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!

Wading through the Old Pueblo

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents..." - Edward Bulwer-Lytton

It wasn't even 8:00 AM and there were already more messages waiting in the Facebook group chat than I cared to go back and read. The group chat had been created around one runner's training for this race on a shortened schedule and had inevitably evolved into an online water cooler/hangout of sorts. It was now the day before Old Pueblo 50, and the conversation was all about the weather.

"No rain and cooler temps than last year. Sounds like a win/win to me," said one runner, followed by "Well ...looks like minimal rain in the afternoon at least." A quick check through the myriad of

What ACTUALLY hit Old Pueblo in 2014

weather sites confirmed his statements. The low Saturday morning was predicted to be in the low 40s, and the high Saturday in the high 50s, low 60s with 20-30mph wind gusts throughout the day. Only 0.25" of rain predicted all day with the majority of it falling in the afternoon and evening. Aside from the wind, the conditions looked promising, but this is Arizona; I would fully expect this system to pass us by and leave us with a scorching hot afternoon. I finished off my race plan by including a reminder to douse my hat/Buff and myself in water starting at California Gulch (mile 25).

A group of us,  including my crew (my son Scott and Greg and his daughter), stayed in Tucson Friday night. The drive to the start of the race at Kentucky Camp in years prior involved watching the temperature on the truck thermometer drop from the mid to upper 30s down into the low to mid 20s. Something felt off as I watched the thermometer drop as we got closer to the race, but we were still in the 40s. "Yep," I thought, "this is going to be a hot day."

We arrived at the parking area above the starting line with plenty of time to spare. Opening the door to the truck, I was met with the 30 mph wind gusts the NWS promised. The combination of the wind, the humidity, and the 40ºF temps left me chilled as if it was in the 30ºF range. I quickly gathered up my gear and my crew and made my way down to the start. The buildings at Kentucky Camp are the remnants of a ghost town (now owned by the forest service) that was established back in the gold mining days of the late 1800's. It is a fitting place for 200+ runners to start and finish a race in pursuit of a beautiful gold and silver (colored) race buckle.

*** THE START ***

As we stood at the start, greeting and laughing with other runners, and taking part in the obligatory picture taking, Joe, the RD for the day, picked up the megaphone and started with the last minute instructions. "That there is the quietest megaphone I reckon I ever heard." I thought to myself in my best old west/gold miner voice. It really was quiet. I picked up that he was talking about ribbons ... weather ... meh, I've got this ...can't hear him anyway. Before long, and without much fanfare, the start signal was sounded and we were on our way up the hill to Granite Mountain aid station (mile 3).

From the start, Deron and I began running together at a nice, easy pace. Taking the uphill slow and power hiking anything that was really steep. Even the downhill was approached conservatively at this point. My allergies had been bothering me badly leading up to the race, and Deron was complaining about a cold. "This is perfect," I thought, "we can run together coughing and sneezing our way through the race." I'm not sure what it was, but my allergies never became a problem, and I began to pick up a little steam. Deron and I breezed through the Granite Mountain aid station to continue on to California Gulch at mile 7.

*** California Gulch ***

This section of the trail alternates between nice single track and some equally nice double track/jeep road. I remembered last year on this stretch seeing Mark Cosmas slow to point out the sunrise and made it a point this year to check it out again. I had slowly gotten ahead of Deron and found myself alone to admire the view. A Taster's Choice Moment ... by myself. The clouds were scattered in the eastern sky, and the sun was just peeking through them as it came up over the horizon. The desert floor was absolutely beautiful -- someday I may even bring a camera to capture that scened ...someday. Today, you'll just have to take my word for it. Just about any trail runner will tell you that you can't take long, while moving, to enjoy the scenery before the trail will remind you to pay attention. That was the case today, and I nearly ran off the trail while checking out the sunset.

In the mile or two before arriving at California Gulch, I caught up with Trevor Davenport and got to chat with him along this great section of single track leading to the aid station. I love the approach to the aid station. There's just enough visibility that the aid station volunteers and crew members can see runners coming and give them a world class greeting. As I approached, I was greeted by cheers, clapping, cowbell (a sound I love since I started running these races) and, of course, Greg's yell of "Nice job, Thomson!"

It's always a huge benefit to have an experienced crew to help out at these races, and Greg seemed to be making it a point to prove how good he was. After crossing the fence to the aid station, he ran with me a few yards to where the truck was parked. The tailgate was down and my drinks and gear were ready to go. Wow! I shed my jacket and beanie, gulped some water, put on my hat and sunglasses and continued on. That might have been my fastest aid station stop of all time. I hit the road and picked up running with Andy Frazier, a fellow westside runner and Western States lottery winner.

*** GETTING STUNG IN WASP CANYON ***

Andy and I had a lot to talk about as we made our way at an easy to moderate pace on the way to Wasp Canyon aid station at the half-marathon mark. Between our talking and the poor course markings (apparently maliciously pulled down before the race) we soon found ourselves on the way to the Old Sonoita Highway we drove in on. Fortunately, some other runners ahead of us had made the same mistake and were on their way back from the highway after asking some horse riders and drivers for directions. Oh man! This is never good. After running back with them for some time and picking up a bunch of other lost runners (I think our group was 20 strong at this point) we finally found someone with a map. A brief trail meeting was held and we quickly figured out where we missed the turn. There's no point in stressing too much about a missed turn after it has happened. The best thing to do is to pick up the pace a little and try to make up some missed time. Suck it up and move on, I thought.

