I did it. I registered to run the Canadian Death Race in Grande Cache next August.
125km solo in 24 hours.
At the beginning of the year I became fascinated with endurance running. The idea that humans do this, and the realization that it’s all a mental game.
In April I told my coach, Lyns Romano, I wanted this. We started to talk training. She agreed to crew me… I even took her to lunch and formally asked, she said yes, it’s huge.
In May a random person who follows my Instagram, but doesn’t know me, casually asked if I was running the Death Race next year.
He’ll never know what that moment was for me. I hadn’t said anything out loud to anyone but my coach. The fact he asked as though it was totally conceivable was a mind game all in itself.
I attended the Death Race this year, for the first time. I volunteered to soak up as much research as I could, to visualize.
I took a position at registration of the soloists for a reason, I wanted to see who does this.
I scanned the drop bags, I watched the start, I watched transition areas and I watched the last of the finishers cross the line at 24 hours.
I played the role of Charon the ferryman for 14 hours.
I’d become aware that the race honoured the Greek mythology of paying to cross the River Styx years before and adored it. I never thought I’d be here.
In 2019 I collected a coin from every runner that crossed the 100km mark and in 2020 I intend to hand over my own.
I have 36 weeks.