Cabot Trail Relay Race - Part Three

You've read about the Cabot Trail Relay Race and you've read about (some of) the Mojitos' adventures as they ran the race. Today, it's all about what I learned when I was there.

I signed on for several different jobs on this relay. I was one of two co-captains. I helped organize and run meetings, I typed up meeting minutes, I agonized with Klari over all the tiny little details. I also signed on as a driver so I spent 14 hours (out of 27) driving round and round and round the Cabot Trail making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there.

What I didn't sign up to do was run.

My reasons for this were pretty clear and reasonable (in my opinion anyway).

• I can't run the required 6:00min/km for more than 10k and I certainly can't run that pace on any kind of incline. There are no flat, 10k legs in the race. 
• I don't do well when I'm tired so the thought of driving for 14 hours AND running a race somewhere in there was enough to make me cry from exhaustion. 
• I have diabetes. Yes, I know, people with diabetes can do everything that everyone else can do (trust me, I prove this all the time). Problem is that running in a relay means that people are counting on you to run, and finish, your part of the race. Diabetes doesn't always co-operate and it never gives advanced warning when it's going to roar and gnash its teeth in anger. I have had to end many runs due to ridiculous blood sugars. That's fine when it's just me - it's not ok in a relay. Our team was working too hard for me to have to bail on a leg. I just couldn't bear the thought. 
• I am running a half marathon on June 3rd. My first race since my stress fracture last fall. I did not want to compromise that race by racing the weekend before. 

For those reasons, I made it very very clear that I did NOT want to run. Instead, I was going to do everything possible to help the runners and that I did. 

Here's the thing though. When the Mojitos get together, I immediately feel surrounded by love and friendship and I am honoured to be part of such a great group of people. I am also, as much as I hate to admit it, always a little embarrassed. These people, and I mean every single one of them, are some pretty fantastic runners. Qualify for Boston on a regular basis kind of runners. Pull off several marathons a year, run Comrades, travel the world running races kinda runners. Not all of them do all of these things but all of them do some of these things and, if you put them all into a room together, it's a room full of lean, strong, experienced running superheroes. 

And me. 

They never make me feel anything other than an equal but it's pretty humbling nonetheless. I just tell myself that it's all relative and try not to blush when they ask me about my last race. 

I headed to Cape Breton with 17 of these creatures. Other teams assumed I was as fabulous as they were simply because I wore the Mojitos t-shirt. But I know my Mojitos runners and I know myself - and I know the difference. 

And I'm ok with that difference. 

Because, it's all relative. Right? 

Hanging out with the smartest people in school and feeling inadequate doesn't mean you're inadequate in all circles. Hanging out with some of the fastest people in Niagara doesn't mean I'm any less fast that I am when I hang out with people who can't run to the corner. It's all relative. 

What I learned this past weekend is that it's always relative. 

I spent the weekend watching my beloved Mojitos feel humbled. Feel inadequate. Feel downright embarrassed about their running skills. My Mojitos, some of the best runners around, were suddenly toeing the line with teams made up of the best runners around. The Mojitos were no longer the people who win their age category - they were racing their equals and they were racing people they will never be able to catch. 

They felt the way I feel when I hang out with them. 

And I learned a really important lesson as I watched them swallow their fear and step up to the start line. It's not about other runners. It's about yourself. It's about doing your absolute best - no matter who else is running. They ran fabulous times and they did their very best. They may have come in 50th out of 70 runners but they ran the best race they could run and, in any other circle, they would have caused jaws to drop in astonishment. 

It's all relative. 

So, on Sunday, I will be running my first post-injury race. My first goal, of course, is to cross the damn finish line. My second goal is to beat my typical 2:22:00 time. My third goal (you know, the secret one you don't tell anyone) is to run it in under 2:15:00 and get a new PB. 

Many of the Mojitos ladies will also be running and, chances are, they will all finish in under 2 hours. 

A few weeks ago, I would have been embarrassed. 

After the Cabot Trail, I learned that a personal success is a personal success, no matter who did or did not beat you. If I get a 2:15:00 time and come in last in my age category, it doesn't take away from the fact that I kicked ass. 

It's all relative. 

