Race Report: El Vaquero Loco 50k 2012

Distance:  31 miles
Time/Place:  DNF

Well, this is going to be a first as far as race reports go.  My first writeup of a race I did not finish, that is.  More on that later, but for now I'll just say "goodbye, cruel world!"  Just kidding.  Don't call the suicide hotline.  I'll be ok.

Cody and I ditched out of work early on Friday afternoon, and after grabbing some Jimmy John's we left Logan for the wilds of western Wyoming to make our rendezvous with the unruly, unparalleled, and sadly under-publicized El Vaquero Loco 50k. 

After running it last year, this race quickly became one of my favorite trail races.  The scenery has only occasionally been matched by anything I have seen, especially in a race.  The course is very tough, but is well worth the effort.  Being tucked away in Star Valley, WY, it doesn't get a whole lot of publicity, but it is definitely one of the best 50k races out there.  It amazes me that more people haven't discovered this gem of a run.  Ty Draney, the original Vaquero Loco (complete with flip flops and a cowboy hat on race day), is the race director, and he does a wonderful job of putting together a great race, from the aid station volunteers and Search and Rescue members who pack into some very rugged country on horses and motorcycles, to the scrumptious post-race hamburgers and huckleberry soda.

After attending the short pre-race meeting at the park in Afton and picking up our race packets, Cody and I hung around shooting the breeze with Ty, Luke Nelson (then 4-time winner of EVL), "Fast Evan" Honeyfield, and helping get the packets out to the stragglers.  It was an enjoyable evening, and we even had a little rain to clear out the smoke from the bajillions of forest fires that are currently burning up the West. 

After that we made our way to Cottonwood Lake to see if we could mooch half a campsite from someone, in which we were successful, and set up our tent.  It was a good thing Cody brought a tent, because shortly after hitting the hay we were treated to a series of nice rain squalls.  This was good though, because it cleared the air and made for perfect trails the next morning.

Race morning "dawned" clear, cool, and moist, with the promise of a beautiful day ahead.  I was hoping for some fog after seeing photos from Balls two years ago, but no such luck.  I ate a couple of granola bars for breakfast and filled my two bottles.  I had been debating on whether to go with one and save weight, or two and be guaranteed to have enough water.  I decided to split the difference and go with two but only fill them halfway.  I go to college.

After a brief wait, we got started just as the ground became visible without the use of a headlight.  My goal today was to go out with Luke, see what I felt like, hang on for dear life, and see how fast I could go pushing hard.  Luke and I took off at a brisk pace, and I immediately knew this was going to be a hard effort.  I was breathing pretty hard at first, but soon my body got used to it and settled down.  The climb up Balls was super tough.  I had not experienced this section of the course last year, due to the shortened snow course, and more is the pity because this is hands down the best part of the race.  We kept things light, chatting a bit, but still we were pushing pretty hard.  Cody hung around behind us all the way up the climb, but as soon as we reached the top he dropped off the back for good.  After such a steep, technical climb it was fun to run at a suicide pace down the steep and rocky singletrack on the other side into a beautiful valley.  The scenery was absolutely stunning, especially as the sun was just breaking the tops of the surrounding mountains.  I was in awe.  We blew through the first aid station at the bottom of the valley.  Luke seemed to be enjoying the company (he's usually alone by this point), and we talked and swapped a few stories and whatnot.  He is a great guy to run with whether you're just out for a training run or in a race.  Probably one of the most positive individuals I've met.  We continued at a breakneck pace up into the lakes portion of the course and waved hi to the aid station crew as we sped past.  Can't say enough about these people who hiked in the night before, braving rain and cold to set up a remote aid station for us.  We slowed down a bit for the climb out of the lakes, but then picked up the pace again as we began the long downhill run into the turnaround.  I had been eating well (one of my goals for this race:  proper fueling), and I felt very good and had plenty of energy at this point.  Luke seemed to feel the same, and broke his radio silence about wanting to break 5 hours, a crazy goal for this course, but if anyone could do it, he could, and we were on a great pace to do so.  I was feeling good so I told him I'd go with him as long as I was capable.  We were flying at this point, and I was having more fun than I've had in a race in a long time.

