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filorunsultra · 1 year ago

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Leadville Trail 100 Run

Nel reportage che scriverò sul viaggio negli Stati Uniti di quest'anno non dirò nulla della mia gara, ma siccome volevo scrivere comunque qualcosa lo faccio qui, almeno per ricordarmi cosa è successo.

Ho passato il giorno prima della gara steso nel bagagliaio della GMC che avevamo noleggiato, ho dormito qualche ora e verso il tramonto abbiamo lasciato il paese e siamo andati a dormire a Turquoise Lake, sul percorso. La mattina la sveglia era dannatamente presto, alle 2:30am perché la gara partiva alle 4:00, il classico orario del cazzo delle gare americane. Abbiamo parcheggiato al liceo, in fondo alla 6th St. e siamo arrivati alla linea di partenza quando era ancora deserta. Un tipo aveva acceso un fuoco sul marciapiede appena fuori casa e se ne stava lì a bere il caffè con un plaid sulle gambe guardando i corridori infreddoliti cercare di scaldarsi. Ho bevuto un caffè nell'unico locale aperto, una gelateria messicana che quel giorno ha chiuso il bilancio di un anno. Nella caffetteria c'era anche Dean Karnazes, che dal vivo sembra anche più scemo che in foto. La partenza è figa, si respira tensione e si sente già puzza di morti ancora prima di partire, ma come col sudore non capisci mai se sei tu o è quello a fianco.

Da Leadville a Hope Pass

È la mia terza 100 miglia ma la cosa non mi dà nessuna fiducia: ho sentito tanto la quota nei giorni precedenti e non sono affatto sicuro di essermi acclimatato. Sono nervoso. Cerco Brent e Natalie ma non li vedo, ascolto l'inno. Poi vedo una nuvola di polvere da sparo, e solo dopo sento il colpo. La prima salita è a un quarto di miglio dalla partenza ma non la sento, ho già fatto 400 metri e mi restano solo 159,6 chilometri di gara. In fondo alla Sesta si volta a sinistra sul Boulevard, poi il gruppo si allunga e si costeggia il lago. Davvero una bomba, cazzo mi sento Anton Krupicka. Sarò in centocinquantesima posizione e va bene così. La aid station di May Queen è una bomba e non sono preparato al volume del tifo. Trovo un gruppetto col mio ritmo e arrivo in controllo ad Outward Bound, con la prima salita della gara alle spalle. Outward Bound è in mezzo alla prateria ed è pieno di gente, non trovo Elisa e perdo un po' di tempo ma sono al 38esimo chilometro in meno di quattro ore di gara quindi cerco di restare tranquillo. Uscito dalla aid station, che è lunghissima, cerco le cuffiette e metto un po' di fottuto country. Inizio ad avere le gambe stanche verso Halfpipe, circa al 45esimo chilometro a memoria. Mi fermo a fare pipì e riparto. C'è un gruppetto di gente che corre bene, due tipi un po’ swag corrono insieme e si danno i cambi: penso che prima o poi salterò ma intanto provo a stargli dietro. In salita camminano lentissimi, poi fanno degli scatti improvvisi, sul tecnico si piantano, ammesso che ce ne sia, sulle discese corribili si lanciano in picchiata: corrono tutti in modo insensato. Passo a Twin Lakes (62km) in meno di sette ore, dopo aver visto i due specchi d'acqua turchesi dominati dalle montagne del Sawatch Range. La aid station è indescrivibile, ricorda Les Contamines a UTMB ma piena di gazebo e di gente che griglia come il giorno del Super Bowl. Mi rifornisco, prendo i bastoncini e lascio le borracce a mano e parto col mio amico francese di cui ho dimenticato il nome verso Hope Pass. Lui è un fottuto francese ma in salita non va molto forte. Il sentiero è più duro di quanto mi aspettassi ma la valle è bellissima e sembrano le Alpi. Sopra alla Timberline ci sono dei Lama e un accampamento di tende su cui rifornirsi. Gli ultimi tornanti fino al passo, che ho visto mille volte nei video, sono massacranti ma arrivo in cima un'ora e mezza dopo aver lasciato Twin Lakes. Ho una fitta sotto alle costole e non riesco a correre in discesa: è un pezzo tecnico, a tutti gli effetti e fanculo a chi dice il contrario. Il versante di Winfield è molto ripido e sebbene siano solo 850 metri di dislivello te li fa maledire tutti. In fondo alla discesa c'è un tratto molto lungo e poco corribile in leggera salita fino al giro di boa e solo qua inizio a incontrare i primi che iniziano a tornare indietro.

