Another Place, Another Adventure

Running the trails should be an adventure. It shouldn't be terrifying but it shouldn't be boring. I like to balance out my races. I like to go back to some that I have run numerous times. It is like meeting up with an old friend. Perhaps they have changed a little since I saw them a year ago. Or maybe they are just like I remember them. That would be like Mt. Taylor. This was my fourth year running the 50K race just outside of Grants. I know what to expect there. The weather may change a bit, but the race directors are my friends and I know that they will put on an excellent race. The mountain itself will always suck the breath out of me but only until I hit the peak.

But this past weekend I tried something different. I did a two person relay on the Naatsis’áán trail, just north of Navajo Mountain. A friend of mine agreed to go with me. I chose the first leg, figuring it was going to be easier. I was right.

We drove about 7 hours to the Navajo Mountain Chapter House where there was a health fair going on all day Friday. Tom, the race director, was briefing the volunteers. The Navajo Mountain High School students were selling Navajo tacos. Yes, I ate one. We were a very small band of runners, about half Anglos and half Native Americans. We really didn't know what to expect but we found out at the race briefing. During the briefing, we were chowing down on homemade lasagnas, spaghetti, fantastic fresh salads, topped off with three different types of infused water. Most of us either slept on the floor of the chapter house or set up tent just outside the building.

This was a totally fantastic experience (see the pictures below). The scenery was amazing. But even more importantly, the support we received from the community members was totally astounding. These folks camped out. They cooked. They donated time and local food and resources. They spent their entire weekend trying to make sure the runners were fed, happy, and safe. This was a community event!

I will go back. You should put it on your calendar for next year. Forget the big fancy races. This is an experience of a life time.

The race

We started early on Saturday morning, way before the sun came up. The runners doing the second leg thought they were going to get to sleep in. But their day began even earlier. They drove to the marina at the south end of Lake Powell and boarded boats that took them to the Rainbow Bridge National Monument. There they could lounge on a house boat or head on out to await their runner.

I started the first leg. Daylight was hours off but we had no problem seeing the road. The community members were there. They were excited. They wanted to escort us to the trailhead, 8 miles away. They drove cars, trucks and ATVs to light our way. 

I was alone very early on. By the time I hit the last section of dirt road, the sky was light and I could hear a Native American flute. The first aid station was fully stocked and several community members were there to fill my bladder and give me encouragement and food.

Then I hit the trail and the magic started. This was an amazing scene. The sun coming up illuminated the mesa, turning it bright pink and orange and red. My camera didn't do it justice.

We entered the first canyon, down and back up. We entered the second canyon, down and back up. We entered the third canyon, down and back up. You get the idea. 

The scenery was constantly changing. Some places we could run, some places we had to hike.

I never take pictures during a race. I am there to race, not to sight see. But I made an exception for this race.

I didn't care who passed me. I did want to finish in a reasonable time, so that my teammate Jean Herbert could get started before it got too warm.

Oh, well, sorry Jean. I had to get a few more shots.

Can you believe this place? Seriously? I had never even heard of it before.

Loving it!!

Still loving it!!

The scenery just kept coming. My jaw kept dropping.

The race director promised we would enjoy this trail. He was right.

We weren't promised much in the way of aid stations, but there was more than enough food and water out there for us. Community members had backpacked water, sandwiches and other food items in for us. They camped out and enjoyed the stars. They were happy to see us. I was ecstatic to see them!

At other sites, community members had brought supplies in on horseback. One of the horse riders wanted to make sure the horses were well cared for. He carried in a bale of hay!

Are you tired of the pictures yet?

As the sun and clouds changed, so did the vistas.

This was a huge slab of black and white rock. Really cool.

I finally entered a section known as the furnace. Although it has a reputation for being extremely hot, it was fine when I went through. The walls of the canyon were blocking the morning sun. After we left the furnace, we entered Bridge Canyon. From this point to the turnaround, the trail was hard to follow. The flagging was scarce and the cairns were small. All I really had to do, though, was follow the footprints of those who had gone before, and follow the stream. As long as I was moving the same direction as the water, I was going the right way. No more pictures though. I was too busy trying to minimize my extra-trail excursions. I admit I was also getting tired and worried that Jean would have to run during the night.

I did happen to see this little critter. It was teeny. I looked it up: a red spotted toad. It's a little blurry. 

And then, I heard what every trail runner listens for....the sound of cowbells! Oh what a glorious sound. I took it on it, told Jean good luck and stopped for the day. Who cares how long it took. 

