Zion Report (caution: rambling)

Every time I've tried to get this written, I get really tired. I think I needed to take this long to process this accomplishment to be able to write about it. What worked/didn't will come another time, but I wanted to get the story down, since it's already been over two weeks! Apologies for the rambling - it's what I do and this was a ridiculously long way....

Not surprisingly, I didn't sleep well Thursday night. I got up at 4am to eat breakfast (one and a half cups of instant honey and almond oatmeal). I wanted to be at the race start for 5:30am, though there wasn't much to do since we checked in the day before. Before I knew it, we were counting down and crossing the line, nobody in much of a hurry.

Bobbing headlamps heading into nowhere

There was a lot of dust from us all being clustered together as we snaked our way across the desert to what is known as the Flying Monkey conga line. Flying Monkey is the first climb of the day, and includes a section where runners scramble up a rope. Or not, since the group I was with somehow missed seeing the rope and shimmied our way up the hillside holding our breath. I wasn't anticipating this much adventure so early in the day, but was grateful to not be running last year's course, who did this section at mile 85 and for many runners in the dark.

The route around the rope

The rope section

This first climb wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, and once we hit the top we were directed to go check in at the aid station before setting off on a six mile loop on the mesa. This was a fun section, chatting with fellow runners, and a conscious effort to take it slow to prepare for the later miles. The sun was up and treating us to some wonderful views, which definitely be the recurring theme of the day.

(So many times I stopped for pictures there was a 360* view, so I took a video shot. I'll put them together in another post at some point.)

We got back to the Flying Monkey aid (mile 10), checked in and set off back down the trail we'd come up. I took video of some of this section to give you a taster, but if I start uploading those this will never get posted :) My confidence grew as we got further down, until I got my first fall of the day. I managed to catch myself before I tumbled all the way down, and the only sign was the small cut on my wrist from jamming the skin between my watch and a rock. Onwards!

I caught up to a guy from Jersey on his second attempt to get the hundred mile finish here. We were chatting about where we were from, and he was familiar with Fort Bragg because his wife does Ride & Tie, and had come to the Championship race here a couple years ago, and rented a horse from the barn I worked at, so I probably met her when I was helping with their horses and volunteering on the course. Small world. He gave me some tips about the course, and we stuck together nearly until the aid station. We were able to catch a runner heading in the wrong direction and put him back on course as well. The trail into Dalton Wash aid went up and down the side of a mesa, pretty steep in both directions.

There was a lot of activity at Dalton Wash, being the first aid station with crew access, and runners passing through both at mile 15 and 30.5. I tried to get in and out pretty quick, and set off along the road to our next mesa. This section was uneventful, more glorious views but an uninspiring dusty dirt road. Had I known what was waiting for me at the top, I might have pushed on to make more time here, but I thought I was being smart and conserving my energy to keep a steady effort all day. Passing through the Guacomole aid station at the top, we were sent off on a 7.5 mile loop on a mountain biking trail. Here I was introduced to, and promptly fell out with, slickrock. I had heard bad things about the slickrock sections, mostly people struggling to find their way in the dark. The other complaint being that it was hard to get a running rhythm. I tried to run on it, and aside from catching a toe a few times and nearly face planting, it didn't seem so bad. Whenever we hit dirt singletrack, I tried to pick it up a little. Eventually we got onto a section that was just rock, and I realised it was shredding my legs already trying to run on this stuff. I was with a couple 100k runners, and somehow managed to vaguely misplace the trail a bit, but between the three of us managed to find our way quickly. The trail was very well marked, it was when we weren't paying attention that we got sidetracked.

More incredible views, and the dirt road below

Slickrock, spectacular back drop, and some cool water to drench my buff in

Back down the dusty road, and able to make up some time. I rolled into Dalton Wash for the second time right on time and feeling good. The day was really warming up now, so I topped up on sunscreen, as well as getting a pack refill before heading off to the biggest climb of the day. We had a short section along the road (which was hot!), and then more fire road across the desert, with the Goosebump climb looming ever nearer.

