Mexican Beauty/Mexican Reality: Race Report, Carrera de Resistencia en las Montañas 62k. “What a long strange trip it’s been.”

We would run the route out and back for a total of 62 kilometers

   What’s there to say about a well-executed race? Not much, really.

 Fortunately for you, neglected reader, my race was a long-and-winding disaster, so the report that follows might prove a bit more appealing than if all had gone well.

But first a digression:

 No one talks much about the Grateful Dead’s studio success, and with good reason. They made their magic on stage. However, there are at least a couple studio standouts: American Beauty and Workingman’s Dead. I bring this up only to recall the cover of American Beauty and also to justify my use of the somewhat tired “what a long strange trip it’s been” line which comes from one of their few radio hits (Truckin’) that was a track on American Beauty. If you recall the cover, depending on how you looked at it (or depending on what you were in the mood to see), it said both “American Beauty” and “American Reality.”

  I haven’t listened to the Grateful Dead in the past decade and a half but this popped into my mind at the end of the race for reasons that will be made clear at the end of this report.

Boring race background stuff:

  My big goal race is the Jemez 50 miler on May 25 in New Mexico. I woke up at midnight back in December to be the first person to sign up for the race. I’ve got plane tickets and personal days lined up. Why Jemez? One, because I’ve got a friend who lives there (who, sensibly, is running the ½ marathon) and two because I wanted my first 50 miler to be the hardest 50 miler in the U.S. (don’t ask, I don’t know why). And most folks figure that the toughest 50 miler distinction is a toss-up between Zane Grey, San Juan Solstice and Jemez.

   So everything has been geared towards Jemez. I ran a 50k (followed by a ½ marathon the next day) back on February 2 and 3^rd, and then ran just over a marathon in the mountains a couple weeks later. But then I got wonderfully sidelined by one of the great experiences in my life: performing in the theatre production of A Woman in Mind. After 20+ years I was back on stage. Running took a bit of a back seat. I didn’t stop running, but the long runs didn’t get much beyond 30K (and there weren’t too many of those) and I fell short of 50 miles a week, hovering in the forties, at best.

  I did run a few shorter trail runs in the first couple weeks of March, and I improved dramatically in all three runs from my efforts the previous year, but success at 14k, 16k and 26k doesn’t readily translate to success at longer stuff.

  But the big part of my plan was to run the 62k Carrera de Resistencia en las Montañas (CAREMO.) It was perfectly timed: a month before Jemez. I’d spin the wheels on a long run and still have time to recover. I told myself it was a training run, but a race is still a race. Nobody likes to get passed. Even when training.

  I didn’t have grand goals. I dreamed of 8:30, a bit out of reach, but I was certain I’d finish sub-9. I had run the course in one direction: CAREMO is the first 31 kilometers of the oldest marathon in Mexico, the Maraton Rover, but instead of running down to Cuernavaca after arriving in Tres Marias as the Maraton Rover does, you turn around and run back to Mexico City.  UP/Down/Up/Down.  31k out, 31k back. There’s a few kilometers of flattish running in there, but not much. My 31k split to Tres Marias was 4:15 last year in August. I thought I could match that.

  And I almost did. I’m definitely in ok 20 mile shape. I went out very conservatively and then started picking things up, passing some folks around 15k. I made the climb up to the highest point of the race and then the long descent into Tres Marias. I arrived around 4:25. Good, I thought. I took it easy.  I knew the tester in this race would be the steep climb back up to the Cerro. 

  I climbed well. Didn’t get passed.

I was distracted, however. Earlier, about a kilometer after the turn around in Tres Marias, a group of runners looked distraught and as I passed them I caught the words “me asaltaron/They assaulted me.

  I’ve heard tales before. Folks having their mountain bikes taken at gun point, a few news reports of hikers getting robbed. It’s all been second-hand info. But it happens. Some have warned me about training alone out in Desierto de Los Leones, but I see so few people out there that it seemed a bit of unjustified paranoia so I never gave it much thought.

 

 These freshly assaulted runners were going to end their race in Tres Marias.

 I did the only sensible thing and kept running.