At the top of Hope Pass, 3800m above sea level

Da Winfield ad Half Pipe: scavando nel profondo, quasi

Non vedo Rob Krar, che trovo alla aid station seduto su una roccia a guardare chi passa. Si è ritirato e mi dispiace, glielo dico e lui mi incoraggia. Alla aid station ci sono dei ragazzi e delle ragazze super gentili che portano ai corridori quello di cui hanno bisogno senza farli alzare da dove si trovano. Mi propongono diverse cose ma non ho voglia di niente, così mi alzo, vado in bagno, prendo l'ultima benedizione da Rob Krar e me ne vado. Mi giro per tornare a Leadville dopo 10 ore e mezza. Mi scende una lacrima, ma devo correre ancora 80 chilometri, sono appena a metà, non è finita. Riparto da Wienfield comunque meglio di come ci sono arrivato. Fa caldissimo e il sole dei tremila metri è caldo. Ritorno per la seconda volta alla quota più alta in cui sia mai stato in vita mia nemmeno tre ore dopo averla lasciata: Hope Pass, 3800 dannati metri sul livello del mare. La salita è massacrante, vado lentissimo ma supero tutti e nessuno mi supera. Sono un fottuto europeo dopo tutto, camminare in salita è l'unica cosa che so davvero fare. Su tira vento e sono stanco e c'è Leadville sul fondo, e sembra vicina ma la strada è ancora lunga. Alla fine di questa discesa mi mancheranno soltanto 60 chilometri di strade bianche corribili, e finalmente troverò Lapo, il mio dannato pacer.

In discesa ho i quadricipiti andati e le fitte continuano a torturarmi ma riesco a correre a un ritmo decente. Quando entro a Twin Lakes, in 13 ore e 4 minuti, sono passato in 40esima posizione, ho 12 ore per fare 60 chilometri per avere la fibbia grande, potrei anche camminare fino all'arrivo e probabilmente ce la farei comunque: la gara sta andando dannatamente meglio del previsto, la parte tosta è alle spalle, ma manca sempre una maratona e mezza, e la dannata notte. Elisa è all'inizio della aid station ad aspettarmi e Lapo è pronto a petto nudo, esattamente come l'ultima volta che ci siamo visti, in mezzo al deserto, un anno prima. "Tu non preoccuparti per come mi vesto io, preoccupati di cosa ti devo portare". Gli smollo tutto: zaino, borracce, frontali, bastoncini. Ripartiamo e sulla salita di Mt Elbert riprendiamo quattro persone: in salita vado più di chiunque altro ma restano solo 1000 metri di dislivello, non molti per fare la differenza, insomma, devo correre. Quando inizia la discesa mi ritrovo piantato, non riesco a correre continuativamente e lentamente diventa un'agonia. Lapo mi impone di alternare corsa a camminata e così in qualche modo arriviamo ad Half Pipe. C'è un signore con un cappellino da camionista che va su e giù per il percorso con una bici elettrica. Dice qualcosa, non ricordo cosa ma mi fa sorridere. Poi Lapo mi porta un bicchiere di caffè che mi rimette al mondo. Cristo mi ero dimenticato di quanto è buono. Capisco che il caffè è la chiave per arrivare in fondo, riparto confortato verso Outward Bound, so che è vicino.