When I finally got to the Wasp Canyon aid station, Andy was just leaving, and I figured that Deron and others I hadn't seen in the group of runners collected on the way would be well past Wasp Canyon. I was definitely going to be playing catch up. A quick Tailwind refill and some aid station fruit, and I was on my way. Some people think I'm crazy, but I really do enjoy climbing during these races. The climb up Gunsight Pass on the way to the Helvetia aid station (mile 19) is no exception. The climb was moderate enough to allow me to mix in some running with my regular approach of power hiking, and I was making good time and passing runners clear up to the top. Quick glances around on the way up and at the top are always rewarded with spectacular views. At the top, I was met briefly with a gust of wind and a freak wave of ...sleet?!? Where did that come from? The clouds were gathering, but there was no warning that any precipitation was going to hit me before I reached Helvetia. Hmmm ...moving on.

*** PASSING THROUGH THE GATES OF HELL-VETIA ***

The run down Gunsight was quick and technical. The kind of jeep road that, if you're not careful, can leave you with a sprain, or worse. I have seen people bloodied up on this descent, but I wasn't going to be one of them. I made it down in great time and was able to pass a few runners on the way. I settled into a groove between two other runners and kept up a moderate but maintainable pace on the way to Helvetia. Soon before the aid station, the wind really picked up, and the dark clouds were threatening to empty on us. The aid station workers, in an attempt to protect the aid station supplies and staff and to keep the canopy from becoming airborne, had pulled their vehicles into a semi-circle formation around the canopy. Again, I made it a point to be in and out of this aid station. I must have timed it pretty well because when I hit the road, I realized I was surrounded by the same two runners I had entered the aid station with.

Sometime near mile 21, the rain started coming down. It wasn't pouring at first. More of a fine drizzle, but enough to soak my clothes and get me sufficiently chilled. About the same time, while climbing up a long hill, the sleet started falling again. This time, aided by the wind, it was coming in from the side -- completely horizontal. I found myself running with one hand on the brim of my hat and the other hand covering my ear from the mixture of sleet, rain and dust. The other two runners near me had stopped to put on rain gear (I didn't have any) and so I continued on and put a good lead on the two of them, passing a few others in the process. I wasn't moving terribly fast at this point, but maintaining even a slow run on the way to Box Canyon was better than a walk.

*** RUNNING OUT OF THE BOX CANYON ***

Box Canyon aid (mile 25) was a welcome sight. I was cold and was running low on calories. Greg and Scott didn't disappoint me and again had everything laid out for me on the tailgate of my truck. I gulped some water again, grabbed a new bottle of Tailwind and a peanut butter and jelly Bonk
Breaker bar and started the 4 mile climb up the dirt road to get to my last stop at California Gulch (mile 29). The first mile of this stretch involved me consuming the tasty Bonk Breaker bar in record time, and my stomach's inevitable response of "what do you think you're doing to me, nut job!" Yeah, I spent 3 of those 4 miles mixing in running and power hiking making the switch from one to the other based entirely on how likely I was to puke. Somehow, I managed to run 60% or more of that road and made it into California Gulch in record (for me) time.

*** CALIFORNIA GULCH - THE RETURN ***

Scott had my gulping bottle ready and was able to give me a ginger capsule to accompany the gulps of water. At this point, I shed my hat and sunglasses. It had rained and sleeted all the way up the road to 29, and there was no sign it was going to let up. I was wet and cold and opted to brave the elements briefly while I stripped to my shorts to change into warm clothes. The jacket was a huge relief and I could feel myself warming up quickly. I knew that keeping my feet dry was a lost cause and left my Altra Lone Peaks in place. At mile 25, Greg told me Deron had a 10 minute lead on me. Here at mile 29, Greg told me that Deron had "just left" and that I might catch him if I pushed. Yeah, I'm not going to try catching him. My stomach was still recovering from my ill-advised Bonk Breaker speed eating session.

I left California Gulch and began an easy to moderate run back to the Granite Mountain aid station (this time mile 33). This section was the same section I had run on the way out to mile 7 in the morning, but looked entirely different at this time of day. I knew my way along this section and made up some pretty good time. Before long, I passed a runner who, with his hat, sunglasses and gloves in his hands, walked cross armed along the trail mumbling about dropping as soon as he got to the aid station. He looked to be in rough shape, but assured me he would be fine. No sign of Deron yet though. Soon before Granite Mountain, the rain started to pour. This was the rain of "biblical proportions" that I had heard runners make reference to following the race.

*** THE GLAD BAGS OF GRANITE MOUNTAIN ***

I arrived at the Granite Mountain aid station canopy and discovered that it was FULL of runners. Best guess says there were 10-15 runners huddled under the canopy in various stages of either dropping or preparing for the slog to mile 40 -- Deron was among them. Nobody was in a hurry. I spent most of my time at this aid station trying to locate one of the coveted Glad bag raincoats that the other runners had acquired. As soon as I had my new gear in place. I yelled, "162 out!" and hit the trail again. I was followed by a number of other runners, including Deron and his new race buddy Andy from Race Labs.

I was in a hurry to get to the famous Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40. I knew from last year that this could be a long, exposed section and I didn't want to be exposed to this wind and rain any longer than necessary. Deron and Andy ran with me for a short way. I began talking to them and after carrying on for a few minutes, topped a hill and took a look behind me as I was coming down. No Deron or Andy. I was alone again ... talking to myself ... in the middle of the Santa Rita Mountains ... wearing a Glad bag. Don't tell me I don't know how to live.

