One story from a recent race . . . and of course, potty humor

Wait a sec.  Do you enjoy bathroom humor?  Whoopee cushions?  Fake vomit?  If yes, proceed.  If no, please close this window and peruse something else, because I'd hate to lose your friendship by offending you with the following story.  

I really hesitated to type up this story at all.  I think it's hilarious, and have really enjoyed sharing it face-to-face with folks, but I'm not sure how it will play in written form.  Here goes nothing.

This story comes from a recent ultramarathon I ran in the desert.  Prior to the start of the race, I went to the bathroom, but wished I could've done more.  (Runners, you all know the feeling.)  Around mile 30, I finally felt like it was time.  No one else was in sight; I had passed two male runners maybe half a mile back, so if I was going to go, I should go now.  

Just one problem: to my left, sand.  To my right, sand.  In front of and behind me: sand.  And some scraggly tumbleweeds.  So I got into squat position off the trail, next to two tumbleweeds.  That's when I pondered the next problem: what shall I use to wipe myself?  My usual trail-running toilet paper (rocks, grass, leaves, pinecones facing in the right direction) were nowhere to be seen.  I certainly couldn't use sand: can you imagine the chafing?  

As I glanced down at my hydration vest, inspiration!  It suddenly came to me that I'd been carrying around this quesadilla from an aid station for a couple hours, in the hot sun.  I didn't really want to eat it anyway, by this point.  

So.

Yes.

I used a quesadilla to wipe myself.  I then buried my business in sand, like a cat, and stood up to continue my race -- just as the two gentlemen I mentioned earlier came into view behind me.  "Whew!  Good timing!" I thought.  

Just then, an older man on horseback came into sight cresting the hill ahead of me.  He pointed to the sky behind me and commented, "Helicopter."  I didn't even bother looking back; this guy must be crazy.  What would a helicopter be doing in the middle of the desert?  Seeing my lack of comprehension, he again pointed and said, "There's a big helicopter behind you!"  In disbelief, I turned my head and saw, approaching from behind, the race director's drone, zooming around to capture footage of the race.  

I was on the course for almost 11 hours.  This was the one time I went to the bathroom, and the one time I saw the drone.  Good timing?  Or the worst timing ever?  I'm not sure what the range of a drone camera is.  If it did get footage of me with the quesadilla . . . well, that may be the next big viral video.  And if so, maybe I'll be on Good Morning America or something.  And you can all say you knew me when . . .

Race report: Mesquite Canyon 50M

Short on time?  Here's the condensed version:

The night before the race, I wrote in my journal that I was feeling a combination of anxious/nervous/scared.  To quote my journal entry, "I just have no idea what to expect from the trails, how I'll feel, when I'll finish, anything!"  I have never run a mountain race before, I was up against mostly local runners who presumably have some experience on the course, and I'd gotten dire warnings about the intense toughness of the course from my friend Chris, who had run the 50k before:

But then I revisited my journal entry from the night before Rocky Raccoon 100M, where I had written a prayer I heard from my pastor back home in Minnesota, Fr. Richard: "God, you're here with me now.  You'll be with me then.  So I let go."  

After praying this, I felt my stress level immediately go down.  I released any pretense of control and just relaxed, realizing everything was in God's hands.  Even during the race, I repeated the prayer to myself, when I'd feel myself starting to worry over what place I was in, how I was feeling, etc.  After I finished, as people asked how my race was, all I could think to say was, "It was fun!"  And that was the truth.  Thanks to my new-found relaxed attitude, I just really enjoyed the day.  I never really had any low spots, and I smiled a lot.  The end. . . . unless you want the longer version:

The Longer Version:

I arrived in Phoenix the afternoon before the race, picked up my rental, and drove to White Tank Mountain Regional Park.  My rental car was my hotel room for the night, and it provided 8 hours of sleep . . . although I woke up once every hour to attempt to find a more comfortable position.  (Never happened.)

Wise words from my friend Edward gave me some encouragement:

In the morning, I spotted Jamil Coury (fangirl!), set out my drop bags, and admired the laid-back atmosphere of Aravaipa's races.  No runners approached the start line until literally 5 minutes before race time, when the race coordinator made some announcements about the course markings.  And then we were off!  I set out on my "All Day" pace, since that's how long we'd be out.  I never let myself think of it as a race until at least halfway through -- for better or worse, that's my strategy.