Lapo and me at the Halfpipe aid station, km 115

Da Halfpipe a Leadville: inizia la gara

Siamo immersi nell'oscurità, intuisco la distanza dalla aidstation di Outward Bound, sperduta in mezzo alla prateria. Da qualche miglio corriamo sempre con le solite persone: la seconda donna, il numero 267 e il mio tipo francese. Tutti con relativi pacer, francese escluso. Non stiamo bene ma nessuno ci supera e non superiamo nessuno, ho l'impressione che siamo rimasti soltanto noi in gara. Arriviamo ad Outward Bound e io sembro essermi ripreso. "Ti do tempo fino alla cima di Sugarloaf Pass per convincerti che stai bene" mi ordina Lapo, "da là cambiamo marcia e ti tiro fino all'arrivo". Signorsì, io d'altronde sono lucido ma ho smesso di pensare lasciando a lui anche questo ingrato compito. Non ho mai avuto un pacer e lui non l'ha mai fatto, ma mi trovo bene e insieme formiamo una bella squadra: lui mi parla per tenermi cosciente, io non rispondo ma sono contento di ascoltarlo. Alla aidstation c'è la Eli, chiacchieriamo un po', mi cambio, bevo un altro caffè. Ripartiamo correndo e raggiungiamo in fretta Fish Hatchery e poi l'attacco della salita di Powerline: è dannatamente dritta, una fila di frontali fa intuire dove finisce. Mancano 34 chilometri all'arrivo e inizio ad averne i coglioni pieni, così faccio quello che so fare meglio, finalmente: abbasso la testa e mi metto a sbacchettare. Cristo se sbacchetto: passo uno, due, tre, cinque, dieci atleti. Stacco di qualche metro persino Lapo che resta a una ventina di metri da me. Non avendo nulla da ascoltare inizio a imbambolarmi e gli occhi iniziano a chiudermi, se rallentassi mi arenerei così continuo a spingere: mancano ancora tanti chilometri ma non c'è più nulla per cui salvare le gambe, insomma, è il momento di andare, e al diavolo tutto il resto.

Alla aid station di Sugarolaf c'è un rave party in miniatura: la aid station è avvolta da una nuvola di erba e ci sono musica e luci stroboscopiche. Un tale fa delle bolle di sapone giganti, sarà mezzanotte. Bevo l'ultimo caffè e ripartiamo per l'ultima discesa verso Mayqueen. In discesa ho ancora male ai quadricipiti ma Lapo mi costringe a correre. Quando il sentiero diventa più tecnico ritrovo la gioia di correre in discesa e supero qualche altro atleta incartato tra le radici: sono davvero degli incapaci. Entriamo alla aid station di May Queen e Lapo mi precede di un po'. Quando arrivo al ristoro non mi siedo, ho voglia di ripartire. C'è una lavagnetta bianca appoggiata per terra con sopra scritti dei nomi. Chiedo alla ragazza cosa siano e lei mi dice che sono i passaggi. Solo quelli? Faccio un rapido conto e sono in 26esima posizione: non sono mai stato così davanti in una 100 miglia. Vedo la lavagnetta e mi ricordo che sono in gara, che per una volta potrei anche provare a fare qualcosa di meglio che correre contro me stesso e cercare di superare attivamente qualcuno. Ringrazio e riparto, Lapo mi sta dietro, io imposto un ritmo attorno ai 5' al chilometro, dopo 120 chilometri di corsa per me è un ritmo incredibile. Non ho più male, sono caldo, se mi fermo muoio. Corro. Il sentiero di Turquoise Lake è al buio come la prima volta che ci sono passato, non c'è niente da guardare, tanto vale correre e correre ancora. Corro e a un certo punto mi accorgo che dietro di me Lapo è scomparso. Cazzo. Non ho acqua, la frontale si sta scaricando e mi mancano 15 chilometri. Nel frattempo supero due persone, chiedo una borraccia a una, una frontale all'altra. Continuo a correre. I chilometri passano, il tempo vola. 14, 13, 12. Passo il campground in cui ho dormito la notte precedente, imbocco il Boulevard, trovo il mio amico francese che cammina a bordo strada, gli dico di seguirmi ma mi dice di andare. Continuo a correre. Quando imbocco il Boulevard, a 5 chilometri dall'arrivo, c'è una fila di cartelli a bordo strada, a una distanza precisa uno dall'altro, che riportano i nomi dei vincitori della gara dal 1983 ad oggi: sei stanco sai ancora fare i conti e sai anche che prima di arrivare di quei dannati cartelli dovrai superarne 39. Così inizio a contarli, trovo davanti a me un ultimo corridore, lo supero accelerando: corro in salita, corro sul Boulevard, tre chilometri prima di finire Leadville Trail 100 Run. Sono sulla 6th, vedo l'arco d'arrivo, delle persone che applaudono. Gli ultimi metri sono in salita, fanno male, ma io sto bene: sono sempre stato bene. Spengo l'orologio. Marilee mi abbraccia, mi dà una medaglia, Ken appoggia il fucile, mi abbraccia anche lui. Mi siedo sotto all'arco di arrivo, insieme a loro, resto lì per un po'. Poi arriva Lapo, arriva Elisa. Bevo una cioccolata, prendo la dannata fibbia, poi andiamo a dormire, è stata una lunga giornata, ma, in fondo, non è poi stata così lunga.