I had long ago abandoned any hope of keeping my feet dry. Even if I had eight pairs of dry socks to change into at various points along the course, I knew my feet would be soaked a minute after putting them on. At this point, I had to decide to either do my best to keep dry, or to embrace the circumstances and dive (pun intended) in to the rest of this race. I decided on the latter and where there wasn't an easy way around puddles, I just plowed right through them. I wasted no time trying to find the easy way across or through the water and mud. I was committed. I passed only one other runner on this 7 mile stretch (if memory is correct), but I was having fun.

*** I COULD HAVE REALLY USED A CAVE IN THIS CANYON ***

The Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40 is known for it's fanfare and I was excited to see how they would pull out the stops this year. As I approached the aid station, I heard .... nothing. No music. No cheering. Nothing. I came down the hill toward the river crossing expecting to see at least a few volunteers scattered about, but there was no one. One man in a white hoodie came halfway down the hill before I got to the river and I let out a whoop as I crossed right through the middle of the river and started running up the hill to the aid station canopy. The lack of fanfare at this aid station was more than made up for with the hot potato chunks and BACON! I grabbed a handful and stuffed it in my mouth as I went to find my crew. The kids had fallen asleep on the rough ride to the aid station and had just woken up. I'm not sure if they knew where they were or what was going on. Greg took care of me though. There was no point in spending much time changing clothes, but I did take this opportunity to change out of my makeshift rain gear to change into something more suited to the task. My bright yellow rain poncho would be my highly visible companion for the next 11 miles.

I left the aid station in high spirits, feeling good, just ahead of the volunteer who was placing the glow sticks for the runners who would pass through later. I was met about a mile and a half up the road by ... Andy? We were again confused. There were no visible confidence markings along this road, and Andy hadn't seen the turn off the trail to take us to the aid station at mile 46, Gardner Canyon. We decided to follow the instructions of the previous aid station and continue on to the end of the road. Their mileage estimate was off, but we found the trail. This section of the trail is beautiful. You wouldn't know you were in Arizona while passing through this trail. The trail is almost all uphill from the mile 40 aid station to mile 43 or so.

 *** THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT! ***

One of the highlights usually found at mile 40 is the guy (sorry I forgot his name ... especially after running with him briefly last year at this race) who yells, "NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" as you run in to the aid station. He wasn't at mile 40 this year, but I did find him hunkered down in a truck at the top of the hill. As Andy and I approached, he jumped out of his truck, held up a bottle of Crown Royal, gave his token yell and then asked us if we wanted a shot. I whooped back when I heard his yell (I love this guy!) and politely declined the drink.

Andy and I ran another half mile down the road before my left shoe came untied, again, and I bent down to tie it up. He continued on, and I did my best to manipulate my shoe laces with nearly frozen hands covered in soaking wet gloves. As you can guess, it took me a couple of minutes to complete this normally elementary task. When I looked up, Andy was nowhere to be seen. I made it my goal to catch him but I knew the outlook was not promising. I also knew that my goal of coming in under 10 hours was out the door, but I was going to do my best to come in under 11 hours. I ran most of the next 3 miles, even the uphill and through the minor rivers that had formed and passed a couple of runners who were walking it in to mile 46.

*** RUNNING ON BACON ***

The approach to the aid station was a muddy mess, and I could see where other runners had attempted to cross the ditch and the road and had left 2" deep footprints as a result of their efforts. Without even thinking about it, I walked into the aid station, found out about the hot potatoes and cold bacon and again stuffed my face. Hey, everything else was cold, why not the bacon, too? With a full mouth, I asked if they had seen Andy (the guy in the black jacket) come through. "Well, yeah, he was here a couple of minutes ago, but he didn't even stop. He just ran right through." Wait. What? Here I was wasting time at the buffet and Andy was putting miles on me. I thanked them and continued on my way.

*** I'M NOT HAVING A PITY PARTY, AND YOU'RE NOT INVITED ***

Last year, I stiffened up really badly in this section and had a huge pity party. I was determined not to let that happen again this year though the trail conditions would have been excuse enough for another party. Not long after leaving mile 46 aid, I found myself almost knee deep in what is normally an ankle deep babbling creek. The creek was swollen and loud. Unrecognizable from previous years. I plowed my way through and stopped briefly on the other side to watch the water drain from my shoes. Amazing. This is Arizona? The remaining trail to the finish involved a couple of minor climbs, some very flooded single track and a long dirt road along the ride just south of Kentucky Camp. I ran everything I could, including the flooded trails. Water splashed everywhere. It was quite a mess. But I wasn't concerned with staying clean or dry. I had to come in under 11 hours.

*** THE FINISH, BUT NOT THE END ***

As I hit the valley floor on the approach to Kentucky Camp, I started worrying about the people, friends who were still out on the course. Were they going to be able to get in before dark? I couldn't imagine running those trails in the dark, and they were only going to get worse as the night progressed. I put those thoughts temporarily out of my mind and ran my way to the finish. This year, with the conditions at hand, the approach to Kentucky Camp was quiet. It was truly a ghost town. As I got closer, I could see a few people under the cover of the porch and heard Greg's yell as I crossed the finish with absolutely no other fanfare. I didn't care though. I just wanted to get out of the rain and to change clothes.

The talk inside the cabin was all about the terrible conditions, course markings, those still out on the course, all the DNFs, and of course, the food. I heard later that runners who dropped at 40 and 46, and crew at those aid stations were stranded through the night. Search and Rescue was called out to look throughout the night for six unaccounted for runners. The last reports I heard indicated that everyone was eventually accounted for and safe.

