Full Moon Rising: UTMX 2016

Entering the Barranca                                   Photo by Martin Forstmann of Fotografix.com.mx

  Ultra Trail Mexico's third edition finished yesterday (today actually --runners had until 1:00am on Sunday to finish), but folks will be talking about this year's race for a long, long time. Another way to frame it: I went into the race chasing my 15:40ish from 2015. Ended up finishing around 18:25 last night. And I was happy with that time. Thrilled, really with how well things went, considering...

  ...But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

  At 2:32 in the morning I woke up to a sound test at the starting line. I had slept solidly from 10:30-2:32. After that I tossed and turned and finally got out of bed at 4:00, 15 minutes before my alarm would go off. I could hear the whoops outside, the first of the 500 runners were showing up for the start of the UTMX 2016. The previous two years I stayed in a cabaña outside of the town, and this year I finally got a hotel room right next to the start. However, at 2:32 in the morning I realized that cabañas outside of town do have their advantages. 

  

Hotel by the finish line. Loud. Cabaña might be the better choice if sleep is important.

  The first thing that surprised me as the race started is that the pace felt manageable and it wasn't crowded: it flowed as well, if not better, than previous years when there were fewer runners. At the first river crossing it became clear that there would be no games today trying to keep the feet dry. Water levels were very high.

  I stuck to my plan at the start: I walked some hills I could have run. I resisted the urge to pass; I stayed within myself: when the heart started pounding, I slowed. Between 20k and 30k I began working the downhills a bit, but still trying to avoid trashing my legs early. I never remember the first half of this race as well as the latter half, but I was reminded about what makes the first 45k so incredible: it's a singletrack paradise. 

 Running into the 30k aid station, one of the aid station workers came flying out, grabbed my bottles, and had them both filled before I could finish stuffing my pockets with salted potatoes. The attention at the aid stations was like this all day. Later, down in San Sebastian at 70k, the aid station workers brought everything to me, checking in to see what I might need. It as good as having my own crew.

  

Climbing to the top of "Moab" between 30-40k

  My first little dip in energy came after 30k in the climb up to the 35k point. And something seemed off about the route: we ran by the presa, but we didn't run along the wall as in years past. And then back into the woods, and I saw some 50k runners. I started to panic a bit: did I go off course? Where the hell was the 40k aid station? Did I miss it somehow? And then we started climbing again. I didn't remember this climb but looked down at the course profile on my bib and the climb was correct. I vaguely remembered Marcos talking about some change during the meeting the night before, but couldn't remember the details. I looked at my watch and realized I was way behind, I'd never get to the "highway" (50k) in 7:15-7:30. 15:40 was out the window. Sub 16 was probably out the window as the barranca had an extra climb in it this year.

  I finally arrived at the 40k aid station, but it felt more like 42, which is what my watch said. I needed to take some time to eat. I had made a stupid mistake with my Gu, leaving too many in my drop bag at the 70k mark, and not bringing  enough with me at the start. I started rationing them, as I didn't want to go into the barranca with less than 3, so I had to make up the caloric deficit with aid station food. Two cups of soup, chips, and a banana and I was out of there, and back on familar ground: the course was what I remembered it, and the section went by quickly, or at least it felt like it did, but I arrived at the highway aid station (run by the Solo Para Salvajes crew) in 8:30, an hour behind schedule. I questioned my training, maybe I had fooled myself and I really wasn't as prepared as I thought I was.

  After 45+ kilometers of the scenic singletrack of the mountain portion of the race, the course eventually dumps out onto a paved road that leads straight down to the 50k aid station which is just across the "highway." This section is always hot and a shock to the system after being in the woods all morning. Something strange happened here: as I was trailing another runner, she ate a Gel and then...she just threw the wrapper on the ground?! I picked up the wrapper (Honey Stinger), and picked up my pace to try and catch up with her to to return her trash. But she pulled away. I was in disbelief, and started to rationalize: maybe she dropped it by mistake? But in that moment I was sure she just pitched it on the ground, and so since my 15:40 goal was long gone, I made a new one: I would not finish behind the gel wrapper runner.*

*It occurs to me now that maybe the "gel wrapper runner" (or "Gu Girl" or "Honey Slinger") dropped it accidentally, but it just didn't seem like that at the time: it looked like she took a gel and slung the wrapper --city marathon style-- right on the road. I hope I'm wrong about that.