My two points of logic that led to above decision:

1. The thiefs (or, as I heard runners referring to them later, Ellos que no tienen madres/those without mothers) probably would not strike again, as the word was out, as were a few police trucks

2. The tried and true “it probably won’t happen to me”. (always 100% correct until it isn’t)

But let me clarify so you don’t accuse me of building cheap suspense, and because my grandmother, Nina Carlin, is a regular reader of this blog (the only regular reader, I should say): I wasn’t robbed. I made it home, showered, ate and wrote this report.

But the thought stuck with me, the negativity began to flood in. I thought back to the trash along the side of the road in the first part of the race. I recalled the gentleman strolling along whom I saw just casually throw a bottle in an empty yard (well, empty except all the other trash that was strewn there.).

  I reflected on Boston.

  I contemplated on the phrase “hijos de la chingada.”

  I mused about poverty and whether or not that was any excuse to leave garbage everywhere.

  I decided it wasn’t.

  I had dark fantasies about getting robbed, but turning the gun on the robbers and putting holes in their kneecaps as a well-earned lesson in not taking things from runners who are tired.

 I noticed every piece of trash on the course.

 I went to a dark place, and my race was falling apart. I had finished the last major climb, but couldn’t get things to turn over on the downhill. My stomach was tight. Folks started passing me.

  I was nauseous, dizzy.

Not wanting to eat a GU, but knowing I needed to eat a GU.

I reflected on what an easy target I would be for robbers. And how unlikely it would be that I would have the wherewithal to provide them that well-earned lesson in the kneecaps.

  In fact, three teenagers with small sticks could have held me up.

  These three fantasy teenagers with hypothetically small sticks would have been rewarded with 3 packets of GU, 50 pesos and a Garmin watch. I fantasized that I could negotiate with these hypothetical robbers to leave me with my Patagonia Houdini, as it’s so flimsy and cheap looking they could never imagine I spent nearly a 100 bucks on the thing. They could take my cell phone. I don’t know why I brought the damn thing anyway as I hadn’t taken a single picture. And what the hell would they do with a Nathan Pack?

 

  Especially after I blew out their kneecaps.

 

 And so it went.  (in my head, while I was running shuffling down the mountain back toward Mexico City)

Around kilometer 50 a crew of about 6 people passed me. Passing all of us was a happy couple running like gazelles downhill.  

 They were running the race I wanted to run. I’m glad I got to see it.

  “Well done, happy couple. Well-executed race. I forgive you the smug looks I imagined on your faces when you blew by me.

 Bet you wish you had a great race report to write. Maybe next time. I’ve got a training plan for you.”

 It would have felt nice to vomit, but I couldn’t. I more or less kept moving.

And then I came to a little impromptu aid station. It wasn’t there on the way out (As a side note, the first aid station was at kilometer 25. As much as I hate wearing the pack, it was the right call.)

Nothing sounded good. I didn’t want anything; I just wanted to feel better. So I drank some Red Cola (not even real Coke. I love the 300 peso entry fee, but Jeez!) and a bit of water.

 

  I was asked offhand if I’d been robbed. I had to think about it, as in my head at that moment I had been robbed and I was wanted by the police for the unjustified shooting of three teenagers armed with nothing but small sticks. I don’t know where the gun came from.

  Apparently a few folks had been robbed, not just one. I didn’t ask for details. I was left with only the slightly flimsier point number 2 in my logic as described above.

  Still, the sensible thing was to keep moving.

  And then I was out of the woods, back in the neighborhood that had crept up the mountain: haphazard, unfinished houses up high. Some no more than four brick walls with a tin roof. And trash was everywhere. And I was never running this race, or any race that used this route ever again. It was a disgrace. All this I spoke very loudly in my head. But it wasn’t just the race I was chastising. It was all of Mexico.

  If you’ve every lived in a foreign country for a while, you’ve probably done some version of this. When things go bad, we expats don’t blame the DMV, the IRS, the Cops, the Democrats or Republicans. We blame the whole country. And this I was doing, indicting all of Mexico. They had failed to maintain civil society  --as evidenced by some runners who got robbed and all the trash strewn about—and I was leaving, an act that would ripple far and wide across the nation and result in a lot of soul searching and perhaps a national reading of Rosseau’s The Social Contract, followed by rigorous discourse which would result in sweeping changes: the most notable being no trash where I run, and robbers will not be a threat to my possession of a Garmin GPS watch.

And then I lost the course.

