The Gunner Show

By John Edwards, January, 1992

Under this blanket I have the shakes, a headache, and a death-grip on a cup of extremely thick hot chocolate. There will be appalling language and fighting if anybody tries to steal it.

It's been a bizarre, not to mention terrifying, morning. Why is it that the most innocent of pursuits, entering the Gunner Shaw Cross Country Race for instance, results in scenes which could strain the credulity of a Monty Python or the body of an Arnold Schwarzenegger?

This morning I drove along sodden roads to Thetis Lake Park, a sylvan wilderness held hostage within Victoria's city limits. Thirty years ago, I'd spent a lot of summer afternoons at Thetis, swimming after salamanders and gazing at girls who listened meltingly, to Roy Orbison on KJR. Bikinis, Suntan oil. The Brooklyn Dodgers.

Anyways, after parking both the flashbacks AND the car, I went to register. Admittedly, the rain was torrential. Under a labouring umbrella stood a man dressed in hipwaders and souwester hat. I could tell he wasn't hunting ducks because he didn't have his shotgun.

"I'd like to jog the course first, is there a map?"

The official took awhile to answer this question because he was choking with laughter. A lot of people I've had to deal with lately seem to have this problem.

"Not... unless... you can... swim," he gasped. "I'd say the course is about one third dry, more or less; one third wet; and one third UNDERWATER! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Obviously the fellow is an imbecile, I mutter, and tigerbalm both Achilles and then change from warm winter clothes into a cotton t-shirt and shorts. Ahead is ten kilometres of scrambling over rough terrain in a November flood which would have made Noah check his policy with Lloyd's of London before reaching for his survival suit and flares. The other running junkies are doing the same. Checking their life insurance, I mean. Then we all stretch out and try to ignore the torrents collapsing around us out of the eye-level clouds.

At the start line, the familiar faces grin bravely. There is a moment of silence when the race director, who is wearing a Brian Mulrooney mask (or perhaps isn't), raises a machine pistol instead of a starter's gun and remarks that he can't guarantee the safety of any man or woman under five foot six inches tall because... but a thunderclap drowns (literally) his words and you put it all down, wrongly, to pre-race humour.

He aims the machine gun into a sheet of rain and says in a Double Exposure voice, "Ah yes, this is just the way Gunner liked it! RATATATATATAT."

After the usual frantic start, we settle in and run over a series of short, nasty hills. Adrenaline. Lactic acid. Sore legs, etc. etc.

But then the Gunner Shaw began to rise, if that's the word, above ordinary races, just like the man for whom it's named did over his peers. Without warning, except for a piece of surveyor's tape that hangs dolefully in the rain under a dripping oak (quercus lacrimatus, perhaps), the racers charge into a succession of huge puddles broken by islands of slippery mud. I feel like Bogie in The African Queen. All it needs is a couple of crocodiles. But this is no place for finesse. With a scream someone goes flying past, windmilling his arms, then wipes out, as my son would say, totally, into the brown water. We never see him again.

At about the 4K, it's hard to know for sure, the line of wet, filthy, groaning lunatics reaches a wall of near vertical rocky bluffs, greasy with rain and soaking moss. There is an element of danger. The field bunches as people climb. A marshal, belayed to a tree, watches in satisfaction as we totter past.

The survivors descend the line of flags then sprint along a stream bed, up to our knees in freezing, brown water. Ominous howls echo through the forest. Now what? The stream veers to the right and now Brian Mulroney's missing clause is revealed.

Rob Reid leads Andy Mehl into the Gunner Shaw "puddle" in 1990

Before me is not a puddle, not even a pond. It is the deepest, dirtiest, and certainly the coldest water hazard I've even seen. Again, the pack bunches, like a flock of nervous penguins afraid to leave the (comparative) warmth of their cracking ice flow for the uncertain perils of the rolling Antarctic Sea.

Luckily, I'm over 5'6". For the next forty yards, I put my arms up into the rain and try not to get swept away by the current. The water reaches my chin. Others try to swim. The thought of putting my face into the turbid Stygian stream is utterly revolting.

Years later, after a lot more of this, we approach the finish. The officials could have moved it above the level of the floods, but no, you guessed it, that wasn't the way Gunner liked it. I finish the last 100 metres amphibiously, up to my waist in Thetis Lake. My legs have lost all feeling and I'm shivering uncontrollably. Completely spent.

The duckhunter strolls up. He drops a blanket over my shoulders and gestures to a tent where a gurgling vat of thick hot chocolate is surrounded by other pathetic specimens of human flotsam.

"This your first Gunner Shaw?" he asks. "A little damp, but you should have seen the course last year; the water hazard froze over and some people fell through the ice." His eyes glaze over in happiness at the memory.

With a shriek, I get away from this terrible man. No doubt fired from his job as an instructor in the Saddam Hussein School of Cross Country Running for using excessive cruelty. I line up for the life-giving chocolate which I'm suddenly convinced is the only thing that matters in this grotesque sport, if not in the whole world.

