Black Canyon Trail 100K

Ready for the inaugural Black Canyon Trail 100K, I pulled into the parking lot at 5 minutes to 5:00 and it was desolate.  The shuttle was supposed to start loading in 5 minutes and there was not a car in sight.  What the...

Finally, I saw another car driving around and we pulled up next to each other. The runner in the other car nicely reminded me that the shuttle was to start loading at 5:30, not 5:00. I pulled out my phone, checked the email, and sure enough, he was right. I could have gotten an extra half hour of sleep!  Oh well, better to be a half hour early, rather than a half hour late.

As I sat in the car, watching other runners arrive, my pre-race breakfast consisted of a piece of cake, 3 chocolate silks, a can of club soda and a whole bunch of honey wheat pretzels.  No Wheaties – maybe that’s why I’m not a champion.  Finally, the shuttle bus showed up and we all piled in.  Katrin and Rachael and I said a quick hello as they boarded the bus and soon we were off towards the starting line.  I had met Katrin while running both Silver Rush’s and we wound up finishing within minutes of each other both times.  She introduced me to Rachael, as the three of us were going to car pool together before they announced the shuttle option.

It was a bit disconcerting that the bus driver asked one of the runners to look up directions on their phone. Additionally, she drove in the right lane on I-17, staying behind all the trucks, slowly grinding up the hills.  The important part was that we got there safely.  But by the time we pulled into the high school parking lot, we only had 15 minutes before the start; a bit tight to pick up bibs, drop bags, and do a final potty stop.  Due to the long lines, the grass beneath the bleachers got some extra "irrigation". 

And then we were off!

Once around the track, out through the parking lot, and on down the side streets towards the trail. An 8:37 mile!  If we kept this up, we'd finish in 8 hours!  Yeah, right, even the winner wouldn’t be able to keep up that kind of a pace.  It was so nice and cool.  Though shivering before the start, I wished the temperature would remain that low.

Katrin, Rachael, and I ran side by side for the first few miles, chatting about races, past and future.  Rachael eventually dropped back, but I was too stupid to do so, even though I had promised myself that I would take this one nice and easy, ensuring that I would finish, as opposed to suffering through another DNF.  Leading up to the race, I had told myself clearly "do not try to keep up with Katrin!" My wife is right; I'm a lousy listener, even when it comes to listening to my own advice.

Running with someone and making small talk just makes the miles zip by. Before I knew it, I looked down at my watch announced to Katrin "hey, we've only got two marathons to go!" We laughed about how crazy that would sound to others, including most runners. I wound up staying on her heels for about the first 20 miles, before the little voice inside my head finally screamed loudly enough "slow down!"

The course was lovely; desert valleys with a variety of cacti vividly lit by the rising sun.  As noted in the pre-race emails, it was pretty clear that there would be no shade. The course wound its way generally southwards, but with lots of twists and turns, following all the drainages that fed the main canyon.  My favorite parts of the trail were the crossings of the Black Canyon Creek.  The water was a welcome relief, as was the visual break from the desert terrain above.

So what about the tendinitis that had me limping in pain after a 2 1/2 mile run the previous week? Well, after taking 9 days off of running, visits to the physical therapist, shaving my legs, and getting Kinesio taped up, this was going to be the test, and a pretty big one at that - 62 miles!

I was pleasantly surprised that I could feel no discomfort at all, at least not for the first 6 miles. Then I started feeling just the slightest twinge. It built up slowly, but never became outright painful.  I took a couple of Aleeve's, just in case, but they didn't seem to make a difference. By the time the mileage got up in to the 20's, I had to stop a couple of times to stretch the calf and the shin. At one point, I was laying on a rock by the side of the trail, with my leg bent completely under me. Two runners came up the trail with shocked looks on their faces, thinking that I must have fallen as I was crumpled up into a pretzel.

Upon explaining my situation, I got up and continued running, with no real improvement in the tendon.  Fears of another DNF started to cloud my mind.  I could power through pain (which I wasn't quite feeling yet), but I didn't want to cause serious damage to the tendon, requiring a lengthy recovery.  By the time I hit the marathon mark, the shin actually started to loosen up, or was it just my imagination? Nope, it was genuinely feeling better!  Within the next few miles, it got considerably better - not quite 100%, but maybe 90%. I could definitely deal with that.  A few more miles and the left shin felt just as good as the right one! I found a new cure for tendinitis - just power through beyond a marathon, and the body either heals itself, or at least gives up on the complaining.

From miles 20 through 30, I ran a bit with a guy named Dave, a teacher from Phoenix. But I ran most of it on my own, as the morning was wearing on and the temperature rising.  The forecast was for a high in the upper 80's – a full 10 degrees hotter than when I fell apart at the Coldwater Rumble just 3 weeks earlier.  Unlike the tendinitis issue, I had some control over the effects of the heat, so I couldn’t afford to let that be an excuse again.  I tried my best to keep hydrated and not push the pace too much; there were no visions of a podium finish this time.  I also tried a different approach.  For the past couple of years, I’ve been racing shirtless.  Not to show off my non-existent upper body.  Just because it’s light and free, and I don’t have to worry about nipple rub.  This day, I experimented with wearing a loose-fitting, long-sleeved hiking shirt and a safari hat.  I hoped these would keep the sun off and provide an opportunity to cool off by wetting them down periodically.  I think the experiment worked, but early on I was reminded of one of the reasons to go shirtless - my nipples were rubbed raw. Band-Aids wouldn’t stick at that point due to the sweat, so I relied on big glops of Vaseline, reapplying generously at every aid station.  The shirt pockets were also super handy for carrying a map (which I never had to use) and extra snacks.