There were no ribbons to be seen. A big truck was moving slowly down the hill. I knew they were the thieves and I thought of removing my watch, just to have it ready. Hoped they would be satisfied with the Garmin, my last packet of GU and 50 pesos, and not take my Patagonia Houdini.

They drove past.

 And then there was another runner. Never been so happy to have someone come up behind me in a race. He said we were on the right path. He was a seasoned vet, and I tried to follow. On the downhills I could stay with him, but I was such a sorry shuffler on the flats and couldn’t keep up. I struggled to keep him in view. He seemed to have his wits about him. We were in traffic now. And then the course flattened out for a long while. I saw him turn. And when I took that turn I was in the middle of a street packed with vendors, covered in tarps, with people walking everywhere. One of the markets that spring up across the city on the weekend. I had no idea where to go.

  I’m supposed to run through the market? I kept going until it was obviously Not the Right Way. I asked a Taxi Driver where the Pemex was, he pointed me back the way I had gone. Back through the market again.  I figured since I was lost I might as well use the phone and capture a bit of the market on video.

  My Garmin had died. A blessing. It would have been painful to know the time.

  I wandered. I thought about just getting a cab and going home. I didn’t want the shirt, the medal. I was done with this race. And anyway, I was leaving Mexico.

 And then I remembered this was my first “ultra” beyond 50k. Would I fail to finish my first ultra? I wandered and asked and finally found the street I was looking for. I walked.

  I saw the Pemex. I still walked. Some folks started cheering and I felt a bit ridiculous for walking, but after nearly an hour of wandering around lost, it seemed almost dishonest to jog it in.

  And then I got a big hug from one of the volunteers. She put a medal around my neck. And immediately I felt quite stupid about being such a grump.

  And then I was sitting on the ground, in front of a Pemex station, about three feet from where the cars where barreling past, where the longest avenue in the world, Insurgentes ends and turns into the Cuota (toll road) to Cuernavaca. A few racers where chatting. Without me asking, a cold beer was put in my hand. I didn’t know any of these people. A woman who turned out to be the second place female was next to me, and we chatted a bit. I prayed to all/any gods that she not ask me my race time.

She didn’t.

 Incidentally, in addition to being very fast, she’s strikingly beautiful.

  We talked about running and training, but strangely, not the race. What a relief. The assaults were mentioned in passing and then not brought up again.

  It was a beautiful moment there on the side of the highway.

 

It turned out that others got lost, too. We saw one runner arrive by bus from the other direction and then finish. We all had a good laugh at that. Numbers were exchanged. Vague plans to run were made.

  Sitting there on the gravel, exhausted, cramped and a few feet from the highway, cold beer in hand, surrounded by a few good people, I decided I wasn’t going to leave Mexico. I decided my terrible race had actually been a fantastic adventure. Which is all for the best, as truth be told, I’m not much of a runner. Never have been.

 But I can hold my own on an adventure.

 

  Somewhere in there I realized that Mexico is a great, beautiful and flawed place.

  Like most places; like most people.

And that’s when I had my American Beauty/American Reality epiphany, and realized one had to see all sides simultaneously to understand the whole. I also had the idea it would make a good title for this report, so I finished my beer, said my goodbyes, and went home to write it.

Like some sort of miracle, this photo was just posted to the Solo Para Salvajes site as I was uploading this report. Thank you, thank you, thank you Sir Mike Kazt, whom I don't know. I owe you a beer. The man who kindly put a beer in my hand at the end of the race is Eliseo Sosa, sitting to my right with the red cap.

 Postscript: As it turns out, it was a bit worse than I knew while racing. Six racers were assaulted and beaten and robbed by armed men. If you read Spanish, here's the link to the article. 

Skyrace: 26K. 15,000 Feet Up

The group “Solo para Salvajes,” run by Pedro Fletes Omaña puts on a series of annual mountain races in Mexico.  They run at least two races every month.  Three weeks ago I ran the Reto Del Real de Catorce, which, in its fourth year, is a new run for the group, and it’s also the farthest away: 8 hours north of Mexico City, making it a small race of about 140 people.

  In contrast, the Nevado de Toluca Skyrace or “Mexiquense” is in it’s 16^th year.  This year nearly 700 runners lined up at the start.  For the Mexican mountain running community, it’s a classic.

