Old Pueblo 50 - Better Late Than Never

The title of this post pretty much sums up the outcome of my first running of the Old Pueblo 50 mile race. Subsequently, I think the 15 day lag time between the race and this race report is then also appropriate. At least that's my excuse. Either way, I thought I had better write this report now before all the gruesome details are lost from my memory forever.

I went into this race with lofty goals of completing the race in just under ten hours. I had figured out the overall pace I would need, and how I would need to run each section of the race in order to come out at the end with the sub-ten hour run. I am a realist though, and to that end I also had a set of tiered goals. This way, if things went very wrong, I would be able to adjust and still have something to shoot for.

Last year, I had the privilege of crewing a friend at OP50 and had some exposure to the latter sections of the course we ran together at a practice run. I also got an opportunity to run miles 7 to about 15, even though it was completely covered in snow at the time. So I had some familiarity with the course, and I didn't think it was going to be as difficult as it was.

The day started out cold, with temperatures in the upper 20's. Most of us at the starting line wore jackets or long-sleeved shirts, but a few were brave (or stupid) enough to strip down to just shorts and a tank ...or just shorts. I still haven't decided on the intelligence of that decision, but maybe this is one of those "whatever works" deals. I was wearing a jacket.

The race started with a countdown, 3-2-1-siren. Siren? A few of us looked around at each other wondering what the deal was with the siren. But once the pack started to move up the hill, we quickly figured it out. I was a little disappointed at the lack of a staring pistol. Give me a shotgun blast anytime -- especially for a race at Kentucky Camp.

The start of a race is always a difficult time for me. Most of the runners were either walking up the first hill, or were doing some sort of slow jog that wasn't any faster than a walk. I chose to power hike the hill, but soon found myself getting stuck behind much slower people and having to either walk at their speed, or run past them. I chose the latter, but intentionally kept my pace down in the 11's to conserve energy.

I was really surprised at what a difference a year makes in the running community. Last year I hardly knew a soul, this year I was passing or being passed right and left by people I new. It wasn't long before I caught up to Deron Ruse and we began to run together.

Deron and I coming into California Gulch (7 mile)

I was also really surprised at how fast the 3-mile aid station came into sight. It really didn't seem like I had just run three miles. Most of the runners I saw, including me, ran right past the aid station and set our sights on the 7 mile aid. It was this section, probably more than any section of the race, I was most looking forward to running. I had only heard about the beautiful single track trail leading from 3 mile to 7 mile, and when you're standing at 7 mile watching the runners come in, that's all you get to see. All I can say about this section was that it was only partially as advertised. I found myself running significant portions of jeep road, and I don't like running roads -- any road. I overlooked all of that though because the trail more than made up for it. In one section, an image that is burned into my memory, I rounded a corner with Deron close behind and Mark Cosmas only 15 meters in front. The sun had just broken over the horizon and cast an almost unearthly golden red light on the mountain grass. I made the comment to Deron that it looked almost like the grass was on fire. Beautiful.

My first aid station stop of the day.

Mark, Deron and I continued almost as a group all the way to 7 mile. I say "almost" because Cos really took advantage of the downhill and left Deron and I in his dust. We weren't that far apart coming into the aid station, and I had a great advantage when I got there. My crew, Greg, had all of my gear and fuel ready for me when I got there. I shed my jacket, gloves and beanie and grabbed a full bottle. Ready for the next section, I made only a very brief stop at the aid table for some goodies before heading on down the road for the next aid station at mile 13.

I wasn't 100 meters down the road before I heard Deron yell, "You're not leaving without me, Marc!" And, sure enough, there he came down the road to catch me. We stuck together through the next section, leap frogging here and there, but staying in close enough range to carry on a conversation. We weren't two miles into this section of the run when Deron looked at his watch and informed me that we were probably moving a little too fast. What can I say, the pace felt good. But I knew I couldn't sustain an 8-minute mile all the way to the aid station. I would slow down only to find myself speeding up again. Before long, we were arriving at 13 mile aid, well ahead of schedule.

Again, we were just behind Mark, and I think he was a little surprised to see us pull in as soon as we did. He left a good 30 seconds or more in front of us though. Maybe he should have just let us catch him so we could all slow down and enjoy the race, but I'm sure he had other plans. It would have been welcomed because at this point I was well into the middle of some GI issues and could have really used a more relaxed pace ...or a portajohn ...or both.

