TDS 2023 Race Report

My journey to TDS started 5 years ago (!). Although truly it was 10 years ago I ran my first kilometres. I remember my excitement when I ran 3km for the first time, then 5km, then 10km and so on. For those that have not run these distances often ask how I ended up here. How I found myself at TDS is a clear example of how arriving at these races for me is part planning, part luck, and part naiveté. Even as I publish this recap 2 years later, I've just 'accidentally' found myself registered for the Big Foot 200. 

Running TDS, was similarly an accident. In 2019, my boyfriend at the time, had a goal to run UTMB before he turned 30. I figured if I was going to crew I should register for whatever race would suit the week schedule, which was TDS. The idea is I would run Monday and be able to crew UTMB on Friday. The thing with UTMB is that it’s a complicated and luck-filled process to get into (unless you’re an elite and can qualify off previous results). TDS on the other hand is a less popular race of the festival, and is quite easy to get into. So year 1, I get my entry to TDS, and unsurprisingly, my ex does not get into UTMB. 

Despite him not having an entry to UTMB, I still plan to race TDS. Though this is 2020, and the world has other plans. The pandemic delays my race until 2022. Years removed from racing, the end of that relationship, and a move across the country dampen my enthusiasm for this race. Though I still felt a tug to do it, because when you get an entry to a UTMB race, you go. You never know, with the qualifiers and lottery, if you'll get the chance again. 

The hype of this mountain race with unfathomable elevation gain made this an intimidating race for me. I hired a coach for the first time to make sure I would make the most of this opportunity. I did two races in my lead up to TDS 2022, Wild Horse Traverse  (52km) and Wy’east Howl (100km). These races were central to me finding my love for racing again. I didn’t know where races and ultras fit in my life since 2019, but these two races that included hard pushes for podium positions, and showed the results of following a program fired me up for TDS. 

Re-Qualifying for TDS 2023

While I was able to defer for medical reasons, I still had to re-qualify before the registration period for the 2023 race. That meant my toe healing by late September, and needing to run a qualifier of at least 80km before December. Genuinely, this race was feeling a little cursed, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to train for it for another year. 3 years deferring a race I only signed up for because of my ex-boyfriend? But my logical side figured I should at least re-qualify so I'd have options.  And so I spent September doing the safest thing I could to stay fit with a broken toe - hike the grouse grind (a North Vancouver classic that’s just over 1km with 800m of gain) and gondola down. By the end of October I was banged up but ready to suffer through this 50 miler to get my qualification. I had the best partner in crime with my friend Jack to crew me. I struggled through that race, and we brushed it off with a night out in Bend, Oregon while debating the merits of signing up for TDS one more time. When the time came, I hit register, for the 3rd time. 

I went through the motions of planning the perfect lead up race calendar, getting my medical forms in order, and booking accommodations. This season was different. I was used to following a training calendar and it didn’t feel like such a hurdle to get in my nearly-daily runs. With a whole extra year I had time to train more specifically, getting in more vert, tailoring and testing all my gear, and training with my full mandatory kit to get used to the heavier pack nearly every weekend. 

Soon enough it was time for my first prep race, Canyons 100km. I ended up dropping out at 60km with bad knee pain. While it is a hit to your confidence to pull out of a race, the decision was ultimately easy. It wasn’t worth risking a big injury and long recovery that could take away from TDS. I recovered quickly and was able to get back to training, reinforcing it was the right call. 

Then it was time for the second lead up race, Broken Goat 50km. Despite loving the race organization and the course, I had an inexplicably bad day out. I was nauseous the whole day, and generally had no “go”. While I felt my training was better than ever, these lead up races were not what I hoped for in preparation for TDS. 

Some helpful words from coach, Adam Campbell, reminded me of the importance of these days to build emotional callouses. We don’t sign up for ultras because we want it to be easy. I really believe I got exactly what I needed when I needed it. I had great races in 2022 to reignite my love for the sport and show myself how good I can feel in these races. And I had hard races in 2023 to give me an opportunity to harden these emotional callouses in preparation for a possibly hard day at TDS. 