So now I'm quaking under a blanket trying desperately not to spill the heavenly stuff. The hot chocolate has somehow assumed epic importance. I bend my face over the cup and take the first sip. AAAAH! It's mine! All mine! And it's soooo good!

This, I realize with sudden insight, is EXACTLY HOW GUNNER LIKED IT.

John Edwards,
Gunner Shaw Participant

Race Direstor's Response……
February 5, 1992

To: Mr. John Edwards

Dear John:

I was delighted to read your Gunner Shaw article in the last edition of the Island Runner; I enjoyed every word of it particularly the "bizarre terrifying morning when you ventured out to the sodden roads of Thetis Lake Park". I run those sodden trails every weekend and logged many miles with Gunner Shaw and Alex Marshall in the park before Gunner died.

I am from the same era as you and also remember KJR, Roy Orbison, bikinis and the Brooklyn Dodgers. What about the '57 Chevs, Buddy Holly, pointed black bankers, duck tails and hula hoops?

The duck hunter dressed in hipwaders that you described was Alex Marshall, Gun's best running friend, and between the two of them and Robin Pearson they formed the Prairie Inn Harriers Running Club in 1978. Alex and I designed the course in memory of Gunner and feel it is one of the most classic cross country events in North America and maybe the universe. It is not a run for the meek and mild and, yes, this is the way Gunner would have liked it! As far as the race went, you can count your blessings that you ran it in 1990 or the "Year of the Rain" as every year has unfolded a different experience for those involved.

In 1985, it was the "Year of the the Snow" and 75 hardy souls showed up for the inaugural run in two feet of fresh snow. Course blazers were picking up their dogs and throwing them ahead to break the ice on puddles. Jack Farrell, Dan Harlow, Doug Gregory, Alex Marshall and myself went out to Thetis the day before to mark the course by forging a trail through the white stuff for others to follow the next day. Jack was so adamant about winning the masters division of the race that he frequently ran off course then ran out backwards to keep the footprints going in the same direction in a deliberate attempt to lure the older runners the wrong way. And yes, Jack did win his division that year!

The "Year of the Frost" occurred in 1986 when Mike Creery slipped off the bridge into the freezing cold lake and in doing so snapped the elastic in his shorts. By the time he scrambled up the muddy bank thick with bramble bushes and shorts around his ankles, he had dropped from 4th position overall to 20th. It was quite a chore for Mike to complete the last 4 miles while trying to hold his shorts up. Chad dePol fell while entering the puddle at the half way mark and, after finishing the race in 5th position, had to be rushed to the hospital for 26 stitches to close a large gash on his knee. Gunner would have been proud of Chad's courage.

In 1987, it was the "Year of the Dry Spell" where Dave Campbell set a course record of 28:59 which may never be broken. Alex and I were disgusted that there was very little water to add to the runners' enjoyment as most competitors were able to skirt around the edge of the big puddle and not even get their socks muddy. We considered contacting the fire department to fill the puddle the day before the race. Fortunately, rain has helped us and every other year except 1987 we are able to offer a wet challenge to everyone.

Last year was the "Year of the Lost Runners" where a few people were looking down at their feet instead of up at the flagging marking the course. Tom Johnston left the course in 3rd place with less than one minute to the finish line. He mistakenly climbed the Cairn, the highest viewpoint in Thetis Lake Park, only to see a stream of slower runners finishing on a lower trail. By the time he got back down the hill, Tom had to settle for 30th place. Janis Shishido was picked up crying on the Trans Canada Highway heading for Woolco. An hour later Bryan and Norma Scharbach rescued Janis and drove her back to the finish line for hot chocolate.

There are many more stories about the Gunner Shaw Cross Country Race as there are many more stories about Gunner himself. I consider myself extremely lucky to have been his friend and run so many miles with a true legend. Andre Gerard once wrote an article about Gun in Monday Magazine describing the man as a legend. I still have a copy; you are welcome to read it some day.

Over 2,000 runners have now completed the Gunner Shaw race and all run it for an experience rather than a fast time. There is a parallel race in Vancouver at Jerico Beach but their course is timid compared to ours. Through Alex, myself and the Prairie Inn Harriers efforts we have established an athletic bursary at the University of Victoria in memory of Gun. To date we have raised $10,000 towards this bursary and an additional $10,000 to the John Thipthorpe Scholarship, another one of Gunner's running friends who was killed in a separate car accident in 1986. The races in Victoria and Vancouver serve as the official interclub challenge between the Prairie Inn and the Lions Gate Road Runners. The Harriers have won every year for seven consecutive years. Gunner would have been proud of the club he founded.

The Gunner Shaw race is indeed a Fall classic which every runner should attempt at least once in their lifetime just as you did. We have other entrants that only run this race annually; they love it. You can thank another of Gun's friends, Ken Smythe, for the hot chocolate. He donates his food and time generously every year to support the event. Keep up the good work with your running and writing and once in a while venture off the roads and into the trails to let your mind wander. When approach an obstacle, puddle, large hill or keep mud think of our friend's passion for running and reassure yourself that everything is O.K. because "That is the way Gunner would have liked it"!

Yours truly,

Bob Reid, Race Director
Gunner Shaw XC Classic