UTMX 2017: What I Remember

                          Heading down into the Canyon                               Photo: Fotografix.com.mx

UTMX 2017 has come and gone. Since then, I’ve indulged in brownies every day at work. Bought a giant box of Fruit Loops at Costco today on a whim. Lingering gummy bears/worms that formed the core of my late race nutrition “strategy” have been scraped from the pockets of my Nathan hydration vest. I haven’t run a step since 23:15 on Saturday night and I have no plans to do so on the near horizon.

I do find myself looking for a summer adventure. This looks pretty nuts.

Fruit Loops

 The fact that I’m searching for a race proves (again) that memory is a poor servant. Memory simply refuses to properly remember pain. It’s inadequate. Sure, I can recall in the abstract that at kilometer 60 I was a little afraid to continue down into the canyon (Barranca de Metztitlan). The sun had baked and hobbled me and I simultaneously wanted to but couldn’t vomit. Needed to eat more but couldn’t. I can remember those ideas floating through my head, I can now recall those concepts roughly expressed as words on this blog, but I can’t come close to recapturing that vomity/mixed with heat exhaustion feeling wrapped up in that stubborn question that always makes its appearance in the latter half of any long race: “why, why, why am I doing this again”?

----------------

 Some fellow runners joined me this year. Wendy, Scott and Sue all decided to give UTMX a go. Scott and Sue flew in from the US. Wendy and Scott are seasoned 100 milers. Sue is a recent convert and probably the only other professional bassoonist who is also an ultrarunner. Wendy is the other one. That’s right: both of the world’s professional Bassoonists who are also ultrarunners were at UTMX this year. And then there was Scotty and I, and 496 other runners ready to test ourselves against a 100k loop in Hidalgo, Mexico. Last year 193 out of 500 finished.

 You think that last stat might have been a clue for the ole’ memory chip?

 Wendy asked me about that number, and I rationalized it as follows: “lots of inexperienced people out there last year, there was no pre-requisite like there was this year.”

I had raved to them about what I remembered about the race: the beauty of Vista Alegre and the Sierra Navajas, the rugged challenge of the extraterrestial terrain of the Canyon, the world-class race organization, the charming pueblo, the refreshing rivers, the amazing people, the tender barbacoa…

In all that reminiscing I somehow forgot about how relentlessly technical many of the trails are, and I certainly didn’t remember wet feet for 18 hours. I think I told them there were 3 river crossings. Turns out there’s like 30 between kilometer 4 and 45. And then there are three more waist deep river crossings. And then there is ankle deep trudge around the presa in the final kilometers.

 I also had somehow nurtured the idea --despite running the 100k in 2014, 2015 and 2016-- that is was a “fair” race, but not a ridiculously hard race. Two years in a row it’s taken me more than 18 hours to finish. And I haven’t had bad races here. Yeah, there were very low lows, but many highs as well and long periods of good energy. And it still took me 18+ hours. On two pretty solid race days. Maybe I should write that down here so I don’t forget.

             Another River Crossing                                           Photo: fotografix.com.mx

-----------------

Standing on the rim of the canyon filled with doubts and nausea,  I followed my own best piece of advice for finishing the UTMX 100k: get yourself down into the canyon, because then you’ve got no option but to get yourself back out. After that, you just need to get yourself back to town and the finish line. So simple. So inadequate.

 I began the long, technical descent which includes one of the most spectacular views of the race, second guessing my decision to fill my third bottle with coca-cola instead of more water. Just get down the river and the rest should take care itself. Prior to the race I had focused on the two steep climbs within the canyon, sort of neglecting the tricky descents that follow both climbs. I thought of the runner I saw descending Baden-Powell at this past August’s Angeles Crest 100: her knee looked like it had been split open by a hatchet wielding madman. Eventually she was airlifted out.

 As I tried to moderate my speed on the second descent, I saw plenty of spots that might create gaping wounds, but was unsure where the airlift might come from. The race did have several people --both race staff and locals from the pueblos in the canyon-- along this section of the course. Not falling in this section is key.

 There is a final river crossing in the canyon and then a pleasant jog on well-worn single track into the pueblo of San Sebastian. The sun was low in the sky. I remember feeling good, feeling at peace. My stomach had settled down. The coca cola bottle was the right choice and I hadn’t run out of water. I was feeling like maybe I could run up the endless road to the top of the canyon like I never do any year that I’ve done this race but always think that I will.