  The section from the "highway" (it's a two lane pave road, it's not really a highway) to Peña del Aire on the edge of the canyon is my least favorite section of the course. It's almost all downhill with one climb. It's open dirt road. Should be easy, but this year was the same as the last two: I got passed by a lot of people.

  

The Barranca.

  I was looking forward to Peña del Aire aid station for several reasons: it's the beginning of my favorite part of the race, and I was looking forward to the new climbs and the river crossings. Also, Natalia and Dalva were going to meet me there. I hoped they would make it and hoped they would still be there: I told them the latest I would possibly get there was 2:00pm. 

  At 3:10pm I rolled in. 

I was worked and needed to sit down, drink some soup, recover a bit. I changed out my small UD bottle for a large one, as the race director had clearly emphasized the changes in the barranca. He estimated it would take 3-4 hours for most runners and he implored people to fill up their packs and bottles for this long, difficult section. After about 15 minutes, my longest aid station stop for the day, I headed down to the trail leading down to the bottom of the barranca. Down, down, down...

It was a warm one in the canyon.

  One thing I forgot to mention: at the top of the barranca, back at the aid station, I had received some news. According to Natalia, most runners were arriving later than expected. This made me realize that my race wasn't going horribly: the course had changed and the section before 40k had added more time than I thought. With my time goals irrelevant, I gave her my watch. Looking at that thing had just kept putting me in a bad mood. I didn't need a watch; I just needed to keep moving. 

Dalva and Tina coming out to greet me upon the arrival to Peña del Aire.

  

Dalva giving me advice: "don't run, take bubble baths."

   I finally reached the river crossing at the bottom of the canyon. I wrapped my Jurek Essential belt (ok, it's a fanny pack) around my neck and waded across. When I reached the other side the current wasn't as strong near the shore so I set the belt and my bottles on a rock and submerged myself. Felt pretty good under the water, but sadly I had to get up and keep running. 
  After the river the first of the "new" climbs began. We climbed a narrow, loose rock and crazy steep climb up to the top of the other side of the barranca. I looked across and could see the Peña del Aire on the other side. It was awesome. I never would have recommended changing the barranca section, but this was genius: all the way down one side, cross the river, up to the top of the other side. And then down this crazy downhill that we had been cautioned about in the race preview. I felt great going down and passed most of the folks who passed me on the climb. Including the gel wrapper runner.

  And then she --and everyone else-- passed me on the next climb. Again, straight up on loose shale. And here I realized I had made a mistake: I had filled both bottles with powerade. Things were out of balance. I became dizzy and slowed to a crawl. Asked those who passed me if they had "agua simple." Nope: just more powerade. So I trudged up, tried to eat, stopped drinking powerade and then realized that was stupid. Alone on the far side of the canyon. At the top of the climb I sat down and took off my shoes to clean out the rocks --more to take a break than anything else. Some old guy popped out of the bushes --seriously, out of nowhere. He spoke so quickly and with such a strange accent I couldn't understand a word he said. 

  He didn't have any "agua simple" either. 

  I picked up my pace on the downhill, hoping to catch the Gu girl. Nope. Maybe next year. I gave some powerade to a runner that was out of liquid. 

  Crossed the river again. Submerged again, and then ran the trails into San Sebastian at 70k. My drop bag was waiting. Chespiro was also there, that was cool. Years ago I was returning to an aid station, intent on quitting the Maraton del Rover because I was lost again and fed up. And then I ran into Chespiro who was fixing the marks on the course. He set me back on track and I finished that race. 

  A Chespiro sighting is always a good omen. 
  
  With dry socks, a fresh shirt, and full belly I headed up the long dirt road that takes us up and out of the canyon. Usually I hate this section, but I had arrived so late to San Sebastian that the sun was setting. For the first time, I enjoyed the climb. The sunset and the full moon rose up out of the clouds. And suddenly I knew one thing: I was going to finish. 17, 18, 19 or 20 hours. It didn't matter: It was night time and I love running at night and there was only 20k to go.
  At the top of the barranca, I stopped in the Mirador aid station and chatted a bit with the aid station guys. They were encouraging and in great spirits. I drank a Red Bull and one of the guys said that over 200 people missed that cut off at Peña de Aire and couldn't continue down into the canyon. That was good reminder that I should put a little "giddy up" in my step and keep moving. 

