Black Canyon 100k

It would be a lie if I said I went to Arizona without thinking about a Golden Ticket. It would also be untrue if I said I didn’t let the other names on the starting roster affect my headspace. Going into the Black Canyons 100k it was pretty clear that this year would be one of the deepest fields of any 100k in the country. The sheer volume of high-caliber talent on the start line was intimidating, but also exactly the kind of field I wanted to line up against. If I’m going to keep pushing myself, I have to not be afraid of stepping into those kinds of fields and have my best race. Preparation was pretty strong and I felt confident coming off a very well executed 100k in November. Most signs were pointing towards a great opportunity to truly test my limits. And that’s sure how it went.

Kristen and I flew into Phoenix on Friday afternoon. We took a quick stop to grab the rental car and to drop layers off at the hotel before heading to Black Canyon City for packet pickup. The airplane pressure change always messes with my circulation so I took a short shakeout jog to preview the trail and get the blood flowing back to my legs. We grabbed a couple salads and headed back to watch the Olympics and pack drop bags for the morning. I registered for the Black Canyons 100k back in July so the night before the race was a culmination of a lot of pent up excitement.

The first few miles on dirt road and doubletrack were filled with chatter. It sounded like everybody either knew someone else in the field or was happy to meet new friends out there. The good energy was flowing and a pack of nearly 20 guys developed ato the front. As the route changed from doubletrack to weaving singletrack and back to doubletrack, the group would ebb and flow and change order. As we came up over a grassy hill just a few miles in, myself and an old friend from the east coast, Jeff Colt, shared miles while chatting near the back of the stampede. The sun had come up moments before and was low on the horizon as we headed east. I went to low the brim of my hat to see the rocks better, but was stopped by a sight I won’t forget anytime soon. Just ahead of us was a shadow-painted prairie with the silhouettes of 20 runners dancing in unison through the grasses. Over the gentle crest of this hill, I remember thinking that this is a memory I hope to have for a long time, and may have even motioned as if to take a photo with a camera. We both couldn’t help but smile.

For a while the group split into two long trains, then gathered at an aid station, then shuffled and split again. The amoeba of bodies was fun to be a part of because it allowed for everyone to settle into the pace and position they were most comfortable with. The course profile suggests that the first 20 miles are easy to run too fast on. But even with the large net downhill, I was a little surprised to find how frequently we had small uphills to break it up. THe plan was to wear a pair of shoes that don’t have aggressive treads but certainly have the cushion to protect the uneven terrain and downhill.

Overall it was a ton of fun to run with a group of guys. For much of the race I tried to stay right on someone’s shoulder. It allowed me to rely on them reading the trail to shut my mind off a bit. The focus stayed exclusively on feathering the gas pedal to conserve fuel in the tank. The trail itself is quite uneven with lots of in-and-outs winding through the desert. And while I meandered through the exposed desert, Kristen drove down to the Bumble Bee Ranch aid station at mile 20. It was a flurry of energy, pit crew style outfit and gear changes, and shouting. She is incredibly efficient at spraying suntan lotion, loading my pack with fresh gels, laying a wet bandana over my neck, and getting me back on the trail. Quite often she’s even quicker than I’m prepared for and encourages me towards the exit. Her intentional energy got me refocused to go play on more of this amazing landscape.

With as much exposure as the landscape showcased, it was sure to get hot and very dry. Coming from Bend, the concern wasn’t so much the dry climate, but very much what kind of trouble would ensue when the heat set in. I left every aid station with two full bottles in hopes of draining them both by the next checkpoint. While the terrain was a continually inconsistent surface, the route was still surprisingly fast. The miles continued to pass by very quickly and I tried not to worry much about splits as long as it felt smooth. There was a sneaky little uphill leading into the mile 31 aid station. It felt like the group had strung out slightly, but as soon as I slowed to ascend, it was clear that a dozen more guys were right on my shoulder. There was a surprising rush through the aid that caused an adrenaline burst. I did my best to maintain composure, make sure my bottles were full, and get a cold sponge over the head. Get through another 6 miles to see Kristen again.