If you look closely, you can just make out the trail right-center

The black spot in the middle? People, and if you zoom in you can just make out people above that.

I thought the Manchester hill was some kind of training for this - 1500' in a mile and a half. I was so very wrong. Loose sand, some rock scrambling further up, and the pounding sun made for a very tedious climb. Fast Cory snapped this picture of me, which pretty much summarises my, and many others, feelings about this section:

We joked that at least nobody was puking, but that changed shortly after (not me though - no puking the whole race!)

We finally made it out on the top, and were rewarded with our efforts with more breath-taking views. Or maybe we were still recovering... The Goosebump aid station was buzzing with runners coming in and out from multiple directions. I took a minute up here, and drank some delicious sprite before heading out on the next loop. Only 4 miles to the next aid, but it took me about that long to feel better from the Goosebump climb. I couldn't run very much, every few strides I would struggle to catch my breath, then we hit more slickrock. I had some choice words for it this time, and quietly grr'd to myself any time I saw mountain bikers having a blast on it, this stuff isn't fun dammit. There were a couple of areas that warranted shimmying or jumping down (being tall was probably an advantage). My quads were certainly taking a beating, but I finally made it to the aid station, and off to the short out and back to Gooseberry Point. I was really looking forward to this spot, and it was spectacular. Another runner and I were there at the same time, so traded picture taking duty, not that it does the area justice.

We punched our bibs to prove we did the section, then headed back to the aid station. I took a minute to sit here, hoping to rejuvenate myself enough to run some more. The trail back to Goosebump was two miles longer than the way out, and yet more slickrock. I was still with the same runner, and between talking and getting tired, we misplaced our route again and had to back track until we found the right trail. We were closely watching the sunset, and really thought we could make it back in time, but ended up doing the last mile or so in the dark. I hadn't anticipated this segment taking so long, so hadn't brought any lights. Luckily my new friend had, and was willing to stick with me and another light-less runner until we got back to the aid station, warning us about particularly tricky spots. We got excited every time we saw lights, but it was never the aid station. Finally some people were coming towards us, and it was my lovely crew coming to meet me with lights! I took some time at this aid station, perching on the tailgate of E's truck while she refilled my pack, and drank some hot broth and ate some pretzel M&Ms. She walked me out of the aid with another cup of broth, and later drove past on her way to meet me at the next aid, letting me know a runner wasn't far behind me. I hoped that either they would catch up to me, or I would catch up to the light ahead of me so I could have some company. My light-saviour was doing the 100k, therefore not on this trail. This felt like the longest six miles of the race, but I had no idea what was to come. I drank some hot peppermint tea down at the aid station, and while talking to a fellow runner about what was to come, he just said "Descent. Then Climb. Ugh". Well that didn't make me feel better. I scooted on out of there, and tried to muster some motivation to run. I kept up a reasonable shuffle, but felt very much by myself out there, not being able to see anybody else's lights. This was a tricky trail, with a nasty hill both up and down, followed by some more rock jumping. A runner and his pacer caught up to me, and passed right on by. Then we came to the descent that had been mentioned. Screw that! It was very slow going on the way down, stepping off ledges, around rocks, and not losing footing in the sand, all on trashed quads that were done with this activity. At one point I just sat on a rock considering defeat, and even shut my eyes for a minute. I jerked myself awake and realised that even if I was quitting, I needed to keep moving. At about 1.15, I realised I was going to be really tight to meet the 1.30 cut off but that I wasn't ready to quit yet. A few minutes later I asked some runners making their way back up how far it was, they guessed half a mile. Not bad, I can do that. Asked the next runners if I could make it in six minutes. They said yes as long as I got going. I squeezed in just under the cut off, at 1.27. I got a pack refill, and made my way back up the hill with renewed purpose. Not far up, I passed the runner who had passed me on the way down. He didn't look or sound good, but was determined to keep going. I was starting to get really really tired, and had to keep reminding myself to keep moving forward. Eventually I turned my music on, and turned it up (just one ear bud - safety first). Between the loud music and the trail I was able to keep myself somewhat focused and moving forward, if not very fast. I caught up to one of the couples I had asked about timing, and they were impressed with my resurrection, and cheered that I made the cutoff. I pointed out that we were about to miss the next one, and pushed on past them. I returned to Grafton Mesa aid four minutes late, but they let me through anyway since it was an easy section back to Goosebump, and I had two hours to make it. I knocked on the truck window to wake E up and let her know what was happening. She passed me on the road later and said the two runners behind me had made it through too. I kept pushing, but dropping off the pace really quickly. There was a lot of uphill, not tough climbs, but boring steady dusty uphill road. Did you know it's actually possible to fall asleep while moving on your own two feet? I was on the right side of the road, then opened my eyes and I was in the bushes on the left side. This happened numerous times. The two runners behind me were making a good effort, and caught up to me. I was impressed at them running up the hill. It motivated me to push on a little more, but that didn't last long. I decided I was done, and was going to drop at the next aid station. No I wasn't, I'd worked too hard for this. Yes I would drop. No, I couldn't admit defeat. Ooh, intentionally miss the cutoff. No, I can't do that. This went on for what felt like hours, but I don't have much concept of time for this section, and was done looking at the GPS. Somehow, I caught back up to my two fellow back-of-the-packers. They were throwing in the towel. Not long after, a car drove past and cheered for us. The other two flagged it down and hitched a ride to the aid station. Although I was currently on dropping out mentality, I was at least going to the aid station on my own two feet. I didn't want to decide to continue when I got there but be out for having taken a car ride.

