I had a great time in Moab. I always do. The 5th running of the Moab 100 fit perfectly in my schedule - racing and otherwise - so I figured that this would be a great opportunity for me to test myself at another 100 miler. I think that this run was a successful for the most part. I ran well and ran hard, but it was also learning opportunity for me.
On March 17th, I left the Front Range for a week long tour around the Colorado Plateau with the other members of the Advanced Natural Resources Seminar at CU. I knew that I would be in the vicinity of Moab in late March, so I figured that this would be a good opportunity to run the Moab 100. After cruising around in a van, covering well over 1,000 miles, talking with Hopis, Navajos, Wilderness advocates, Forest Service and coal burning power plant people, and staying on a ranch that sits on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, I arrived in Moab on March 25th. The trip around the Plateau was epic - I squeezed in a few good runs too (I'll post some pictures later).
On the 25th, I spent the day at a coffee house in Moab, catching up on emails and doing work that I had neglected. My sister arrived in Moab later that night. We met up with some friends of hers, who were in town for an "adventure race". We ate at Miguel's Baja Grill and then walked around the kitchy gift shops that pepper the red rock landscape. We headed back to the Super 8 around 9:30 and I don't think I fell asleep until 11:30 or 12 because I was too excited.
I woke up at 5:45, ate some breakfast and prepared for the race. We left the hotel at 6:15 and arrived at the Monitor and Merrimack TH at 6:30. I promptly checked in and went back to the car to wait in the warmth. It was below 30 degrees, which was cooler than the forecast predicted, but it wasn't cold to the point of being upset about it. The pre-race meeting started around 6:45 and didn't really provide that much information, but that's ok. The pre-race meeting is more like a ritual. It's nice to have someone talk at the beginning of the race and is enjoyable, even if it means I have to stand around in the cold for the next 10 or 15 minutes. It also gave me an opportunity to see who had showed up for the race. I didn't recognize anyone, as this is a fairly small race I didn't expect to, but I did notice a gigantic, muscular guy who looked like some nutty triathlete - you know the type, lots of muscles, shaved legs, tattoo of something bicycle related (real intimidating type). As it turned out, this guy would chase me over the next 100 miles.
At 7 we approached the line, there was a countdown and then we were off. I settled into a fairly easy pace, which I realize now was a pretty fast pace. There were only two people in front of me, a guy I didn't know, and, of course, Anita Ortiz. The guy looked somewhat fit, but didn't strike me as a 'runner' and Anita was running way too fast to be running the 100 so I figured that she was doing a relay.
One nice aspect about a race like this, which is also a bad aspect, is that after the first 5.37 mile lap, you know what you'll be running all goddamn day long. This is good because I got to see lots of people, see how they were doing, and where they were on the course. I couldn't keep track of everyone that was doing the relays, but by the end of my race I think I knew who was running in the 100. The bad aspects are obvious - you are running the same thing all day. If you run 5.37 mile laps and need to get 100 miles, you need to do 18+ laps. This was very psychologically taxing. Every time I got into the aid station, I knew exactly what I was going to be running over again.
My first lap was good, and was a little fast (results aren't up so I don't know exactly how fast). The basic layout of the 5.37 mile loop is, from the starting area, a short drop into a wash, and then a short, slightly inclined sandy road. This road dead ends in a trail head that gives way to some very nice single track. This section of the course is beautiful: there must be copper and iron deposits surrounding it because the red and turquoise colors are amazing. After climbing the single track, there is a short, sandy descent followed by a 1/4 mile of fairly technical running through a rocky wash. The wash gives way to what is basically a 200 meter stretch of sand. Now comes the fun part: probably 2-3 miles of slick-rock that are very runnable. The half way point of the loop is around the highest point, so it seems as though every loop starts with a climb and finishes with a descent. The climbs were great. Going clockwise, is a shorter and steeper climb, while the counter-clockwise climb is more gradual but longer. Throughout the slick-rock section there incredible views of the buttes and different red rock formations. After pounding down the slick-rock, there is another sandy section, followed by some very shallow, single track creek crossings - another favorite section of mine. After the creeks, the trail spits you out onto a road, which brings you back to the TH.
The first lap went smooth: I was in and out of the aid station (also the start and the end). I tried to pay attention to who was behind me. The giant I had seen earlier seemed to be about a mile or two back and would remain in that position for the next 25 or 30 miles. My first 6 laps were really good and really smooth. I think that I hit my 50K time in about 4:30 or 4:45. I'm not accurate mostly because I don't remember and I try to not let my watch dictate my race. I was feeling good, and around this time the giant (whose name is Mike) asked me if I was running the 100M too. It was at this point I discovered, due to his very thick accent, he's Australian. Great, I thought. Just what I need: a gigantic Aussie to chase me through the night. He was fairly consistent in his pace, but I figured that if I held my pace, he wasn't going to catch me.
From the 50K to the 50M, everything continued smoothly. Mike gained a little ground around mile 30 or 35, but it was not so significant a change to worry me. I decided to keep my pace consistent and aim for a sub-8 50M, which, I believe I hit, without stressing my body too much.