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mubal4 · 1 year ago

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9/13/23

Where is our limit? – Mogollon Monster 100 Race Wrap Up

How far can we truly go? What is the limit? What are we truly made of?

The questions above where the principals behind us doing the Mogollon Monster 100 (MOG 100 for short) last weekend. Would never consider myself a veteran 100-mile ultramarathon runner. This was my fifth one since beginning this wildly, wacky, and amazing sport back in 2015. However, I am familiar with the distance, what it takes to complete them, and since none of mine have been pretty (pretty-ugly more like it 😊), there have been many lessons learned along the way. Listen, running 100 miles is crazy far and there are so many unknowns; things you don’t think of, wouldn’t think of, that do occur where you need to problem solve (more to come on that). However, there are ways to mitigate some of the unknowns and uncertainty that are apparent. This in mind, I studied the course and was able to do some training runs along the route to familiarize myself with the climbs, technicality, and conditions. We spoke to friends that have experience with running it (much gratitude Meghan & Brian) and crewing it to limit a bit of the uncertainty. We trained! And trained! And trained! The expectation was this was going to be a 100-mile not like something we’ve experienced before, just in the course, terrain, and technicality. Therefore, if we were going to do something we’ve never done before, we were going to have to train like we’ve never trained before. Come race day however, there were still a few pieces of uncertainly, some done on purpose – that would prove to help us begin to understand if we could go beyond the limits!

From the book A Runner’s Hi, by Dean Karnazes

“An ultramarathon is not a single experience, but a series of little moments, strung together in a narrative thread that becomes a complete story. Some moments are silly, others sublime; not that much different from life really. In so many ways, an ultramarathon is a microcosm of life when compressed into 100 miles of running the full breath of humanness is experienced, the physical, emotional and the spiritual. Along the path, a story gets told. What I’ve come to realize is that the ending is not what matters most. Sure, I may get another buckle today, but reaching the finish line is not the ultimate prize. It is the story that’s lived along the way and today was turning out to be one hell of a story.”

Here's the story.

The foreshadowing the weeks prior to this race was the perfect preface to what was to come. We spent the two weeks before in California with our youngest daughter Alaina for two separate soccer tournaments. In between those weeks I was also in CA for work. It actually worked out well because I only drove out once (flew the other 😊). Point being, it wasn’t the ideal type of taper weeks I would have liked, and things were not routine at all. Even the week of was not ordinary in any way but the more I thought about it, it was in line with what I was expecting the race to deliver. The day before I drove up to Pine, AZ to get settled into the cabin and wait for my wife Robin & our great friend, Michelle, who would be crewing me throughout. Originally, we had thought it was going to be Robin solo for ungodly hours up on the Mogollon Rim (rim), in a point-to-point race, driving for miles and hours trying to find out where the hell I am in a remote part of AZ with limited, if any cell service. (Yeah – a bit uncertainty and unknown there). Fortunately, Michelle committed to helping out and she was a complete rockstar for her first time ever experiencing something like this. She came up critical in a number of areas. When we all arrived separately late Friday, we talked about the game plan, made final preparations, and tried to get as much sleep as possible. Not something that comes easy before any ultra, let alone one like this. When the alarm went off @ 3am it was time to get going and by 530am I was at the starting line getting ready to tackle this beast.

There was a calmness to the air as we got a few minutes out. Race Director Noah shared some instructions and insight on the course, finer details, and wished us all luck and then the National Anthem was played. This was the first time; I can remember this being done at a race. It delivered a sense of pride, some emotion, and much energy. After feelings of anxiety, stress, wonder and excitement, we were off, and I actually felt relief and comfort.