Officially, only 61 of the registered 211 runners finished. That's roughly 30%. In retrospect, I am very happy about the result, considering the conditions, but I can't say if I would run it again if I knew the same conditions would be present. It certainly was an adventure.

2013 - A year in review

In looking back at the events of the past year, I have tried to evaluate the most meaningful, impactful events from the year in order to record them as my highlights. However, though there were certainly some big moments that changed my life, I truly feel that the smaller moments shouldn't be forgotten either. It seems to me that the summation of the smaller moments eclipse the few big moments for meaning and impact and shouldn't be ignored. So, let's start small.

Since this is a blog about running, I will focus on that aspect of my life.

I have to begin by mentioning all of the incredible people I have met throughout the year. Most of them were met on the trail, doing what I love, and then carried into the virtual space of social media. I find that running with someone somewhere in the wilderness is one of the best places to get to know a person. Not only do you get to talk to them, but you can tell a lot about a person by the way they run. Are they ambitious? Do they attack the uphill? Are they cautious? Do they stop and enjoy the scenery? Many times, my impression of a person was formed more through my observations than through conversation. Regardless, I met more amazing people than I can readily pull to mind, and the majority of them won't realize what kind of impression they have had, and continue to have, on me. 2013 blessed me with some great new friendships.

Secondly, it becomes obvious to me that I spend more time on the trail training than I do actually racing or participating in special non-race events. So, here's to all the miles and hours on the trails. From fighting through the morning stiffness during the cold winter mornings on the rocky trails at Thunderbird to sweating it out through 112ºF temps in the hot summer sun, it was all worth it. All of these runs contributed to where I am today. Each of them is a building block. Many of them helped me establish new boundaries and brought fresh, renewed perspective into who I am and what I can accomplish.

Next, it almost goes without saying that a runner, or any athlete for that matter, is eventually going to be injured. It isn't ever an easy thing to deal with. Injury breaks routine and throws training plans into disarray, but when you're injured as much as I was in 2013, you either cry and complain about it, or you find the silver lining. For me, I start by crying and complaining about it (at least to those closest to me) and then I move on to the silver lining. The silver lining in all of my injuries is that I was able to become more intimately aware of how my body works and how amazing of a machine it can be -- even when injured. Of course, I had the help of some great professionals and some amazing friends who came through with some great recommendations. I would feel ungrateful if I didn't mention Justin Pierce at Valley Spinal Care. That guy kept me going through some pretty low injury moments.

So, now that the "smaller" moments are, for the most part, covered, it's on to the big moments. I won't go into a lot of detail with them since they are all covered in various posts in this blog.

My year started off with the first annual Thunderbird 50k, which I hosted at Thunderbird park in Glendale in January. It was cold. There was a small crowd, but there were also some great performances. Silas Klaver pretty much dominated the event and made it look easy right from the start. Since this isn't officially a race, the results aren't recorded anywhere, but it's a great way to get in a good 50k run and start the year of right. We'll be doing it again this year.

My races started off with my first time at Old Pueblo 50-miler near Sonoita, Arizona. It was a great race, and an amazing learning experience. Officially, it was also my first 50 mile race since the North Face Endurance Challenge in San Francisco in 2012 was shortened, and the Javelina Night Run (now the Javelina Jangover) was officially 46 miles. I was excited to make this great event my first one >50 miles. I'm going back this year to break my PR.

My next race was Zane Grey. I made it roughly 27 miles (?) before succumbing to some nasty vomiting and dehydration. Nothing I ingested that whole day was digested and I made my offering to the trail gods at the one place on the trail where they tell you not to drop. DNF. I have a score to settle. I'll be back this year.

Feeling like I underachieved at Zane Grey, and wanting to get in a solid, challenging run, I ended up joining a group of friends at the Grand Canyon in the middle of May for my first rim-to-rim-to-rim. Again, I made some rookie mistakes and payed the price 3/4 the way through,  but with the help and encouragement of some new friends I was able to complete the run in a respectable time. Again, I'm going back this year.

My troubles at Zane Grey and at R2R2R led me to reevaluate my fueling strategy and ultimately to drop my EFS and CarboPro mixture and replace it with a new product, Tailwind. I won't say much about this than to say that I think every runner should give this a try. It's awesome, and the people at Tailwind stand behind what they produce and provide the best customer support ever. Period.

The end of May found me in the southeast valley running to support Trevor Davenport's run to raise funds and awareness for ALS. The HOM100 was organized by Trevor as a result of his friend's battle with ALS, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to help Trevor through some of the miles he was running. It was an incredible experience and an honor to be a part of such an epic and selfless run.

July found me in Snowbird, Utah for my first time racing at the Speedgoat 50k. I had my eye on this race since the year before, but I doubt I would have been ready. What a difference a year made. I spent a lot of time doing hill training in and around Phoenix and Flagstaff, including a lot of trips up Mt. Humphreys with Kristin, Deron, Greg, and a lot of other friends. This training made all the difference. I went into that race feeling strong and healthy and came away with a solid (for me) performance on a more than difficult course. I will be going back to this one, maybe next year, to compete against my PR.

My big race for the year, and my first 100-miler was Mogollon Monster. I had spent the whole year up to this point mentally and physically preparing for this 106 mile beast. Every race I did, every training run was targeted in some way to help me conquer this epic adventure. I had the help of some amazing runners who constantly provided encouragement and got me to the starting line. Deron Ruse, who had run this the year before, was a huge help and was always there with tips and advice for the big day. I spent a lot of miles on the trails with him talking about different aspects of the race and picking his brain for adjustments to my strategy. In the end, with the help of an amazing crew, led by Kristin Steele, and THE BEST pacers, Scott, Greg, and Sarah, the beast was mine.

