I ran the Great Canadian Death Race – well most of the race – I was DQ’d at the 110 km mark (88% complete) and had to finished the last 15 km as a bandit runner. Here is my story.
The Great Canadian Death Race is a 125 km foot race with 17,000 feet of elevation change that takes you over three mountains and a raging river. The time limit to complete the event is 24 hours. The name alone, “Great Canadian Death Race,” conjures up images of doom and gloom but if that’s not enough, their tag line, “it’s a killer,” helps to drive the point home. Still not scared? Well, to make things even more scary, you have to carry a silver coin along the route so you can pay the Grimm Reaper for passage across a point where three rivers converge. There is actually a guy dressed up as the Grimm Reaper who takes your coin at a boat launch called … wait for it … “Hells Gate.” I was actually disappointed to fnd out that even though they throw the whole “you’re gonna die” theme around a lot, none of the participants over the last 12 years have actually died.
There were more than five hundred runners signed up for 2012 with a little over 300 signed up for the solo event and over one hundred teams varying in size from 2 to five runners. I signed up for the race with two friends making us a three person mixed team. Our intention was to make this a reconnaissance mission with the dream of running it solo some time down the road. Our goal was to finish alive and have a lot fun along the way. Whenever I started forcasting finish times I was told to relax, this was just a fun event.
Long story short; two weeks before the race, my two friends bailed on me. So with two weeks I to go I call the one guy in the whole worldI know who could run this race with two weeks’ notice. This guy has run the Death Race five times in a relay team and soloed it last year. It turned out that the race filled up in two days and he did not make the roster this year so he was actually looking for a way to get in. Our three person mixed relay turned into a two man team.
In my research I learned that it takes two to three days before higher altitude starts to affect performance and since the start finish for the Death Race begins at 4000 feet and climbs to 6000 feet, I decided early on to fly in the day before. I flew to Grand Prairie, met my buddy and drove just south for two hours to the race in Grande Cache Alberta. We arrived just in time for the registration and pasta dinner. I am not normally a vegetarian but to keep the complications to a minimum I opted for the vegetarian sauce on my pasta and my buddy had the meat sauce. This seemingly trivial fact will become very significant later in the story. I ate veg. / he ate meat. We finished dinner, blew off the “mandatory participants meeting,” set up our tent, had some beers and went to sleep.
We stayed in “Tent City” where we were only yards from the start finish. Being this close we could afford to sleep in and we took full advantage of the situation by sleeping in late and rolling out of the tent just before the start. We made our way to the start/finish with time to spare. I was running legs two,three and five and my buddy was running legs one and four. He takes
the USB key you need to punch in at all the check points and the silver coin you need to pay the Grimm Reaper to get across Hells Gate Crossing near he end. Off he goes in the lead pack and off I went to the transition area to meet him for leg two. Leg one is called the “Downtown Jaunt” because they wind the racers around the tiny town of Grande Cache and then off through a flattish single track trail, through a bog and then out to the transition at the base of Flood Mountain. My buddy is very fast so I am waiting with the group of elite runners for the transfer. My buddy shows up 10th. I take the USB stick,the coin and off I go up stage two.
Stage two is called “Flood and Grande Mountain Slugfest” because it goes up over two mountains then culminates in a straight down descent for 2500 feet. The first two ascents were everything from winding logging road to climbing with your hands up the side of the mountain. The “slugfest” refers to the last section where you follow the powerlines straight down for 2500 feet. No switchbacks here – just straight down. I was skidding my way down thinking I was the bees knees because I had only lost ground to five people and gained ground on 2. That meant we were down to 13th – ish. Then people started to pass me on that last descent. I have no experience in this kind of running but, man do I ever want to learn. I was skidding down
maintaining control thinking this was fun when this girl passed me like I was going the other way. She ran down a very steep section of the mountain at about a 4 minute mile pace. Later that day I was describing her to a guy who said he ran with her the whole leg until that last 2500 foot descent when she looked at him and said, “Well, this is what I train for. See ya later.” And he said she took off down the mountain like a cartoon character. It was like gravity was applied differently to her. This girl passed me about half way down and came out 20 minutes ahead of me.