At about mile 30, just 10 miles since she had disappeared into the distance, I saw Katrin up ahead. Was I running too fast? Was she slowing down?

I finally caught up to her within the next mile.  We were at the half-way point! She was looking strong as ever, but was offering assistance and water to an older runner who looked like a zombie. There was another guy with him, guiding him on a slow death march down the trail. I offered to help, but my bottles were full of Shaklee, so I couldn't pour them on him to cool him off. Luckily, we were less than a mile from the next aid station.

After being assured that we could do nothing more, Katrin and I ran on, reflecting on how scary the guy had looked; pale, with a blank, dazed look in his eyes. I’ve been bad, but not quite that bad. At least I didn't think I had ever looked quite that bad. As we approached the aid station, two volunteers were already heading in to help the suffering runner. I hope he made it out safely. There but for the grace of dog…

While I enjoy the solitude and self-reflection of running alone, running with Katrin made the miles roll by so much faster. We slowly reeled in one runner after another and as we headed towards the out-and-back aid station #7, we passed another female runner.  Soon we came upon a gal with a forest service patch who took a picture of Katrin then put the camera down as I came by. "Am I not worthy of a picture" I joked. "Maybe, but she's the first place woman" was the reply. Wow, I was now running with the number one female!  How stupid was that?  What happened to taking it easy, not fighting the heat, and ensuring a finish?  It was now the hottest part of the day and we were just about to head into the longest climb, with the farthest distance between aid stations and I was chasing the first place woman!

At the aid station, I drank lots of ginger ale on ice to replenish the fluids. Then I dumped the remaining cup of ice down my shorts - cooled me off, but for the first few hundred yards, I was waddling like a toddler with a full diaper. Katrin had taken off quicker, so it was about a mile before I caught site of her again, and another to catch up.

I wound up eating much less than I anticipated on this day.  I left behind a number of gels and peanut butter packs at aid station drop bags, as I had my pockets already full.  I used some of the Hammer Perpertuem tablets for the first time during a race and they seemed to work fine.  Ultimately, hydration was so much more important than fueling; I just concentrated on getting the fluids in.  I also found that in the latter part of the race, I tend to switch to plain, cold water from the Shaklee Performance.  Thank goodness they had lots of ice at all of the aid stations!  Had they not, adequate hydration would have been nearly impossible.  During the longest, hottest stretch, I took a 16 ounce bottle of water with me, in addition to my two 20 ounce hand-helds.  While this was definitely a smart thing to do, the extra water bottle had been sitting in my drop bag, out in the sun.  It was too hot to be drinkable, but was usable for pouring on my head, down my back, and just rinsing my mouth out.

I had some minor stomach issues at times, but the effect was mainly a reduction in food intake.  That, and a bit of turbo propulsion; luckily, there were no other runners behind me.  I also hit the S-caps from early on and used about 20 of them throughout the day.  My body was definitely craving salt.  I enjoyed lots of pretzels at the aid stations, and even a chicken salad sandwich (which the volunteers wisely kept in a cooler).  The best treats, however, were the chunks of baked potatoes that I would dip into a bowl of salt – yum!  Ultra runners have the opposite issue of most Americans – we can’t get enough salt in our diets.

After catching Katrin yet again, we stayed together till the end.  She had some stomach issues for a while too, and thought she might hurl, but luckily recovered towards the end.  We knew she was the first place woman since aid station #7, but never knew by how much.  She was constantly looking behind her, expecting to be passed, especially during the stomach issues, but it never happened.  She wound up finishing a full 45 minutes ahead of the next female.

I can’t thank Katrin enough for all her support this day.  I would have been at least a half hour slower had I not stayed on her heels and in the end, since she knew she had the first place female position in hand, she graciously hung back to allow me to finish ahead of her.  Now that’s a true champion!  And luckily I’m comfortable enough in my manliness (or lack thereof) to allow a woman to allow me to finish ahead of her.  Had it come down to an actual sprint between the two of us, I would have easily been on the losing end.  It was pretty cool to see her cross the finish line in first and be interviewed afterwards, not that I had any part in her success, but just being along for the ride was nice.  I’m looking forward to some upcoming races, though I’m not sure I can keep staying on her heels, especially on the 100 milers. 

