2017 Zion 100 Race Report

"If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon. If you want to talk to God, run an ultra."

Dean Karnazes

"If you want to find out what it is to be elementally human, run 100+ miles."

Kim Sénéchal

Let me start by saying that this has been the hardest piece I've ever written.  Maybe because the Zion 100 was the hardest race, in fact the hardest thing, that I've ever done, and I've given birth to 2 children.  Many miles of this race were incredibly awesome.  Many miles were not.  But I finished my first 100.  Here is the story.

Getting to the start line

I am a fairly new ultra-runner - this is my fourth season.  Last year I had an epic season of very successful races that left me super confident with rainbow filters in my vision.  I turned 40 in December, and decided that to celebrate my 40th year I would run my first 100.

Why Zion? I need to run in beautiful places.  I love exploring as I run, fueled by great views and new terrain.  I know now more than ever that running 100 miles is very much a mental game, and I am not inspired by looped courses or monotonous terrain.  After visiting the Grand Canyon for the GC50 last year we made a quick stop in Zion and I was awestruck by the red rock, the mesas, the cliffs.  I swore I'd be back, so when I started looking for races, Zion was at the top of my list.  It is a Western States qualifier and earns me UTMB points.  I was eager to explore the desert, Zion had a few loops but very few repeatable sections, the elevation profile was modest, and it was in the spring which meant I'd be done my training before the busy summer season began even if it meant training through a cold Canadian winter.  And I needed a reason to train through the frigid winter.

So I signed up, recruited my crew, and just when it was time to start booking flights...I was diagnosed with a stress fracture in my foot.  Enter cast boot, no running all through December when I should have been starting my training program.  I struggled with whether I should still go to Zion, and decided that I would just take each day and each week as it came and see how my body responded.  My training was very compressed, but I was able to log enough miles in Feb and Mar to feel confident enough to toe the line at Zion.

When I showed up in Utah, I was very anxious.  I was prepared logistically: gear, charts, and lists all ready to go.  But in the days leading up to the race I admit I was not at my best.  I felt undertrained, overstressed, fatigued and not really in fighting form.  I was worried that my foot would not hold up, that my legs weren't ready for the climbing, that the elevation might affect me too much.  Despite all that, I was determined to finish.  When anyone would imply that I might quit, I would get irritated.  Never ONCE did I let quitting ever enter my mind.  I never envisioned stopping.  All I thought about was continuous forward motion across that desert, because once you even open that door in your mind, it's over.  Nothing was stopping me from getting that buckle.

Race Start - 6:00am

All my crew got up to see me off at the start - even though I had told 2 of them to stay in bed - which meant a LOT to me.  Isabelle was my crew chief - she was there throughout the whole race.  Sarah is my long term friend, mentor and coach.  She was racing the 50k on Sat, but was there to support me on Friday.  And Todd was my pacer - he was about to invest an incredible amount of energy, time and patience in me, for which I will be eternally grateful.

They were going to be up as long as I was over the course of the race and we were in for a long day...or two.  Brad Whitson, another runner from Winnipeg was running the Zion 100 as well, and we started together, sticking close for most of the race.

Flying Monkey Mesa

The race started on a road that quickly narrowed into steep single track that took us straight up the Flying Monkey Mesa.  I took my poles for this section and was glad I did. The pace slowed as we climbed, which was ok with me.  I was following my rule: no heavy breathing, no burning legs.  I was only 1 mile into a 100 miler!  They had started the 100K racers after we started, and many of them were trying to pass us in this narrow section, you know, because 100K is practically a sprint compared to 100 miles! LOL  There was one section where we had to use a rope to climb up.  While waiting here I was able to get some great pictures of the sunrise, take off my headlamp as the sky brightened, and take a deep breath.  The birds were starting to sing in the pre-dawn light, and then I heard a howl.  It was hard to tell where it was coming from as the sound bounced off the rocks.  Hmmm - a wild dog?  Then the howling got closer and I had to laugh when we passed someone's domestic dog, perched on a rocky cliff, howling at the racers like a cheer leader.    Other than a few beetles and dry snake skins, this was the extent of my animal sightings during the race. A minute later we topped out at the Flying Monkey aid station (AS).  I ran right through - no need for anything yet.

Then we circled around the top of the mesa before heading back to the AS and then down the steep path we had just come up.  This would essentially become the routine for the remaining 3 mesas in the race.  Up, around, down.  The elevation at the top of this mesa was 5100' and I felt it a little bit seeing as I live at 700' above sea level, but kept my pace easy.  I grabbed a few pieces of fruit off the AS station table and headed back down the mesa towards the Dalton AS.  Just before reaching it, we had to cross a creek.  The race guide said we could cross with dry shoes if we crossed in the right place, but my feet were already mucky from a bog crossing earlier and I just plowed through the knee deep water, not bothering to wait in line for the few rocks peaking above the water.

Guacamole Mesa

My crew met me at the Dalton AS with fresh shoes and socks (in expectation of the creek crossing) and I quickly changed footwear.  They handed me a fresh pack and I was off within 5 min.  I left my poles behind for this section and I think it was a good call.  I was a little ahead of my planned pace and decided to take it easy up the road (5mi) that climbed to the top of the Guacamole Mesa.  It was starting to heat up, and I was making sure to drink regularly.  I was worried about getting dehydrated during this race, and my strategy was to drink based on thirst.  On the way up to the Guac AS, I passed Marcia.  She caught my eye because she was a machine.  She was possibly a few decades older than I was, didn't have great biomechanics (my physio eye couldn't help but notice), but I could tell she knew what she was doing.  She wasn't moving fast, but she was moving very steadily up that mountain.  Several times during this section I'd stop to walk and she would just come chugging right on up beside me, never wavering, with laser beam focus.  I wouldn't see her again until the next morning in the Virgin Desert.  'And then you'll know the rest of the story.'

