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!

The old man running the Old Man 50k

Saturday morning found me mingling with a decent sized group of runners at the Granite Mountain Trailhead in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve. Each year, Michael Miller hosts a 50k(-ish) run near his home in North Scottsdale, an area I don't get to run very often. Ok, so I've never been there, but I was excited to get to run with friends on some new trails. After some course instructions from Mike, and the obligatory group photos, we started off.

It's only been two weeks since the Old Pueblo 50 mile mud run, but I was feeling pretty good. I had come away from OP50 with no injuries or pains worth noting, but only four days after, on a slow recovery run, my right foot behind my 5th metatarsal started screaming at me. I did the standard RICE procedure, included my 3-6-3 NSAID regimen, and the pain seemed to be completely under control. This morning was no different, but there was some stiffness in that spot when I woke up.

The run started off great, and I settled into an easy pace with Jon Roig. The miles always pass quickly with Jon around – he's great at keeping a good conversation going. The trail hadn't been undersold as it undulated and wound through some spectacular desert scenery. The constant ups and downs did make it a little more difficult to settle into a constant pace, but I wasn't pushing it, and I focused on cadence and effort more than pace alone.

After several miles, Jon decided to take it a little easier and I ended up catching up to Grandpa Jim (and re-catching Lauren and Larry(?)) at Cathedral Rock. We all briefly stopped there to consult our maps. After my experience at OP50, I had decided to carry both the maps and the written instructions in my pack (there is no flagging at Old Man 50k). I pulled out my map and Jim and I both concluded that we needed to continue on past Cathedral Rock and continue making rights on the trail which would eventually take us to the Brown's Ranch Trailhead (Aid station).

Jim and I ran together for a few more miles, consulting the map as we went and negotiating some confusing turns, but we figured we were going the right way. When we suddenly saw Nick Coury running toward us, I just assumed he was on loop 2 and we were just crossing paths. He said he was on loop 1 and that we were going the wrong way. He didn't stick around long, but Jim and I figured that even though our mileage was close, we would continue down the trail the way we were going until we found the next marker. That was in about 50 yards. Nick was right. Somehow, we had missed a right turn and were going to be crossing everyone else's paths if we continued on. We turned around and with the extra out and back, only missed out on 0.2 miles for the loop.

By this point, my foot had become sore to the point that I was favoring it when running flat or downhill, but uphill wasn't a problem. The remainder of the loop continued with the undulating trail all the way to Brown's Ranch Trailhead. By that point, limping was unavoidable. It hurt just to walk. I hung out at the aid station until a few more runners came in, and I soon found some partners to head back to the start along the power line trail. The 5.5 miles of the power line trail was all up or down – nothing flat. I did my best to keep running, but my foot complained the whole way back.

"Are you hurt, or are you injured?" This line (I think it was from the movie 'Rudy') goes through my head any time I deal with pain out on the trail. There is certainly a fine line sometimes between distinguishing the hurt from the injury. I think anyone who has been running long enough knows how frustrating it is to end a run or a race early due to perceived injury only to find out that it's just a hurt. Of course, the saying goes that discretion is the better part of valor, or better safe than sorry, and all that. It doesn't make it any easier to miss out on running in the beautiful Sonoran desert with friends, but it does make it easier to get out again on the trails if you aren't nursing an injury that could have been just a hurt.

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.

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!

R2R2R - 2013

"To stand upon the edge of this stupendous gorge, as it receives its earliest greeting from the god of day, is to enjoy in a moment compensation for long years of ordinary uneventful life."

Stoddard, John  1898

It wasn't long ago that I was introduced to the world of ultra running, races, and culture. And it wasn't long before I started reading and hearing stories of some the crazy runs and races people were doing. One of these crazy runs a friend told me about was the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim (or R2R2R) run. I was still at a point where I couldn't see myself doing anything as crazy as running through one of the largest gorges in the world and back again. That wasn't going to last long.

Shooting the breeze around our old west campfire.

A couple of months ago, my friend Deron created a Facebook event for a small group of runners to run the R2R2R only two weeks after the Zane Grey 50 (which we were both running). I passively committed to the run, not knowing if I would even be walking after running Zane Grey, let alone running. It wasn't until the after the Zane Grey disaster that I decided that there wasn't any way I would miss R2R2R. It was practically decided for me.