 Maybe I’ll share those memories with Wendy, Sue and Scotty next year when I try to talk them into the race again.

----------------------

 My drop bag was in San Sebastian, kilometer 70. I had a fresh pair of socks and shoes. I didn’t put them on because it seemed like too much work for two hours of dry feet. I walked all the way up the road. I ran once or thrice for like 15 meters at a stretch. Just like I do every year even though I swear I’m running up that thing one of these years. Oh yes.

 I’m also going to have a really good section between kilometer 50 and 60 like I never have.

One of these years.

This year I covered those 10k in a blistering hour and 45 minutes, getting angry at myself for not running, (but not so angry I actually started running.)

Bridge Over thePrismas During the Day                 Andres Valencia Photography (official race photograph)

 I did finish well, as I’ve done every year. I love when the sun goes down and it’s night time. I love the river crossing at the bottom of Ahuacatitla. I love the crazy, lonely climb up from the river in the dark hobbit forest that just never seems to end and I have to sit down on a rock to look at the night sky which is really  just a pretext to sit down because I’m utterly knackered and just need to rest for a spell, time goals be damned. I love finally coming up to the top of the climb and the local guy hired as a course marshall is sleeping beside a fire he built but I’m glad he doesn’t ask me why I’m doing this as I don’t have an answer. I love running through the final aid station just across from the Ex-Hacienda de Santa Maria or maybe some years just stopping for a swig of coke except for this year where I only imagined I just stopped for a swig of coke because in reality I sat myself down and ate some soup, stuffed some more gummy bears and worms in my Nathan pack --just in case, as I couldn't get GU down-- and drank some coke sitting there (too long), thinking: one more little climb, enter the Prismas Balsaticas, cross the bridge, head left out to the cobblestone road, and then across the swampy presa, try not to lose time looking for markers and then finally out to the road, and this year --straight into town-- head down, pushing hard, no chance of sub-18 but trying not to get caught from behind so late in the race (and I don’t!) and then there’s the town and I hear Lalo yell my name with his unique take on it’s pronunciation (Gooey!) and then I see Natalia, and Tina is running with me and jumping all over me. And then the finish line, and Scotty and Wendy are there and they don’t seem to hate me even though their races ended earlier than planned and I’ve spent a good portion of the past 18+ hours wondering if I completely misled them and maybe they're pissed and then I remember the whole race clearly from the beginning to end. Not just the 2017 race which I just finished 10 minutes faster than the previous year, but also the 2016, 2015 and 2014 races.

And all the memories are perfect.

 

And of course I’m coming back next year.

Along the Presa (during the day)

Because I remember all the things I want to remember and all the suffering and nausea have faded into concepts which have no real feeling behind them and the next morning Natalia and I will eat barbacoa in the market and I’ll be reminded about how much I love this race, this place, these people.

                                                                                                                                       fotografix.com.mx

Making Excuses: My Failure at the Taxco Skyrunning 60k

Taxco, Guerrero.             (stolen from the internet)

I was all set to sign up for Trail Run Hidalgo's 50k in the barranca de Metzitlan and then I saw the date: 9 July. I wouldn't be in Mexico at this date, and I really wanted a longer effort about a month before the Angeles Crest 100 on August 5. There were a few options: Villa del Carbon, Chico Night Race, Corral de Piedra and Taxco Skyrunning. Such is the state of trail running in Mexico right now. Too many races. 
 I chose Taxco because it looked to be a tough and beautiful course organized by Total Running. I don't really trust Total Running as a trail race organizer, as they seem focused on things like Color Runs and something called "Soul Pose" which I take to be some sort of Yoga in Neon Clothes Experience. However, Karina Karsolio had designed the course and she runs (and wins) many of the Trail Run Hidalgo races that are so well done. I trusted her to put together a tough route with lots of single track. Also, I hadn't been in Taxco  in a decade, so why not go and run some new trails. 

  Arrived at the hotel, which had Juan Gorman Mosaic by the pool, and it was a pretty spectacular place. At 8:00pm I went to the race meeting (which was packed!) and was ready to go. 
  At 5:00 the next morning I arrived in the small center in front of the famous church in Taxco only to find out the race had been postponed for 30 minutes. 

