Race Report: El Vaquero Loco 50k 2013

Distance:  32 miles
Vertical:  9000'
Time:  7:05
Place:  19

August 10th was a beautiful day for a race in Star Valley, WY, the home stomping grounds of Ty Draney.  His race, El Vaquero Loco (The Crazy Cowboy) 50k has become my hands-down favorite 50k.  Somewhere between the huckleberry soda and camping out under the star-soaked skies of western Wyoming the night before the race, there's something special.  There aren't a ton of runners, and outside of Luke Nelson's annual butt-kicking performace you won't see many "heavy hitters" of the ultarunning world, but to miss the beauty and low-key, hometown feel of this race would be a sad thing indeed.  I'll be sure to include plenty of pictures in this rendition.

This year was a little different. I got married to my sweetheart, Jenny, a couple of months ago, and she was able to sneak out of work for the weekend and come with me, which was a new thing and really enjoyable.  We also gave Mike McKnight, a new addition to our Logan trail running "group" (previously consisting of Cody and myself) a lift. Cody had come up earlier in the day so he could bring his family and spend the day hanging out with them. 

A beautiful morning in the Salt River Mountains

After an exceptionally good sleep, I woke up to my alarm at 5:15 and began getting ready.  It was still dark at the starting line at 6 AM, but the light in the east promised that we wouldn't be needing any headlamps.  Before long, Ty gave the countdown and we were on our way.  Unlike last year, I was not in tip-top shape, so I didn't go out with Luke or anything crazy like that.  In fact, I even let Cody go on ahead.  My goal for this race was simply to finish without becoming injured.  Time and place were of little concern.  I even brought the extra weight of my camera along for the outbound portion of the run so I could snap a few photos.

Mike just about to descend "Balls"

I settled in with Mike and a few other runners in a loosely formed pack and slogged up the mountain.  I was breathing really hard, even though my legs weren't feeling tired.  This worried me a little, but I slowed a bit and kept moving.  Soon, my breathing calmed and I felt better.  After what seemed like forever, we finally reached the first saddle after a grueling 4 miles and 2500' of climbing.  I stopped to take a couple of quick snapshots at the top, and then dropped down the crazy descent known as "Balls" (I'll leave the nomenclature to your imagination).  My plantaris issue was not noticeable at all, which I was thankful for.

At the bottom, our "pack" had thinned out a bit to myself, Mike, and another runner named Pete, whom I think I had met before.  Soon we reached the first aid station, but I had plenty of water and fruit snacks, so I just blew past, enjoying every step of the course so far.  It was an absolutely beautiful morning, and I was soaking it in.  Before too long, and after probably a dozen more photo-ops, we reached the first of the lakes and the second aid station.

Since Balls, the course had been mainly downhill with a little bit of a climb coming into the lake, but just after the aid station we got socked in the mouth with the steepest climb of the race.  It's almost hands-and-knees stuff.  Mike didn't quite know what to think of that.  Thankfully, it's pretty short, and before we knew it we were at the next saddle and descending to the second lake.  After pausing for a couple of more pictures, we climbed out of that one too, and began the long descent to the turn around.  Mike and I stayed together, through the aid station and all the way down to the turnaround.  Unfortunately, he began to feel ill somewhere in the last three miles or so.

At the aid station I got to see Jenny and give her the camera so she could take photos of the finish.  She was enjoying herself and was helping Cody's wife with her kids.  I soaked my visor and shirt in the stream, restocked my fruit snacks, and wolfed down some food and soda.  Mike looked like death warmed over, and I told him not to make the same mistake I did last year and to stay at the aid station until he could get his stomach right again.  I didn't figure I'd see him again, and that there was a good likelihood that he would drop.

Leaving the turnaround for the return trip

Heading back out, I was lally-gagging a little bit, but still moving at a pretty good pace, when a couple of miles from the aid station I was very surprised to hear someone calling my name.  I looked back and there was Mike!  Talk about a resurrection of the dead!  Soon he caught up with me and we continued on together.  After the aid station, it was obvious that my inferior fitness was beginning to take its toll.  I was wearing down, so near the top of the long climb just before the lakes I told Mike to go ahead because I was slowing him down.  I could see him for a couple of minutes but after that, he was gone.  I wasn't really in a bad place, but I just couldn't go much faster and the miles were wearing on me.