The 50-mile race was two loops: the first loop followed the 50k course, and the second loop followed the 30k course.  During the first loop, I toggled between 3rd, 4th, and 2nd place.  Although I loved the beautiful desert views -- mountains, saguaro, flowering cacti -- I kept my focus on my right foot, which I re-injured last week at the Pandora's 52M race, making sure to not take any bad steps and roll it again.  Coming into the start/finish at the end of loop 1, the 1st female, Jen, passed me heading out on her second loop.  I judged that she was about 2 miles ahead of me.

Loop 2: Pulling out all the Stops

The second loop, for me, means the race has really started.  So I gave up my "All Day" pace and switched to a push.  I also pulled out all my tricks:

1. Music!  Everyone should have Neil Diamond's "Brother Love's Traveling Show" on hand for races.
2. Pedialyte.  As my buddy Edward says, "Electrolytes!  It's what plants need!"
3. Caffeine pill
4. Ice in my hydration bladder.  And after every ice-cold sip, blowing through the nozzle so the water didn't hang out in the tube getting warm.
5. Replaying inspirational quotes in my head from my current favorite video, which everyone should watch.  "Think of it this way.  It took 11 Apollo missions to make it to the moon.  So you have 10 tries before I consider you a failure."  "Feeling like a loser 'cause you only have $5 in your pocket?  Well, you still have $53,000,005 more than Kanye West."

Amusing the Passers-By

Owing to the beautiful, mid-70s weather, tons of hikers were out and about on the trails.  They were all very kind to move aside for the racers and offer encouraging words.  I entertained a small group of them when I (for about the 6th time that day) tripped and stubbed my right toes against a rock.  They emitted a collective gasp, but I just kept running and called back to them, "It happens!" which seemed to amuse them very much.

The one not-pleasant interaction with a hiker came on my 3rd journey up Goat Climb, a tough ascent.  I was laboring up the climb, hands on knees, when a leisurely hiker coming down told me, "At the rate you're going, you won't get anywhere for hours!"  Me externally: "That's cruel." *good-natured chuckle*  Me internally: Thanks, a-hole.

Deep Questions

I did that thing I do, where I don't want to stop to pee, because it's a race and all, so I hold it for 30 miles.  Does anyone else do this?  It can't be good for me, I know.  My Garmin read 33.25 miles when I finally stopped to go.  I wonder what the record is for holding it.

Oops

When I picked up my headlight around 3pm (just in case I didn't make it to the finish line before dark), it was already turned on.  It had probably been on ALL DAY.  Dang it.  I could hear Edward's voice in my head: "WTF, Julie, learn how to use your damn headlamp!"  Sorry, Edward!  Please sign me up for your next headlamp class.  At least that was good motivation to hurry up and finish before dark.  

Iron Stomach for the Win

I usually bring my own nutrition to races, but since packing space was limited, I relied on aid stations for most of my nutrition this time.  Coming into the Bajada aid station on loop 2, I said, "You guys had the best bean burritos last time."  The volunteer responded, "The secret is, it's from a can.  And we take it out and let it breathe for four hours in the hot desert sun."  I said, "You could tell me anything, and I'll still eat it."

Unsurprisingly, my 2nd bean burrito made my tummy hurt.

Surprisingly, my 3rd bean burrito made me feel great.

PS: That 3rd bean burrito fell on the ground, but I still ate it.  Now with minerals!

All 3 bean burritos were somewhere in my digestive tract when I passed Jen, who had stopped to puke.  I felt almost ashamed of my careless burrito ingestion when she was unable to tolerate anything at all.  I offered her ginger chews and Tums, but she said she just needed to stop for a bit.  After I passed her, I really put on the gas, not wanting to relinquish the lead and never knowing just how far back Jen was, and if she was feeling better.  Sadly, at the finish line I learned that she had to pretty much walk it in from that point, which was about 10 miles from the end.  She was so determined and strong to keep going!

Finished

This was honestly the first race in my life where I've been a little disappointed to see the finish line.  It was just such a fun day, I was sad to see it come to an end.  But how cool to see friends at the finish line, when you feel like you're in a foreign land and don't know anyone!  I saw Dave James, who I met at Team RWB Trail Camp, and who is now working at Aravaipa.  And I met Ana, a Rockhopper who hangs out with Tanya and Jason.  It was great talking with Dave and Amy, and Ana and her family, as well as Jen and her friends.  The wood-fired pizza and beer were nice touches, too.

At the finish, with Dave James

Meeting Ana, a Rockhopper from San Antonio, who finished her 50k!

We missed the 3rd place female!

Didn't need the headlamp, thank goodness.  Approaching the finish.