Because the course was so runnable, I felt bad not running. Consequently, I ran the entire first 50 miles, which contributed to it being my fastest 50M time. It was not until lap 11 (around mile 60) that my legs really started to feel the beating that they were taking from the slick-rock. It was still sunny and nice outside (there was a little cloud coverage and a few sprinkles), and my pace slowed a little. I decided to make a concerted effort to walk the steeper sections to give my legs a break, but continue to run everything else. After the 11th lap, my wonderful crew (my sister Liz) brought me water/coffee and food, while I chatted with Harry Harcrow, a CRUD runner, who was relaying with his wife. I overheard Harry talking to JT, I think, about what lap he was on. I think he said he had finished his 8th, which would put him at the 42 miles he wracked up for the day (should have gone with under). I was starting to feel a bit tired and what had previously been a great course started to become a torment. The next few laps were fine. I was running strong, but my legs were starting to ache and food was starting to taste bad.
I finished lap 13, and was feeling kinda miserable. My legs hurt and I was bitching and moaning. I don't know why I was in a bad mood - I was enjoying the run. I think that it was hard coming back to the aid station every time and then heading back out. At the pit-stop, I ran into Anita - she gave me some good advice: "Go out and do this lap. Then another and another." So that's what I did.
Each lap after lap 13 became a little tougher because my legs were feeling worked-over, but I kept it up. I started walking some of the steeper slick-rock and I ran what I could. As I finished lap 14 and 15, it started to get colder. Some precipitation came down - sometimes freezing. I donned a jacket and forged ahead. Mike, my Aussie friend, stayed strong but fell off my pace. Each lap after lap 11 or 12, he started to fall farther back. I certainly felt his pain. When I saw him coming down the slick-rock, I could tell it was hurting him. I think everyone was hurting at that point. Lap 16 was very cold: jacket, gloves, two shirts, hat - everything I had, I put on.
Lap 17 came and went. I thought, "only one more and a little out and back and then I'm done." Earlier in the day (around lap 14), I had stopped looking at my watch. I knew that Duncan Callahan's old course record stood at 18:52 (or something close to that), but I didn't want to be concerned with trying to beat it. I just wanted to push ahead and end this race. My legs were smarting as I started out on lap 18. It was a struggle to move - but it hurt more to walk than run, so I hobbled what was steep and/or sandy and ran the rest. I know that I had fallen well off my pace, but I wasn't too worried about that. I was focused on one thing: finishing.
When I finished lap 18, I checked in and headed immediately out. Instead of properly fueling, like I had done before starting a new lap, I grabbed a new EFS liquid shot and headed out. On lap 18, I had spotted where the out-and-back cone was placed on the course, so I knew where and how far I had to go (around 3.8 miles). By this time I knew the terrain well. Even though it had been dark for several hours and it was tricky to see the course, after running the same loop for 12+ hours, I felt confident I could trace the course route accurately. When I left the aid station for the last time (to do the out-and-back), I was tired and ready to be done, but I figured that at most I had an hour of running left to do. After leaving the aid station, I decided it would be acceptable to look at my watch. It read 12:08am. Awesome.
I was completely psyched. I could walk it in, at a 20 minute/mile pace and still come in under Callahan's CR. I ran a bit, and walked the uphills (almost all of them), until I found the cone. Then it was an easy downhill jog back to the aid station/finish.
I crossed the line, and let out of a yeeeehaw! Because the event is so small, there were only 4 or 5 people around, but I still enjoyed it. I received my medal and a grilled cheese. I was told that my unofficial time was 17:43 or maybe :44. I'm still unsure, but I'll take it.
(Me and Liz, seconds after I crossed the finish line)
All in all, things are starting to come together for my running, but there are still things to learn. First, know the course prior to going out there. The slick-rock was killer and I had never been on this loop. I expected some, but not that much. My legs are currently paying the price. Second, try to eat a variety of food. I was eating/drinking mostly EFS liquid shots for the first 70 miles. It worked great, but by the end I desired more variation. Along with that point, avoid foods you normally don't eat. At some point Liz handed me chicken broth. I haven't eaten meat in close to 8 years, so one taste and I was completely grossed out (perhaps it got me out of the aid station quicker!). Third, taper. I was on the road for the week and a half before this race. While I was tired from driving around, I hadn't done that much running. This, I think, was a good thing. In the two weeks leading up to the race, I ran probably 9 or 10 times out of 14. In the last week, if I ran it was for a very short distance (3-4 miles). This worked well - I was ready to run on Saturday. Lastly, prepare for pain and recovery. I must be mentally deficient because I never remember how much these races hurt or how much pain is involved in recovering. I hurt during the race, but the real pain doesn't set in until well after. By that, I mean, I never remember to pack tylenol or advil. I never use it during a race, but sure could use it afterwards. (This is for my own edification).
Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you're well. I'll leave you with a few pics from my trip.
(Liz took this in Arches while I was running)
(slot canyon in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument)
(view leading up to Kane & Two Mile Ranch on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon)
(hanging out on Muley Point, Cedar Mesa - a windy day)