prior race preparations. As such, my race performance simply was not as strong as I would have liked.
· I moved from California to Chicago in the dead of winter
· I started a new job
· Training climate changed: Winter conditions and no hills
· Less training time due to all of the above
All of these “excuses” simply added up to less time on my feet and obviously, less miles. You would think that for a longer race, more miles would be necessary, but that simply is not the case. Here is my story…
I have never considered myself a religious man, nor do I claim to have found religion, but in the dead of the night on July 9th I found myself praying. I stood on top a snow covered mountain summit overlooking a rock littered and stream soaked trail descending into a forest of darkness. On the verge of a complete mental and physical breakdown, I prayed for wings, energy, and most of all, a soft comfy bed. I prayed for something or someone to save me from where I stood. It’s safe to now say that my prayers were never answered.
Only six days prior to the Sinister 7, I found myself sitting in the basement of my in-laws home in Chicago, contemplating the enormity of the task that lay before me. I knew that my body was going to be put to the test and that I would have to endure a certain amount of pain. I had never attempted to run 148 kilometers and as I looked over the heaping pile of running gear, thoughts of doubt started to creep in. Did I train hard enough? What more could I have done? I pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on the three day road trip my wife, Izabella and I were about to embark. We thought it would be a great idea to drive from Chicago, Illinois to Calgary, Canada. We pictured the trip as an adventure and as a way to save some money.
Nonetheless, on Saturday, July 2nd, we set off on the twenty-plus hour journey to Calgary, Canada. The holiday traffic (July 4th) put us directly in the middle of a three hour traffic jam. Not the best start to a road trip! Once we found open road, the miles flew by and the drive gave us some time to catch up on the smaller things in life.
After a few tentative moments in the car, we finally reached civilization in Sioux Falls, SD. We found suitable accommodations and were able to take in some of the local cuisine and sites.
I awoke around five the next morning to find my legs stiff from sitting in the car for ten hours. After a quick warm-up, I took off on my usual morning training run. I picked up the pace a little and managed to finish ten miles that took me through the local park, along the river, and over an old wooden bridge just as the sun was coming up over the horizon. One of running’s simple pleasures is that you really never know what you’re going to discover on each run.
After arriving back at the hotel from my run, we pushed off around 9a.m. and made our way into the innards of South Dakota. It was a very, very long drive!
We took the time to see both, Wall Drug and Mt. Rushmore. Wall Drug is a pharmacy that has been open since 1931. It’s interesting in that they advertise all around the entire world and tourists come from far and wide to visit the store. My wife is a pharmacist and had always wondered what it was. It was a nice and unexpected surprise.
While the scenery in South Dakota was scenic in its own right, Montana was downright picturesque. Unfortunately, the exhilarating beauty of Mount Rushmore knocked my wife out for most of the state and as soon as we hit the open road, she fell asleep right away. I certainly had no complaints. This gave me some chance to catch up on some lost driving time. Every time she shut her eyes, I inched that speedometer up over 90 mph and we cruised right along! She awoke and commented, “How did our arrival time on the GPS change so dramatically?” I shrugged and remarked innocently, “Not quite sure. Probably something screwy with the GPS.” Her eyes slowly closed, and that speedometer inched right back up.
We finally reached Billings, Montana after driving through a hellish wind and rainstorm. We found accommodations at a local bed and breakfast called, The Josephine Bed and Breakfast. Our room was quaint and cozy, and was conveniently located only blocks away from the crazy downtown nightlife (heavy sarcasm!). The owner of the B&B was nice enough to prepare us an extensive breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon Nonetheless, our stomachs were full and we were ready to finish the last day of driving.
Our speed picked up due to our growing impatience of being in the car. As such, we experienced some close encounters with the local authorities. As we slowly pulled into the Canada/US border, we were quickly ushered into one of the booths. The border officer grilled us with questions. He asked us in a harsh voice, “Why are you traveling into Canada?” I attempted to explain that I was about to embark on a 148 kilometer running adventure through the Canadian Rockies. He slowly pulled down his glasses down to the brim of his nose. His eyes told it all. He replied, “Say that again.” Apparently my response did not help our cause much. His brain was trying to register how someone could run 148 kilometers. The next words that came out of his mouth I have heard hundreds of times. “Wow, you are going to run 148 kilometers! I can’t even drive that far without getting tired.” I admit that hearing this never gets old! Obviously, in the end, he finally let us pass through. After thirty hours of driving, we finally reached my sisters house in Calgary, Canada.
The last time we saw “the fam” was at our wedding in Jamaica three years ago. It was great to see everyone again! The next few days were spent preparing for my sister’s engagement party to JD MacPherson. There was little time to relax and although a few frustrated moments presented themselves, the party got off without a hitch.
The next morning the entire family packed their belongings and we were off to Pincher Creek, Canada. We had reserved accommodations at a local B&B called, Dungarvan Creek. All eight of us stayed there for $200! Not a bad deal. Once our belongings were unpacked, we drove another forty minutes to Blairmore, the location of pre race meeting and the race itself. I was excited and antsy! Upon arrival, I picked up my race bag, timing chip, and bib number. Once back at the B&B, the entire family sat down in the dining room in front of the fire place and drank chamomile tea. We discussed the basics of my race strategy and tried to contain our excitement for tomorrow’s activities.
I headed off to bed early that night, full well knowing that I would be unable to sleep. I lied there in bed thinking about the past six months of training and thought about my commitment towards this race. I reminisced back over the journey that my training had taken me on. After having moved from Los Angeles to Chicago only a short six months ago, my training up until this point had proved to be quite difficult. I thought about the countless hours of running through snow, rain, and the blistering cold. No matter what, I got up each morning and forced myself out the door. I had logged many miles and spent countless hours puttering around the streets and trails of Chicago. There were tough moments but there were also some funny moments. Moments that you wouldn’t expect, like my water bottles freezing, falling waist deep into a snow drift, and running in a blizzard.
I slowly drifted off to sleep and dreamt about crossing the infamous finish line only to be awoken by my alarm at 4a.m.. I jumped out of bed and had my race outfit and gear on faster than you can say Jack Robinson. The cars were packed and each of sleepily got into the cars. As we wound through the curvy roads, the sun came out of hiding and brilliantly lit up the mountains around us. Everyone seemed in high spirits, but anxious at the same time. As we neared the town, I noticed one of the team running vans had been pulled over. Not the kind of start you want on a day like this! We arrived at the race about thirty minutes early which gave me enough time to hit the washroom and finish last minute preparations.
I found myself standing at the start of a race called the Sinister 7. I tried to remain calm. My heart rate monitor showed 168bpm. I knew it was just nerves and tried taking deep breaths. I felt my teeth chattering from the cold. Runners were scampering around all around me. Everyone was nervous and excited.
The Sinister 7 course is staged within the province of Alberta, Canada and winds itself throughout The Crowsnest Pass. With a total of 148 kilometers, approximately 34,000 feet of elevation gain/loss, and a time limit of 27 hours, it remains one of Canada’s toughest ultra marathons.
Only minutes from the firing of the gun, I gave each of my family members a hug and thanked them for their support.