  There was also to be a gear check, and this was fine as I had everything: liter of water, whistle, emergency blanket, phone. Because of the phone requirement, I had to wear the Jurek Essential Waist belt as I haven't found a comfortable way to run with a phone stuffed in the pockets of my Patagonia Trail Shorts. 

  I said hello to some fellow runners at the start, and I couldn't help but notice that every single runner was wearing a pack. 

Even Fernando Ortega was wearing a pack. Uh oh. Usually he runs (and wins) with no shirt and a small bottle of water straight from whatever OXXO is closest to the start line.

Had I made a mistake? Did I not read the required gear list correctly? Was I underestimating the race? And then I heard the announcement being repeated that it was not acceptable to run with a handheld bottle, a pack was needed. This pissed me off, as 10 minutes before the race seemed a poor time to make this announcement. Also, I was carrying everything the race asked me to carry. I had a liter of water in my hands. Is that so different than having a liter of water on one's chest?  Or having a liter of water in a bladder on one's back? Is the difference important? Do I have to wear neon if I want to be a part of Soul Pose?
 Another announcement was made that runners who didn't have the required gear would still be able to run but would be disqualified. I was running to get a long run in to train for Angeles Crest 100, so disqualification wasn't really a concern as long as I wouldn't be pulled from the race.

  I entered the start area and passed the gear check using my Obi Wan Kenobi "these aren't the droids you are looking for" Jedi mind trick.

  

 And then the race was off, straight up hill. Steps were so steep at one point that a ladder would have been more efficient. We arrived at the Jesus Statue and were finally on trail. 

Christ the Redeemer. (Though this one is in Rio, not Taxco)

At some point the hill leveled out and suddenly there were no flags. Crap, I'd missed a turn. Retraced my steps with a group of runners and we saw where the course had made a 90 degree right turn. And then suddenly we were heading down. This downhill section was very well marked, but it didn't make sense to me, as I couldn't see on the course profile where the course went down before reaching the antennas. I could see the antennas up above in the distance and thought the course should be going up, not down. But we kept going down. I stopped with another runner who had the course on her phone and it showed we were off course, but we kept going down and finally the trail turned to the left towards the antennas. Relieved to know that I was on the correct trail, I began searching for a hidden area to relieve another pressing issue: my bowels. 
 With that business done, I was really ready to get this race started. There were some crazy sections on that first climb, including one climbing section that even had ropes. I made it up this "wall" and then finally to the first aid station and then looked at my watch:

  Damn: I was only 10 minutes before the cut off. 

  I sort of forgot this next section, but I remember clearly that I arrived at a very crowded aid station with runners in line, jostling for position to get water. 

  Here is a video another runner took at the aid station:

    

 And then I looked at my watch. 

 Shockingly, I was right at the cut off time. How could that be?? However, I wasn't too concerned as the aid station "workers" were standing around with their arms crossed watching people crowd around the water jugs. I figured if they couldn't get it together enough to get runners their water, they wouldn't be enforcing cut offs. I went around the table and found a mostly empty garafon and put that water in one of my bottles. The other bottle I filled with coca cola. I took a couple chips of watermelon out of a giant bowl and was off. I was determined to make up some time on the cut offs.

 And then I was running up a hill and saw a bunch of runners who were wearing 60k bibs coming down.... Which was weird because the hill was clearly marked. Maybe it was marked for another race? We went down together and found the turn we had missed. 

And then we were off! 

And back out on a road with no trail marks. 

At this point, Erik Aguilar, who was running the 30k said hello. It was great to see Erik out on the trail, but was sorry to see that he was also lost. I spotted an orange mark on a tree and then another on a stone, but then there was nothing else. We returned and someone was yelling something about a flag. We had found the trail again and we were off!

  Somewhere in there was a long, technical descent with an awesome view of a waterfall. I wanted to dig out my camera but had the nagging feeling that snapping photos while chasing cut offs was not an optimal plan. The descent ended on a road, and I was feeling good having passed some folks on the descent. 

I was ready to roll...

I crossed the road and there was a gate that was closed leading to a dirt road. There was no aid station, but there was an ambulance and a woman standing in front of the gate. She told me it was after 11:30 and I could not continue.

Somewhere in the Mountains of Taxco        Foto Credit: Martin Forstmann, Fotografix.com.mx

 I was in shock. It was 11:33. I felt fantastic. How could my race be over. I explained --politely-- about the time I had been lost. I asked if I could speak to the race director. I tried the Jedi Mind Trick.