There was a nice little aid station set up just inside the fence from the National Monument. I ate a few bananas, talked to the Rangers and started towards the boat dock. I completely forgot about the Rainbow Bridge.

At first, it didn't look like much.

But as I got closer, I realized just how mammoth it is.

We did not go under it, out of respect for the traditional beliefs.

As we neared the water of Lake Powell, there were hanging gardens, places where the water seeps out of the sandstone and supports flowers and other plants that are not seen in other places.

Jean ran it back in. She was accompanied by an ATV while on the dirt road and a car while on the pavement.

Background: NavajoYES (Youth Empowered Services) has started a race series within various Navajo Parks. The organization's mission is to promote wellness and fitness within for the Dine’ people and their community. Tom Riggenbach, the director of NavajoYes thought that a race series could raise money, raise awareness of the world of trail running, and bring in visitors to the Navajo parks and reservation. He started off fairly modestly last year, with a series of smaller and shorter races. 

This year, though, Tom wanted to host an epic adventure. His dream was to host a 50 mile solo or two-person relay through the canyons just north of Navajo Mountain, or Naatsis’áán, starting at the east end of the trail, at the Navajo Mountain Chapter House, and traveling through several canyons to the turn around or trade off point for the relay runners. Now this turn around point was no ordinary place. The turnaround was just shy of the boundary of the Rainbow Bridge National Monument, a totally cool arch. The logistics required that the folks running the second leg of the relay drive almost 100 miles to the marina on Lake Powell where they boarded a boat for a two hour ride, covering almost 60 miles. The runners finishing the first leg would then return by boat to the marina and back to the chapter house.

Time to go sit down?

I called it quits at work about 15 months ago. I had been in academics my entire life. I worked hard, trying to make the grades in undergrad and grad school. I worked hard as a post doc and as a research scientist. I worked hard as an assistant professor and as a department chair. I went to bed each night knowing that my work was not done. I could never, possibly, do enough. There was always another paper to write or another test to grade. Some nights it didn’t bother me, while other nights I tossed and turned, worrying about my lack of progress, inefficiency, and job security.

I wanted to exceed. I wanted to be a good researcher and a good teacher, even a good administrator. I seldom met my own expectations, let alone those of the academic establishment. I had some successes but was always left feeling unfinished.

This summer I completed the Bighorn 100. Training for the event had started to feel like being a grad student or an assistant professor: would I do enough? Could I succeed?

When race day came, I followed the plan. I made the cut offs. I finished the race. I was so extremely glad. I finished. I didn’t have to do it again. It was like getting tenure. But I had also committed to running another 100 miler, in Alaska, in August, with a very good friend. I didn’t train after Bighorn but I did run some miles. 

The week before the Alaska race, I went into body conservation mode: eat, sleep, take it easy to be fully recovered. On Sunday I ran La Luz, a 9 mile uphill local race. I ran hard and actually did well. Good effort and a feeling of ability prior to the Friday afternoon race start.

But Sunday night our search and rescue group was called out. I answered the call and actually got out of the parking lot. This was to be my first mission and I was pretty psyched. Should be easy. The family of hikers were located under the tram. We just needed to hike in and escort them out. Couple of hours, or so I thought. But the route was not what I thought. We bushwhacked all night, from 11:30 pm to 4:30 am. During that time I took several hard falls. I was in way over my head. I was tired. I was scared. I wanted to call it quits. I knew my boots were not any good for that terrain. I realized my head lamp was not sufficient. I struggled to carry my pack. My arms were scratched in a million places from crashing through the brush. I had cactus spines in my legs and my butt. My shins and knees were bleeding. I was tired.

We made it out and I was seriously questioning whether I would continue in search and rescue. I had been a liability to the team. Too old? My balance seems to suck these days. I don’t have the strength. Yeah, I have endurance but that may not be enough.

Onward to Alaska. This is a minimally supported race with only two exit points: mile 41 and mile 67. Seriously, no other places to quit. I was hoping my friend would decide to go for the 50 miler instead of the 100. I talked with one of her friends, who agreed to run with her if I gave out. Or even if I didn’t give out. At mile 41, we would pick up a third runner. I knew I could make it that far and was pretty sure I could make it to mile 67. Good enough. Didn’t need to do the whole thing.

We started out nice and slow, but making better time than I had expected. The air was cool and damp. We had plenty of food and there were many fast moving streams to refill our water. Our spirits were high. It stayed light for a long time and we had topped out at the pass and had mainly downhill from mile 30 to the trail head at mile 41. My light was weak, giving me just enough light to walk fast or trot. My friend’s light was no better. The trail was muddy and keeping my feet dry was a major consideration. 

