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Even though it was 2 AM, I felt well rested and prepared for a day of mud, rocks and sweat. Ultra-Trail Harricana 125k was my last chance in 2016 to prove myself in, and the most important.
I have been running since I was a teenager. Though I loved both running and racing, I was never the star and naturally assumed I’d always be an amatuer. Yet here I was, one of four women invited to rural Québec for a race on the cusp of being added to the Ultra World Tour. Since receiving the invitation the previous winter, I’d been trying to prove, mostly to myself, that I deserved this. It didn’t help that, already in my 40’s, I felt my window closing even as it opened. As part of my prep, I’d run two other difficult 100 km races earlier in the summer. Both races had gone fine, though I also knew I was capable of better and had hoped and trained for a great performance.
I knew the best way to for me to finish well would be a conservative start, so I tamped down my nerves and excitement in the initial flat and easy roads through rural farmland. It felt like a calm pace, but by the time I reached the first aid station, my legs already felt just slightly tired. I wondered if the three weeks since my last 100 km race had been enough to fully recover. There was also a disconcerting stiffness in my left shin and ankle. Running on flat land is not my forte, so I hoped these were temporary issues that would evaporate when the course moved onto real trail. Immediately after leaving the aid station, we headed up Mont des Morios, the highest, steepest summit of the day. This was exactly the kind of steep, difficult trail I prefer. There was a lot of passing as runners who excelled at technical rock scrambling nimbly jumped around the road warriors they'd trailed in the beginning. By daylight, the views from the exposed rock and scrubby wind blown trees of the summit into the bucolic valley below must be spectacular. As it was, I settled for glimpses of twinkling lights below before heading back down the root and boulder strewn trails.
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Once down, we immediately started climbing again to La Noyée, the second highest summit of the day. Usually I would have tried to run portions of a mild uphill like this, but it felt wiser to save my energy for later in the day so I stuck to hiking. I expected the downhill to be easier but found it hard to relax into a rhythm in the loose rocks that covered the road. When the aid station volunteers encouragingly told me I was in 4th place, rather than inspiring a competitive rise, I shrugged. I had already begun to modify my expectations and no longer hoped for a stellar race, but felt, if I kept it together, a decent one was still possible. In ultrarunning, major problems often start with neglecting basics, like eating and drinking enough. I tried to stay on track by focusing on physically taking care of myself.
I’d been mostly alone since La Noyée, so I was elated to arrive at the Parc National des Hautes-Gorges-de-la-Rivière-Malbaie, where my boyfriend, Nate, and my parents were waiting. I told them I was fine, a partial truth that I desperately wanted to believe. In reality I felt somehow heavy, like I was twice as far into the race as I actually was. In addition, my shin still felt off and nausea had kicked in earlier than usual.
It was less than 7 km to the next aid station, but the course turned onto a flat, straight, dull, hot dirt road, my personal mental kryptonite. That was all it took to lose the boost I’d gotten from Hautes-Gorges. I asked the aid station volunteers to tell me why I shouldn't drop now. They earnestly assured me the remaining trail was easier, offered glowing appraisals of the upcoming scenery, and trotted out inspiring quotes. To be perfectly honest, their reasoning was weak. But I needed enthusiasm more than logic. I wasn't convinced I'd finish, but they talked me into continuing.
They were correct that the next section was scenic and not steep, but maneuvering around all the rocks and roots required some attentive footwork. As I was still running alone, I had plenty of opportunity to mentally weigh reasons to keep going against reasons to drop. On the keep going side- my shin didn’t truly feel injured and my first DNF deserved a better cause than merely a bad day. Not to mention, my family hadn’t traveled across a continent to watch me give up. On the drop side - even if it wasn’t technically injured, due to my shin I felt unstable navigating the technical trail sections. Also, dropping seemed more dignified when I was falling so short in a race with so much riding on it. I never reached a decision, but when a guy caught up with me, I found some latent competitive spirit and hung with him to the next aid station.
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I still hoped my weariness was something I could fix, so I tried eating whatever I could in hopes this was largely a calorie deficit. But everything tasted dry and after a bite or two, I slipped the rest to a volunteer’s dog. I wanted to stay, but when the guy I arrived with headed out, I followed. He started just a few seconds ahead of me, but in the single track winding through the trees I soon lost sight of him and was on my own again. I was frustrated that I couldn’t fully enjoy the lovely trail winding past lakes. When the course joined a road and the view opened, I was surprised to see runners ahead, and not far. My competitive side rekindled somewhat and I managed to pass a few people. A guy, Jonathan, I’d briefly encountered earlier caught up to me and we encouraged each other to the next aid station.
Having a companion for a little while reminded me how supportive the ultra community is. When a volunteer asked what I needed, I asked for a hug. She gave me a warm one, along with a pep talk. Jonathan and I left the aid station and stuck together through the uphill stretch. Sadly, when it turned downhill again I couldn’t keep up with him. Usually, technical downhill is a strength of mine but between my exhaustion and my shin, I stumbled at every obstacle. Jonathan made me promise I’d finish before he took off. Once again, I wished I could see this trail in good spirits.
I finally made it to the penultimate aid station, where Nate was waiting. I gave him a great sobbing hug, knowing both that I was too close to the finish to drop and that the last bit would be rough. Nate tried to re-energize me by telling me there was another woman only a few minutes back, but I was unfazed. Despite it being mostly non-technical dirt roads and not steep, I walked most of the rest of way with only brief stretches of running. I barely registered whether I was going uphill or down.
