Old Pueblo meets Young Ultrarunner

Subtitle: Pam Reed and the Saving of Bacon

 

The rumble of a semi truck seems to growl in the distance.  It gets louder, and closer.  That seems odd, since I am camped 5 miles away from the nearest semi-navigable road.  But then the motor’s rumble is joined by a more rhythmic sound, a whump-whump-whump that finally identifies its source as a helicopter buzzing our campsite not 100 feet off the ground.  Then again, and another minute later, again, and finally one more pass as the IR unit decides that the warm bodies it spies on the ground not 15 miles from the Mexican border are indeed actual US citizens.  I imagine the expensive SUVs parked all around the area helped with that diagnosis.  Before Old Pueblo 50 could even start, myself and the handful of other folks camped out have to be “cleared” by the INS.  I didn’t hear the chopper land, so I guess we all passed.

 

After a somewhat fitful nights’ sleep, my alarm wakes me at 4:45am.  It is cool out, but not what I would call cold, despite the frost.  My -20 degree bag has, suprisingly, just barely kept me warm overnight.  I must be a cold sleeper.

 

Actually starting up the camp stove to make coffee is out of the question, as I have heard there will be coffee at the start area for the taking.  Oh, I will be taking, fear not.

 

My drop bags get one final inspection, the shorts-tshirt-longsleeve-windbreaker are put on, and I trundle down to the start, a 400 yard walk down the road.  Halfway down I realize that I forgot to remove my headlamp, so it goes into one of the bags.  Because of the loopy nature of this course, one of the drop bag aid stations is visted twice (mile 7 & 29), so I will have a bag there as well as at mile 40.  When drop bags do double duty like that, I put ziploc bags labeled for the two mileages inside containing the things that I either must or should use at that point.  Mile 7 has sunscreen and some food.  Mile 29 has more food, and an extra long sleeve shirt.  I also put spare shoes in this drop bag so that I can bail on my early morning shoe choice at 2 different places in the race.  Mile 40 has yet another long sleeve shirt, food, canned coffee, and lights.  I plan to finish in the dark, yet hope not to.  I think you all know how *that* thought process goes.

 

Down by the start I start loading up on coffee, fully adulterated with hot chocolate and non-dairy creamer.  That stuff is so evil, and yet so good.  You can’t truly say that about many food items.  Ok, maybe Twinkies.  Now there’s a drop bag idea…..

 

5:40am, I get in line for the single pit toilet while swigging my chunky coffee (not to worry, the chunks are merely non-dairy creamer and not something that might actually cause problems later).  I finally remember that I need to fill the bladder in my pack, and do so while waiting.  That’s the last thing – now I’m really ready to go.

 

6am, promptly, the race begins.  We trundle back up the road I just came down, and past my campsite, where I proudly point out my tiny abode from the night before to Anita Fromm.  Anita and I have a sporadic but somewhat extended history, having met on the Squaw Peak course in 2001.  We ran together for a portion of that race, and I think developed at least a mutual runner bond, if not friendship.

 

We fall in somewhere in the latter half of the pack around some other women, and start chattering away.  Well, mostly Anita does, as she is hasty to point out, “I never shut up.”  Perhaps in response to this, a few of the women around us speed up ever so slightly to pull away from us.  :-)

 

As we get warmed up, I wonder how things will go today.  I haven’t run this far in a pretty long time (since November at Javelina), and it didn’t go all that well back then.  But I just ran a good 50K a month ago and felt fast and smooth then, so perhaps things will fall into place again today.  But 5 and a half hours is a lot different than 14 or so....  I try not to think too much about it.  A finish is great, sub-14 would be nice, since that will beat my “PR” at 50 miles, which was set at Leadville last year.  (Yes I know PRs are completely meaningless from course to course, but not useless - it gives my brain *something* to latch on to when I think about my pace and general goals for each race.)

 

The moon is still up, about to set.  Its brie-yellow light is softly illuminating the peaks around us and their snow-dusted heights.  Most of the field is either silent or making awe-struck comments about how gorgeous this morning is.