I made it down the second leg and while I was feeling good, my quads were pouched. I refueled in the transition and then took of for leg three which is touted as the easiest of the sections. After that last descent I found it anything but easy. I finished the second leg in 4 hours and we were sitting in a good spot – even with the dozen or so people who passed me on the last descent. My buddy predicted I should finish the 23 km third leg in two hours. Off I ran down to the river basin for about 5k then approached the first little rise up a rocky trail. It was a 25% degree incline but only about 10 feet high. I accelerated up to it and as I started to ascend my left leg shot out and cramped in a flexed position. I could not bend it – it was stuck straight. I could not move. My first thought was to go back and tag off with my buddy but that was 5 km in the wrong direction up close to 1000 feet elevation change. I vetoed that idea and realized that the cramp was salt depletion so I tore off my pack and jammed a whole bag of ketchup chips in my mouth as fast as I could. I wolfed down the bag in seconds and flushed it with lots of water then started hobbling up the hill. After five minutes or so I had my mojo back and started running again. No one had passed me so I felt pretty good with myself. Then the “easy route” turned into a really hard route when the terrain changed from gravel road to rocky road with rocks no smaller than five inches. To make this section of the road, it looked like they just kept dumping rocks on the side of a mountain until they had the right angle they needed. I was very heavy footed from the last descent so it was tough to pick my way along this trail. Then people started passing me. Another dozen people passed me and every time someone did, I would try to catch up but if I ran too fast it felt like someone was punching my quads. Each step was an instant Charlie Horse, so I had to slow. I slowed and slowed and finally emerged, dejected and damaged after three and a half hours. A full 90 minutes passed my predicted time. Just to put things into perspective, I ran that 23 km leg in three hours and a half; I ran my last marathon (42.2 kms) in 3:16. The difference was that 2500 foot downhill that cost me my quads (and I would find out a few days later, one toe nail).
I got to transition and my buddy was waiting there with a bug smile and says, “Great run. Meet me at the next transition in 4 hours.” He goes off to run 36 kms over Mount Hamel (3000 foot climb) and leaves me exhausted. I have just run for six and a half hours for 48 km over two mountains. I need food. Now. Back in town I gathered my stuff and headed off to the rec centre for a shower and some food from the canteen. By the time I got there I was so hungry I ate a grilled cheese with tomatoes and a large poutine. After I finished that I decide I need more so I went back and had their special of perogies and fried bologna. After that I have two more cokes and a chocolate bar. Finally, I am full. I went off to the showers and since I had a few hours to kill I stayed in the shower so long the other guys started to give me funny looks. After 45 minutes or so I got out of the shower and started to dress to run the last leg. I was talking to some other runners in the change room and found out a lot of them had already quit. They missed the cut off for section three so they quit after two legs. Harsh. One guy blames his wife for not giving him enough time to train and another guy is probably still shaking his head. He thought he was ready but that 2500 foot descent put his quads out of commission. I started feeling a lot better about myself and headed off to the last transition. Now things get interesting.
My buddy, who is supposed to be there after 4 hours is nowhere to be seen. I was standing with the elites and was starting to feel like a bride left at the alter. Four hours and thirty minutes after he started, my guy bounds up with his ever present smile and hands me the USB stick. “Great work,” I say. Even though he is 30 minutes later than he predicted, we are still in good position; he passed a lot of people and we are back into the top twenty. I wait for the coin but it does not come. “Where is the coin Dude,” I ask. Hearing this he grabs me by the arm and drags me over to the side of the transition coral. Now that we are out of earshot of the officials he announces, “Osborne, I lost the coin.”
I am dumbstruck. “Won’t they disqualify us? We need the coin to cross the river.”