Rocky Raccoon Highlights 2016

This was my 3rd time doing the Rocky Raccoon 100M.  Some people dislike the race, because it consists of 5 loops.  I guess compared to the Habanero 100, which is 14 loops, five really doesn't seem all that bad.  It's a fun course, with a good amount of root-dodging and rolling hills.  Plus, I like seeing the tall pine trees, which is such a different landscape than what we're used to in San Antonio.  I hope to keep running Rocky in years to come and keep learning how to do a better job there.

I suck at race reports, because I can barely think straight during a race, let alone remember all the details.  So here are just a few notable highlights:

Biggest Mistake
Probably my biggest mistake of the race was in my shoe selection.  I started the race in my Altra Lone Peaks, which were great for the first 40 miles, but I've been having calf pain, and my calves and feet were bothering me.

So at mile 40, I changed into my Brooks Cascadia 10s -- even though I've never worn that model of shoe before.  (I loved my Cascadia 9s, but they have huge holes in them now.)  I know what you're thinking: That's the #1 rule, not to try anything new on race day.  Well,

And yeah, my feet hurt a lot right now.  What's your point?


Best Use of Movie Quote

-Matt Zmolek, upon running into me on his way to a smoking fast finish time.  I was so overcome by delighted surprise that I couldn't think of a good comeback, except to shout out a quote from Ace Ventura about 20 miles later when I ran into him again.

Race Tunes 
Best pump-up song on my iPod: Get Back, Ludacris
Best line from a song on my iPod: "And that's about the time that b**** hung up on me." What's My Age Again, Blink-182
Saddest moment: When my iPod died midway through loop 4

Trivia
This is the first trail/ultra race I've done where I haven't gone to the bathroom in the bushes!  I actually used the fancy bathrooms by the Nature Center aid station and the port-a-potty before the Park Road Aid Station.  Sad fact: the port-o-potty was out of toilet paper, so I used some I found on the floor. . . . don't judge me!

Ultra Celebrities
It was fun seeing Nicole, Sabrina, Ian, Gunhild, and Gordy.  I can now add Gordy Ansleigh to the short list of celebrities that have touched me.  I guess if I could choose celebrities I'd want to touch, this list might look a little different. . . .

True story: Jay touched my hand while musing, "I gotta go to the bathroom," clearly stoned out of his mind.

Father of ultrarunning

Lowest Point
The first 5 miles of the race were really tough, because my calves were killing me, especially my left calf, and my left foot started going numb -- maybe because the inflammation in my calf was blocking the blood flow to my foot?  I don't know, but fortunately a combination of acetaminophen and walking it out eventually loosened it up.  

The next 80 miles were great; I really pushed the pace, not wanting to hold anything back.  By mile 85, though, this strategy left me feeling really depleted and in pain.  My head felt like it was drifting away, and my body started swerving serpentine-like over the trail.  Around mile 95, Edward passed me and I couldn't keep up with him, although I would have loved to run it in with him.  I eventually stuffed some more calories in my mouth, and I was able to pick up my pace slightly.  I'm guessing I got lackadaisical with calorie intake on that last loop, and that's what caused the bonk.  I'm getting better at managing nutrition during these races, but it is so easy to lose track of intake when I get tired late in a race.  When it gets away from me, it seems to spiral downward pretty quickly, and it's so hard to get back.  Clearly this is an area I still need to work on!

What worked well

• Trail Toes tape -- I didn't use Vasoline at all, which is my usual protocol.  This time I just pre-taped areas that usually chafe.  A couple times during the race I also applied Trail Toes, but the tape pretty much warded off the bad chafing I usually get.
• Chocolate muffin from Whole Foods -- Yep, this might be my breakfast of choice for all future races.
• Taking a gulp of Pedialyte between loops.  What are electrolytes?  Who knows.  But they sound good to have.  

I'm so blessed to have the Rockhoppers and Team TROT as my Texas ultrarunning families, and to have their support and encouragement!  Rockhopper Central is a home away from home!

Halemau'u Trail Report, or: The Time Where You Find Out Just How Stupid I Can Be

Last time I was in Maui, I took the Sliding Sands trail in Haleakala National Park for a 20-mile out-and-back, which was amazing.  This time I wanted to try something different in the park, so I took the Halemau'u Trail.  I'll describe it, in case you ever find yourself wanting a good run or hike on the island, but also in case you want to play a quick game of "How many stupid decisions is one person capable of making in 1 day?"  Let's play.