Cabot Trail Relay Race - part two

Yesterday I wrote about the Cabot Trail Relay Race in rather general terms. I thought it would be helpful to set the tone and help people get a sense of the enormity and complexity of this race.

Today, it's all about the Mojitos on the Rocks.

Here's how the weekend went. The day before the race, I drove four runners around the course. Klari, my co-captain, sat in the front seat and took copious notes. We drove to the beginning of the race (the Nova Scotia Gaelic College - my grandfather would be so proud) and began paying very close attention at that point. All of us started analyzing everything. The road conditions, the shoulders, the elevation changes and Klari was writing it all down. Our job was to report back to the team and let people know if there were things about their particular leg they should be aware of.

By leg four, our tactic changed a little bit. Between gasps of amazement at the scenery and gasps of horror at the challenging climbs and precariously steep descents, we soon began talking about what things we would tell the runners and what things were best kept a 'surprise'. Truth be told, there were a whole lot of things we didn't tell them. Sometimes it's just best not to know.

Like the fact that someone was going to have to run up and back down this mountain. 

Or the fact that Chris was going to have to run this stretch of road...in the dark. (He said afterward that he looked up at one point and could see brake lights way way above him. He quickly looked back down again and carried on.) 

We gathered on Friday night for dinner and one more review of the rules and then everyone trotted off to bed. Van 1 was leaving at 6am with the first four runners and even those who were heading out with me at 10am had a 10-hour day of driving ahead of them. Everyone was very aware that opportunities for rest should be seized whenever possible.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. I pulled on my shorts and my Mojitoswear and began my last-minute preparations. I loaded the van, primed my GPS, triple checked that I had all the elevation maps, race details and timing charts, put water bottles next to everyone's seat and headed to pick up my four ladies - none of whom had been part of the crew who saw the route the day before. We headed to the Gaelic College and then, as we drove along, I began my running commentary. "This is the first leg - Cathy ran it this morning at 7am. Lots of downhill but nothing like leg four which you'll see in a bit." "This is leg two - Barb ran this one. The road gets pretty bad around the 5k mark and the footing is precarious. She starts on an uphill but once she gets to the top, it's rolling hills for the rest". As we drove along, we were a few hours behind the race so the road was pretty much deserted. As we approached leg 3, we started seeing cars parked on the side of the road. We had caught up to the caravan and, in the distance, we could see runners on leg 3. We started passing them and started looking for Steve. We passed more and more runners and still no Steve - did we miss him?

Wait - there he is!  Omigod - is he in the lead??  We honked and cheered as we drove by. He waved and grinned back. We made our way to the end of his leg and discovered that, while he wasn't in the lead, he was well ahead of most of the pack. We passed several more runners who were way ahead of him.

When we got to the exchange point, we caught up to Van 1. Hugs and high fives all around - it's amazing how big a relief it was to find smiles on everyone's faces.

So far so good - people were running well and making it in under the cutoff time. I pulled out my camera and prepared to capture Steve's finish. He came blazing in and finished 11th out of 70 runners. Holy crap!

Alex was next - she had the third hardest leg of the course and the first real 'mountain'. She also had the longest leg (20k) so she was essentially running a half marathon with a mountain in the middle. I know how I would be feeling facing that sort of challenge but she looked pretty darn relaxed.

We were about to find out why.

She's a powerhouse! This girl can run. And climb. And descend. And pass people while doing it. She ran 20k in 1:39:02. That's a pace of 4:57min/km. Did I mention there was a mountain to climb?

At the end of leg four, Van 1 headed back to camp and I took over as support vehicle. We had four legs to run. Leg 5 was rolling and the past was FAST! Leg 6 didn't have a mountain per se but it did have a bunch of ridiculously long and steep climbs followed by more long and steep climbs. Leg 7 had one of the steepest and longest descents of the race and ended at the top of a hill (how cruel is that?). Leg 8 was the shortest of the entire race (12k) but the pace was fast and the course was tough. Each of my ladies started with a wee bit of fear in the eye ('I just want to make the cutoff') and each lady showed just how tough, fast and strong they were.