I situated myself near the back of the pack. It was a long race I didn’t want to go out to fast. Only a few minutes until GO time! The seconds seemed to turn into hours. Finally, the small revolver cracked and I gradually picked up my speed out of the starting gate. I heard shouts from the crowd, “Go #95! Go Wentz!” Surprised a little, I turned to find my wife, father, mother and three sisters jumping up and down, with both pride and excitement. Each had journeyed through many hardships to get to my race that day and I knew at that moment, there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to let them down. Slowly, my support team disappeared out of sight and the pack of runners started to thin. Thoughts of doubt and concern started to creep into my subconscious. I quickly pushed them away. No time for things like that.
The beginning of leg 1 was shockingly easy and I began to think maybe, just maybe, this race might not be that tough. Oh boy was I wrong! The wide grin I had sported at the beginning of the race quickly faded, as the course started to see steeper and steeper inclines. Nearing the end of the leg 1, I looked down an extremely steep and narrow trail. I carefully picked my way down the trail where a crowd of rowdy supporters welcomed my arrival. I noticed my family on my left and to their cheers, I thundered down the rock littered slope with ease. My legs felt like steel and my confidence increased. A great beginning to an epic race!
After a quick shoe change and a few hugs, I raced out of the transition with spirits high into leg 2. Shortly thereafter the climb started and my brisk pace slowed to a fast walk. Still, I was surprised at the ease of the course! I picked up the pace and started to run parts where I probably should have slowed. My first mistake! The Sinister 7 had somehow deceived me and started to show its true colors. The descents became increasingly harder and the ascents caused my breathing to become labored. The wide open trails turned into rock littered and root strewn single track paths that meandered through a thick overgrown forest. With fresh legs, I continued to attack the leg 2. In hindsight, I should have been more cautious, but I couldn’t help it. Only as I neared the end of leg 2 did I truly realized my mistake. It was at this point that I became more cautious and increasingly attentive to the aches and pains. I slowed my pace and started to conserve my energy. As I neared the town, I could hear bells, whistles, and cheers as the crowd welcomed in each of the runners. The last hundred meters took me through an open field of grass that was lined with crowds of onlookers. What a feeling! I heard my family on the side cheering me on. As I turned to see them, I couldn’t help but notice how proud they were to be there. Although this was my race, it was just as much theirs and I was more than happy to share it with them.
As I entered the transition between leg 2 and leg 3, I noticed my family had laid out a blanket with my running gear spread out. They had gathered bananas, watermelon, and other goodies. I greedily snatched and ate the food. While I switched into a new pair of socks and shoes each of them asked how I was doing. I replied, “It’s simply too early to tell.” Only twenty-five miles had passed thus far and I still had quite a bit of trail ahead of me. I remember my sister telling me during the transition that she had heard another runner commenting on the difficulty of the end of Leg 2 and that Leg 3 would be easier. This put me at ease as I trudged back out of the transition and into Leg 3.
After only a few hundred meters of even ground, the course abruptly decided to go up. And it kept going up, and up. To make matters worse, the sun had come out from behind the clouds and this portion of the race did not have any tree cover. Still, I continued to climb. I don’t remember when or at what point the course leveled off, but I had no complaints. As I tried to start running again, my body showed signs that the climb and the sun had taken more out of me than I realized. My body simply did not want to work as commanded. Unfortunately, it seemed as if I had just hit my first wall. Past experience told me it would soon pass. I took baby steps until it did. As the trail wound itself through the mountains, I took the time to think how lucky I was to be there. I took the time to reflect how much time I spent preparing for this race. The picturesque mountainous peaks and overshadowing pine trees reminded me of the reasons why I put myself through such torture. It was to be part of something special; something magical. I eventually broke past the wall and was soon steadily making my way through the twenty miles of Leg 3.
This year’s late snow melt had caused several streams to appear along trailside that wouldn’t have necessarily been there before. They were a god send! Although, I new there were risks of catching “Beaver Fever” from the bacteria in the water, I drank anyway. The streams gave me a chance to refill my bottles, as well as the chance, to chill myself off from the beating sun, which unfortunately had not let up. That said, the sun was the least of my worries at this stage of the race. I had just realized the second mistake of my race. It appeared the new shoes I had switched into at the transition had not been properly broken in during my training. The balls of my forefeet were aching with pain. Every step sent a sting deep into the bottom pad of my foot. More importantly, my quads were already showing signs of deterioration. This was not good, since I was not even halfway through the race. The climbs only became steeper and the descents tougher. Rocks covered the trail and trying to find my footing became a mind numbing task. My ankles were showing signs of abuse after experiencing more than a few minor sprains. I remember thinking that my performance in leg 3 was absolute crap. I just simply could not find my rhythm. Nothing seemed to be going the way that I hoped.
Fear started to set in that I might not be able to finish this race. My slow jog had settled into a brisk walk. I thought of my family waiting for me at the exchange and I pictured the disappointment in their faces. It was enough motivation to get me moving again. I picked up my skirt, puffed out my chest, and pushed the pain away. Then, a small 4x4 with two volunteers came around the corner and shouted words of encouragement, “You’re almost there. You only have a couple more hills and then it’s smooth sailing from there!” Oh, how good that felt! I wished them farewell, said thank you, and and began to attack the course with renewed energy. I repeated to myself, “Only a few hills and you’re there. Only a few hills and you’re there.” My elation was short lived. I stood there looking up at the so called “hill”. What the hell?! These volunteers must eat nails for breakfast. These are the people that tell you, “When I was younger, I walked to school uphill, both ways in the snow and rain.” In this case, it was probably true. Nonetheless, I traversed that hill and cursed every step. More than once, I had to stop to catch my breath. As I reached the top of the hill, another hill ensued. And another! Up until this stage of the race, I had been a little disappointed in the toughness of the course. It was at this point, that I started to curse my own ignorance. This was just the beginning and The Sinister 7 had begun to give me a whipping that I would never forget.
Once atop those hills, I turned around and proudly looked down at what I had just accomplished. I was still angry at myself for letting my emotions get the better of me and soon forgot about the pain in my feet.
The trail soon came to an end and thoughts of my cheering family crept back into the back of my mind. I decided to do something nice for them. I leaned over, which was a task at this point, and picked a handful of flowers. As my feet started moving again, I couldn’t help but notice the pain in feet had disappeared and I felt like I was running on air. I knew this feeling! It was what the running community calls a “runner’s high”. The next several kilometers were smooth sailing as I had made my way back into town. My body was on autopilot at this point and I simply cruised through the remaining miles. In the distance, several volunteers had hiked up a small hill to welcome the racers. As I got closer, I realized the volunteers were my three sisters. As I jogged by, I handed each a flower, which had been somewhat crushed over the last several miles. Of course, they didn’t care. They were just happy to welcome their brother and proud to be apart of this special moment in time. I still had two flowers left. I charged down that last hill and ran straight up to my mother and handed her one of the flowers. I heard the crowd gasp, “Awwww!” One flower left. Up ahead, my wife was standing on the side, cheering me on. I pulled the last flower out and the crowd cheered. She blushed a little and I gave her a little kiss. Sometimes the small things in life make it all worthwhile! As I ran into the checkpoint, the volunteer who was writing my number down, sarcastically asked me, “When did you have the chance to pick flowers? Did we not make the course hard enough?” I smiled and replied, “My support crew is the reason why I’m still here. I have to take care of them”
I sat down for the first time. The shoes came off, as did the socks. My feet were blistered in parts and one of my toenails had started to turn black. Slight delirium had set in. Merely signs of the day’s battle. My crew of six whizzed around me. Taylor filled water bottles. Missy whispered words of encouragement. Katy rubbed my shoulders. My mother rubbed my feet. My father took pictures. My wife handed me food. What a support crew.! All this attention made me want to stay. Screw going back out on the course! I milked the attention for all it was worth. As my crew prepared my gear and my feet, I mentally prepared myself for leg 4, the second longest leg of the race. Experience also taught me if I didn’t get moving quickly, that there was good possibility of not moving at all.