The Week of the Race

I showed up with my gear dialled, I had trained in it all season, tweaking and testing everything. I was fully confident in everything I had with me... Until we started seeing the weather reports changing. While August in Europe had been customarily hot, the weather for the race was looking rainy and cold. 4 degrees in the valley cold. We spent Saturday in a very rainy Chamonix looking for appropriate clothes for a rainy, snowy, and cold race. I bought burlier pants and rain jacket, and extra gloves, hat and buff. Friends also rallied, with Harley grabbing clothes from Pat's place from April, Amber sending me pics of what she had with her, and Sasha dropping hand-warmers off with Pat. 

As race day approached, the weather forecast didn’t clear and the mandatory cold weather kit came into effect. The race organizers re-routed one section of the course to avoid one of the higher mountain passes. With the PTL, the first race of the week starting, we saw images posted to social media. It showed snowy and muddy conditions on course and people with umbrellas at the start line. This was going to make things interesting. 

A final pre-race call with coach re-emphasized the importance of staying comfortable. There were three things that stayed with me throughout the race and I know played a huge role in me finishing feeling as good as I did. First, cozy was the operative word. Change at the aid stations and don’t get cold. "Cozy little pain cave" became my mantra. Second, was doing everything I can to be comfortable. The second something comes to mind, don’t wait, just deal with it. As soon as I had a rock in my shoe, I took it out. When the thought popped in my head questioning putting on rain pants, I put them on. These races are inherently uncomfortable, if you're not an elite, and there are things you can control to be more comfortable, you do it. Lastly, was 3-5 minute naps can pay dividends, especially when you’re talking about a race that involves two nights of not sleeping given the midnight start. 

And So it Begins

Race day was here and I felt very confident that I had everything I needed in me and with me to have a successful race. We did a crew briefing where I walked Pat, my mom, and Daniel through what I needed at the aid stations. With a midnight start, I laid down when I was tired but never really fell asleep, and ate frequently. For lunch Pat made us pasta and mom popped champagne. I went to package pick-up and got my number. Now it was real! For dinner I had a big bowl of oatmeal and cup of coffee around 10pm. At 11pm we walked towards the start line. Despite the rainy day, we were lucky to have a dry start line. I found my way into the pack feeling excited and curious about the day ahead. At 11:50pm (our original race start time) they announced they were delaying until 12:30. There was a land slide in a nearby tunnel that re-routed all traffic to the Courmayeur - Chamonix tunnel so hundred of runners that were being shuttled from Chamonix hadn’t arrived yet. While it was frustrating to not be told of the delay until the minute we were meant to start, I am glad they held the race. Everyone had put as much into their preparations to get to this race, and it was only right we all start together. Pat had the good idea for me to sit down rather than stay standing in the corral, which most others chose to do. We huddled for warmth and I cursed eating my last pre-race gel at 11:30pm. At 12:30am they delayed again to 12:40am but then we were off!

With 1600 runners we didn’t ‘take off’, we shuffle-stepped through Courmayeur and chutes of spectators cheering, careful not to step on others or get stabbed by a nearby pole. As we started running I felt relaxed. Smiling often to be in a position to race feeling as healthy as I did. Pat and I had done the first climb together a few days prior, so I knew what was coming. Already on that climb I saw someone trouble shooting a broken pole I knew wasn’t fixable (mine broke similarly in the winter) and I felt for them knowing there was still 8900m of climbing to go. I did my first de-layer 30mins in, and re-layered within the hour. Adam's words already in my mind to stop and do what I need to do. Over this length, those moments are a lot more crucial in how I’d feel later than the seconds they took to complete. 

I skipped the first aid station, hoping to be in a better position for the bottle neck I knew was coming. The wide trail turned to single track with no room to pass. I could see headlamps moving up the mountain kilometres ahead and behind like a traffic jam. I wondered whether I should be farther up but remembered coach saying it doesn’t matter if the first 8 hours are super slow. I took the gift of knowing there was no chance of blowing up early tucked in this line of ants. 