 

We continue along the fireroad, mostly jogging as the path rolls along, slowly gaining elevation.  At 3 miles there is a water stop (this will be a full-service aid station with drop bags on the return trip at mile 33), and most people just pass right by.  Now we exit the fireroad and start on an AZ trail section.  Immediately things get rougher, but still runnable.  Just a good handful of rocks and ruts thrown in to wake us up, nothing too serious.  After a few switchbacks we enter a meadow that is covered in low dead grass, completely frosted over.  For some reason I think this is the coolest thing, and remark likewise to whomever is near me (Theresa, I believe).  She makes a non-commital noise.  To each her own, I suppose.  I think its very pretty.

 

Some more roly-poly and quite rocky sections later and mile 7 aid station is upon us.  The sun has risen by now and those frosted-mini-wheat-looking mountains are still gorgeous.  Geri K is at this stop, so I harrang her a bit (she is wearing the lovely bunny ears that I was privileged to wear when working an aid station at her Zane Grey race with Mr Trail Safety and the Deputy.).  After I eat some food and am almost ready to leave, I remember that I have a drop bag here.  A drop bag with PURPOSE – so I must deal with that.  On goes the slimy nasty sunscreen, and into my pockets go electrolytes and fig newtons, and onto my face goes my sunglasses.

 

Now I am finally ready to leave, and leave I do, with Anita.  Next aid is 6 miles away, so I don’t even fill up my bladder, as it is about half full.  I do finally take an electrolyte, planning to adhere to my successful formula from Pemberton – one every 90 minutes or so.  I don’t think I have salty enough sweat to go up to 1 per hour or more like some people that I’ve run with, and every 90 minutes seems to keep the tummy in a copacetic frame of mind.

 

Anita and I talk about tonight – we both would like to finish in 12 hours (6pm), just for the purpose of having time to shower and then go to Patagonia (half hour drive away) to eat at the nice coffee shop restaurant before they close at 9.  She has offered me a shower in her hotel room, which I would have gotten around to asking for eventually.  :-)  Camping is fine with me, but after a run like this I definitely need hot water, if not for myself then for the protection of my down sleeping bag.  Heh.

 

Up a road for just a little ways, then onto more single track trail.  I don’t remember this section in detail, just that there were some gates to go through, and a nice low-lying section along some trees and a wash.  A great place for pit stop #1 of this race, though now I wish I would have grabbed my TP “refill” from my drop bag when I had the chance.  No matter, onward we plod.  I talk a bit with Theresa as well, about what I have no clue, but it includes the normal race chatter kind of thing – “where do you live”, “have you done this race before”, “what else are you doing this summer”, “what do you do for work”.... etc, etc.

 

I am trying to drink deliberately, since I still believe that I don’t drink enough, and I’m probably right.  So I take a good slurp every time I think of it, which is about every 5 minutes.  By the time we reach the next aid the bladder is dry.  I have the aid station refill it, and for the first and last time today I have them screw it shut and put it in my pack.  It starts leaking immediately, which I think is ominous – maybe it got a huge hole!  Oh NO!  But thankfully, its only that they didn’t screw it shut all the way.  So I fix that issue and get it back in the pack.  I don’t take the time to clear the air out, so it sloshes all the way to the next aid.  My stomach is sloshing as well, so I just pretend it’s the bladder and it seems to make me feel better.

 

I take another electrolyte after this aid station at mile 13, staying on my 90 minute schedule as near as I can while not wearing a watch.  I had planned on getting rid of my long sleeved shirt about now, but its still a little cool, and I don’t want to not have it and regret it in another hour – I won’t have a drop bag again until mile 29.

 

Somewhere in this next stretch, I drop Anita.  We are climbing to Gunsight Pass, and I am hauling ass on the uphill, power hiking and even running some.  The pass is reached at mile 15 or so, and I am treated to a spectacular panorama of Tucson and the valley below.  I really wasn’t expecting it, so its quite dramatic.  I even look around for someone nearby to hoot and holler my excitement to, but I guess I’ve scared them all off already.

 

I wasn’t expecting this descent, either.  Damn steep and rocks straight off the Oscar Pass Road in the San Juans.  Tricky stuff, but I get down it as fast as I can, which isn’t saying much.  I’m still too timid on downhills like this.

 

About a mile or so later it loses pitch and is much more runnable.  I catch up to Theresa again, who is looking a bit wasted.  I think she is having stomach problems.  I would too, if I didn’t keep up on my electrolytes, especially after that rollicking downhill.