I arrived at the Guac AS for the first time around 10:30am.  I had left Dalton with 1.5L of water in my bladder and 2x500mL bottles of tailwind.  All the AS jugs were empty and the volunteers were having a hard time keeping up with the demand.  I still had lots of water so I didn't waste time trying to get a few drops out of the jugs.  No worries, I just figured I'd just refill completely on my way back down.

We travelled around the Guacamole Mesa in a big 7.5 mile lollipop.  I felt great during this section.  My stomach was good, I was drinking to thirst, taking 2 salt tabs per hour, and the hamstring pain I had started the race with was gone.  I ran steadily on the slick rock, possibly too fast for this point in the race, but it felt good to find my groove.  I rolled back into the Guac AS for the second time totally out of water, with only 1 super concentrated flask of TW left (that I usually dilute enroute).  It was windy and high noon.  I was hot and dry.  And they were OUT OF WATER.  I couldn't believe it.  Six hours into a 100 mile race at mid day and they are out of water? They did have ice, so I filled my bladder to the brim with ice, and set off down the road back to Dalton Aid.  There were still people heading up this road for the first time, and I sincerely hoped that they got water up to that AS for them soon or they would be in trouble. This was my only complaint with the race organization during the whole race.  Running out of water there could have been catastrophic for many racers.  But organizing a multi-distance race that spanned 100 miles must have been a monumental task and I can't thank the race directors or the volunteers enough for putting on really awesome race.

 I ran fairly steadily down the road although not fast.  I was so dry and figured that the sooner I could get to Dalton, the sooner I'd get to water.  I could feel my feet heating up and could tell that I was getting a blister under the ball of my left foot.  I started repeating over and over what I needed to do when I got the Dalton so I wouldn't forget.  Body Glide, Blister, Eye Drops, Chapstick, Ice (in my arm sleeves).

I arrived at Dalton AS for the second time still feeling strong, but pissed off.  I had let the lack of water on Guac get to me mentally.  I was irritated that I already had a blister only 30 miles into the race.  I spent 13 min at this aid station popping blisters, changing socks, guzzling water, putting eye drops in to clean the dust out of my eyes, filling up my arm sleeves with ice (OMG that felt good).  My stomach was starting to go squirrely and I drank some broth and ate a little. Looking at pictures of myself here, I realize that I was already starting to puff up.

And it only got worse from there.  Looking back: as irritated as I was that there was no water on Guac, it was a good thing, because I was slowly becoming over-hydrated.  It was windy and the air was so dry that my throat felt like razor blades very early in the race.  I was drinking thinking that I was thirsty, but it was only a dry mouth and throat.  I had been drinking way too much and I guess 2 salt tabs an hour plus tailwind were not enough.  I would continue to swell more and more over the course of the race, not really realizing it until it was too late.  (Note all the pictures of me looking fat and bloated from henceforth on...this is why)

Gooseberry Mesa

After thanking my crew, I left Dalton AS at 1:30 pm and headed across the desert with Brad towards the Gooseberry Mesa.  After a short road rolling road section, we started up the 1600' climb that took us up to the Goosebump Aid station.  My poles were back in my hands, thank goodness.  It took us 1h22min to go 4.31 miles.  The views from that climb were amazing and I stopped a few times to take some pictures.  I still didn't realize how off my hydration was and kept drinking.  I wasn't peeing and thought I was dehydrated.  I arrived at the Goosebumps AS just behind Brad - he asked me how I was doing.  I said, "not great."  I ask him.  He said, "not great."  We dug into our drop bags, restocked our supplies, and chugged on out towards Gooseberry Point.  It was finally at this point that I noticed that my hands were really swollen.  I could hardly use my fingers.  I should have known better, but I just figured that it was the heat and the fact that my hands were hanging in a dependent position for so long.  Still didn't clue in I was getting hyponatremia.

Climbing Gooseberry Mesa

We traversed slick rock in a circle along the top of this mesa for about 12 miles.  Midway we reached the Goosepoint AS that was 0.5 miles from the Goosepoint Look out (40.5 miles).  This was the highlight of the race for me.  It was 4:30pm, the air was cooling, the views were AMAZING, and I was feeling good again.  This was what I had come for.  I snapped a few pictures.  Looked around. And continued on.

Somewhere along the slick rock trail I had locked in behind two amazing ladies - Sunny and Carol.  They were both local girls who had done this race 3 or 4 times.  They had 13 kids between the two of them, and were a wealth of information and wisdom.  They cautioned me to take it easy on the rock as running too hard on it would come back to bite me later in the race.  Even though it was relatively flat, the rock is HARD and it beats your body up more than you realize.  They were right.  In fact, they were both signed up for the Bigfoot 200 later this year and said they avoided the Moab 200 for the sole reason that Moab is all slick rock.  And slick rock is so unforgiving - I think Hokas were created by someone who ran on a lot of slick rock. So I stuck with them, chatting easily about all things under the sun (as distance runners are known to do).  I really don't talk much when I run but for some reason I enjoyed talking to these two gals.  Thanks for making the miles go by easily girls!

More about slick rock: it's never level and it grips your shoes like velcro.  Great for biking, but for a runner, this means that your foot slides a little in your shoe each footstep and my blisters were getting worse and worse.  As long as I kept moving I didn't feel them too much though. #whydidntIwearmywoolsocks?  Never again.

Top of Gooseberry Mesa

Brad had kept just slightly ahead of me during the race, but almost always within sight.  He has this crazy efficient "Sue Lucas" power hiking stride that was embarrassingly hard to keep up with, even when I was running.  We developed this routine where he would power away and make it to the aid station with time to change (into a whole new set of clothes each time I saw him, I swear), rest and eat before I arrived.  I would arrive, do what I needed to do as quickly as I could, and we would leave together for the next leg.  It was nice to know a friendly, familiar face was never that far away.