Before I knew it, I was setting up camp in the Grand Canyon Park's Mather campground while chatting to Deron, Andy, John, Lorrie and Ryan about our imminent trip into the canyon. Lorrie and Ryan were the only ones in our group who had previously done R2R2R and we all listened to a some of their stories from their last double-crossing. It was funny to me how 3 of the 5 blog posts, and now Lorrie and Ryan's story, were actually quite unnerving stories. Stories of people who suffered from dehydration, heat exhaustion, or a host of other problems and had slogged through hours of misery to make it out of the canyon by the skin of their teeth. I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into.

Kaibab: Navajo for "mountain lying down"

About to begin the descent.

At roughly 5:40 AM the next morning, we were all standing at the top of the South Kaibab trailhead looking deep into the Grand Canyon as the sun peaked over the horizon and bathed the canyon in an almost unearthly glow. There was no way any of our cameras would come remotely close to capturing

the spectacular scenery we were about to run through, and we all knew it. We strapped on our packs, pushed the start buttons on our GPS watches and began our descent.

The S. Kaibab trail starts at approximately 7,260 ft of elevation and, over the course of just over 6 miles, deposits runners at the base of the canyon at 2,400 ft above sea level. That's a loss of about 800 ft/mile. Needless to say, we all knew that we needed to preserve our quads for later in the day by not pounding out this downhill too aggressively. That proved to not be a problem as we stopped multiple times to take pictures and to just enjoy the scenery.

Yep. That's Joe Galope, race director for Zane Grey!

About an hour and a half later we arrived at the bottom of the canyon at the first major stop, Phantom Ranch. It was really spectacular how much greenery surrounded us in the middle of that desert canyon. Phantom Ranch is set at the base of the Bright Angel Creek where it enters the Colorado River, and the trees and plant life there provided the perfect place to stop for hikers, rafters, runners, and campers. It helps that there are multiple buildings, drinking water and food there, too. Just saying. There were whole towns smaller than Phantom Ranch where I grew up.

We stayed at Phantom Ranch just long enough to get a small bite to eat, refill our packs from the water spigot, and visit with some friends from Phoenix we just happened to bump into. It wasn't long before we began the run up the North Kaibab trail alongside the Bright Angel creek on our way to Cottonwood Camp. We couldn't have chosen a better time of day to be running through the box canyon. There were some spectacular shadows cast through the canyon. Combined with the perfect

temperature and the sound of the creek nearby, it made for an amazing, almost unnoticeable run. That is, for some of us. The effect must have been overpowering on Deron and before long he found himself  catching his feet in his shoelaces and did a great impression of superman onto the canyon trail. Very graceful. With two bloody knees, he wins the award for the first and only injury from our trip.

I have a confession to make at this point: I'm horrible at keeping track of people running behind me. It wasn't long before I glanced behind me and realized that I was well ahead of the rest of the group. It didn't worry me at all since our group consisted of accomplished runners who were all able to navigate the trail themselves. Besides, there's only one trail ...I don't think it's possible to get lost along this section.

I arrived at Cottonwood Camp about 7 minutes ahead of the rest of the group and refilled my pack and bottle for the next section of the trail. The rest of the group arrived soon after. Again, we didn't stay long at this stop, but were able to relax a little and breath. You just can't get this quality of air in Phoenix.

North Kaibab. The climb begins.

We left Cottonwood camp as a group and Lorrie, Ryan and I settled into a nice steady pace on our way up to our next water stop at Roaring Springs. We all knew this was going to be a long climb, and I was just fine doing a fast power-hike up any hill that came my way. It was important to preserve some energy for the way back and not burn out the legs too early. It really didn't seem like it took long to get to Roaring Springs. Lorrie and Ryan are a great couple and kept the conversation interesting and entertaining. Much of this section just flew by for me.