I was surprised that no one was talking. Here we were walking in the darkness for hours, starting this exciting journey that had to be each of our goal races. We each had to qualify, shell out a bunch of money, and jump through hoops to get here. And yet there was no buzz in the air, no nervous chit-chat. Just one step in front of the other. 

We eventually reached the second aid station before we started our first descent. I re-filled my water, changed layers, put my poles away and started on the descent. I was grateful it was a wide road so I had more choice over my speed. I tried to stay in control knowing blowing up my quads raging downhill is a real risk. Still, I passed a lot of people and was feeling great. And then my headlamp died. Realizing I was only a few hours in and had it fully charged at the start, I knew I’d have to change batteries more than I thought. I started getting anxious about having enough batteries to last the night. I texted my crew “Mas triple As!” Knowing they’d have to buy some before the first aid station. 

Patience

This section had the re-route that the race organization implemented so we wouldn’t have to go over Le Passeur de Pralognan in the bad weather. Knowing someone had tragically passed away on this section years prior, I had been anxious about how technical it may be. I tried to find videos online, and had planned to recon it, but never got a chance. So I wasn't sad about not having to tackle that in this weather. This new path meant an advertised extra 8km (turned out to be 12km) but about 100m less of gain. I was grateful to still feel strong on the climb and soon we were on a road section where I could run as fast as I wanted. That’s the other interesting thing about where you settle yourself in the race. Everyone around me was walking. Whether it was downhill, flat or uphill, I rarely saw people running. Which puts in your head that you don’t have to run. We were on a very gradual road climb and I was running when I could, but when all you see is people walking it makes you think you should walk too. During this section there was a car parade of sports cars. It felt like an odd contrast, while we’re celebrating athleticism in the outdoors there’s a train of sports cars driving by right next to us. Though maybe this is fitting given the change in sponsorship to the the Dacia UTMB. 

The Cold Cold Mud

As I got into the gym it was a sea of people and it was eerily quiet. So I yelled “Is there a Pat Baylis in here?” Apparently Pat had only just started setting up and had a nice mat for me to sit on. We did our usual change over, not doing anything different from the first aid station. New anti-chaffing, new clothes, fresh headlamp, and some food. People around me looked completely wrecked. The longer I sat, the more I felt my energy dipping. Though, I headed back out confident and stoked at how strong my legs were still feeling. 

Into the Night

Heading out of this aid station I knew I needed the bathroom and luckily before heading onto the trails passed a beautiful public tennis court with bathrooms that were open. It felt funny walking out 100km into a race with all my gear to find a nice older couple next in the bathroom line wishing me ‘courage’. 

By this point in the race, I was seeing fewer and fewer people on the trail. From here, I had a long climb with an aid station at the top and then a long descent to my crew. As the light dropped I felt myself getting very tired. Easier than I expected I reached an aid station and pulled out my map. I asked the volunteers if this was ____ and they said no it was an aid station not listed on the course. I had coffee there and headed out. Soon after leaving I wished I had put on my layer and stopped to put on everything I had. It had suddenly gotten cold. 

While the cold helped keep me awake, it also meant sleeping wasn’t an option. At one point I caught a runner sitting on the side of the trail and he asked me if I thought he could sleep there. I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea with the cold and he pulled out a Salomon flask filled with coffee and decided to keep going. As I kept climbing the wide dirt road, I fully believe I was sleep walking. I remember feeling so tired, and despite putting in music and having the cold air on my face, and my feet moving, I could not stay awake. I don’t think I ever stopped hiking up that hill, but I remember a few occasions turning around and seeing a headlamp approaching, then later not seeing it behind me anymore but having headlamps up ahead. I assumed runners must have passed me when I was sleeping. Another time, I woke up to headlamps in my face coming towards me. I didn’t understand why runners were pointing their headlamps at me, until I realized it was a car driving down the field. Luckily I woke up to the lights and stepped off to the side. That woke me up enough to get me to the top aid station. Getting to that aid station meant going through knee-deep mud and deeply rutted trail. This was frustrating and slow moving. 