We met up with the night crew (Dave, Janice and Chris) who were running the three hardest legs of the entire relay - most of it in the dark. Dave had a run similar to Alex's only the mountain he ran over was higher and steeper. Chris'  run included 10k of straight uphill followed by rolling hills. Janice started on an incline and, after 5k of up had about 10k of straight down. All three became instant superheroes in my books when we drove the course and became gods when I heard the report later of how they did. I still can't quite comprehend their times. Just for example, Dave ran 17km in 1:18:00. That's a 4:23 min/km pace on a leg that's mostly uphill.

Van 4 met up with the night crew and continued through legs 12-14. My second van, Van 5, left base camp at 4am with the last three runners for legs 15-17. We headed out in the opposite direction of the race and met up with them in the middle of leg 14 - Klari's leg. She started running in complete darkness and got to watch the sun come up.

We picked up Klari, Van 4 headed back to camp for a rest and Cathy headed off to run leg 15.

The Mojitos are a pretty happy bunch of people and Cathy, without a doubt, is the happiest. 

She finished and Steve took over. Steve was a hero in his own right. One of our runners was injured and couldn't run. He stepped up and offered to run two legs instead of one. We gave him the two easiest legs but easy on the Cabot Trail is much different than easy in Niagara. Did I mention he ran a marathon three weeks earlier? Holy hell can he run.

Leg 17 - only one leg left to go. Leg 17 was originally rated as a pretty tough leg. Another big mountain to climb and a lot of kilometres to run. We needed a ringer for that leg - someone who is a strong and consistent runner who could bring it home. The obvious person for that job was Doug.

There was a problem. The day before the race, a bridge that they were supposed to run over was washed out. So now, instead of starting leg 17 at the end of leg 16, we had to drive our runners through most of the original route until we got to the bridge. We had to drop them off. And we had to wave goodbye. They were being sent on a 19k run on a completely unknown route. And, because it was a single lane road, we were not allowed to provide any support. All we knew what that the route was now a little longer and a lot harder that it was originally supposed to be.

I know Doug. I know he is a strong, independent and thoroughly capable runner. But omigod it was hard to send him off into the unknown and drive off without him to the finish line.

We headed back into town, parked and walked down the street to the finish. All 70 teams were there with all of their runners and support crew. All waiting for their last runner to come tearing down the street. And tear down the street they did because every team had put a ringer on the last leg. The cheers, the screams, the adrenaline was incredible. People were dancing in the street and the excitement as each runner turned the corner was unbelievable. I was staring intently at the spot where the runners come around the final bend - waiting to spot a red had that would signal that my Doug was coming.

And, as always, he appeared right on time. Right on pace. Looking strong, focused and very much the machine that he is.

We did it! The Mojitos on the Rocks conquered the Cabot Trail Relay Race. Every runner finished their leg on time and in good standing. So good in fact that we finished 19th out of 70 teams.

And we're already planning next year's strategy.

I knew this race was going to be fun. I knew it was going to be memorable. I just didn't know I was going to fall in love with it.

In Memoriam: Steve Dunn of the Salt Marsh Trail Running Team ran leg 17 of the relay. He collapsed 500m from the finish line and was taken by ambulance to the local hospital where he later died. 

Cabot Trail Relay Race - Part One

I have had the honour of being part of some pretty amazing experiences in my life and last weekend's Cabot Trail Relay Race definitely ranks high on my list. The combination of incredible scenery, delicious (and I mean dee-licious!) seafood and great friendships should be quite enough for one weekend but I also had the opportunity to meet 8 new people who turned out to be pretty darn fabulous and bear witness to some utterly jaw-dropping running performances.

The Cabot Trail Relay Race, in a nutshell, is a 270+km relay in Cape Breton Nova Scotia. The relay starts at 7am on a Saturday morning and wraps up around 11am the following morning. The route takes runners through some of the most stunning scenery in Canada and through some of the toughest terrain out there. The relay is divided into 17 legs that range between 12 and 20 kilometres in length. Most legs involved plenty of hill work. Several involved mountain climbing as the route meandered through the Cape Breton Highlands.

There is nothing easy about this race.

But there is plenty of fun.