The next section is the climb up and over Gunsight Pass and then into 19 mile aid. I had heard about this climb, and I can honestly say that it had me worried more than any section of the course. Deron and I stuck together for much of the climb, but in the end my power hiking skills got me to the top a little faster than Deron. When I left 13 mile aid, my GI issues came with me, and I was dealing with pain in my abdomen as a result. Because of that, I quickly lost track of my eating and drinking and on the way down from Gunsight Pass, I started to crash. My quads, which never really bother me during a run were lighting up and the run became a little more difficult going downhill than it should have been.

Once the trail flattened out a little and we were able to start running down the dirt road again, I settled into more of a relaxed pace and started to eat and drink again. Too little, too late, I'm afraid. I was already not feeling very good, but it was at this point that Mark caught me. I was really surprised at this because he had left mile 13 aid almost a full minute ahead. Turns out I wasn't the only one with GI issues, and I had passed him, Mark "Mountain Lion" Cosmas, on the way up Gunsight. Having Mark along was welcomed. His experience and his good attitude helped make that portion of the run much more bearable.

By the time we reached mile 19 aid, I really needed a pick-me-up of some sort. I was still well ahead of schedule but I had run out of my EFS/Carbopro mix and was running on fumes. Unfortunately, this aid station had only watered down gatorade for my bottle -- not what I needed, but it was better than nothing. I grabbed a few goodies, filled my bottle and took off again, not wanting to get too far behind Mark. We ran together for only the next mile or so before we came to a gradual climb. Mark continued running and I told him I was going to hike this section. I used that as my excuse to find mother nature's bathroom in a wash behind some thorny bushes to see if I could resolve my GI issues -- nothing to see here, keep moving.

Deron had passed me while I was attending to my issues and I made it my goal to catch him again. After all, this next section was another uphill section, and this was my strong suit. It took me a while, but I eventually reeled him in. I was still behind on my nutrition, and it hit me again when we came to a locked gate in the road. This meant I would either have to climb or go through the gate. I underestimated how bad I was and tried to go through the gate by swinging my right foot up onto the gate. At that point, I experience probably the worst hamstring cramp I've ever had. To complicate matters, my foot was in the gate, and I had a difficult time swinging it back down to the ground so I could straighten my leg and stretch that muscle. Once I did get through the gate, I had to deal with the lingering soreness and stiffness in that muscle all the way to mile 25 before I would get any relief.

When I crewed Greg in 2012, I remember watching runners come up the hill to Box Canyon aid (mile 25) and was amazed at how many of them walked to the aid station. This year, I ran as far as I reasonably could and then decided I had nothing to prove to anyone and that I should just take it easy. Yeah, I walked into the Box Canyon aid station.

How can you not smile with Mt Wrightson looking like that?

Again, Greg had everything ready for me and after making a few adjustments to my pre-race plan, I again headed off up the road, this time with two water bottles and some food. All I can say about the next section, the four mile climb up Box Canyon, is that it felt like it took forever. I walked almost the entire four miles, running when I could, but just feeling beaten down.

Finished with Box Canyon.

When I got to mile 29 aid, Greg was there again and was prepared with everything. Somewhere along the way, he had found Lisa Kravetz and she was there helping out. Lisa is such a great person, and had nothing but words of encouragement to help keep me going. Of course, Greg knew what he had to say to keep me going, too. My crew got me stocked up and out onto the trail in just a few minutes. By now I was a behind schedule and I knew I had to make up some ground if I wanted to get back on track. 

I resorted back to power hiking the uphills and running anything flat or downhill. This paid off as I was able to refuel and was also able to catch up and pass Deron before coming into mile 33 aid. But, boy, was mile 33 aid miserable. Don't get me wrong, it was a welcomed sight and the volunteers were great, but there were bees everywhere. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I do not like bees, and that they seem to be drawn to me. Needless to say, I got in and out of there as quickly as possible.

Deron and I ran together again for a while, kind of leap frogging again at times, but I eventually left him behind on one of the long gradual climbs. The day was heating up and I was going through a lot of water. It wasn't long before I realized that I was going to run out. Fortunately for me, there were still quite a few patches of snow on the hills next to the road. When I ran out, I would open a bottle and fill it with snow. The heat would melt the snow for me and I ended up with cold water in my bottle until I reached 40 mile aid.

