Back to Jemez.

Pre-race (over) confidence: Up and down, no sweat.                            Photo: Randy Grillo

I’ve never felt good at Last Chance Saloon, the final aid station of the Jemez Mountain Run. Three years ago I was here after 50 miles in the mountains, and my stomach couldn’t take anything. At the 2016 Jemez, I wisely opted for the 50k, but when I arrived at the final aid station only two miles from the finish, I didn’t feel much better. I didn’t want to eat, but needed something so filled up my bottle with ice and coke and started marching up the switch backs that lead up out of the aid station.

Feeling Fantastic 8 seconds in! Check out that Heel Strike! Textbook.                  Photo: Randy Grillo

Jemez almost didn’t happen this year. Back in January I had made plans with Truyols to fly into Juarez, cross the border and then drive or take a bus up to Santa Fe. Stop in Alamogordo along the way and visit my sister. I’m not sure why neither one of us looked at the mileage: it’s around 300 miles from El Paso to Santa Fe. We would have to make that trip twice in 3.5 days, as I couldn’t ask for more than two days off of school. While not impossible, pretty ridiculous, especially considering I can't drive for more than three hours before my lower back starts freaking out at me.

It seemed that events were conspiring against the trip. At school we planned our big NWEA celebration on the Thursday I was supposed to be flying. And then Truyols went back to Spain to get a job because he refused to relocate to Playa Del Carmen. If you can't understand why anyone would refuse a work relocation to Playa Del Carmen, you don't run in the mountains. 

Putting this in there because I don't run with a camera and don't have many photos. 

  One late afternoon I was sitting alone in my office at the end of the day, coming to terms with cancelling the trip. No visiting my sister in Alamogordo; no hanging out with Randy and Pati in Santa Fe; no trip through the mountains in Los Alamos. Damn, I should have just booked a ticket directly to ABQ, I thought to myself. And just for fun, I checked, expecting tickets in the 600-800 dollar range.

296 round trip from Mexico City to ABQ. Wow.

You know you are in New Mexico when...

Never seen tickets that cheap to a smaller hub in the US like ABQ, but still, 300 bucks is 300 bucks. I hesitated for a few minutes and then I remembered the ole’: “we usually regret the things we don’t do.” I pressed submit, and the trip –in a shortened version—was on. I’d be arriving at midnight on Thursday and flying out at 6:00am on Sunday.

  The original plan had been go to Jemez and run the 50 miler again. I’d finished in 15:30 in 2013, my longest 50 mile time by more than three hours. A tough course with two long climbs, Jemez is a great race but requires showing up with your A game. Two weeks before the race I ran the Mountain Challenge 33k in Chico, Hidalgo. A short run but with lots of steep climbing. I went out fairly hard and paid for it on the return: I was crawling up the climbs. I started to question whether I was prepared for 50 miles in Jemez. I also began to fret about the 6:00am return flight, so a week before the race I sent an email to the RD requesting a drop to the 50k.

  I could have dropped down distances during the race, as Jemez does a very tricky thing: any 50 mile runner can decide to run the 50k, but this decision is made 20+miles into the race after a very long climb. Many runners make this switch, and one of the great mental hurdles to finishing Jemez 50 mile is taking that left turn at Pipeline Road aid station and dropping down into the Caldera.

  By the time I got to the first aid station, it was pretty clear to me that it was not going to be a spectacular day. I felt like I was working too hard, and feeling like you're working too hard in the opening hour of a 50k is a bad sign. I arrived at Camp May ready for the long climb up Pajarito. This was a new single track trail winding between new growth trees that are returning after the 2011 fire. Warning to future Jemez runners: there is a big old false summit on this trail. When you think you are at the top, you still need to head straight up a couple ski runs. And then finally the descent to the ski lodge. Speaking about the descent: Jemez is a logical and easy course to follow, and it’s flagged fairly (though not excessively) but this descent mixes it up from cool single track in the woods between ski runs, and occasionally it just barrels straight down. It's fun to run, but not a "logical path." Pay attention here and watch the flags.

 I normally don’t use a drop bag for 50k, but they had the option so I picked up the other half of my gels, applied some more sunscreen (which they also had in the aid stations—they think of everything in this race), changed into a short sleeve shirt and I was off. I felt decent and was able to run everything until the climb up to the aid station.

