What an ultramarathon taught me about strength, fear and showing up in the mountains
Before sunrise
The hairs rise on my arms and the butterflies in my stomach flutter vigorously as I step out of the car into the fresh July mountain air.
I exhale deeply and load my Strava. It’s 5 a.m. and my eyes are heavy. I don’t sympathize with my taxi driver; they’ll be back in the comfort of a toasty bed in 45 minutes.
I don my favourite running vest. It holds all my essentials: electrolytes, gels, candy, water and plasters. To help me with the climbing, I also have my lightweight trekking poles. They’ll aid me on the sections of elevation I’m nervous to encounter.
And so, with 44 kilometres ahead of my trembling legs, I pray the bears are still slumbering and begin jogging.
The Skyline Trail is typically a three-day backcountry alpine adventure and a Canadian Rockies must-do for backpackers. Nearly 25 kilometres of the trail is above treeline, offering panoramic views and sweeping alpine meadows between Maligne Lake and Signal Mountain. The route involves roughly 1,650 metres of elevation gain — ideally before the heat of the day sets in.
The first few steps feel tentative as my body settles into the run. I leap over tangled tree roots and mounds of mud.
Goodbye to my semi-clean Hokas.
As always, I begin a long-distance run with apprehension. I know how quickly a small niggle can become a problem, and the first hint of a stitch is enough to fill my head with negativity and nerves.
I clock 15 kilometres through the woodland, pausing my music so I don’t disturb people as I approach the campsites and enter the subalpine. I bask in the dawn sunlight and smile at the patchwork of blossoming wildflowers.
I think about how lucky I am to be standing here.
The Notch
At 10 a.m., after covering the distance of a half-marathon, I reach the Curator Campground turnoff at the bottom of the Notch.
At 2,510 metres, it’s the highest point of the trail. It’s not quite a mountain, but it feels like my version of the Hillary Step as I clamber up the shale on shaky calves.
Before I start the climb, I top up my water from a babbling stream filtering through moss-covered rocks. After this, there will be nowhere to fill up for roughly 10 kilometres.
I jab my poles into the scree and push my weight onto them to climb the steep path. My pace slows dramatically. Running is no longer an option.
Breathlessly, I pant words of exhaustion to a group of hikers with heavy backpacks. They all agree in chorus.
Still, I feel happy with my speed as I leave them in the dust.
Sweat beads on my neck and the ends of my short bob become drenched as each step of the incline becomes more difficult.
Then the trail levels out.
The struggle dissolves into satisfaction as the Skyline reveals itself.
Layer upon layer of jagged ridgelines unfold in varying shades of blue. From here, I can see Mount Edith Cavell, the tallest peak visible from Jasper, and our beloved ski hill, Marmot Basin. The town of Jasper is far below.
Running on empty
Soon, the trail descends into a valley behind Tekarra Mountain, showcasing pools of shimmering turquoise and terracotta-coloured rocks.
As though I had stepped off a trampoline, my legs feel feather-light. Running suddenly becomes easy.
The path snakes down, away from the ridgeline and towards a ribbon of water known as Tekarra Creek. I hop, skip and gallop. My ankles continue to fold and recover as the uneven trail tests my focus.
At 30.5 kilometres, the sun blazes on my neck, turning it a shade of magenta. I stop to stretch my hamstrings and fill up my water.
I gulp a gloopy gel and attempt to enjoy the chocolate flavour.
It works.
The gel replenishes my mental focus and gives my muscles the fuel they need. For the next hour, running is enjoyable again.
Then the gradual climb back towards Signal Mountain begins.
My burning feet worsen and my mouth becomes drier despite constant sips of water. My smile fades and I sigh with tiredness.
But a rainbow of wildflowers dances around me.
I imagine they’re beautiful strangers cheering me on.
My grin creeps back as the vibrant colours remind me why I love this challenge. I feel a rush of empowerment as a woman taking on this adventure.
The mountains that surround my home seem to draw closer.
There is something wonderful about entering town territory and seeing the peaks you recognize every day.
What’s less wonderful is that I’ve just lost 600 metres of elevation and now have to gain roughly 200 back.
The long way home
The final stretch becomes an endless, dizzying tunnel.
Multiple times I think I’m “almost there.”
The ground feels like it’s moving beneath me, so I carefully focus on my pole placement and on simply keeping upright. Then, through a thin opening in the trees, I spy a distant sign I recognize as the Signal Fireroad.
Soon, sickness consumes me.
I experience drowsiness and shaking as the temperature begins to take its toll. I position myself in the only patch of shade, take deep breaths and eat salty nuts.
Eventually, I feel slightly rejuvenated and confident enough to continue.
The heat is unforgiving on an exposed trail, and I’m reminded that the mountains demand respect no matter how prepared I think I am.
Due to the 2024 Jasper wildfire, the Signal Fireroad is now a sea of charcoal logs and long, waving grass.
My heart aches when I run this section. Memories of the devastation flood my mind.
Despite this, I feel blessed to see the area slowly recovering. I look past the black spires towards the community I love dearly.
Plodding on, my pace slows. I can only muster about seven minutes per kilometre. Beads of sweat drip into my eyes and I lick my salty lips.
Waves of warmth ricochet off the gravel. Crickets chirp words of encouragement.
But the winding road seems to go on forever, and it’s hard to believe I’m making any progress at all.
Soon the sickness takes over again. I pray the end is near.
Then, one final turn. The sight of a shiny car boosts my depleting energy and I accelerate with a final surge of optimism. I’ve done it.
Showing up
I collapse onto a rock and muster a smile.
The Skyline Trail provides breathtaking views, showcases determination and proves how much you are capable of.
At this moment, my capacity to shuffle to the car is about all I can muster. But once I’ve soaked in a hot tub and enjoyed a burger, I know I’ll look back on the adventure with appreciation for the environment around me.
Getting out on the trails isn’t about being fast or having the best gear.
It’s about showing up in nature.
Sometimes, the hardest part is taking the first step.
Georgia McCartney // info@thejasperlocal.com
