May 31, 2012

Hey, Fat Girl.


Yes, you. The one feigning to not see me when we cross paths on the running track. The one not even wearing sports gear, breathing heavy. You’re slow, you breathe hard and your efforts at moving forward make you cringe.

You cling shyly to the furthest corridor, sometimes making larger loops on the gravel ring by the track just so you’re not on it. You sweat so much that your hair is all wet. You rarely stay for more than 20 minutes at a time, and you look exhausted when you leave to go back home.  You never talk to anyone. I’ve got something I’d like to say to you.

You are awesome.

If you’d look me in the eye only for an instant, you would notice the reverence and respect I have for you. The adventure you have started is tremendous; it leads to a better health, to renewed confidence and to a brand new kind of freedom. The gifts you will receive from running will far exceed the gigantic effort it takes you to show up here, to face your fears and to bravely set yourself in motion, in front of others.

You have already begun your transformation. You no longer accept this physical state of numbness and passivity. You have taken a difficult decision, but one that holds so much promise. Every hard breath you take is actually a tad easier than the one before, and every step is ever so slightly lighter. Each push forward leaves the former person you were in your wake, creating room for an improved version, one that is stronger, healthier and forward-looking, one who knows that anything is possible.

You’re a hero to me. And, if you’d take off the blaring headphones and put your head up for more than a second or two, you would notice that the other runners you cross, the ones that probably make you feel so inadequate, stare in awe at your determination. They, of all people, know best where you are coming from. They heard the resolutions of so many others, who vowed to pick up running and improve their health, “starting next week”. Yet, it is YOU who runs alongside, who digs from deep inside to find the strength to come here, and to come back again.

You are a runner, and no one can take that away from you. You are relentlessly moving forward. You are stronger than even you think, and you are about to be amazed by what you can do. One day, very soon, maybe tomorrow, you’ll step outside and marvel at your capabilities. You will not believe your own body, you will realize that you can do this. And a new horizon will open up for you. You are a true inspiration.

I bow to you.


UPDATE. 2014-03-10
As I stated somewhere in the hundreds of comments below, I stopped coming back to this post a long time ago. Obviously, it has taken a life of its own, and I was always touched and happy when someone would send me a comment or e-mail about it, about them and their journey, and about how they were inspired by my humble words.

A little while ago, some of you have started contacting me about a Facebook post, from someone who ran "at the Westview track". You were angry, calling the author a plagiarist, even trying to do something to make it known to the world. I replied "It's fine, it's the message that matters", thinking the other text was perceived as inspirational and uplifting. I put my personal appreciation of it to the side and went back to other things.

But then something happened. An absolute stranger named Tony decided to react to the text. Himself on a journey to health, he used strong, firm words against the "Westview" text, but made sure to disassociate it from mine at the very beginning. I was very touched, and sent him a thank you message.


UPDATE. 2014-03-17
Lines of messages after lines of messages, Tony and I discussed about the whole story, about inspiration, and about how "Hey, Fat Girl" had come to life on a work day morning some time ago. He got curious about my fat girl, so I told him something no one in the Internet world knew, because it was never intended to be known. The fat girl in my story existed, but she was a man, and one of my best friends.

Tony asked if that friend, Dan, would like to talk with him. He did.

And this is what happened.

I am speechless. Honored that a perfect stranger who knows from very personal experience what it is to be judged made the difference between my text and another. But, most of all, I am delighted that my little words traveled all around the world to come to a full circle, linking two admirable men from different hemispheres of the planet by the immense respect I have for them. Both.

May 28, 2012

Like The Wind: Born to Run Ultra Marathon Race Report


 I stand there at the starting line, half asleep and three-quarters frozen. The early morning was bone-chilling after a night that made me shiver in my sleeping bag, under the stars of the East Creek Ranch. I’d only had time to eat a Clif Bar and sip on a warm coffee that Patrick Sweeney handed to me with a pitiful look as the early light was chasing away the intense darkness on the hills of Los Olivos. A hand pats me on the shoulder, reassuring and warm; it’s Maria Walton, fresh as a rose, Guadajuko by her side. I give her a hug, then a shotgun blast tears through the twilight and all the runners head out for the fields.


Life has been a tornado for the past couple months. It all started when I ejected from my normal life to parachute down in the Copper Canyons, thinking I’d spend quiet weeks of running and acclimatizing before my first-ever 50-miler only to stumble on Caballo Blanco and Olaf, travel all over the Barrancas, run hundreds of kilometres and shoot a feature-length documentary. Then I ran a life-changing ultra with a smile on my face, mesmerized by the changes in my body, my mind and my soul. I came back home with a head full of projects and overflowing inspiration, only to find out my friend had gone missing in the Gila and, after 3 agonizing days of anxiety, had been found by a stream gazing at the sky, in peace, his life out of him.