  The original name of the volcano in Nahuatl is Xinantecatl and its elevation of 15,354 feet (4,680 meters) makes it the fourth highest peak in Mexico.  No longer active, Xinantecatl last erupted in 1350 BC.
 So there was one thing I didn’t have to worry about.   

  Located about an hour and a half (on a weekend morning with no traffic) outside of Mexico City, Xinantecatl provides a great opportunity to train, as even in January one can run in and around the crater of the volcano with running tights and a few basic layers.

   I thought I knew what to expect in this race.  The distance was familiar: I had just run 26 k in the first leg of the Reto Real De Catorce three weeks ago.  And the course was familiar as well: I’ve hiked Nevado de Toluca a couple times and I was here in January with the RunMX crew for a training run.  That run in January was when I knew I wanted to start racing in the mountains.

  In that training run in January, we logged only 11k and ran and hiked around the crater.  The long winding dirt road to the top we drove.  So I had an introduction to the course and I knew how sluggish it could be running at 14,000+ feet.

Course map with altitude

   After my bonk in the final kilometer in Real, I was ready this time with water and plenty of GU.  I wouldn’t have the heat to contend with, but there was more climbing in this race.

  The real unknown was the altitude and my lack of training at this altitude other than that run back in January.  It’s not that I train in the flatlands: Mexico City and the surrounding areas where I run range from 7,000-9,000 feet, but things get weird after 13,000.  The Nevado de Toluca Skyrace, or “Mexiquense,” starts at over 12,000 feet,  the same altitude that was the high point of the race in Real de Catorce.  The climb on the back side of the crater tops out at over 15,000 feet.  Also, there would be almost no flat sections except for the short jaunts around the two lakes inside the crater of the volcano.  The course climbed up a two track dirt road for about 8 kilometers before it climbed at a more steeper grade to the lip of the crater.  At that point it descended into the crater, around the lake of the moon and then a slow, brutal trudge (at best) up to the Pico de Fraile (friar’s peak), the high point of the race .  The trail then went straight down to the crater.  No switch backs: just sliding down loose stones for 1,000 feet, which absorbed the blow of the descent but made stopping difficult.

Straight down into the crater.

   My plan was to take it easy but steady on the first part of the course which was a runnable dirt road that steadily climbed up to the pass to the crater.  At that point I knew it would be hiking up into the crater, running down and around lake of the moon, and then the long slow hike up to the peak.  I believed that after that ascent I would fly down into the crater, run around the bigger lake of the sun, one last hike out of the crater and then blast it down the hill at around 10 k pace.  Solid plan except for that last part about 10k pace.

El lago del Sol

 I learned that downhills aren’t for free.  My plan worked like magic for a while.  Running up the road I ran for a while with Martin, a runner I had met briefly in Real.  I would continue to see him until I summited the pico de fraile. I arrived at the top of the run at exactly 2 hours, just as I estimated.  My mistake was thinking that the rest of the race at that point was just a formality.

   I negotiated the skiing section of this course down into the crater with only one fall.  However, that fall scared me and slowed me down.  Once down in the crater I sat down with all the other runners who didn’t have gaiters and removed the rocks from my shoes.  Then a slow run around the lake at 13,800 feet.  There were guys taking a dip here.  Nuts.  I wasn’t expecting to make time here, as I knew how difficult it was to run fast at this altitude even though it’s flat.  I just wanted to keep running.  At least I would make better time than the swimmers.  I ran to the hike out of the crater, down the pass and hit the aid station at the road.  A cup of Gatorade and then began the run.  There was a reason the road seemed so runnable coming up: it’s not that steep.  I was running, but couldn’t get any speed going.  I was haunted a bit by the end of my last 26K, which took such a sudden turn for the worse that I didn’t want to repeat that, so I just plodded along.  I had been eating a GU every 45 minutes, and I felt ok, just sluggish.  I maintained a slow jog, trying to enjoy the scenery, reminding myself  not to stop, but it didn’t get any easier.  Even when I dipped below the tree line and the downhills were a bit steeper, I couldn’t pick up the pace.  I was alone for much of this time, but quite a few runners caught me and passed me .  I was miserable enough that I didn’t pick up the chase, though I kept trying to push it.  How was it possible the road seemed longer going down than going up?  Finally, I could see cars lining the road and hear cheering.  I knew I was close.  The guy shuffling behind me picked up the pace and I found myself in what I felt was a silly sprint to the finish. 3:53.