To the cheers of my family and a crowd of onlookers, I ran out of the transition and into leg 4. It was such a beautiful day. A slight breeze to my back, the temperature was perfect, and I couldn’t imagine a better day for running. A grin spread from ear to ear. My mind danced around in the clouds and before I knew it, I had reached a dead end. I stood there confused. Where was I supposed to go? I yelled at the top of my lungs to a volunteer standing off in the distance. He couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want to run back. This was utterly defeating. Moments later another runner appeared. He didn’t know where to go either. He kept running up the road which soon turned into a dead end. I knew it wasn’t the way, so I started back. About halfway there the volunteer motioned for me to turn around and keep going. Frustrated, I turned around hoping that I missed something and I tried again. Another runner appeared. I whipped out the phone, hoping to reach my father before he left the transition area. No answer. I tried again. Bingo! He was just packing up the car. He quickly ran back to the transition area and handed a volunteer his phone. I was extremely frustrated at this point, after having just run forty-plus miles.
Eventually, we came to the conclusion that I was supposed to turn right and go up this ski hill. The course up until this point had been clearly marked. I also later found out that the volunteer was actually motioning me to go to the right. It was a disappointing turn of events, but what can you do. What’s an extra few miles when you’re already running close to a hundred? I shrugged off the disappointment and charged up a steep ski hill. My spirits improved a little once I found out that I didn’t have to climb the entire ski slope.
Eventually, the terrain leveled off and the trail started to wind itself through a lush forest of plant life, flowers, and trees. My shoe replacement helped lift my spirits and I managed to run a good portion of the first half of leg 4.
About halfway through leg 4, I was stopped in my tracks. The path disappeared underneath a small pond. The only way around was over a barbed wire fence. Blasphemy! After a good 5 minutes, another runner appeared and we decided to hold down the barbwire for one another. It was later determined by the race director, Brian Gallant, that the recent snow melt had covered the trail. What’s an ultra marathon without a few hiccups?! Speaking of hiccups, race headquarters’ was nice enough to throw in a small “river” halfway through leg 4. After crossing the river, a small aid station stocked with snicker bars and potato chips awaited my arrival. I had just run over 50 miles and I was starving. Delicious!
What goes up must come down. Again, my mood soon deteriorated. Nothing against the Sinister 7, but the next five kilometers were absolutely mind numbing. The wide and straight dirt road seemed to go on forever. To make matters worse, a chilling head wind made forward motion quite difficult. I stepped, I stumbled, and I shuffled. Yet, still I carried on.
Just when I thought the trail couldn’t get any tougher, a long tortuous downhill ensued. Up until this point, my quads had already taken a thrashing and were showing signs of what the running community calls “Dead Quads”. As I stumbled down the hill, I noticed a car parked on the paved road. It was my family! Each of them got out of the car and ran up and gave me a big hug. Just when I needed them most, they had appeared. A surprise like this could keep me going for miles. The last portion of leg 4 strung along a trail that paralleled the highway, which left little to be desired. Cars whizzed by at blazing speeds and honking horns filled the silence. The sun started to set on the horizon and the mountain peaks were illuminated with a hazy orange glow. Twelve hours had passed since I started running earlier that morning. It would be soon be nightfall and I knew the demons were forthcoming.
Heading into the last exchange, I partnered up with ultra legend Susan Gallup. Susan has completed over ninety ultra’s and marathons in her many years of running. She had completed The Sinister 7 once before and provided me with key pointers that would come in handy later in the race. As we chatted away, the miles slipped on by. She confided that this would be her first DNF in all her years of running. Sue had a child at home that was sick and a husband waiting for her with a warm plate of food. I couldn’t blame her! I considered trying to talk her out of it, but one look at her eyes told me there was no point. We both ran into the transition area between leg 4 and leg 5 together and she wished me good luck.
My family led me to a chair and my body, tired and achy, fell in with ease. My mother covered me with a blanket and brought me a cup of hot chicken soup. The shoes came off only to reveal a new set of blisters and a few cracks in the skin. It was now pitch dark. I sat there and contemplated the possibility of quitting. Like Susan, what did I really have to prove tonight? My inner voice told me to get up. I needed to get moving. And fast. I had to mentally will myself out of that chair.
My dad, mom, sisters, and wife all cheered as I left the transition. I didn’t feel like a runner anymore. I made my best effort to run until I was out of sight and settled into a brisk walk. My mind started to rationalize the distance left in the race. I only had thirty more miles to go. Leg 5 was only 23 kilometers. How bad could it be? I knew that if I could somehow manage to get through leg 5 in decent shape, I had a great chance of finishing under the 27 hour limit.
Two runners were coming up behind me with headlamps shining. At this stage, I needed some company. As they approached, I introduced myself and asked if I could tag along. Their names were Scott Rattray and Carl Devost. Almost instantly, we were all friends. We immediately all fell into a rhythm and marched on. It was smoothing going at first. The trail was flat and that feeling of “this isn’t that bad” began to creep in again. I was hoping that the worst was behind me. Unfortunately, I could not have been more wrong. The trail eventually turned into a small creek. Apparently, all of the snow melt had found its way onto the trail. Water trickled down the path in all directions. I could hop around to avoid most wet spots, but every once in awhile my feet found a deep puddle. I accepted the wet feet and trudged on. At points we were actually wading through several feet of bone chilling water. After crossing one of these small creeks, I leaned over and gritted my teeth. The water was so cold, I couldn’t move my feet. I just waited a few moments until I could feel them again.
As we made our way deeper into leg 5, we all chatted about our Sinister 7 journey. We had all come from different parts of life, but at this one moment in time our paths had aligned. At times we said nothing, and we all dealt with the pain in our own way. Thinking back, I don’t know if I would have finished the race if weren’t for these two guys and their companionship.
Somewhere around the middle of leg 5, I began to experience some serious pain in my feet and quads. All that I could think about was when the leg would end. One look at my GPS told me that I only had 6 miles left. That said, I recalled from the elevation profile that a climb was approaching. How bad could it be? In the dead of the night, I found myself hiking up a mountain. My feet were soaked, legs were beat, and my mind on the verge of breaking down. I pushed and pushed up that mountain. It was really tough going and more than a few times, I had to stop to catch my breath. I told myself over and over again, “One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving forward.”
In the distance, I could see a faint glow. Had we reached the top?! As we rounded the corner, a campfire lit the trail. There was pile of wood stacked to the side and two older gentlemen with long beards were tossing logs onto the fire. These guys were straight out of a Paul Bunyan story. How in the hell did these guys get up here?! I was too tired to care. I looked into the fire and found it mesmerizing. Through the flames, a dog appeared. It was a husky and it looked like something out of the movie White Fang. I was quite delirious at this point in the race. It was now around 2a.m.