At the top of the climb we cut across what must be a pasture. It felt like a flooded bog, with all the rain and melted snow filling cow-trampled ground. The moving was slow, wet, and cold. Eventually I got to the aid station which seemed like a mountain top restaurant. It was an odd sight walking in and seeing three sets of legs sticking out from under a cabinet, that I suppose racers decided to nap underneath. I used the washroom and took the chance at a protected environment to text my crew. I rarely pulled out my phone during the race, it was buried in a full vest, inside a ziplock to protect it from the elements, and it just never seemed worth the trouble. I only sent them instructions for things I may want at the aid station that they may not expect. ‘Need both headlamps next stop’. ‘Need another change of shoes’. ‘Might want shorts’ etc. 

I had some soup and prepped for the downhill. 

A Pleasant Surprise

Sure enough as soon as I started the monotony of a climb, I started to fall asleep. I told myself that this time once I found a safe spot, I’d just take the nap. Looking at every stump and tree to lean against kept me awake for a while, and then my headlamp caught the eyes of a huge cow sleeping right on the side of the trail and I decided I’d have to be a bit more discerning about a nap spot.

Funny enough a man was walking ahead of me here and I knew looking at him that he was sleep walking, and recognized that must have been what I looked like going up that first night climb. Kind of zombie-like swaying from one side of the trail to the other. Still moving, but with no spirit at all. Eventually I came to what seemed like an apparition. A picnic table. I marched right over, sat down, turned off my headlamp, and put my head in my hands. As soon as I closed my eyes I heard a woman yell ‘Terry’, or something like that. I snapped my head up, and saw no one. I scanned, thinking this magical picnic table may have actually been on someone’s camping site, but there was no tent or person around. 

This was one of many harmless hallucinations I had. Starting that second night they stayed with me, but didn’t scare me. The grass sparkling a little as my headlamp hit it, creating a beautiful dancing pattern, the signs, trees, and stumps that could have been people from the corner of my eye, or until they properly focused ahead. With a little extra thought and attention they’d take their rightful form. Although there’s a man on a rocking horse in his backyard that I’m still not sure was real or not. 

So I continued up that hill, half asleep, half awake. 

Once awake and heading downhill I felt strong. Though the descent was ultra technical once again. As I descended, knowing we would soon be in Les Houches, I started to negotiate with myself about those last 8km. When we had talked about pacing, I was sure I’d be walking a lot at that point. But I was feeling good. I told myself to try to run a cumulative 4km of the 8km flat section to the finish. So even if it’s a run / walk every few hundred meters, just fight for as much as I could. 

I got into Les Houches and made sure to get myself in order, not making the same mistake of having too many layers at this lower elevation. I started at a run and quickly passed a handful of people. And soon enough I realized, I didn’t really need to walk. I ran nearly every step of that last 8km. The river trail was undulating and beautiful. As we got closer to Cham it was full of people out for their own shake-outs. 

A little part of me feels guilty for how unscathed I came out in this race. I finished with a lot in the tank, had few low moments beyond sleep walking, and generally had a great time despite the weather and the difficulty of the course. Ultras are supposed to be hard. We do them to challenge and test ourselves. Usually I love that feeling of going deep in the well. Of having nothing left. Of being stripped down. But honestly, I’m glad this race was ‘cozy’. I put so much into it. And it’s nice to know that when I’m that prepared, I can do this and have it feel good. That is a really empowering feeling. There is so much I’m proud of.

As always, this experience would be nothing without the people I shared it with. My mom, Daniel, Pat, Harley, and Amber were the crew on site. And seeing familiar faces in an unfamiliar place, and getting cheers from the group chat at home lifted my spirits. 

I finished in 32:06:52 in 216th / 998 finishers (216 / 1649 starters), and 21/116 women finishers