SECOND ANNUAL GRAND CANYON FUN RUN

Heading down the South Kaibab Trail in the morning light

Nate

The bridge over the mighty Colorado

Where do I begin?

Mule train

I spent last Tuesday running the Grand Canyon from the South Rim to the North Rim and back again. I did this same run for the first last year, and this year was equally special. Last year there were, of course, more surprises, but this year still taught me a lot. Last year was more an external experience, by which I mean I was more focused on taking in the sights and sounds of the Canyon. This year was more internal. I was still taking in the beauty and grandeur of the place, but I was more aware of the emotions it stirred. I was more aware of the human impact over the years, how much blasting it took to force parts of those trails through the rocks, the old rusting phone line poles, how different it must have been. Many people think what I did to be difficult, but it would be exponentially harder if that trail was not maintained like a highway.
   It is hard to describe my thoughts during this trip. The distance was far less intimidating this time, but I think it hurt a bit more physically. My calves are still very sore, and my left hip was not cooperating in the final miles. It is always something. Some new obstacle to overcome, some new pain to endure. However it was never bad enough to want to stop. The predominant feeling during this run was that I am lucky. Lucky to have the ability to see this place in this way. Lucky to have discovered ultra running in the first place. The amazing weather, the good friends, Nate having an extra hat after I left mine at the campground, the list goes on and on. The pain I felt seemed distant, because at that moment I didn't want to be anywhere else, or doing anything else, besides running through that Canyon. Like the sign said: "WHY SUFFER?"   

Family Traditions

   I've been backpacking longer than I can remember. It is one of those things I take for granted. Some of my earliest memories are of my Dad taking me to the Sipsey Wilderness (in Alabama) in the fall. As a kid that place was magical. I would be transported back in time to become a Cherokee stalking a deer, or struggling to build a fire with the damp wood. Those experiences undoubtedly shaped who I am today.
   So now that I live in the Rockies, whenever we can find the time,  I get to show my Father the magical places I have to explore in my adopted home. This fall we first went up to altitude and found it too freakin' cold and snowy. So then we headed to the Utah desert for a four day loop of Woodenshoe/Dark/Peavine Canyons. The weather was at times uncomfortable, but it made for some beautiful scenery, and a memorable trip. Thanks Dad.

What's new

Another long pause in the postings. Computer time can be tough on me, and sometimes it just does not happen.  For example, the last month. Which is probably related to the increase in computer time at my job, but I don't want to talk about work here. This is supposed to be my outlet for talk of things I ENJOY. Such as...Running! I actually won a 50k race back in August. The Silverton Alpine 50k. This would be due to the fact that no fast people showed up. I am happy with how hard I pushed for the whole race, and thirty one miles seemed short and fast!
   In non-running news I was lucky enough to catch a few minutes of an amazing four days. Tibetan Buddhist monks constructed a sand mandala here in Durango. An absolutely amazing tradition. For those not familiar, you should read up on it. I watched some of the last bits of the sand being applied, and walked to the river with about a hundred people for the ceremony of dumping the sand into the waters. I found it very moving, and it sparked a renewed interest in my own spiritual path. 
  Right now that spiritual path involves ultra running. The day to day training is the real beauty of this path for me. However, a few times a year it is great to go suffer with like minded souls. A couple weeks ago I ran the Bear 100, and t was the best race experience thus far. Twenty seven hours and twenty three minutes of questioning, suffering, and moving forward no matter what. I don't think I've enjoyed suffering so much since i climbed Aconcagua a few years ago.  The long Autumn night  allowed for many hours of introspection. Although  it never goes exactly the way one might hope for, this race was the closest I've come to the  ideal in my mind.
    Last weekend MK ran her first 50k over in Pagosa Springs at the Devil Mountain race. Her longest training run was eighteen miles, so going to thirty one was a big leap of faith. She suffered well and finished only two minutes over her goal time of eight hours. Yeah baby!

The concentration

The detail

The beauty

The wonder

The impermanence 

The end of this cycle

Coming into the aid station at mile 20

Logan Canyon is a pretty place

I REALLYwanted this one

Satisfaction

Thanks to MK for all of these photos, and for being the best support crew for a grump like me.
On a final note read this http://lvk104.wordpress.com/2010/03/22/shakti-feminine-power-for-change-by-vandana-shiva-via-alternative-radio/  if you can find some time. I'm not sure if this kind of information makes me want to go off the deep end or start a revolution, but it sure makes me think.