We didn't stay long at Roaring Springs, in fact, I don't think Lorrie stopped at all. I stopped long

enough to top up my bottle and then hurried my pace up to catch up with our intrepid leaders. I don't need to call this out again, but the North Kaibab trail is beautiful. It's amazing to me the diversity of the

The view looking down the switchbacks of North Kaibab.

plants in that area. There was never a time when there wasn't something interesting to look at. Granted, there were a number of places where, for someone like me who is uncomfortable with heights, I didn't want to look too long. The trail literally climbs the canyon wall, in some places carved right into the wall, and the edge of the trail drops straight down more than I care to think about.

This climb is one of those climbs where I switch into second gear and just grind out the miles. Lorrie and Ryan both did the same thing and we were able to maintain a decent ascent up N. Kaibab. We had to slow only once for a water break at Supai Tunnel and for another mule train, this time going up the canyon. That's always an entertaining experience to try and squeeze between a canyon wall and some pack mules. Those suckers are big.

We all agreed that we wouldn't pause long at the top; only enough to refill our packs, grab a quick bite to eat and turn around back down the canyon. When we got near the top, the newly hatched flies were nearly unbearable. There's something about a sweaty, stinky runner that made them hungry, I think. Ryan and I were both getting bitten more than we cared for. I got in and out of there quickly if only for that reason.

The descent was quick. I left the top of the North Rim with much less caution and concern for my quads, pounding out the downhill and passing runners and hikers until I was on my own again. Soon after leaving the top, I passed Deron and John coming up, but I didn't see any sign of Andy. I figured that he was down the trail and I would be passing him very soon. I passed Lorrie and a lot of other runners, but no Andy. I made it down to Roaring Springs where I half expected Andy to be waiting to join the rest of our group for the trip back to the South Rim. Again, no sign of Andy. I'm a worrier by nature and started wondering what could have happened to him. Best case scenario: he turned around and ran back on his own. Worst case? The medivac helicopter I had heard leaving the canyon was carrying him to Flagstaff. I think I'll focus on the positive outcome here...

I continued at a slower pace on my way to Cottonwood Campground, thinking that Lorrie and Ryan would soon fall in behind me. No one was within sight though. I continued on at a slowed pace all the way to Cottonwood Campground but no one caught up. The campground was quiet, too. I filled my bottle with EFS and carbopro and started snacking on dried apricots and apples. After about 10 minutes of waiting, I could feel my legs stiffening up and decided to press on. Cliff bar in hand, I started out for Phantom Ranch.

This is where it got bad.

I wasn't two miles down the trail, moving at the same slow pace as before so I could eat while I moved, when I ran out of water. I was contently eating my Cliff bar, sipping water from my pack to moisten my mouth enough to chew when the water just stopped. Yeah. I'm an idiot. I remembered to fill up my electrolyte/carb mix, but didn't fill up my pack with water. Not a problem, right? I still have fluid in my bottle. Problem: the fluid in my bottle is a potent slightly syrupy mix. Every drink I take from my bottle coats my mouth and my teeth in more sticky sugary mess.

So, I can either turn around and go back to Cottonwood Campground, or I can push on and get to Phantom Ranch, another 5 miles down the trail. Hmmm ...I'm not feeling too bad at this point. I'll push on. The day was heating up and I decided to conserve energy to keep me from sweating too much and wasting more water, so I started power hiking again. That eventually morphed into a fast walk ...and then a slower walk.

This section was torture. I was out of water. I had cotton mouth. The Bright Angel creek was babbling joyfully to my right, but there wasn't an easy way to get to it. To make things worse, I was on my own with no sight of any other hiker for the first time that day. Oh, and I had two lines from a Pink song (where did THAT come from) repeating over and over in my head. That's enough to drive almost anyone crazy.

The miles seem to drag on at the pace I was going. I wanted to run, but I knew that I was dehydrated and it was definitely not a good idea. I slowly sipped from the bottle since it was fluid, and was filled with electrolytes. I figured it could only help, right? It wasn't long before I noticed that my hands and feet were swollen. In the state of mind I was in, I couldn't make sense of it. And Pink wasn't helping. I was in rough shape.