After crossing the starting map there was no hesitation, we were immediately into our first climb. The weather was cool, the climb was gradual, and we were moving steadily. A couple of short miles we were on top of the rim for the first time and the views (from every time up there) were epic. My first thought expressed out loud – “wow.” It truly is amazing, beautiful up there and recommend having it part of a bucket list. Not the race, but certainly a trip to the top 😊!! We had several miles of smooth running before descending back down to our first aid station. Quick refueling and then it was back up for our second climb for a couple more miles, then on top of the rim again, runnable terrain, before meeting up with Robin and Michelle for the first time at mile 27ish! We all had a lot of energy at this time, and I was feeling strong. We did our first sock change and took care of the feet, iced down with a neck banana. This was however, the initial point where my stomach started to act a bit off. I had been eating pretty well up to this point and staying consistent with food, but nothing sounded good to me at this time. I did though, stuff a few things in my head and got back at it. We had a few miles on top of the rim road (gravel road) before making a big descent down to a major aid station at mile 32ish. This is where the fun started!!! As I left the girls, just a few minutes out, my pack felt loose and bouncy as I ran. Not normal!! It is usually snug to my upper body. I didn’t think too much of it and kept running and for about 5 minutes the whole right side broke off. Think of having a backpack on and the right strap broke off. I was essentially running with that! No bueno for another 80+ miles. Here is where problem solving comes in…. fortunately, I had some athletic tape in my back so as I continued moving, I put that pack on the front of my body and worked to tape it up the best I can. In the meantime, I was trying to call Robin (remember remoteness and bad cell service) and fortunately she picked up. I told her the news and thankfully she and Michelle were able to catch me. Cue the MacGyver music cause this is where Michelle went to work. She was able to use leukotape (very stick & strong tape) to solidly put the pack together, while they “went to town” (a couple hour roundtrip) to see if they can get me another before meeting back up about 20 miles later.

That pack ended up holding up for the rest of the race but did cause a bunch of cuts/scrapes on my back because it wasn’t as snug, but we used that same leukotape to take care of that mess too. Leukotape – it’s the new duct tape!! The next 20 or so miles are some of the toughest of the course. There is that long descent as mentioned, and then several miles of rolling hills in an exposed area below the rim and then another brutal climb known as Myrtle. Fortunately, most of the time in the exposed area it was cloudy so we did get a bit of a break, just about a mile before the climb started. The sun popped back up and it seemed to warm quickly. The technical terrain, my stomach not on par, the heat and now the climb, started to pull me into my first real dark spot of the day. The climb up Myrtle is very tight, technical, steep, and at some points it doesn’t seem like you are even on a trail. It was slow going but I will tell you, there were a few moments when I stopped to turn around, at this point the sun was beginning to set, and the views were amazing; even saw a rainbow. It sucked but it was pretty easy to embrace that suck with what I was seeing. Things finally began to flatten out and I was able to hit the next aid station at the top. At this point, I was nauseous, and no food sounded good. I tried a few things but no dice. I took a seat, took in some salt (chips), downed some ginger ale, and I was on my way again. Fortunately, I’d be seeing Robin and Michelle for the second time in a few miles – that was giving me the energy I needed to get there.

As I began approaching what was the Buck Springs aid station, I began hearing faint noises. At this point, I was running near the edge of the rim to my left side, and it sounded like coyotes howling. Although I was a bit beat up, I wasn’t at the point where I was hearing things (yet 😊), and nightfall was just on us. The closer I got to Buck Springs the more I realized that was where the noise was coming from – it was an all-out party, on top of the rim, in the middle of nowhere and the volunteers and crews were having a blast. It was an immediate bolt of inspiration considering the last climb that happened, the 4th one. I came upon Robin and Michelle, and they went right to work. The last stretch did take a toll on me, my stomach was still queasy, but my body and mind were in good spirits. We had two jobs at this point, taking care of the feet with cleaning them up and sock change, and eating. They both went through a cycle of different types of food for me to eat and settled on grapes (thanks again Michelle, best grapes I ever had 😊), broth and a load of potatoes and salt. I also took a moment to get my wits about me. This was going to be one of those moments that was going to be unknown for me, and for Robin as well. There have been races that I haven’t had a pacer and actually, my last 100-miler back in October, I didn’t have one. I went through the night at that race solo. But……it was a 20-mile looped course and one I’ve run dozens of times, so it was VERY known. These next 20 miles were going to be through the night, on trails I’ve never traveled, likely by myself in the middle of nowhere. Yes, there are other runners out there, however at this point in a 100-mile race, things are very spread out. This is another moment of this race I was looking forward to – let’s see how I navigate and work through this without a pacer to keep me motivated, moving, fueled and awake 😊!!!!

