 |
| Reppin' YRC. Miss those guys and gals. |
I've got a busy year ahead of me. With the hotel opening scheduled for early summer, I am unsure about what the year will hold for me racing wise. I only know one thing. If I do nothing else, I need my qualifier for Western "Lottery Hell" States.
Something about IMTUF damaged me. I took basically the rest of the year off after running in September. The stress of the training volume, living on the road for half a year, or just being burnt out on running left me with very few runs to feel good about leading up to the end of the year. Some additional exploring of the McCall area with Jeremy served as those favorite runs, and unbeknownst at the time would also provide the long run base that I would pull from for the Black Canyon 100k in Arizona. I signed up for the race a whopping 2 weeks in advance after rarely completing a run greater than 7 miles, and having a long run of 18 miles. Cashing in some airline miles, a quick search of employee discount rooms and one decisive click on ultrasignup and I was locked in. What was I thinking?
Well, I was thinking that I've got 17 hours to suffer my way through the race and get the damn qualifier out of the way early and leave myself with outs in case I had to drop. I truly don't expect to race again until the end of the year, but I'll be damned if I am giving up all my tickets. Plus, sometimes I can pull a decent race out of my ass just by being willing to suffer. Turns out this would be one of those days.
 |
| Still Reppin'. |
Usually, Black Canyon is a point to point net downhill race. Typically hot, and mirrors Western States in terms of profile, only scaled back. Not the case this year. (Take another look at the post title and have a look at the picture below) Heavy rains and a sketchy looking forecast prompted Aravaipa Running to go with an out and back alternative course for runner safety. So much for the heat training I crammed in. However, I often claim to run better in the worst conditions, since I'm not all that fast. At least I can suffer and keep moving forward. Well, this time that claim was put to the test.
 |
| Muddy AF. |
7am comes rolling around on Saturday morning and we start off with a lap around the Mayer High School track and proceed down the road for a few miles to trail. Immediately, we are presented with a combination of soul sucking mud, that awful clay that sticks to your shoes and adds like 40 pounds to each foot. Can you say, efficient? I hear a gripe or two over my music, and can't help but smile and keep moving. Next up were the puddles in the ruts on the trail. The soil off to the side of the trail looked appealing, but in reality it was far worse. Some people would try to run between the ruts, but I knew that if I wanted to keep my Altra Superiors at their natural weight, (or close) then running directly in the puddles was the way to go. Fortunately, I covered my feet in Trail Toes prior to the start and that made this crazy idea feasible.
Eventually, the rain let up a little and the trail hardened back up. Time to roll. Coming into the first aid station at mile 7.8, I had no need for fluids or fuel. 246 in and out. Having fallen into my typical no man's land of race position, I had the trail to myself. I made a decision that I wasn't going to run this race concerned about leaving enough in the tank for the return trip. Not knowing how my body would feel beyond 18 miles, I just decided then and there to remove the worry from the equation. Don't look at the watch, just listen to the alert to eat every 30 minutes. I tried to take full advantage of the roughly 30 miles of gentle downhill and make best friends with gravity. This worked well as I came to the turnaround in 4:56, actually feeling really good. Not wanting to waste time in the aid station, I get right back to work. Suddenly my legs spoke up and said "Listen here dumbass, we are going to cramp up so bad that you remember who is in charge here. Now simmer down."
And simmer down I did. I reached into my pack for salt and was supremely disappointed to find that my pouch of S-caps had gone AWOL. How far to the next aid? Oh yeah, 7 miles and change. Trying to make the best of it, I told myself it would be best to recharge a bit and bounce back for hopefully, a strong finish. In hindsight, I should have just asked another runner if they had any to spare. Instead, I marched on, knowing I left a drop back at the Gloriana aid station, mile 37.7. My first drop bag ever.
The aid station was an oasis. I took advantage and restocked my pack, changed my shoes and had a cup of soup or two. I also left one of my layers here, thinking I wouldn't need it any longer as the sun popped out to say what's up. Big mistake. I eased into a walk to bring my locked up legs back to life and shortly thereafter, I was back to running. I looked at my watch a time or two and saw some sub 10 minute miles and just kept taking what my legs and the course would allow. This kept up until around mile 51 where I was treated to a bonk of epic proportions. I was dizzy, nauseous, and I couldn't see straight. I recognized this feeling from a run at Rapid River with Jeremy just as I collapsed on the side of the trail. I dug into my pack and found a Bonk Breaker bar, 2 gels and a caffeine pill and ate all of them, willing my stomach to keep everything down. After spending maybe 5 or 10 minutes sitting there, I slowly began walking and eased in to a run, seemingly back in it.
Chugging into the final aid station at mile 54, the weather became the worst that I had seen all day. The sun was setting and fog rolled in, leaving like 30 feet of visibility. Pouring rain and some pretty stout winds had left me feeling like a boxer who had gone 11 rounds and faced a fresh opponent in the 12th. My torso was covered with my singlet, pack and Patagonia Whodini shell and it was doing nothing for me. My body was freezing and I knew that I had to run as hard as I could through those final miles just to stay alive. Ok, maybe a little dramatic there, but that is how I willed myself to the finish.
The puddles on the course over those last 7 miles were calf deep in some places. Only now, beneath the water, the mud was doing everything it could to suck my shoes off of my feet. I don't know how they stayed on, even now. After what felt like an eternity, I exited the trail and back onto the road with an extreme sense of relief, knowing that it was an easy 2ish miles to the finish. With my head down, I focused on good form and ignored the soreness in my legs and gave what I had left. I was growing weaker by the second, because I hadn't eaten or drank since the last aid station, not wanting to risk being any colder by unzipping my jacket and gaining access to my pack below. Just then, I was surprised by another runner on my right who turned out to be Drew Adams, a fellow runner from Idaho. He seemed to be moving effortlessly, but we resolved to run it the rest of the way together. The last 2 miles took something like 18 minutes, but it felt much faster than that. Arriving on school grounds and making our way back to the track, I was relieved to cross the timing mat in 12:10- a PR by nearly 20 minutes. A couple of pictures later and into the gym we went to get out of the storm. I for one, had had enough for the day.
In the gym, I found myself in a hypothermic state. The EMTs brought me over to a cot and covered me with three sleeping bags. After some time, I relinquished my place to another runner and grabbed a hot shower in the locker room. Fortunately, I felt 10 times better.
There you have it. A hell of a trip, a hell of a race, and a hell of a day in general. Shiny buckle in hand, and yet another qualifier under my belt, I'm free to do whatever I want (or am able to) with the rest of my season. I don't know what will come, so for now I'll enjoy this extra legroom from a welcomed upgrade and worry about it later. A slippery, sloppy, shiteree of a start (or finish) to the season.
 |
| Upgraded on all flights. My legs appreciated it. |
