The Powderface42

No one heads out to do warmup sprints at the start line of the Powerderface42 – footsteps for this event are rationed wisely. Those who’ve run this trail marathon before fuel the fears of newbies with stories of crashes, burns and extreme stream crossings. Laughter prevails, though, as race director Keenan Cannady encourages camaraderie, stressing that this isn’t so much a race as our shared adventure, a collective responsibility to return to the finish line in anywhere from four to seven-plus hours in one piece, leaving no man or woman behind.

At the start line, we receive pertinent information about bear sightings, fire hazards, creek diversions, dead cows and the like. Before you know it, the race is on and runners fall into the gaping maw of a hungry green Kananaskis forest. A mountain trail marathon (and there’s also a half-marathon) with 6,500 feet of elevation change is the brainchild of evil geniuses Keenan Cannady and brothers Bruce and Doug Stephen. Runners are treated to panoramic views early on in the race, but these quickly shift to scenery that looks remarkably like the tops of your running shoes, along with the sound of your lungs sucking every molecule of oxygen out of each heaving breath you take.

Time is transformed over the minutes and miles to become a symphony of pain. While the legs work, the mind is free to experience the intricacies of the human condition that include muscle cramps, blisters, heat exhaustion, blisters, chafing body parts, and more blisters.

The first hour in the cool, clear Alberta morning is easy. The echoes of hoots and hollers fill the forest as runners establish their rhythms and get a feel for the day. You don’t usually feel the warmth of the sun on your body until you break into the first open meadow on the Sulpher Creek Trail. Runners may be lulled by a false sense of security after they continue downhill to the aid station at the Powderface trailhead, a quarter of the way through the marathon.

But this marks the start of the first serious climb, a grind cresting the Powderface Ridge. I have yet to come across the top of that ridge and not stop and gasp at the vast untamed wilderness. It’s more Canadian than any Molson commercial. Running down the backside is a godsend. Gravity pulls you willingly down a twisting, turning route made treacherous only by the hundreds of roots that greedily reach for your toes. The trail flattens out to a creek crossing.

Hitting the halfway point back on the Prairie Link Trail, the heat begins in earnest and even the enthusiasm of the aid station attendants is of little solace. The Powderface really begins at the 30K mark. Even as you have just hours earlier descended the Sulphur Creek Trail, you have no conception of the thousands of feet and unending hill yet to be conquered. I have never made it up that grade in less than an hour and a half. On this leg of the race, I have twice fallen to all fours, head down and chest heaving, wondering how the hell I was going to get to my feet let alone finish the race. Both times, a passer-by made my pride trump the pain and I rose to my feet, planting a fake smile and heading off into the searing heat of the day.

Though the path levels out somewhat over the last few kilometres, it’s of little solace to my body. There is no respite, my body aches in ways unimaginable and time stands still. Now is where I question my sanity and just as I’m ready to toss in the towel I hear the highway – “holy crap, I am not alone! My pace increases exponentially to that of an 80 year old on crutches and I turn the corner to my kids, a smattering of applause and the finish line.

Swept up by the quiet overwhelming joy of the finish I sit in the recovery tent with a bag of ice on my head another in my lap and wonder how I can trim a few minutes off next year’s race. See you there.