My last race of the year was my second year at The North Face Endurance Challenge Championships in San Francisco. The year before was muddy and messy, and the course had been shortened... long story, read the post. Anyway, I felt I had a score to settle, and I ended up toeing the line again in 2013. This year, I made the trip with Deron and Kristin and met Jon Roig at the race. Another great time, this time with much better weather and an awesome experience.

All in all, this year was a great success for me. I got to see some amazing places, participate in some great events, make some good friends and meet some amazing people. The trail running community is truly something incredible, and anyone who hasn't had the opportunity to experience this is truly missing out. Here's to more fun, misery, happiness and accomplishment in 2014.

Yearly stats:

• Total distance: 2014 miles/3241 kilometers
• Total elevation: 257,368 ft/78446 meters
• Total time: 430:50:48 (1 hr 10 min/day)
• Calories: 207,200 (approx.)

The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile - Take II

There was nervous energy in the air as hundreds of shivering, cold runners lined up behind the starting line while a cold drizzle fell from the sky. We were all wet already, and we knew that it was just going to get worse as we ran a shortened course on extremely muddy trails. That was last year; this year was bound to be better.

The scene was similar, but there was no rain. The forecast for rain had been replaced by a forecast for fog, which was again replaced by a forecast for clear skies. I wasn't complaining. But it was still cold. 34ºF at the start made my decision to wear my Pearl Izumi jacket and NF beanie, gloves and sleeves easy.

A couple of good friends and I had made the drive from Phoenix, AZ to Mill Valley, CA the day before, which helped to calm my nerves a little. I don't know what it is about airports, but I can't relax in them, and that nervousness is hard to shake. The drive was long, but an overnight stop in Burbank broke it up enough to be enjoyable. I slept well the night before the race and I was feeling rested at the start. I was in unfamiliar territory.

The race started in waves, and it wasn't long after we lined up that the first wave was off. The headlamps of the elites leaving the start and snaking down the road on the way toward the first climb. Two waves later and Deron, Jon and I started out together at an easy pace, finding our place in the long line of lights. The first mile we spent going at a real easy pace, talking and laughing while we headed for the climb up to what would later in the day be the Alta aid station.

I had committed myself to running this race immediately after finishing last year's race. It was a score I had to settle. The race was also a qualifier for Western States 100, and I wanted to make sure I got my name in for 2015. That is, until Western States changed the qualifying standards and removed 50 milers as qualifying races. Of course, I had already registered for this race. So, I figured I would just go out and enjoy myself. No pressure. But anyone who knows me knows that I rarely take it easy ... especially on race day. I'm not a front of the pack runner, but I do like to see how well I can do, and today was no different.

It wasn't long before I broke away from the guys and started a slow, methodical run up the first climb, passing walkers right and left. I was feeling really good. It seemed like the first climb was over quickly, and I was on my way down to the 5 mile aid. I pounded down the hill, again passing runners as I went. "I'm going too hard," I told myself over and over. But I was feeling good, and breathing came easy. Why fight it, right? I passed right through 5 mile aid without stopping, my bottle of Tailwind had hardly been touched. The aid station was a good reminder to stay on top of my hydration and calories, and I began sipping my Tailwind while I headed to Tennessee Valley.

The next climb was a little tougher, and I mixed in a little bit of power hiking on the steeper grades with running on the more mild grades. Again, my breathing felt controlled and I was still passing other runners, so I went with what felt good. The climb seemed longer than I remember it, but we eventually topped out and began the quick descent into Tennessee Valley.

I had a drop bag at this aid station and had intended on leaving my headlamp, jacket and beanie and picking up my hat. But I had arrived a little before the sun was up, and still had the headlamp in use. Oh, and it was still really cold -- too cold to leave my jacket and beanie behind. I ended up grazing a little at the aid station, grabbing some orange wedges and water before heading out to Muir Beach. Besides, I still had over half a bottle of Tailwind and it was cold enough that I wasn't going through fluids very quickly.

This next section of the course is one of my favorites. The climbs aren't terrible and the trail follows along the side of a slope that leads to the edge of the water. The views are incredible and the single track trail is some of the best I've had the pleasure of running. It was easy to lose myself in this little bit of heaven and the time flew by. Before I knew it, I was finishing the last of the climbs before heading down the steep service road and into Muir Beach. Last year, I remembered, this road was almost not runnable because it was covered with inches of mud and was extremely slippery. This year was completely different. The run was fast, and I had to remind myself not to descend too hard or my quads would be in no shape to descend later in the day.

The stop at Muir was quick, just long enough to fill my now empty bottle with electrolyte drink (boy, I sure didn't plan that well), grab some fruit and water and continue. I fell in with a small group who were moving quickly toward the climb up to the Cardiac aid station. Before long, we were in a conga line heading up the switchbacks. One of the runners behind me making 80's video game sound effects, which later I realized were from Donkey Kong. It felt a little like that, minus the barrels. This section, although uphill, was almost entirely runnable. I ran nearly the whole way to Cardiac, passing fewer and fewer runners as I eventually found that I was surrounded by runners who were more closely matching or surpassing my ability. I had to dial it down a notch.

The stop at Cardiac took a little more time. I grabbed my drop bag and refilled my bottle with Tailwind. I was getting behind on sodium, and I knew the Tailwind would provide what I was lacking ...if I could remember to drink it. When the weather is cold, I have a much harder time remembering to drink. With Tailwind, that's a bad place to be since everything you need is in your drink. Mental note: drink more.