The set up is very intelligent and the race is incredibly well organized. Elaborate speakers systems and timing mats are set up in moments and then disassembled and packed into the race vehicle only to be driven to the end of the next leg and set up again. Essentially, seventeen mini races took place and the timing was precise and unwavering. Runners must maintain a 6 min/km (9 1/2 min/mile) pace - regardless of the terrain. And, if you happened to run a 6:01 min/km pace, the entire finish line was gone by the time you got there. This race waits for no one.

A group of us have done the Simcoe Shores relay twice in the past two years and we formed a team we called the Mojitos. Lime green is the colour of choice and real mojitos, of course, are served. When we signed up for the Cabot Trail Relay Race, our name morphed into Mojitos on the Rocks (get it?). We recruited a few more runners to fill in the gaps and spent most of the dark winter months training and working through the incredible logistics of getting 17 runners from three different locations (Southern Ontario, Halifax Nova Scotia and Portland Maine) organized. Team meetings and Skype calls were frequent and essential.

We planned the race route, assigned and reassigned running legs, mapped out driving schedules, booked flights, hotels and vans and, most importantly, designed a Mojitos on the Rocks logo and team wear. Well, we didn't design that stuff, Doug did. And he did a fabulous job. We might not be the fastest team out there but we were definitely the best dressed!

I love hanging out with these ladies - they make me feel so tall!

We converged on Baddeck, took over the Silver Dart Lodge and began the rapid and intense bonding that can only happen on weekends like this. 

I was a co-captain of the team and one of two drivers. My role in the race was as essential as any of the runners. In fact, that's the joy, and perhaps the curse, of relays. Running, normally a very solitary sport, morphs into something else entirely when other people are counting on you. It's no longer your race or my race, it's our race. And we all need to push and compromise and work together to succeed. 

Join me tomorrow for a recap of the race itself...

All Kinds of Crazy

'If god invented marathons to keep people from doing anything more stupid, the triathlon must have taken him completely by surprise.' P.Z. Pearce

I laughed at that last year when a friend posted it on Facebook. I was training for my first marathon at the time and nothing seemed stupider than running a marathon at that point.

Now I am exactly 32 days away from my first triathlon.

I should know better by now not to laugh as things that seem crazy. I often find myself doing them.

Speaking of crazy, we're off to Nova Scotia today for the Cabot Trail Relay Race!

Since we'll be busy flying, driving and last minute planning, Running on Carbs will most likely be quiet for a few days. Don't worry though - I'll be back with TONS of pictures to help tell the tales of the Mojitos on the Rocks.

Stay tuned!

Ups and Downs

The past week has had its share of athletic ups and downs. Might as well toss them all into one story.

Swimming
I can now officially put "ability to swim across a 25m pool under water" on my resume. The first time I did it was really exciting. But the next time I tried I couldn't do it so I thought perhaps my one success was a fluke. After that brief setback I managed to complete the crossing in each of the last three attempts so I can now officially declare myself an underwater swimmer.

Cycling
I am now well into my fourth season of cycling. Season one (which technically was only a half season since I got the bike in the fall) was just about getting comfortable with clip in shoes, shifting gears, climbing hills and keeping up with the group (or at least keeping them in my sights). Season two was pretty much the same thing with two duathlons thrown in for fun. Season three was about using the bike as a recovery tool during marathon training. I cycled after long runs to help my legs but I was so tired from the running that the bike rides were more about survival. Season four - I want to be a better cyclist - faster, braver, stronger.

With that new attitude, and a winter and spring of swimming and running for cross-training, I'm already feeling better after only a few weeks on the road. I climb hills with a lot more strength than I used to and rarely have to shift right down to the 'granny gear'. Sometimes I even pass people (imagine that!). I also decided that I'm going to force myself to get better at downhills because, after that unfortunate mishap with the squirrel two years ago (1) - I've been pretty scared of high speeds. I now force myself not to brake, or to brake less often or less hard than I want to and, last Sunday, I reached 44.7km/hour and felt ok doing it. I have no ambitions of becoming a 60+km/hour crazy downhill rider but I do want to learn to enjoy rather than dread the downhills.

