I stopped by race package pickup for North Sun Ultra at The Tech Shop on Friday evening after work. It was my first time running the race and I was pretty stoked to take a shot at it. North Sun is one of the few other locally operated trail races in Edmonton, so it feels like a sister race to Run On. I am also pretty fond of one of the race directors, Laura, after our serendipitous meeting on the trail in BC during Diez Vista 50k a couple years ago. As I picked up my bib and timing chip, I asked Hadley, (another RD on the NSU team) how the trails were looking after the off and on showers throughout the day. As if on cue, Conor, (Laura’s partner), bursts through the door, fresh off the trails, and gave the thumbs up that everything was flagged and ready for us to race.

I had barely driven back to the south side when the skies opened up and it poured. And I mean torrential. It had been a dry spring so the trails can soak up a fair bit of water before they are saturated, but this last storm was pretty intense. I thought about Hadley saying trails were good to go, and went to sleep, curious about whether or not that assessment would change.

I woke up at 5 am to some texts from friends, and an email from the race saying that the start was delayed for an hour, so they could reroute a few sections after all the rain. I was relieved to hear that they were going to protect the trails from the damage that happens when you use them when they’re wet. The importance of protecting our trails in Edmonton is something I learned early on in my trail running days. Thanks to a pretty vocal mountain bike community, the message has always been loud and clear: “Stay off wet trails.”If you are leaving a footprint or rut of any kind, the trails aren’t ready for you. Unlike trails in the mountains, our river valley trails are clay-based so the water doesn’t absorb quite the same, leaving them susceptible to drainage issues and of course footprints or ruts. This isn’t as much of a problem on the maintained paths in the city because they usually have gravel or woodchips put down. However, the single track trail system is a whole different beast. And a pretty contentious beast at that.

The mountain bike community has been working (at times fighting) with conservation groups and city developers to develop an organized and comprehensive trail plan to develop a world class trail network, as well as preserve our incredible precious Edmonton river valley. The Ribbon of Green initiative has been in the works for decades, trying to come up with a solution to develop a river valley trail system that provides something for all trail users, protects wildlife and vegetation, however it’s been a slow process with lots of diverse voices.

The Edmonton Mountain Bike Association has taken a lead on building and maintaining trails, as has approval from the city to do so in certain areas. However, there are still a lot of areas that are either not sanctioned for work by EMBA, or are in what are called ‘Preservation Areas’, sort of a grey area for trail users. And to further complicate things, trail runners don’t necessarily want the same thing from a trail that mountain bikers do. I’m fine with logs down, roots and narrow, overgrown paths. Whereas mountain bikers prioritize wider trails, berms and good sightlines. As the race director for Run On, a race that primarily uses single track trails, many in ‘Preservation Areas’, I have a huge vested interest in the conversation about trail use and protection, and am committed to ensuring our event does not negatively impact the trail system. Each year we clean, clear and reroute the course if needed, and always have a rain out route option ready to go in case the trails are too wet. Thankfully we have never had to use it.

Back to North Sun. All of the 50K racers huddled under the shelter at Emily Murphy Park and listened to Conor announce they had rerouted delicate sections on both the east and west sections of the course, and that they were confident we were good to go. I was a bit skeptical, given that it had rained for most of the night, and continued to do so as they counted down for us to start. We all took off like a stampede towards the east trail network, jostling for position before we were funneled into the first section of single track. Already, we were at a standstill at times as people struggled to gain footing on the slick hills, some people running along the grass on the side of the trail to find better footing or to pass those who were struggling. I immediately felt panicky. All those footprints we were leaving. These trails are not ok and we had no business being on them.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what happened next. Why so many of us continued on despite knowing the damage we were doing, why the race directors took so long to make decisions to reroute, why volunteers felt paralyzed to think for themselves or heed what racers were saying. Why we were all complicit in something so harmful to something we love so much.