UltraSignup had 76 runners registered, with Katrin ranked 11^th, me 31^st, and Rachael 40^th.  We all exceeded those expectations and Rachael did it despite running an extra few miles!  In the end, only 42 runners crossed the finish line, out of the 65 that started.  Rachael just made the cut-off by minutes.  Apparently she got lost and tacked on some unexpected miles after the second to last aid station.  Now that’s determination!  If I had gotten that lost, that late in the race, in the dark, I would have just laid down and quit.  She’s a real trooper.  I look forward to running with her at more races, especially Bryce.

I can’t say enough good things about Aravaipa.  They managed to put on another incredible race.  The course was well marked, though not quite as thoroughly as the McDowell and Coldwater courses; this might have helped those who got lost after dark.  The volunteers were amazing.  At every aid station, there was someone waiting to take my bottles, fill them with ice and water, get my drop bag, pour me many cups of ginger ale, etc.  I didn’t eat too much of the aid station food, but the choices seem to be pretty consistent across their races.  The ice was a huge lifesaver and they also had indispensable items like duct tape, sun screen, and large tubs of Vaseline.

All of Aravaipa’s races are reasonably priced and for those who would like to save even more money and already have closets full of shirts, they offer a $10-no-shirt discount.  Plus, you get great quality, downloadable pictures for free!  How awesome is that?

Having a drop bag at every other aid station was perfect. I was able to have a few needed supplies, including a headlamp, waiting for me, instead of having to carry these things the whole way.  I also appreciated that they set up a shuttle to the start.  While Katrin, Rachael, and I were making plans to carpool, hopping on a shuttle bus and not worrying about when your carpool driver is going to cross the finish line reduces the unnecessary stress.

I would easily recommend this race to anyone.  There’s something nice about a point-to-point course, though it was not at all easy.  A net elevation loss of almost 2,500 feet sounds good, but my Garmin showed over 4,600 feet of gain in between.  My mileage was 62.3, which is not far off of what was expected, though at aid station # 8, the remaining distances that we were given added up to 64.  That was not very good news, and thankfully, it was inaccurate.

Coldwater Rumble 2014

2013 was my best running year yet; most overall miles (2,100), marathon PR (3:00:06), 50K PR (4:33), longest run (66 miles), 2-3rd place finishes, etc.

The plan was to start 2014 by building on those successes.

Since the 50 mile McDowell Mountain Frenzy in the beginning of December, I hadn't run more than 7 miles at a time, averaging only 20 to 30 miles per week, but I did have some great training runs; broke the 7:00/mile pace for my lunch time run, ran a 6:44/mile pace for the 7 mile Belmar Club training run, and broke the 6:00 mile barrier on my sprint intervals.  Despite the extra pounds I put on over the holidays, I was running faster than ever and was hoping these successes would make up for the lack of mileage.

The first race for 2014 was to be the Coldwater Rumble 52 miler in Phoenix. I had actually contemplated doing the 100 miler, simply drawn by the lure of another belt buckle, but "settled" for the double marathon. My friend Rick Valentine was smart enough to drop down to the 50K, but I wanted to start the year off big.  I did - BIG Mistake!

I made a trip out of it, taking my youngest daughter, Amy, and visited my parents and sister.  The night before the race, we went out to the New York Pizza Department and I had the ideal runner's pre-race dinner - pizza, gooey cookies, and lots of ice cream.  I'm sure this had nothing to do with the following day's disaster.

The 100 milers started out as I was still getting my stuff together. Every time I watch longer distance runners start before me, I feel like a wimp, opting for a shorter distance. I really wanted to head out with them.  Only 48 miles more, and I could get a nifty belt buckle to double my collection. It was so tempting, but even I'm not stupid enough (barely) to jump into a 100 miler at the last minute.

Milling around before the start, this guy came up to me and asked "hey, are you Adrian?" Apparently he had seen my name, picture and results online - not sure why I would have stood out.  After a few brief pleasantries, Dan stated "you have a shot at winning this, don't you?" It turned out to be just the jinx I didn't need, but at the time, it planted an intriguing, yet dangerously unrealistic seed in my mind.  Maybe, if I had a super day (like the successes of my short training runs) and everyone had a mediocre day... just maybe, it might be possible. After all, the really good runners were tackling the 100.  Maybe…

7:30 came, and we were off - about 40 or 50 of us for the 52 miler.  It was quite nice for a while.  The temp was only around 60 and there was a thin layer of clouds blocking the sun.  The climbs weren't as bad as I had anticipated, requiring very little walking.  My goal was 8:30, which translated to a 9:42/mile pace.  As I approached the second aid station, at the far end of the main loop, and near the high point of the course, I was feeling great; effortless 9:35 pace and easy terrain, other than some loose sandy areas. Of course, I was only 11 miles into a 52 mile race, the sun was now out, and the temperature was rising, but that dream of victory was still peaking its way out from the back of my mind.

The return part of the loop was even better and slightly downhill. Part way back, I heard a "hey, Adrian" from behind.  It was Rick Valentine (who I had met on the URoC Vail race). He was running the 50K and was cooking! Though he started 30 minutes later, he caught me by mile 16 - that would equate to an almost 7:30 pace and he was in 1st place! I ran with him for a 1/4 mile or so, as we chatted about upcoming races and the stupidity of my 7 mile training plan for a 52 miler.  I soon let him go and settled back into my comfortable pace. When I caught a glimpse of him later, coming back from the start/finish, he wasn't looking quite as peppy.  Turns out, he dropped out around mile 22. I guess that 7:30/mile pace just wasn't sustainable.