I wanted to see the sunrise from the summit of Mt. Haleakala, so I woke up at 4pm and left my hotel around 4:15.  At some point during the drive, I thought about turning on my Garmin, and then suddenly realized I had forgotten it back in the hotel room.  (If you're playing along, that's blockhead error #1 for the day.)  Then I briefly considered using the Strava app on my phone -- but I wouldn't have enough battery, even with my charger -- dang it, which I also left in the hotel room.  Nerds!  (#2)  Okay, I figured,  I'll just have to rely on the trail map from the visitor center to know how far I've gone.

In order to conserve battery on my phone, I had taken a screenshot of the directions to the park from Google Maps, and decided to rely on my ability to read said directions and follow street signs.  (#3)  Long story short, I ended up in Wailea, which, according to Google Maps, is an extra 22.6 miles of driving.  I say that now, because the extra mileage will soon become an integral part of this story.

Oh, had I mentioned that when I left my hotel, I had at least a quarter tank of gas in the rental car?  Maybe as much as a third of a tank.  Surely enough to get me to Haleakala and then back, if not to the hotel, at least to a gas station, no sweat. (#4)

I'd been told the national park was about a two-hour drive.  It ended up being more than that, due to error #3.  By the time I arrived at the park entrance -- in the middle of nowhere -- the fuel display read 2 tiny bars' worth of gas.  My car back in San Antonio tells me exactly how many miles I can drive before I'm out of gas.  And even then, I figure I actually have at least 20 more miles before I'm really, really out.  With this rental, though, I had no idea.  How much gas is equal to 2 tiny bars?  I didn't know, but I was sure glad to finally be in the park.  Except I had forgotten a crucial piece of information.  According to the gentleman who accepted my $15 entrance fee, "It's another 30 minute drive from here to the summit." Crap on a cracker. (#5)

After 30 more minutes of driving 15 mph up, up, up a windy road in the pitch black, I made it to the summit, in plenty of time for this gorgeous sunrise.

Putting my rental car keys into the velcro pocket of my hydration vest, I took off on the Sliding Sands Trail toward the Halemau'u Trail.

Did you catch #6 just then?  If not, just stick around.

The trail drops from an altitude of 9,740 ft to approximately 7,200 ft in about 4 miles.  That makes for a great downhill run, but can really trash the quads.  I didn't care; my running has been so inconsistent lately due to injury that on this day, when I felt pain-free, I was happy to run, whatever the consequences.  Previous visits to this park have involved gale-force winds, fog, rain, and cold, but this was a beautiful, sunny, even hot day, and I loved every minute.

Sliding Sands is just as it sounds -- the trail is composed of loose black volcanic sand and cinder.  After 4 miles, you have the option to continue on this trail to the Kapalaoa Cabin, or turn left to the Halemau'u Trail, which is what I did.  It was hillier than Sliding Sands, but just as beautiful.  It took me out of the dry, desert basin of the crater, into a wetter landscape with tropical vegetation, past the Holua Cabin, and then up a series of switchbacks until, after 11.2 miles, l I was back at 7,990 ft.

Instead of doing an out-and-back, I thought it would be more interesting to take the road, which is where the Halemau'u Trailhead is located.  At about the 14 mile mark, I reached into my vest pocket for something, when it dawned on me -- Hey, I could've sworn this is the pocket where I put my keys. . . .  (Yeah, that was #6.)  I searched every pocket, but yep, they must have fallen out at some point along the trail.  So, decision point: do I retrace my steps, and end up doing 28 miles, not find my keys, and not be able to do anything about this car situation until it's almost dark?  Or do I take the shorter way to the visitor center, which was 5 miles away, in the off chance someone found my keys and turned them in?  If I went to the visitor center and they didn't have them, I'd have to turn around and retrace my steps anyways, but it would be a longer trip.  I decided to pray fervently and head to the visitor center.

Someone out there's looking out for me, because the visitor center did have my keys.  I made sure to hug the national parks employee who handed them to me.  Praise God!

And so, on to my next adventure: driving a car with "1 tiny bar" of gasoline 27 miles down a remote mountain into town.  Fortunately, the drive was literally downhill all the way out of the park.  I didn't touch the gas pedal at all, just the brakes.  Unfortunately, the gas station that seemed the best bet on Google Maps was a decrepit shack with a sign reading, "Closed on New Year's Eve."  (#7)  So it was another white-knuckled 6-mile drive to the next closest one.  But *whew*!  I made it.

What with all that stress, I had cut my run shorter than I wanted, so on my way back to the hotel, I did some of the Lahaina Pali Trail, which is 5.5 miles each way, going straight from the ocean up a cliff, taking you from 100 ft elevation to 1,600 ft.  Finishing that trail is now on my to-do list for the next time I'm in Maui.  The trail is so technical that running up or down is nearly impossible, but it's great hill hiking training.

