33.5 kilometres, 2,900 metres of climbing, and roughly two weeks to get ready. I wasn’t.
Words & photos :: Bronwyn Biro
I did everything wrong for my first skyrace.
I was skimming an email I’d been cc’d on when one line stopped me—my publisher suggesting, to someone else, that I run Meet the Minotaur and write about it.
The email wasn’t wrong. I did want to run the Minotaur. The problem was that the race was two weeks away, and I hadn’t been training. The notoriously challenging high-alpine course consists of 33.5 kilometres of technical terrain in Crowsnest Pass and 2,900 metres of elevation gain. It would be no gentle introduction to skyracing.
My Strava running graph looked like I’d run it through a random number generator. There were a few big spikes surrounded by a whole lot of empty space. I’d stayed decently active through the winter, but the transition from ski touring to running never quite happened, and a rainy “monsoon June” gave me one more excuse to stay on the couch instead of getting out for a long run.
Nothing New on Race Day
The golden rule of endurance sports is nothing new on race day. I broke it three times over.
One: I’d bought new gels and chews but never tested them. I hadn’t run more than 10 kilometres in one go all year, and they felt too expensive to “waste” in training. My stomach would leave its review at kilometre 20.
Two: My trusty trail runners had worn down to blister-on-the-heel territory, and with a section of the course nicknamed the “Shoe Shredder,” they weren’t going to cut it. I landed on a new pair built for technical terrain, the Arc’teryx Vertex Speed, and picked them up the day before the race. I’d be running in them for the first time on the worst possible day to find out they didn’t work.
Three: The outfit was new too, though I did try it on and do a grand total of two squats before figuring it was good enough. I was banking hard on “look good, feel good” being a legitimate strategy.
On race morning, I fueled up with a bagel and a five-hour energy shot. The cutoff was 12 hours. They do not make a 12-hour energy shot.
I was, in every measurable way, not ready. I ran it anyway.
The Waiting Game
It was a cool morning, and the good kind of nervous energy filled the start line. Then: nothing. For the better part of the first hour, we shuffled and stood and shuffled again, bottlenecked at the base of the first climb as the giant pack funneled onto a narrow stretch of singletrack. Not exactly the explosive start you picture in your head the night before a race. But once the trail opened up, it opened up.
I was, in every measurable way, not ready. I ran it anyway.
Bluff Mountain
The first big climb of the day led up to the summit of Bluff Mountain, and it felt good to get it done. My legs felt fresh, my lungs were cooperating, and I let myself believe the next several hours were going to go just fine. It crested into a flowy descent, the reward system working exactly as designed. Three major climbs and a smaller fourth made up the course, and this one set the tone: work hard, get paid back in downhill, repeat.
Minotaur Peak
Heading toward Minotaur Peak was where the terrain got really fun for me. False summits, cliff bands, and a narrow, technical ridge made the race feel less like a race and more like a mountain day. I loved the sections where I could put my hands down and scramble, where the pace slowed as everyone had to pick their way through the terrain.
False summits, cliff bands, and a narrow, technical ridge made the race feel less like a race and more like a mountain day.
The wind had picked up, but instead of fighting it, I welcomed it. After hours of climbing and running, that cool alpine breeze felt like a gift. I had a huge smile on my face.
Another guy and I had fallen into a game of leapfrog: I’d pass him on the ascents and technical sections, and he’d blast past me on the descents and flats.
I came up behind a pair of runners, one of whom was encouraging his friend through an exposed section. “Don’t worry about being slow here, I think we all are.”
I ducked below the trail to give them some space and passed. “Well, not everyone,” he corrected. I decided to take that as a compliment.
The next section, the “Shoe Shredder,” was a steep, rough descent through scree—exactly the kind of terrain that was supposed to expose new shoes as a mistake. Instead, the Vertex Speeds scree-skied clean with no rocks sneaking in, stayed stable on the climbs and were cushioned enough that I stopped bracing for the blister. By the bottom I’d forgotten I was nervous about them.
South Peak
One major climb left. I was feeling good, pacing myself well. Then the sun came out, and the breeze I’d enjoyed on every previous climb vanished. The Arc’teryx Norvan tank, at least, was keeping me cool in the heat. Small mercy, but I was taking what I could get. I still didn’t have the capacity to push hard on this one.
Another ridge traverse led to another scree descent. My legs were getting used to this pattern. It later flattened into runnable meadows, and all the people I’d passed on the ridge started to fly by me here. Apparently, in a running race, my weakness is the actual running part.
I’d been warned the gap between aid station two and three was long. I’d used up all my water, and by the time I spotted the sign for the last aid station, I was ready to hug a volunteer.
Apparently, in a running race, my weakness is the actual running part.
I asked for chips, ate two, and gave up. I never thought I’d see the day salt and vinegar let me down. One of the volunteers looked at me for a second too long and said, flatly, “Don’t do that. We’re not doing that.” Apparently my eyes had glazed over mid-conversation without my knowledge. I grabbed a few more energy chews, somehow still appetizing despite eating them at every aid station, and got started on the final stretch.
The Final Stretch
With about eight kilometres to go, my leapfrog partner from earlier floated the idea that we could still go sub-9. I appreciated the ambition, but I did not have the legs for it. My body had submitted its resignation, and the only reasonable response was to walk the rest of it. I walked, unglamorously, while watching the sub-9 dream jog off ahead of me.
I finished in 9:13, smack in the middle of the pack for the women’s field. Not a breakout performance, not a total disaster, just a fair reflection of the preparation I’d brought to the finish line. The real victory was making it in time to catch the last free massage before the therapist left for the day, which was kind of the goal all along. Nothing recalibrates your relationship with suffering like someone working the lactic acid out of your quads for free.
It was a day of type 2 fun, delivered exactly as advertised. The ridge running was the highlight, and finishing dead in the middle of the pack after 2,900 metres of climbing felt like a perfectly respectable place to land. Next time I’ll train properly. Or I won’t, but at least I’ll budget more time for the massage table.
Bronwyn Biro was a guest of Arc’teryx for the weekend, who also provided gear for the race.
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