Expedition Canada World Championships in Adventure Racing 2025 - The full circle

Written by Ashild Krige

Those who know me know I’m not much of a social media person, and sharing from my personal life is not something I generally engage in. But after a little encouragement, I decided to write this, not as a race report, but as a reminder. A reminder to myself, and to anyone who might need it, of what the body and mind are capable of when you stay positive, believe in yourself, surround yourself with good people, and allow yourself to ask for and accept a little help.

 The big crash off the not-so-big drop

Today marks a year since I had my not-so-graceful tumble off my mountain bike, an accident that left me with a broken back and both hamstrings torn completely off the bone. It took weeks just to find a surgeon willing to reattach my muscles, and only after I could demonstrate a plan for how I’d manage the first six weeks at home. Apparently, bilateral hamstring repairs are so rare that no one quite knew what to do with me, especially when I wasn’t allowed to fully weight bear or bend at the hips for six weeks after surgery, as this would rupture the repairs!

I treated it like an enthralling challenge. My occupational therapy skills suddenly became my survival kit, and I got to use every trick, tool, and creative workaround on myself! And in the process, I realised how incredibly lucky I was to be surrounded by people who showed up, cooking meals, cleaning, helping me problem-solve, cheering me on, and most importantly, making me laugh.

Recovery was slow and far harder than I ever imagined. For months, my world revolved around careful movements, daily rehab, and the quiet fear of where this accident would leave me. Getting back to racing was completely off the radar, yet in many ways, my recovery became its own endurance race.

Then in February, a message popped up from my friend Kim in Noosa: an invitation to join the Mountain Designs Wild Women team for Expedition Canada and this year’s Adventure Racing World Championships, a 10-day, non-stop race through the remote Canadian wilderness, combining trekking, paddling, rafting, mountain biking, navigation, and strategy, through day and night. The kind of event that tests every limit.

The idea felt equal parts exciting and absurd, but it instantly lit a spark. Of course I would go!! Joining Kim, Del, and Alina, with more than 60 years of adventure racing experience between them, I knew I’d be in good hands, even though I’d only raced 24-hour events before. It became the perfect carrot and a reason to keep pushing forward.

Looking back, I was probably a little naïve thinking I could pull this off so soon after such a major injury. But sometimes optimism and stubborn determination are the only training tools you need. Ten months after surgery, I found myself standing at the start line surrounded by stunning Canadian mountains, my heart racing with excitement and disbelief. In the lead-up to the race, my legs and back had felt uneasy, and I was getting worried I’d let my team down if I couldn’t hold up. But deep down, I knew I’d be okay. On the eve of the race, after a seven-hour ride in a rattling old yellow school bus to the small town where the race would start the next day, I crawled into the race tent expecting a restless night. Instead, I slept better than I had in weeks and woke up pain-free, ecstatic, and ready to go. It was as if my body decided to reward all the work I had put in, giving me a break from the stiffness, tightness and nervy aches, right when it mattered most.

Eight days and six hours later, my Garmin watch would tell the story: 936 kilometres, 18,500 metres of elevation, and just about 15 hours of sleep. My legs carried me over mountain ranges, through dense forest, and into the deep fatigue only people crazy enough to take on these adventures will understand. And the best part? During the race, my legs felt better than they had all year!

 

The Cold Reality of Being a Norwegian in Canada

Ironically, my biggest challenge wasn’t my legs, the distance or the sleep deprivation; it was the cold. Sixteen months of cold morning showers had me convinced I’d made peace with managing low temperatures. Turns out, I hadn’t. I grew up in Norway, where we proudly claim, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.” But that saying doesn’t quite hold up when you’re soaked, the temperature drops below zero, you’re wearing and carrying limited gear, and you’re about to crawl into a damp aluminum foil sleeping bag for a “nap.”

Meanwhile, my teammate Alina, seemingly immune to the cold, cheerfully rode off in bike shorts and short sleeves at 7 a.m. in 2 degrees, shouting, “We’ll be fine! We’ll warm up eventually!” I tried to channel her optimism, but I was still finding myself sprinting up hills ahead of the others to adjust layers, forever chasing the sweet spot between “slightly sweaty” and “mild hypothermia.” By the end of the race, though, I’d stopped fearing the cold. It didn’t stop being cold; I just stopped giving it power.

