When I think of cactus and desert my mind may or may not
(it did) go to the coyote and roadrunner cartoons that were a staple source of
childhood entertainment back in the day when cartoons were legit. I've seen
coyotes now and then over my years of travel but they've never seemed horribly
confident. Wile E. Coyote was the exception to the rule I guess. The few times
I've seen them it's only been for a few seconds as they scurry off out of
sight. My perspective of these animals have always been a bit skewed by this as
the National Geographic Channel painted pictures of them thriving in groups, a
strong family, and howling at the moon as if they are a mini wolf pack. I have
often joked around with friends when running night trails, howling out my own
version of coyote calls and intimidation. I don't think any of them were ever
intimidated but it added a little carnal flair.
Cactus was always just a wallflower in those cartoons.
Occasionally, Wile E. would have the candid misfortune to land directly on the
only cactus for miles during a failed plot to capture the intelligible
roadrunner. Never did I see him use the cactus as shade; clearly he has never
run the Black Canyon 100k in Arizona.
Since the Ultragods decided my pulling my name in the
Western States Lottery wasn't in the stars this last time around, I humbly
bowed in acceptance and geared my energies to locking down my next qualifying
race. The options were overwhelming but my logic lead me to narrow down courses
that was early in the year, got me the hell out of Iowa during winter, and
somewhere new with terrain that was foreign to me. As much as I wanted Rocky
Raccoon redemption, it became apparent that my focus was strictly improving my
time (not limping for 20 miles would have shaved some numbers for sure..).
Reality hit me once this was truly revealed to me and I was pissed at myself.
At what point did my running turn into a showdown against the clock?? Hell no.
This is NOT why I run and I was pissed that my egocentric mind even went
there. I run for the run and I reminded
myself that.
Black Canyon 100k is sexy as hell no matter how you look
at it. I was drawn to the raw terrain first and foremost. (Masochists unite).
In true Steph fashion, the more I read about the course challenges (especially
for a Midwest challenger), the more I smiled. Would this be painful? Yes..But I
had a gut feeling that I would love every painful, wonderful minute. I embrace
opportunities for vulnerability and my aspirations are always laced with a
little pain. If your goals don't scare you, you aren't dreaming big enough.
I want to sample
our nation's courses and hitting up new routes with variables that are not familiar/easy
to me can only be opportunities for growth. I want to improve and if getting my
ass handed to me on a ridiculously hot and dangerous course was my path to
education then I guess I should jack up my life insurance policy. I am a firm
believer that breaking down walls to reach new personal enlightenment can only
be done when we are most vulnerable and exposed. Experiencing tribulation will
teach you far more than living with your head in the clouds and feet firmly
planted on comfortable ground. Time for me to fire up the jet pack.
Looking at the elevation level and comparing it to Iowa
caught my attention. Additionally, knowing the air/O2 exchange was going to be
alien was a tad intimidating. The course map showed a decent drop after the
early miles in the race so I was hoping that my performance would improve
slightly after the first 20 miles or so. Clearly I didn't factor in the
climbing temperature after these 'early miles.' Duh dummy..Details to come.
I took a good look at the race direction. I've said it
before and I'll say it again, ultras races hosted by ultrarunners are far
superior in every aspect. I'll run another Aravaipa race again without a doubt.
Logistics and lodging were locked down and I hit submit
on ultrasignup.com and locked down my February WSQ race.
Arizona rocks my world. Sadly, this Iowan could have used
a few days acclimatize and prep before taking on a grueling 100k. I noticed the
dryness in the air immediately and began experiencing allergy-like symptoms
which included a runny nose that literally had a mind of its own. I think I was
randomly dripping snot through the day, my pals found that deliciously hot I'm
sure. Snot turned a little bloody on occasion but I guess that was a taste
(literally) of was yet to come. ((You're welcome for the details, by the
way..stop reading at any moment.)) It seemed that I couldn't drink enough and
experience a dull headache after arriving Friday morning that persisted until
about an hour ago. Luckily these symptoms took my focus away from a nagging
tibia/soleus/popliteus injury. "Are you hurt or are you injured?!?" I
wasn't sure and I didn't want to think about it. That annoying, mindful angel
on my shoulder was strumming her harp and trying to convince me to possibly sit
this one out and maybe work an aid station so I don't make it worse…However,
that metalhead devil on my other shoulder was blasting Godsmack so loud that I
couldn't hear a damn thing the winged pixie said. So, that's that I guess.