I heard Scott talking to one of the guys. He asked him, “Is this the summit?” He replied, “You’re almost there.” My heart sank. I was tired of climbing this darn mountain. I could tell both, Carl and Scott, were as well. We left the camp and not a word was mentioned until we had reached the summit. We paused for a second and congratulated each other on making it this far. Our headlights eventually found the trail going down. What we saw was demoralizing. The path was covered in knee deep snow. I couldn’t help, but laugh at this point. I can’t even begin to describe the pain that followed each step down that mountain. Each step was felt in my already weary feet and deep within my quads. Eventually the snow disappeared only to leave us with a trail littered with rocks the size of softballs. I twisted my ankle at least twice. Upon reaching the bottom, I was too defeated to even care. All I could think about was taking a nap. I had never been so tired in my life. To make matters worse, I couldn’t keep up with my two new friends. I told them to go ahead and that I would catch up. We all knew that was a lie and my new found friends slowly disappeared out of sight.
Here I was standing in the middle of the Canadian Wilderness, in the middle of the night with no one in sight. On top of that, I couldn’t even outrun an ant, much less a bear or cougar. I didn’t care. Off I stumbled down the trail. My head could barely sustain its own weight and I found myself staring down at the ground most of the time. It finally occurred to me that I had not seen any trail markings for quite awhile. I pointed my headlamp up the trail hoping to see a reflector. Nothing. I pointed it back down the trail. Nothing. A feeling of panic ensued. Where did I go wrong?! What do I do?! Oh crap, this could be really bad. Screw not finishing, I just wanted to find the damn trail. I had no idea where I was. I jammed my poles into the ground over and over again with frustration. Eventually, I slumped over the poles and just hung there for a few minutes. I felt like crying. What to do, what to do, what to do?! Out of the corner of my eye, a faint light bobbed up and down behind me. It was another runner!!! I was on the right path.
I fought the mind numbing pain and started running again. Yes, I was struggling, but I was moving forward and that was all that mattered. My feet shuffled through those last few miles of leg 5 and as I rounded the corner, I saw Christmas lights. How did they get Christmas lights all the way up here?! Then I heard the faint rumblings of a generator. I must have been a pretty sore sight because my mother immediately came up to me and helped me into the chair. Her expression told it all. She looked worried. My father appeared and asked me, “How do you feel?” A few words sputtered out of my mouth, “Race tough, need bed, feet hurt.” I later learned that my father began to have doubts about my finishing the race. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I had just finished approximately 75 miles of the race. Did I really want to go on? I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think about dropping out at this point. A volunteer came over and handed me a Styrofoam cup filled with hot, black liquid. I took a sip. Whoa! It was coffee and it packed a punch! I jumped out of the chair and made my way down the trail. Those few sips changed everything. I had broken through another wall.
The pain in my feet and quads slowly subdued. It felt great to be running again. More importantly, the darkness slowly dissipated and the sun slowly began to rise up over the mountains. It was now around 6a.m. I had for the first time my life, run through the entire night. It took awhile for my eyes to adjust. I began to hallucinate. With no sleep, the shadows started to play tricks on my mind. I saw animals that turned into bushes and finish lines that turned into logs.
Compared to the last three legs, leg 6 was pretty straightforward and only 8 miles (13.8 kilometers) in length. That said, every once in awhile the course threw in some pretty nasty climbs and descents. With only three miles left to the end of leg 6, I started to feel the effect of the coffee wearing off. It dropped me like a sack of potatoes. My attitude took a turn for the worst and once again, I limped forward. Another runner soon caught up to me. Her name was Marian Grant. Both of us didn’t have the energy to talk. We simply kept each other moving forward. The only saving grace at this point was knowing that the finish line was now obtainable and that all my work wasn’t for nothing.
My pace had slowed significantly and the last remaining hill heading into the transition between leg 6 and 7 showed my true colors. Up until this point, I had tried my best to mask the pain. As I was coming down the hill, my ankle turned over and I barely caught myself with one of my ski poles. My family stood in on the side and shouted words of encouragement. Even those words couldn’t get me running. I hobbled as best as I could. I don’t think they expected me in this bad of shape. My mother and my sisters helped me into a chair and did their best to revive me. They offered food and asked me questions. With delayed responses, I tried my best to answer them. I simply didn’t have the energy. All I wanted was to finish. To be done. All of a sudden and to my family’s surprise, I abruptly got up and ran out of the transition area and into the final leg 7. Later, I learned that I had forgotten some of my supplies. I simple knew at this point that I just needed to get moving again.
Now, the race website indicates leg 7 is the second easiest leg of the race but nothing is easy after having just running 80-plus miles. Just after starting, I found myself standing at the base of a monster hill. I looked up in shock. What kind of a cruel joke was this?! That last remaining hill was a heartbreaker! Every ten steps, I would stop to catch my breath, and would peer down back where my family had just stood. I imagined that they were watching and I kept pushing forward. Upon reaching the top my feeling of accomplishment was soon replaced by one of dread. I stared down at the same nasty hill. Littered with rocks, the hill stretched down farther than I could have imagined. I had nothing left in my quads. Absolutely nothing! I decided to hike down the hill backwards. I quickly realized that I was moving faster hiking backward, than I was moving forwards. This made me smile and with that my spirit had vastly improved. I now knew the worst was behind me and that I was going to finish.
I really enjoyed the rest of leg 7. It was absolute bliss. The sun was shinning brightly and a slight breeze wisped at my back. I casually made my way down a lightly padded trail that paralleled a river. I reached an aid station and was promptly told, “You’re almost there. Only a few more kilometers!” All of my pain seemed to disappear and I started to run again. It was at this point that a car heading in my direction pulled over to cheer me on. It was Charles Miron, this year’s winner of The Sinister 7. He said, “You only have a little more to go. You should finish strong.” That was all I needed. I took off and was soon running a eight minute mile. If you had asked me an hour ago if this was possible, I would have swiftly replied, “You’re absolutely crazy. No way!” I don’t really know where this renewed energy came from. I certainly didn’t have any complaints though. Those last few miles were some of the best of the entire race.
As I rounded the last hundred meters of the race, I saw my family standing on a set of bleachers. They were chanting something. At first, I had a tough time making it out. As I got closer, I knew exactly what it was. It was a soccer cheer that I had shouted with my soccer team growing up before every match. My dad had been the one to lead that cheer and here he was again, shouting that same cheer that I grew up with. What a support crew. Those last few meters were a blur. I crossed that finish line and immediately slumped over. I had done it. I had finished The Sinister 7. I proudly accepted my reward from Brian Gallant and thanked him for a truly life changing experience.
I had finished in 26:01:36.
My family surrounded me, gave me hugs, and told me how proud they were of me. They all told me what I just did was awe inspiring. Sharing this experience with them was a long awaited moment in my life. I think they were able to see, for the first time, what running an ultra marathon was all about. That moment was priceless.
I quickly took a shower and joined my family for a quick bite to eat. While sitting at the table, I fell asleep on my mother’s shoulder. I had never been so tired in my life. Nothing else mattered. I had finished and life was good.
Not that the Sinister 7 wasn’t hard enough, but my wife Izabella and I decided to add another level of difficulty. We left straight from the race and decided to drive twenty-five hours back to Chicago. I passed out in the back seat for four hours and she drove straight south.
I awoke to a new world, one in which, I now know that I can achieve anything.
The End And The Beginning …
I completed The Canadian Death Race in 2010 in a respectable time of 20:53. Given the amount of time that I contributed to training for this race, I was very happy with my result. That said, in no way, do I want to diminish the time and effort I spent during my training, as I really gave it my best given the time constraints in my life at that time, including my job, wife, and social life.