“Sorry,” he says, “I am late because I had some issues and had to stop and relieve myself 15 times coming down the mountain. It flipped out of my pocket when I dropped my pants.” “So what do we do now?” I ask. “Osborne,” he says, “if anyone can sweet talk their way on the boat its you.” With this, he spins me and pushes me down the trail. The last leg is 24 kms through dense forest with the Hells Gate river crossing placed at at the half way point. After four hours rest I hit leg 5 feeling really good. In
fact, I felt like I had not run at all day. I was flying through the single track forest thinking how similar the terrain was to the forest trails I used to run as a boy. I felt like I was twelve years old again. It started to rain and I figured I had an hour and a half of daylight so my goal was to get out of the woods before dark; not because I was scared but because I did not
want to have to slow down in the dark. Also, it was raining pretty hard and the trail was starting to mud up real good.
Man did I run. I popped out of the woods at the river crossing in under an hour. I got to the transition
and was greeted by two young ladies, one of whom I found out later was the race organizer. “Go Death Racer,” they shout as I ran in.
“I have a small problem,” I say. “I lost my coin.”
After convincing them it was not just misplaced but really lost, they looked at each other as one of them reached under the table and pulled out aspecial jar. “Put your USB chip in here please,” she said. She took out a special tag, wrote my name and number on it and handed it to me. “This
is to confirm you submitted your USB,” she then pulls her radio off her shoulder and speaks into it. “We need transport to the Hells Gate crossing to take a DQ back to town.”
“Wait,” I say, “can’t I get on the boat and at least finish the race. Disqualify me but please let me finish.”
“We can’t do that,” the race organizer says.
Her friend spins her clipboard around to show me and says, “if it’s any consolation, you were doing really well.”
I turn to the race organizer and say, “can I please just get on the boat and finish the race?”
“I can’t do that,” she says. “How did you lose your coin anyway?”
“Well,” I explained, “I don’t want to play the blame game but my friend lost it during the last stage.”
“Sounds like you need new friends,” she replied.
“What I need is empathy,” I shot back, “not sarcasm.” At this point I look down the road and start to think of a way out. I look up at the organizer and announce. “I am going to finish the race by road. Is this the road back to town?”
“I can’t let you do that,” the race organizer said. “I have transport coming
for you. They will be hear soon.”
“Wait,” I fire back, “you disqualified me so I am not in your race any more. I can do what I want and I am taking the road back.” I look at the girl with the clipboard and ask, “Is this the way back?”
The girl looks to the race organizer who just rolls her eyes and walks away. She tells me that the town (where the finish is located) is down the road to the highway then take a right and make the 1000 foot climb up the big hill into town. Off I run.
After about 30 minutes on the road it is just starting to get dark when a truck comes up behind me beeping the horn. It is the race organizer. “I know you want to finish,” she says in a lot nicer tone then before, “but there have been two grizzly bear sightings in the area that just came in. The Fish and Wildlife Officer found out you are on this road and she is on my ass so please get in the truck and I will transport you to a safe area.”
“Are you going to take me into town?” I ask suspiciously.
“I can if you will let me but I understand you want to finish so I will drive you about 5 kilometers down the road and across the river.” So I jump in the truck.
She dropped me off as promised and I ran the last little bit into town and avoiding the finish line and shame of DQ, I make my way back to our tent where I find my buddy reading. “They wouldn’t let me on the boat Dude, I had to finish on the road.”
“I am disappointed in you Osborne,” my buddy says, “I thought you of all people would be able to sweet talk their way onto that boat.”
He hands me a beer and we toast the finish. It is not official but a finish none the less. We were done. Over beers we pick apart the day and he tells me that he passed a lot of people on leg four and was leap frogging the guy ahead of him down the last mountain descent. It turns out that this other guy had the trots too and he and my buddy were taking turns passing each other while the other guy relieved himself. They both had the meat sauce the pasta dinner.
If we had the coin we would have finished around 20th spot. Not bad for my first time and now I have goals for the next time. For my next Death Race I will get better at running
down hills, I will continue to avoid the meat sauce at the prerace dinner and next year, the coin stays with me.