The best explanation I can come up with is something akin to the sunk cost fallacy. Basically the inability to end something because you already feel you’ve put a lot into it and it feels too late to pivot or make a change in response to changed circumstances. I rationalized that the race directors wouldn’t send us on trails that we shouldn’t be on, even though the evidence was so obvious, and literally right under my feet; stuck on my shoes in fact. I rationalized that I am not the type to DNF; since I had started the race I had to finish. I even convinced myself that since my race season has unravelled due to the cancellation of the 100 miler I had planned, that I was entitled to finish one of the few races I had left on the calendar. Not to mention that I was told by some volunteers that I had a shot at the podium. (I didn’t, I finished 5th)

When we popped up to the paved path by McNally High School, we saw the first course marshall, my friend Chris. I told him to call the race directors immediately and let them know they shouldn’t send the 30k racers over those trails, that they were way to wet. I don’t really know what happened to that message, but I do know I repeated it to a few more course marshals and the volunteers at the first aid station in Gold Bar park. The aid station reassured me that the rest of the course was re routed and we wouldn’t be on trails we shouldn’t be on. Except that we dove right back into single track, destroying some of the most beloved mountain bike trails in the city. The course doubled back on itself when we turned to head west, and soon we started seeing the 30k racers coming towards us. While it was fun to see so many familiar faces, the devastation continued as we slid, scrambled, destroyed vegetation just so we could stay upright, and moved a whole lot of clay as it stuck to our shoes and legs. It was an absolute mud fest. I passed Conor as he trudged through the trails, pulling flagging. I found out later they did decide to send the 30k racers back on wide trails, so I assume that’s what he was doing. I could see he was upset about how bad the situation was too. I held my tongue. He didn’t need my opinion. He already knew. This was a disaster.

As I came back to the start finish line before heading out on the second half of the course to the west of Emily Murphy, I asked one of the race directors (Sarah) if there was anymore single track on that half of the course. She said yes, there was some. My heart dropped. I should have stopped. But I didn’t. Sunk cost.

They did eventually reroute the 50k racers off of Selkirk Knights trail, but only after the lead pack had already passed. They responded, but too little too late.

Afterwards Sarah told me she never imagined the consequences of inaction would be so severe. But isn’t that true, that sometimes paralysis in the face of having to make a decision can be catastrophic? It’s easy to look back in hindsight and see all the things you should’ve done, but in the moment all you see is a million what ifs and a desperate urgency to have something work out the way you planned. I get it. As a race director you obsess over every detail and think through every possibility to ensure the day runs smoothly. The thought of having to pivot to conditions has massive consequences, and there’s always the fear that you’ll make the wrong decision.

I finished strong, happy to be done and able to change into something dry, and splurge on the incredible post race tacos, doughnuts, coffee and finisher beer. But I didn’t feel good about anything that had happened out there. I immediately called my husband, an avid mountain biker, and felt I had to confess what I had just done.

The outrage from the mountain bike community was swift and indignant, and all over social media. I don’t blame them one bit. While some of them were rude, most of them, and many of us trail runners, were simply sickened at the destruction, left wondering what would happen next.

The NSU team remained silent online at first. I pictured them huddled down, crafting a careful response to the vitriol being cast their way.

The post and email came the next day. An apology. Acknowledgment of the critical error in judgment. A promise to repair.

And what happened next was incredibly beautiful.

I often work with couples and parents in therapy on how to make an effective apology. The steps are

1. Identify what you did wrong
2. Acknowledge the impact it has on others
3. Apologize sincerely
4. Identify what you should have done differently
5. Commit to repair and meaningful change for future behaviour

The North Sun team executed all those steps with grace, humility and integrity.

They owned up to making a mistake; they should have re routed or even cancelled the race, but they didn’t.

They validated the frustration from other trail users and didn’t sugar coat how much damage was done, even grieving that some damage is irreparable.

They said sorry, in lots of ways, to lots of people, including to us racers, even though we were the ones that ran through all that mud and are equally responsible.

They acknowledged the need for a better rain plan and better decision making protocol to protect trails.

And then they acted. Trail repair days and a generous donation to EMBA.