The approach to 40 mile aid.

40 mile aid is great! Right before you get into the aid station, you can hear music, cheering and, of course, COWBELL! Then there's the creek crossing. This year the creek was high and in order to keep my shoes dry, I had to find some rocks to cross on. In retrospect, I should have just run right through. By this point, I was feeling good again. Greg was there with more words of encouragement and had my gear all ready to go again. Thank goodness for a crew that's prepared!

I started on up the road at a fast walk/slow run and was able to reel in and pass a few more people. At this point, I caught Honey Albrecht and got to take one of my walk breaks with her. The heat was starting to get to people and she was no exception. I continued on my way and passed a few more runners before I got to the climb around mile 42. I knew this climb was coming and I was dreading it, but it really wasn't as bad as I remembered. It wasn't long before I was at the top and running downhill. I passed a few more runners, including Joe Galope who was also feeling the heat. I ran through as many creek crossings as I could find with as much reckless abandon as I could summon at this point. The cold water splashing on my legs was very refreshing and I was feeling good again.

When I came running into mile 46 aid, I realized I only had a few miles left to go and was amazed at how quickly the time had gone. I wasn't going to make my tier 1 goal, or my tier 2 goal. I decided I would have to settle for an 11 hour finish, but I was going to have to work for it.

I left aid 46 with every intention of running to the next climb, but my legs had other plans. Just in the short time I had stopped to refuel, my legs had started to stiffen and running was a chore. I walked until I could summon enough strength to shuffle along at a 12 minute mile. Which, when I started running again I thought I was doing a 9 min mile. Oh well. I'll take what I can get. It was about the time I started running again that I also found myself staring at another climb. Now, if this was any regular day, this climb would have been nothing. I would have run up. But this wasn't a regular day, and I found myself hiking up the hill, hands on knees at a blistering pace (for a turtle). By the time I reached the top of the ridge, I could now see the cars parked by Kentucky Camp and I knew I had just a few more miles to go.

This section is a little demoralizing since you are stuck on this ridge, following a rough and rocky road, within site of Kentucky Camp, but you're not running in the direction of Kentucky Camp. It's on your left the entire way down the road, and eventually I found myself running AWAY from Kentucky Camp. It's about that time that the single track begins again and the direction changes.

I was tired. I tried running, but kept stubbing my toes on the rocky road and nearly face planting a couple of times. I just couldn't pick up my legs up enough to avoid hitting the rocks. At this point, I looked at my watch and realized I wasn't going to make 11 hours -- not unless I could put in a couple of 8 min miles. But I couldn't run without falling or smashing my toes. At this point, I did what any good ultra runner does; I thew a huge pity party! Woe is me! I missed my goals, I'm going to miss 11 hours! What's the point!?! Then, it hit me. I had just enjoyed the whole day out on 50+ miles of some of the most gorgeous terrain in southern Arizona. I took a moment and looked up at the horizon to the east, recalling the sunrise I had seen just that morning, and how amazing the now violet sky on the horizon looked. I had nothing to complain about. I started running again.

This time, I was doing the run/walk thing downhill to avoid some of the rockier sections and inevitable injury. Soon, I was met by one of the race crew, who I had seen many times before, running out of Kentucky Camp, and offering more words of encouragement. He told me I only had another 15 min or so to go, and I couldn't have heard better news at that time. I settled into a more relaxed pace, knowing that I wasn't going to make 11 hours, I decided to just enjoy myself. That is until I saw another runner ahead of me. That's when I felt my adrenaline kick in, for the last time, and I set out for another trail kill. My pace was much slower than earlier in the day, but at this point, so was his. I managed to squeeze out an 11 min mile, which was just enough to reel him in and pass him. I kept this up to Kentucky Camp and finally finished the race in 11:20:17.

On the approach to the finish.

All things considered, I was happy with my time. I had struggled with GI issues, cramping muscles, and calorie deficiency and was still able to manage finishing before sunset. I had run strong, and I had walked in pain, but I finished. Hopefully, I will learn from my mistakes before the next big race.

The prize!

Bring on Zane Grey!