I had been looking forward to this next section out to the McKennan Gulch aid station. A few miles out of Cardiac, the trail becomes an out and back section of single track trail on a grassy slope overlooking the ocean. This would probably be my only chance to see the elites ... if I was fast enough to get there before they started their descent into Stinson Beach. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to see the leaders, but I did see some notable runners. In fact, I nearly knocked Anna Frost up of the trail. Yeah, I should have been paying attention to the oncoming runners a little better and before I knew it, Anna was almost right on top of me and was moving fast. I had just enough time to hop off the trail to let her past. I called out something like, "go get it Frosty!" To which she replied, "thanks, you too". Ok, I'll get right on that, ha ha!

This section is difficult because there is very little room to pass, and runners going out are to yield to runners returning from McKennan Gulch. So every so often, I found myself jumping up the hill to let someone pass, then I would return to the trail, run 50 yards or so and repeat. It was cold at McKennan Gulch. I hadn't consumed enough calories, and I could tell I was low on sodium. So, when the aid station worker asked if I would like some chicken broth, I was all over it. Chicken soup for the runner's soul. Mmmmm. Good stuff.

I was making really good time and I decided not to stay long at the aid station. Besides, it was too cold to want to stay there long. I quickly jumped back onto the trail and began my run to Stinson Beach. Along the way, I briefly saw Jon, who wasn't that far behind me and a little while later ran into Deron. He was looking rough. Of course, I told him he was looking strong, and as I passed him he told me he was having issues with his hip. "That would be awful to have to run this much of the race with pain in the hip," I thought. "Glad I'm feeling great."

It wasn't long after I thought this when I came upon a group of four runners who had just climbed up a very short, very slippery iced over muddy section of the trail.

"Careful," they told me, "this section is really slick."

I actually had the thought go through my head, "Uh, yeah. I know, I just came up this trail, remember?"

No sooner had I thought that than my foot slipped and my body twisted and contorted as I slid downhill, trying to catch myself and keep from falling. In retrospect, I probably would have done better to just allow myself the fall. I didn't go far, maybe just 10-12 feet, but the twisting had hurt my lower back -- and my pride. I continued running so as to not look phased, but I was in pain. I came to the turn down to Stinson Beach, the section of the trail I thought I would crush, and found that I couldn't run fast downhill without terrible pain in my right leg and lower back. Great. There goes my race. I had thoughts of dropping at Stinson Beach as each step I took on my right leg sent pain into my back. I was angry that such a stupid mistake would ruin my day, but I kept moving as fast as I could go without causing myself too much grief.

I came into Stinson feeling defeated. I knew what the downhill was going to feel like, but I had no idea how I was going to deal with the remaining uphill climbs. I sat down in a chair and tried to stretch my leg out. OUCH! No, that wasn't going to work. I wasn't ready to quit though. Earlier, I had been talking to Kristin about the race and about how I was just going to go out and enjoy myself. And here I was, sitting in a chair at Stinson Beach, a little over halfway, thinking about my options. As cheesy as it sounds, I had the thought go through my head of Gordy Ainsleigh describing his first WS100 experience where he contemplated what he was capable of doing. Now, my situation wasn't anywhere near as dramatic as his, but the line, "one more step" got stuck in my head. I decided to hit the trail again.

Even with the stop to sit in the chair, I didn't stay long at the aid station. The next climb, back to Cardiac, was going to be interesting. I channeled Kristin a little at this point and decided I needed to make this race a little more fun. Take in some of the scenery, enjoy the people around me, and relax. This was a good time for that, too, as it wasn't long before the steps began. Wow! Who installed these things. Was this some sort of joke? I didn't train for stairs. I kept pushing forward, and upward, feeling pain every time I lifted my right leg to climb another stair, but I had found a climbing buddy and with the conversation filling the air, I soon let the pain slip to the background.

Matt, my climbing/running buddy, and I managed to push a pretty decent pace, all things considered, back into Cardiac. I again sat and drank some soup, filled up my Tailwind and ate some orange wedges. It was still really cold at Cardiac, and I didn't want to hang out long. I dropped off my sleeves and wondered why I hadn't put my hat in the drop bag here instead of at Tennessee Valley. Hindsight is 20/20, right?

Matt left a little before me, and I made it my goal to catch him before Old Inn. Ooops, I forgot, I can't run fast downhill now. I managed to get down the hill at a slow easy pace; other runners passing me as I hobbled along. No sign of Matt. He was probably long gone. I got to the Muir woods and started passing hikers. The trees were beautiful and amazing and I soon realized that I was on a nature trail and hadn't seen a marker in a while. I stopped and looked around to take inventory. Let's see ... hikers wearing uggs, texting, strollers, no markers ...I'm lost. I asked a few of the tourists if they had seen any runners. Nope. I turned around an made my way back the way I had come.

After a while, I saw a group of runners up a trail with obvious trail markers at the entrance. How had I missed that? There was something wrong though. These runners weren't running. They were all sitting on the side of the trail. A park ranger was blocking the trail and the turn uphill. I ran into the group and asked what was going on. Yeah, so apparently, the forest service decided that today would be a good day to transport 673 lb steel I-beams down the trail, carried by 1-12 men, stopping every 10 feet. So, we were told we would just have to wait. After 10 min of waiting, trying to calm down some of the other runners and not get on the bad side of the park ranger, he finally let us pass. Seriously though, who thought this would be a good idea?