Brad Whitson at Gooseberry Point

We left Goosebump AS at 6:30pm.  It was 6.5 miles down a long easy road grade to the Grafton AS where I would see my crew again for the first time in 7 hours.  I desperately wanted to make it there well before dark so that Todd (who would start pacing me there) would be able to see some of the course in the daylight.  I also wanted to see the descent to Cemetery at sunset because Sunny said it was spectacular.  Alas, it was not to be.  During this leg, things started to go bad again and I never really rebounded.  Although I usually LOVE running downhill, my gut was turning super bad, and I could feel my forefeet macerating.  I just couldn't run easily and walked a lot of this stretch.  Every step I felt a "squish" and I knew I needed to sit down and properly deal with my blisters when I got to Grafton.  My head was foggy and  I know now that it was because my body chemistry was VERY off.

The front runners in the 100K event were headed back up the hill that we were coming down and I grunted a "great job" to each of them as they passed, running jauntily along, looking way to energetic.  Then this guy was running up to me smiling and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was my pacer, Todd.  He probably got the only true running of his entire experience in that stretch up the road to meet me lol.  I was SO GLAD to see him. I was in a dark hole at this point and just needed to get to that darn AS.

I came into Grafton (53.5 mi) at dusk, around 8:15 pm. Brad had already changed into his nighttime wardrobe, and his partner Jen was shoving food in his mouth.  I didn't feel like eating anything but knew I needed to.  Isabelle was there and told me after that she was shocked at how I looked when I arrived. In her defence she didn't know what she was looking at and had texted Sarah asking for advice.  I had swelled up something crazy during the previous 7 hours.  Looking at pictures now, I  can't believe how huge I looked.  No wonder I was applying layers and layers of body glide to avoid chafing.  Sarah told her to tell me to STOP DRINKING until I started peeing. Ok. I spent quite a while at this AS - 21 min.  Much longer than I wanted to.  I got my headlamp ready to go, changed packs, hats.  Looked at my feet and....well...it was too late.  They looked bad.  The entire forefoot region of both feet was totally blistered and macerated, deeply.  We poked a few more holes in the pockets of skin, tried to drain them, and that was it.  It was what it was.  I chugged a little chicken noodle soup broth, but did not eat enough.  I was in a vicious cycle of over-hydration, therefore lack of appetite, therefore no desire to eat, therefore no food in my system to allow any salt intake to absorb, therefore further hyponatremia.  I was taking in salt, but I was not absorbing it.  At all.  And I was not peeing. Now it's easy to look back and analyze this, but at the time I still didn't clue in.  I just felt like shit and I was so glad to have my pacer with me. This was NOT how it was supposed to be.

Cemetery

As night fell, Brad, Todd and I left together to begin a sharp 1150' descent to Cemetery AS.  I had my poles and leaned on them heavily at this point.  It was steep and there was a congo line of people hobbling down the mesa.  We encountered one man who had fallen into a cactus on the way down.  It was pitch dark by this time, so Todd and I stopped to shine our headlamps on his leg while he picked the super fine cactus quills out of his leg.  "Please God do NOT let me fall into a cactus."  We passed Sunny and Carol on their way back up the climb just ahead of us with their pacers.  Carol had her son with her and Sunny had her son's friend.  So cool.  Someday I hope my kids will want to pace their mom through her stupid crazy races.  I had been unsuccessful popping the huge blister on my right foot, and with one hard landing going down the mesa, I felt a pop.  Oh sweet relief!

We were in and out of Cemetery fairly quickly.  I chugged some Coke and ate a pickle.  Let's go.

Now for the long slug up the mesa we had just descended.  More congo lines.  Thank you GOD for my poles.  Somehow I started to perk up on this climb.  I do like climbing and turned into Chatty Cathy for a while, conversing with (I didn't even get his name) a guy whom I thought was a pacer for a while as he looked so fresh.  He was working on his PhD in sport psychology and kept me entertained with stories of his past races and experiences living in Flagstaff and Colorado.  That was the last time I really talked during the race.  Poor Todd was about to enter a long night of near total silence. Pacing is hard work, and never acknowledged enough.  That guy deserves a lot of credit.

When we arrived back at the Grafton AS, Isabelle was there with Jen.  I was pretty confused at this point and we couldn't see them in the dark.  We refilled our water, and I started devouring quesadillas and pickles.  I told Todd that we couldn't wait for them, that I just needed to get going, when we saw them.  Of course they were where they were the last time we went through, but my world had narrowed and what I couldn't see within the beam of my headlamp didn't exist.

I spent 15 min here eating.  I was suddenly very hungry.  Maybe the cool night air and less drinking water had allowed my body to start to regain equilibrium.  I devoured 4 quesadillas, a cheese stick, pickles (couldn't get enough of these although they hold NO nutritional value) and chicken noodle soup.  I had no desire for anything sweet.

We left Grafton AS at 11:45pm to go back up the long road that we had come down from Gooseberry Mesa.  It took me almost 2 hours to cover 6.25 miles.  Brad power hiked away in the darkness as I struggled to keep up, feeling totally demoralized.  This was not supposed to be the way it was to go.  My pacer would join me and we would run.  I stared at the circle of light my headlamp created...and wretched.  I basically puked my way up that whole climb.  All I could do was walk.  I wanted to run and I just couldn't.  I felt like such a poser.  Here I was an "ultra runner." I was just over half way done this "race" and I could barely walk.  The only good thing about this stretch was that I finally started peeing.  I finally started to eliminate all that fluid I had been hauling around for about 25 miles.  I must have gained 10+ lbs and I swear I was stopping 3-4x/hour to pee, astounded at the volume of fluid leaving my body.  Thank goodness it was under cover of night in the middle of the desert, but it cost me a lot of time.