The Jedi Mind trick failed me. 

Obi Wan, Why hast thou forsaken me? 

A handful of other runners showed up at this point. Finally, she said we could continue without our numbers "under our own risk." This phrase seemed ridiculous to me, as we always run under our own risk: number or no number, race or no race. I ripped off my number and handed it to her, as did another runner. We made an unspoken agreement to run together. And that's what we did, until we came to a fork in the road...with no marks in either direction. Again, really? Did I blow by another turn. Would I ever learn? 

"Obviously, you're not a golfer"

So I headed back down the road, retracing my steps to the last mark we saw. I found the mark. We hadn't missed a turn. The marks just ended. And then I looked up and four runners were heading my way. Perhaps they had decided to continue "under their own risk." Yet they all had their numbers on. I asked them how they kept their numbers, and didn't quite catch the answer. I told them there were no marks, and one of the guys said he had the course on his phone. I followed. The next section of course was unmarked, but fortunately as we were passing a campesino's field, one of the campesinos called us back and told us to go down a singletrack. And sure enough there was one ribbon marking this turn. At this point the course was marked again, so we ran together. My watch was marking 34 kilometers so I started to worry about where the hell the 31 kilometer aid station was. My coca cola was gone and I was low on water. Would there be an aid station?

 At 35k, we crossed another road, tore into the aid station and were promptly told we were twenty minutes after the cut off. Karina was there, along with the aid station workers. I really didn't understand the cut off. I had run the first half conservatively and was ready to roll. I had 8 hours to finish, there was time. Again, I was told I could continue "abajo mi propio riesgo" but I was concerned about the course marking and told they would begin taking flags down. 

I threw in the towel and got a ride back to Taxco. 
One runner in our group decided to continue unofficially. 
I hope he made it. 

Selfie I took of myself after getting cut off at kilometer 35. 

 Postscript:
I've been reading some commentary about the race this morning and it's very tempting to blame my DNF on the race. That's a dangerous temptation to succumb to, however. If I start blaming external circumstances instead of focusing on what I could change, I lose sight of the most important factor in finishing a race: what I can control. Ultramarathons present thousands of excuses not to finish. The trick is ignore these. I failed to ignore those excuses, but I can learn from them.

Here's what I needed to do:

At the top of the first climb, when I realized how close I was shaving the cut offs, I should have readjusted my race strategy, and picked up the pace. Yeah, it's important to go slow in the first half of a long ultra, but not if it means missing the cutoffs. Also, I can't assume the cut offs won't be enforced. That was stupid. A mistake I won't make again.

  After missing two turns (turns that were marked....I didn't see the marks) I should have run more carefully. I did do a bit of this, as I was able to redirect two runners who were heading off course back onto course. I need to run more aware, especially trails I don't know.

  Lots of runners DNF'd this race, but more importantly, many finished. Congrats to everyone who toughed it out, didn't make excuses...and got it done. Like this guy:

   

No Excuses: Paulino getting it done in style. (Everything you need to know about finishing a tough race is in this photo).  Photo: stolen from Facebook

           

Photo Essay: Evening Hike/Run in Desierto with Dean and Dogs

Desierto de Los Leones

  Second time up to Desierto this week. Above is the view from the trail going up to the ridge that lies west of the peak. This route is a much more gradual climb than my normal route (which goes straight to the top) and is --in theory-- runnable, though I was dogging it (hiking) up most of the climb. We discovered that the road eventually swings around the back (north) side of Cerro de San Miguel. We bushwacked a bit off trail to circle the summit and then head down. A dark descent. Just over 20k, 3:27. Can't find my "ant stick" so no garmin data...

The "short-cut"

Lola in the dark

Lesson Learned (Finally): UTMX 40k Race Report

Rancho Santa Elena in Hidalgo, Mexico

  Hidalgo, Mexico doesn't seem to get its due.  Thirty minutes up into the mountains outside of Pachuca, Hidalgo is pristine forest and mountains knifed through by rugged (and eye-popping) canyons. Rancho Santa Elena, outside of Huasca, Hidalgo, was the location for the Ultra Trail de Mexico 80k and 40k races. I've spent the past year and a half building up my running base, completing several trail runs (from 14k to 26k) and two Marathon length runs in August and September (the latter on the road), but I didn't feel ready for the 80k. So the 40k it was. I was apprehensive because my last race, a 33k run in the mountains around Mexico city, went poorly. The final 10k was especially brutal, as I could barely run and a handful of runners passed me. Walking the flats while the parade goes by=humiliating bummer. My goal for this race was to take it out easy, especially on the downhills. I love to fly down the hills, but it seems to catch up with me at the end of the race.