Pipeline Road aid station is where the 50 milers have to make the choice: turn right and finish with the 50k, or drop down into the caldera and go for 50mile. I was so happy I’d made the choice a week earlier…

  …I thanked myself for that decision all day long.

Jemez boasts a great finish: a long 7 miles of descent on single track before arriving at the final aid station –Last Chance Saloon, or Rendija Canyon—with a two mile climb back up to the finish. I was descending decently all day, but it was not to last. This area –like almost all of the race—is totally exposed because of forest fires in 2000 and 2011. I slowed and it was a struggle just to keep running. A couple runners passed me. Not the finish I was hoping for, but you play the hand you are dealt, and I finally struggled into Last Chance Saloon, flirting with nasuea and lacking energy. It was hard for me to believe I’d finished the 50 miler in 2013. In fact, I’d felt great on this section three years earlier (despite barely making it out of the Caldera) Funny how the mind works: having set my sights on the 50k, the 50 mile seemed unfathomable. And how the hell had a completed two 100 mile races? Was I a runner in decline? Had a run my last ultra? Should I just forgo water and fill up my bottle with ice and coca cola?

I could at least answer one of those questions: it would be the coca cola train to the end.

Those were the thoughts I had as I primarily hiked up to the finish. There were a couple times I swung my arms and shuffled my legs in an attempt to mimic jogging. Unconvincing. A dude passed me just shy of the final steep climb up to the Possee shack. A dude I hadn’t seen all day. Nothing quite like being passed by a dude you haven't seen all day. There was a fleeting thought of chasing him. Fleeting. Apparently I'm afraid to vomit, or just like to avoid pain.

And then I put my hand on a cactus trying to pass a couple 15 mile racers who were still on the course.

 There would be no glorious recovery.

 However, picking the spines out of my hand turned out to be a great diversion, and I ran up to the Possee Shack for the finish and there was Grillo already a few beers in after his 15 mile finish. I had to lay down for about 30 minutes, but I eventually recovered and began drinking the excellent Session IPA that Bathtub Brewing, a local brewery and sponsor of the race, was pouring for free.

  Randy and I stayed to watch runners from the 50k and 50 mile finish.  While it wasn’t great running weather, it was world class beer drinking and veggi burrito eating weather, and we made the most of it.

 if I can find 297 dollar round-trip tickets I’ll be back next year.

Leaving Jemez

Racing at night in the mountains: Carrera Nocturna

  I needed a long run in the mountains this weekend, and when I saw that the 12 hour night race was offering a six hour option, I thought, why not?  I ran my first 50k on February 2 at Ray Miller with Jeremy, and my focus for the next three months is getting ready for the Jemez 50 Miler on May 25, which will be my first 50 miler.
  I didn't have any experience running at night other than the first 50 minutes of the Ray Miller race. So on Thursday I got out to the Mountain in Desierto De Los Leones and ran up in the light and came down in darkness. My headlamp is a very basic Petzl model which provides just enough light to run and just as I was finishing that run I wiped out pretty hard (about 1 minute from the end of the run) on a root that left an ugly bruise on my thigh. It served as a good reminder to take it easy at night.
  This race was the first "timed" race that I've run, and it consisted of two loops, only the second of which would be repeated. The first loop I've run many times in other races (Camino Largo y Sinuoso) and in training. It starts in El Zarco (a little outpost about 2 kilometers before Marquesa) and climbs on some winding singletrack to a smooth ridge road that descends slightly for about six kilometers before crossing a wooden bridge and then it climbs up a rocky fire road that winds to the top of the Cerro de San Miguel (12,500). This out and back section was billed as 25k, but my Garmin showed a bit longer. The second loop began with the same singletrack climb to the smooth ridge road, but then we would veer off to the right and follow the road as it slightly climbed to an aid station about 7.5 kilometers which was the turn around. The 12 hour runners would keep running this second out and back until morning, but my goal was to run both loops once, getting in 40k or 25 miles. At this elevation, with over 4,000 feet of climbing, I knew there was no way I'd finish the 40k under the 5 and half hours which would have allowed me to continue on a third loop. I also knew I really didn't need to be running 55k at this point in my training.