By the time I went through the Start/Finish myself, I had dropped my pace to 9:29 and was still feeling great.  Maybe Dan was right. Maybe I did have a chance at winning. Maybe I could pick up the pace a little and finish closer to 8 hours.  That would ensure me a spot on the podium, maybe even the top spot. It all seemed so reasonable and achievable at the time, much like the proverbial mirage in the desert.

The first half of the second loop was only slightly slower than the first, but it took more effort than I realized. The sun was beating down and the temperature climbed to 80. I was trying my best to hydrate and was now hitting the S-caps to maintain the electrolyte levels.  Looking back, I should have been more pro-active with the hydration earlier on – lesson learned (hopefully).

Back at the far aid station (mile 31), they told me I was in 5th place.  That was awesome, but my pace had slowed to 9:40, and I was noticeably walking more of the uphills than I had on the first loop.  I kept moving though and passed a couple more 52 milers, bringing myself up to 3rd place by mile 35! Victory was within my grasp, with only 17 miles to go.  Unfortunately, my pace was continuously slowing. By mile 37, I was mostly walking, and by mile 39 I was walking slowly. By the time I stumbled across the Start/Finish line at mile 40.5, I had been re-passed by a couple of runners and dropped back down to 5th place. Normally, 5th place with 12 miles to go would be a great position for me, but I was suffering and knew that it would take me at least 3 hours to complete the race, rather than 2 under normal conditions.  I was also torn by the knowledge that I was missing out on time with my daughter and my parents.

The only other time that I had considered dropping out of a race was at the NorthFork 50 miler last summer, but the only way out was to continue on the course, so I did, and eventually recovered reasonably well. One of the great things about a race course with multiple loops is the energy you get from the cheering crowds as you pass through the start/finish.  The downside is that it gives you an easy option of bailing out, which is exactly what I did.

Reluctantly, I decided to throw in the towel and take my first DNF after 160 races.

I was pretty dehydrated by the end. The salt was caked on so thick, you could have drunk a margarita out of my belly button (if you didn't mind the occasional hair). The race officials and volunteers tried to motivate me to continue, given that I was still in the top 5 and had plenty of time to finish, but once I had made up my mind, there was no starting up again. In the infamous words of Kenny Rogers – “you got to know when to fold 'em”.

As I sat by the start/finish aid, gulping down cups of iced Ginger Ale before I could stomach some snacks, I watched other runners come through.  Some were finishing the shorter distances.  Others were 40 miles into the hundred. I felt like a bit of a loser wussing out so easily, but as I sat up from the bench and nearly fell over from light-headedness, dropping out didn't seem like such a bad decision.

When I started running, I kept all the medals and race bibs, but after a while I stopped, as I didn't have enough wall space.  This is the first race that I've kept the bib from in years.  I even pinned it up in my office so Every time I look up, I'll be reminded of this day. Some say success breeds success.  I say that a colossal failure can bread success (hopefully). This DNF is going to push me to train harder and longer, and take future races that much more seriously. I will not DNF again! (at least not for quite a while). I will be back in Arizona in only 3 weeks for a 100K - that ought to be a good test. Let’s hope an arctic front moves through that weekend, so I don’t have to suffer again.

URoC - Ultra Race of Champions

100 kilometers from Breckenridge to Vail.  The Ultra Race of Champions was to be my capstone race of the year.

Driving over Vail Pass the afternoon before the race, the temperature read 33 degrees, the snow was blowing sideways, and I was wishing I hadn’t put off getting new tires.

Being a cheapskate, I’m normally happy to sleep in the back of my car the night before a race.  This time, I thought we could make a nice family weekend out of it, so I splurged for a two night stay at the host hotel in the heart of Vail.  I got there in plenty of time to check in and re-pack my 4 drop bags before the pre-race meeting.

I had downloaded the maps and aid station/mileage charts as soon as they were posted and had poured over them for hours, calculating my pace over every single mile, adding in time at the aid stations.  As I sat in the pre-race meeting, listening to the course description and trying to follow along on my map, I was more and more confused.  There were climbs that I didn’t see on my maps and the mileage didn’t quite match.  I tried not to worry too much, as no one else around me seemed to be concerned.  Then they told us to expect knee-deep snow going over the Ten Mile range.  Now I was starting to worry.

After a short break, they assembled the elite runners for a round-table interview.  This was truly inspiring and intimidating – more than a dozen of the top ultra-runners in the world.  Not the state, not the country, but the world – France, Norway, Italy, Mexico, etc.  They each politely dodged the question of who was going to win, but what made my heart stop was when they were asked what the winning time would be – 10 hours!  Holy crap.  I was assuming the winning time would be closer to 8 hours.  I figured that if I had a decent day out there, I would finish in 1.5x the world class winning time – 8 hours for the top pros, 12 to 13 hours for me.  Now the equation changed dramatically – 10 hours for them would mean 15 for me!  That would be a very long day.  I quickly went from being nervous to being downright scared.  I dodged back to the hotel room, got a spare headlamp and threw it into an earlier drop bag, just in case.