Omitlan, Hidalgo.

 The trip to Hidalgo from Mexico City was made more pleasant by an early departure on Friday, skipping the last interminable "professional development" meeting of the day (in the unlikely event that any administrators are reading this blog, please note that it is lightly fictionalized, ie: that part about skipping out early) . Tania and I stopped at Entre Manzanas y Peras, a little restaurant in Omitlan that has an outstanding soup: bacon and apple. Our entertainment for the evening was provided by the local butcher who hung, skinned and butchered a pig while we watched. By the end of the meal, only the head was left hanging. 
  For me, Mexico never loses its charm.

Table-side entertainment in Omitlan

  
After the dinner/pig-skinning, we checked into our cabaña in Santa Maria Regla and then did a test drive to the ranch as I was anxious (read: paranoid) and I didn't want to be trying to navigate unmarked back roads and pleading for directions in a got-to-get-to-a-race panicked state at 6:30 in the morning.

                                                                                                                                       photo: Tania Baram

This was a different crowd from the usual suspects that run the Solo Para Salvaje circuit around Mexico City. I saw a few familiar faces, but I think if people knew how outstanding this course it, more would have made the trip. There was a contingent of foreign runners and a few Tarahumara runners (who were running the 80k, except for the 12 year old Tarahumara girl who passed me at the end of the first 12.5k loop). I can now add being passed by a 12 year old girl wearing huaraches and a long skirt to my list of running achievements. I took out my camera and literally sprinted (fastest split all day!) to catch up with her to get a photo. I was fumbling with camera, trying to keep up, wondering how stupid I would feel if I sprained an ankle trying to get a photo of a young girl running in sandals and a skirt. She disappeared into the distance. As a consolation, I got a nice photo of a guy sporting a 1980's Laker-era terry-cloth-more-recently-revived-by Lebron-headband and the race-issued cotton-T. 
  To each their own.

As close as I got for a photo....coming into the 12.5k aid station/finish line for those in the 12.5k

Despite the mad pace of all the 12.5k runners around me on this first up and down leg (they started about 10 minutes after the 40k race) I kept to my plan. When it was flat I jogged, I climbed the steeps steadily and I was mellow on the descents. I didn't like stepping off the trail to let people pass me on the descents, but I kept to my plan. I knew there was a good chance I would pass the runners bombing down the hills this early, because I've been that guy before. Keep it feeling easy until the fourth and final climb and descent, which would come around the 25k mark in the race. Then I would push....if I had anything left.

Race Profile. 5,000 feet of climbing, 5,000 of descent.

The trail --and everything about this race with the possible exception of the t-shirt (though the Lebron guy might disagree)-- were spectacular. There were some two-track roads, but they probably accounted for only 10% of the race.  Everything else was winding single track. After we got past the 12.5k and headed back up the mountain it felt more like a trail race: not many people around. I climbed for a while with a gentleman from Monterrey until he twisted his ankle and had to stop to get it wrapped up. He finished the race.  

Before turning his ankle over, the gentleman from Monterrey leading through this beautiful stretch of rocky mountaintop. 

After finishing the first two major climbs, the trail went around and then across a lake. After about two steps both I and the guy behind me realized the bottom was sandy and we could have taken of our shoes for this crossing. Note for next year?

trail (?)