The first steps in the fields feel strange and surreal. I am side-by-side with Maria, my throat choked with emotion. It’s the first time we actually run together. I am still freezing and feel grateful for being on the move, but I have no contact with my own body; no feedback, no sense for how the day will turn out. I chase the thought away and just immerse in the moment; I am happy to be here, to be The Mariposa’s early-race sidekick and to watch Guadajuko dance again. A couple minutes later, we find a smiley Caleb Wilson by the side of the trail and he jumps in with us. His warmth and energy are quite unique and I’m glad I’ve gotten to know him better over the last couple days. He and Maria are family, and I can feel just how happy these two are together.

After Micah disappeared, I had to deal with a very difficult reality; I had never lost a loved one before. I was wandering through uncharted territory, feeling lost and weak, with only my Belle as an anchor. No one around me grasped what profound effect Micah had on my life and the depth of our connection. Very few understood how I felt and, mostly, why. I was afraid some of my passion had died with my friend, that pieces of myself would be lost or broken beyond repair.

Running in the Los Olivos hills, surrounded by Mas Locos and kindred spirits, was slowly reconnecting me to my recently-acquired roots. As I was breathing the fresh air, I was reminded why this crazy adventure started: I love running. It’s impossible to explain, and doesn’t need to be anyway. There’s just something about it that liberates my soul, that lets me express my true self without artifice, that makes me step out of what I think is reality and into a totally different universe.

Around me, all sorts of creatures pull me out of my daydreams; barefoot dudes in skirts, Randy The Beer Man, an overwhelmingly cool guy named John, Lynette and her hat, people with dogs, my first encounter with Shacky, inflatable dinosaurs, my Lunatic buddies.

By the time I begin to feel awake, it’s been two loops and about twenty miles. The sun’s up, I’m not cold anymore and the beautiful environment starts sinking in. Giant, twisted trees on grassy hills, shadowy stretches under leafy canopies, river beds, high ridges. My food tastes good, the water is refreshing and the grin that stretches across my face tells everyone I meet how glad I am to be out here, to get to run with them on the trails and to share some delightful conversations.

Every time I look at the ground, I see the blue smear of my feet shuffling under me. My heart swells, thinking how my new friend Little Wings, learning about my attachment to the Saucony Peregrine, got in touch with the company and got me a pair identical to that of the White Horse. Not two months ago, I had spent a morning in the canyons sitting under the trees at Entre Amigos with a hotel sewing kit, therapeutic tape and repair patches for my inflatable mattress to try and fix my friend’s shoes, a miserable pair of size-12 Peregrines so beat up they had gaping holes and tears all over them. Three hours and change later, with a mischievous grin, I handed him back his shoes, all sewed and patched up, ready for the race. His face melted into a big wide smile and he hugged me, simply saying “that was way beyond the call of duty”. Looking at my own two feet now, I can’t help but think how well I run with my horseshoes.

Swoosh.

Wooaaah. I was yanked out of my memories by a runner who literally flew by, his swift feet barely touching the trail. Seeing Patrick Sweeney going at it is quite exhilarating; he runs like the wind. I am both amused and discouraged by the fact that he just lapped me, meaning that he is either lightning fast or I’m freaking slow, or probably some happy mix of all that. I start laughing and barely have time to send him my love before he disappears in the trees.

As the morning gives way to a sunny afternoon, the heat starts to rise significantly. The next two loops prove to be difficult, with a lot of walking and a generally low energy level. Amidst the increasing blur of my heat-induced lethargy, an oasis of cool: Wild Bill’s aid station. I get introduced to the concept of the ice jacket and leave Bill’s tent in awe at my body, gone from shimmering to shivering in just about 3 minutes flat. Call it Badwater magic.

My 5th loop becomes a crazy realization that I am way ahead of any prediction I could have made for the race. My horseshoes are working wonders; if I keep it up, I’ll pass the 50-mile mark around 11 hours, shattering my Copper Canyon time by over an hour. I get excited. My shirt flaps in the wind I create, running the downhills of the last section.

This ain’t no standard shirt, either. The night before, upon reuniting with Maria, she pulled me apart and said “I have something for you”. She sat with me and told me again what a special moment this year’s CCUM had been for Micah, for her and for everyone who shared these special times. We wept at his memory and the thought of not ever running all together again. Then, from a plastic bag she’d brought, she pulled one of Micah’s running shirts and handed it to me. “I thought you should have this”. By some miracle, the shirt fit me – I’m about half the size of Caballo – and I decided right away I would be running in it.

I crossed the start/finish at my 50-mile mark just under 11 hours, 15 minutes, a solid hour better than my CCUM time. I was energized, excited and overwhelmed with many feelings. Friends who had finished and were now sipping beer and eating BBQ were cheering me on, the ambiance was joyful and festive. Maria caught up with me just as I was leaving. “I can’t believe this!” I told her, still not sure any of this was real. She smiled, looked at me with deep eyes, nodded and said “He’s giving you wings”.