I plodded along on the trail asking God to give me some strength, some companions, and to banish Pink forever. It seemed that for every corner I turned, there was another long trail section leading to yet another corner. I remembered a podcast I had listened to earlier the day before about compartmentalizing during difficult times in order to deal with the challenge in "bite sized" chunks. So, while trying to force Pink from my mind, I focused on the next turn, and the next one, and the one after that, then the bridge, then the next bridge, etc. The whole time sipping from my slurry mixture the consistency of runny maple syrup.

Miraculously, my legs started feeling less like lead and my head started to clear up a little. I picked up my pace a little and soon found myself behind two hikers. They weren't much help though. They had already gone through their water, but assured me that Phantom Ranch was just a quarter mile ahead. I pushed on and started seeing signs for Phantom Ranch, my beloved oasis in the canyon!

The Phantom at the Ranch

I'm sure the sight of me stumbling into the cafeteria at Phantom Ranch was slightly reminiscent of the parched cowboy staggering through the swinging bar doors of an old west town. At least that's how the clerk looked at me. I remembered that Honey, another runner friend of mine, had told me that I needed to get some Lemmy's Lemonade before I left Phantom Ranch, and that was the ONLY thing that sounded good at the time. I plopped $2.50 down on the counter and filled my cup with ice and lemonade and took a seat at the nearest table. It was unclear to me how long I sat there, but when I saw Lorrie passed the cafeteria windows, I got up and called her inside.

Lorrie came in, dropped her bottle on the table, and got in line for some lemonade. Not long after, Ryan came by and I called him in. Ryan wasn't feeling great either. Lorrie came back to the table, looked at me more closely and said that my eyes were sunken and wide, my pupils dilated and my cheekbones were protruding. Great. I look like a corpse. I couldn't take offense to this, in fact, I appreciated the honesty. I was feeling ten times better than when I first got to Phantom Ranch though.

There were now a few people in line, both checking in for the night at Phantom Ranch, and ordering up treats and drinks. There were three women in line who started asking me questions about where I was coming from and where I was going. I managed to mumble that I was doing R2R2R, which caught the interest of one of them, another runner. She just kept asking me questions about the run and talking about how she wants to someday run R2R2R. I'm not sure how cogently I answered their questions, but she kept glancing over at me, Ryan and Lorrie while we refreshed ourselves. I wonder if she was having second thoughts.

Back on the trail

After spending 35-ish minutes in the cool confines of Phantom Ranch, it was time to get moving again. Lorrie and Ryan led the charge down the trail toward the Bright Angel trail and the next bridge

spanning the Colorado River. I lagged behind a little while I messed with my pack and forced myself to eat a Stinger gel, but they took it slow and I was soon able to catch up. I don't know whose idea of a cruel joke this was, but it wasn't long after we crossed the bridge before I found myself trudging through hot, soft sand. This trail truly has a little bit of everything.

The trail quickly begins going uphill and, like you might expect, it doesn't stop until the top. We settled into a nice power hike pace again and trudged through the sand trying not to get any in our shoes. I continued past the first rest stop, as Lorrie and Ryan paused for a minute or two, and found a small creek crossing over some limestone. It was the perfect time to stoop and wet my bandana with some cold water. Now, I'm not sure if it was at this point or at one of the two subsequent creek crossings I ran through with reckless abandon, but at some point, my camera fell out of my pack pocket. I didn't even notice until about two miles down the trail when I reached into the pouch for my camera to take a picture of the brutal climb ahead of me.

After considering the options of either descending two miles down the trail to look for a camouflage camera, or to write it off and continue on up Bright Angel, I realized the choice was easy -- onward and upward. After all, it's just a "thing" right? As I climbed I thought of how sore and tired I was likely to be the next morning and that I might not make it home for Mother's Day church services. Then, I realized that the camera was a gift from my wife. Oh boy. I was going to be in trouble. Again, I found myself talking to God to somehow get me the camera back, and in exchange I would make every effort to make it back in time for church. Bartering with the Almighty ...I waited for lightning.

Indian Gardens

We continued up to the Indian Gardens campground which was an unusually vibrant spot. The frequency of the hikers had been increasing as we got closer to the top of the rim, but it spiked when we hit Indian Gardens. A couple of youth groups and other random hikers/runners were in various stages of refueling or just visiting under the shade of the trees. The frogs were producing some of the strangest croaking I have heard in a long time -- it reminded me of the sound effects from a Star Wars movie.