After a nightmare situation with my hotel resulted in an
unexpected upgrade to a full suite, I conceded to my room for the evening after
a long day of Russian massages, a little hiking, race expo, shopping, and
eating lobster. It was a good day.
I was forced to purchase a lighter race singlet and I
wasn't very pleased. It was a little girly for my taste but I pressed on.
Prepping for race morning, I laid out my gear and drop bags and stocked them
with my Honey Stinger nutrition. I figured melting was going to be an issue so
I went heavy on a favorite-Strawberry Kiwi HS gel. My Altra Lone Peaks were
ready for race debut looking borderline orgasmic and almost seemed eager for
the thrashing of their life. Soon, my pets, soon…
RACE MORNING
Ahh..race morning! Inhale the awesome and let it permeate
through every vein in your body!! I love race morning. You see every emotion on
every spectrum and I could relate with all of them. It was clear that this race
(being a Golden Ticket and WSQ race) attracted some elite runners and I was
incredibly humbled. It was simply killer talking 'ultra' with these animals and
my excitement was fueled by every conversation. Visually it was a friggin
eye-fest. Sick tattoos, latest/greatest hydro pack gear, and a plethora of
Altras! Seeing Altra at a race locally fairly rare at the moment but it took
over at least half of the demographic at this race. Based on the talent
present, I call that a huge statement for company and I was a beaming Altra
ambassador that day…
Jamil rocked the RD position like a champ and before I
knew it we were shivering on the Mayer high school track about ready to the
Black Canyon 100k. Looking around for the final time was a moment that I will
cherish. The sun was teasing its arrival over the beautiful Arizona mountains
and I was standing next to Sage Canaday (ultimate winner and new CR holder!)
and Hal Koerner. To my right were a few record-breaking female elites who
welcomed a friendly huddle as we gathered to keep warm. It didn't matter who
you were, who your sponsor was or what shoes you were wearing..we were all
united by the same love of ultra and it was beautiful.
GO TIME
5, 4, 3, 2, 1..the uniform chime of Garmins announced the
start as we jetted off for an introductory lap around the track. It didn't take
long for the electrified herd of animals to thin out and the leaders to take
their place in hierarchy.
The first couple miles took us out towards the trail;
true single track with multiple sections that were impossible to pass on
initially. I found a nice group to pace with and they kept pushing. I liked
that. The foreign air felt heavy on my lungs and it seemed as if I was carrying
a weighted pack on my back and was dragging two toddlers on my feet. Everything
felt heavy and it was less than enjoyable. I recalled a similar feeling early in
a Cali race and I prayed it was subside. The crunch of the rock and gravel on
the dry trail was music to my ears. No one spoke on these early miles and the
look of focus was plastered all over our faces. As the sun began peeking over
the mountain backdrop it was clear that this beauty was also a beast. The sheer
brightness was blinding and I was thankful I had my visor. I pulled it down
over most of my face and just focused on the 3-5 feet of trail in front of me.
From the second my Lone Peaks hit the trail, it was clear that any variation
from eyes on trail could cost me a sprained ankle at the minimum. Focus was imperative.
My tibia injury wasn't great and by about mile 4 I could
tell that my right quad was already stressing from overcompensating. I tried
not to limp, knowing it would throw off a chain reaction of compensation pain.
I directed my concentration to breathing (as I was struggling) and form,
keeping my posture positioning primary and ensuring every moment was as
efficient as possible. This was my saving grace. In my current situation, I
knew that I couldn't run a 100k. However, I knew that if I focused on properly
executing a 1k…I could do it one hundred times. Perspective is everything.