We blasted into the turnaround in just over 2:21, whooping and hollering at the 25kers and we got some good cheering in return.  I grabbed some S-caps and filled my bottle.  Luke was a little quicker than I out of the aid, but he kindly stopped to water the flowers and let me catch up.  We were both enjoying having someone to talk to and pulling each other along.  We passed Cody just after getting back onto the singletrack, and wished him luck.  He looked to be doing really well and on track to set a PR.  Shortly after this, my stomach suddenly began to feel queasy.  Luke encouraged me and I stuck through it initially, chalking it up to a sudden effort up the steep climb on the first part of the singletrack.  But, unfortunately, that was not to be the end of it.  After a couple of more miles, my stomach became even more upset, and no matter what I did I could not get it to go away.  Things went downhill so fast my head was spinning.  After less than a quarter mile I could barely hang on to Luke's pace and began to lag a little.  Luke continued to try and bring me back, but no amount of mental effort seemed to help.  Suddenly I stopped, doubled over, and vomited into the weeds.  I knew I was in trouble.  I could barely even stand.  After puking, I felt a lot better and took off running again, but I only got about 10 steps before retching into the bushes again.  I decided to try and walk it off to see if I could get something going again later.  I knew that Luke was probably long gone, but I could still finish with a spectacular PR if I could get past this quickly.  But, as time went on, it became apparent that I was only getting worse, not better.  I passed Evan taking pictures (he was photoshooting the race) and he tried to encourage me, but by then I could barely hike without dry heaving.  I reached the aid station and asked the volunteers if I could sit down for a spell.  They were very helpful and got me some water and Coke and a jacket because I was shivering.  I wanted to get past this so I could keep going, but my stomach refused to cooperate.  After 45 minutes I was still in no condition to tackle the remaining 11 miles or so, and I knew the game was probably up.  I told the aid station volunteers that I would be dropping but that I could hike back to the turnaround under my own power.  Better that than have to be packed out of the lakes on horseback if I got worse.

The hike out was long, hot, and a little humiliating.  You could tell the runners who had experienced similar setbacks in the past by the look on their faces and their kind gestures of offering food, s-caps, etc (none of which I felt like), but others were oblivious and I felt obligated to explain why I was going the wrong way.  After a long time, I made it back to the turnaround.  The aid station had long since been packed up, but an S&R guy was there with his radio and called in a ride for me. Eventually Cody showed up to pack me and another woman out and back to the start.  He didn't even make too much fun of me.  I went back to the start and had a huckleberry soda.  Ty and Luke and the others were all very gracious.  One of the things I love about trail running is that most people have been through everything you have, so they are always very understanding when you have a bad day.  

After thinking a lot about this race, I have decided to take it as a learning experience.  It was bound to happen sometime, and I will take what I can from it and move on.  It's not always about winning every race, but about getting up each time you take a fall.  Sure, I'm a little bummed about the outcome, but it gives me all the more motivation to come back and do better the next time.  Much like life, trail running is about the journey, and failure is an essential part of that journey.

Pacing Hardrock

Tim and I ascending the first ridge out of Maggie Gulch

  Last weekend I had the lucky opportunity to pace at the Hardrock 100.  My former running buddy, Jon, who has since moved to South Carolina, got himself on the "am willing to pace" list for the race, and got in contact with Tim Adams, of London, England, who was looking for a pacer or two.  Jon graciously extended the invitation to help with pacing duties to Cody and I and we both jumped at the chance.  Cody had to do some logistical gymnastics to get out of a scout camp early, but sacrifices must be made, right?  After all, it is Hardrock--the grand-daddy of all 100 milers.

The view from Maggie Gulch Aid

 I was a little nervous about my pacing duties, since the course is notorious for being not well marked, mostly because of the course conditions rather than a lack of effort by the race staff, and the fact that I'd be responsible for navigation in very unfamiliar and unforgiving territory.  But luckily I learned that Tim had marked the section I would be pacing a few days earlier so between us we probably wouldn't get too lost.  My section was Maggie Gulch Aid to the finish in Silverton, CO, which included three ascents to 13,000 feet.