Brenda and the girls were going to be coming in late, so I sat in our room, had a dinner of hummus and flat bread, then sewed my hand-held water bottle straps.  After saving my hands on a number of falls, they were starting to come apart.  By the time they finally drove in, I had to carry both girls to our room and they quickly went to sleep.  I, unfortunately, was not so lucky.  I tossed and turned for hours, trying unsuccessfully not to worry too much about what lay ahead.  By the time the alarm went off at 4:00 AM, I had totaled less than 2 hours of intermittent sleep.

Everything was carefully laid out the night before, so I quickly and quietly went through my pre-race prep and headed out to the lobby to hop onto a shuttle van that would take us over to Breckenridge for the start.  With the start scheduled for 7:00 AM, we were all grumpily wondering why we had to leave Vail at 4:30, for what should be a 45 minute drive.  Turns out the race director and the drivers were all nervous about getting us there on time, and with good reason.  Vail pass had been shut down for a period of time overnight.  The roads were still slick and the going was a bit slow, but we got there in plenty of time and the running store that was hosting the start had enough room to keep most of the runners out of the early morning chill.  I got to mingle with lots of runners from all over the country.  I even ran into Shannon, the Breckenridge police chief.  I had met her a year earlier at the Rocky Mountain Program and knew she was a runner also.

One week ago, at the Javalina Jangover race outside of Phoenix, the starting temperature was 99 degrees.  Now it was in the mid 20’s – a full 75 degrees colder!  The whole evening before, I kept waffling about what to wear on the course.  I wound up going with two thin long-sleeved jersey’s, shorts, a thin hat, and gloves that I that didn’t think were going to be adequate.  I had also found a few left over hand-warmers and had one inside my glove.

I tried to wait as long as possible to take off my sweats, but waiting even a couple of minutes for the gun to start was a combination of cold and nervous shivering.  And then we were off.  Boy, it felt good to be actually running after all the nerves and anticipation.  As has happened in the past few races, no one seemed to want to be at the front (expect for the pros), so I wound up starting much further up than I would have preferred.  That didn’t last long, as runners streamed past me.  I know a few were simply better than me, but for most of them I was thinking “Hey guys, there’s 62 miles to go.  What’s the rush?”

After a short bit on the pavement, we hit a gravel road and then made our way straight up a ski slope.  This was the first modification from the maps that I had relied on.  What I had initially planned on as a 2.4 mile, 200’ gain leg to the first aid station at Grand Lodge had been upped to 5.8 miles and 1,500’.  After that initial climb, things settled into a gently rolling trail down to Frisco.  It was nice and cool in this shaded section, with a little bit of snow and some intermittent ice patches that I was able to navigate around.  Despite having to stop every 20 minutes due to over-hydration, I fell into a bit of a rhythm and was able to have some nice conversations with runners from all over the country.

With the additional mileage and climbing, I got into Frisco almost an hour behind schedule, so I wasn’t at all surprised that Brenda and the girls weren’t there.  I was actually rather relieved that they weren’t sitting around waiting.  The aid station was very well stocked, as had been advertised.  I filled bottles, got some snacks and then found my first drop bag.  I tentatively made the decision to drop one of the long sleeve shirts since we were going to be climbing soon.  I did take my Ultimate Direction running pack with a jacket in the back, and snack pockets in front.

A bit out of Frisco, we started climbing up a rough forest service road.  One of the runners with headphones in his ears almost got knocked off the side by a passing pickup truck and trailer.  He was pretty annoyed and rude to the driver, but it was his own damn fault.  I tried to warn him but he didn’t hear me until the last second and then he seemed to think that sharing the road was a foreign concept.  That driver did nothing wrong and he had as much of a right to the road as we did.  I hate it when jerks like that are stupid and rude, making it tougher for the rest of us. 

Just before we got to the next aid station at Miners Creek Road, I passed a gal who wasn’t looking so good.  Apparently she was feeling the altitude and throwing up repeatedly.  Much to my amazement, her plan was to continue on past the aid station, climb 3,500’ over the Ten Mile range and drop out at Copper, where her friends were waiting for her.  I tried to nicely relay to her that it would be stupidly dangerous.  I’m not sure what she decided in the end.  Hopefully the volunteers were able to dissuade her.

After the Miners Creek Road aid station we were back on the trail and climbing up toward the Ten Mile Range.  I was feeling pretty good, pacing myself just right.  By the time we got up close to tree line, the snow was getting deeper and I started to pass more runners.  It was beautiful up there, though I was glad that others had broken the trail before me.  It was mainly packed, with some intermittent post holes.  I opened up another hand warmer as the wind was picking up.  Luckily it was mainly coming from behind.  A few runners were clearly struggling with the altitude, but I loved being up there, though I was wishing I had brought a pair of sunglasses.  12,500’ with fresh snow and a clear, sunny sky can be pretty blinding.  At times I was alternating keeping one eye open at a time.  The last thing I wanted was to suffer from snow blindness, especially once it got dark.