Before I begin my story, I’d like to point out that my training differed slightly from my training for The Canadian Death Race in 2010. It is important that I state this, simply because training for one race doesn’t necessarily prepare you for another race. I will also point out that over the course of my training for the Sinister 7, life just got in the way. I had to deal with certain challenges that did not present themselves in prior race preparations. As such, my race performance simply was not as strong as I would have liked.
· I moved from California to Chicago in the dead of winter
· I started a new job
· Training climate changed: Winter conditions and no hills
· Less training time due to all of the above
All of these “excuses” simply added up to less time on my feet and obviously, less miles. You would think that for a longer race, more miles would be necessary, but that simply is not the case. Here is my story…
I have never considered myself a religious man, nor do I claim to have found religion, but in the dead of the night on July 9th I found myself praying. I stood on top a snow covered mountain summit overlooking a rock littered and stream soaked trail descending into a forest of darkness. On the verge of a complete mental and physical breakdown, I prayed for wings, energy, and most of all, a soft comfy bed. I prayed for something or someone to save me from where I stood. It’s safe to now say that my prayers were never answered.
Only six days prior to the Sinister 7, I found myself sitting in the basement of my in-laws home in Chicago, contemplating the enormity of the task that lay before me. I knew that my body was going to be put to the test and that I would have to endure a certain amount of pain. I had never attempted to run 148 kilometers and as I looked over the heaping pile of running gear, thoughts of doubt started to creep in. Did I train hard enough? What more could I have done? I pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on the three day road trip my wife, Izabella and I were about to embark. We thought it would be a great idea to drive from Chicago, Illinois to Calgary, Canada. We pictured the trip as an adventure and as a way to save some money.
Nonetheless, on Saturday, July 2nd, we set off on the twenty-plus hour journey to Calgary, Canada. The holiday traffic (July 4th) put us directly in the middle of a three hour traffic jam. Not the best start to a road trip! Once we found open road, the miles flew by and the drive gave us some time to catch up on the smaller things in life.
After a few tentative moments in the car, we finally reached civilization in Sioux Falls, SD. We found suitable accommodations and were able to take in some of the local cuisine and sites.
I awoke around five the next morning to find my legs stiff from sitting in the car for ten hours. After a quick warm-up, I took off on my usual morning training run. I picked up the pace a little and managed to finish ten miles that took me through the local park, along the river, and over an old wooden bridge just as the sun was coming up over the horizon. One of running’s simple pleasures is that you really never know what you’re going to discover on each run.
After arriving back at the hotel from my run, we pushed off around 9a.m. and made our way into the innards of South Dakota. It was a very, very long drive!
We took the time to see both, Wall Drug and Mt. Rushmore. Wall Drug is a pharmacy that has been open since 1931. It’s interesting in that they advertise all around the entire world and tourists come from far and wide to visit the store. My wife is a pharmacist and had always wondered what it was. It was a nice and unexpected surprise.
While the scenery in South Dakota was scenic in its own right, Montana was downright picturesque. Unfortunately, the exhilarating beauty of Mount Rushmore knocked my wife out for most of the state and as soon as we hit the open road, she fell asleep right away. I certainly had no complaints. This gave me some chance to catch up on some lost driving time. Every time she shut her eyes, I inched that speedometer up over 90 mph and we cruised right along! She awoke and commented, “How did our arrival time on the GPS change so dramatically?” I shrugged and remarked innocently, “Not quite sure. Probably something screwy with the GPS.” Her eyes slowly closed, and that speedometer inched right back up.
We finally reached Billings, Montana after driving through a hellish wind and rainstorm. We found accommodations at a local bed and breakfast called, The Josephine Bed and Breakfast. Our room was quaint and cozy, and was conveniently located only blocks away from the crazy downtown nightlife (heavy sarcasm!). The owner of the B&B was nice enough to prepare us an extensive breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon Nonetheless, our stomachs were full and we were ready to finish the last day of driving.
Our speed picked up due to our growing impatience of being in the car. As such, we experienced some close encounters with the local authorities. As we slowly pulled into the Canada/US border, we were quickly ushered into one of the booths. The border officer grilled us with questions. He asked us in a harsh voice, “Why are you traveling into Canada?” I attempted to explain that I was about to embark on a 148 kilometer running adventure through the Canadian Rockies. He slowly pulled down his glasses down to the brim of his nose. His eyes told it all. He replied, “Say that again.” Apparently my response did not help our cause much. His brain was trying to register how someone could run 148 kilometers. The next words that came out of his mouth I have heard hundreds of times. “Wow, you are going to run 148 kilometers! I can’t even drive that far without getting tired.” I admit that hearing this never gets old! Obviously, in the end, he finally let us pass through. After thirty hours of driving, we finally reached my sisters house in Calgary, Canada.
The last time we saw “the fam” was at our wedding in Jamaica three years ago. It was great to see everyone again! The next few days were spent preparing for my sister’s engagement party to JD MacPherson. There was little time to relax and although a few frustrated moments presented themselves, the party got off without a hitch.
The next morning the entire family packed their belongings and we were off to Pincher Creek, Canada. We had reserved accommodations at a local B&B called, Dungarvan Creek. All eight of us stayed there for $200! Not a bad deal. Once our belongings were unpacked, we drove another forty minutes to Blairmore, the location of pre race meeting and the race itself. I was excited and antsy! Upon arrival, I picked up my race bag, timing chip, and bib number. Once back at the B&B, the entire family sat down in the dining room in front of the fire place and drank chamomile tea. We discussed the basics of my race strategy and tried to contain our excitement for tomorrow’s activities.
I headed off to bed early that night, full well knowing that I would be unable to sleep. I lied there in bed thinking about the past six months of training and thought about my commitment towards this race. I reminisced back over the journey that my training had taken me on. After having moved from Los Angeles to Chicago only a short six months ago, my training up until this point had proved to be quite difficult. I thought about the countless hours of running through snow, rain, and the blistering cold. No matter what, I got up each morning and forced myself out the door. I had logged many miles and spent countless hours puttering around the streets and trails of Chicago. There were tough moments but there were also some funny moments. Moments that you wouldn’t expect, like my water bottles freezing, falling waist deep into a snow drift, and running in a blizzard.
I slowly drifted off to sleep and dreamt about crossing the infamous finish line only to be awoken by my alarm at 4a.m.. I jumped out of bed and had my race outfit and gear on faster than you can say Jack Robinson. The cars were packed and each of sleepily got into the cars. As we wound through the curvy roads, the sun came out of hiding and brilliantly lit up the mountains around us. Everyone seemed in high spirits, but anxious at the same time. As we neared the town, I noticed one of the team running vans had been pulled over. Not the kind of start you want on a day like this! We arrived at the race about thirty minutes early which gave me enough time to hit the washroom and finish last minute preparations.
I found myself standing at the start of a race called the Sinister 7. I tried to remain calm. My heart rate monitor showed 168bpm. I knew it was just nerves and tried taking deep breaths. I felt my teeth chattering from the cold. Runners were scampering around all around me. Everyone was nervous and excited.
The Sinister 7 course is staged within the province of Alberta, Canada and winds itself throughout The Crowsnest Pass. With a total of 148 kilometers, approximately 34,000 feet of elevation gain/loss, and a time limit of 27 hours, it remains one of Canada’s toughest ultra marathons.
Only minutes from the firing of the gun, I gave each of my family members a hug and thanked them for their support.
