Zane Grey 50(k) 2014 - 25th Anniversary

"...I found that the storm had struck with a vengeance. It was dull gray daylight, foggy, cold, windy, with rain and snow." - Zane Grey

As I ran through the mud, the wind blew over my head and across the trees, roaring like a jet engine and pelting my face with sleet and hail. Pulling the brim of my hood down lower provided temporary relief and I reflected back over the last few days.

Anyone following the weather forecast leading up to the 25th Anniversary running of the Zane Grey 50 miler knew that there was a distinct and growing possibility that the race would be run in the rain. The most modest forecast predicted scattered showers for the first half of the day with highs in the mid-50s. The worst forecast predicted rain almost all day long with temperatures in the 40s.

Greg and I arrived in Payson Friday morning to blue skies and wonderful weather. At two of the stops we made in town, locals were talking of the possibility of "snow at the rim". No forecast I had seen was calling for snow. I blew it off as reports of snow on top of the rim. The weather below the rim could be much milder. Yeah, that was it – rain, we weren't going to see snow, just rain. We met Deron and Kristin later at Chili's and after discussing this with them, we hadn't come to any definitive conclusions on what gear we would need, or when we would need it. It was going to be a gamble.

At the start the next morning, it was evident that there were many different opinions as to what the day would hold in store. Runners came dressed in everything from full leggings, rain coats and gloves to singlets and shorts. The weather was mild, and I felt over-dressed in my rain coat and gloves. Time would tell if I made a good decision. For now, it was picture time, and we were all smiling.

Deron, Marc, Scott, Matt Photo by Kristin Steele

Marc, Honey (photobombing), Mark, Greg, Deron Photo by Kristin Steele

It was go time, and 132 runners hit the Highline trail leaving nothing but a cloud of dust behind them. The first two miles of the Highline trail from Pine Trailhead is all climbing, and before I had reached the top I had stowed my gloves in my jacket pocket and had shed the rain coat. The effort of the climb and the effect of the elevation difference between Pine and Phoenix had me breathing hard and warming up a little more than expected. For me, the key to the start of Zane Grey 50 is in positioning well at the start and avoiding the conga line up the long climb, and it seemed that I had done well this year.

The sun was now peaking over the horizon, between the earth and the clouds, in a spectacular fire-like display. For the most part, it was a quiet run to Geronimo, the conga line wasn't very talkative, and Greg, Deron and I had gotten separated. Greg was leading the way, about two or three runners in front of me, and Deron was somewhere close behind me. I eventually caught up to Greg, and we chatted as we ran to Geronimo. Somewhere along the way, the clouds were providing a glimpse into what was coming as they began sprinkling on us. It wasn't enough to warrant putting on the rain coat, but it was enough to cause a little concern for what was to come.

Geronimo passed quickly. Greg and I had both decided to get in and out of the aid station and to keep moving on to Washington Park. Kristin had everything ready and I felt like I had overestimated what I would need at the aid station. Jon and Trevor (Greg's and my pacer) had already arrived and jumped right into the mix, helping Greg and I to keep moving. After drinking some water and topping up my bottle, I was on my way again. As cliché as it sounds, I felt like a man on a mission and all I was concerned with was getting back on the trail.

The climb out of Geronimo is beautiful, the whole trail is spectacular, but this part of the trail is one of my favorites. The run to Washington Park consists of weaving in and out of a constant stream of box canyons and can wear on a person. Fortunately, somewhere up the first climb, Jeremy Dougherty passed me and gave me someone to chase. Yeah, it didn't take long before Jeremy was nowhere in sight, but I still wanted to try catching him. Foolish, maybe, but it was a smaller goal to work toward while running to the next aid station. The rain had started falling, and some sections of the trail were becoming pasty and the mud clung to my shoes, prompting me to scuff my feet occasionally on the ground to free them of the extra weight.

Entrance to Washington Park
Photo by Trevor Davenport

I came into Washington Park solo and feeling good. It was already getting cold, but my new Marmot
rain jacket was doing it's job. My problem was that I had been sweating earlier on and the moisture on my shirt and sleeves was trapped in my jacket – almost as bad as having been rained on already. Kristin added some water to my pack and Jon had my watermelon cubes ready. Oh man! I love watermelon cubes and quickly stuffed two in my mouth. Almost immediately upon swallowing them, my stomach turned and almost rejected them. The feeling passed, and turned out to be the only wave of nausea I would experience during the day. I grabbed a couple more cubes and hit the trail.