Though the trail was packed, parts of it had enough of a side camber that it took some effort not to slide off.  Where it leveled, I was able to run.  There were quite a few false summits to the pass and I was pleased when I finally hit the real top.  In the mid 30’s, with a 15 mph wind, it was pretty chilly, but I didn’t want to stop.  I knew that even the one minute that it would take to get my pack off and put the jacket on would send me shivering.  I figured I would be fine as long as I kept moving and soon enough, I would get back down into the trees.  It was truly beautiful up there and running down the other side on a snow packed trail was a blast.

The decent towards Copper felt good after the long climb, but I was having so much fun, I made the mistake of sticking with an Italian runner from Connecticut.  About 2/3 of the way down, I realized that I was moving way too fast for this early in the race.  I eased up and enjoyed the undulating downhill.  I was happy to get down to the bottom and figured we would cross the road and quickly head on into Copper Mountain Village for the next aid station.  Wrong.  This was another of the route changes from my maps.  We actually turned south, headed part way up the ski slopes, then traversed across before finally dropping down to the aid station.

I was about an hour and a half behind my predicted time and was not too happy about the unexpected detours.  As I stopped to resupply, Kirstyn and Amy came running up behind me.  I was thrilled to see them, even though it was only for a minute.  I felt bad because Amy wanted to show me a rock snake that she was making and I was in such a rush to move on.  As I ran out, I told Brenda I had no freaking idea as to when I would be at what aid stations.  I had given her a detailed breakdown, but with all the changes, it wasn’t worth it for them to be sitting around indefinitely.

I looked for the course out of the aid station when I was pointed right back the way I had come.  Instead of getting on the bike path as I had anticipated, we headed straight up the ski slope.  Now I was really unhappy.  Not only did we have this climb to deal with, but also some sloppy muck to navigate through.

After the seemingly needless climb, we eventually made our way back down and onto the paved bike path.  I had been pretty conservative in planning my pace on this section and had secretly hoped that I could make up some time.  Unfortunately, with fatigue starting to take its toll (in addition to my unhappy attitude), I wasn’t able to make up any time at all.  The climb was relatively slow.  Going down the other side, I was able to roll along at a decent pace, but still not making up any real time.  A couple of miles down from the top of Vail Pass was the next aid station.  On most races, I’m looking for ice to put in my bottles or down my shorts.  With the temperature starting to cool off again, I enjoyed some warm chicken noodle soup.  Not only did the salty soup taste good, but it was served up by none other than Geoff Rose, one of the top ultra-runners in the world.  In what other sport can an average schmuck like me be served by a world class athlete?

There was a slight but cool headwind coming down off the pass, until we got back into more trees.  I hooked up with another runner and we stuck it out until the next aid station at Two Elks trail where we would finally turn off the pavement.  I don’t mind running on pavement that much, but being right up against the interstate, and compared to the beauty of the rest of the course, this was my least favorite part.  Killian Jornet was chided by some for calling this section “boring”.  I’m assuming these critics didn’t actually run the course, because I would definitely agree with him.  I don’t know if there would have been a better way to connect from Copper to Two Elks, but maybe they can figure something out if this race course is utilized again.

Once off the pavement, the Two Elks trail crossed under the highway and started climbing up a valley.  The bottom was moist from the dripping trees, yet still reasonably warm from the sun.  As we climbed farther up, the snow got a bit deeper and the temperature fell.  It wasn’t too cold so clumps of snow would periodically fall from the trees, but luckily none plopped down on my head.  That would not have been fun.  The climb was long and I was getting tired so I kept to a pretty conservative pace.  I still managed to pass a couple of runners and by the time we got up above the trees, I felt stronger and passed a few more.  This upper section of Vail Mountain, heading up to the Two Elks Lodge aid station was gorgeous, but unfortunately the previous night’s snow had melted into nasty, gooey mud.

At the aid station, I enjoyed some more warm soup as I re-stocked my supplies.  I took the extra headlamp with me as I wasn’t completely sure I would get to the Minturn before dark.  I was also going to enjoy a refreshing and hydrating can of club soda.  I had put one in each drop bag.  When I reached in, I felt a soggy shirt and a very light and empty can.  Apparently it had made too quick of a trip up the 3,000’ in altitude and had exploded inside the bag.  Luckily it’s nothing but carbonated water and I didn’t need the extra shirt.

The next mile and a half were even more unpleasant than the asphalt.  What would have been an easy jaunt on the dirt service roads at the top of the ski area became a slippery slog through more mud.  I let a few choice words fly as I was slipping this way and that, but eventually, we got back onto a trail.  This section heading down to Minturn was one of my favorites - gently downhill rolling single-track, with the sun setting on hillsides of golden aspen.  It was just beautiful.  I wish I had carried a camera, but I’m way too stingy with any extra ounces.