I started my last 2 loops with tears rolling down my cheeks. I was feeling a mix of loss, pride, amazement, hope and longing. I decided I would run the whole 2 loops with my friend right next to me. “Wait for you at the ridge” is what echoed in my head. Oh, well. I should’ve known better; you never tell The Horse what to do :)

Having been able to take in plenty of food and fluids all day, my home stretch did not prove as painful as it might have. Only the long climb that makes up most of the first yellow loop (the second half of the full course) proved taxing on my tendons, but otherwise things were looking good. My last pass at both Nancy’s and Wild Bill’s aid station were high points, with plenty of thanks, laughs and hugs for the road.

As promised, I was welcomed on the ridge by a gust of wind. It made me lift my head for a bit and sink in the beautiful views as the evening was setting. I was enjoying this. I started thinking that maybe, maybe, if I could make a really good descent, I’d make it by daylight. Me. Running 100K and coming home before sunset? That was just insane. Insane… enough to be worth trying.

I took off at the ridge junction and picked a good pace. My legs followed. That grin became a huge smile and I released what remaining brakes I had. What a feeling. Flying downwards in the lowering light after a full day of running. I felt good. I felt alive. And I felt free.

I passed the start/finish not wanting to stop, because I still had a 2-mile out-and-back to complete my 100. I made the race official chase me as I was taking off, slowing only to yell out my bib number. I was on flats now, but refused to slow down. I ran the whole stretch, furiously chasing the underwear mannequin with a mariachi hat that served as the 100K marker. I finally saw her, slapped her on the butt and turned away.

The last possible rays of light were still clinging to the sky as I was frantically trying to reach that line for one last time. It was getting dark, only the sky remained a shade of blue.

“Flint! FLINT!!!!!!”

I couldn’t believe it. There, in the field, was Maria. She had taken off from the aid station and was chasing me. She was bringing me home. I couldn’t say a word, I just grabbed her hand and kept running. We closed in. She probably woke up the whole encampment with an Apache war cry as I made it to the finish line, screaming “Does this count as Make it by Daylight?”




 
 
 


At the microphone, Luis Escobar welcomed me in. “Francois Bourdeau, you Were Born to Run”.






May 15, 2012

Review : Nathan HPL #020 Hydration Vest





  • Gear type : Hydration
  • Use : Endurance running
  • Price : 120$





Introduction
Nathan’s line of hydration vests are a frequent sight in ultra running events. Their clever design, lightweight build and versatility have made many adepts over the years. All vests use the same bladder type and patented bite-valve that is highly functional and, an important matter for its durability, easy to clean and maintain.

The HPL#020 is Nathan’s original vest. Now with a broader offering of hydration solutions, it sits between the Minimist, an ultralight stripped-down model, and the Endurance, a full-featured vest with plenty of additional storage.

Field test
I have been using an Endurance model for a number of seasons now and I’m very pleased with it. This is a very well-conceived piece of equipment, obviously made by runners. No matter what size you are, it will adjust to your torso and sit lightly on your shoulders, won’t swing around and offer minimal slushing (the effect seems to be more obvious when the bladder is really full).

The HPL #020 is similar in almost every point to the Endurance, save for an extra couple shoulder strap pockets that count for an ounce of added overall weight and the positioning of the back storage compartment, that sits on top of the vest rather than at the bottom.

Like its bigger brother, the HPL #020 offers a rubbery gizmo that might not look like much at first, but that is very useful to stash a lightweight extra layer you were wearing in the morning (say, a vest). Just squeeze it in between the gizmo and the bag, pull the shock cord and you’re done. I have used it several times while running in the Copper Canyons, as can be seen in this video (at 1:05, 2:26, 2:48) and it never failed me. 




Another noteworthy test, although involuntary, is a pretty bad spill I took while running the trails above Creel one morning, crashing on rocks and rolling over. My vest, its bladder and even the tube came out of it unscathed, which for me speaks volumes about their toughness. The bladder itself is surprisingly sturdy; you can flip it inside out to dry and the material stays floppy like new.

Conclusion
The HPL #020 is a very good hydration vest. Personally, I have to say that I prefer the Endurance model because it has more front pockets, but I’m known as a runner who brings a lot of “stuff” on the trails. Like all the other models, the HPL #020 offers very good balance, sturdiness, breathable fabric and ease of maintenance. Nathan vests are widespread among ultra runners, both on trail and road.

High points
  • Lightweight and breathable material
  • Very adjustable
  • Front pockets on the shoulder straps
  • Extra storage in the back compartment + shock cord
  • Sturdy bladder system
  • Easy cleaning and maintenance

Low points
  • Not as many front compartments
  • Higher back pocket raises the center of gravity
  • Kinda sits in-between the Minimist and Endurance


The equipment for this personal review was supplied by Nathan Performance Gear, free of charge, without any conditions.