During this time, Todd got me going on the "airborne shuffle."  My husband is in the military and Todd is a veteran, so it seemed natural that he suggested that I try the shuffle.  I would walk anything uphill, but I would try to shuffle anything downhill or somewhat flat.  It was not really running.  It was not pretty.  But it made my feet bear weight differently for brief periods of time and that was good.  I had been avoiding climbing on the balls of my feet ever since my blisters got bad, and by then I had replaced blister pain with intense achilles tendon and heel pain.  So I wasn't comfortable on my forefoot and I wasn't comfortable on my rearfoot.  The shuffle seemed to mix it up enough that I could keep going.

"Let go, heel toe" became the mantra of the night.  I credit Todd with keeping me moving steadily along.  For hours and hours.

We topped out at the Goosebumps AS with a very quick stop, and left there at 1:41am.  I don't really remember much of this period, other than a very slow, very painful descent down the climb that we had come up at mile 34.  It was now mile 70 and if I hadn't had my poles I know I would have just tipped gently over the edge of the cliff and fallen to my demise.  Maybe a little melodramatic, but I was seriously depleted at this point.  I was not keeping calories in me at all.  And once at the bottom of this descent, I knew I had a 6+ mile stretch of road through the Virgin Desert to traverse before reaching the Virgin AS.  My watch died just after the 20 hour mark, and I had to rely on Todd's watch after that.  I had expected this, but didn't realize how much I relied on my watch to keep me on track until then.  Without a reference point with regards to time left to aid and elapsed time, I totally fell off my eating and drinking schedule or whatever there was left of it.

I continued to puke and pee, shuffle, and walk.  I remember dry heaving mid-stride as I was running.  I knew nothing was going come out, and it was pointless to stop.  So onward we went.  We crossed some low places that I could see would be really bad if there was lots of rain and water on the course as there had been last year. This year it was dry and the wind really whipped up on the desert, blasting dust and sand into our faces.  My contacts were getting really gritty and even with my eye drops, my eyes were so sore that I ended up just closing my eyes during each gust and waiting for it to pass.  This is definitely the non-glamorous part of ultra running.

Virgin Desert

All through this section we could see Brad's light just ahead of us, and FINALLY, we turned a corner and arrived at the Virgin Desert AS at 4:26am.  At 3:51 I had officially gone longer than ever before, and was only slightly ahead of my Fat Dog 70 pace but in a race with a LOT less climbing.  I was trying not to get down on myself here.  So hard.

Isabelle was waiting at Virgin with a fresh pack and a smile. I tried desperately to eat something but nothing would go down.  Coke was all that seemed to agree with me.  Despite eliminating water all night long, Iz said that I still looked really puffy when I arrived.  To my crew's credit, they really worked hard to help me get my electrolytes back into balance.  Despite looking horrible and having a foggy brain, I never felt that horrid headache or heart palpitations that can come with hyponatremia.  I honestly never felt that I was in actual danger medically, other than possibly just before dark the previous day.

I changed shorts, ditched my pack because my shoulders were very sore, and headed out for the first of 3 loops around the Virgin Desert before the final leg home.  Four more legs.  I can do this.

The Red Loop was the first and shortest of the 3.  There was a lot of confusion about the length of each loop and discrepancy between the published splits and what the volunteers were telling us.  The sun came up on this loop, but it barely registered.  I was in full-on robot mode by then, shuffling when Todd told me to shuffle, walking when he told me to walk.  He was doing exactly what I need him to do. I still had my poles in my hands, but my arms were getting as tired as my legs.  Red Loop done at 6:33 am.  Sarah had just started her 50K race and was likely sprinting up Gooseberry Mesa by this point in the lead pack.  I was right.

Isabelle was set up really well at this aid station and it was too easy to just sit down and rest between loops.  I needed to eat something, but I also just wanted the race to be done, and getting up and going again after sitting down was worse than just continuing to move.  It took about 5 minutes for my blisters to numb out each time we set out, during which time I seemed to creep along as Todd gently told me to keep moving.  Ok, maybe gently is not the right word.  Firmly is better.  But that was what he was supposed to do and what I needed.

The White Loop was very flat and boring.  Nothing to look at, no variety in the terrain.  I had gone all night waiting to see something other than Todd's feet in front of me, and I was not to be rewarded here.

'And now for the rest of the story.'

 It was then that we came upon a lady walking ahead of us with a crazy list to the left side.  She seemed to be dragging her right leg, but was steadily moving forward.  Todd told me to keep moving (lest I forget LOL) and ran up ahead to check on her.  As I approached, I saw that it was Marcia.  For much of the race she had obviously been well ahead of me and I was seriously humbled, but now the physio in me could see she was not doing well.  I could barely process anything at this point, but I am a healer by profession and helping people is automatic for me.  When I saw a woman with a serious gait deviation who would benefit greatly from an assistive device, obviously I gave her my poles.  I hadn't been using them much on the flat trail and after a brief moment of hesitation, she gratefully accepted them.  I made sure they were adjusted to her size (of course - because any assistive device must ensure optimal posture and biomechanics), got her full name and the location where she was staying and continued on.  It amazes me that I remembered her name at all in the state that I was in.  I may have been foolish for giving her my poles, but I had Todd's as back up.  She ended up finishing.  I helped her.  That's all the mattered to me.

Finishing the White Loop - Todd pulling me along

Blue Loop - I barely look recognizable

White Loop done at 8:45am.  The Blue Loop was anywhere between 4.1 and 7.5 miles depending on who you talked to.  Jen consoled me with the fact that I only had a 1/2 marathon left. I actually rejoiced.  I changed shorts again because my new pair were absolutely too small.  Shorts that were baggy and loose normally were tight around my swollen legs.  Craziness.  I took Todd's poles for the rest of the race, which were not adjustable and too tall for me, but it didn't matter at this point.  My biomechanics was completely pathetic.  Not a great example of form in the least.  I had a little fun identifying the gait patterns that I periodically adopted. Ok, I was being a nerd.  But I was existing on a totally different plane by then.