Once they drove off, I felt very alone heading on by myself. Right when I was sure I wouldn't make the cutoff anyway, a car came up and yelled out the window that if I just kept moving, I still had time. This was enough to make me move just a bit more, and I shuffled back into Goosebump at nearly 5.30am. E found me, and she and the two aid station volunteers set to work getting me warm and fed and back on the trail as quickly as possible. The lovely volunteer warned me the coffee was vile but I didn't care, I needed something hot and caffeinated. We tried to make it more palatable by mixing a packet of instant hot chocolate in there - it was still disgusting but at the time made me so very happy. E had a stash of coats in her truck, and gave me a nice big puffy one, and a pair of gloves, and off Michelin-Man-Cyd went, to shuffle back down what shall be forever known as 'that f*cking hill'.

I really took my time and tried to be careful with my footing, but my body was shunning my brain and not co-operating very well. It wasn't too long before I missed a step and came crashing down on my backside, landing on a pointy rock. I was grateful for the puffy coat, even with the extra padding I got a nice bruise that is only now faded (two weeks later). I sat in the sand and wondered what the f*ck I was doing, and might have laid down for a nap if I wasn't concerned that I might roll away in my sleep. I got back up, and kept on half-walking half-skidding down, losing my footing two more times before I hit the bottom. A guy on a quad showed up at some point, and checked I didn't need anything, and said to consider him the portable aid station. I was finally at the bottom, and ready to head to Virgin Desert for three last loops. I had until 8:00 to get there, but that was the longest five miles of my life. As soon as the sun came up I was far too toasty, and tied the coat around my waist, with the headlamp in the pocket, which proceeded to painfully smack into my knee every stride. It took me about an hour to realise I could just hold the damn thing, or put it back on my head or in my pack. I was starting to see 50k runners, and their cheers were encouraging, and it was so nice to know I was no longer alone on the trails. I eventually made it to the aid station, where my dad was waiting for me, ready to pace.