I situated myself near the back of the pack. It was a long race I didn’t want to go out to fast. Only a few minutes until GO time! The seconds seemed to turn into hours. Finally, the small revolver cracked and I gradually picked up my speed out of the starting gate. I heard shouts from the crowd, “Go #95! Go Wentz!” Surprised a little, I turned to find my wife, father, mother and three sisters jumping up and down, with both pride and excitement. Each had journeyed through many hardships to get to my race that day and I knew at that moment, there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to let them down. Slowly, my support team disappeared out of sight and the pack of runners started to thin. Thoughts of doubt and concern started to creep into my subconscious. I quickly pushed them away. No time for things like that.
The beginning of leg 1 was shockingly easy and I began to think maybe, just maybe, this race might not be that tough. Oh boy was I wrong! The wide grin I had sported at the beginning of the race quickly faded, as the course started to see steeper and steeper inclines. Nearing the end of the leg 1, I looked down an extremely steep and narrow trail. I carefully picked my way down the trail where a crowd of rowdy supporters welcomed my arrival. I noticed my family on my left and to their cheers, I thundered down the rock littered slope with ease. My legs felt like steel and my confidence increased. A great beginning to an epic race!
After a quick shoe change and a few hugs, I raced out of the transition with spirits high into leg 2. Shortly thereafter the climb started and my brisk pace slowed to a fast walk. Still, I was surprised at the ease of the course! I picked up the pace and started to run parts where I probably should have slowed. My first mistake! The Sinister 7 had somehow deceived me and started to show its true colors. The descents became increasingly harder and the ascents caused my breathing to become labored. The wide open trails turned into rock littered and root strewn single track paths that meandered through a thick overgrown forest. With fresh legs, I continued to attack the leg 2. In hindsight, I should have been more cautious, but I couldn’t help it. Only as I neared the end of leg 2 did I truly realized my mistake. It was at this point that I became more cautious and increasingly attentive to the aches and pains. I slowed my pace and started to conserve my energy. As I neared the town, I could hear bells, whistles, and cheers as the crowd welcomed in each of the runners. The last hundred meters took me through an open field of grass that was lined with crowds of onlookers. What a feeling! I heard my family on the side cheering me on. As I turned to see them, I couldn’t help but notice how proud they were to be there. Although this was my race, it was just as much theirs and I was more than happy to share it with them.
As I entered the transition between leg 2 and leg 3, I noticed my family had laid out a blanket with my running gear spread out. They had gathered bananas, watermelon, and other goodies. I greedily snatched and ate the food. While I switched into a new pair of socks and shoes each of them asked how I was doing. I replied, “It’s simply too early to tell.” Only twenty-five miles had passed thus far and I still had quite a bit of trail ahead of me. I remember my sister telling me during the transition that she had heard another runner commenting on the difficulty of the end of Leg 2 and that Leg 3 would be easier. This put me at ease as I trudged back out of the transition and into Leg 3.
After only a few hundred meters of even ground, the course abruptly decided to go up. And it kept going up, and up. To make matters worse, the sun had come out from behind the clouds and this portion of the race did not have any tree cover. Still, I continued to climb. I don’t remember when or at what point the course leveled off, but I had no complaints. As I tried to start running again, my body showed signs that the climb and the sun had taken more out of me than I realized. My body simply did not want to work as commanded. Unfortunately, it seemed as if I had just hit my first wall. Past experience told me it would soon pass. I took baby steps until it did. As the trail wound itself through the mountains, I took the time to think how lucky I was to be there. I took the time to reflect how much time I spent preparing for this race. The picturesque mountainous peaks and overshadowing pine trees reminded me of the reasons why I put myself through such torture. It was to be part of something special; something magical. I eventually broke past the wall and was soon steadily making my way through the twenty miles of Leg 3.
This year’s late snow melt had caused several streams to appear along trailside that wouldn’t have necessarily been there before. They were a god send! Although, I new there were risks of catching “Beaver Fever” from the bacteria in the water, I drank anyway. The streams gave me a chance to refill my bottles, as well as the chance, to chill myself off from the beating sun, which unfortunately had not let up. That said, the sun was the least of my worries at this stage of the race. I had just realized the second mistake of my race. It appeared the new shoes I had switched into at the transition had not been properly broken in during my training. The balls of my forefeet were aching with pain. Every step sent a sting deep into the bottom pad of my foot. More importantly, my quads were already showing signs of deterioration. This was not good, since I was not even halfway through the race. The climbs only became steeper and the descents tougher. Rocks covered the trail and trying to find my footing became a mind numbing task. My ankles were showing signs of abuse after experiencing more than a few minor sprains. I remember thinking that my performance in leg 3 was absolute crap. I just simply could not find my rhythm. Nothing seemed to be going the way that I hoped.
Fear started to set in that I might not be able to finish this race. My slow jog had settled into a brisk walk. I thought of my family waiting for me at the exchange and I pictured the disappointment in their faces. It was enough motivation to get me moving again. I picked up my skirt, puffed out my chest, and pushed the pain away. Then, a small 4x4 with two volunteers came around the corner and shouted words of encouragement, “You’re almost there. You only have a couple more hills and then it’s smooth sailing from there!” Oh, how good that felt! I wished them farewell, said thank you, and and began to attack the course with renewed energy. I repeated to myself, “Only a few hills and you’re there. Only a few hills and you’re there.” My elation was short lived. I stood there looking up at the so called “hill”. What the hell?! These volunteers must eat nails for breakfast. These are the people that tell you, “When I was younger, I walked to school uphill, both ways in the snow and rain.” In this case, it was probably true. Nonetheless, I traversed that hill and cursed every step. More than once, I had to stop to catch my breath. As I reached the top of the hill, another hill ensued. And another! Up until this stage of the race, I had been a little disappointed in the toughness of the course. It was at this point, that I started to curse my own ignorance. This was just the beginning and The Sinister 7 had begun to give me a whipping that I would never forget.
Once atop those hills, I turned around and proudly looked down at what I had just accomplished. I was still angry at myself for letting my emotions get the better of me and soon forgot about the pain in my feet.
The trail soon came to an end and thoughts of my cheering family crept back into the back of my mind. I decided to do something nice for them. I leaned over, which was a task at this point, and picked a handful of flowers. As my feet started moving again, I couldn’t help but notice the pain in feet had disappeared and I felt like I was running on air. I knew this feeling! It was what the running community calls a “runner’s high”. The next several kilometers were smooth sailing as I had made my way back into town. My body was on autopilot at this point and I simply cruised through the remaining miles. In the distance, several volunteers had hiked up a small hill to welcome the racers. As I got closer, I realized the volunteers were my three sisters. As I jogged by, I handed each a flower, which had been somewhat crushed over the last several miles. Of course, they didn’t care. They were just happy to welcome their brother and proud to be apart of this special moment in time. I still had two flowers left. I charged down that last hill and ran straight up to my mother and handed her one of the flowers. I heard the crowd gasp, “Awwww!” One flower left. Up ahead, my wife was standing on the side, cheering me on. I pulled the last flower out and the crowd cheered. She blushed a little and I gave her a little kiss. Sometimes the small things in life make it all worthwhile! As I ran into the checkpoint, the volunteer who was writing my number down, sarcastically asked me, “When did you have the chance to pick flowers? Did we not make the course hard enough?” I smiled and replied, “My support crew is the reason why I’m still here. I have to take care of them”
I sat down for the first time. The shoes came off, as did the socks. My feet were blistered in parts and one of my toenails had started to turn black. Slight delirium had set in. Merely signs of the day’s battle. My crew of six whizzed around me. Taylor filled water bottles. Missy whispered words of encouragement. Katy rubbed my shoulders. My mother rubbed my feet. My father took pictures. My wife handed me food. What a support crew.! All this attention made me want to stay. Screw going back out on the course! I milked the attention for all it was worth. As my crew prepared my gear and my feet, I mentally prepared myself for leg 4, the second longest leg of the race. Experience also taught me if I didn’t get moving quickly, that there was good possibility of not moving at all.