This loop would have been beautiful if it hadn't been so bloody long.  I had hope to be almost done by then, and despite my best efforts I just couldn't move my body very fast at all which frustrated me to no end.  But Todd patiently kept chugging on ahead of me and I just followed.   It rained a little which perked me up (I love rain), and I looked up to see the top of Gooseberry Mesa shrouded in grey, where Sarah was currently running.  I hoped the slick rock wasn't getting too slick for her.

The Final Leg

Finally we made it back to the Virgin AS and got ready for the final push to the finish.  Six miles left. "No," Isabelle told me, "8 miles."  WHAT?!!!  Yep, they had moved the finish line since last year and my split chart was off again.  At the end of a 100 miler, adding 2 more miles is just cruel.  We had been told that the race was officially 102.6 miles, and now I saw where it was added.  I struggled not to cry, stood up, and mustered all the strength I had left in me.  I certainly was not about to waste all that suffering, pain and puking to quit now.  And this was what what I came for.

8 more miles...

The next 3 miles was a beautiful, gradual, downhill stretch of red single track that I somehow found the energy to run fairly steadily.  I have passed 100 and 120 miler racers on the trail in previous races and always given them room, trying not to startle them or make them move when I passed them on the trail.  There is a reason for that, and now I had personal experience from the other side of the equation.  Todd ran behind me, flat out telling people (those perky 50K runners who still looked too damn fresh) to move around me, that I was finally running well and that I was not moving off the trail for anyone.  I had to smile.  Yep, they could go around me.  Thanks Todd.  Unfortunately at the end of that downhill stretch my tank ran dry.  The last 5 miles were the longest minutes and miles of my life.  I am choking up right now writing this.  There were endless false summits and endless tempting turns towards the finish that then reversed away up into the hills.

When I finally saw the finish line, I pictured videos of people I have seen passing out just before the finish line.  "Don't pass out, don't pass out."  I didn't pass out and I ran across that line in 31.5 hours - well after my goal time, but well before the cut off.

"102.6 miles, because 100 just isn't enough."

My crew was there to greet me and I collapsed into their arms, sobbing with sweet relief.  Thank-you just isn't enough when it comes to what my crew did for me.  They gave me a gift that money cannot buy - the gift of their time and support so I could achieve my goal. Thank-you from the bottom of my heart guys.

Brad and Jen: thanks so much for all your support and words of wisdom and encouragement. Brad: you raced well.  Congratulations on your finish and I hope to race with you again sometime. My crew also included my husband and kids at home.  They sent me videos that Isabelle played for me in the middle of the night to keep me going and were my cheerleaders from afar.  I love you guys.

I need to mention that Sarah (@wildseads) completely ROCKED her 50K race and earned herself a podium finish.  So proud of that girl.

And I owe a HUGE thank-you to Salming Running Canada for providing me with my running shoes.  I ran the race in the T3's and EnRoutes, and was very happy with both.  I do not attribute my blisters to my shoes.

The 2017 Zion 100 was my first 100 miler.  I achieved my goal in finishing it, but I can honestly say I'm disappointed with how I ran the race.  I guess we all have to start somewhere, and I have a lot to learn.  I know better than to let my nutrition get so out of whack and I'm disappointed in myself for doing that.  They say that the person who eats the most fairs the best.  That definitely was not me during this race.  I walked a LOT more than I expected to due to lack of calories and blisters.  I knew I'd be trekking and hiking up the climbs, but I am still struggling to make peace with the fact that I walked so much of the course.

One hundred miles is far.  It's really far. It's really really far.

Will I do another one?  I know better than to say never.  I qualified for States, so of course I'll have to put my name into the lottery this fall.  But I have a lot to fine tune before I attempt another 100 miler.

Am I glad I did it?  Absolutely.  No regrets.  The course was amazingly beautiful.  The desert is very unforgiving but oh so interesting.  I learned so much about myself during that day in the desert.  Now nothing seems impossible.  Billy Yang just released an amazing film entitled "Life in a Day."  That's exactly what a 100 miler is.  Life in a Day. You start feeling youthful and energetic and end up feeling positively archaic.  There are highs and lows, euphoric victories and feelings of utter defeat, connections with people and places, lessons learned.  Anything can happen in a 100 miler and anything can happen in life.  Any day any one of us can wake up unable to run.  Unable to do the things that we dream about most.  Do we all dream about running 100 miles?  No.  But we all have goals.  We all have secret dreams.  What are you waiting for?

102.6 miles, because 100 just isn't enough...and tomorrow may be too late.

And repeat...

Race Report: Grand Canyon Ultras - 50 Miler (May 21, 2016)

Last weekend I completed the Grand Canyon 50 Miler.  What an amazingly awesome experience.

The short version: I ran well, had a lot of fun and took loads of pictures.  I finished in 10:58, 21st overall, 6th female, 3rd AG which was my best ultra finish ever.

The long version: Read on should you dare.  This is my diary of the day and it was a LONG day.  I’ve tried to choose the best pictures which was not an easy task! If you ever plan to run this race (and I believe everyone should), this is a detailed account of the course.

THE DAY BEFORE

I left for the airport at 5:30am on Friday, the day before the race.  A 3 hour flight from Winnipeg, MB brought me to Vancouver, BC where I met up with my dear friend and running partner Sarah (@wildseads).  We had a 3 hour layover at YVR and grabbed a big breakfast too kick off our pre-race day fueling attempt to get as many calories into our bodies as possible before 4pm.

We knew once we landed in Las Vegas, we still would have a 4.5 hour drive out to the race start where we planned to sleep in our car as there were no hotel rooms available in the Grand Canyon for that night when we had registered for the race.  We were not sure what food options we would have once we left Vegas.  I was rather anxious about not having a bed, proper bathroom or hot coffee the morning of the race, not to mention that we had just received an email from the RD that it was VERY cold (2C) with a biting wind at the top of the plateau where the race start was situated.