My time was nowhere near what I had hoped but I was enormously proud of my finish. As measured by amount of climbing or total distance, this was not the toughest race I’ve completed. But, it challenged me in other ways- the technical trail was qualitatively different than what I’m what I’m familiar with in the western US, aid stations were more widely spaced than I’m used to, and it was the farthest I’ve ever raced without the company of a pacer. In considering whether to drop, I was also facing the question of how to be the kind of runner I aspire to be. By choosing continue, I choose to be a runner who is rugged, tenacious, and determined.
Race Logistics for Running Geeks
I had trouble finding good course descriptions in English, so if you’re thinking about running this, here’s what to expect:
The race put a marker every kilometer noting distance to the finish. Yes, EVERY kilometer. It was great because you always knew exactly where you and never got fooled into thinking you were farther along than you were. It was also terrible because you always knew exactly where you were and could never convince yourself you were farther along than you were. The 125k race was actually 117k.
If you look at the race info, you’ll notice aid stations are somewhat widely spaced. The food at the aid stations was almost all real food. If you are used to gels, you’ll have to carry your own. The one “nutrition product” they had was new to me, Fruit2 x:act, which was like a very thick jam. I liked it but the aid stations offered it unpackaged so it was hard to bring along for consumption later. If I had one suggestion for this race, it would be more variety in food at the later aid stations. Sometimes just being offered something novel can help restart a stalled appetite. (Side note: The English translator during the pre-race instructions referred to aid stations as "feed zones." I was tickled by how descriptive that name is.)
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They offered a free shuttle for spectators between La Malbaie and the finish. It would be great for people doing the shorter races. It ran less frequently after 2 PM, so would be less useful for 125k finishers.
Start to AS 1 (Marmotte): Starts off with gentle downhill on paved road. Due to the easy terrain and other runners’ headlamps, I didn’t feel the need to turn my headlamp on until the road entered a forest and turned to dirt at about 5k.
AS 1 to AS 2 (Marmotte again): Trail narrows quickly to decisively technical single track up Mont des Morios. Use caution on the bridges, which were damp and slick. At the top, the trail winds narrowly through waist or chest high shrubs over a ridgetop. The descent of Morios is as rocky and technical as the ascent. Though parts of the outbound and inbound courses overlap, I didn’t encounter any oncoming traffic.
AS 2 to AS 3 (Chouette): I took my headlamp off at the beginning of this section. Alternating series of dirt roads and singletrack uphill, but never more than moderately steep. The trail sections varied from mildly to moderately technical. The road sections were unmaintained
with loose rocks, so they weren't much easier. The last stretch to the summit of La Noyée was not a trail at all, but followed trail markers through the scrub. From the summit down to Chouette aid station was about 5k starting with some easy dirt road, followed by mildly technical single track, and then back to easy dirt road again.
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| Photo Cred: Jeremie LeBlond-Fontaine |
AS 3 to AS 4 (Accueil Hautes-Gorges): There was a km or two of gentle uphill road before the route turned down a less used road and from there on out it was 8k of downhill on dirt roads covered with annoyingly loose rocks. When you come out into a powerline clearing, you can see down to the short stretch of pavement that will take you into the park. Hautes-Gorges is the main crew accessible aid station, though most of the spectators just cheered in front of the entrance building. My crew said they were the only people that went around back of the building where the aid station was set up to help their runners.
AS4 to AS 5 (Geai Bleu): Wide, non-technical trail with a small climb followed by a small descent to a bridge over the titular Rivière Malbaie. Then dead flat, road-width pedestrian route, like a rails-to-trails route.
AS 5 to AS 6 (Coyote Honda): Flat single track alongside the Rivière Malbaie which left the river after 1-2 km to gently climb alongside a smaller creek. The trail was consistently technical. Earlier in the day, there had been the odd puddle or jump-width creek but this was the first place with creeks you had to wade and mud crossings.
AS 6 to AS 7 (Epervier Info Comm): It started with rolling single track. My recollection is a little hazy, but I think it was less technical than the previous section. Then it turned onto an old flat dirt road which was overgrown with trees and shrubs. In places the route through the brush was quite narrow. The last few km to the aid station are on a maintained dirt road which starts off downhill but then gets flat before you get to the aid station.
AS 7 to AS 8 (Split-BMR): 2-3 km of gentle uphill on mildly technical single track which flattens out for a little while before slowly heading downhill. It opened up to old road before arriving at the aid station. This is crew accessible, but since you can’t drive to it, few came. Of the spectators who did come, mine were the only ones who thought to bike, rather than walk, the 5k on maintained dirt road to access the aid station.
AS 8 to AS 9 (Montagne Noire): Non-technical, little used dirt roads. The final summit, Montagne Noire, was in here somewhere, but it never really got that steep, or even registered as a bonafide peak to my tired brain. I recall gentle uphill, then flat, then gentle downhill on a dirt road.
AS 9 to finish: I turned my headlamp back on shortly after leaving this aid station. My memory is hazy here, but I think there was some easy single track, then maybe some good dirt road, then turned off onto an old dirt road which comes around behind the ski lodge to the finish. Blessedly, none of the last section was very technical, though there were some mud pits that I tried to skirt because they looked like real shoe suckers. You are surprisingly close to the finish before you can see lights or hear noise.
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