When I left the girls, the trail descended a bit and was quite smooth. I actually caught up with another runner and we worked together for a few miles. We then came upon two others and the four of us started picking off miles throughout this section of the course, known as the cabin loop (passing by a few cabins, Pinchot & General Springs…..hence the name). After some time, we began dipping into and climbing out of a few canyons over several miles. During this time, not sure because it wasn’t like I was moving at blazing fast speed, I began distancing myself from the other three runners. Coming into Pinchot Cabin aid station I was feeling very good, likely because I ate before but my stomach was still not right and that stayed with me the entire race. For some reason, just couldn’t shake it. No worries, I downed a full PB&J, some caffeine, and was on my way. On my way out, I saw one dude and his pacer, talking deeply, and as I turned back to say thank you to the aid crew, the runner was heading to a caught to sleep……my hope for a short period of time and then pressing on. This next part was about 7 miles, and I was to be seeing Robin and Michelle for the last time at night. This part and more ups and downs, not as difficult as the climbs up and down the rim but for some reason it seemed relentless. It chewed me up and spit me out and by the time I reached the girls, at just over 60 miles, I was not in a good way. Physically, my muscles were good, and feet were okay too. We did another sock change and cleaned them up and I sat for a bit but didn’t have an appetite. The girls kept asking me if I wanted anything and nothing sounded good. I forced down another PB&J and then Robin, sweet Robin, asked if I wanted a lemon-lime Celsius. As I changed into dry clothes and got ready for the rest of the night, early morning hours, I grabbed the Celsius and took a sip. It was tasty, refreshing too. I then slugged the remainder of the can and it seemed to immediately give me a boost (caffeine….)! My mind had been in a dark spot, and I was hitting a low but once again, the girls, and this magic elixir got me moving again.

I wouldn’t be seeing the girls till mile 87, likely not until early afternoon so it was just me, my headlamp, and the trail for the next 10-12 hours. The descent just out of this aid station is down what is called the Powerline Climb and it sucked. There is no other way to describe this, about a mile maybe, trek over a rocky, boulder filled “trail.” During this time, another one of those things that don’t usually happen but will during a 100-miler, happen. As I planted my trekking pole and went to remove it, it got stuck between two rocks and I yanked one part right off. It was still connected with the internal cord but for some reason I was no longer able to collapse them AND, my headlamp ended up blowing up as well. All while descending this “trail” from hell. Thankfully, I made it to a section resembling an actual trail where I was able to get the pole and headlamp “fixed” and I was back moving again with Celsius energy. There was another aid station a short distance away and I again down a full PB&J – they seemed to be working for me at this time so stayed with it and went in and out quickly. The next few hours it was pretty much me out there. I had seen a few headlights a ways in front of me as the trail meandered through the trees and climbs but other than that, it was darkness with the cone of light from my lamp leading the way. I was moving, and moving well, or at least I felt like I was. I glanced at my watch occasionally and my pace is where I wanted to be heading to the 75-mile mark. I kept my head down and just kept moving forward. The silence and darkness were peaceful and my mind went to Robin and Michelle, hoping they made it back to the cabin okay (Robin confirmed that via text but didn’t get that until after…..). I was thinking about Isabella and Alaina and how they were doing. As well as our dog Bear. I had thoughts of when we committed to doing this race earlier in the year and the months of training leading up to it. I thought about the different trails and mountains climbed, people met, and research we did in preparation. More than we’ve done for past races. Technically, we were approaching 75-miles into this adventure, but the journey started way back in April!!!