Perfect day in the mountains

  After slogging through the lake, I approached the final climb. My feet were heavy from the lake water but I tried to keep the pace up (read: not walking) and knew my shoes would eventually dry out. The trail started going up and this was where I needed to make a move. A group of four or five runners in front of me were hiking the trail. I had been passing them on the climbs all day and then they would pass me on the descents. I hiked quickly past the group and then started running to get put some distance between us. 
 Man does it feel good to have a little gas this late in a race.
 On that final long climb I hiked everything as hard as I could and ran when the grade permitted. I arrived at the 30k aid station and ate a couple orange slices, took a few more potatoes, drank some gatorade and moved out. The aid station workers assured me the major climbing was "almost" done. I hiked to the peak, passing two more runners. And then it started going down. The trail was less technical in this last section,  and that had me worried as I thought someone with a little more leg speed would catch me here. The early descents had been really rocky and I was hoping for this type of terrain for the final descent, but it was not to be. Damn. Was I going to get passed again in the final part of a race? I tried to push it on any sections that had a long range of visibility, reasoning that if I kept out of view of anyone behind me, that would be to my advantage. I was totally alone in this section, running scared and not sure if anyone was behind me, but I wasn't going to look back.  I continued to descend until I could hear the speakers at the finish and there was one more runner ahead of me. I didn't have much speed left, and I wondered how hard he would fight when I passed him. We were on a dirt road at this point, but then the last part of the race was a steep, grassy incline that climbed up to the last flat stretch before the finish.  We hit this last little hill at the same time I started running up it but then I realized I could go much faster doing a hands-on-knees power hike, which seemed to pull me to the top, where I resisted a final look back, and "sprinted" to the finish. 5:45ish. Forgot to stop the watch and the official results haven't been posted yet.  Here's the garmin data for the race.

                                                           Happy Face at the finish.                                                                   Photo: Tania Baram

  I finally got it right this race, and it paid off in the end as no one passed me in the latter half of the race. Patience. All of the runners I had been leap-frogging with all day I passed for good on the final climb. I kept up with hydration and though I lost two GU in the early part of the race I was able to keep up with nutrition with the potatoes from the aid stations. And I got lucky: zero stomach issues (which plagued me at the last race and the legs never turned to iron like they did at the end of the Mexico City Marathon.
  Of course, that leaves me with a lingering doubt: how much harder could I have completed the first portion of the race and still had enough in the tank for the strong finish. I'll be sure to ruin my race next time trying to find out.

 I stopped taking photos after the lake crossing, but here are some I took during the first part of the race and some that Tania took as well.

The real deal; winner of the 50 mile race, I believe.            Photo: Tania

"Deer"-in-the-camera-flash-look that I rationalize posting here only because my grandmother (Nina Carlin; Nina Cheney doesn't use a computer) is one of the 5 regular readers of this blog and she is the one person in the world who might be interested in seeing a picture of me even if it is an awkward self-portrait that, in retrospect, I was only using as an excuse to stop because I was tired.

Next year I will be back, and I'll be back for the 80k because humans have no good memory for pain. At least I don't. Also, this race is too beautiful to miss. The trails are so stunning you don't want the race to be over (honest qualifer: almost). Bet you can't say that about your last road race. I certainly can't, anyway.

 No races on the calendar right now other than a 10k with some of the runners from the school team next weekend. It's time to stay off the legs for a bit before ramping up the mileage again. I'll spend some time on the bike, stairmaster and those ridiculous looking "elipticals." Or maybe I'll just drive out to Desierto and run for 4 hours in the mountains and screw up my recovery and get even slower.....

 Future plans include the Jemez 50 in Los Alamos, New Mexico on May 25 with Randy Grillo and, if I can swing it, a trip out to LA to run the Ray Miller 50k or 50mile, possibly with Jeremy if these photos can convince him that running in the Santa Monica Mountains is going to be so much more awesome than running past The Gap and BillABong in the surf city marathon.... 

No bad days in the mountains: Camino Largo y Sinuoso 33k

The start (I know what shirt I want for Christmas) and Dean coming down to the finish  Photo of Dean: Virgilio Regalado

  This race got lost in the shuffle of all the other races. I was focusing on the trail marathon that took place on August 12 and then the Mexico City Marathon at the beginning of September. The next big race was the UTMX 40k on October 20. But this 33k I didn't want to miss. I knew part of the route would be up around the Cerro De San Miguel where I have been running when I can get out of the city, and I thought it would be a good way to learn some new trails.
  I felt that I recovered nicely from the marathon in September, and the race was only 33k? How hard could that be?
  Pretty hard, it turned out.