  Aside from a disappointing last part of the race, the experience was incredible.  Driving out to the volcano in the morning made me realize it’s really not that far from Mexico City, and I need to get out here more frequently.  I would like to return to hike/run around the rim of the volcano, which is more appealing for me than running up 9 kilometers of dirt road.  The running and hiking around the crater is incredible. 

    If you like to run mountains and find yourself in or around Mexico City, the trip to Xinantecatl can’t be missed.

The road to the crater

Next Race:  May 6, Tras Las Huellas de Quetzalcoatl in Tepoztlan.  16K.  A run up into the cliffs surrounding Tepoztlan and then back down. Short and steep.


Note about photos: Except for the photo of my race bib, all the photos were found online in the public domain.  If you recognize your photo, drop me a note and I'll credit the photographer.

First Race in the Mountains: Real De Catorce

Our Hotel

Day 1: 26 Kilometers.  2:30pm

    Lots of firsts: My first trail race, my first mountain race, my first race over 25 kilometers, my first time racing two days in a row…. and all in one of the most incredible locations in Mexico: Real De Catorce.  A tiny town located far from nowhere high up in the mountains looking down on the altiplano (high desert) below.  Surrounded by the ruins of the town's silver mining heritage, Real is known for it’s incredible beauty and perhaps most famously for Wirikuta, the sacred site of the Huicholes, and for the peyote that grows down in the desert.  Real de Catorce attracts a diverse crowd: intrepid European tourists, well-heeled families from Monterrey and lots of seekers who come in search of visions in the desert.

The trail down to the desert

 Tania and I arrived Friday morning, so there was time to wander the town and we managed to spot a few course markings.  The town would soon fill up with racers, as just about every hotel room was booked.  It doesn’t take much to fill all the hotels of Real: about 250 people.

  The first day of the race started at 2:30, which made for a long, jittery morning and I fretted about what to eat.  I skipped my usual chilaquiles breakfast and opted for hot cakes at the Meson De Abundancia.  Later I ate some bread and a banana.  Much later I realized my error.  But first, the race start.

  About 200 racers lined up near the small zocalo.  I had forgotten my hydration pack in my car at school so I had bought a Guatemalan style fanny pack in the local market.  Aside from the fun of saying I was racing with a fanny pack, there was the practical angle of having a place to put some money and Tania’s camera.  In my hand I carried a 600 liter Gatorade bottle filled with water.  The course had two aid stations: one back at the zocalo at 11.5 kilometers after an out and back and than another at tha bottom of our run, at 18.5 kilometers.  Also, the race instructions warned that the aid at kilometer 18.5 would be available "if God permits."  Therefore, it was essential to carry what one needed.  Not the race to forget my Nathan pack.  
  The one bright spot, ironically, was the day was cloudy and overcast  Usually the sun is brutal during this time of day, making hydration even more crucial.

Pedro Fletes Omaña, organizer of this race and many, many others through his group "Solo Para Salvajes." If you want to know about trail running, mountain running and/or skyracing in Mexico, this is your guy.  Check out the site: www.parasalvajes.com.mx

  Because I’d never run a race in the mountains or on a trail (nor run uphill for nearly 8 kilometers) I started conservatively.  Our run headed out to the mountains, past Rincon Magico and the cemetery, for those who know the town.  We cut left and were running on rolling hills, lots of little ups and downs.  I ran the flats, blasted the downhills and powerhiked the ups.  I knew the race would really start at 18.5 Kilometers and the long run/hike back up to Real.  I needed to save some energy for that climb.

  I was feeling fantastic 11.5 kilometers after this first out and back, and ate half a banana and chugged some Gatorade with Tania at the aid station.  And then a short jaunt before the runners turned off the road and were directed down the “zigzag” single track that would take us down to the main canyon road that is primarily used for horses and the 4x4 Jeeps they call “Willy’s” here.

These are vintage jeeps are somehow still running and serve as the primary mode of transportation to bring people down to the desert and back up to town.  Click this link to see a Willy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/50484247@N00/3683830994/

  I realized quickly I was moving more quickly than the other runners on the downhills.  The zigzag, as they called it, was a lot of loose rock and dirt, steep drop-offs and cactus-lined, but I flew, passing more people in this section than I passed all race.  At one point in a moment of exuberance I jumped up on a rock to pass a racer and descended past him.
  That rock would play a very different role for me two hours later….