EMBA quickly organized three trail days and encourage NSU racers to sign up.

NSU race directors not only showed up to do the work, they encouraged the rest of the community to come out and do the work.

I went for one of the days, doing my best to smooth over trails, improve sight lines and drainage and learn how to do trail maintenance. We did our best to repair the trails, and most importantly the trust between trail use groups.

Trails are looking much better. And important lessons were learned about preventing damage in the future.

I’m so grateful to the NSU team for how they led with courage and integrity in the aftermath of the race. I know firsthand how difficult it is to put yourself out there to put on an event, and criticism is incredibly difficult to navigate. But my respect for the team, and this race has deepened.

And of course, so has my respect for the trails.

Current status: tired legs, full heart, re-fueling with a cinnamon bun, looking out the window at Grotto Mountain from cozy downtown Canmore and it’s feeling like a good time to write about another big bucket list adventure in the books.

The Canmore Quad.

I first did the ‘Canmore Triple’ in 2018, a local challenge to climb three peaks (East end of Rundle, Ha Ling and run across town to climb Lady MacDonald). I was a baby ultra runner, overly confident (probably faster then I am now) and hungry to prove myself.

Then in 2019, a couple of us attempted a variation of the Canmore Quad (Heart, Grotto, Lady Mac, EEOR) but it didn’t go as planned, so while we still got a lot of vert and put in a long day, we didn’t get four peaks.

Then in 2020, Tania and I had planned to do it for her birthday, but the closure of Lady Mac the day prior prompted a change of plans, taking us to Mount Northover instead. The day that unfolded there changed my life forever.

Since then, a series of trail closures, other priorities, 200 mile training plans have meant the Canmore Quad has continued to elude me.

A couple guys I run with were planning to do the Quad this year so I worked up the courage to invite myself, but struggled with serious imposter syndrome.

Imposter syndrome. Now there’s a topic worthy of its own blog post. Even top athletes struggle with that ‘not good enough’ voice sometimes. It can be so pervasive, colouring every decision, impacting relationships and holding us back from all the beautiful things waiting for us. But we’ll get back to that another time.

There was a solid group of athletes already assembled. Brad, my Need for Speed co-lead and very talented runner, Aerobic Base Endurance run- coach Stewart, Climbing for Change race director Luke, Amy and Scott, both boasting 16 hour Canadian Death Race times, Robyn who just placed second in this years Near Death Marathon, and a Calgary runner named Jaime I’d never met before but who has done some impressive races. I was feeling older and slower than all of them, and seriously questioning if I was in over my head.

But can you imagine if I let that stop me from asking if I could join? I would’ve missed out on all the magic that unfolded across those four mountains.

We started dark and early, 5 am in the Safeway parking lot, and set out towards Grotto trail head near the Alpine Club for our first climb. Those first lung heaving breaths of a climb always leave me questioning if I have any fitness at all, but of course, I quickly settled in.

I know how to do this.

The overcast day meant we didn’t get the sunrise we hoped for as we came out above the treeline. But we were greeted by some mountain goats who seemed to float down those steep rocks with an enviable grace that I’ve never found.

Grotto is a beast of a mountain. Made even more difficult by the wicked wind and rain that came up as we reached the top of the ridge and started making our way towards the summit. There’s two ways up, a very steep climb with treacherous shale, or the ridge, which is a bit further distance, and also has some pretty technical sections. Given the conditions, I’m not sure our choice of taking the ridge out and back was the most expedient, but too late now. We were all in.

Luke and Amy opted to wait at a spot before the technical stuff started, while the rest of us continued, bracing ourselves against gusts of wind that seemed to pick up at the most harrowing sections imaginable.

I was lovin it. There’s been some heavy stuff going on this summer and I haven’t always felt like myself. In fact, I’ve noticed symptoms of depression: isolating myself, not wanting to do anything, not feeling joy from things I usually love, lacking motivation and the energy just to tend to basics. Blah. But being up there feels like the antithesis to feeling numb. It’s pretty hard not to feel fully and ridiculously alive when all your senses are lit up in the moment. Wind. Rocks. One foot in front of the other. More rocks.