Not sure if I nodded off for a quick second during my thoughts or it was a rock that I kicked but I did come out of what seemed like a trance and noticed two lights ahead on the trail. As I continued to get closer, I saw a couple more just ahead of me. The night sky was getting lighter, and the morning was beginning to wake up, just like me I guess 😊. My pace picked up as well and about a mile outside of the Geronimo aid station I was able to catch up to the 4-5 folks in front of me and we descended into the aid station as the sun was rising in the air. Getting through the night of an ultra can be one of the most demanding portions of the race. The last few hours for me were a bit serene and the dawn of this new day brought new life to me as well. I had a drop bag at this aid and was able to get another fresh set of clothes, new socks, and fueled up again. I had about 27 miles before seeing Robin and Michelle and the two last climbs of the day. I was ready to go but the Geronimo aid station was a scene of a bit of carnage. A friend was sitting there when I arrived, hadn’t seen him for about 12 hours, and unfortunately, he had decided not to go on. Another that I had passed coming into the aid did the same. And one guy, who we shared some miles with earlier in the race, came into the aid, all smiles and seemed like he had a ton of energy, was asked if he wanted anything, “nope, I’m done,” was his response. I wanted to see if I could rally these folks and all of us press on. But their race isn’t mine and vice versa. I gave my friend a pat on the back, it was his first 100-miler, he crushed it, and I was proud of him; happy as well to have shared miles. Told the others great job too and thanked the aid station volunteers. They all encouraged me to keep going and that I was doing great.

I had goosebumps when I left that aid station. The encouraging words, the new morning, knowing that we were getting toward the final quarter, and I knew this section of the course. I had trained on it a few weeks prior, so I was excited, and I was doing it almost exactly at the same time of day. After going through the night, conquering that uncertainty, and leaning into the unknown, I was somewhere familiar. This section of the course has some more rolling hills, nothing too substantial, before hitting the fifth climb. This is the shortest climb of all six but still gets a bit hairy toward the top. Navigating the rollers, I came across a runner and pacer, two from back earlier in the night, they were moving well, and we shared some short words. We had come across each other for several hours and figured we’d hit the climb together. I was surprised, by the time I got to the climb a couple miles later, they were nowhere in sight. I ended up seeing them finishing up the race as we were driving out of town…….it was good to know they kept moving on! Getting to the top was good and the trail dumped onto the rim road again and there was about a mile to Donohue aid station. There was about half-dozen runners at this when I rolled in and none that I had seen on the trails. We were all taking a bit of a breather because what was to come wasn’t going to be ideal at all!!! We were all about to take on, arguably the ugliest, toughest, most technical climb of the course. Prior to that, we were heading down a gnarly set of switchbacks and a steep grade, one that was to match the future climb. Altogether, it wasn’t far, 4 miles, but it was going to be brutal. I filled up my bottles, grabbed a handful of food and was on my way, I wasn’t going to delay the inevitable. I started to descend and told myself, “this is going to suck, it is going to hurt, it is going to be brutal, take your time, breathe, and keep moving forward.” The downhill was tough for a bit, slow and steady, then began to ease up getting closer to the bottom. After a quick left turn the climb was on and in reverse, it started off with an easy grade and then it just got as expected. It was almost breaking, but I just kept moving forward, took some stops for a few seconds, and kept climbing. It seemed to get steeper and steeper and then after some time, I began to hear voices. My head peaked over this ridge, and I heard a few people clapping. I was relieved to be at the top and after about ½ a mile I heard more cheering. I had made it to Dickerson Flat aid station and the final time I would see Robin and Michelle before the finish!!