Monument Point

Our flight was delayed so we were still in the airport when my cell phone rang with the most welcome information that a room had come available at the Kaibab Lodge for that night.  Did we want it?  I excitedly replied that we did and we celebrated that we would not need to use our sleeping bags and thermarests that night.  If our flight had been on time, we would have missed the call.  Thank-you Lord!

Our celebration was short lived however, because once we boarded the flight we sat at the gate for over an hour waiting for a plane from Osaka with 31 passengers connecting to Vegas.  Even if our flight had been on time, we knew that we would be cutting it tight to get to the race start for the 8pm cut off to leave our drop bags.  The course is very remote and they needed time to transport the bags to the appropriate aid stations for the next day,  As the clock ticked and we waited and waited, I began working on a plan B in case we missed the DB cut off.

I had planned to leave a DB at North Timp (21.5mi) and Parisawampits (36.5mi) with extra nutrition, an extra pair of shoes, socks, lighter clothes and a battery charger.  My plan had been to travel as light as possible, leaving gear I didn’t need anymore more in the drop bags and picking up what I needed along the way.  I like to eat pretty much all my own food during a race - I’ve learned that eating what I know works for me is much safer than relying only on food at aid tables.  The DB’s were all packed, labelled and ready.  Faced with the possibly of needing to carry everything I would need for the whole day set my mind to racing.  Then I remembered something my friend and Manitoban training partner Todd had texted me a few hours earlier:

“Be ready to adapt if you need to like I had to. Whatever problem you "might" encounter is not a set back but learning to adapt fast for it. Everything you need will be on a table or you'll be carrying. Take it in stride and go."

Little did he know how truly on-point his words of wisdom would turn out to be the next day.

We finally made it to Vegas, picked up our rental car, looked at the clock and accepted that no drop bags were happening that night.  So we stopped for another meal of burritos and started the 3rd leg of our journey to the land before time - driving from Las Vegas to the Kaibab Lodge.  As we drove, we started seeing elevation signs showing that we were ascending quite high.  I knew that the race was a net loss course, starting at 9000’ and ending at approx 7000’, but I had been so focused on the course profile and net change in elevation that I had failed to register that the whole thing is run at quite a high altitude.  Especially for someone living at 700’ above sea level.  I naively asked Sarah if she thought it would be an issue, and she replied, “Of course it will.  The elevation will affect you.”  I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that, but it turned out to be good thing because there was nothing I could do about it, and I hadn’t wasted time or energy stressing about it.  At the Lodge we tore apart our drop bags, repacked and crashed.

RACE DAY

We got a good 6 hours of sleep that night and woke to a cold wind blowing and a gorgeous sunrise.  I am a person of faith, and that morning was my Sabbath.  As I walked out to the car at 5:00am, I stood looking at the sky and silently said a prayer of thanks and gratitude to God for bringing me to this incredible place, healthy and strong.  I vowed that the day was going to be a day of worship and thanksgiving no matter what happened.  He had brought me so far, and it seemed only fitting that I spend the day with Him.  For the first time, I consciously invited God to run with me that day, and told Him we were going to have a lot of fun.

“I can’t believe I’m really here"

And we were off to the race start.  It was a classically simple ultra running start ceremony of, “here’s your bib, trucker hat and shirt….Ready, GO!”

“Ok Lord, let’s run”

Leg 1: Start - Squaw Canyon

Elapsed: 9.0 miles 1:22

The first 20 miles of the course was a slow gradually downhill stretch along smooth double track, dropping from 9000’ to 7500’ in elevation.  I LOVE running downhill, and I usually go out too fast, and I vowed not to do that this time.  The first 5 miles I averaged a perfect 10:00 pace.  At first it was hard to hold back and I kept pulling myself back. By about 3 miles in I noticed I was breathing way too heavy for my pace.  I couldn’t seem to catch my breath and it started to worry me.  Had I tapered enough?  Was the long day of travel the day before affecting me now?  I shouldn’t be breathing this hard!  I had fallen into step with Brandy, a cool gal from Michigan. As we were getting to know each other I told her I needed to slow down, that I couldn’t get my breath.  “Oh, it’s the elevation”, she said.  Duh.  Of course!  I was so relieved!  It wasn’t me!

As we continued to run, our pace started slowing.  Then I started to notice runners all around me starting to walk.  Before long, all I could manage was about 20 steps of running, followed by short bouts of walking to catch my breath.  My vision started to swim and I felt dizzy.  Then I noticed that I was weaving back and forth on the trail, and my legs started feeling like jello.  No lactic burn like they usually do when fatigued from work, but almost disconnected from my body. I was very lucky that there were no major climbs in this section, because I could barely run downhill.  Even so, we rolled into Squaw Canyon Aid in less than the 1:30 that I had predicted.  They had a whole bar laid out on the table - thanks but no thanks.  I’m already dizzy and it’s only 7:22 am.  Alcohol is not going help right now! LOL  I grabbed a strawberry and continued on, just ahead of Brandy.

Leg 2: Squaw Canyon - Stina

Elapsed: 14.5 miles 2:15

About a mile out of the aid station the nausea started to hit.  I felt horrid.  My friend had set my watch up to tell me to eat every 45 min and take my salt pills every 60 min.  As the reminders started coming, I continued forcing food and pills into me, gagging the whole time.  As I stood on the side of the trail doubled over trying to keep things down, Brandy passed me asking if I was alright.  I replied,

“Nothing lasts forever.  We’re going down!”

And I repeated this mantra over and over again.  I knew that I had to keep eating and drinking.  Even though I felt like crap, if I didn’t stay on top of my nutrition, it was only going to get worse.  I had made that mistake before and sure as hell I wasn’t going to do it again. I went to check my laminated card with my cut offs, splits and elevation chart and found that I had dropped it sometime before.  Oh well, good thing I had it memorized.  It was at this point that I took stock and surrendered to the reality that this wasn’t going to be the race that I had hoped.  I was going disgustingly slowly.  But I was going to finish and I was going to see the Grand Canyon.  I decided to just let go and let the race unfold as it would.