Groups still seemed to form, but they were smaller with gaps between. I stayed tucked behind other runners, only stepping around when it felt like my stride had to change if the pace felt unnatural. I couldn’t remember the exact placement of the few but significant climbs. There was one near the mile 37 aid station but I couldn’t remember if it started just before or just after it. Come to find out my bottles were getting dry just as we dipped down into a small, dirty creek. I danced on stones to keep my feet from getting wet, but paused to dunk my hat. After navigating the rocky creekbed, the trail began climbing. What could have easily been a steeper tenth of a mile trail was over a half mile of gentle switchbacks over the next ridge. Looking up, it was clear there was a strung out pack of guys close ahead and a long extended string of guys behind me. But either way still a ton of runners all within just a couple minutes. I continued to trot behind another runner before overtaking him and another near the top of the hill. I was able to look back to see my old buddy Jeff after hearing him cheering for other runners from a switchback below. His chipper tone made me realize I wasn’t feeling as fresh as I had thought. It feels human to make those comparisons. One element of running I’ve always struggled with is counting myself out too early. At this point the running felt easy, but at that moment it became clear that the sun was beginning to play more of a factor that I had given it credit for.

The trail continued to flow in and out of the cacti on the way into town. On the out-and-back to the aid, I got a chance to see the leaders leaving and had a rough estimate of how far ahead the first couple of guys were. Having run this stretch on my shakeout the night before, I timed draining my bottles with when I’d get fresh ones from Kristen. She met me at the entrance to the loop and told me to get ice, then come around to her spot at the end. This cool video from the live coverage shows exactly how the transition went:

As Eric, the commentator, suggests, it was definitely warming up. The sun shone brightly overhead. Already mid-70s and the ice seemed to be melting quicker and quicker. Salt was helping prevent cramps but not helping the bottles stay any more full. The longest stretch between aid stations seemed to drag on. This was the section that I really wanted to make my money on, so to speak. A couple mile climb followed by a much longer downhill with a few punchy ups is definitely the kind of terrain I specialize in. But running in no-man’s land left my mind without a carrot to chase. With no other runners to base my progress on it felt like wasted effort. As if I was fighting the trail rather than letting it come to me. Having knowledge of this particular route would be immensely beneficial. To anyone thinking of running this race, I’d say find a way to go explore the final 20 miles of this route before race day. Knowing how and when to push or stay controlled would save tons of time and energy.

After a lonely hour, another runner did finally come into view. Seth had run dry with his water bottle and I was about to experience the same thing. We passed a mountain biker and, not knowing which direction he came from, I asked if he knew where the next aid station was. He replied, “Probably about 5 miles..” and both Seth and I said there wasn’t any way. It had to be less than a mile. We were both a little nervous it would be any farther than we thought. Thankfully we dragged each other over another couple rolling hills to see a white tent with cheerful volunteers. One of the biggest mental mistakes I made during this race was taking warm soda. Usually Ginger Ale helps settle the stomach, Coke has great sugar and sodium, and even Sprite or Mountain Dew give you a nice refreshing perk. But in the middle of a hot day, soda that had been out on the table all day was depressing. It felt like chewing on granulated sugar that put a film on my teeth and tongue. I tried to regroup and chase, but Seth took off on me pretty quickly after that and I was back to dealing with my inner demons.

Unfortunately the inner demons soon became outer demons as I tried to take another gel. There hadn’t been any signs of trouble for fueling all day, but somewhere around mile 46 the formula no longer wanted to agree with my gut. One gel in, a couple gels back up and out. Maybe it was the heat or the volume of fuel already in the system for the day. Maybe it was the flavor or the extra stress on the mind and body. Whatever the case, it wasn’t an easy thing to shrug off. Especially when it happened again 20 minutes later. And then 10 minutes again after that. Officially low on calories and unable to put more in, with the heat of the day fully set in, my race was beginning to rapidly unravel.

Suddenly tenths of a mile began to feel like half-miles. The breeze we’d been able to enjoy periodically seemed to disappear altogether, and the ice in my back had long melted away. Creeping towards Kristen at the mile 51 aid station felt like a lonely, never-ending pursuit. There were even a few moments that I forgot it was a race. It was only about a half mile before the aid station when my watch buzzed for the 50 mile mark. It was then that I realized that I’d set a 50 mile PR by over 10 minutes! A crazy thought, considering I still had some gas left in the tank and a ways to go before the day was over. It was right about that time when I heard footsteps coming up quickly from behind. Another runner was catching me and preparing to pass! I kept dragging onwards but gave a little space for him to step around. It took everything to get a few hard running steps in his wake to catch the wave. Unfortunately the momentum didn’t last long and I was back to shuffling lifelessly the final bit up the rocky path to the aid station.

