Fat Ass Trail Run

Let me start off by apologizing now for the stress that will invariably come from reading this post.

In September, very early September I signed up for a race called the Fat Ass Trail Run. There are 3 divisions, 7.5K, 17.5K and the 25K. The race took place today, Nov 15, on the Batawa Ski Hill. I knew the race would be tough, so I signed up for the 7.5K which would still be the longest I have ever raced. Upon registering, I was informed that the race actually goes up the ski hill and is considered one of the toughest races in November.

Honestly, I thought I would have tons of time to prepare for the event. But as I stated a few blogs back, I fell ill and my training came to a sudden and screeching halt. While I am not taking my medication regularly anymore, my lung infection is still causing many problems.

This morning I awoke with the mantra, "It doesn't matter how quickly you finish, or whether you even run the entire thing. Just finish." I have run a handful of times in the past two weeks, and have not improved my air capacity. With this in mind, I knew that I would finish, I'm too proud not to finish. I'm too proud to not run even though I'll be in terrible shape during, after and for the next day.

It was foggy when I awoke, though warm. I put on my usual running attire, leggings and a long-sleeved pink base layer shirt. My trail running shoes fit beautifully this morning.

Arriving at the Batawa Ski Hill chalet, the buidling was packed with runners, stretching and preparing for whichever race they signed on for. The mentality was calm, rather than the usual chaos I have experienced at other races.

The race began at 10, when we all packed into the driveway of the chalet and ran behind a four-wheeler. The four-wheeler guided us down the road, away from the ski hill for half a kilometre before looping back around. Then the race truly began and I already felt like dying. Though I physically felt fine, my lungs just could not get me the air that I required. Disappointed but not giving up, I walked/ jogged slowly up the steep incline of the ski hill. My calves burned, shoulder stiffening and breathing ragged. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it, and yet only 1.5K in.

I made it to the first checkpoint, running slowly along the beautiful hilltop trail. It was just like i was running at Goodrich Loomis, where I usually run.

A man passed me, going in the opposite direction. Concerned, I stopped and asked if he was injured, as he had a pained expression. He had gone out too fast and his heart monitor began going off. He didn't finish the race and went back to the chalet.

The next obstacle was going downhill, you had to go snail slow, carefully placing each foot so you didn't slide on something loose beneath the blanket of leaves. A marker on the side of the hill proclaimed 'Tuck and Roll."

A woman slid down the hill accidentally, rolling her ankle.

The next area of the course was a grassy field, turned swampland. The area must have been 20ft by 50ft of thick, murky water with a muddy bottom. The water wasn’t deep, just not something i wanted to go through with the race to finish.

A path had been cut in tall grass following the outskirts of the ‘puddle’. Others had gone that way, so that way I went. It didn’t work out. I ended up with soaked feet and mud surrounding my ankles. Finally on dry land, I shook both feet, sending fans of water in either direction.

I started to cough. The coughing came hard, as I hadn’t pushed my lungs like this while still having the infection.

Before I continue, I should say one thing. My mother had been thoughtful, and bought me pre-mixed, high protein drinks called Boost. The vanilla flavour really isn’t that bad, but for someone who is potentially lactose-intolerant, they weren’t great.

The coughing turned violent, the violent turned into vomiting. All over the tall grass I spewed, retasting the Boost that I really didn’t like in the first place. Luckily I had gotten it off the track, and continued on.

I came to the second checkpoint, and was informed that I was not last. I was so relieved, and awestruck. Looking back, I couldn’t see anyone behind me, they must have been moving at a glacial speed.

I thought about asking him whether or not I was on the right path, I hadn't seen any signs dividing the course amongst the three lengths and was worried that I was actually doing the longer ones. It definitely felt like I had done 15K instead of 5K. I was on the correct path, I caught up with one woman, who appeared to be just as slow as I was. She said she did the run last year and it was the same course, we weren't lost.

I stayed with her the rest of the run, my lungs were on fire and breathing very laboured, with her rolled ankle we made a great pair. She was great company, seeing as we only had another kilometre to go, at most, she was very knowledgeable about the course. It was sparsly marked through this last part and with her leading the way, it went quickly.

The final leg of the race was downhill, as it only made sense that the beginning was climbing the monstrous ski hill. I always like to make a hard ending on the races I do, no matter how rough of shape I am in. Running down the ski hill and curving toward the chalet I could hear my younger cousin yelling "Go, go, go" from the finish line. I have been trying to expose her to the non-competitive side of running, the side that encourages friendships to be formed and walking through races. The side that is for pure enjoyment.

I ended the race, weazing and jello-legged in 70 minutes. While 7.5K in 70 minutes is not a good time, 7.5K up a ski hill, with a severe lung infection, and having not run in the past two weeks, 70 minutes felt amazing.

My goal had been to finish under 90 minutes, and I had done that. Next year, under 60.