Hard Rockin'in the free world

The 2011 Hardrock Hundred was a memorable experience. This is my dream race, the race that got me interested in in ultra running in the first place. I volunteered to be the aid station captain at one of the stations that one must backpack into. I was assigned to a spot called Putnam basin, which is a beautiful spot, at about mile 94 of the course. I knew this aid station, being late in the race, would be open the longest as the runners would be very spread out by then. We hiked all the supplies in on Friday afternoon, with a few of us taking two trips to get everything in. We finally got everything in right around dark, when the first of the storms was rolling in. We prepped a few things, and then tried to get some sleep.
   Our scheduled opening time was around 3:30 am, which was the earliest anticipated arrival based on past times. With the course having so much snow, and being about two miles longer due to a re-route around some rich prick's land in Telluride, we didn't think any course records were in jeopardy. I woke up around one thirty, as I was so paranoid about doing a good job, and being organized when the front runners came through. I drank a bunch of coffee, sliced up some bananas and oranges, and made a few PB&J's. Then I realized I was all wired up and doing too much too soon, and it was likely we would not see a runner for a few hours. Which turned out to be the case. The winner, Julien Chorier, came through about 5:30am, and finished in the third fastest time ever. He didn't even look at us, let alone stop for anything at the aid station. He was a man on a mission. Dakota Jones came through a while later in second. He stopped just long enough to top off his water bottle, said thanks, and he was off. We had radio contact, so we had some idea when to expect the next runners. They were spread out, sometimes by hours, during the morning. I really enjoyed seeing the front runners come through at such a late stage of the race. I had wondered what some of the  best ultra runners looked like 94 miles into one of the most difficult mountain races in the world. Nick Clark looked pretty frickin' tired. Having thrown down at the Western States 100 only two weeks prior, and then coming in third at Hardrock, I suppose he SHOULD look a little beat!
   As the day wore on I realized how lucky I was with the crew that had come together at this aid station. A couple were good friends already, but most were strangers. Everyone was so helpful and attentive to the runners, and I could not imagine a better crew for that time and place.
   The weather at this year's Hardrock was pretty nasty. Lots of hail and rain, along with lightning. Add to that the snow and mud, and it is no wonder only 80 people finished out of 140 starters. Anyone who finishes this race has my deepest respect. Helping runners get through this test was deeply gratifying. I know what it has meant to me to have caring people at aid stations, and it was great to be on the other side. There were so many great moments I can't list them all. So many little things I know mean so much.
   I know now, more than ever, that the Hardrock Hundred is a race like no other. A race that is less about racing others, and more about searching within. Running for a really long way in the mountains doesn't change the world. It does, however, change the people who do it, and they might add a little something to this crazy world. Even if it is just a funny puking story.
  Here are a few views from the course, taken a few days after the race, while puling course markers.

   The beauty of the San Juan mountains is second to none. If anyone out there gets a chance, try to be a part of this special event. Run it, work an aid station, crew or pace a runner, or just spectate and enjoy the views. It will not be soon forgotten.