Tania and I returned to the scene after the race: the beginning of the "zigzag"

  Too soon (this part was fun) I hit the two-track road that winds down the valley and I slowed my pace a bit as it was going to be a long, quad-pounding downhill for the next 6 kilometers or so, with only a couple short flat sections and one or two short up hills to change up the pace. 

  I reached the turnaround where there were a handful of simple dwellings,  and local kids came running up with Gatorade, coke and water.  I took a shot of coke, drank some Gatorade, refilled my water bottle, and started heading up.  I was excited and I felt good. Most of the running was done, it was just a 7.5 kilometer power hike back up to town.  I had trained for this, walking as fast as I can on the treadmill cranked up to 15.  Also, because the section was out and back I knew exactly who was in front of me and who was behind me, and I didn’t think there could have been more than 25 people in front of me.  I felt I had a decent chance of having a good race.  And if I had something left to run the final kilometers, even better.

  The hike started great.  Two runners that I had passed on the switchback downhill  --“The bumblebee couple” I dubbed them because they were wearing matching black and yellow outfits--  did pass me, but I kept them in site about 80 meters ahead.  I thought I would keep them there, pace off them and see what I had left to pass them during the last part of the climb.

  Another guy I passed on the downhill, the tall man with the yellow hat, also passed me, but I was able to reel him in.  He was doing this weird shuffle run and seemed to be working very, very hard to move very, very slowly.  I passed him hiking.  Thirty seconds later I heard him retching pretty hard.  But he kept moving.  I didn’t think I would see him again.

  I ran the one downhill and flat that this section has going back up to Real, but then my stomach started knotting up.  My pace slowed.  Suddenly I wasn’t having fun, but I was moving.  I should have stopped for a snack or a coke, but I kept going and I passed the last of the little tiendas where one could buy a snack or something to drink. 

  This all happened at about 23 kilometers.  I thought I would hike through it and start to feel better, but I was cramping bad, and worse, my energy was fleeing.  My pace slowed some more.  A few people passed me.  I gave up on reeling in the bumblebee couple.  But I kept moving, slowly.  Things got worse.  I was desperate for a coke, thought I needed salt.  Shuffling.  One foot in front of the other, just keep moving.

  Eventually, the tall man with the big yellow hat passed me.  He could see I was hurting and told me that I should ask a passing “willy” for a coke.  I thanked him and shortly thereafter a “willy” did come by and in what probably sounded like desperation I asked them if they had “algo con sodik?”  They had little plastic bags filled with coke and Gatorade.  I don’t know why I just took the coke.  I thanked them profusely for the baggy of warm, flat coke, and tried to drink it.  My stomach didn’t want to take in anything, but I knew I had to force it down.  I sipped from it as I shuffled, more slowly now. 

  Thoughts about placing and a good time were replaced by a desire to just finish.  And than for the first time I stopped, and kneeled down, staring at the dirt in front of me. I didn’t sit.  Yet.

  I made it to the zigzag where the climb became much steeper.  I sat down for the first time.  Head in hands, not sure what I should do.  I had seen a guy earlier stretched out on a rock, trying to sleep.  I checked to see if he was ok, if he needed anything. His symptoms seemed the same as mine: knotted stomach, no energy.  I wanted to lie down, but thought if I did I would never get up.  I kept shuffling.  The sleeping guy would later pass me. 

 I slipped into a mode of walking 20 meters and then sitting down.  All the people I had passed began to float by.  At one point I perched upon the very rock I had soared of off while descending.  I was down, but I kept it positive, and even when sitting gave each person who passed by a little cheer. 

  The other runners could see I was hurting and soon people started offering help.  A woman gave me a couple red electrolyte beans with some sugar.  I chewed those, even though I didn’t want to, and walked a few more meters.  An older gentleman came by –the eventual winner of the 60-65 category, to give you an idea of where my time was heading—and gave me a capsule with electrolytes, “the same as Gatorade, he said.”  I walked a bit more.  One of the top finishers came down the hill to scout for his friends and help others out and he gave me a few swigs of coca cola.  He wanted me to walk with him and his friends, but I couldn’t.  Too dizzy, too weak.  I thanked them, told them I was ok, sat down and watched them go.  My Garmin wasn’t even reading a pace at this point.  Runners that I hadn’t seen since long after the turnaround began to catch me, runners that hadn’t been near me all race. 