To the cheers of my family and a crowd of onlookers, I ran out of the transition and into leg 4. It was such a beautiful day. A slight breeze to my back, the temperature was perfect, and I couldn’t imagine a better day for running. A grin spread from ear to ear. My mind danced around in the clouds and before I knew it, I had reached a dead end. I stood there confused. Where was I supposed to go? I yelled at the top of my lungs to a volunteer standing off in the distance. He couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want to run back. This was utterly defeating. Moments later another runner appeared. He didn’t know where to go either. He kept running up the road which soon turned into a dead end. I knew it wasn’t the way, so I started back. About halfway there the volunteer motioned for me to turn around and keep going. Frustrated, I turned around hoping that I missed something and I tried again. Another runner appeared. I whipped out the phone, hoping to reach my father before he left the transition area. No answer. I tried again. Bingo! He was just packing up the car. He quickly ran back to the transition area and handed a volunteer his phone. I was extremely frustrated at this point, after having just run forty-plus miles.
Eventually, we came to the conclusion that I was supposed to turn right and go up this ski hill. The course up until this point had been clearly marked. I also later found out that the volunteer was actually motioning me to go to the right. It was a disappointing turn of events, but what can you do. What’s an extra few miles when you’re already running close to a hundred? I shrugged off the disappointment and charged up a steep ski hill. My spirits improved a little once I found out that I didn’t have to climb the entire ski slope.
Eventually, the terrain leveled off and the trail started to wind itself through a lush forest of plant life, flowers, and trees. My shoe replacement helped lift my spirits and I managed to run a good portion of the first half of leg 4.
About halfway through leg 4, I was stopped in my tracks. The path disappeared underneath a small pond. The only way around was over a barbed wire fence. Blasphemy! After a good 5 minutes, another runner appeared and we decided to hold down the barbwire for one another. It was later determined by the race director, Brian Gallant, that the recent snow melt had covered the trail. What’s an ultra marathon without a few hiccups?! Speaking of hiccups, race headquarters’ was nice enough to throw in a small “river” halfway through leg 4. After crossing the river, a small aid station stocked with snicker bars and potato chips awaited my arrival. I had just run over 50 miles and I was starving. Delicious!
What goes up must come down. Again, my mood soon deteriorated. Nothing against the Sinister 7, but the next five kilometers were absolutely mind numbing. The wide and straight dirt road seemed to go on forever. To make matters worse, a chilling head wind made forward motion quite difficult. I stepped, I stumbled, and I shuffled. Yet, still I carried on.
Just when I thought the trail couldn’t get any tougher, a long tortuous downhill ensued. Up until this point, my quads had already taken a thrashing and were showing signs of what the running community calls “Dead Quads”. As I stumbled down the hill, I noticed a car parked on the paved road. It was my family! Each of them got out of the car and ran up and gave me a big hug. Just when I needed them most, they had appeared. A surprise like this could keep me going for miles. The last portion of leg 4 strung along a trail that paralleled the highway, which left little to be desired. Cars whizzed by at blazing speeds and honking horns filled the silence. The sun started to set on the horizon and the mountain peaks were illuminated with a hazy orange glow. Twelve hours had passed since I started running earlier that morning. It would be soon be nightfall and I knew the demons were forthcoming.
Heading into the last exchange, I partnered up with ultra legend Susan Gallup. Susan has completed over ninety ultra’s and marathons in her many years of running. She had completed The Sinister 7 once before and provided me with key pointers that would come in handy later in the race. As we chatted away, the miles slipped on by. She confided that this would be her first DNF in all her years of running. Sue had a child at home that was sick and a husband waiting for her with a warm plate of food. I couldn’t blame her! I considered trying to talk her out of it, but one look at her eyes told me there was no point. We both ran into the transition area between leg 4 and leg 5 together and she wished me good luck.
My family led me to a chair and my body, tired and achy, fell in with ease. My mother covered me with a blanket and brought me a cup of hot chicken soup. The shoes came off only to reveal a new set of blisters and a few cracks in the skin. It was now pitch dark. I sat there and contemplated the possibility of quitting. Like Susan, what did I really have to prove tonight? My inner voice told me to get up. I needed to get moving. And fast. I had to mentally will myself out of that chair.
My dad, mom, sisters, and wife all cheered as I left the transition. I didn’t feel like a runner anymore. I made my best effort to run until I was out of sight and settled into a brisk walk. My mind started to rationalize the distance left in the race. I only had thirty more miles to go. Leg 5 was only 23 kilometers. How bad could it be? I knew that if I could somehow manage to get through leg 5 in decent shape, I had a great chance of finishing under the 27 hour limit.
Two runners were coming up behind me with headlamps shining. At this stage, I needed some company. As they approached, I introduced myself and asked if I could tag along. Their names were Scott Rattray and Carl Devost. Almost instantly, we were all friends. We immediately all fell into a rhythm and marched on. It was smoothing going at first. The trail was flat and that feeling of “this isn’t that bad” began to creep in again. I was hoping that the worst was behind me. Unfortunately, I could not have been more wrong. The trail eventually turned into a small creek. Apparently, all of the snow melt had found its way onto the trail. Water trickled down the path in all directions. I could hop around to avoid most wet spots, but every once in awhile my feet found a deep puddle. I accepted the wet feet and trudged on. At points we were actually wading through several feet of bone chilling water. After crossing one of these small creeks, I leaned over and gritted my teeth. The water was so cold, I couldn’t move my feet. I just waited a few moments until I could feel them again.
As we made our way deeper into leg 5, we all chatted about our Sinister 7 journey. We had all come from different parts of life, but at this one moment in time our paths had aligned. At times we said nothing, and we all dealt with the pain in our own way. Thinking back, I don’t know if I would have finished the race if weren’t for these two guys and their companionship.
Somewhere around the middle of leg 5, I began to experience some serious pain in my feet and quads. All that I could think about was when the leg would end. One look at my GPS told me that I only had 6 miles left. That said, I recalled from the elevation profile that a climb was approaching. How bad could it be? In the dead of the night, I found myself hiking up a mountain. My feet were soaked, legs were beat, and my mind on the verge of breaking down. I pushed and pushed up that mountain. It was really tough going and more than a few times, I had to stop to catch my breath. I told myself over and over again, “One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving forward.”
In the distance, I could see a faint glow. Had we reached the top?! As we rounded the corner, a campfire lit the trail. There was pile of wood stacked to the side and two older gentlemen with long beards were tossing logs onto the fire. These guys were straight out of a Paul Bunyan story. How in the hell did these guys get up here?! I was too tired to care. I looked into the fire and found it mesmerizing. Through the flames, a dog appeared. It was a husky and it looked like something out of the movie White Fang. I was quite delirious at this point in the race. It was now around 2a.m.