It had been about 12 hours since I had seen them and yes, they were a sight for sore eyes…..and feet. Those 20 miles between our time together had tested me but not defeated me. My muscles were still feeling good, but my feet were banged up. Bones were sore and my hip/groin was beginning to bother me. I also started to begin feeling hotspots on my feet but decided not to change socks. I wanted in and out of this aid station fast. With about 15 miles to go, it was time to get to that finish line. Lemon-lime Celsius and PB&J made another appearance, and, in a few minutes, I was back on the rim road for about 5 miles before heading into Pine Canyon. This is a great view from the top of the rim looking into this canyon, all the way down, about 2 miles to the bottom. Although the view is pretty the trail down is not. Very technical, steep and switch backs several times before flattening out at the bottom. Now the trail was level, pretty smooth and was winding through some pine trees. The temps were nice, and the overcast skies made it much cooler. This was ideal since I was headed into the final stretch, which was mostly exposed. This was the second exposed part of the course I had mentioned but today, it was cloudy, and was starting to drizzle a bit. This made the next 8 or so miles to Pine Trail head, even with its climbs and descents, thankfully the final ones of the race, tolerable. There was a point on this stretch that I thought I was going the wrong way. I hadn’t seen anyone for a few miles, I was still following the markers, but didn’t realize this last stretch had so many climbs. I had even done this part of the course a year earlier at another race. I guess was beginning to lose my mind with being up for 40 hours, so I was getting a bit freaky 😊. I just kept moving and had some energy to run some of the flatter downhill areas. About 3 miles before I was to hit the last trailhead and get into the final stretch, I came upon a man, and what I found out to be his daughter. He was moving really slow – almost a crawl. I stopped to check in on him. He had said he hurt his knee quite badly and, to a point, needed to be held up by his daughter. He seemed to have his wits about him but had trouble staying upright. He still had a few hours to finish and with only 5 miles left, I believed he was going to make it. I did let the race folks know at the finish line that he was out there, but I had confidence he was going to get there. A few rolling hills later I saw the trailhead and water stations and realized that this journey, this test, was about 20 minutes from ending. The last, almost 2 miles, is on the roads through the town of Pine with the finish being at the community center. I crossed the main road and headed through this neighborhood, that dumped me out onto the main road. With about ½ mile left, you can see where the finish turns into the community center and I was able to see Robin and Michelle standing, almost in the road, waving me in. Strong feeling of emotion filled me, and my pace picked up to a solid run, faster than I had run for many hours. It is funny how the sight of your crew and the smell of that finish gives you that kick to run faster in the last mile of a 100-mile race than you had run at the start. As soon as I hit the line, some pictures were taking, and hugs were given by not only Robin and Michelle but folks from Aravaipa racing.

The race was over, and the journey completed. As I am sitting here a week later from the day the race started, I still haven’t had it set in deep. I’ve reflected on it, Robin and I’ve spoken about it a little, but who it drove me to become and where the next step will take me is unknown right now. I am clear though on the fact that what we set out to do, what I outlined above, for this race, came to fruition. I wanted to be tested, moreso, then I had ever been in a race. I wanted to hurt, be pushed to and beyond limits, go into deep pain caves, and sit there. And deal with it! I wanted to be in the mountains and woods at night, by myself without anyone around, with my thoughts on how to keep my mind and body moving forward. As mentioned, it was pretty ugly, mistakes were made and, yes, many things were not ideal. But we did it and I am grateful for all those that helped me along the way.

Thank you to #aravaiparunning, Brian and Meghan Slavin, all the volunteers, participants, crews, families, friends. Thanks for all the text and words of encouragement before, during and after the race. All those that have reached out – you reaching out means more than you can imagine. To Isabella & Alaina, one at college and the other playing in soccer tournaments all weekend, thank you for thinking of your old-man and reaching out throughout the journey. I love you both very much and am so very proud of you. To Michelle, the rookie crew member – what can I say, you freaking rocked it. You know have a lifetime spot on our team 😊. Really appreciate you – love you! To Robin – we’ve talked about it so much these last few months and in the last week. This was an adventure from the start, and we knew the journey was going to be way different than we’ve experienced before. We knew we were going to have to do things way differently than we had done before. However, when things started last Saturday and until we crossed that finish line, I knew – no matter where this journey was going to take us, I was where I was supposed to be and who I was supposed to be with. Thanks for being my partner and my guide throughout this experience. Glad we can do it together. “Once you decide to run 100 miles, you’re not in charge anymore. Those in charge are your former and future selves. During the race, when you don’t want to keep going and life’s awful, just remember your former self wanted to do this and your future self wants you to finish. Let those two be your guides.” – Eric Senseman

#aravaiparunning #MOG100 #mogollonmonster100 #PAAZtrailrunner #becommitted

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