 

After another few miles I reach the 19 mile aid station.  I top off the bladder and take PB&Js for the road.  Just a few hundred yards later my GI is complaining, so I start looking for a good pit stop #2.

 

Now the traveling is on a wide gravel road – and road is the right word, since there are actually trucks driving by.  A sharp turn puts me on a smaller road, and I am conversing with another runner who says that he did this on a training run and missed the turn, ending up somewhere down in the valley below.  Oops.  Today the course is so well marked I wonder if people have been joking all this time about making sure not to get lost.  I mean, this turn – it had flagging by the mile, about 9 arrows painted on the ground to indicate the left turn, and a LINE across the wrong path with the word NO written on it.  This pattern was to repeat itself on any major turn all day long.  So overall, excellent marking, if even a bit on the overkill side of things.

 

We have to hop a fence (literally, its private property and locked shut), and for a brief moment I think that I strained my quadriceps on one leg.  Then I just keep running, and it loosens up.  Whew.  I am talking with this guy some more (I don’t even think I got his name), and the next 6 miles actually goes by pretty fast.  I heard some runners say after the race that this stretch was very long for them.  However, I also heard that the next stretch was a bit long (5 miles instead of 4), so maybe this “6” was actually 5.

 

Coming into the Box Canyon aid station, I let out a WHOOOOO as I am coming in and someone snaps a photo of me.  I ask them if I am too perky (and also if they’d like to photograph my “better side”), but they just smile.  I get more PB&Js and a Samoa  girl scout cookie – yum – and head on out.  Theresa is right behind me, and as we start to ascend the canyon I see a sign that says, “Slow – Curves – 10mph”, and yell at her to make sure that she slows down, pointing at the sign.  At least that gets a laugh. 

 

Up the canyon I am starting to do what I did at Pemberton – focus on whomever I can see ahead of me and try to pull them in.  I hit the last aid station at 5:10 race time, the half way point in the course.  I am feeling pretty good about a sub-12 finish, which has me in a damn good mood.  My old ‘strategy’ at ultras had been to start out slow so as not to crash and burn, and then see how things went.  I don’t think that worked for me, because I just got tired and slowed down even more.  At Pemberton and today, I am purely running how I feel for the first half or two-thirds, and then moving as fast as I can for the rest of the time.  It worked well a month ago, but then I was DONE in 5 ½ hours, and here I am still going with 25 miles to go.

 

I see someone ahead of me about a few hundred yards, and I just keep tabs on them.  I am pulling away from the other guy and Theresa as I climb, mostly power hiking at a good clip.  The high point of this section is reached, and a gradual downhill begins.  I am still catching this guy ahead of me, little by little.  I am pushing him, too, because when I get close he starts running.  He may not even realize what is happening.  Its that weird little race symbiosis – I did it to someone at Leadville last year, too:  during my low point, I was following a guy and when he ran, I ran.  When he walked, I walked.  I never gained much ground on him, but I didn’t lose any, and probably would have walked a lot more without him there to give me visual aid.

 

A long 2 miles into the descent we reach the aid station at about the same time.  This is Geri’s station again – mile 29 this time.  I get my fig newtons out of my drop bag and leave my can of coffee for Anita, since she of the 10-cups-a-day habit probably needs it more than I do at this moment.  More water in the bladder, and several PB&Js in fist, and I leave, just behind the Deputy himself.  Geri reminds me to kiss the Javelina on my way out, and as I pass the poor guy impaled on a pole I do give it a big kiss.  No tongue, though.  I’ll save that for after Javelina Jundred this fall.

 

Eating fig newtons up the trail (the same section as between miles 3 and 7 but backwards), I pass Randy and whomever he is running with, and keep on trucking, looking for the next person to reel in.  This stretch goes by fairly fast, and the frosty meadow is now all thawed and not looking nearly as cool as it did this morning.  Is it now about 1pm (I think) and things have warmed up pretty nicely.  I would guess temperatures to be in the high 60’s, possibly into the 70’s.  But the breeze is always cool, and still I keep my long sleeve shirt on.  Also it means I don’t have to slather more greasy sunscreen on my arms.