Sun sets over the Barranca

And the moon rises. Unfortunately the photo is terrible. Very nice in real life, however.

  And so I started to push. I ran through the next aid station at Ahuacatitla, stopping only long enough to  stuff my pockets with chocolate chip cookies and gummy worms and then headed straight down to the final river crossing. Passed a lot of people this way, but "gel wrapper" wasn't among them. 

 At the bottom there was surprise: first a roped rock crossing [tip: try this without the rope, I think it's much safer. The runner in front of me held on to the rope for all his life and took a pretty hard fall against the rock] and then I was at the final crossing and the river was raging. There was a large tree spanning the crossing. A rope for balance. Really?

  Unfortunately, the only other choice was to go back up to the aid station.
  
  Carefully, I crossed the tree, almost losing my balance. On the other side I asked the guy holding the rope if some runners had fell. His curt response: "claro." 
  
  And then going up the final climb, a sort of serpentine path up through a middle earth forest. Pretty cool climb in the dark. Until my headlamp started flickering and went out. Javi was there with me at that point and gave me some light while I changed the battery. Thanks, Javi!
  
  I started to feel stronger, pushed harder, and ran well on the road that goes straight down to the Hacienda de Santa Maria Regla and the final aid station.  And lo and behold: there was "Honey Slinger" going down into the aid station. 

  Walking. 

  I "sprinted" down as fast as I could and considered just going through the aid station without stopping, but I wanted a little coca cola and "agua simple" to balance it for the final push.
  
   Up to the Prismas Balsaticos, across the swinging bridge, across the presa (very wet this year and someone took the markings down, I think), got lost for a few minutes, some guy out there called me back, and finally hit the road back into the center of Huasca. Natalia, Dalva and Tina were there to run it in with me. It was 11:25pm. 

  Of my three finishes at UTMX, this one meant the most. It started out as one kind of race, and ended up as something else: some sort of survival adventure run. It had that epic "live a lifetime in a day" feel that one gets in a 100 miler.


  

bad selfies under a full moon

Postscript: There was a bit of chatter about all the runners getting stopped at the 5:00pm cut off at Peña del Aire. While the changes in the course (and the cut off) were clearly communicated (the example of arriving at 5:05, which would be too late, was given during the meeting), it was certainly not the intention of the race to have so many folks miss a cut off. A couple solutions:

  1.Start the race at 4:00am     and/or
  2.Return to the original (and faster) section between 30 and 40k.
  

 Just please don't change the canyon section: the river crossings and the climbs were awesome.

  

Ultra Trail Mexico: Take Three

Not much to do now but wait...

 Here we are again: UTMX take 3.

I received a text from my brother-in-law yesterday (he came down to Mexico last year to run the race) asking: You ready for UTMX? Part II answers that question; part I is a review of the race in its third edition.

 

I. UTMX overview from a middle to back of the pack perspective:

This is year three, and the race has grown up. There are 497 people starting the 100k distance. That growth is good for the long-term stability of the race, but it’s going to slow things down for the middle to back of packers in the first kilometers. However, that’s ok because every year this race goes out way too fast. It’s a 100k; it’s not a race to El Zembo, the first aid station. I’m anticipating some standing around breaks in the early part of the race before the pack splits up. I hope those easy early kilometers will pay dividends later on when climbing up to the Mirador from San Sebastian.

  Take a look at last year’s splits. Lots of folks have stellar runs to the 50k point and then tank in the latter half. Also, this year there is an added mystery bonus: The course is 2 kilometers longer and it looks like most of that distance is gained in the canyon. Comparing this year’s course profile with the previous year’s course profile, it looks like there will be more climbing in the canyon as well. Times should be slower this year.

 One takeway from the last two years is that the first 40+k of the race is mostly cool and covered. You won’t need to drink as much here. I carried two bottles, but only filled one up at the aid stations. However, when I got to the highway crossing at 49.3k, I should have filled up both bottles and drank at the aid station. The next section is hot and exposed all the way to Peña de Aire, where the course goes down into the canyon. You definitely don’t want to go down into the canyon behind on hydration: especially with the canyon section being longer this year.

 For me, the two most important aid stations are 49.3 (usually run by Pedro Fletes and the Solo Para Salvajes crew) and Peña de aire at 60k. I don’t like to waste time hanging out in aid stations, but it’s worth spending a few minutes in each of these to make sure you’ve eaten and drank what you need to.