I’m in no way suggesting that the cure for depression is to put yourself into risky situations just to feel something. Nor is a trip to the mountains a miracle cure for mental health challenges. Not at all. But for me, in that moment, I was reminded of what it feels like to be fully present, strong, capable, engaged. Alive.

The opposite of depression isn’t happiness. The opposite of depression is engagement.

I’ve missed that part of me that normally feels fully engaged. Being on that mountain felt like a recalibration of sorts.

And I was all here for it.

We hit the summit and snapped a picture to prove it even though all we could see was cloud and all we could hear was our jackets whipping in the wind.

One mountain down. Three to go.

By the time we got back to Amy and Luke, they were nearly hypothermic from sitting. Things can turn ugly so quick in conditions like that, so we hustled to get everyone moving and back to the protection of the treeline. Once we were most of the way down (and after a fall that had since left a VERY colourful bruise!) we took the connector trail over towards Cougar Creek, where the trailhead for Lady MacDonald starts. Those were some gorgeous couple kms of dreamy mountain trail that was very runnable. Not too techy or steep, we were able to move quick enough to get everyone back to feeling warm and energized for the next climb.

We had stashed a water refill at the trailhead and paused to load up. By this time we were 5 hours into our day and already behind schedule for Brad and Stewart’s goal time of 12 hours. I could tell they were disappointed, and was feeling a bit responsible for slowing them down, but they insisted they let that go and were just happy to be sharing the day with friends. Ok. I hope so. Onwards and upwards. Ha.

Lots more upwards left!

Lady Mac is a relatively easy trail. Some good switchbacks and steady climbs, only a few technical sections. We reached the spot I’ve always considered the ‘summit’ even though it’s not truly the top of the mountain. There used to be a wooden deck-like structure there (tea house? Heli-pad?) but that’s been taken out since I was last there, and now there’s a lovely bench. Brad flew past the bench and kept pushing towards the true summit, which I had always been told was extremely sketchy and not a requirement of completing the Quad/Triple. I yelled at him that he was working too hard. He ignored me.

We eventually reached a spot that felt like an appropriate false summit, and turned back before it got too risky. No need for an ego push for a full summit. We turned around to finish off our second mountain of the day.

As we got back to the bottom of Lady Mac and started on the paved path back towards downtown Canmore, Scott and Amy announced they were good with bagging two of the four peaks. Neither of them felt confident enough in their training for the year to complete the challenge, and committed to more hill training so they could try again next year.

We got back to the vehicle for a reload, said goodbye to Scott and Amy, (saw Robyn who opted not to join us due to injury concerns, and instead found some mud to bike through!) and then we set our sights to the southwest and our next two peaks. Ha Ling and EEOR.

On some of the gruelling climbs, Luke commented several times how he was looking forward to gaining some speed and distance on the run back across town and up Spray Lakes road to get to the other two mountains. But I wasn’t as keen. I warned him, it wouldn’t be as easy as he thought cause there’s a lot of what I cheekily call ‘douche-grade’. An incline that’s not steep enough to really feel like a climb, but not flat enough to be an easy run. So instead you spend the whole time trying to run, and seriously questioning your fitness as you wheeze your way up a grade that looks easy compared to climbing a technical trail, and yet leaves you feeling like a mesh bag of jello.

We ran/shuffled/power hiked the rather miserable 8k to the parking lot where we had another stash of water ready for a refill. We said goodbye to Jaime who had to bow out due to party plans later that evening. Extra kudos to him for joining us up the rather unrewarding douche-grade before turning around to call it a day.

Unfortunately, the water was past the trailhead for EEOR, so in the interest of not backtracking and getting unnecessary distance, we opted to do Ha Ling first. I say ‘unfortunately’ because the Ha Ling is the easiest of the four peaks and a great way to end a tough day. EEOR is pretty technical, and even more difficult to do when you’re tired. And although I still felt great and ready to climb, I was definitely not getting any less tired as the day went on.