I could see my goal of finishing under 10 hours slipping away; injury, getting lost, trail work delay, yeah, this isn't happening. To my surprise, my injury was calming down, at least on the uphill. I was able to climb strong again, but the pain was still there. I began to push the uphills, passing as many runners as I could, only to have most of them pass me as I hobbled down the hills later. I was making progress though, and that was all that mattered.

Old Inn aid station was a very welcomed sight. I was almost out of electrolytes and hit the aid station table hard, but trying to stick with fruits and chicken broth. After I had a little picnic at the aid station, I left for my final pass through Muir Beach. This section was tough for me. I had to fight the negative thoughts pretty hard as I continually had to reign myself back on the downhill sections, and pushing the uphills was taking its toll on me. Before long, I found myself walking through the woods, alone with my Bonk Breaker bar. It's funny, looking back on it now, but I was having a tough time when I ran into Matt again. He had stopped on a bridge and was sitting on a railing looking rough.

We decided to stick together into Muir Beach, mixing walking and running, oh, and listening to Matt's cheesy jokes. But it took my mind off the moment and I began to pick back up. Old Inn to Muir Beach is only 3.5 miles, and that time went quickly with company. I have to admit here that I had lost myself on the course and thought I was running to Tennessee Valley. Even after arriving at Muir, I couldn't figure out where I was -- it just didn't compute. Then I realized where I was and that I had just a couple of big climbs remaining. I started to do my thing and pushed through the next big uphill climb. It was relentless. I almost had flashbacks to Speedgoat 50k earlier in the year. I was now on a section of the course I had done before, and I could pace myself a little easier, knowing what was ahead of me.

After the big climb out of Muir Beach, the trail is very runnable and beautiful. I cruised through this section at an easy pace, just enjoying myself as much as possible. It was in this section where I realized that I might just run into Kristin doing her 50k. Of course, I'm not really great at math after running so far, and this was no exception. I was way behind.

I came cruising into Tennessee Valley and decided not to break my pace too much. A quick pit stop and I was on my way again. The last big climb up to Alta aid. This was a doozy. All I could do was to  select a point 20-30 yards ahead, run to that point, walk to the next point, then repeat. Walking that whole hill would have been too monotonous. This proved to be a good strategy, and I felt like it made that climb go much faster. It also helped that I had someone leap frogging with me up the hill. She was about equal in ability and though we didn't say anything to each other, there was a strong feeling of competition and we were both eating it up. She had a pacer though... darn pacer. I couldn't match her pace downhill and lost her before long as I struggled to make a 10 min mile down the last hill out of Alta.

After that last hill, I knew I had only a mile left to go and tried to use whatever was left in the tank to carry me up that last climb up the paved road leading to the finish. I wasn't going to walk that hill. I would run if it killed me. Ok, fine, I'll walk. But only because I'm exhausted and the wind is blowing against me. Ok, fine. I'm not a pansy, I'll run. I managed to keep the walking down to only a short section of the road and ran the rest of the way to the finish.

I was honestly a little surprised to see the time on the clock. Earlier in the day, at Stinson Beach, I had figured that I could MAYBE squeak by with an 11:30 finish. I had made it almost an hour faster than that! On the other side of the finish line, Kristin was waiting for me, looking like she was freezing, but it was good to see a familiar face. I couldn't get in to long pants, dry clothes and a jacket fast enough. It was getting cold again as the sun got low on the horizon.

What an amazing experience. Despite the bad turn of events with the twisted back, getting lost, and the inappropriately timed trail maintenance, I had managed to finish in 10:38:51. I'm confident that I could have finished in under 10 hours, had the stars aligned, or maybe if I had been a little smarter. This was all on me, but it was a good learning experience. Next time I'll be faster!

My First Attempt At Zane Grey 50

A few years ago I heard about a crazy foot race near Payson. Allegedly, runners started in Pine, following the Highline trail along the Mogollon Rim all the way past Christopher Creek. Over 50 miles. There were stories of runners coming into aid stations with broken bones only to continue running through to the finish. This story was accompanied by statements like, "people who do that are just plain nuts," and "those guys are all type A personalities and this is their outlet." When I heard these stories I couldn't relate to the mind of anyone who would willfully subject himself to such punishment, yet that's where I found myself yesterday.

The Start

At 5:00 AM I found myself starting down the trail from Pine, on my way to the 260 trailhead past Christopher creek. Other than the standard issue butterflies in the stomach, I felt good. My legs were rested and I actually had a pretty good sleep the night before. There were over 120 other runners joining me on this trek across the wilderness as we left the start with headlamps aglow. The large group of runners quickly became clusters and then, as the trail narrowed, evolved into the inevitable conga line. I knew going into this run that it's important to keep from getting stuck too far back in the pack, or it could be a while before you could pass and make up lost time. Right away, a small group of us began our first ascent on the way to Geronimo, chatting the whole time.

It wasn't three miles from the start when I got hit with my first wave of nausea. I was almost a mile from the first big climb and there was just a small group of four or five runners at the time. I was leading the group and I suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to pull off the trail and hurl. This is always a hard thing for me to deal with. Do I just slow down and push through it? How bad is it, really? Whenever anything goes wrong in an ultra, especially this early, I begin to barrage myself with self-assessing questions. It's like a big flowchart in my head that I use to analyze my state to come up with the right solution. Unfortunately, I'm still new enough to running ultras that I don't have all the answers and many times, I end up at the same result -- push through it. So, that's what I did.

