What Happened at Tsuut’ina
The Tsuut’ina Trail Race started as a simple fundraiser. But what happened on the course is revealing new paths to truth and reconciliation
The Tsuut’ina Trail Race was the first trail race organized by a First Nation and held on Indigenous land. It was conceived as a fundraiser for community trails and to give First Nations safe places for outdoor activities. There could have been a diplomatic incident that day in October 2020, but instead, what happened became a symbol of the depth of goodwill that exists among runners.
“Sure is a nice day for a run.” At the opening for the first-ever Tsuut’ina Trail Race, spiritual leader Gerald Neguinis starts his blessing with this casual understatement. I’m standing among the other runners, all carefully distanced, listening to the elder and to the drummers that follow.
The Tsuut’ina Nation sits on Calgary’s southwestern edge, and in early October, the fall weather can be glorious. Today, our luck holds as we bask in the sunshine. The land around us glows with the colours of fall leaves and golden grasslands.
I feel some anticipation among the runners, but it’s not like other races. There’s something different in the air here. Chatting with another runner while we wait for our wave, I realize this may be the first trail running event in Canada organized by, and held on, a First Nation. (Race director Patrick Gladue, who is also the fitness manager for Tsuut’ina Nation, is not aware of any others.)
Ithe Trail Race started out just like so many other foot races in 2020. After the pandemic struck, almost all in-person races in Canada were postponed or cancelled. That’s what happened to a road relay race that Patrick Gladue was organizing for the Tsuut’ina Nation. Gladue says, “covid – that kind of took the wind out of our sails.”
Over the summer, Alberta’s public health guidelines continued to evolve, and soon, Gladue and his race committee had a new idea. Why not hold a 15-kilometre trail race on a course across the Tsuut’ina Nation? By limiting registration and starting the race in waves, they felt confident they could do it safely and within the guidelines. After devising a plan, they consulted with the Tsuut’ina Chief, the council and the Tsuut’ina Nation’s health officials, and got the go-ahead.
The organizers’ secret weapon is an enormous gravel parking lot behind the Nation’s newly built 7 Chiefs Sportsplex. Gladue had it graded just before the event, and his team created an elaborate queueing system marked with police tape.
It also raises funds for an important cause. Gladue is from Bigstone Cree Nation in northeastern Alberta, and he’s had a long career as a triathlete and race director for events such as the Woody’s Triathlon in Red Deer. Gladue got the idea for his first fundraising race while working as a fitness and wellness manager at Bigstone. He says, “I
was training for an Ironman at the time, and I was running all over the place dodging trucks and cars, especially in the winter, and dodging animals, because it’s the reserve.” He witnessed what he believes are common challenges for people living on First Nations: increasing rates of health issues, like Type 2 diabetes, obesity and heart disease, but a distinct lack of safe places for simple outdoor activities, like walking or running, which would help fight these ailments.
So, in 2000, he organized a 125-kilometre road relay race from the village of WabascaDesmarais to Slave Lake, Alta., that raised more than $13,000 for community walking trails. When Gladue joined Tsuut’ ina’s 7 Chiefs Sportsplex as fitness manager, he offered to organize a similar event to start a trail network at Tsuut’ina. When covid- 19 struck, the event became, more fittingly, a trail race.
When I arrive on the morning of the race, the parking lot feels like the departures area at an airport. Volunteers from the Nation, masked and armed with hand sanitizer, stand at checkpoints for race check-in, bib and timing-chip pickup and race photos. Unlike at airport security, they greet each of the 182 competitors with a big smile and a proud welcome to the Tsuut’ina Nation. We’re guided to the largest starting corral I’ve ever seen. Distancing is not a problem.
As the opening ceremony concludes, I talk to a few other runners who, like me, are weary of virtual races and online challenges. They’ve come to participate in something that feels a little more normal – despite the distancing, the masks and the sanitizer.
But they’re also curious about running on the Tsuut’ina Nation. In Canada, visitors are not allowed on First Nations without a formal invitation, and to do otherwise is considered trespassing. For members of Calgary’s avid trail-running community, the Trail Race is their first opportunity to explore the scenic woods and meadows that make up much of the Nation.
For Calgary marathoner Simon Ong, it’s his first time running on a First Nation. “In Canada, we really want to promote multiculturalism, and we want to learn about Indigenous people,” he says, “so when they open up their reserve, it’s an opportunity to not only run on their land, but to learn from them.”
Indigenous athletes have also come from across Alberta to race. As I head back to my truck to wait for the start of my wave, I meet elite powwow dancers Leah and Laureen Omeasoo from Maskwacis, Alta. The sisters tell me they use running to train for competition on the international powwow circuit. Tsuut’ina will be their first foot race.
Later, I talk with Chief Lee Crowchild. A former Ironman triathlete, he explains that long-distance running was once common among Indigenous people on the Prairies. He says, “It goes back to the way we were before. We used to have messengers, or what we called ‘tobacco runners,’ carrying messages back and forth between nations.” He believes that with the right support, running could become important among Indigenous people again.
An hour later, people gather at the f inish line to wait for the favourite, Rilee Manybears. Manybears is from the Siksika Nation west of Calgar y, and his list of r unning accomplishments is impressive. Among other things, he won gold medals running in the 201 4 North American Indigenous Games (3,000m) and at the 2015 World Indigenous Games (8k). When I tell Chief Crowchild about Manybears, he says respectfully, “Those Blackfoot can run prett y good.”
I wait at the finish line, camera in hand, but Manybears doesn’t come in. No one comes in. That’s when Gladue announces there’s been an incident on the course.
I wait at the finish line, camera in hand, but Manybears doesn’t come in. No one comes in. That’s when Gladue announces there’s been an incident on the course