It was down to Brad, Stewart, Luke and I as we pushed past the crowds of people on the trail. Ha Ling is relatively easy and highly rewarding with stunning views from the top of a very steep drop down the other side. This makes the mountain a tourist hot-spot, a ‘must do’ climb in Canmore. And on a fair weather Saturday in peak season, that means the trail was pretty populated with all kinds of folks taking on the challenge. Pretty cool to see so many families, kids and people who probably don’t normally climb mountains, out there giving it a shot. We overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter, with mom coaching her girl on how if she is brave enough to climb this mountain, she is brave enough to go to Kindergarten in the fall. Damn, right girl. You got this.

I started to need some of the same self-coaching on that climb. Still feeling good, but noticing the cumulative effort of all that elevation in my legs. Stewart however, wasn’t feeling so good. He was struggling with energy and feeling light headed and suggested he wasn’t sure he was up for four mountains. Luke agreed, saying he was pretty done with climbing, but they would decided once Ha Ling was done.

We made it to the top, got the mandatory summit photo, and bombed back down as quickly as my tortured quads would allow.

Just kidding. This isn’t torture. This is a privilege. How freakin lucky are we to have the health, fitness, time and support from loved ones to spend a whole day chasing summits? I’ll take the sore quads and faltering energy if it means I get more days like this.

Stewart and Luke waved their goodbye and turned to head down Spray Lakes road, pushing the completion of the quad to another year. Brad looked at me and asked if I had one more in me. Yep. Let’s do this.

Mount Rundle is a massive stretch of peaks that spans the distance between Canmore and Banff. Some brave souls traverse the whole things but that’s way beyond my skill level. Getting to the top of the most eastern peak (EEOR: East End of Rundle) is all it takes to claim you’ve completed the challenge. But damn that climb ain’t easy. It’s steep, technical, easy to lose the trail, and after three mountains, it proved to be pretty taxing.

I knew I was holding Brad back. He is an incredibly strong athlete and had earned a much faster potential time after weeks/months of training runs where he would get up to 2000m of gain in a single Wednesday night training run. In Edmonton. Where our biggest elevation change is maybe 45-50m hills.

That’s a lot of hill repeats.

I did a lot of hill training too (on Coyote hill in Whitemud ravine, the closest to mountain simulation we can manage!), but my training was a fraction of Brad’s and it shows. Thankfully he’s a pretty patient guy, and if he’s got ego, he doesn’t let it show, and he seemed ok with taking it slow to safely get up, and back down EEOR in one piece. There’s some sections near the top that require some scrambling which is pretty fun, if you’re into that, but every time I’ve done EEOR I seem to forget how difficult it really is. Also, by this time we were both tired and hungry, dreaming of cheese quesadilla’s at the top (spoiler, there weren’t any) and I had a few more good falls on the way down. Nothing serious. But enough that I had to take some deep breaths, re-up and focus.

Getting off that mountain and back to Spray Lakes road was a huge relief, and that douche-grade on the way up was now a welcome gentle descent, and we cruised down in no time. We made sure to ask for a ride from the parking lot we started in, so we didn’t have to run back to the hotel. Seeing Luke and Stewart, all clean and promising pizza was a pretty sweet finish line prize.

The stats for the day ended up being just under 60km, 4600 m of elevation gain and took us just under 16 hours.

Another goal checked off the bucket list

The summer of 2025 hit a bit differently than the past few years have. In some ways, I felt so much more present, more grounded than I have been. In other ways, maybe a bit lost. A combo of factors in my life —professional, personal, and run-related —has had me feeling like this has been a great couple of months to experiment with the concept of ‘just be’.  

On the professional side, I was finishing up the last few required hours of my Provisional Psychologist status before being able to settle into my own practice and enjoy the product of years of hard work. 