So all in all, 7 huge idiotic moves in 1 day, yet when I got back to my hotel, I still had time to go snorkeling, swimming, and body surfing before dinner.  The day turned out wayyyy better than I deserved, for which I am truly grateful.

Cactus Rose Memories 2015

The Cactus Rose 100 this year was crazy, with Hurricane Patricia bringing chilly weather (compared to the mid-80s we've been acclimated to), wind gusts, and rain that alternated between downpour and drizzle all day and night.  Add that to the usual challenges of Cactus: tough climbs and descents, razor-like sotol plants, and rocks, rocks, and more rocks, and you get the outcome of 24 finishers out of the original 67 who signed up for the 100-mile distance.  Here are some random memories from the race.

The evening before the race.  Glad it wasn't raining yet!

Fun moments:

• Running most of the first 3 loops with Matt Zmolek, and gradually realizing that he and I have memorized the same lines from The Simpsons, Tommy Boy, and Monty Python. 
• Seeing my mom and dad at the Equestrian aid stations.  How lucky am I! 

  

  Me and my mom the day before the race

• Exchanging Laffy-Taffy-style jokes with Matt.  Also, watching Matt re-enact the galloping scene from Monty Python with two rocks.  (Way too much energy for loop 2!)
• Losing a bet to Zmolek and having to carry a rock up Ice Cream Hill on loop 2.
• Coming in from loop 2 with Matt, pretending like we were fighting it out to "break the tape," as if it were the end of the race, instead of only halfway through. 
  
  

  

  Me and Zmolek, end of loop 2

• Seeing Stefan and Rob as we came into Equestrian towards the end of the second loop, anticipating that I'd get to run with Stefan soon, and feeling thankful for a friend like Rob, who'd drive out to Bandera just to support us.
• Hearing Stefan's stories about growing up in South Africa, and picturing a miniature version of Stefan sitting in the teacher's lap, reading a story to the class.

  

  About to start loop 3 with Stefan

• Running loop 4 with my dad -- and actually having the ability to run on the fourth loop, for the first time in 3 years of doing this race.

Dropping off my supplies at Nachos aid station on Friday with my dad.

• Finishing!  

  

  Glad to be done!  With Chris, race director extraordinaire.

Hard moments:

• The first five minutes after every time I peed.  Chafing! Owwwwie!

Best quotes:

• I need to keep these shoes clean.  I want to wear them to the mall tomorrow.  --Stefan, before starting our loop together.
• What's the difference between an oral thermometer and a rectal thermometer? --Zmolek  (wait for it)
• The taste.  --Edward
• Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines.  --me 
• Ca-caww!  Ca-caww!  -- Stefan
• Aah!  My @$$ cheeks!  --Anonymous

  

  Post-race.  Celebrating Edward's finish!

Lingering reminders of the race:

• How hard it is to walk up and down the 3 flights of stairs to my apartment.
• Pretty epic sotol scratches.  Why did I not wear compression sleeves this year to protect my legs?  

  

  2 post-race priorities: 1) elevating my legs; 2) staring at my phone

  
  

  

  my Neosporin-coated sotol-scratched legs

Habanero 100

The sign-up

On Friday, at the gym, I proclaimed that it was about 2 months until my next 100 miler – Cactus Rose.  Then I went and ran the powerlines.  I cut that run short because I was overheated and tired.  Maybe it was because I was disappointed in myself for cutting so many of my runs short this week; maybe it was temporary insanity due to stress levels from work and school; whatever the reason, around 6pm I started wondering if instead of volunteering at the Habanero 100 the next day, I could run it instead.  I texted one of the RDs, Rachel, and asked if she happened to be overflowing with volunteers.  She checked and responded around 9pm, saying that I could go ahead and run.  I registered online about a minute later. 

At about 4am, I woke up from a racing-related bad dream, and I laid awake for a while thinking, “What on earth was I thinking?!  This is insane! Who decides to run a 100-miler the night before?” 

Honestly, this feeling stuck with me for the next two days.  I worried the entire race that I was being extremely cocky thinking I could just walk into this without properly training, tapering, or even thinking out a race plan.  In my experience, cockiness is rarely rewarded.  I worried that it would be Cactus 2014 all over again, with me blowing up and having to take naps in the middle of the trail, telling other runners to please go around me.  Regardless of what Karl Meltzer says, 100 miles is a long way.  On the other hand, it also seemed like a chance to do something epic.  And in the words of fellow Rockhopper Tom Bowling, spoken right before he ran a beer mile in his dress clothes, “YOLO.” 