Lorrie and I had left Ryan a few minutes behind and decided to wait there for him. I sat on the bench and was immediately sorry I did. My stomach started doing flip flops and I knew I had to get moving again soon. About that time a runner came up the trail. We made some jokes about how we all run into the aid stations, but this guy was really fit. He had run almost the whole way from the bottom and had decided to pick up the pace a little when he found ...MY CAMERA! Yeah. How he saw that on the trail I will never know, but he did. He had scanned through a couple of pictures and realized that he had seen our group -- Lorrie and Ryan are  hard couple to miss. He turned up the intensity in order to try and catch us to return the camera. Amazing things happen in the Grand Canyon.

The final push

Lorrie had done some quick calculations and had decided that "no matter what [she] would be out of the canyon by 7:15." Sweet! A goal! This was the perfect time to establish something to shoot for as I felt like I had just been surviving the overall challenge. This was attainable, but it was going to take some work. The three of us started up the hill again and quickly settled into our familiar power hiking pace, which got us quickly past a few small groups of hikers leaving Indian Gardens.

The next 4-5 miles went very quickly given the pace we were moving and the fatigue that had settled into my legs. Ryan fell off the back of the group and we were soon a few switchbacks ahead of him. It wasn't long before the 3 mile and then the 1.5 mile rest stops came into view and passed. I was in the

final stretch and it felt good! I kept glancing down at my Garmin as we got closer and realized that Lorrie's goal of 7:15 was just about past. We were going to have to move a little faster. The trail incline had decreased enough that I was able to accelerate to a slow run. 7:11, 7:12, 7:13 -- DONE!

The "finish line"

Andy was waiting for us at the top and let out a welcoming cheer when we arrived. I couldn't believe it was done. It was 13:40:17 of the hardest run I had done. The whole experience was amazing, humbling, and exhilarating, and it really helped me put a lot of things into perspective. It's always amazing to me how low I can feel when things get tough. I begin to question the whole point of an active lifestyle, and I'm certain I'll never willingly run again. Yet, after reaching the Bright Angel trailhead at the top of the South Rim, I was already considering doing it again. After all, 13:40:17 is just a starting point -- I'm sure I can break 12:00:00...

Oh, and I woke up at 5:15 AM the next day and made it to church on time! No doghouse for me.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” - Sir Winston Churchill

One thing that sets the sport of ultra running apart from most other sports is how hard each participant pushes their physical limits beyond what most people would consider safe ...or sane. But, after my experience at Zane Grey 50 where I made the call to quit and take the DNF, I find myself asking the questions: When is it really over? How do you know when you need to throw in the towel?

It isn't something that anyone likes to talk about, and a lot of people have two answers. I'll call them the "nice" answers and the "hardcore" answers.

The feel good answers
There are variations of the feel good answer, but they generally run along the lines of:

• "Listen to your body and you'll know when you've had enough."
• "There's no point in pushing past your limit. Take the DNF and live to race another day."
• There are more, but my brain decided to DNF while making this list.

The Hardcore answers

We have all heard these answers. They are all over the place. We toss them around like nothing during training runs and during races to help motivate and inspire, but they often involve very little common sense.

• "I'll never quit!"
• "Relentless forward progress, baby!"
• "Puke and then push on."
• "It's a wall, get over it."
• "Your body is lying to you! Keep your feet moving!"
• "No pain, no gain!"
• "If you're not bleeding from the head or dragging a broken limb, you have no excuses!" (ok, I just made this up)
• ...and many more.

The problem

For a relative newbie like me, the answer seems to fall somewhere between these two extremes. There's certainly wisdom in listening to your body, but there are valid cases where the feedback from the body is telling you to stop when you are capable of pushing on. There's also a point at which your body is telling you to stop because you could die if you continue (this is probably more rare than most people think).

So, what is your answer? When is it ok to throw in the towel and take the DNF?

Oh, and I'm dying to hear your feel good and hardcore answers, and your battle stories. What have you pushed through? When did you take the DNF and why? Leave them in the comments below.