 The canyon is by far the most technical section of the course and it comes at the point where runners are getting fatigued. My suggestion is to enjoy the beauty of the canyon, because the biggest “suck” of the race is coming: the 6k climb out of San Sebastian back up to the top of the canyon at Mirador aid station. This is an exposed road, hot and dusty. It also goes on forever. I’m not sure if Ferro just enjoys making us suffer or there really isn’t any single track climbing up out of the canyon in this area. This year I hope to get to Mirador more or less in one piece and keep moving. Last year I was wrecked at the top of this climb and had to sit down, wasting a few minutes in the aid station feeling sorry for myself and trying to recover. In 2014 I climbed well and arrived at the top to find Marcos Truyols, who I had been chasing after running with him for the first 45k. He pulled away and put lots of time on me before the finish. This serves as another reminder that a lot can happen in this last 23k or so of the race: don’t spend it all getting to Zembo or even to the 50k mark...

 The good news is that after mirador there is only one more significant climb. After some flat road running to Ahuacatitlan, the course goes straight down to the river. It’s so steep (and so late in the race) that it can be hard to go fast here. Gravity helps, but is somewhat limited by how thrashed one’s legs are. At the bottom is the major river crossing of the race and then straight up a winding goat trail. At the top the course flattens for a bit and then eventually heads down to the last aid station (Santa Maria Regla...it’s right across from the Hacienda). Last year I was feeling great here and stopped for less than 30 seconds. However, in 2014 I was beat and had to sit down for a few minutes and drink a Red Bull. The dream is to have enough water in my bottle and just run straight through.

 After this there is a short climb up to the Prismas Balsaticas and we enter the park through a back entrance, run along the cliff, cross the swinging bridge and then head out of the park, around the presa and through the back streets of Huasca before arriving at the finish. There is a little hill in here about a kilometer or two from the finish. If someone is chasing you at this point, that hill is where you can lose them.

 Enjoy the finish: it’s one of the best.

Part II.

 Back to the questions Jeremy asked me: am I ready? Sure, I’m ready to finish, and I’m mentally prepared as well. My training has been consistent, but the miles haven’t been huge, and as always, getting climbing in is difficult: midweek I run in Parque Hundido and then on the weekends I get out to Bosque del Tlapan, Desierto or Ocotal. I did do a few tune up races. I’ll log them here because depending on how things go on Saturday I may do it differently next year.

August 20: 20k Arcos de Sitio in Tepozotlan.

 This is a newer race in the Salvajes line up and it’s awesome: very technical and hilly, lots of rocky single track, plenty of climbing and a cool finish across an ancient viaduct. I had a great time running, but my time was something like 15 minutes slower than when I ran in 2014.

August 28: Mexico City Marathon

 Each year I sign up for the marathon and then hem and haw about whether or not I really want to run it. For me to run a marathon well I need to do long runs on pavement, and I just don’t do it: on the weekends I head for the hills. I convinced myself about three days before the race that I was going to sell my bib and go run long in desierto. But then the guy I was going to sell my number to already had found one so I decided to run it. I ran slow, but steady splits until the final 10k where I fell off the pace a bit, but it was still faster than my time from 2015. However, it took me forever to recover. Marathons are brutal. I lost 4-5 days of training, and I wonder if the marathon was a mistake. Always fun to run the race however.

Sept. 11: Ultratransnavajas 60k

 Five weeks before UTMX, I thought this would be the perfect long effort. I was a bit worried about the extra 10k, as the previous year it was 50k. The smart thing to do would have been to run a hard 35k. Apparently I can’t seem to do the smart thing very often. As it turned out, I should have been more worried: this race was an absolute beat down. I ran 7:26 for 50k last year so I thought I’d run around 9 hours. Andoni loves to make brutal races with ridiculous climbs. Just over 11 hours later --totally humbled, and feeling stupid for telling a few people I thought I’d finish in 9 hours-- I stumbled across the finish line. My one positive take away from this race was that when things go bad --it felt like work right from the starting line-- I can gut out a finish. But man, I’m not going to lie: I hope UTMX goes better.

 I’ll find out on Saturday...

Ultra Trail Mexico 2015: A Family Affair

Signature Wildflower of UTMX                           Photo: Jeremy Hardy

Not Photoshopped. Magical Photo in a Magical Place by Martin Forstmann of Fotografix.com.mx. 