I had been reading “How Bad Do You Want It?” by Matt Fitzgerald on the flight the day before.  My favourite chapter so far is entitled, ‘The Art of Letting Go.”  In it Matt discusses how being self-conscious and internally focused can sabotage endurance performance.

“Pressure induced self-consciousness also harms performance by reducing movement efficiency.  Athletes move more efficiently when their when their attention is focused on key features of their environment rather than their own body.”  He mentioned a 2011 German study that “observed that runners consume more energy at a fixed pace when they thought about their body movements or their breathing than they did when they concentrated on the external environment.”   Simply put, “self consciousness increases perceived effort.”

I remembered this, and consciously chose not to pay attention to my symptoms of hypoxia, but to focus on the amazing scenery around me.  I was running through the forest, with big trees loosely spaced apart. The trail varied from a carpet of ponderosa pine needles, to red ribbon single track.  The colour of the dirt changed from light brown to red and back again. The double track changed to single track, then to no track.  We followed pink flags through grassy meadows and across rocky plateaus where no path existed.  I had yet to see my first glimpse of the Grand Canyon, but it had been so long since I had run in the forest that I simply enjoyed the smell of the pine and the angle of the sun as it filtered through the trees.

At the 20 mile mark we had descended to approx 7600’ which was the average altitude for the majority of the remaining part of the course.

Leg 3: Stina - North Timp

21.5 miles 3:53

I barely remember being at the Stina aid station, but I do remember repeating mantras and slowly moving along with “continuous forward progress.”  My first 3rd mantra is usually, ‘When in doubt, go slower.’  It became, ‘There is no doubt.  I’m going slower.'  And I made peace with that.

And then we reached our first view point (3:09), and after that focusing on the external environment was an easy task.

The Grand Canyon is basically a scar on the earth, but it’s still a breathtakingly majestic feature that makes you realize how small you are and how great our physical world is.  As I ran, I thought about how the earth must have looked at creation, versus how it looks now.  If this imperfect world can take my breath away, I couldn’t help but wonder what heaven will be like.

"All is have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

We had finished our long descent and were now flirting up and down between 7600’ and 7700’.  I realized as I continued on that I was running longer periods without needing to walk.  It was getting hotter and I was starting to feel warm in my long sleeved shirt and high socks. I hadn’t been needing much water up until this point, but I was getting dry and mentally starting reviewing what I needed to do when I got to North Timp.

Leg 4: North Timp - Locust (water drop)

Elapsed: 27.5 mi

At North Timp Aid I filled up my water bottles, started using Tailwind, and put 0.5L into my bladder just in case 1L wasn’t enough to get me to the next water drop.  I quickly changed into a short sleeved shirt, changed to ankle socks, grabbed some watermelon and a potato, and made a quick exit.  This was the longest aid station stop I made during the race. The volunteers there were fantastic and I appreciated them directing me to what I needed as I stumbled around in my still slightly hypoxic state.

We started passing more epic views of the canyon and I couldn’t wait to see more.  I stopped for pictures, and tried not to trip as I ran while looking to my left over the canyon.  The water drop came up much faster than I expected.  It was supposed to be at 6 miles, but there it was at 3.5 miles.  I topped up my bottles anyways, thinking that someone might have placed the drop early by mistake and that it could be a LONG stretch to Fence Aid.  I ended up being correct and was really glad I had the extra water.

Leg 5: Locust - Fence

Elapsed: 30.5miles, 6:12

Somewhere during this stretch, something happened.  All of a sudden I felt like I had just started running, like someone had dropped the clutch and shifted my into 5th gear. I found myself smiling and lightly prancing my way along the increasingly technical trail effortlessly.  I had gone from struggling to breathe and feeling dizzy, to feeing strong and light in what seemed like a matter of minutes (but in reality was probably an hour).  I must have descended far enough for long enough to restore my O2 saturation level. The trail had gotten really interesting - lots of rocks and twisty turns, continual ups and downs.  The kind of running I had been craving since leaving BC 9 months ago.  I cruised into Fence Aid 50 km into the race, feeling like a million bucks.  They asked me how I was doing, and I replied exuberantly, “I’m doing GREAT!  Now…”

Little did I know that Sarah had left this aid station just 10-15 minutes before I arrived after walking out after an injury left her unable to run further in her 50K race.  As my run turned for the better, hers was over.  Hers is her own story to tell.

Leg 6: Fence - Parisawampits

Elapsed: 36.5 miles, 7:30

After grabbing more watermelon and water, I ran strongly out of Fence Aid, yelling a, “See ya later guys!” to the awesome volunteers before starting my favorite part of the race.  I simply could not believe that I was now 50K into an 80K race and I felt absolutely spectacular.  I had been running/walking so slowly during the first half while continuing to force food into my body, that now that I had oxygen in my blood, my muscles were super fueled, glycogen loaded, and ready to go!  The best thing that had happened to me had been the altitude sickness.  It forced me to start SLOW, and I was about to have the best last third I had ever had in a race.  I noticed other runners slowing down, but I LOVED the more technical terrain and danced along the trail grinning from ear to ear.

Looking back now, I realized I was experiencing what Matt Fitzgerald calls a state of “flow.” He defines this as a complete immersion in a purposeful activity. “Endurance athletes describe the flow state as one in which they seem to become the thing they are doing. The part of the brain that normally watches the task at hand vanishes, leaving the athlete able to focus externally in a way that feels right and yields better performance.  Brain waves drop down to low frequency beta and theta waves, and neurotransmitter chemicals are released such as norepinephrine and endorphins."

I didn’t need a brain scan to know what was happening.  I just felt good.  This is why ultra runners get addicted.