It was on this section that I hooked up with Rick Valentine from Idaho.  He caught up to me near the top and I thought he would just pass me, but he stayed on my tail the whole way down.  It was nice to have someone to chat with and share the beautiful scenery.  Neither one of us had a GPS so we guestimated our progress and were disappointedly corrected when we came up upon a couple of hikers and runners lower down.

We finally made it into the small town of Minturn, right around the 12 hour mark and just before it got dark.  I reloaded my supplies, grabbed my better headlamp, and headed back out through town chugging a can of Coke (good thing that didn’t explode in my drop bag).  Rick caught up to me shortly and we flicked on our lights as we navigated back onto the trail for the final climb of the day.  Only 10 more miles to go, but there was still a 2,500’ climb in front of us.

Shortly after we hit the trail, we caught up to Mark, from Breckenridge.  Given how we caught him, I thought we might just pass on by, but Mark wasn’t ready to be passed.  He kept motoring on up the climb with me and Rick following.  Parts of the climb were steep, but other areas were more moderate and these guys started running.  I wouldn’t have been running if I was on my own at this point, but I didn’t want to get left behind, so I walked when they walked and ran when they ran.  I was amazed and proud of myself that I could actually run uphill after 60 miles!

It was a beautiful, clear, and dark night as we made our way back up to Vail Mountain.  The stars were magnificent, though I couldn’t look up for long.  We eventually arrived at the top of the Vail gondola and our final aid station.  I had a cup of Coke and asked one of the very helpful volunteers to pull my jacket out of the pack.  I hadn’t used it all day, but with the temperature dropping and my energy reserves running low, I knew I would need it to keep warm.

After navigating a bit more mud at the top, we got on the dirt road that would take us down the mountain and to the finish line.  They told us 4.5 miles to go at the top, but it turned out to be 6.  I ran pretty well, but Rick and Mark broke away as they were stronger and more fearless.  That final descent seemed to take forever.  There were lots of switchbacks going back and forth across the face of the mountain and the lights at the bottom were only slowly getting closer.  The road was smooth, with intermittent soft spots and the light of the headlamp shone hypnotically in front of me.  I had stayed upright all day and I didn’t want to do a face plant so close to the end.

I hadn’t bothered to look at my watch for quite a while but from Minturn, I had calculated that we would finish somewhere around 14:30.  When I crossed the line, with bright lights blinding me, the clock read 14:27:21!  Almost 5 hours and 16 miles longer, and 4,500’ more climbing than any run I have ever done.  I was ecstatic, but it got even better.  Being almost 9:30 PM, I figured Brenda and the girls were long asleep, but no.  Kirstyn and Amy came running out of the shadows for a big hug.  I was shocked and thrilled that they had stayed up to share this moment with me.

I would have been happier knowing the correct course before the start and not having to deal with the sloppy mud, but oh well, that’s what ultra-running is all about, dealing with the unexpected.  The course had magnificent sections like the snowy, alpine crossing of the Ten Mile range and the incredible golden aspens on the back side of Vail Mountain.  Even better were all the connections that I made with various runners along the way, especially Rick and Mark who practically pulled me up the final climb.

This was an awesome and epic race.  I was so scared before the start and so proud after the finish.  My overall placement (36^th out of 78) was one of the worst I’ve ever had, but I couldn’t be happier.  Half of the runners in front of me were pros and 45% of the field didn’t even finish.  I know it’s still a 50% increase in mileage and 20% increase in elevation gain to Leadville, but I feel like I am a huge step closer

Javalina Jangover Night Run 50K

Before I even toed the start line of the Javalina Jangover, I had amassed a slew of excuses as to why I wouldn’t do well:

·         Less than 5 hours of sleep each of the two previous nights
·         Race day breakfast – one apple
·         Race day lunch – ¾ of a pizza + a heavily frosted cupcake (nephew’s birthday)
·         Spent the entire race day at a water park in the 103 degree Phoenix sun, running up stairs and treading water to keep up with my daughters
·         Race start temps plummeted down to 99 degrees!
·         I forgot my Garmin watch, so I would have nothing to pace myself with or track my progress
Additionally:
·         Severe I developed stomach issues during the 3^rd quarter of the race, necessitating a couple of pit stops
·         My headlamp died with 3 miles to go

None of the runners doing the 50K wanted to get too close to the start line, so I ended up right near the front – 4^th place in the first ¼ mile.  After a little more settling in over the first mile, I was somewhere in the top 10 and taking it pretty easily, at least I think I was taking it pretty easily, without the Garmin, I had no real way of telling.  Surprisingly, the pace felt quite comfortable, despite the temperature – must have been the “dry” heat.  I wasn’t sweating much and kept my breathing under control.

The sun was setting just as we set out at 6:00 PM, and we were able to save the headlamps for the first ½ hour.  The trail started out as sandy but soon climbed and became rockier.  About 4 miles in, I heard footsteps slowly catching up to me. A guy named Daryl passed, but since I was feeling pretty comfortable, I thought I’d try to keep up with him.  Shortly thereafter, another runner a little ways in front called out to warn us of the first wildlife encounter of the night, a snake.  It’s true what they say – the desert really comes alive at night.