#RaceSecretsRevealed
I was reminded by the elite level of the racers when it
seemed that no one was wasting time to stop at the first aid station. The
sunrise also welcomed temps that pierced my Iowa skin immediately. Again, this
is not was a homegrown Midwestern was accustomed to so it did shoot a little
fear into me when projecting my course strategy. I wanted so badly to stop
admire the beauty and serenity of my surroundings but I couldn't. Random pointy
rocks seem to pop up out of nowhere and pretty much flip you the bird.
Defensive running was introduced to my strategy..thank God I'm a natural
fighter so I smirked at the chance to go toe to toe with Arizona.
Pack leaders in the crew I paced with juggled and we all
took our lead turns. Within a few hours most of us were spread out. My
breathing had improved in almost exact correlation with the elevation map that
I had branded in my head. The last few days of treadmill running in prep for
the race included me staring at a visual of the course map and elevation
charts. The up and downs actually formed a bit of a story in my mind but since
it's innately explicit I will keep this tale to myself. This is a family
channel ya know.
The warm sun morphed into an angry abuser in a blink of
an eye. I expected heat but this wasn't the heat that my naive mind had planned
on. I recalled Psycho Wyco, a demoralizing 50k I ran a couple years back that
beat me to a pulp. This was worse by multitudes. I knew I was sweating but the
only fluid dripping from my body was a relentless runny nose. My skin was
completely dry but caked with a layer of salt that I could scrape off. I had
run for 4 or 5 hours and sucking down as much electrolyte-based hydration as
possible and had no sensation of needing to paint rocks (pee) at all. Knowing
my body, I knew this was a problem.
One of the many phenomenal aid station vols warned me
about the upcoming section of the course. She said in all seriousness that if
racers are going to drop, this is where it's going to happen. This section
winds runners out of the Black Canyon where temperatures were scorching and no
aid stations for miles which seemed like days. I acted as proactively as
possible and headed back out on the course. I had decided that my 30-second per
aid station rule for the first half of the course was going to be trashed. I
had cut my pace significantly based on some concerning biological cues and was
merely focused on finishing under the 17 hour time allotment to secure my
Western States qualifier.
It didn't seem to matter how slow I went, the sun was unyielding.
My head was pounding, my lips and arms went randomly numb, and I was getting
dizzy…and then I ran out of water. This is where my new appreciation for the
grand Arizona cactus was born. Several of these saviors were actually large
enough where I could get a couple feet of shade. The difference in temperature
seemed to vary by 20 degrees. My goal in this section shifted to running for shade
where I could stop and control my panting. I noticed that my dizziness subsided
if I found a specific rock to focus on and kept my head neutral.
A little more than half way through this section and
still a few miles from water, I started losing a little more control and
questioned my next moves. After a few minutes of pondering (sadly I could make
no tears) another runner approached. Without a second wasted he tried to give
me water but I was so messed up that I was getting sick from putting my head up
to drink from his pack and couldn't accept. Seeing this mess, he bypassed water
and made me take in some electrolytes. I welcomed it after thanking him
profusely and ensuring he had enough (two dead runners is worse than one dead
runner). He rationed out fluids from his
pack even when I argued that I didn't want to tap into what he had. This is
what runners do. We help each other. He noted he was a local and that these are
some of the worst conditions and extremely dangerous. Hearing this from a
conditioned, local runner was not only a reality check but also a little
relieving on the ego. I asked him his name and we parted ways. D, you seriously
saved me here-much respect!
Finally: WATER! I drank slowly and efficiently since my
stomach couldn't handle much at all at this point. The cramping I had
encountered earlier seemed to leave a lasting scar on my kidneys and sides and
would become irritated at the slightest notion of early dehydration. This was
my new indicator of when it was time to drink since I clearly couldn't depend
on a full bladder.
As soon as the sun hit its crest and started its descent,
I got my second wind but this took effort that demanded my will outweigh my
desire. I had to take in calories or I was going to bonk and DNF. NOTHING
sounded good for fuel and even water and carbo-pro made me nauseous at the
thought of it. I went for bland, high sodium and naturally gravitated to
potatoes and watermelon dipped in heavy salt. This encouraged a bit of
tolerance for food and I was able to eat a handful of M&Ms and some noodles
and broth (cooled by ice cubes). My Honey Stinger options that I had in drop
bags worked well as long as they weren't melted as well. A little nutrition and
great motivation by aid station personnel flipped the switch and I was feeling
better than I did pre-race. My tibia and quad issues were dulled by the overall
body and leg aching from the climbs and run descents that made up the day. Of
course they still hurt, everything hurt. Welcome to ultrarunning.