  The Ray Miller race went really well for me, but I struggled with the Nathan pack. It's such a hassle to get into an aid station and have to deal with removing the pack, opening the bladder. And then repeating this again and again. It's a time killer. I knew there was an aid station at the top of the mountain (12.5 kilometers), and then we would return to the aid station at the start, and there was a small aid station at the second loop turn-around, so I went with one handheld (Ultra Direction, 20 oz.). It was perfect. I stuffed gu's in the pockets of my shorts (and kept a few more in my car at the start/finish) and I wasted zero time in aid stations. I'm done with the pack except for longer, solo training stuff in the mountain. 
  
  Mexicans tend to overdress for the cold, and most folks were wearing running tights, multiple layers and jackets. Standing around getting cold before the race, I started to second guess my choice, but I stuck with the shorts and two thin layers (long sleeve Ray Miller Race Shirt/and a thin pull over base layer) with the Patagonia Houdini jacket. When the Houdini jacket arrived in the mail, I was a little put off with just how flimsy it seemed considering the 99 bucks I spent on it. However, the only thing I can say now about the jacket is that it is genius. Tie it around your waist or stuff it in a pocket and you forget about it, but it was the perfect light weight layer and I was never cold, even on the long, slow, steep climb up to the summit. A buff around my ears and a thin pair of Nike gloves and I was dialed in: the perfect amount of gear: not too much, not too little.

  Finally the race started and we began the ascent to the ridge trail. I kept it to a fast hike, which was about all that could be done anyway as the trail is so narrow there is nowhere to pass. Once up to the road my plan was to keep it steady, but comfortable until the climbing began. A handful of folks passed me here, but I knew they were either front runners catching up with the lead pack or people who I was going to see on the climb. On the climb I just hiked hard and steady. Except for a couple early sections that flatten out or descend a bit, I didn't run. I saw some runners trying to maintain a running cadence on the hill and eventually I hiked past them. It's just too long of a climb and too steep to gain anything by running for anyone but the super stars.

  The descent was all about not biting the dust. I felt good and I was catching a few people and trying not to drift as I ran in a little cone of light. A few more night races might convince me to upgrade my Petzl headlamp. I think the one I have would be perfect for those late nights reading in a tent. The night sky was stunning. Not a lot of opportunities to for star gazing when living in a city of 20+ million, but out here on the other side of the mountain, the view was incredible
  
  After the descent it was a slight climb back to the final descent to the start. This section seems to always kill me, and during the carrera larga y sinuoso a number of people caught and passed me here, which was miserable so late in a race. I passed some folks in the first section and then just focused on running and not slowing down. For a long while someone was right behind me, but I never looked back to see who it was and finally he drifted back. 

  I made it back to the start, got some gu's and few hits of coca cola from my car, grabbed a bag of M and M's, went to the bathroom, refilled my water and  headed back up to the trail for my second, and last loop. It was pitch black and I had never been on this trail before, but the route was obvious and well-marked with glow-in-the-dark reflectors. I was struggling to run here, and was reduced to a walk at some points. I did catch up to the eventual winner of the 6 hour race at at one point, who seemed to be struggling a bit, but then she was gone. After the turn around I started to feel better and played a game where I would run hard to a distant glow-in-the-dark marker and then shuffle for a bit. One guy flew by me in this section, but other than that I was alone: run...shuffle...walk a bit, repeat.
  And then I was done. I didn't feel horrible. I was tempted to head back out there, a part of me was caught up in the 12 hour idea, but my plan had been 40k/6 hour race, so I called it a night. I'm usually racing away after races to go somewhere else, but I had the luxury here of changing into warm clothes, eating some incredible caldo de pollo and hanging out with the Solo Para Salvajes crew and watching the 12 hour runners come in and then head back out for another loop. 
  I felt a sting in my foot, but didn't think much of it, but when I got home and showered I saw that I could have slid the skin off my long toe like a used condom. I've never had any blister issues, so I can only attribute it to the thin dust which just works its ways through shoes and socks during this dry season.

  A solid training run for the Jemez 50. Got some gear decisions figured out and just over 4,000 feet of climbing, and everything over 10,000 feet, topping out at 12,500. Here's the Garmin Data.