The River Valley Revenge took place the weekend before last (June 14), and I swear I can still feel it. It’s not sore muscles – in fact, aside from some shoulder pain, I had very little muscle soreness following the race – but rather nagging fatigue and sensitivity to heat. Last weekend’s 30km run turned into a 17km run, and today’s 10 miler ended up being shorter than intended as well. On the mend though – lots of sleep and total commitment to Operation Hydration!
Run completely within Edmonton’s River Valley, the River Valley Revenge has 50km and 100km options, to be completed solo or as a team of runners, each doing a 25km loop. The “loop” is more of a fiendish figure eight though, winding through five of Edmonton’s parks and traversing all kinds of trail.
We started at Goldbar Park – “we” being J and I, together forming the 50km mixed team “Margaret Thatcher’s Vagina” – at 7:00am. We arrived to find a field of startlingly elite looking runners warming up in the early morning sun. Beautiful mornings hold such enticing potential, and this one was gorgeous, sunny, and cool (though not for long…).
J, ever the trailblazer, ran the first leg, so he lined up with everyone else, dancing and hopping about at the start, while I lolled around in my sweatpants, scoping the best place to curl up and read (i.e. nap) for the next two hours. I laughed out loud when the race started. When a road race starts, the runners take off. Fast. They’re out of the gates and gone – most of them will slow down as soon as they turn the first corner, but the start is quick. This start was the most placid shuffle-into-a-slow-trot of a start I’ve ever seen. And I absolutely love it, because that’s how focused these runners are. They know what’s to come – for some, 100km of grueling trail on a hot day, with over 3000 ft. of elevation change on each 25km lap – and there’s no sense burning even the tiniest bit of energy showboating at the start.
I didn’t end up napping – rather chatting with new friends, admiring the various dogs who had come out to support their people, and actually reading my book. Who would have thought?! By the time J came rolling in, still running strong, but looking somewhat knackered, the sun was blazing away and the morning’s cool breeze was fading. All he said as we passed the “baton” with a quick kiss was “take it easy,” which was enough for me to know I was in for something…special.
After a quick loop around a wee lake and a jaunt across the grassy flats, we headed up Esso Hill. I’d never been up Esso Hill before, and when it started to even out in relatively short order, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my sound vanquishing of the first hill on course. And then I saw the second half of Esso Hill…deceitful bastard.
After the first (asshole) hill took us out of Goldbar Park, the course wound it’s way into Goldstick Park and the first 5km went by in comfortable fashion on relatively gentle trails. Some more bobbing and weaving and upping and downing took us onto the “Old Truck Trail,” which boasts some of the most technical trail in the River Valley. I’d never seen anything of the sort in a race before, but I love technical running and was pleased to pass through some of the most beautiful areas I’ve seen in all my years of Edmonton running. Nearing the halfway point, and still happy.
I ended up passing a few kilometers with some very nice people. One runner told me the story of how he and his wife soloed Death Race together and crossed the finish line holding hands (after months of getting up in the wee-est hours of the morning to train before their kids woke up). It’s so wonderful and inspiring to meet people like this! We drifted apart after a while, and I was joined by another runner as we passed the 14km aid station and made our way closer to Sunridge.
By the time we hit Sunridge, we were both starting to hurt a bit, I think. Mind you, he was running 50km and so had a complete lap under his belt already. I didn’t think it was possible to find so many ways to send runners up and down a ski hill, but through a lot of cruel thought and effort, the River Valley Revenge race director figured each and every one of them out (there are actually a lot more trails around Sunridge, I’m sure, than we used, but it sure felt like we exhausted every possible option).
At one point, we were passed by a lady bounding up the trail in admirable fashion. Ultra runners, in my experience, are extremely humble. And the better they are, the humbler they are. As she passed us, we called out “way to go!” (at this point, it was more mumbling, but it felt like cheering). She responded with “Thanks so much, guys! I’m sure we’ll see each other again later!” As she hopped and skipped on up the trail. So nice of her to say, we joked!
Following a couple more ascents, at the top of which I wasn’t sure whether to poop or puke, but was certain one or both was immanent, the hills got smaller and the descents steeper. I began having some serious doubts about finishing. I don’t do well in the heat – I’ve been struck by heat stroke before – and each kilometer seemed exponentially more difficult than the previous one. After one too many twists in the trail, I tripped on a root and fell flat on my face. Le sigh. Fortunately, no one saw me. Unfortunately, there was no actual blood to show for my troubles!
Thankfully – because I was nearing the end of my running rope – the course leveled out as we crossed the bridge into Rundle Park and cruised along the last few kilometers of wide and rolling gravel trail. Had I read the course description beforehand (*sheepish*), I would have known that this was a last blessed reprieve before the end, and I would have pushed a bit harder. Not having done my due diligence, and thus unsure of what I might have to scale before the finish, I conserved my energy, walking, trotting, and drinking lots of water.
And then it was over!
I met J at the end – showered, changed, and polished and having scoped and photographed the most adorable of dogs for me, just in case I didn’t finish in time to see him/her myself.
After some slurping of ginger ale and nibbling of pretzels, all was right in the world, and we set off, already planning next year’s triumphant return of “Margaret Thatcher’s Vagina”!
Dispatches from the middle 
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