Back to Jemez.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

296 round trip from Mexico City to ABQ. Wow.

You know you are in New Mexico when...

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

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

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

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

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

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

  …I thanked myself for that decision all day long.

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

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

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

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

 There would be no glorious recovery.

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

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

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

Leaving Jemez

A River Runs Through It (Travels with Martin): Sierra Gorda 50k "Race" report

Sierra Gorda 50k:    Photo by Martin Forstmann of Fotografix.com.mx

 No way I was pitching a tent in a parking lot.

  Forstmann –of Fotografix.com.mx fame-- and I had driven about 4 hours to the tiny, remote town of Higueras de Peñamiller for the Reto Sierra Gorda 50k. We stopped for carnitas in Peña Bernal, a well-known tourist trap where people go to look at a big rock, and then we drove about an hour into the semi-desert, mountainous region known as the Sierra Gorda.

Peña de Bernal: Keep driving and send your last texts

  Higueras is no pueblo magico. It’s a dusty outpost without so much as a single restaurant. But it’s surrounded by the pristine Sierra Gorda. But the race has to start somewhere and so a big dirt parking lot that doubled as the center of town would be that somewhere. The promised “camping area” was a corner of this dirt parking lot offering an evening of Dusty, Loud and Hard. There was also zero shade.

The sun would go down and eventually someone would turn off the music, but dusty and hard weren’t going away. I was prepared to drive up into the hills and find a place on the side of the road.

  After asking around a bit, we heard that “the Oasis” was a nice place to camp and not too far, so we drove up out of the town and on a dirt road inside a canyon. Someone had painted “Oasis” and an arrow on the side of the canyon so we headed down an even narrower road would soon turned into a river. Wondering how wise it was to be driving down a river as the sun set, I stopped the car and ran ahead to check out the road/river. A guy with a machete popped out of the woods, and I asked him about the Oasis and he told me to keep on driving down the river.

The "road" to the Oasis     

  And so we did.  And sure enough, the river flowed down to the left, and a sort of path led to the right and up to a red gate: inside was grass, tents, pools, and a little tienda that I later found out sold Victorias for 17 pesos.

  After setting up the tent, Martin made his magical camp pasta sauce which we enjoyed with the Victorias. I was so happy at the Oasis that I momentarily forgot that I would be running a 50k the next morning after the 5 weeks of rest, easy jogging and pastries that have been my focus since running UTMX on October 10.

Chef Martin

 

Martin’s Magical Camp Pasta Sauce

Preparation and Cooking Time: 2 minutes, 41 seconds

1 Jar of Pasta Sauce

1 can of black olives

1 can of tuna

1 yogurt size jar of cream

Recommended Beer Pairing: 17 peso Victorias. 

 The meal and the beer put me in a great mood, and I set out to prepare my stuff for the race while Martin took some night photos.

Under the moon at the Oasis                Photo: me

It was tough to say what the course would be like. Martin went on a reconnaissance mission and talked to some of the other campers. He returned and I asked him what he found out.

He laughed. “Nadie Sabe Nada.”

Well, we all love a good mystery, and I had just driven my family car at dusk down a sketchy canyon road into a river in an area that was at good hour from cell phone reception, and stumbled upon the Oasis, so maybe the race would work out as well.

  However, just in case the race didn’t work out, I opted for my pack (something I don’t even use for the 100 mile distance) to make sure I had what I needed in case aid stations didn’t materialize when they were supposed to or the course wasn’t properly marked.

 After a terrible night of tossing and turning and looking at my phone 19 times to see if it was 4 AM already so I could just get up and get this over with, I looked at my phone for the 20^th time, and it was 3:37. I stayed horizontal for 23 more minutes listening to the sounds of the river and then we both got up, packed up, made a coffee and hit the road/river. My car made it back up the river/road without issue. Things were looking up.

 We arrived back at the dirt parking lot and were among the first to arrive. Suddenly I was freaking exhausted. Martin trudged back up the hill and back down to the Oasis. Apparently, the race would head right down the river. Neither of us recalled seeing any course markings.