I heard Scott talking to one of the guys. He asked him, “Is this the summit?” He replied, “You’re almost there.” My heart sank. I was tired of climbing this darn mountain. I could tell both, Carl and Scott, were as well. We left the camp and not a word was mentioned until we had reached the summit. We paused for a second and congratulated each other on making it this far. Our headlights eventually found the trail going down. What we saw was demoralizing. The path was covered in knee deep snow. I couldn’t help, but laugh at this point. I can’t even begin to describe the pain that followed each step down that mountain. Each step was felt in my already weary feet and deep within my quads. Eventually the snow disappeared only to leave us with a trail littered with rocks the size of softballs. I twisted my ankle at least twice. Upon reaching the bottom, I was too defeated to even care. All I could think about was taking a nap. I had never been so tired in my life. To make matters worse, I couldn’t keep up with my two new friends. I told them to go ahead and that I would catch up. We all knew that was a lie and my new found friends slowly disappeared out of sight.
Here I was standing in the middle of the Canadian Wilderness, in the middle of the night with no one in sight. On top of that, I couldn’t even outrun an ant, much less a bear or cougar. I didn’t care. Off I stumbled down the trail. My head could barely sustain its own weight and I found myself staring down at the ground most of the time. It finally occurred to me that I had not seen any trail markings for quite awhile. I pointed my headlamp up the trail hoping to see a reflector. Nothing. I pointed it back down the trail. Nothing. A feeling of panic ensued. Where did I go wrong?! What do I do?! Oh crap, this could be really bad. Screw not finishing, I just wanted to find the damn trail. I had no idea where I was. I jammed my poles into the ground over and over again with frustration. Eventually, I slumped over the poles and just hung there for a few minutes. I felt like crying. What to do, what to do, what to do?! Out of the corner of my eye, a faint light bobbed up and down behind me. It was another runner!!! I was on the right path.
I fought the mind numbing pain and started running again. Yes, I was struggling, but I was moving forward and that was all that mattered. My feet shuffled through those last few miles of leg 5 and as I rounded the corner, I saw Christmas lights. How did they get Christmas lights all the way up here?! Then I heard the faint rumblings of a generator. I must have been a pretty sore sight because my mother immediately came up to me and helped me into the chair. Her expression told it all. She looked worried. My father appeared and asked me, “How do you feel?” A few words sputtered out of my mouth, “Race tough, need bed, feet hurt.” I later learned that my father began to have doubts about my finishing the race. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I had just finished approximately 75 miles of the race. Did I really want to go on? I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think about dropping out at this point. A volunteer came over and handed me a Styrofoam cup filled with hot, black liquid. I took a sip. Whoa! It was coffee and it packed a punch! I jumped out of the chair and made my way down the trail. Those few sips changed everything. I had broken through another wall.
The pain in my feet and quads slowly subdued. It felt great to be running again. More importantly, the darkness slowly dissipated and the sun slowly began to rise up over the mountains. It was now around 6a.m. I had for the first time my life, run through the entire night. It took awhile for my eyes to adjust. I began to hallucinate. With no sleep, the shadows started to play tricks on my mind. I saw animals that turned into bushes and finish lines that turned into logs.
Compared to the last three legs, leg 6 was pretty straightforward and only 8 miles (13.8 kilometers) in length. That said, every once in awhile the course threw in some pretty nasty climbs and descents. With only three miles left to the end of leg 6, I started to feel the effect of the coffee wearing off. It dropped me like a sack of potatoes. My attitude took a turn for the worst and once again, I limped forward. Another runner soon caught up to me. Her name was Marian Grant. Both of us didn’t have the energy to talk. We simply kept each other moving forward. The only saving grace at this point was knowing that the finish line was now obtainable and that all my work wasn’t for nothing.
My pace had slowed significantly and the last remaining hill heading into the transition between leg 6 and 7 showed my true colors. Up until this point, I had tried my best to mask the pain. As I was coming down the hill, my ankle turned over and I barely caught myself with one of my ski poles. My family stood in on the side and shouted words of encouragement. Even those words couldn’t get me running. I hobbled as best as I could. I don’t think they expected me in this bad of shape. My mother and my sisters helped me into a chair and did their best to revive me. They offered food and asked me questions. With delayed responses, I tried my best to answer them. I simply didn’t have the energy. All I wanted was to finish. To be done. All of a sudden and to my family’s surprise, I abruptly got up and ran out of the transition area and into the final leg 7. Later, I learned that I had forgotten some of my supplies. I simple knew at this point that I just needed to get moving again.
Now, the race website indicates leg 7 is the second easiest leg of the race but nothing is easy after having just running 80-plus miles. Just after starting, I found myself standing at the base of a monster hill. I looked up in shock. What kind of a cruel joke was this?! That last remaining hill was a heartbreaker! Every ten steps, I would stop to catch my breath, and would peer down back where my family had just stood. I imagined that they were watching and I kept pushing forward. Upon reaching the top my feeling of accomplishment was soon replaced by one of dread. I stared down at the same nasty hill. Littered with rocks, the hill stretched down farther than I could have imagined. I had nothing left in my quads. Absolutely nothing! I decided to hike down the hill backwards. I quickly realized that I was moving faster hiking backward, than I was moving forwards. This made me smile and with that my spirit had vastly improved. I now knew the worst was behind me and that I was going to finish.
I really enjoyed the rest of leg 7. It was absolute bliss. The sun was shinning brightly and a slight breeze wisped at my back. I casually made my way down a lightly padded trail that paralleled a river. I reached an aid station and was promptly told, “You’re almost there. Only a few more kilometers!” All of my pain seemed to disappear and I started to run again. It was at this point that a car heading in my direction pulled over to cheer me on. It was Charles Miron, this year’s winner of The Sinister 7. He said, “You only have a little more to go. You should finish strong.” That was all I needed. I took off and was soon running a eight minute mile. If you had asked me an hour ago if this was possible, I would have swiftly replied, “You’re absolutely crazy. No way!” I don’t really know where this renewed energy came from. I certainly didn’t have any complaints though. Those last few miles were some of the best of the entire race.
As I rounded the last hundred meters of the race, I saw my family standing on a set of bleachers. They were chanting something. At first, I had a tough time making it out. As I got closer, I knew exactly what it was. It was a soccer cheer that I had shouted with my soccer team growing up before every match. My dad had been the one to lead that cheer and here he was again, shouting that same cheer that I grew up with. What a support crew. Those last few meters were a blur. I crossed that finish line and immediately slumped over. I had done it. I had finished The Sinister 7. I proudly accepted my reward from Brian Gallant and thanked him for a truly life changing experience.
I had finished in 26:01:36.
My family surrounded me, gave me hugs, and told me how proud they were of me. They all told me what I just did was awe inspiring. Sharing this experience with them was a long awaited moment in my life. I think they were able to see, for the first time, what running an ultra marathon was all about. That moment was priceless.
I quickly took a shower and joined my family for a quick bite to eat. While sitting at the table, I fell asleep on my mother’s shoulder. I had never been so tired in my life. Nothing else mattered. I had finished and life was good.
Not that the Sinister 7 wasn’t hard enough, but my wife Izabella and I decided to add another level of difficulty. We left straight from the race and decided to drive twenty-five hours back to Chicago. I passed out in the back seat for four hours and she drove straight south.
I awoke to a new world, one in which, I now know that I can achieve anything.
The End And The Beginning …