My friend Helen and I spent about a month going on bi-weekly training rides and even went for a run before we registered for the race.  We had the intention of ramping up the training for the final couple weeks prior to the race.  Then, continuing on the tradition of the FUBAR Squamish race, immediately after I officially registered I hurt my knee.  Ironically, the very reason I felt as though I could do the race was that I hadn’t re-injured my knee in quite some time.  Initially, I wasn’t worried; this had happened before and I recovered quickly.  I figured I could lay off the high impact training for a while, get on the road bike to keep up strength and fitness then walk into the Cumby race all rested and ready, fit as a fiddle.

While this plan worked out well in theory, my knee injury coincided perfectly with my birthday which meant lots of beers and lots of cakes.  Yes, cakes with an s; I ate several of them over the course of the next week.  I didn’t get on the bike once.  Despite this total lack of physical activity and knee functionality I continued to plan for the race and made an agreement with my boss to borrow a demo kayak from the store.  I booked a room in a beautiful hostel on Comox Lake and examined maps from past races to hone my navigational skills.  My still painful knee (and excessive birthday-related caloric intake) was weighing heavily on my mind.  I was troubled with the decision I knew lay ahead: do I do the smart thing and cancel in order to save my knee or do I race, not knowing what kind of damage I risked.  I booked appointments with my doctor, physio and athletic therapist hoping that they would make the decision easy by making it for me.  Unfortunately for me, my knee injury isn’t serious or complete enough to justify special treatment (it’s a compression injury, nothing is torn, simply compressed and therefore painful) but it’s not minor enough to ignore.  They left the decision up to me but worded it in such a way that I felt kind of guilty when I decided to race irregardless.

I finally got on my road bike and discovered that riding in the saddle was fine, but for some reason as soon as I left the saddle going up a hill or sprinting my knee began to hurt.  Luckily there’s no hills in MOMAR’s hey…

About this time I went into work to discover a ‘SOLD’ sign on my kayak.  The one I was to race in later that week…

Kayaks in the mist

As I lifted my leg out of the kayak my mind flashed back to the last adventure race I had competed in with a kayak stage:  My leg had fallen asleep during the paddle and as soon as I stood up my leg collapsed and I fell face first into 4 feet of water; I went the entire race sopping wet.  As much as it had helped cool me down it simply wasn’t comfortable and I wasn’t prepared to race for an entire day in soggy clothing then or now.  I had managed to wrangle a kayak and we had just finished the 10km paddle on Comox Lake in slightly over an hour.  The sun was out and everyone had a big smile on their face.  We had finished the kayak in the middle of the pack which was pleasing as paddling is not a strong point for Helen or I.  The transition to the run was simple and we were soon climbing some steep single track.   We had been warned of a funny switchback that would confuse us at the top of the first hill and when we got there we were greeted by about 12 teams standing around looking at their maps.  Some had compasses, some were trying to guess positions based on the sun, some were splitting up and others were simply standing there waiting to follow the most confident looking team.

Thinking back to following a team 4km off course in Squamish I decided to get out my own map and compass to figure out exactly where to go.  My study sessions had apparently worked as I quickly led us down the correct trail right to the checkpoint.  We took off downhill towards the transition zone which was another 6km or so away.  My basic knowledge of the local trails helped out near the bottom as we quickly found our way from the Dodge City Down Hill course out to the main trail.  At one point I looked back to see a horde of racers coming at us out of the bush, like an angry mob chasing an outlaw out of town.  It struck me as a particularly funny moment and even though I could see the time advantage we held I stopped to take a photo.

I had been secretly hoping that my knee would be in great pain and that I could blame any poor results on it.  Unfortunately for me, it felt just fine throughout the paddle, the run and the start of the bike stage.  I could however feel my quads and lungs beginning to hate me; several weeks with no activity but lots of beer and cake seems to have ruined any conditioning these important areas had.  Helen easily beat me to the top of every hill and would stand there looking at me with an expectant expression as I huffed my way up towards her.  Much of our biking was done alone with no other teams to be seen.  This gave a calming feeling and provided us a chance to enjoy the best XC Cumberland has to offer.  The trails are fast, flow well and were obviously built with mountain biking in mind – in short – a pleasure to ride.  With no end in sight to this wonderful riding my legs seemed to move faster under me.