 

  I tried to sleep fitfully in the car until it was time to line up. The sun was coming up and I cursed the organizers for requiring a headlamp for a race that starts at 6:30. And then I cursed myself for being such a rules follower, stuffed the useless headlamp in my pack and we were off…

  We headed down the same river/road that led to the Oasis, and then followed the river further down.

  A kilometer or so later we took a left out of the river and started heading up a canyon. Here there were more water sections, including one that came up to my neck if I stood on my very tippy toes. We followed this river for a while, and then, mercifully headed up out of the canyon onto a trail.

Tough to keep the shoes dry through here

  Sadly, the trail didn’t last long and then we were running in a dry, rocky river bed, heading up. This went on for maybe an hour? I tried to occupy my time by checking out what packs people were wearing and what they were carrying. One guy had a tube of Neosporin I could see through the mesh of his new Salomon pack. Why?

 In the distance I could see the clouds covering some mountain peaks. I really hoped we were heading up there, as it looked awesome.  Also, I’d about had it with rivers.

Heading up to the clouds      

 

Climbing up to this....cool.

  The course climbed out of the river bed (yay!) and started heading up a dirt road (boo) that looked to be heading straight up to the peak (yay!).  As we got higher the road turned to trail (yay!).  I was feeling good, back on familiar terrain. Near the top I stopped to read a bit about the Mission Bucarreli and I took a photo of this map.

Hey, a map!

 On the back side of the mountain, the trail turned to single track cut out of the side of the mountain (double yay!) and it reminded me very much of the Sam Merrill trail in the San Gabriel Mountains in Southern California.

  We took this single track down for over an hour. Definitely the best part of the race for me. Something like 9 kilometers of downhill. I was passing people and feeling good. At one point I saw a group of people gathered a few switchbacks below. Perhaps someone had twisted an ankle?

  When I arrived I knew there were too many cooks in the kitchen but it didn’t feel right just to blow by. I stopped and asked if I could do anything to help.

  Holy shit. A woman had clearly fallen and her face and one had were badly cut up. Wait, I suddenly remembered the Neosporin guy, couldn’t be too far….

  Then I noticed the Salomon pack. Neosporin Guy was right next to me saving the day. She still looked a bit shocked, but the group assured us they had the situation under control and so a few of us that had just arrived kept running. 

Long descent on singletrack like this...

  As the trail began to flatten out it got really hot, and I started to struggle. Things slowed down. A few of the folks I’d passed on the downhill passed me here. We arrived at a grassy paradise that was out of place in this desert terrain. I drank a terrible tasting electrolyte drink made for babies with diarrhea here and kept moving.

  And once again: a river crossing. My feet had finally dried so I stupidly tried to step across some rocks to keep my feet dried. Note to future runners: don’t bother…the next hour or so was crossing the river, running along the river or running in the river. Amazing views here, and though I felt low and was moving very slowly, it was worth the effort to see this canyon.

  A while later I finally came upon Martin taking photos. I pretended to run for the camera. I’d been doing a lot of walking in this section. It’s hard to run in a river. It’s also hard to run when you are really tired, but it’s more satsifying to blame it on the river.

                                                         Pretending to run                                        Photo: Martin Forstmann, Fotografix.com.mx

  

And then we ran through some small settlements before we descended, for the last time into –you’ll never guess—a river.  After a short bit I realized this was the same damn river we started on. This thrilled me for a couple reasons:

1.     It was the last river I would run in.

The final stretch of river (again)

2.     The race was nearly finished.

And the dirt parking lot came into site.

Damn I’m glad we didn’t camp there.

Other Random Thoughts:

   Incredibly beautiful area to see and if you are looking for a race that breaks the mold, this might be the one. I don’t mean to be a grump, but for me the river running did get a bit old. The mountain pass was fantastic, however, and would make for a great run from the Oasis. My fears about the aid stations and/or course markings were completely unfounded paranoia: course was marked relentlessly, and the aid stations were Spartan, but sufficient. 

The Sierra Gorda: A spectacular place to run

 

  I don’t know if I’ll be back for the race (though I probably will be), but I’ll definitely return to camp at the Oasis and drink a few Victorias.

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