At home, my oldest daughter graduated in June, and I was left suspended at the top of an inhale. Waiting to see what she would do, what she would need from me; I didn’t want to make any plans for myself. She was often off on her own adventures with friends, carving her own way through her summer. 

At one point, we did make plans without her -a weekend backpacking trip to Geraldine lakes- and she tearfully confessed afterwards how hurtful it was we went without her. Of course, she was invited, but had her own plans and couldn’t join. I can’t help but feel in limbo over this, my heart, my firstborn, out walking around, emerging into adulthood, and yet still too much a part of our family to fathom operating independently from it. A delicate balancing act of continuing with my own life, and being there for hers. 

And lastly, my run season. My initial goal of big distance at Lakou Backyard Ultra in May, vanished by the 8th lap, as I struggled to stay ahead of calorie needs and battled nausea before deciding it wasn’t my day. My second big goal, racing a new 100-mile race in Canmore died the same weekend when they had to cancel due to permits. No other big goals felt that exciting to me and everything else on my race calendar didn’t require the kind of big, focused training I’ve needed other years. 

So there I was, just, being. 

A relay team at Sinister with some girl friends was super fun, and of course completing the Canmore Quad was a fantastic weekend, as was our hiking weekends, a trip to Waterton, and other adventures.

But then, towards the end of the summer, came the best, and most underrated race that totally took me by surprise. 

TransSelkirks Run.

It was hardly on my radar, all I knew was that thanks to Tania committing to volunteering for the weekend, we had a suite to stay in at Revelstoke Mountain Resort. It was also the last of the TransRockies stage race series races left for me to do; the other ones being Golden Ultra, TransRockies and Moab Run the Rocks. 

The race happens over three days: The Climb, The Peaks, and Flow. Each day is about 30km, and happens near Revelstoke, another underrated town I knew very little about. Although the amount of cranes putting up luxury buildings, indicate that more and more people are discovering what a great town it really is.

I was feeling strong, well rested and ready for whatever the weekend brought. 

Let’s gooooo!

I can’t even say enough good things about how incredible this race is. The start line at Day One: The Climb, was feeling pretty chill as we lined up to tackle the first big climb. ‘Big climb’ is probably an understatement, as we gained 1700m in the first 7km, at times up a cat track trail, but mostly straight up, sometimes needing to use our hands to navigate boulder fields.

The trail, called ‘Kill the Banker’, spends a lot of time under the gondola at Revelstoke Mountain Resort, so it’s easy to see how steep and technical it is if you don’t feel like climbing it! The first aid station is at the top of the Upper Gondola, a welcome sight after a whole lot of work.

And the views were getting good. The next section of trail was an out and back with much less elevation, allowing our burned-out quads a chance to settle as we were all able to pick up the pace on easier terrain. The trail ended at Greely lake where I turned around and got to see all the other racers coming in hot. The second aid station was at the intersection where we had started the out and back, and this time we came through it again but headed back out on another trail to gain even more elevation.

Here’s where the views got really stunning as we climbed; up the ‘Stoke Climb’ trail and to the aid station where Tania, Christy and Tess were working hard all day taking care of racers. It’s a massive undertaking to volunteer at an aid station at the top of a mountain; they put in much longer, more difficult days then I did and I sure appreciated the time they put in. Their hard work was rewarded with bluebird skies, sunshine, views for days, and a front row seat to watch brave paragliders launch off the steep mountainside and soar over the runners grinding up the trail below. 

From Tania’s aid station, we did a loop, a final push to the sub peak of Mount Mackenzie, opening up our views to the mountain ranges on the other side.

Absolutely breathtaking.

And not just because we had climbed 2200m by this point, although that certainly wasn’t helping me feel like I could catch my breath. I stopped long enough to enjoy the endless mountain peaks in every direction, taking it all in and wondering how I possibly got so lucky to be here. The race ends after about 30 km, back at the top of the Upper Revelstoke Gondola with the usual stage race finish line vibes and tasty burgers and beers at the resort restaurant up top. I sat in the sun, with Anna, another Alberta runner, and new friend Eden, someone I initially met at Moab Run the Rocks. We sat in the sun for too long, laughing, theoretically waiting around for my volunteering friends and Soren (who was running), but mostly, I was just waiting around to enjoy just ‘being’.