While Bucket of Blood is certainly worth the climb up, I think I’d prefer it when I wasn’t trying to get up as fast as possible.  My calves were close to cramping as we finally crested the longest hill of the race.  The trail down got pretty steep and rather technical in some parts which suited me just fine.  Many people were walking their bikes down sections that I had no problem ripping down.  We jumped off the bikes for a quick ‘urban’ run through the village of Cumberland.  We were told to say hi to the locals so we did our best to talk to everyone we passed.  Many people had no clue that the event was on and looked rather startled at the sweaty, muddy people running along their street.

Back on our bikes, we made our way back to Comox Lake Park where the race began and was set to end.  Knowing how close we were to the finish line made me feel good; presumably we would finish in time, would be ranked and would have collected all the checkpoints.  The orienteering had been the most difficult part of the Squamish race for Steph and I as we had basically tried to stumble our way through, asking questions and taking measurments later.  In Cumberland, most of the orienteering course was on rough, uneven groud with a lot of bushwacking.  The dull ache in my knee slowly grew as we went for the first two control points.  I told Helen I would prefer to walk through as fast as possible and that running was out of the question for me.  This was a good move as it gave me time to focus on the wonderfully accurate orienteering map.  We would get close to a CP, I’d tell Helen exactly where I expected the flag to be and she would run up to it and mark the passport, giving me a few brief seconds to rest my knee.  This system worked awesome and we quickly had all 10 points.

The big inflatable finish line was wonderful to cross under – it had been packed up by the time we finished in Squamish.  We had also missed the chili in Squamish so I made sure to eat my fair share.  Our official time was just under 7 hours and our categorical ranking was 10/20, right in the middle which is where I had expected to be; we were about dead center overall as well.  I’m pleased at how well we navigated and how well my knee held up but am rather dissapointed with my conditioning level.  I suppose it’s just more motivation for next year.  As I mentioned I was hoping that my knee would be my limiting factor but sadly I’m just a bit out of shape.  On the days leading up to the race I had visualized myself sitting in front of my computer with my leg in a cast, wrapped up in a cozy plaid blanket, body covered in cuts and bruises writing a race recap about how I became the first person to break my knee while paddling a kayak or some other whimsical injury.

We drove up to Mt Washington for the afterparty but got there early so we busted out some camp chairs and bevvies I had in my trunk and had an impromptu little tailgate party.  By the time we’d eaten the delicious dinner the dreaded one beer syndrome had kicked in and I was ready for bed.  We had already decided to leave after the awards to get back to Nanaimo so we quickly said our goodbyes and left to jump in the adventuremobile for the drive back to Nanaimo.  Knowing how tired I was on the drive home I don’t regret skipping the infamous party but can imagine how much fun it was!

I can now join the ranks of adventure racers raving about the Cumberland race and will do so at every opportunity.  Once again, MOMAR didn’t dissapoint.

The post Cumberland MOMAR 2009 first appeared on Pack & Trail.

You see, last weekend was when I finally ballsed up and competed in the race and boy did I hurt.

I’ve always wanted to do one but for whatever reasons always managed to find an excuse not to.  My knee was injured, I was busy, I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t have enough experience, whatever.  I ran every Gutbuster trail race for two years straight and competed in several smaller adventure races.  Hell, I even volunteered for a MOMAR and stood in the sun for 7 hours way off behind Ukee watching costumed people bike past giggling and having tons of fun.

This past winter I talked to many people who are very well respected in the adventure racing community and all of them said I was being a baby and to simply sign up and go for it.  I met Todd Nowack before he moved and within minutes this man – nay, legend – convinced me that I would have the best experience of my life if I did one.  That’s why earlier this year when my friend Steph asked if I wanted to do the race I threw down.  I said yes before she had even finished asking the question.  I had NO idea what I was getting myself into.We went for one training run and one bike ride, both about a week prior to the race.  Mistake number one.  We had spent more time picking a team name (Ramrod) and deciding how we were going to dress up (matching old skool yellow cycling  jerseys with the team name sharpied on them) then training or talking strategy, efficiency, or technique.   We’d assumed that we’re pretty active people and that we could walk into this like it ain’t no thang.

I suppose we weren’t woefully underprepared; we did go to Victoria for a MOMAR 101 course presented by Doug Doyle, a very informative course with tons of great information.  He made us pay very special attention to his number one rule: never ever EVER blindly follow another team without checking your map.  Any guesses as to where I’m going with that?