  For the past four days I've eaten ice cream and/or cheesecake every day. Today as I walked by the park (returning from Santa Clara --again) I saw people jogging. Looked like work to me, and I probably won't be doing that for at least another day. Guess I've got the post-UTMX blues. Since May, 2015 I looked forward to that race like a 10 year old boy looks forward to his birthday. 

And now it's gone.

Natalia and Jutta just after her first 50k finish!

  

Early Creek Crossing

  As I wrote in a post from a few weeks ago, UTMX is my favorite race of the year. In it's second year, the 100k is a classic loop through the unique and challenging terrain surrounding the Pueblo Magico, Huasca, UTMX has become the big trail running event of the year in an ever-increasingly crowded trail and mountain running calendar in Mexico where a new race in a cool place seems to pop up on Facebook almost weekly. Internationally the race has grown as well. These trends will continue. The race will sell out quickly in 2016.

  Why?

  1. The course is tough, and mountain runners are drawn to the harder courses. There are several steep and technical climbs; there are long, rocky sections where it is difficult to establish a good running rhythm and even when there are a few deceptively "runnable" sections, they are so exposed and hot that it is a constant mental struggle to maintain a jog.

  2. The course is not contrived. There are no "out-and-back" sections to add meaningless miles. 

Meggin and Oriana Celebrating their 15k Finish!

Jeremy on top of the Canyon    Photo by: Martin Forstmann of Fotografix.com.mx 

  3. The course is varied: Smooth singletrack, rocky singletrack, climbs up endless dirt roads, climbs up a giant slick rock; ridge running up high along the Peñas Cuatas; descending down into the Canyon. The trail crosses several rivers and the final river crossing is roped, as is the descent down to that crossing. There is also: Off-trail cross country running, cobblestone village running and even a little pavement pounding. And I'm still forgetting sections. I thought I remembered all the cool parts of the course, but when I was running this year I kept coming across amazing and varied terrain that I had forgotten. What Santa Clara is for Ice Cream, this course is to mountain running: they've got all your favorite flavors, including many you didn't even know about.

Another view of the Canyon                       Photo: Jeremy Hardy

  4. Organization. The course is so amazing that even if UTMX was a poorly run race with 9 to 12 runners, confusing course markings, and staffed with bored volunteers slinging unripe bananas and Sam's Club Cola in all its aid stations, it would still be on my list of races to run.
  But, as everyone now knows, UTMX is a world-class event. Volunteers were encouraging, helpful and everywhere they needed to be. Packet pickup flawless and quick (but it helps to get there early), and just every single race detail was dealt with efficiently. 

Jeremy and Natalia at the finish. Jeremy got lost and was behind me 1 hour and 20 minutes into the race. He went on to finish in 13:34. I think he can run 12 hours here. Natalia's training was very light: she could run 7 for the 50k in 2016.

5. A fun place for everyone to visit. Huasca de Ocampo and the surrounding areas are worth visiting even if you never plan on running so much as a 5k in your lifetime. There are ex-haciendas, stunning natural beauty, cool geological rock formations,  a freaky zip-line over the canyon (tirolesa), homemade pastes, beer, barbacoa and more. Bring your family; bring your non-running friends. Everyone will be happy.

Flying over the Canyon (Oriana and Dalva) the day after the race

My 2015 UTMX Experience

  Hiking up out of the Canyon from San Sebastian  and my race felt like it was falling apart. Actually, it felt like my race had been falling apart since leaving the mountains and entering the Solo Para Salvajes aid station at kilometer 50. On paper the section between this aid station and the descent into the Canyon should be the easiest on the course. On paper. In reality, it's more like a mental toughness chess match. I made a critical mistake at that 50k aid station, only getting a bottle of water filled and the other half filled with Coca Cola. In the cooler mountain section, I wasn't finishing both bottles between aid stations, but I had forgotten how hot this section was. I struggled to maintain a jog, fighting a relentless urge to just hike. I was quickly very low and rationing water and freaked out about getting dehydrated. My goal was to get to the Canyon (Peña de Aire) without inflicting too much damage on myself and reboot: drink and eat. I got passed by a lot of people in that section.
  The excitement of arriving at the Canyon got me back in the game, and I enjoyed the relatively cool descent in the shadow of the Canyon wall. But then things turned sour again, and I could not get my energy levels back as I struggled through the rocky single track of this section and runners kept passing me. I finally made it to the San Sebastian aid station, pleasantly surprised that I didn't have to wade through a swampy section of the river to get there, as we did last year. I had my pack in my drop bag, didn't bother to change shoes as my feet had dried, and I headed up the long climb to the top of the Canyon. My dreams of running this section were smashed and I settled for a hard hike. There was no shade anywhere, and I started thinking about curling up on the side of the road or jumping in the back of one of the trucks that occasionally drove past me.