Loops 1-10

It’s always fun running new trails.  Buescher State Park has some great trails, with a lot of diversity – parts are rocky, parts are sandy, and parts are covered in pine needles.  I settled into a pace that I figured would get me through the loop in about 90 minutes.  (The race consisted of 14 loops, 7.2 miles each.) Fortunately, my left leg (the good leg!) started hurting around mile 3, so that occasionally distracted me from my terrible chafing pain, which is nice.

Let’s talk about the chafing for a moment.  Holy crap.  Jazzy took this photo of me sometime in the middle of the race.  That was the better side – my left side was even worse.  Not to mention the chafing under my sports bra and in my shorts!  I have never run shirtless before, but at various points during the race I briefly considered taking it all off and running naked through the woods; I figured that might be morally unacceptable to folks, however.  Probably only Jenn Shelton could get away with that.

Apparently everyone and their mother was breaking out in heat rash.  I had it all over my thighs.  It didn’t bother me, it just looked strange.  What did bother me a little were the horseflies.  At one point I had two horseflies alternately landing on my legs as I ran, and I yelled out “STOP BITING ME, DAMMIT!” just as two runners approached over the hill.  I smiled and said, “Nice job, runners!” like a non-crazy person would do.  I don’t know if they bought it.

Other interesting things from the first 10 loops were that I saw an armadillo, and I almost stepped on a broad-banded copperhead snake at 10pm. 

During various trips through the start/finish between laps, RD Rob gave me reports: you’re 3^rd overall and 1^st female; you’re 2^nd overall and 1^st female, behind Matt Zmolek; Matt’s lying down; you’re 1^st overall; you’re 1 of only 2 still in the race; the other guy’s not likely to make the time cutoff; you’re our only hope.  Better and better news, but I was feeling worse and worse.

Loop 11

The course is a lollipop, so I ran into Matt when he was completing his 10^th loop, and I was starting my 11^th.  I was excited to meet him, because I know he’s friends with Lorenzo, who is also an awesome guy.  Matt and I chatted/commiserated for a bit.  He had flown through the first 100k and really suffered from the heat.  He told me he was going to drop after that loop; that he was doing the math in his head and it wasn’t worth walking the next 9 hours just to finish.  Before we went our separate ways, I told him, honestly, that our conversation had been the most pleasant experience of the last 10 hours.

At this point, I was still jogging the downhills and most of the flats, and walking the hills okay.  But I was really slowing down, and that idea that I still had 9 more hours of this started messing with my head.  After this loop, I still have 3 more loops??  Now that it was the middle of the night, there were very few runners out on the course, and I guess the darkness, loneliness, and exhaustion starts getting to you.  When I finally made it to the aid station, I just wanted to sit down and cry.  But that’s not really my style, so instead I jokingly said to the volunteers, “Hey guys, I’m kind of at my breaking point here.  Got any good pep talks?”  I guess I was desperate for some earth-shattering words of wisdom that would suddenly energize and motivate me.  I don’t really know what I was expecting.  What I got was a very nice, perfectly wonderful, “Keep up the good work.”  I was crushed.   I picked up a cup of ramen noodles and did a 1,000 yard stare into the darkness as I thought, “How on earth am I going to keep going?”

Loop 13 (What happened during loop 12?  Your guess is as good as mine.  It’s a blur.)

The theme of the last two loops was heat exhaustion.  The race started at noon Saturday, so we were in the heat of the day, and then it was infinity percent humidity all night, and by the time it started really warming up again Sunday, I was feeling incredibly dizzy.  I had to keep leaning against trees.  I would sit for a few seconds on a bridge or stump, because it felt amazing to sit, but I had to stop doing that because standing up again made me so lightheaded.  I was walking so slowly during loops 13 and 14, but my heart felt like it was racing.  (I had ditched my heart rate monitor after the first loop, so I don’t have the data.)  At this point, I knew I would be the only finisher, but only if I finished.  Up until the last .2 miles I had a real concern that I was going to collapse on the course and not be able to finish.

Between loop 13 and 14

This part gets its own section, because I was probably at the start/finish aid station for 15 or 20 minutes.  I usually like to speed through aid stations, but this race was an exception.  As soon as I came in I asked Rob if I could cool down before I went back out.  He, Rachel, and all the volunteers were so kind and attentive – probably especially so since I was one of only 2 hundred-milers still in the race by that point (the others had dropped out or been pulled for medical).  Rob gave me his bandana and hat and the volunteers put ice on my back and neck.  They brought me Pedialyte and more gels.  They had only had a couple gel flavors for most of the race, and I had eaten about 60 gels by that point – mostly tropical and hazelnut, so I told them I’d give one of my kidneys for an apple cinnamon gel.  And Rob found a couple!  It’s the small things in life.