Running
As for running - I am now 10 days out from my half marathon. In January, I was running mere minutes at a time and I've slowly and (I think) safely rebuilt my strength and stamina after my stress fracture. I've done everything I've been told to do and things have gone well - shin-wise anyway. My last two long runs were tough, for different reasons, and that's a little disconcerting considering how close the race is. Two weeks ago I ran my last pre-race 20k and the heat really, really, got to me. My pace was sluggish and I had to walk...a few times. I finished it but was pretty humbled by the end.

Last Saturday's 16k was a diabetes nightmare. I woke up to a blood sugar of 4.7 which was fabulous. I dropped my basal to 50% (as per usual), I had two dates and a gel without bolusing (as per usual) and I headed out the door. My legs felt good and strong and my pace was brisk and steady - reassuring after the previous week's run. I was going to wait until I got to 10k to check my sugar (I find it psychologically easier to run more than half the distance before stopping) but, by 7.5k I was feeling 'off' so I stopped at 8k instead. Normally, at this point, my blood sugar would be around 8-9 and I would have a gel and trot on home.

This time, I was 18.9.

For no apparent reason.

I checked my pump and all seemed fine. I went through all the variables in my head and couldn't figure out the problem. I hesitated to take insulin in the middle of a run but knew that I couldn't stay that high. The pump recommended 3.0 units. I took 0.8. I figured it would be enough, combined with the running, to at least get me going in the right direction. I ran another 4k and stopped to check again. I expected to see something like 14 on my glucometer.

Instead, I saw a 22.3.

I was 4k from home, feeling more dehydrated and downright awful by the minute and worried that running with a BG of 22.3 was putting me at pretty high risk for ketones and other monsters. I took 0.8 more units and slowly trotted another kilometre to see if the original bolus might kick in. I checked again using the last test strip I had on me.

23.0

Bloody hell.

I called it a day. I took another 1.2 units so I now had 2.8 floating in my system and over an hour of running to help kick start it. I was running dangerously low on water. I had brought plenty for a regular 16k run but not enough for a dehydration-plagued one. So I walked the last 3k home as fast as I could. Made it, checked again and I was 16.

And hour later I was 12 and I floated down to 8 where I stayed. I drank 3 32oz bottles of water in an hour and then continued drinking for the rest of the afternoon. It took several hours before I was able to pee and most of the day before I managed to get it to go from looking like apple juice concentrate to lemonade.

Diabetes, most days, is a fairly manageable disease but, every once in a while, it shows you how quickly it can seize control of your body and turn it against itself. Saturday was a pretty startling reminder of how dangerous and scary it can be.

I still have no idea what caused that ridiculous high and my numbers have been fine since so it was not a pump or insulin malfunction.

Here's hoping race day is a little less dramatic.

And those, folks, were last week's ups and downs in the life of this little diabetic.

(1) As for the squirrel mishap - it all happened on a training ride with Erin as we prepared for the Grimsby Duathlon. The bike portion of the race had us riding up, and then back down, an incredibly steep portion of the Niagara Escarpment. I had ridden up the hill once but wanted to give it a second go before race day. We made it to the top, rode the rest of the route and then headed back down. Steep uphills mean fast descents. I took a deep breath and followed Erin down the hill. I was clocking about 50km/hour when a squirrel ran out into the road and stood right in my path. A car was coming up the hill in the oncoming lane so I had very little room to move and very little time to think. In the two seconds I had, my options ran through my head. I could swerve but I was going too fast and would probably crash. I could stay exactly where I was and run the squirrel over, trying not to lose control while doing so. I chose the run it over option because, at that moment, the odds seemed better. I braced for impact. At the last possible second, the squirrel spotted me and darted away - right under the wheels of the oncoming car. I heard the crunch and made it to the bottom of the hill alive and trembling. That moment taught me that high speeds on a bike leave incredibly little room for error. It also put the fear of god in me and going downhill has not been the same since.

Come From Away

When I think (or write) about something too much, it starts to feel like that's the only thing going on in my life. Last week was D-Blog week and, while it was a wonderful way to explore all things diabetes and discover some pretty neat bloggers out there, it's a lot of dia-writing. After 6 days of writing solely about the diabetes part of my life - I was pretty much done. I didn't even write anything for Day 7 - I just needed a bit of a break.