Tim Adams:  Kickin' butt and takin' names

 When I picked up Tim at Maggie's, it was beginning to storm just a bit.  I was really glad that I packed all the extra weight of my bad-weather gear, because the weather went from rainy and windy one minute, to sunny the next, and we would endure several wet, cold, and windy storms before the finish.  Tim was pretty tired to start, so we slowly climbed to the top of the ridge above Maggie Gulch overlooking the Buffalo Boy mine.  Here, Tim pointed out the route we would be taking.  He pointed at ridge after ridge of high, steep mountains that we would be climbing, and I began to get a sense of just how difficult the course is.  The views, however, were breathtaking.  We do not have mountains like this in Utah.  Many of the ranges looked like something a child might draw, with jagged, otherworldly shapes jutting up against the sky.

Looking over the rest of the course from the ridge above Buffalo Boy Mine, with the Grenadier Range in the distance

 After a brief respite of relatively level trail along the top of the ridge, we steeply descended into the next valley.  We could see a herd of sheep grazing to our left, and a deserted jeep road that we would cross before we continued to the aptly named Stony Pass.  Tim was feeling more fatigued as we crossed the valley and began the short climb up the pass, and I encouraged him to keep eating so that he could keep his strength up, as we still had over 10 miles to go.  Near the top of the pass, it began storming again, and we were nearly blown off the mountain a time or two by strong winds.  As we descended into the beautiful valley on the other side, the winds lessened and we began to warm back up.  Tim began moving quite a bit better and we made good time through this section.  This was perhaps my favorite part of the course.  It reminded me of the country of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings movies.  Soon, we reached the mouth of the valley and were able to look down into Cunningham Aid.  When Tim had pointed this section out from a distance, I couldn't see just how deep this canyon was.  Glacial action and subsequent river erosion had carved out a very steep canyon, with several hanging valleys carved by other glaciers intersecting it.  We would descend into the bottom to the aid, and then climb up the sheer wall on the other side to one of these hanging valleys and then over the final ridge.

Dropping into Cunningham Aid

 When we got to the aid station, I ran ahead to get things ready for Tim.  It was raining hard at this point, and we were soaked and a little chilly, so we both took the opportunity to throw on some drier clothes and drink some hot chocolate and broth.  Soon, we were back out on the trail and climbing up what amounted to little less than a cliff face on the other side of the valley.  The climb seemed like it lasted forever.  The switchbacks were innumerable, and by the time we got to the mouth of the hanging valley we were both pretty much worn out.  We would have to stop every 100 yards or so just to catch our breath and let our heart rates slow down to manageable levels before continuing on.  But, finally, as the sun set across the distant peaks, we reached the top of the ridge, skirted the top of a line of frowning cliffs, and began the steep and treacherous descent down the other side.
By the time we reached the jeep road that would take us most of the way home, it was pretty dark, so we put on our lights.  We were able to get a better pace going here, even though it was still mostly hiking.  It was nice to go downhill again.  We were both ready to be done with the race, although I hadn't run 95 miles at this point.  But, we still had a few challenges ahead.  After two or three miles of rough jeep road, it began to rain very hard.  The temperatures had dropped to near freezing, and I was somewhat surprised that it wasn't snowing.  We were both glad that we had each brought a cheap emergency poncho, as they kept us very dry.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we reached the final section of singletrack.  This section also seemed to go on forever, but we started moving faster anyway.  I think that Tim was "smelling the barn" so to speak, and so he let me go ahead and set the pace at a fast jog-hike.  After many stream crossings and getting our feet thoroughly soaked, we reached Silverton.  The town was deserted, but we were just happy to finally be so close to finishing.  We reached the last few hundred yards and I coaxed Tim into a run into the finish.  He completed the race just shy of midnight, in 41 hours, 53 minutes, good enough for 64th place.  But, I'd say anyone that finishes this race is pretty hardcore.

The Finish!  After breakfast, of course!

 Pacing any 100 miler, but especially Hardrock, is a unique and incredible experience.  Watching firsthand the human struggle against one's own physical limits is an inspiring and motivating thing to observe.  It was a pleasure to spend nearly 8.5 hours over 15 miles in Tim's company, rain or shine (lots of both).  It was also fun to watch the race unfold and be on the same course as Hal Koerner and Darcy Africa (M and F winners, respectively) along with other heavy hitters like Dakota Jones, Krissy Moehl, Karl Meltzer, Nick Pedatella, Diana Finkel, etc.  I hope to get the chance to do this again, and maybe someday even run the race myself.  Congratulations to Tim, and all the other runners that completed or participated in this race.  It was a truly memorable experience.