Bighorn 100

I realize I have not posted anything for a while. As much as I strive for a life low in stress and responsibility, somehow things get busy. As slow as I type, staying off the computer can free up some time!
    So last weekend I was up in the Bighorn mountains of northern Wyoming for the Bighorn 100. I was more relaxed going into this race than I have previously been before an ultra. Last year I obsessed over every detail before Leadville. Maybe I'm getting wiser, or maybe it was the influence of my good friend Mike, who drove up with MK and me, and was also running. He has a laid back attitude to racing that borders on unprepared. Regardless, the guy can run and suffer with the best of them.
   The drive up was uneventful, minus being told by a Wyoming state trooper that we were sleeping on private land and needed to move. Friendly enough for a cop, but it never ceases to amaze me how some people don't seem to see the arbitrary nature of certain rules. We had obviously just pulled off the interstate to sleep before resuming our drive. We were on a nondescript dirt road with nothing but sage brush and pronghorn for miles. The officer still felt it was necessary to tell us to drive under the overpass to the other side of the highway to camp on the side of a road that looked exactly like the spot we were vacating. I thought about pointing out how silly this was, and how I didn't appreciate being woken up at midnight and told to tear down my tent and put it up a half mile away, but in my experience cops don't like being questioned, and rarely have anything approaching a sense of humor. So after a windy night off of I-25, we drove on up to Dayton for a morning run on the first part of the course. The Tongue River canyon is quite beautiful. The river was raging with snowmelt, and the surrounding rock formations were a stunning backdrop. After a nice jog to loosen the legs up, we drove to Sheridan to check in and grab some food. After check-in, some lunch, and final grocery shopping in Sheridan, we headed out to the Tongue river trail head to camp. I did some yoga by the river, and then enjoyed a big salad that MK prepared.  MK and I slept in the tent while Mike crashed in the back of the truck. It then proceeded to rain all night long. I told myself that limestone drains really well and it won't be too muddy. I actually slept pretty well.
   When I woke up the clouds were blowing out, leaving blue skies behind. We made some coffee and breakfast, and started drying out the tent before heading the five miles back to town for the start. The 10:00 am start allowed for a casual morning rarely experienced the morning of races. I put on some sunscreen, chatted with friends, and the next thing I know we were lining up for the start. The first five miles are flat dirt road to the Tongue river trailhead. I was taking it really easy, chatting, and marveling at how often some runners were stopping to take photos. I understand that some of these folks are from places like St. Louis, and they might be overwhelmed in wide open Wyoming. Still, I could not help thinking of alpinist Marko Prezelj, when he asked, "are we having an experience, or recording one?" As we turned onto the singletrack these guys were still snapping the photos, and I almost bumped into a couple of them as they were not quite far enough off the trail. I was about to start slapping them. Luckily the course turned steeply uphill, and I started passing people. A lot of people. Which made me realize I may have started too far back in the pack. This was the only point in the race that I may have gone to hard. The trail was narrow, and to pass I had to go around in the grass, which was soft and spongy. I just couldn't sit at the back of the line of stare up at all the vertical to the top of the pass. I love to climb, plain and simple. So I threw in a few accelerations, and probably passed twenty people over the duration of the first big climb. Then it was a few more up and downs to the aid station at mile 17, where I would first see MK. Due to the altered snow course we would see this aid station a total of four times during the race. I topped off my water and headed out for the seven mile out and back. This section was muddy, and the mud would stick to the shoes, making them heavy. The nasty stuff was short lived, and some winding trail through the sage brush and snow brought us to the turnaround.  Back downhill through the mud and we were at the aid station again. This is around mile 24 at this point.  I'll spare you the boring details of the next many miles. It is hard to describe. I'll just say that the miles rolled by through open alpine terrain with wildflowers and many stream crossings. Then the we started dropping some elevation and winding in and out of trees as we headed towards the Little Bighorn River. This was one of the most enjoyable sections for me. The miles just rolled by and the scenery was idyllic. Then we headed downhill in earnest and finally came to the bridge over the river, where we had drop bags at the mile 40 aid station. I grabbed a headlamp and kept on cruising. The trail stayed close to the river for a while working up and down some rocky bits as we headed up river.   This is where I saw the first place runner come through after the 50 mile turn around. He was waaaaay out front. Then the trail climbed steadily uphill through pristine forest, until reaching the the turn around in the waning light. I filled up the hydration pack, clicked on the headlamp and started back. I could feel some blisters coming on, and I knew I would have to spend some time back at the footbridge aid station tending to those. The next ten miles drifted by in a series of lights beaming from heads saying: "good job" or "nice work". Work? Heck no, I'm on vacation!