We went along a long lake, barely able to see it in the dark. We heard some weird sounds and stopped to listen. Loons. Oh my god it was fantastic to listen to the loons in the dark. We continued our trek, still ahead of schedule but now talking about dropping at mile 41. She didn’t seem to be upset by the idea. I figured she could go ahead with her friend and I could just drop out but she didn’t have the drive necessary to continue. 

We might have both decided to keep going but, around mile 32, I fell. Hard. Trying to go around a puddle that spanned the trail. My thigh smashed into an elevated root, with my full weight landing on it. Well, maybe not my full weight since my face also plowed into the ground. My lip was smashed and my chin was bleeding but the big pain was my thigh. It hurt, especially on the downhills. I couldn’t run. I could barely walk. It was a very long 9 miles to the trail head, where we gave it up.

And now all I can think is that it is time to retire. I remember being at a conference and listening to some young faculty member telling an older administrator that it was time for her to “go sit down. Find something else to do. Get a life. But go sit down and let the younger folks take over.”

Now I am thinking if it is time to go sit down. What a relief it would be to not have to train. No more getting up in the middle of the night to drive to a race. No more being hot, or cold, for hours on end. No more eating trail bars that taste like cardboard. No more drinking hydration drinks. No more falling and having scabby knees and bruised shins. No more running until utter exhaustion. No more worrying if I have trained enough.

Don’t know what I will decide. I have a 50K coming up in about 5 weeks, and another marathon after that. But will I sign up for any others? I don’t know. I do know that I need a break. 

What's next? Don't ask!

My toenails are still attached but they won't be for long. My feet have a new layer of skin, with only a little bit of callous. My weight is back to normal and I almost feel recovered. Thanks, Bighorn 100! Loved every minute of it.

Next, though, is a very different race. Resurrection Pass  is next Friday.

I'll be flying up to Anchorage to meet up with Jen Goyette. We did the 50 miler a couple of years ago and last year we ran Grand Canyon R2R2R. Why not try the 100?

What makes this race attractive (other than Jen)? Well, it will be cool, not the furnace of the canyons in Bighorn. It is not extreme in terms of elevation change, but there is plenty of climbing and descending. At 3000 feet, you are really above treeline. Not bad.

The wildflowers are fantastic. There may be moose and bear (is this a plus? Not sure). And it is free! This is a fat ass style race. No shirts, no buckles, no aid stations. Seriously, no aid stations. There are two places for drop bags (mile 42 and mile 67). Those are the only places you can quit, too. 

I will pack up tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Finishing what I started: Bighorn Part II

With great preparation and a fantastic support team, we headed to Sheridan, Wyoming. I love, love, love, love the Bighorn mountains. They are large and grassy, not rocky like the Sandias. They have cliffs and rivers. They have fantastic fields of wild flowers in June. There are canyons, wild animals, big skies, and the possibility of "weather."

The race starts on Friday at 11:00 AM. Weird, eh? The 100 miler was an add on and they started it so that the 34 hour cut off would match the cut off times for the other distances. The weather was mild. Maybe upper 70's. Nothing to complain about there. Rachel started with me. As an "over 60" runner, I was allowed to have a pacer for the entire 100 miles and I figured I could use all the help I could get. Her job was to make sure I started at a reasonable pace, ate and drank consistently, and get me to the first major aid station and up the first major climb with no deficits. I wanted Rachel to experience the beginning of a 100 miler so she would know what to expect for her inaugural effort in September.

At mile 13.5, Cheryl joined me. Since she did not get to pace the previous year, I wanted to make sure she got to run this year. Cheryl and I saw amazing fields of wild flowers. Arrowhead balsam root, lupines, primrose, and I don't know what else. The hills were covered! We had one major downhill. I wanted to stretch out, so I picked up the pace a bit. I fell. It hurt. I got up and opened up again. I fell again. It hurt. I dialed it back. We paused for a few seconds to look over the side of a drop off at the raging Little Bighorn River. Totally amazing view.

Cheryl and I hit the next major aid station ahead of schedule. We prepared for cooler temps and darkness. Leaving the aid station we could hear thunder and within a few minutes the rain started. We parked ourselves under an overhanging rock ledge along with Ferdinand, a friend from New Mexico, and put on our throw away ponchos. The rain didn't last long and the clouds lifted.

As it grew dark Cheryl asked about the moon. I glanced up and saw an almost full and clearly visible moon just above the silhouette of the cliff face. It could not have been more strategically placed for maximum WOW factor. We stopped and gazed at it, oohing and ahhing as if we were watching fireworks.