  And then I could see the town.  I could see the Rincon Magico.  I could see the house I rented with some friends one weekend a couple years ago.  I started to feel a bit better.  Still wanted to vomit but couldn’t.  I shuffled up the trail and onto the road, finally.  One small climb and then a downhill to the finish.  Less than 300 meters.  I couldn’t walk it all without stopping.  I didn’t sit, but stood in the road with my hands on my knees.  Couldn’t even give the token run at the finish, which was downhill.  There was Tania.  She had Gatorade.  I had finished in 4:02. Kilometer 24 took me 22 minutes. 

  Kilometer 25?  Forty-four minutes.  And then 18 minutes to walk the last 400 meters.

I drank the Gatorade and started to feel ok again.  I had finished the first day of the race.  Now I needed to recover and find the will to run the 16 kilometer race on Sunday which would take us up over the mountain behind the town.

  After a dinner which consisted of a coke, a beer, a salad, lasagna and the entire basket of bread (I think Tania had one piece) I felt tired and sore, but great.  I realized my mistake of not eating enough before and during the race.  I really don’t think I burned myself out on the downhills but just flat ran out of fuel.  Tomorrow would tell.  The second stage of the race would start 13.5 hours after I finished the first one.

After day one, contemplating the "bonk."

Day 2: 16 Kilometers. 8:00am

  I opted out of the fanny pack, so no camera for this race.  I carried two bottles: one was half water and half electrolyte (what they give dehydrated babies) and the other was Gatorade.  I had a chunk of bread in my back pocket.  This was overkill, I knew, but I wasn’t taking any chances after yesterday’s bonk in the final kilometers of the race.  The second leg of the race begins with a climb up the mountain behind Real, flattens out for a bit of ridge running, and then climbs a bit higher to the high point of the race: 3,000 meters.  After that it heads downhill until we hit the 2.5 kilometer tunnel that is the entrance to the town.  We would run out of the tunnel, back through and then back to the start. 

   I started climbing conservatively, powerhiking, not running, but when I looked up and saw the single line of climbers I tried to pass as many runners as I could before it would become difficult to pass on the singletrack up the mountain.  We hiked up to the ridge and then ran about a kilometer out and back before heading the other way on the ridge.  The view from this point made me wish I’d brought tha camera: misty mountains as far as the eye could see.  The ridge began to climb and we passed under the antennas that one can see from the town.  I talked briefly with a woman about her experience at the Rocky Racoon 100 in Texas, and then she passed me on the flat ridge.  A guy asked me for a swig of Gatorade, and he informed me it was all down hill from here until the tunnel.  So I hit it.  We ran down past the two “puebla fantasmas,” the remaining ruins of the silver mining glory days of Real, and continued down the road which, like most of the roads in Real consist of stones polished from centuries of use.  Not great to run on, and crushing on the down hills.  I didn’t care, and passed by the woman I had been talking with along with many others.  Again I was surprised at how slowly people took the downhills.  I did not want to be passed by them when I hit the tunnel, which was a 5k: 2.5k out to the entrance, 2.5k back into town and then a little less than a kilometer into town.  Running back through the tunnel I saw lots of the faces that passed me yesterday on the hill, and I didn’t want to let that happen again.  There had been nothing but some token flat running all race until this point.  I kept at it in the tunnel and forced myself not to look back and concentrated on turnover.  When I emerged from the tunnel, I pitched my last bottle and gave it all I had left.  The market was filling up with people and we ran right on through, folks stepping out of our way.  I finally looked back: no one in sight.  One last little climb to the zocalo and I was done.  1:52. 

   In retrospect, I believe I could have climbed more aggressively and still finished as strong, but considering what happened on the first day, I was satisfied with my race.

Last little hill and then into the finish

Epilogue:  Tania and I stayed in town Sunday night, which meant we were basically the only tourists in town.  We had the hotel to ourselves.  After a rest, we walked back to the zigzag singletrack from the first day of the race and hiked down a bit.  I pointed out all the rocks I sat on, and we enjoyed the spectacular views of Real de Catorce as the sun went down. 

Next Race: Nevado de Toluca Skyrace.  26K, April 16  A run up into the old crater of a volcano...and then all the way back down. 15,000 feet up!