We show up in Squamish on the Friday evening before the race to check in, scope out the competition and relax before the race.  Turns out that the MOMAR attracts the fittest most hardcore athletes in the entire province.  I think every single person lined up to register was wearing a shirt from some previous race, MOMAR, Raid the North, Kusam Klimb, 5 Peaks, Gutbuster – everything hardcore I’d ever heard of.  

Awesome.  

That’s great for the ol’ ego now isn’t it.

Race morning comes and we truck out to Alice Lake where the race begins.  I’d been up for a while and was feeling good.  The weather was amazing, my knee was feeling good and I’m thinking I’m finally here, doing a MOMAR – this is awesome!  We get our map and look it over very briefly – we have plenty of time to look at it when we’re racing right?  We don’t need to look at anything now do we?  Mistake number two.

The horn goes and we’re off on a 4km run around the lake to spread people out.  Steph is a great runner and she had no problem almost leaving me behind in several locations.  We got to the transition and it looked like we were near the front – not many bikes had left yet and by the time we were pedalling away were feeling great about overall placement and competitiveness.  As the hills started rolling in on us I started to feel worse and worse.  My legs felt like concrete and every pedal stroke I took felt harder than the last.  My mind shut down and I slowed to an incomprehensibly slow speed.  Steph kept looking back to check on me after rider that passed us.  I stopped, raised my seat, ate a bar and took a huge drink as I told myself “you’re not even a quarter of the way into this!  go go go!!”

My little pep talk seemed to work and I increased cadence a bit and picked up the pace until we arrived at the transition into orienteering, which turned out to go rather uneventfully.  We found all of the checkpoints and jumped back on the bikes feeling ok, unaware how much time we were about to spend in the saddle.Time went on and the hills kept coming.  My fitness level was beginning to show and riding got harder and harder.  I chowed as much food as I dared and nearly emptied my electrolyte bladder.

As we slowed and more riders passed us our goals for the race turned from being competitive in the race to finishing the course in the allotted time and then winning the infamous MOMAR afterparty.  We missed the course cutoff at checkpoint 8 and were bypassed to checkpoint 9, which were were told was in three easy sections from there – ride down pseuga-pseuga (really fun bike trail) then when you get to the university turn left, then ride a bit down the road – shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes.

At this point we were tired and all we wanted to do was get to that next checkpoint, do the rappell that everyone had been talking about and get some beers in us so we just attached ourselves to a large group of riders in the same position as us.  Mistake three AND four.  Remember what Doug taught us?  Turns out we missed that left turn at the university and rode 6 km downhill off course.  

After riding back uphill and saving several other racers from our fate we found the next checkpoint and were on our way to the base of the Chief.

Racers who raced the year before remembered the rappell as a long but easy climb up and then a fun quick ride down.  Apparently that was too easy and the course designers decided that they wanted us to rappell off the top of the Chief so without thinking much we hopped off our bikes and started running not fully realizing how high the Chief was (over 600m) nor how long it takes folks to get to the top (about 40 minutes).

I’m pretty sure everyone who made eye contact with me during that section feared for their lives after the death glare I gave them as I struggled up the rocks, nearly puking out my nose.  Self addmittedly, the look was undeserved because it was beautiful at the top and I had a nice little self actualization moment there in the sun.  While we were near the end of the pack by then, what we had accomplished so far that morning is more than what most people do all weekend.  We are capable of amazing things, and as I stood there on top of the Chief, with sweat running down my face, the breeze cooling off my dirty and bloody arms and legs I was increasingly grateful that I was finally participating in a MOMAR – it was exceeding the hype I had built up around for all those years.  Things seemed much simpler until it was my turn to rope up and rappell down.  I’ve pitched out steep mountains twice as high and been in countless rappell situations before so didn’t think much of this one but can only imagine how someone with less experience would feel.

After this the race seemed short.  Down the Chief to the bikes, through the river and into town.  We had another navigation error that took us a ways off course and ate up more time but we made it to the finish shortly after.  They were already taking down the finishing chute and many of the competitors had already left but the feeling of accomplishment was undeniable and Steph and I walked around for the next 40 minutes with huge grins on our faces.

The afterparty was excellent and true to our word, we closed it out in style as the only two racers left at the end of the night.  We drove around for a while with the organizers looking for pizza, which we eventually found before passing out exhausted.

Looking back on the whole experience I wouldn’t have changed anything.  I needed a few kicks in my butt to figure out the more important lessons here: train beforehand, never follow anyone else and never ever stop having fun.

Would I do one again?  

Absolutely.  I’ll never not do one again.

The post MOMAR Squamish first appeared on Pack & Trail.