                                                                 Photo: Virgilio Regalado

What I neglected to remember is that I haven't been able to squeeze in too many mountain runs. In fact, I looked back and since the August 12 Marathon (4,171 feet of gain) I've had one 3,000+ run (Sept. 8) and another that was 1,600. Nothing else over a 1,000 feet.
 The numbers don't lie: I haven't been running in the mountains.
  This race has a very simple profile: up and down, then up and down again. Starting at 10,500 feet it goes up to 11,900, back down the back side of the Cerro to 10,300 and then back up to 11,900 again. And then back down again. I thought my time would be around 4:15 because that was my time at the 33k mark in the Rover Marathon which had similar (a few hundred feet less) elevation change.
  The course starts on a narrow winding singletrack that climbs up to the first bit of open, flat trail that runs around a ridge. This single track started about 20 feet after the start so there wasn't any passing here. I saw a few goons trying to pass in the thick brush that surrounded the trail, but I just took it as a warm up and followed the line to the top, moving at a fast hike/jog. It felt effortless and I tried to enjoy.
I knew it wouldn't last.
  After almost 19 minutes we arrived up to the flat ridge trail people started moving. Too fast I thought. I knew what was coming. Lots of folks went flying by here, and I saw Dean who was running with his dog Waky. Lola had already disappeared. This was a very runnable section with a couple stream crossings but nothing that necessitated getting wet. At the 49 minute point I hit the bridge that brought us into Desierto de Los Leones and the long road to the top. I tried running sections of this but it just didn't make sense. I would run for a bit and realize that for all the added effort I really wasn't gaining anything worthwhile.
  I saw Dean here at the aid station and I remarked that I thought people were moving too fast. Little did I know that was me. I climbed steady but not crazily. Dean was moving a bit faster, but was in sight. I didn't try and catch up as he was in the 23k race and this would be his last climb of the day. I felt certain that the real test would be the second climb. I reached the top feeling good at 1:34.
  I then descended the most technical trail of the day. Rocky, loose, sometimes cut between rocks, this trail that wasn't really a trail was awesome and as usual on this type of terrain I was passing people. Unfortunately, it didn't last more than a kilometer and we were kicked out onto a two track which flattened out for a bit and then headed down to what would be the halfway point. Another long road down to about 10,300 feet. This was the turnaround point. 2:13. So I was hoping for 4:30. Ha!
  I didn't have any illusions about running any of the climb. But I was hiking well, so I thought I could keep a steady pace. I hate being passed on a long climb by people who were heading down while I was headed up. But I soon felt weak. I kept eating gu, trying to maintain some energy. Trying not to worry about letting the people in front of me go. I was alone for a while. But then the footsteps started coming. I was slowing down. People were passing me. Not a good sign. This would be the tale of the climb.  Even on the flat area I couldn't manage much more than a jog. More folks passed. It wasn't an all-out bonk: I was still moving, wasn't sitting down or lying on the side of the trail. Just kept moving and eating and hoping to start feeling better.
  At the top I took a few moments at the aid station, drank a couple gatorade cups and talked to the aid workers. I knew I was in trouble when even the down hill felt like work. Stomach still felt terrible so I ducked into the woods to try and find some relief, which didn't really do much other than lose me another few minutes. Finally got down to the bridge and what I had remembered as a flat section along the ridge was actually slightly uphill. Damn. Mixing walking and running. Waiting for footsteps. All alone trying to move as fast as possible, thinking that the last few kilometers would be down hill on single track which would be fun to run fast. But it took forever to get there. This section seemed three times as long as I remembered it from four hours ago. Three people passed me on this trail and then two more flew by me on the final single track. I tried hard to catch them and when I emerged from the woods for the final stretch they were in sight, but not close enough. I ran it in for 5:01:19.
  Didn't see that one coming.
I was fit, but I need to get out to the mountains more frequently to do better in these races. It was great to learn new trails, and it was a good experience to gut it out all day even though I was never really feeling it. The single track sections are awesome, but there is too much two-track running for my liking.   I don't feel like I went out too fast, but my splits say otherwise.
 I didn't give this race its due, and it showed. My quads were very sore from all the descending and I didn't run Monday or Wednesday and just some slow stuff on Tuesday in the AM (4k) and then another 3k and some walking in the afternoon. It was Thursday before I got a decent run in, but even that tempo run was significantly slower than what I have been doing.  The big bummer of the race was not my mediocre performance, unfortunately, but the disappearance of Lola. One of Dean's dogs ran off during the race and he hasn't been able to find her. We go back on Saturday to take another look.
  The UTMX 40k is coming up on October 20. Trying to find the right balance of rest and maintaining fitness. That race will have significant elevation as well. My goal will be to start very, very conservatively and see what I have left in the tank at 30K. If not, well...I know I can finish and I'll enjoy the scenery of the new trails in Hidalgo.
There are no bad days in the mountains.

Some photos I took during the race:

Lola