Impromptu pose at Washington Park.
Photo by Trevor Davenport

The last time I had run this portion of the trail was in the dark during Mogollon Monster and I was at mile 50 at that point. I was moving much faster this time, trying to focus on running as much as I could without overdoing it on the uphill. Before long, I began gaining ground on a girl who seemed to be trying to adjust her pack, reaching behind her back and twisting around. When I caught up to her, I realized she had a pack with a bottle holster on her back between her shoulder blades, and she couldn't reach it. She asked if I could get her bottle for her and when I handed it to her I realized I had caught up to Carly Koerner. Cool! After helping with her bottle, I took the lead and started chatting as I came down one of the famous grass covered hills (with rocks hidden under the grass) doing my best to stay on my feet. I turned to look behind me and realized that I had been talking to myself and Carly was nowhere to be seen. This is one of my strongest talents as a runner – talking to people who I think are right behind me and aren't ...I promise I'm not crazy.

I ran solo for a while and about three miles out of Hell's Gate, I caught up to a runner who was slowly walking, shoulders hunched over, breathing into his hands to get them warm. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and we were now experiencing sleet with intermittent hail and some significant wind. I was truly worried for this guy. His jacket looked too light and he clearly wasn't handling the conditions well. After asking how he was doing, he told me it hurt to breath the cold air and he wasn't sure he would make it past Hell's Gate. Knowing from experience about the difficulties of dropping at Hell's Gate, I encouraged him to give it a second thought, but he was clearly in bad shape. I ran ahead to the aid station and informed the volunteers that he was coming and needed some assistance. They were right on top of it, and before I knew what was happening, two of them were headed up the trail with blankets. I was impressed.

I downed a cup of soup and then realized that I hadn't had any of my Tailwind all the way from Washington Park, and the few sips of water I had were definitely not going to be enough. The cold, wet weather made it difficult to remember to drink anything and I hadn't eaten anything either. In order to keep my hands warm and dry, I had pulled my sleeves (waterproof) down over my gloves (not waterproof) and the decision had made eating and drinking a little more ...inconvenient. Ok ... new goal: drink all of my Tailwind before the Fish Hatchery aid station. I have nine miles ... GO!

Sleet and snow on the Highline Trail.
Photo by Deron Ruse

The next nine miles were very difficult. The rocky hills heading out of Hell's Gate slowed me to a fast hike, and I wasn't generating enough body heat to keep my hands warm. I would drink Tailwind on the way up some of the climbs and found that my hands were so cold that I had to use both hands to get the bottle out of the holster and then I had to hold it between my hands, like a baby holds a bottle, to get enough pressure to squeeze the Tailwind out. To top it off, the bottle was cold and not as flexible as normal.

The trail was a muddy mess in areas and there was no hope of keeping my feet dry. But surprisingly, my feet were not bothering me. The weather had again taken a turn for the worse, and the wind was now howling overhead. The exposed burn areas were the worst, the sleet was back, and nothing I could do was sufficient to keep it out of my face. The field had spread out and other runners were becoming fewer and farther between. I was doing my best to follow trail markers, but the wind had whipped them into the branches and leaves of the bushes they were tied to, making them difficult to spot. My best was to follow the footprints in the sleet and snow and combine them with the few markers I could spot in order to help me stay on course.

Snow on the Mogollon Rim.
Photo by Deron Ruse

Out of nowhere, it seemed, Danny Speros and a group of three others came cruising down the trail and had been following behind me for ...I don't know how long. They were clearly moving faster than me and I let them pass. I decided to try and keep up with them, if only for the company, but they were moving fast and relentless over the snow covered rocks on this technical section of trail. I started stumbling a little on the trail and decided to slow it down a little. The last thing I wanted to have happen was to injure myself in these conditions, and this race was becoming more and more about survival. I caught up to another runner and we ran together for a couple of miles, but I soon lost him and was solo.

Head down and run. I soon realized where I was, having run this section of the course a few weeks earlier, and I knew the aid station was close. People started appearing out of nowhere, ham radio operators, volunteers and photographers (Jamil Coury, who I didn't recognize in a coat). Just about everyone giving me estimated distances to the finish that all seemed to conflict with the others. I was All I could do was continue. I picked up the pace and descended the switchbacks into Fish Hatchery.

"Nice job! You're finished!" Wait! What? I knew when the race started that we were going to be given the option of continuing past Fish Hatchery to the detour at Horton Creek. But everyone was telling me I was done. The race had been called at 50k. No option to continue. Probably smart, seeing as how I was now too cold to grasp my bottle or even get it out of the holster. Kristin, Jon, and Trevor were waiting for me, along with some others who had dropped earlier in the race or beaten me to Fish Hatchery. It was great being done, and I was looking forward to my warm gear and a shower.

Done. At Fish Hatchery, 33 miles.

It can't be easy as a race director to plan around mother nature, but Joe Galope is a class act. The race was executed very well, especially considering the elements. The volunteers were amazing, especially those at Hell's Gate who helped rescue so many runners at an area very difficult to access even in good conditions. Kudos and thanks to all! Happy 25th anniversary!