 

The 33 mile aid station arrives and I repeat my pattern, heading out for the next 7 mile stretch.  Just more of the same, roly-poly single track trail and roads, with some rocks, and some fast & steep short downhills.  There are more stream crossings in this section, a few total where you have to balance across rocks to not have wet feet.  Having multiple stream crossings in AZ is a good sign – for AZ, that is.  On this stretch I catch and pass about a half dozen more people, and am wondering when the aid station will materialize…. Finally there is a “1 Mile” sign, and then another sign at a half mile, accompanied by a sign that says, “Just 10.5 miles to go for that SWEET buckle!”.  A woman is standing there with a dog waiting for the guy running just behind me, and she says there is bagpipe music at the aid station.  I ask if there are guys in kilts, but she pretends to not hear me.  Heh.

 

One more stream crossing, as a radio guy takes my number and finds out if I have a drop bag, and then uphill for about a hundred yards to the actual aid station.  The scottish music is going, as promised, and I am feeling good, so I do a very poor fake Riverdance imitation as I come into view.  It ends up being something like those “Russian” dances you do as a kid – arms crossed in a square in front of your chest and a lot of hopping up and down.  But I think I get a few people to clap, if only to just make me stop. 

 

Now, I feel good here, given the circumstances (I’ve run 40 miles already today), but I am pretty tired and feeling some discomfort in my ankles (the front, about where the foot curves to meet the leg.... anterior tibialis tendon?).  I take 1 Vitamin I, and drink a strange fizzy golden liquid from a cup.  It tastes familiar so I ask them what it is.  They say its leftover Red Bull from Pam Reed.  Cool!  I also slug down the can of coffee from my drop bag, and eat the usual PB&J, and comment to them that I probably don’t need to take my lights with me to the finish, with which they concur.  Very new concept for me – not finishing a 50 in the dark. 

 

It is another 6 miles to the next aid.  I do not know what time it is.  I am vaguely aware that I *will* break 12 hours, and also aware that I have a reasonable shot at 11, which is completely baffling to me.  So for the most part I am just doing what feels good and/or doable, and not thinking about the time.  The next mile is a gradual uphill gravel road, and I run it, feeling a bit sluggish.  I catch up to 3 people and run with them a bit, talking about the usual stuff, and then gradually pull away after about a half mile.

 

This section - that people claim is awful-brutal-criminal - its not.   It is more stream crossings (bringing the total today up to about 10+), some rocky trail, some nice trail, and more up and down.  Yes it would be brutal if you were bonking here, but damn if that Red Bull doesn’t give me friggin’ WINGS!  About 2 miles out of the aid station I feel like James Cameron at the ’98 Academy Awards.  I am bouncy, running strong, and I luuuuuv Pam Reed.    

 

The 46 mile aid shows up out of nowhere, and I actually ask them why they are there – I was thinking at least another mile or so before I’d see it.  I just get a few things, do not refill my bladder, and have the presence of mind to ask the time.  It is 10:10, race time.  I am excited but very apprehensive – this means I still have a shot at sub-11, but I will really have to push on this section.  And the first thing to deal with is a big (for this race) climb up to a ridge about 500’ above me.  The climb doesn’t look bad, really, but I know that I have to keep my uphill speed as high as humanly possible so as  not to have to sprint the runnable parts.

 

I run the first section before the uphill, and have to yell at a runner who has missed the trail turnoff from the road.  It is just as well marked as the rest, but he missed it just the same.  I holler and point, and he turns around and says, “You saved my bacon!”.  My good deed done for the day, I leave him in the dust.  Up the hill lickety-split, and man does that hurt the quads, then it levels out and I cross through a gate to see Geri with a few other people.  She asks how far to the aid station and I say about a mile or more, and she wishes me good luck.  I know that I have 2.5+ miles to go now, and I have no idea what time it is.  I just know that I need to run, so I do.  Up on this ridge, it is grassy and beautiful – the views of all the mountains around, and the flat plains below.  It is also flat, which makes for uncomfortable running – gravity would be nice to assist with my speed.  But for about a half mile I have to run the flat, and then it finally dumps into a little canyon.  I catch another runner here, who looks good but like he’s really ready to be done. 