After spending three wonderful days on the back deck, enjoying the warm breezes and the sounds of nature, I'm ready to get back at it.

Which is a good thing because there are plenty of things I need to get back to.

This is going to a whirlwind of a week. Monday was a Canadian holiday (one of the best holidays of the year in my books) so the first day of the work week is today (Tuesday). For me, the end of this work week is tomorrow (Wednesday). On Thursday morning - we're heading to the airport and then we're off to Nova Scotia for the Cabot Trail Relay Race. I've mentioned this race a few times already and, after months of planning and training - it's finally upon us.

Seventy teams of 17 runners (plus support crews) will be descending on Baddeck, Nova Scotia. For a village of 2,152 - their population is about to double. Hotels, motels, cabins and campgrounds will be overrun with come from aways. Hopefully the grocery store(s?) and gas stations have topped up or we will be eating them out of house and home. I kinda feel like we're a swarm of locusts about to land and clear them out of bottled water, toilet paper, ibuprofen and beer.

So far, I've managed to avoid being recruited as a last-minute runner for our team despite having one injured participant. Barring any last-minute emergencies, I should escape with only my driving responsibilities (which are pretty intense already thank you very much - one 12-hour stint followed by a 7-hour one with only 5 hours of downtime in between) but I'm bringing my running gear just in case.

Last minute instructions have been emailed to the team members. Lime green nail polish and kermit green eye shadow has been purchased (we are the Mojitos after all) and our fabulous team shirts and hoodies are being delivered today. Route maps, elevation maps, race rules, detailed timing charts and packing lists have been printed. Camera bags packed, diabetes supplies organized and clothing for all weather has been laid out. This is the East Coast of Canada after all - the weather is rugged and wild and we can easily experience fog, rain, wind, sunshine and blue skies all within an hour.

The East Coast of Canada, more than any other place in the world (except perhaps Ireland and Scotland) is where I am happiest. I was made for that kinda weather. That kinda harsh marine lifestyle where the living is rough and the scenery is spectacular. Where the people are friendly and their accents trigger long-lost images of my Irish ancestors. Their music feels hauntingly familiar and their food (other than the horror that is cod-tongue) has had me dreaming of oysters for weeks.

A wee taste of  Nova Scotia slang for you - Dijjaeetyet?? No, djew? No, yawnta? Yupp. 

Did I mention that our post-relay celebratory lunch is lobster?

D-Blog Week Day 6: Saturday Snapshots

The best laid plans of mice and man often go awry.

One of my favourite quote of all time - partly because it's from Of Mice and Men and partly because it is just such an accurate summary of my life.

We are supposed to post diabetes-related photos today and my original plan was to photograph a day in the life of an insulin pump. The plan worked beautifully until I headed out the door for work and then all went awry. It was a day was full of meetings which made it difficult to photograph my pump adjusting for lunch and blousing for larabars. My post-work run got postponed so photos of my pump preparing for a 7k didn't materialize either.

So a day in the life of an insulin pump has been abridged to a morning in the life of an insulin pump. You take what you can get so join me and Mr. Pump on our morning routine.

Good morning Mr Pump! (morning walks from the bed to the washroom are always a juggling act as I try to carry my pump, my glucometer, my iPhone and my water bottle in one trip)

Shower time. Mr. Pump enjoys a brief reprieve before jumping headfirst into the day. Sometimes he sits on the bathroom counter, other times he perches on the computer desk in the office. Either way, I'm sure he enjoys the downtime. 

As mentioned in a post a few months back, I have to prime my pump every single time I take it off. Whether it's off for ten minutes or ninety minutes, he always gets an air bubble in the tube which needs to be evicted. Hence the morning prime routine and the insulin droplet.

The post-shower hookup. Mr Pump spends 90% of his time on my belt and we don't like to be apart for long so he gets reattached as soon as the belt gets buckled. 

Ready for work and whatever the world is going to throw at us. Mr. Pump is like my seeing eye dog - he sits patiently through meeting after meeting, emergency after emergency, and only lets out the occasional little boop-beep-boop to remind me he's there and working hard to keep me alive.