Chuckanut 50K (take three!)

I’ve been writing here on Substack long enough that this is the third time I’m writing about the Chuckanut 50K. I ran the race for the first time in 2024 and placed second with a time of 4:14:58. In 2025 I ran it in 4:22:41 and won during a very cold, very muddy year. I won’t make you read until the end to find out what happened this year: I placed second in 4:22:37—a mere four seconds faster than last year.

While conditions weren’t as heinous as last year, Bellingham (and where we live in BC) experienced five straight days of rain directly preceding the race. For the first time in the race’s history, Race Director Krissy Moehl required all runners to carry a rain jacket, gloves and a beanie. Friday’s race updates had also included the potential for no crew access due to the landslides that had occurred on the I-5 and Chuckanut Drive the day before.

On Thursday I spoke with my coach, Megan, and we concluded that given the conditions, the course record wasn’t likely (it’s another matter entirely that the course has not been the same each year.) It would be an adventure run and I was ready to give it my all.

We live almost exactly one hour’s driving time to Fairhaven Park, the start of the Chuckanut 50K. On race morning, Nick and I woke up at 4:30 to feed the animals, stretch, and make our usual matcha lattes. We crossed the border at 6 am and were already in Fairhaven by 6:30 am. With an 8 am start, we had a lot of extra time so I suggested we park at Marine Park and I’d get ready there.

A few minutes later, we heard a train. It then proceeded to slow down and come to a halt, blocking the road out.

It was fine, it would get going again soon, I thought.

But thirty minutes later it still hadn’t moved and I needed to get to the start of the race. Nick had brought a bike in case Chuckanut Drive was closed since this would still allow him access to the first aid station. I needed to run a warm-up anyway, so we followed the train tracks to the end of the stationary train and made our way toward the start.

Warm-ups aren’t a reliable indicator of one’s fitness, but I didn’t feel quite like myself. Was it last week’s cold lingering? Maybe. But I knew my fitness was there and I had trained on the course. I was ready, right?

As always, the race started fast. I found myself in a pack of women, but as the miles clicked by we began to separate. A woman I didn’t know had surged ahead, and a little ways behind her, Sarah Biehl was pushing hard. I was roughly twenty second back, in third—a near replica of last year’s early positioning. But my heart rate was higher. Much higher than usual at that pace.

I felt like I was working harder than I should have. That’s relative, of course—all races are hard, no matter one’s fitness. But this was my third time running Chuckanut and I had done numerous workouts on the course. I know what 6:30 min/mile pace feels like in my body and this wasn’t it.

At the first aid station, I caught sight of Nick and grabbed two bottles and a few gels. Then it was up to the first climb of the race, Fragrance Lake Trail.

From the start, I just didn’t feel like myself. I can usually count on climbing as a strength but running uphill just felt like a slog. In past years I made up ground on other runners; this year, I was being passed by a few men. Was I not eating enough? I took a gel and a few sips of sports drink, mentally calculating what I’d eaten. I was fine there—fueling was to plan and I was drinking enough. But why was I sleepy? I had slept eight hours the night before, along with the preceding nights.

I hit the top of Cleator Road in the slowest time of the last three years which was surprising given what I ran it in during a workout several weeks before. I let it go. This was the present, and this was what was happening, and I needed to be here in this moment.

As I hit the Ridge trail, I found myself ruminating on what was going on. That manifested in anxiety around how I would finish, if things would improve or worsen and where I might end up placement-wise.

But every time a thought surfaced, I felt myself sit back. Then I let it go. A wise voice told me that latching on was unhelpful and, in fact, would slow me down. It would convince my brain that I couldn’t possibly finish the race; that I needed to slow down because I still had fifteen miles left! I let the doubt exist, but I didn’t listen to it.

Part way through the Ridge, Andrea Lee passed me. I was now in third. My brain wanted to latch onto this placement, but I didn’t let it. I was running my own race and the best way to succeed was to focus on what I could control. In that moment, it meant navigating the technical sections of the Ridge as quickly and gracefully as I could.

As I dropped off of the Ridge and onto North Lost Lake trail, the trail got wet. Temperatures weren’t as cold as last year, but I was concerned when I felt a few drops of rain. The sky was moody, darker on the backside of the Chuckanuts. As I hit mile eighteen it started hailing.

Uh oh, my brain told me. This could get as bad as last year. What if it starts snowing as you go up Chinscraper? What if you have to drop out because of hypothermia? Last year’s conditions had been brutal, forcing many runners to drop from the race.

I couldn’t control the weather, but I could take action. Before things got worse, I pulled my rain jacket from my belt and put it on. My hands were too cold to do up the zipper so it flapped open like a cape, but at least I was partially protected.

As I rounded the corner onto South Lost Lake Trail, I saw a woman ahead of me—the initial lead woman, Rosa. She was walking up the hill, struggling with what she later explained was a pulled hamstring. We exchanged a few words as I passed her and then I was somehow back in second.

The trail was slick here, as I expected it to be, and I found myself getting chilled as I navigated my way down. Shortly before I hit aid station 5, I saw Nick. He had managed to get to several spectator spots with Cashew which buoyed my spirits. I was miserable, but I could also appreciate how special it was that he had worked to get around the course to spectate and cheer me on.

Surprisingly, the final climb up Chinscraper was in decent shape compared to last year. I focused on moving as quickly as could, hoping to also generate some heat.

The doubts were still there as I topped out of Chinscraper and descended down Cleator Road, then Fragrance Lake Trail. My heart rate was still oddly high given my pace, but I felt in control of my reactions to my thoughts.

As I popped out onto the Interurban and hit the final aid station, not even stopping as I grabbed another bottle from Nick, I was momentarily overwhelmed. There were still nearly six miles of the race left and if I slowed down, it was likely whoever was behind me would catch up.

Then I remember the talk I had with Scott prior to the race. Rather than think about all I had left, I focused on the moment I was in right now. All I had to do was get to that next tree; the next road crossing; the final hill. I tuned out the biker behind me who I knew was filming me for the livestream and pretended I was on a training run, just like all of the others I had done here before.

I was pushing to my limit, my heart rate still high, but I was thrilled to still be giving it my all. I crossed the finish in 4:22:36, in second place behind winner Andrea Lee and only seconds faster than last year’s time in arguably worse conditions.

So what gives?

I think it’s likely I was carrying the prior week’s virus in my system. I was sick off and on ten days out from the race and while my symptoms were never severe (sore throat, sneezing and coughing) I was deeply fatigued which isn’t something I normally deal with. Megan and I think I may still have been carrying the virus and it was responsible for my abnormally high heart rate response.

Chuckanut 50K has become especially meaningful for me because of the people at the finish. Nick was there to greet me with Cashew, and my dad and his wife, Joanne, drove down from Vancouver to watch me come in as well. Our close friend Josh walked over from his home across the street and Steve warmly congratulated me with a hug. There were so many people in the race that I knew, too, including all so many strong Canadian athletes that train in the North Shore.

On paper, this wasn’t my strongest time at Chuckanut. But it is the one I feel the most pride in. It wasn’t a great day for me, but I did everything in my power to stay positive, re-frame, bring myself back to the present, and stay in it until the end. I feel satisfied with what I made of the race.

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