    So at mile 60 I stopped at the aid station to tend to my feet. I cleaned them off, put a blister pad over the monster on my left big toe, and donned fresh socks and shoes. I slammed a double-shot coffee drink, and I was on my way. Things were feeling good (perhaps due to the caffeine) until I felt a searing pain from my blistered toe. I could not put any weight on it without feeling like I would collapse from the pain. I hobbled along on my heel, while lifting my toes up off the ground. "I'm done" I thought to myself. I knew that if the pain kept up like that I was not running the remaining 35 or so miles. But, to drop out one must at least get to the next aid station, so I kept plugging along.  Slowly I was able to weight the foot again and the pain subsided. I realized that the blister must have popped, and the pain became manageable. Not long after this was one of the best parts of the whole experience. My mind was as blank as I can recall. I was all by myself, with no lights to be seen. There were no course markings, as there was just that trail, with no turns for miles. The clouds had blown away, leaving a bright moon in their place. This was around mile 70, where I feared my race might come undone. Instead this was the place in my mind I enjoy the most. I lose myself and just become the movement. No fear, no anticipation, no real sense of time. Just pure movement.
   The sun then began to rise, and I could see the Dry Fork aid station in the distance. What I had feared would be a hard climb back up turned out to be pretty easy, although I was walking more than I would have liked. I changed shoes and socks again, knowing the worst stream crossings were behind me. Then I headed out for the 7 mile out and back again. This time MK was with me to pace. I was moving pretty slow, but feeling confident that I was gong all the way. So miles 76 to 83 were a nice morning stroll with my girlfriend. Back to the aid station, and my terrible memory had me thinking it was all downhill to the finish. Well...not quite. I ran with a nice kid from Hood River Oregon for a while, but my legs were grinding to a walk. I let him run off as I dropped into energy conservation mode. A few guys passed me on the downhills, and I would then pass them on the up uphills. I would say my biggest weakness at the 100 mile distance is running downhill in the later miles. I can climb forever, but the down kills me. When we finally got to the long steep downhill where I was passing people in droves on the way up, I was walking down most everything, while guys were passing me left and right. I was jealous and pissed off at their ability to be running at that moment. I knew I was losing time on what should be "easy" mileage. When we finally reached the Tongue river Canyon Trail, I breathed a sigh of relief. No more steep downhill! The canyon trail rolled along nicely, and I even managed some jogging. When I got to the aid station at the trail head, Mk was waiting to pace me the last 5 miles to the finish. Although it was gravel road, and almost completely flat, I still walked most of it. I would jog some, then walk, and repeat. The sun felt oppressive and I was ready to be done. At one point I started jogging, and it felt pretty fast. I looked down at my legs and it looked like slow motion. I laughed out loud at my sorry condition. We rounded the final turn onto the road leading to the finish line, and a little surge of energy allowed me to "run" the last quarter mile to the finish. In numbers it was 27 hours 38 minutes for 30th place. I found out my friend Mike had an awesome race finishing in 7th with a 23:38 time. Sub 24 hours on that course is impressive.
   I went through a lot of different emotions and thoughts during this race. One of the funnier ones was pondering why I was beating the crap out of myself in order to qualify for a race (Hardrock!) that would likely hurt even worse. Suddenly my "five year plan" of finishing Hardrock seemed really stupid. Honestly I still have not answered this question, and I probably never will. But after I crossed that finish line I was really proud of myself. It wasn't as fast as I would have liked. I didn't finish as strong as I would have liked. But I never gave up. I never wanted to stay at aid stations. I never really stopped. Sure, I had doubts, and thoughts of stopping, but they were always quiet voices. The loud voice was the one saying,"push, just keep going." I like that voice. That is the voice of the person I am striving to become. Physically, I am still not who I dream to be. Not by a long shot. Mentally, however, I am much closer to my goals.
   This race confirmed how much I love ultra running and the community it brings together. What a bunch of freaks! I fit right in. Thanks to everyone I ran with over those miles. Special thanks to Daniel from Frisco, who drug me along at a great pace down to the river at mile 40. My biggest thanks are to Mike and MK. Mike got me hooked on this crazy sport, and is a great friend and inspiration to go faster. Words can't describe how good a support crew Mk is. She was great motivator for a grump like me.

The Colorado Crew. Durango in green, Olathe in white.

Off into the wild green yonder-around mile 17

Nice morning light while running with MK. Around mile 79.

'Bout time

Sweet campsite for the night after. That mornings coffee sure was good.

The brochure said there would be moose...

   The week following this race has been difficult. After any high there is a low. Knowing this pattern only makes it the slightest bit easier. Running in the wild is one of the only places I really feel like me. Anywhere else I compromise. I restrain myself. I tell little white lies or remain silent in order to not scare, piss off, or otherwise offend those around me. It can be kind of weird, feeling like I am playing a part, rather than just being me. Maybe one day this will change. Until then I get by on my short daily doses of running, and look forward to those rare times when I can be me all day long.