The headlamps were soon flicked on and I quickly realized that my light, though a bit bulky, was considerably brighter than any of the others and illuminated a nice large area.  Having only done short spurts of running in the dark, at an early race start or the end of a late training run, I expected it to be much more difficult and fatiguing.  It really wasn’t bad at all.  I had to make an effort to look up ahead, just like day running, and not get mesmerized by the ground right under my feet, but once I gained confidence in my feet, it really was just like running in the daylight.

I used up my 2 gels early on and was ready for more calories by the time I hit the first aid station.  I filled up on ice water (yes, they had ice!) but discovered they had no gels or other snacks that were easily runnable.  Not wanting to lose Daryl, I grabbed a handful of dates and sped off after him.  My hands got a bit sticky and the dates were not pitted, but they tasted good and seemed to be OK with my stomach.

As we continued on, we slowly started to catch some of the 75 and 100K runners who had started out earlier.  We were keeping up a pretty good pace, but I was feeling fine.  After taking a quick break to water a cactus, I was even able to catch back up with Daryl within a couple of hundred yards.  I was tempted to keep up the accelerated pace and sprint by, but I knew that we weren’t even half way done yet.  As we got closer to the start/finish/halfway point, we caught up to more of the long distance runners and a few returning runners – Aravaipa set up the race via a 25K loop, with 50, 75, and 100K runners reversing the loop each time.  This turned out to be brilliant, as I wasn’t really alone until the last ¼ of the race.

I stayed right on Daryl’s heels for over 11 miles, right until we got to the turn-a-round.  I glanced up into the bright lights and was elated to see the clock at 2:12:23, well below my original goal of 2:30.  While the volunteers loaded my bottles with ice, I swallowed about 4 heaping spoonful’s of M&M’s and a couple of cookies – I wanted to keep the calorie intake up.

I tried to make the stop brief and soon took off, expecting Daryl to follow on my heels.  I kept looking back, but there was no headlamp to be seen.  I kept a decent pace, even though the trail was climbing again and soon, my stomach started to rebel.  I don’t know if it was due to the excessive chocolate M&M’s or if overindulging in birthday pizza at lunch was finally catching up.  I kept hoping it would pass, but it only got worse and I had to make a couple of quick, but careful, detours into the cacti.

This 3^rd quarter of the race was the most “social” as I came across oncoming runners every minute or less.  The strings of headlamps were pretty cool and clearly delineated the trail before me.  They all had encouraging words for me, but given my gastrointestinal issues, I didn’t reciprocate as I normally would have.

I motored on, and by the time I hit the outer aid station again, the oncoming runners had ceased, but so had my stomach problems.  More ice, a couple of cookies, and I was off again.  This last quarter of the race was by far the most solitary, but it didn’t bother me at all.  I enjoyed the quiet darkness and tried to maintain a decent pace though I was starting to tire.  At one point, I looked up and saw the brightest meteor I have ever seen in my entire life!  It lasted for at least 3 seconds.

I had intended to swap headlamp batteries at the last aid station, but the light was still bright and I didn’t want to waste any time.  Now, the light was clearly dimming, but I still didn’t want to lose time stopping.  The terrain got a little rockier and with about 3 miles to go, I decide that I could push a little faster with a fresh battery.  I should have known there was a problem and quit when I clicked the switch and the light didn’t turn off, but I figured that removing the battery would simply reset the circuitry.  Wrong!  I put the fresh battery in, clicked the switch, clicked it again, and again, and again.  Nothing.  The damn thing wouldn’t turn on.  Now, instead of a dimmed light, I had none at all.  There were no runners to be seen behind me, so waiting around would do no good.  Luckily, the moon was only a couple of days past full and there were very few clouds in the sky.  The trail was still rocky, but I jogged my way along while my eyes slowly adjusted to the low light.  Pretty soon, I felt comfortable running at full speed, or at least what felt like full speed after more than a marathon in the desert.  The only sketchy parts that were the cacti and shrubs which cast shadows across the trail that were difficult to discern from rocks and holes.  I also kept telling myself that the wildlife had retired for the night.  Up until my light died, I had jumped over 2 snakes (neither were rattlers) and 5 tarantulas.

Surprisingly, I never tripped, nor was bitten by any stalking critters and as the lights of the distant finish came into view, I stepped it up for a final push.  I broke into camp, into the blinding light, and crossed the line in 4:31:05, almost half an hour faster than my goal time of 5 hours and less than a minute off of my 50K PR!  Even better, the race director congratulated me on finishing 3^rd!  Another podium finish, and out of 60, that was awesome.

I hung around for a bit and drank up at least a liter of Ginger Ale, one Dixie cup at a time.  There was plenty of food at the finish, but I just wasn’t ready to eat.  I stretched, loosened up, and cheered on other finishers for a while.  When I got back to the car, the panel showed that the temperature had dropped another 10 degrees since the start, to a comfortable 89.  Normally, I suffer when the mercury rises above 70 and here I was almost shivering when a slight breeze came along.

Araviapa put on an awesome race!  I’ll be running their McDowell Mountain Frenzy 50 miler in December, and I can’t wait to do another one of their night runs.