We sat around talking and joking for a bit.  Then I suddenly realized I hadn’t weighed in after my loop (weigh ins were mandatory after each loop).  They looked at me funny and said, yes you did.  I laughed and said, “That’s not a good sign . . .”  Then they sent me off, saying I had 5 hours to walk the last loop and make the cutoff.

Loop 14

This was the first 100 I’ve done without a pacer.  Still, I probably talked just as much during the last loops as I would have if someone were with me.  I was a little loopy. . . . I definitely shouted things like, “This mile never ends!” “This is more than half a f---ing mile!” “I hate this f---ing mile!”  “Just let it end!”  etc.  I also made statements like, “Way to be a tree, tree!  Nice job lying there, stick!  And don’t think I’m forgetting about you, cactus!  Excellent work!”  Translation: I was temporarily insane from being tired and hot and hurting.

During the second half of the last loop, I noticed I had become very quiet.  I was really focused on each step, Gordy Ainsleigh style – “I don’t know if I can do 3 more miles, but I can take one more step. And one more.”  I came close to crying multiple times, but I told myself firmly, No crying until the finish!  And then I didn’t cry at the finish.  I was just too tired and relieved and bewildered.  Out of it and overwhelmed.

Finish

Running down that hill to the start/finish was fun every single time.  All 14 times.

Thanks for an epic weekend, Rob and Rachel, all the runners, all the volunteers, and all the spectators. 

Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Monument Valley 50M

Thursday, March 12-Friday, March 13

My friends Asma and Matt and I flew into Phoenix Thursday morning and then drove up to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.  After spending Thursday afternoon sliding down and slogging back up a couple miles of the Bright Angel trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, and doing the same Friday morning on the South Kaibab trail,we traveled north and east to the Arizona/Utah border for the Monument Valley 50 mile race.

Sign at the Bright Angel trail

Trying not to slip into the canyon

Friday, March 13 -- Packet Pick-up and Trail Briefing

At packet pickup, RD Matt Gunn gave a brief description of the course and then introduced the first of 3 Navajo who would speak with us.  As they talked, we got to enjoy the beauty of the monuments in silhouette as the sun set.  Tanya and Jason had joked that they only attended the race briefing in order to find out the starting time of the race; I was mostly hoping to learn the distance between aid stations.  After the final speaker, a young lady soon to compete in the Miss Indian World 2015 pageant, I realized I wasn't going to find out what I wanted.  The RD didn't say anything more, and the runners looked at each other as we realized the briefing had abruptly ended and that was it.  Another runner turned to me and asked, "What time does the race start?"  I told him 7am, and we verified that we had the right time, as the Navajo Nation observes Daylight Savings Time, so our watches had to be changed from Arizona time.

All joking aside, I really did like the casual, relaxed tone set by the RD, his respect and gratitude for the Navajo people who allowed us to run on their land, and his emphasis that running here is not about a race so much as "an intrinsic way to absorb the landscape."

Matt Gunn's trail briefing

Saturday, March 14 -- 50 Mile Race
Disclaimer: I have a really bad memory, and I'm just recording the miles between aid stations as I recall them, so I might be off a bit.

Miles 0-3.5 (To Sentinel Mesa A/S)
After a Navajo blessing, facing east toward the rising sun, we headed out in the darkness, north toward Sentinel Mesa.  After the sun rose, I was so astounded by the beauty of the monuments to my right that I stopped to take the first of many pictures.  Most of the course is off limits to non-Navajos, so it was such a privilege and blessing to get to see the views we ran through.  This stretch included a sand dune that was really fun to run down.  I was surprised at how many runners went without gaiters, despite the RD's recommendation to wear them.  After coming off that first sand dune, I saw some folks dumping large quantities of reddish sand from their shoes.  It would be frustrating to deal with that all day.

The first picture I took during the race

Miles 3.5-9.5 (To Brigham's Tomb A/S)
These first stretches of the course were singletrack trail, and the terrain was sand that ranged from firmer to looser, but was runnable.  The way to Brigham's Tomb led us past Stagecoach Butte, which was very scenic.  It already started to feel warm by this time, and I'd taken off my light jacket and arm warmers.  To get to the aid station itself, we passed some horses and a cute dog owned by the Navajo who live here.