Kristen didn’t miss a beat. She could tell I was pale, depleted, and feeling defeated. There was never a moment of pause to figure out the next steps. I quickly explained that gels weren’t going or staying down, so she urged me to take Spring gels with me instead, the calculated backup we had discussed the night before. She draped a fresh, wet bandana over my neck and dragged me up to the timing mat near the tents so I could get out before the other runner.

Despite my collapse, I was still somehow sitting around 8th place overall with just 10 miles to go. It would take a lot of hard work to cover that distance, but Kristen reminded me that I would need to dig deep for every running step. Every spot mattered as it came down to the wire. If I put together a really strong last 10 miles, just about anything could still be possible. It took longer for me to flip the switch and there was a moment of fluster and frustration as I headed back out into the desert, determined to grind through the end of this day. The live coverage got some great footage of me trying to rally and get out of the aid with a fire lit under my ass.

I ran for as long as I could before kicking a rock, stumbling, and walking a few steps to take a sip of water. This cycle repeated for an unfortunate amount of time. I was able to get in a good zone for a while, but a half mile of continuous running seemed to be all my legs had at a time. This encouraged me to try fueling once again. A less viscous texture should slurp down easily, I thought. Sure enough something thinner did the trick with no negative repercussions, so moments later I tried again. And a few moments later, took a third Spring gel on this stretch. At least things on that front were starting to look up. But I still moseyed on at what felt like time-hemorrhaging pace. The loose rocks continued and the terrain never seemed to ease. The final couple rolling climbs were frustrating because on their own, they’d be hardly an inconvenience. But this late in the day with legs as battered as mine, they seemed to drag on. Periodically I’d glance back, knowing others were gaining. Unfortunately once I did see someone it gave me a further defeated feeling. It didn’t stop me from moving forward but it did allow me to beat myself up inside.

The self doubt reached a pinnacle as I ate a disappointingly warm piece of watermelon at the final aid station. While leaning on a water cooler refilling a cup, another runner came trotting to the aid, quickly filled their bottles, and went on their way without so much as a few words. The wonderful volunteers said that it was almost all dirt road for the 5k to the finish. All the course videos on memory confirmed that fact. Unfortunately my body had all but given up and what convinced me to leave was the idea that it was the fastest way home. The fastest way to safety, to a chair, to shade, to end the suffering. Despite a lot of training over the years on dirt roads, this felt very different. It felt like Mars. And having a couple UTVs that look like the lunar rover drive past only made that vision more real.

All that was left to do was to move forward. If that came in run-walk intervals, so be it. It just so happened that for a bunch of guys that last bit was more like run-run faster intervals and a few passed in a strung out group. It seemed like they were working together to get the job done and it would have been amazing to be able to hop on and ride that train. But as soon as they passed, the collective energy on their tail disappeared and there was no flow to hold on to. It only seemed right to grind it out alone from that point.

After dropping down to the final creekbed, the finishing arch and party can be seen from nearly a half mile away. The drone buzzed overhead and my eyes fixed on that arch. I tried to run every step but had to pause to catch one last easy breath before the final shuffle-sprint. The loose rocks challenged my aching hamstrings, which almost cried out for relief. Ascending the final little rocky hill to the finish, I remember joking with Kristen days prior, “I’m going to walk that little hill.” And she bluntly replied, “Oh no you won’t! You better not.” The exchange is all that went through my head as I tried not to fall on the baseball-sized stones.

On a number of occasions in training and race planning I’d envisioned this finish line. The emotion was a little different than I’d hoped. 13th place in 8:59:44 isn’t what I had in mind. It’s not as bad as my initial reaction would suggest, but it’s definitely not what the whole training block had prepared me for. The Black Canyon 100k got the better of me on this go-around, but it’s hard to think that this will be the last time I dance through the saguaros on the Black Canyon Trail. Who knows what the future holds (other than me not running Western States again this year), but I definitely foresee another tour of the Sonoran Desert in my future.