 

Up out of that little canyon and I get a view of the parking area ¼ mile from the start and all the cars there…. It seems so close, but we have a little ways to go yet.  Next the trail moves across a  meadow..... this is the Meadow That Never Ends.  I catch a younger guy here, who looks like the type of runner that I *never* catch, so I assume (correctly, as it turns out) that he has had a horrible day.  I set my sights on two women ahead of me, 50 and 100 yards up.  We seem to be reaching a pinch-point of the meadow, and I think, “the finish is there!”, but its not – we just enter another section of the meadow, and I am dejected enough to allow myself a very short walk break.  But walking feels only slightly better than running, so I pick up the pace again, and pass the first woman.  Then I reach the next woman, who looks to be close to my age, and she is sporting an awesome looking gash on her elbow.  I am duly impressed, especially if she’s been running with it for awhile.  I am tempted to tell her to hang on and that I am still trying for 11, but no words come out of my mouth.  Now I believe that I will either break it or I won’t, and either way it has been a great race.

 

Finally, another gate, and a person standing there!  They must be waiting to tell us the finish is just ahead!  Indeed – the woman says, its right there!  I can see buildings, and – yes – an RV parked, and it is only 400 yards away.  The Meadow That Never Ends is over, and I enter an open area behind the ranch.  I am momentarily confused at where to go, but people point the way up an incline behind the main house, and a kid is there with stopwatch to time me from the house to the finish line.  One more quick set of directions (go up the hill to the right!), around that curve, and I approach the line trying to see the clock.  It is tilted at a bad angle and I can’t see it, and I can’t see it, and WHAT TIME IS IT???  I am finally able to look just as I cross the line, and it says 10:59:53, so I raise both arms and yell “YES!” as if I were winning the Olympic Marathon.

 

(wow – my adrenaline is racing just writing this and reliving it over 2 days later…)

 

The kid comes over and says how long it took me, something like 20.81 seconds, and I thank him for his excellent work.  He obviously takes his self-appointed job very seriously.  :-)

 

I am in complete shock – the good kind – and I drink what is left of my bladder and wander around aimlessly for a few minutes.  I look over at the table where people are recording the results and verify that the time I saw when I crossed the line is really real.  Duane finds me and hands me a little black fuzzy bag and a big paper one.  Inside the little bag is my buckle – my first one, and it is a shame I don’t wear belts.  The big bag contains a nice piece of sponsor-schwag: a Patagonia Velocity jacket.  At first I think it is “the* finisher’s  jacket, but later I realize that stuff is just being handed out until its gone.   Nice booty, to be sure.

 

The woman with the nasty elbow comes in 11:01:something, and is visibly disappointed she didn’t break 11.  Now I really feel bad for not telling her to stick with me, but at the time I really didn’t know if I would make it myself.

 

I go over to the grill and get a double burger with extra tomatoes and extra salt.  I didn’t try the chili, but I’ve heard its quite good.  I have more coffee – this race gets big points for  having coffee available all the time; I’m sure the volunteers appreciated it as well.  Finally I start cooling down, so I collect my drop bags (already here!  Awesome job!) and trundle up the hill to get warmer clothes. 

 

After throwing on a fleece and my warm jacket, gloves, and hat, I grab my camera and come back down to wait for Anita to finish.  I worry that I will miss her while at the car, but I don’t.  I do miss Woofie finishing, however, and he is excited that he had a much better time than last year – about an hour better.  He tells me about how this race was a monkey on his back and he was much too stressed out about it, until he decided to take the Zen approach – don’t fight the course, and it won’t fight you.  It worked for him, and me too, in a subconscious way.

 

Locating Duane again, I thank him profusely for this race and how well it was organized.  I realize that this is the first ultra I’ve done where there was no pre-race briefing.  I didn’t even notice!  I will be back, of course.

 

Anita finishes in 12:20(?) something, and I capture her blurry figure crossing the line with my camera.  Haven’t even looked at the photo yet, but I wasn’t using the flash, so I hope at least the clock is readable.  I congratulate her, and we only stay around a little longer before heading into town for hot showers and a night of very little fitful sleep.  At least its warm, anyway. 

 

Thanks for reading.  If you enjoyed this even 10% as much as I enjoyed Old Pueblo, then I’ve done good.  *grin*