We were fortunate that there was very little mud this year and we pulled into the halfway aid station still ahead of schedule. There was a large tent, with lots of heaters, food, cots, helpers, food and chairs here. We met Ranie here. The goal was to get my butt out of there before I became comfortable. The cots were filled with bodies trying to get warm, bodies that were spent from over exertion and nausea. My body was fine. I just needed to change shoes, grab food, and get back on the trail. We did great.

Now it was time to run with Ranie. I had vowed to be upbeat and steady to make up for all my whining the previous year. We had a good time dodging mice and garter snakes, discussing (totally one-sided discussion) the rock formations, and talking about folks we know in Laramie. I kept positive until we were pretty close to the next major aid station when my feet started hurting.

By this time it was getting hot but we had tons of downhill running to go. I was looking forward to it except....my feet hurt. Again, the goal was to get in and out of the aid station with minimal time loss but I insisted on doing some foot work: adding tape, and changing socks and shoes. I said good bye to Ranie and headed off with Rachel. I figured since she saw the best of times at the start she should also see the death march of the finish. And for me, it was a death march. My feet were done. Every step hurt, especially every downhill step, and we were going to lose a couple thousand feet over the final miles. I whined, I whimpered and I rebelled. Rachel, the same age as my son, told me to suck it up. She informed me that we were doing the pace we needed to beat the cut off. She acted like she was checking her garmin for verification. I found out later that the garmin was worthless to her at that point, but her confident lies were exactly what I needed.

Let's cut to the finish. I made it with almost 45 minutes to spare. Every step was torture by then but walking was only slightly less painful than jogging.

Before the race, my friend Linda Romero sent a picture of the back of one of our shirts:

Finishing what I started: Bighorn 100: Part I

Long ago and far away, I decided to run a 100 miler every other year until I hit 60 (years old, not 60 races). I completed the Leadville Trail. 100 when I was 52, 54 and 56 years old. When I was 58 years old, I was recovering from heel surgery, so I decided to postpone the next 100 miler for a couple of years.

In 2014, I set my sights on the Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic  race. I gave it an honest try and dropped out at the 33 mile mark. In 2015 (I know, I was 61, not 60) I went back and dropped out at the 48 mile mark.

I swore I was done; I had passed the 60 year mark. But when registration opened again in the fall I was like a drunk at the liquor store. I went in just to look, not to buy. I walked out with my registration. I didn't tell anyone for a couple of weeks, until I finally admitted it to Cheryl who, for some odd reason, was very glad. She had gone as a pacer in 2015. She never got to pace and she was still waiting for her chance. Totally bizarre, if you ask me.

Slowly I admitted to other friends that I had registered, but was not yet open with Mary Ann (my spouse and crew) or Ranie (my pacer from the previous two years). I knew that they were a bit upset with my previous lack of performance and persistence at beating my head against a wall. When I finally admitted it, they both came on board, initially somewhat reluctant but then fully engaged and supportive. Another local runner, 31 year old Rachel, told me she had signed up for Wasatch. I told her she should pace me at Bighorn to get a feel for what a 100 is like. She readily agreed. My team was now complete.

Training was good. No injuries, no problems, no melt downs. I experimented with nutrition. I did heat training. I was in great spirits. This year there would be no excuses.

Balance. It's all about balance.

So this year I am striving for balance in my life.

I just completed the Mt. Taylor Quad. That gave me a chance to compliment my running with some skiing and some biking. I was starting to really enjoy both of these activities. I think I will add biking to my regular training schedule.

Looking for balance in other aspects of my life, too. I "should" be doing some intellectual work. You know, reading the great books, writing research articles, writing a novel. But I have been extremely lax in this area. I have started three different on-line courses. My best effort was getting almost half way through one of them. The other two? I didn't even make it through the first three weeks. I keep telling myself I am just not ready yet to engage my brain. Yikes, I hope I don't lose it.

But I have completed a Wilderness First Aid course. Yeah!! I think that is pretty cool. I keep quizzing myself. What does "SAMPLE" stand for? When do I check the person's Level of Responsiveness? Now I need to take a CPR course.

I am also doing the training to become qualified to do Search and Rescue. That sounds like a great volunteer activity for me. Except I have been told that the calls usually come at 10:30 PM....I am dead asleep by then.

I have been tiling the floor. I have been learning how to weave. Balance. It's all about balance.

But mainly I am obsessing about the Bighorn 100 race. Yep, signed up again. No balance there. Just sheer pigheadedness.