Nothing else to do. Nothing else I wanted to do. 

After a few hours, I was thoroughly sun baked, a little tipsy and probably quite dehydrated. Tania, Christy and Tess were ready to head back to the hotel where we had a fantastic night sitting on our balcony and watching the sun set over the resort and wishing that nights like this would never end. 

But we needed our sleep cause Day Two: The Peaks, was another big day with plenty of climbing. Once again, the volunteers were out the door much earlier then the racers were, ready to put in another long day at the same aid station spot. Racers had to take the gondola to the start line for the second day. There is a secondary event that happens at the same time as day two of the stage race, called the Stoked Ultra, that is essentially a combo of what I did day 1&2, making it an incredibly challenging 50k. That race started a couple hours before we did, but we did get to see them part way through the morning. This time the course took us to some of the most stunning mountain views I have ever seen.

We went off the ski hill, and towards Mount Cartier, along a ridge with some pretty sketchy sections to traverse, and into an out and back section of stunning jagged rocks, lush green and high alpine vibes. In hindsight, I wish I had been able to stay longer, soak it up a bit more. It really was incredible. This is why I say it is such an underrated event. Yes, it’s tough, you’ll want to be well trained on hills. Yes, there is a lot of technical trails, and steep climbs, you’ll need to bring your courage. But this race truly takes you places you will never go otherwise; literally, the trail doesn’t exist on All Trails, or Gaia, and it is well worth the effort. 

Day two ends at the top of the gondola again, with about 25km of distance and 1450m of elevation gain, and the same reward of basking in the sun. This time, instead of just sitting around drinking, we wandered to the brand new suspension bridge nearby, getting some more great views of the town below. 

Back at the hotel, we showered, changed, and decided we had time to check out the pipe mountain coaster. Just a bunch of kids at summer camp, laughing hysterically the whole way down. Worth the price of admission for sure. 

Are we already at day three? There is usually a point sometime during day two of a stage race, where I start to question if I can do these things day after day. I get tired, and wonder what it would be like to stop, and get back to just ‘being’; just sitting around. But then inevitably, I get a surge of energy, and go into day three feeling strong, alive and wishing I could keep doing this every day.

I mean, I kinda get to, even in my regular life. I run pretty much every day, so I guess that makes my everyday life just like a stage race, right? 

Day Three: Flow, I got to run on some dreamy, flowy single track trails opposite from Revelstoke Mountain Resort in the Begbie area. Although I loved earning those views on day 1&2 on the mountain, this was so fun to open up and really run hard on some different kind of trails. I was feeling amazing, and knew that I was just close enough to making the podium that if I kept pushing, it might happen. I didn’t even stop for snacks at Tania, Christy and Tess’ aid station, I just kept rolling. It paid off, I finished strong and moved up the ranks a few spots from the previous two days, to earn third place. Another 30k and about 1000m to round off a really incredible weekend. 

This race weekend getaway felt like a dream. I didn’t really know what I was getting into, and my expectations were far exceeded. This race has a much more laid back feel to it then other TransRockies stage race events, and yet still delivered the flawless formula that makes these events so memorable. It’s the perfect combo hard work, great views, ridiculous good fun, and the after party to bring it all together. 

I can’t wait to go back next year, but this time to volunteer. These things truly take a village to bring to life, and I am already looking forward to spending more time in Revelstoke, and contributing to someone else getting to experience this race. If you’ve read this far, and are considering signing up for TransSelkirk, don’t hesitate at all. It’s well worth it in every way. 

The drive home gave me time to reflect on the summer of 2025; a summer with lots of waiting, slowing down, curiosity about what the moment holds. 

A summer perfectly wrapped up with high alpine meadows, mountain peaks for days, and of course, my beautiful friends sharing it with me.