Another runner wasn't doing so hot and I spent some time
convincing him not to call it quits. His whole body was cramping, his stomach
wouldn't allow any nutrition, and mentally he was checked out. I encouraged,
begged, and bartered. I've been there, we've all been there. I thought about
what D did for me on the course earlier that day and I felt compelled to pay it
forward. I encouraged him the best I could and even offered him a $1 to
continue.. we only had 15 miles left! A quick parting comment referencing the
path to heaven requires crossing the gates of hell and I respectfully took off.
Back on the course and I revisited my race strategy,
goal, and did my staple head to toe assessment using the SWOT technique. I had
a good idea of potential threats physically, mentally, and emotionally and I
came up with viable strategies to counteract. Ultrarunning can never be
mastered..that is something I love about it. It demands that you are a good
problem solver, strong-willed, and respectful to the course, mileage, and your
own limitations. Thankfully, I author my limitations and have the creative mind
of Edgar Allen Poe.
Running out of an aid station I clicked on my IPod and
hit the right song and the right moment. Old school "Fuel" from
Metallica surged through my body at the cellular level and I was flying down
the course like a bat out of hell. I passed a pack of runners that passed me an
hour ago and they cheered my on "Hell yes! Nice rally from the Iowa
girl!!" My response was throwing up metal horns as I hurdled a boulder. They loved it and we all laughed as I almost
face planted into a cactus in true Wile E. Coyote fashion.
The final aid station was bitter sweet. I knew the last 4
miles were fairly manageable and that the worst (or best) was behind me. I
always get choked up when the race is nearing its end and the incredible peers
who shared that last stop encouraged more. I showed my gratitude and respect,
sent out some love and a few hugs, and scampered off into the darkness welcomed
by a warm blanket of night and guided by my Petzl headlamp. I was alone and
comfortable in the pitch black desert night and I turned off my music to
reflect and take it in. I noticed a few bouncing headlamps down course and I
challenged myself to catch up…maybe pass. Challenge accepted and I was pleased
that my broken body had one rally left. I encouraged the runners as I passed
and accepted the same. Nothing but respect and motivation is exchanged between
ultrarunners at that point in the game.
Two miles out I caught up to a runner who was struggling
a bit. Karma put me in the right place for him and I set a pace that pushed him
passed his restrictive demons and helped him find his last rally. It felt
amazing; I would have carried him if I had to at that moment.
A mile out and the quiet night was immediately filled
with loud shrieks that were getting closer within seconds. Pace increased,
somewhat driven by adrenaline by the thought of the finish line but mostly
driven by the howls. Coyotes..We figured that out within a minute or two but,
damn, they must have been running with us. Were we part of their pack and we
didn’t even know it? It was impossible to say. The desert darkness was pitch black
and we were too afraid to take our eyes off the foreign trail and risk injury.
Wile E. has a newfound respect from this Iowa chica. Those howls were confident
as hell.
Music, lights, crowds, and amazing cheers welcomed me as
I crossed the finish line in a little over 13 1/2 hours. Also welcoming me was
D. A fist bump and restricted emotion was all that was necessary; he
understood. I'm also a dollar poorer as the hurting dude at the aid station
found his strength and overcame his demons.
Cut off time was 17 hours to secure my qualifier for
Western States so I had a comfortable cushion. I did expect better than that
for myself and the time mocked me a bit. However, it took about a minute for me
to shake that negativity and remind myself about the journey and not the
destination. My efforts resulted in multiple lessons to move me through my
racing, a few to advance me personally, and a respectable top ten overall
female finish.
Another experience in the books, more lessons learned,
more friendships created, and more aspirations born. Such is life..such is
ultra.
Cheers.
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