  I second guessed my start. I thought I had kept things in control, but I was further up in front of the race with runners that I don't usually see until I get to the finish line. Had a started too fast? Was I going to have to walk all the way into Huasca?
  I finally made it to the liquid-only aid station (Mirador) at the top of the climb and fell into a chair. I had been spending almost no time at aid stations all race, but my plan had crumpled and I needed a good sit-down. There was no Coca-Cola but a volunteer handed me a can of Red Bull and I sat and drank. After a few minutes the volunteer --the gentleman who I believe headed the incredibly difficult race in Oaxaca a few years ago...the race I DNF'd-- got me moving reminding me of what I knew to be true: sitting there would make things worse. I couldn't run, so I walked out of the aid station toward Ahuacatitlan and another descent down to the famed river crossing.

  Again, people passed me, but I couldn't help but notice that the sun was high in the sky, and last year I was running this section as the sun began to set, and I had crossed the river in pitch blackness. Maybe my race wasn't lost. I don't run with a watch and I had no idea what my splits were from last year, but the position of the sun told me that I was in a good place, even though I felt like dung.

 Martin was taking photos at Ahuacatitlan, and Hugo and Ivonne were there as well. This put me in good spirits as I headed down. Downhills had been good to me during the race. I was getting passed on "flats" by everyone, and was getting passed on the climbs by some. But my spirits and my energy levels lifted as I descended down to the river. I was looking forward to the final crossing, which really signals the last section of the race. 

Descending to the River. Hugo Chilling in the background.                          Photo: Martin Fortsmann

   Crossing the river in the daylight I knew my time was at least an hour ahead of last year. I climbed well up from the river, curious to see what this climb looked like in the day time. Last year it was pitch black and slowed me down considerably. Emerging from the last big climb of the race, I felt good and was ready to run hard to the finish. Darkness finally came as I entered the final aid station. I gulped down a cup of broth, some Red Bull and headed out. Once again I passed several runners who were lingering in the aid station. I'm not sure what people do in aid stations for so long, but I didn't want to hang around and find out. 

  One last climb up to the Prismas, across the swinging bridge, and then only two short sections remained: crossing the presa --the swampy edge of a reservoir, and then pavement pounding to the finish. With three or so kilometers to go, I was running with two other runners. We went back and forth, until one dropped back. Me and one other guy: he would sprint past, but then walk and I would catch up. I finally made a little move on a final climb I had forgotten about, running as hard as I could up, and then down into the cobblestone alleyways that lead to the center of Huasca. I didn't look back until I saw the crowds: no one was there. and that was the finish. Looking back at the clock, I thought it must have been a mistake: 15:41, almost two hours off my last year's time. 

Take Aways from the race:

•I ate well. At Bighorn in June I didn't eat on schedule and I paid the price with wild fluctuations in energy. Alternating between Gels (Hammer) and Arewa bars worked well. Also, carrying my own food allowed me to get through aid stations in a minute or less

•I started well and finished well. My start was not too fast, and I still had gas in the tank at the end.

•Struggled in the middle sections. 

•My biggest victory was aid station time. There are probably 15 runners who finished behind me who are faster than me but spent too much time in aid stations.

•I think I can run 15:00 hours on this course, but I'll need to find those 41 minutes all between Kilometer 31 and 80. I looked at some other runners who ran 15 hours and our Kilometer 1-20 and 80-100 splits were the same. But the hot transition section (50-60) and the canyon section (60-67) chewed me up. I finally recovered at 80, but the damage had been done. 

•Training: I did my long runs (Rover Marathon, Mexico City Marathon, Trail Run Hidalgo 50k and a few back to backs in Desierto), but my midweek running was lame: 11 minute miles in Parque Hudido for an hour or so twice a week. I'll need to do speed work and a longer tempo each week and some hill repeats to run 15:00 hours here. Something to think about for next year.

I'll be back.

Time to knock out the cheesecake and go for a run. 

Dalva Peers Into the Abyss

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....