The situation improved dramatically over the next five miles, but my stomach never did settle. I wasn't able to get any gels/waffles/etc into my system, so I relied on my slurry mixture of EFS and CarboPro. I've used that mix long enough to know how far I can get with it. One 20 oz. bottle carries roughly 400 calories with that mix, so I wasn't too concerned about dropping into a calorie deficit as long as I could keep drinking. Before I got to the Geronimo aid station at mile 8, I glanced down at my bottle and noticed that I had only gone through a third of the bottle. I figured I should have been at least halfway through the bottle.

Geronimo! (8 miles)

Everything but my stomach was still firing on all cylinders when I pulled into Geronimo, and I was able to get some coke and water down while shedding my sleeves and headlamp. The stop at Geronimo was quick; I think I was in and out of there in just a couple of minutes. The next climb didn't seem as bad as I remembered from my training run on that trail and it seemed that I was at the top before I realized how far I had gone. Much of this part of the trail is a blur to me, but I know I was about halfway to Washington Park when the next big wave of nausea hit. This time I slowed myself to a fast hike and tried to slow my heart rate a little, which was abnormally high. I continued to run downhill and on the flats, but my climbing speed was greatly decreased. It wasn't long before it began to subside to the point where I could run a little faster and could resume power hiking the uphills. 

Washington Park (17 miles)

When I pulled into Washington park, Pat and Michelle were there waiting for me. I told them how I was feeling when I was at Geronimo, so that was almost the first thing they asked me when I arrived. The news was a little better this time around. I had managed to down a Stinger gel a couple of miles before Washington Park, and it didn't seem to have a negative impact on me. I was also able to finish off my EFS/CP and I felt like things were improving. After refilling my bottle and my pack, I was back on the trail. My crew really had things together!

This section is where things really started to fail in the energy department. I was still sticking to my strategy of power hiking the uphills and running everything else, and that had worked very well to this point. I noticed at about mile 19 that my criteria for an "uphill" was quickly expanding to anything with more than a 1% grade. This wasn't a good sign. A few times I caught myself power hiking over flat ground when I could see the people in front of me pick up the pace. What in the world was happening? The harder climbs turned my legs to lead and I would have to continue walking when I reached the top to give myself some time to recover. I was actually so spent in this section that I almost forgot about my stomach issues.

Hell's Gate Canyon (25 miles)

I walked into Hell's Gate Canyon. I was spent. My legs were turning over just enough to keep me from falling over and I was quickly losing steam. I decided I was going to get in and out as quickly as possible, but my first attempt at drinking some water changed my mind. It took me a full two minutes to get half a cup of water down. That's when I realized just how messed up my stomach was. I grabbed a cup of coke and broke my rule of not sitting at the aid station. I sat for another couple of minutes trying to regroup while I drank the coke to try and easy my stomach. After a few minutes, I decided to get my butt out of the chair and back on the trail. I stood up and immediately felt lightheaded. It passed. I had been at the aid station for about 5 minutes now and was having serious doubts about my ability to complete the next leg to Fish Hatchery at mile 33.

I was at the point where I knew I needed encouragement. The aid station workers, bless their hearts, weren't all that much help in this department. My running partner, Deron, from earlier in the day couldn't be too far behind so I decided to wait at the aid station for him. He would surely tell me to suck it up and keep going. And if he wasn't going to continue, I wouldn't either. I needed the moral support. Ten minutes or so later, I was starting to feel good enough to take a whack at the next leg. It was then that I heard the ham radio guys say that they could see another runner coming. It was Deron, and he was in rough shape.

Deron came into the aid station and we immediately started talking about our options -- DNF or press on? I had hoped that he would come in with a smile on his face and the decision would be easy. After discussing it briefly, Deron said, "You know what? I'm done." and with that he pressed the stop button on his Garmin. "Hang on! Let's talk about this a little." I said. Over the next few minutes, I convinced him that we could just take it really slow to the next aid station and see how it went. Worst case, we would drop at Fish Hatchery. He agreed to this and we began to leave the aid station.

Jim Pierce, one of the ham radio volunteers and all around great guy, said as we were leaving, "Just make sure you can make it to 33. We don't want to have to come rescue you." I sort of laughed at this because I had signed up for 51 miles. 33 shouldn't be this difficult. Deron and I started up the hill out of Hell's Gate Canyon at a real slow pace. I'm sure even my Garmin was getting annoyed with me, but it was all either of us could manage.

The return

We continued on for what felt like a mile or more when the naseau came back with a vengeance. I told Deron I thought I was going to puke and he smartly decided to get well in front of me. After dry heaving once or twice, I proceeded to lose everything from the last couple of hours ...and it was a lot! I really felt bad for that Manzanita bush ...and my shoe. I tried to sit down on the side of the trail, but my hip flexor cramped and I resorted to stretching out across the trail and puked again. I knew I was done.

Discussing the DNF with the crew.

We both decided to call it and head back to Hell's Gate Canyon aid. I don't know what happened after we left that aid station for 33, but I'm almost convinced that they relocated it -- that hike back seemed to take twice as long as the hike out. Along the way we passed several runners who either thought they had gone the wrong way or knew something was wrong. Honey came the closest to talking me into continuing, but Jim's words kept going through my head about being sure I could make it. And I was anything but sure.

After making it back to the aid station, I sat in the chair with the worst sense of defeat I've felt in a long time. It's never easy to DNF a race. Especially one that I had trained for and felt really good about my ability to complete. The questions and second guessing always swirl in my head for hours and days afterward. I regret the way things turned out and I wish I could rewind the clock and do something, anything, differently.

There's always next year, and I will be back.