Leg 7: Parisawampits - Crazy Jug

Elapsed: 42 miles

At Parisawampits, I was nearly out of fuel. I had carried enough solid fuel to last me 9 hours, plus Tailwind to supplement.  I grabbed 2 gels, ate another potato and watermelon, and filled my water bottles.  The next few legs were really short, but it was hot and I was just barely staying hydrated enough.  My lips were still wet, which was a good sign.  

Immediately after leaving Parisawampits, the run got even better.  We descended into a gully and then had to climb out of it.  The course took us up and down repeatedly, often climbing hands over feet.  It was hard, but it was stimulating and I loved it.  It reminded me of the running I had done on Vancouver Island, BC for over a decade, and I had been craving the variety of a super technical, quad blowing run.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that my feet totally remembered what to do, and that the shoes choice I had made earlier that morning still proved to be a good one (Salming Elements, shoe review to come). Other runners later complained after the race that this part was hard, but I strangely found I had the stamina and strength to continue at a steady pace while still have FUN with good form and NO PAIN! Not one bit.  This was unusual for me and I silently thanked my running buddy (God) for giving me wings to fly at that moment. I may have been flying slowly, but I was totally focused and in control almost 42 miles into a 50 mile race.  Amazing.  Mind blowing.

Coming into Crazy Jug there was a short out and back section where we had to punch our bibs, before ascending to the very busy aid station.  Runners had to enter this aid station from one direction, proceed to Monument Point in another direction, return and then head to the finish in a third direction.  Volunteers were busy directing runners and making sure we were taken care of.  THANK YOU volunteers.  You were amazing.

Leg 8: Crazy Jug - Monument Point

Elapsed: 45 miles

If I hadn’t gotten the views or the scenery that I had hoped for during the previous 42 miles, then I was about to get what I came for during the last 8.  The first 1.5 miles of this leg was down a long dirt road to the start of the Monument Point climb.  I ran hard down the road, knowing that with only 8 miles left I could stop being cautious.  Once we started climbing to Monument Point I pulled out the GoPro, put it on time lapse, and again tried not to fall off the edge of the cliffs while gawking at the scenery before me.  We reached the turn around point, I punched my bib again, and stood looking out at the grandeur of creation that stretched before me.  It was with tremendous effort that I tore myself away from the view that was so surreal it looked almost fake.  My trip was almost over.

Leg 9: Monument Point - Crazy Jug

Elapsed: 48 miles, 10:45

Another playful 1.5 miles of technical trail lead to a final 1.5 mile death march up the long road I had just descended.  No one was running now, and we hiked up that road counting the footsteps until we reached Crazy Jug again.  My stomach was going squirrelly again, and I spent a few minutes there drinking chicken broth, taking a gel and using the eco-friendly facilities.  I glanced at my watch and saw that I had 15 minutes to make my 11 hour goal.

Leg 10: Crazy Jug - Finish

Elapsed: 50 miles 10:58

I bid farewell to the volunteers, encouraged a fellow runner who was struggling with the residual effects of altitude sickness, and took off down the last 2 mile descent to the finish.  I ran hard, and finished in 10:58.  

"Thank you Lord.  That was epic."

I was shocked to find out that I had finished 21st overall, 6th female and 3rd in my AG. After a few hours hanging out at the finish line by a campfire, I went in search of Sarah (whom I had expected to see there), only to find out that she hadn’t had the race she had hoped.  I was devastated to hear her news, but so thankful for her company and presence during the weekend.

PROLOGUE

I am most happy with the fact that I finished the race feeling strong and pain-free with loads of pictures of the canyon. I am also very satisfied to note that the other 5 women who finished ahead of me were all from places like Flagstaff AZ and Moab or Salt Lake City UT.  For a flatlander from Winnipeg (elevation 700’) I felt I did pretty darn well.  This race didn’t have any epic climbs or a crazy amount of elevation gain, but it was a perfect race to give me confidence in my training strategies leading into my next goal.

Thank-you to the Ultra Adventures Team for putting on such a great and logistically complicated race - you gave us all the gift of experiencing the Grand Canyon in the coolest way possible. Thank-you to the volunteers who committed hours of their day to helping weary runners achieve their goals.  Most importantly of all, thank-you to my husband and kids.  For everything.  For allowing me the time to train.  For sacrificing precious weekend time so that mommy could run.  For believing in me and supporting me along my journey.  I would not be able to do this without you guys.

What did I learn from this race?

• It’s possible to have a better back end than front half when you start slowly and cautiously, even when the last half is supposed to be harder. I know this, but I’ve never truly experienced it.
• Forcing yourself to eat even when your whole body revolts is super important.  I ate more on this race than I ever had before.  And it worked.
• Letting go and adapting on the fly is a practiced skill that pays off.
• And finally, inviting God on my runs will never be optional again.

Next Goal: Fat Dog 70 - Aug 12, 2016

Stats:

Distance: 50 miles

Time: 10:58:39

Average Moving Pace: 12:36 min/mi

Best Pace: 7:05 min/mi

Elevation: Min 7047’ Max 9178’

Gain: 4304’  Loss: 6411’ (on my Garmin)

Calories Burned: 4631

Nutrition:

Approx 3060cal (278/hr)  615 mg caffeine

2 Pro Bars: Meal (750cal)

4 SunRype Fruit Bars (480cal)

9 scoops Tailwind (315mg caffeine 900cal)

3 Clif Shot Blok Pkgs (Black Cherry) (300mg caffeine, 600cal)

2 Hammer Gels (180cal)

1 potato (110cal)

1 strawberry

3 pretzels

1 handful potato chips

3 slices watermelon

Gear:

Shoes: Salming Elements

Pack: Salomon S-Lab 12set

Watch: Garmin Forerunner 920XT (40% charge remaining in Smart Mode, all wifi and bluetooth functions off)

Salming Elements - See my shoe review here!