Miles 9.5-15 (To East Mitten A/S)
In my mind, I keep conflating the Brigham's Tomb stretch with the East Mitten stretch, but I believe this was the part that featured some winding singletrack between boulders.  The RD was at the East Mitten A/S, and he made a comment like, "Is it heating up out there already?" as I poured water over my head.  It actually didn't get too hot, temperature-wise -- I don't think it even got over 70, but I guess I'm really not acclimated to heat after this chilly winter, because out in that sun with no shade to speak of, I felt the need to pour cool water on myself at every aid station I hit, except the first 2 and the last one, when the sun was getting low in the sky again.

The feeling that I was in a John Wayne movie intensified whenever I'd see Navajo guides on horses (look closely).

Miles 15-22 (To Hogan A/S, 1st time)
This was probably my least favorite section of the course, although it was still absolutely picturesque and a blessing to run through.  It was just less fun to run through a wash than to run on singletrack.  One benefit was that occasionally some standing water would be in the creekbed, and every time I'd dip my buff into it to cool my neck.  The final part of this section, leading to the aid station, involved running up an unpaved road with frequent passing tour vehicles, each of which kicked up a wall of sand and dust that made me very thankful for my sunglasses and buff.  The hogan, or traditional dwelling, at this aid station is owned by a Navajo family who made mutton stew for the runners.  I didn't check that out, but only hit up my drop bag and grabbed more gels, as well as sunscreen and water.  I gulped down some Tailwind as well, each time I came back to this A/S.

Miles 22-27 (North Window loop, to Hogan A/S, 2nd time)
Matt Gunn said they call this the Marlboro trail, because it looks like scenery from the cigarette ads.  Every step of this loop offered 360 degree panoramic views.  As we passed by Rain God Mesa, I glimpsed a roadrunner, which reminded me of San Antonio.

Most of the area in which we ran is usually off-limits to non-Navajo people.

Miles 27-37 (Arches loop, to Hogan A/S, 3rd time)
This big loop started off on another unpaved road with vehicles kicking up dust in our faces.  I also experienced two dust devil-type situations, which was kind of interesting and fun.  There were a ton of photo-worthy features on this stretch: The Thumb, Totem Pole, a huge sand dune, Big Hogan, Ear of the Wind, and Sun's Eye to name a few.  Some of this was singletrack, but a good part of it was on a wider path, like an old Jeep road, which led us around an area that looked like it may have been part of the uranium mining operations or other activities that once took place on this land.  I could be totally wrong about that, however.

Miles 37-46.5 (Mitchell Mesa out and back, to Hogan A/S, 4th time)

An old mine?  (Top of Mitchell Mesa)

I left for this out and back having no conception of how many miles it was.  There was a whiteboard at each aid station that said how far until the next aid station, but the one at Hogan, being the epicenter of so many different loops for different distances (100M, 50M, 50k, 25k), had way too much info for my tired brain at this point.  So I headed out with a pretty full bladder in my pack and plenty of gels.  I knew this would be a challenging bit, because we had to climb to the top of Mitchell Mesa, which looked like an impossible feat from the ground below.  It was an ascent of about 1,000 feet, coming at around mile 40 of the 50-mile race.  Okay, it's nothing compared to the Georgia Death Race ;), but between the altitude, the heat, and my current lack of fitness, I felt it -- my heart rate during the entire race was higher than Dr. Maffetone would recommend, and especially going up this steep climb.  But the views were breathtaking, and the echo when I yelled at the top beat even the echoes at Santa Elena Canyon in Big Bend.  After an equally steep return down the mesa, I did some calculations and realized that I needed to shift to another gear if I was going to finish sub-12 hours, which was my only major time goal for this race.  So I started pushing my pace and ran my fastest few miles back to the hogan.

Miles 46.5-50 (to Finish)
This 3.5-mile run on the "shoulder" of the unpaved road was not super enjoyable.  As the RD had warned us, it had just been graded, so the loose sand and dust continued to find its way into eyes, mouth, nose, etc. every time a car passed (which was frequently).  I could see The View hotel, near the start/finish, from a few miles away, and it never really seemed to look any closer every time I looked up at it.  There was a nice big hill up to the finish, which made the feeling of accomplishment when I came in that much better.  I was happy to see my friends and pick up a finisher's bracelet, handmade by a Navajo artist from leather and horsehair.  I enjoyed my freshly made Navajo taco as a recovery meal.  Then it was back to Goulding's Lodge for a shower, Navajo tea, and good conversation.  I was so tired that I couldn't even make use of the cassette tape/stereo built into the wall of our 3-bedroom unit for a celebratory dance party.  Maybe next time.

Oh, you can't play cassette tapes in the wall of your hotel?  I'm sorry.