 

Packing the Pack

Keeping my pack as light as possible was a constant struggle. My inner voice kept insisting I needed to pack just one more layer of warm clothes, just in case…

But as the days passed, I realised my legs were more than up for the challenge of a heavier pack. Lacking the navigation experience of my teammates, I found my place in the team as the pack horse, carrying extra loads, towing teammates up hills, keeping the pace, and doing whatever was needed to keep us moving.

Then came the pack raft sections… between us carrying the two rafts, paddles, dry suits, wet clothes, shoes, PFDs, and all the mandatory gear for hours of biking and trekking. The weight dug into my shoulders and patience, but like everything in this race, the body and mind adapted. Soon, I barely noticed the load at all!

That’s one of the most beautiful lessons of this sport: what feels unbearable at first eventually becomes normal, even comfortable, if you stay positive and just keep moving forward.

 

When Sleep Becomes Optional

As the days progressed and we pushed through stage after stage with little sleep, the absurdity of multi-day racing became beautifully clear. You just keep pushing through, and sleep becomes optional. You also learn to sleep anywhere: on gravel, on rock, in tunnels, in your bike box, spooned up with teammates on a wooden floor in sub-zero temperatures, half-sitting upright in a dripping cave, even while kayaking or walking! You learn to value ten- or twenty-minute naps like golden tickets, especially when you can time them at sunrise and convince your brain you’ve had a full night’s rest.

And yes, the hallucinations are real. They call them “sleep monsters,” and I met a few: faces in tree trunks, phantom cyclists in the mist, mysterious obstacles in the water, and the constant search for a “fourth teammate,” as you forget to count yourself as one when you hit a certain stage of sleep deprivation.

 

The Power of the Team

The most inspiring part of the race was my team. Del, with her endless energy, kept us awake with stories, songs, humour and step-counting at any point in the day and night. Kim and Alina navigated with calm confidence through dense forests, impenetrable creek lines, foggy peaks and exhaustion. I learned to fully trust their experience and advice during moments when the conditions felt overwhelming or unsafe, and it reminded me that trust and teamwork are far more powerful than sheer individual strength.

 

Crossing the Finish Line

Crossing the finish line was a blur of relief, disbelief, and pure joy. In that moment, every ache, blister, sleepless night, shiver, and kilometre simply melted away. For me, finishing wasn’t about a result, it was proof of what happens when you stay curious, stubborn, grateful, and just keep moving forward even when every part of you is begging to stop.

Adventure racing strips life down to its essentials: eat, move, sleep (occasionally), and look after each other.

It teaches you to celebrate the smallest victories: finding a checkpoint in a maze of wilderness, a teammate’s gentle encouragement, a shared laugh, twenty minutes of sleep under a tree, or the first hint of sunrise after a long, dark night.

And the greatest lesson?
Comfort is overrated.
Teamwork is everything.
The human spirit is stronger than we ever give it credit for.

A year ago, I was learning to move my legs again. I was relearning how to sit, dress, climb stairs, use the toilet and trust my body. The idea of racing, let alone a world championship, felt impossible. But recovery taught me something that racing later confirmed: strength isn’t just physical. It’s belief. It’s positivity. It’s stubbornness with a sprinkle of naivety. It’s lowering your guard and learning to ask for help, and letting people stand beside you.

Expedition Canada wasn’t just a race. It was the full-circle moment I didn’t know I needed. Proof that the accident didn’t define me, the recovery did.

And if there’s one thing I hope someone takes from this, it’s this:

You are stronger than you think.
Your body can surprise you.
Your mind can save you.
And when you surround yourself with good people, remain positive, believe in yourself, and refuse to give up, even the wildest goals can be achieved.

 

Here is a short video produced by Ashild's daughter Tess, after Ash returned home to Australia! Many of the video and photos were taken by Ash during the event! What a proud daughter she must be!

Video Credit - Ashild Krige & Andrea Barrett 

Photo Credit - Ashild Krige, Jan Leverton, Andrea Barrett, Expedition Canada ARWS Media Team