Unfortunately, as soon as I began the steep descent into the lakes, my plantaris seized up and became very painful.  I had to really slow down to a crawl on any steep downhill.  Uphill and relatively level ground were no problem, thankfully, but steep downhills killed.  Other than that and just general tiredness, I was still feeling pretty good, however.  Soon I made it past the lakes and was able to pick up the pace on the relatively level/slight uphill section heading into the final aid station.

About half a mile before the aid, I passed a female runner sitting in the shade and obviously overheated.  I asked her if she had water and electrolytes, which she had, but it was obvious she was in a bad way with nausea.  When I got to the aid, I notified the personnel that she wasn't far from the aid and could probably use a little help to cool off.

The climb out of the first lake

The next challenge was the brutal ascent up Balls.  Coming down is a lot easier than going up.  But despite my fatigue I made good time and passed a few people that had passed me on the downhills.  At the top, I had to find a tree and earn a star.  Now I just had a steep 4 miles of downhill ahead of me.  With my plantaris acting up, I was reduced to hiking probably 75-80% of this.  It was hot and not very fun to be passed by literally everyone.  I lost count of how many times I got "chicked."  But I wasn't too disappointed.  I didn't feel that I was permanently injured, and I knew that this was going to be a slow time given my fitness.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally reached the campground.  I promised myself I'd at least look good on the finish, so I ran all the rest of the way, and it wasn't even painful!  I crossed the finish line in 7 hours and 5 minutes, an hour slower than my previous best on this course, but I was happy to finish the race, and in relatively un-banged-up condition.  My plantaris stopped hurting immediately, and didn't lock up after stopping, so I am counting that as "not injured."  Goals met.  My wife was there at the finish, along with Cody, Luke, Mike, and Ty.  Cody had finished 3rd (2nd Non-Luke), and Mike had cruised to a 5th place finish!  Not bad for a trail-running n00b!  He's going to be a force to be reckoned with in the coming year or so.  After the finish, I took a well earned soak in the lake and had a scrumptious burger and huckleberry soda.  I'm pretty happy with the race.  My plantaris issue recurrence means I won't be running the Bear this year, but I'm content to wait until next year.  It is getting better, slowly but surely.  It was just really nice to finish what I set out to do, and I'm looking forward to more.

Ahhh!

Race Report: Pocatello 50 2013 (brief, plus an update)

Distance:  50 Miles
Time/Place:  DNF

Well, for the second time in as many ultras, I had to DNF, but for different reasons.  This spring was very hectic, as I was up to my ears in school (funny, how easy classes turn out to be the most time-consuming ones when the professors load you down with busy-work) and clinicals, not to mention courting my now-wife, Jenny (more later).  Anyway, the story of this spring was sporadic and inconsistent training.  As a result, I started to have some issues with my plantaris (a small muscle near the lateral posterior side of the knee), due to muscle imbalances, undertraining, and overextending myself on the few long runs I did. In spite of this, I talked myself into signing up for the Pocatello 50, thinking that I had enough leftover fitness to at least finish the race, though I figured I wouldn't have a stellar time.  After all, if I was to run the Bear 100 this year, I needed to get in the required mountain 50 finish.

Anyway, to make a long story much shorter, I should have not signed up for this race.  I wasn't ready, I wasn't fit, I wasn't in mental shape for a 50, and my body wasn't durable enough.  The plantaris issue flared up badly at about the 22 mile mark, and honestly even without that I don't know that I had the will or the endurance to finish the race.  The silver lining is that after I quit at Mink Creek (34 miles) after hiking for an additional 12 miles, Luke Nelson, the RD and a really down to earth, classy guy, who also happens to be a physician's assistant, sat me down and diagnosed my injury and gave me some exercises to help treat the causes.  To this point, I thought it was IT band issues, but he set me straight and gave me some good advice.  I'm happy to report that the injury is slowly healing, although it's not quite there yet, as you'll see in my next race report.  Big thanks to Luke for that.