Except I missed the cutoff. Not even by a little bit - thirty minutes. I felt defeated, but was a little bit okay with it and was ready to lay down. I had gone 79.6 miles on my own two feet, that was still an achievement, and I knew what I needed to do better next time. The volunteer who told me I was too late had other plans for me though. He saw I had a pacer ready to go, and came over to let me know that the next loop was just under five miles, and the cutoff was 9:30 am. If I could run the next loop fast enough to make the next cutoff, they would let me continue. I had just enough tailwind left, that I didn't stop for anything, we were back on the course as fast as possible. Five miles in an hour doesn't seem like much, but when you've already got 80 miles on your legs it's going to hurt! If I hadn't been so tired, this would have been a fun loop, though hard to get a rhythm on, with lots of little rollers, ten or so strides up and down each side. It was starting to get really hot, and I tried to find a good balance between drinking enough and not leaving myself with nothing. Finally, the aid station was back in view, and we pushed to get there. A huge cheer from the crowd as I came in, quite a few people heard what was going on and everyone wanted to see me make it. None of us, myself included, thought I would! My pack was refilled for me, and I changed into a tank top, and got sunscreen and ice in my buff and my bra. The next loop was six miles, with two hours to get it done. I tried not to slow down too much, and keep moving, but I was feeling the effects of such a big push on the last loop. I think we finished with about fifteen minutes to spare. The last Virgin Desert loop was the longest at 7.5 miles, and by this point I was ready to be done. While we were done with the big climbs on and off the mesas, there was still some decent hills on this loop (at least they felt like it at the time). My dad did a great job of making sure our hiking pace was strong enough to keep a good enough average, but everything was starting to hurt. We talked a lot about ultrarunning and racing, just asking me questions that didn't need a lot of thought but kept me out of my own head and not thinking about the things that hurt. We finally finished the loop and got back to the aid station for our last refill. I now had two hours to go the last six miles to the finish line. I got some tailwind in my pack (I drank a whole two litres on the last loop, finally feeling well enough to catch up on hydration). More sunscreen, more ice, and time to go go go! At this point we had caught up to two other runners, and we were all chivvied out as fast as possible so we didn't miss the final cutoff.

Even though we were so close, I was struggling to keep myself focused, and was getting distracted easily, and dropping off the pace without realising. The river looked really tempting, but as much as I wanted to cool off, we had less than three miles to go. I was actually going to make it! E and her dog met us at the end of the trail, and said she had walked there from the finish line and it took her about twenty minutes. At this point I had just over an hour to make it in time, so was definitely in the clear as long as I could stay on ym feet. The last section was alongside the highway, the black road made it feel extra hot, and the hard surface didn't feel great on my feet. A lot of the cars driving past beeped their horns, sometimes people hanging out the window cheering and shouting. Turning into the final road, the finish line was in sight, and I mustered up enough energy to 'kinda-run' (I think it was just a somewhat bouncy side to side wobble, but felt like running) - into the chute and under the finish banner at 3:35pm! There was a bunch of runners still relaxing in the shade, and volunteers, so even though it was nearly cutoff time, there was a great welcoming committee. It took me 33 hours 35 minutes, but I traveled 100 miles non-stop under my own steam. It was so very incredibly difficult, but there was amazing support from everyone on the course all day (and all night and all the next day). Ultra Adventures puts on fantastic events, and I'm sure I'll be running with them again. My dad did a fantastic job pacing me and keeping me moving and talking. E is crew chief extraordinaire, and was fabulous following me around all night and day making sure I had everything I needed. We relaxed at the finish line for a while, then headed north to E's house to recover for a couple of days. I did my best to stay awake to keep E company while she drove but only managed about half the time. It was such a relief to finally fall into bed around midnight. The next morning's coffee and breakfast was amazing, and I was so very glad that we didn't go to the endurance ride that day! (There had been a half-hearted joke that I should take one of E's horses and ride the 50 on Sunday with her, but for the sake of the horse if nothing else it was never going to happen!). Of course I'm already planning my next hundred. Rio del Lago 2015 - there are PR's to be had!