And now for the life update:  This June 28, instead of running Logan Peak as usual for that weekend, I was lucky enough to get to marry my best friend and sweetheart, Jenny.  I missed out on a lot of training during the dating and wedding planning stages, but honestly I'd do it again in a heartbeat.  Totally worth it.  As I've learned from my training partners Cody and Jon, and many other people who I respect and admire, life's not all about just one thing like running or any other pursuit.  It's much more fulfilling to find the balance between family, career, self, and the various other things that we have going on in our lives.  Jenny is a big part of that for me.  Even now, I can't really imagine what life going forward would be like without her.  And lucky for me, she is so supportive of my running habits.  She worries occasionally that I'm going to die out on the trails somewhere, but she's been a really great cheerleader, doctor, and sports psychologist so far.  She even goes running with me once in awhile!  I'm a pretty lucky guy.  Anyway, that's the "life update" you've all been waiting for.  Until next time.

A trail runner's thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombings

4:09

12 seconds that will now be forever etched into the memory of runners everywhere.  Confusion.  Panic.  Sadness.  Bewilderment.  These are a few things that many have felt to one degree or another, whether there was a training partner or family member running, or just because you feel the camaraderie from being a "runner" and imagining what it must have been like to be there.  But most of us who weren't there can't really know...only imagine.

What happened on April 15 will likely change our sport forever.  I imagine there will be some surface level changes, like more security at large races, but the lasting changes will be in the minds and hearts of we who run.  No runner alive today will likely complete another marathon without recalling, at least momentarily, the horror of that day at Boston.  As 4:09 ticks past on the finish line clock, there will be some who pause for a moment at the memory of the explosions, the screams, the confusion, the blood, the tears.  And that's as it should be.  We would do well to remember that there are those in this world who believe that violence is the way to get attention, or that it is the way to solve problems.  We should recognize that it is the same evil that motivated this attack which motivated the British Crown to oppress and kill its own citizens in the Revolutionary period, including the first Boston Massacre.  It is the same evil that was behind Hitler, Stalin, Mao Zedong, and more recently the terror attacks of September 11, 2001 and the host of other injustices and horrific tragedies which have taken place throughout the history of this planet.  We would do well to hope to eradicate this evil, and to hope that justice can be served upon the heads of those responsible where it is possible through the judicious application of just and fair laws.

We should also remember the consequences of the actions that we take in searching out justice.  Before we hasten to exact vengeance, we should perhaps pause to ponder on what it is we are really looking for.  Perhaps runners, more than most who have not experienced a tragic loss of this nature, understand the value of blood and tears.  In our never ending quest to reach deeper within ourselves through running, each of us has shed a few drops of both.  We know the worth of freedom, as each of us has experienced this in a way that many do not.  We know at least one kind of happiness.  With this in mind, let us remember the value of life, of liberty, of happiness, and not let the thirst for vengeance overcome our sense of humanity.  In our search to make sense of these events, lets remember that the best tribute to those who lost their lives, or part of their freedom, or who are sorrowing because of the evil acts of a few, is to reach out to one another.  To counter Evil with Good.  To be a little bit better person.  To sacrifice something for someone else.  To offer assistance to someone in need.  To say a kind word as you pass a stranger on the trail. These are the things that will win out in the end.  No amount of armed force, fear, or hatred can change history, but love and service can change the future.  Love in the face of death, pain, and terror is the deepest kind of courage, and I believe it is the ultimate source of power in this existence.  It's not unlike the will to keep running through pain to the top of the next ridge, knowing that there are still many more mountains to climb, but that each successive summit will bring more breathtaking vistas than the last.

My Mormon faith leads me to believe honestly that God can make good out of anything--even something as tragic as the events in Boston.  But in order for this to happen, and in order for us to be more like Him, we each need to learn to do this individually.  So don't let fear, anger, and hate take over.  It only leads to more suffering.  Become someone better, something more.  We know how to do this, but we also know it takes a little work.  So lace up, and RUN!

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.