The Jemez Mountain Trail Run 50K
I drove up Friday taking about 2:15 to get to Los Alamos. Check in was easy, I got number 685 – nice and divisible by five, with numbers that are in my birthdate. I might be a closet numerologist. The pasta feed was unremarkable. At the course talk we were reminded that many people have gotten lost in previous years (and I was one of them during the ½ marathon last year!).
The North Road Inn was nice – we had three bedrooms, and a kitchen/living area. Not fancy schmancy, but really perfect for our needs. Amy, Jane and Steve went out for dinner, eschewing the pasta and Ragu. While waiting for them to get back to the inn, Ken, Josh and I played a little “oh Heck.” Tough to play with three people, we all ended up with terrible scores, with Ken winning by a lot. Tim came in and packed his camelbak for the next day. I had made up possible time scenarios – three of them, but I felt they might all be too ambitious (8 hrs, 8.5 hrs, 9:10). Ken gave me some estimates on when he’d reach certain points, so I tried to add an appropriate number of hours onto his times, then compared that to my time estimates. My gut said I might finish in about 10 hours. To stay on that target I thought I should reach the top of Caballo (11.9 mi) in 3:30, then the ski lodge (19.8 mi) in 6 hours. Then the finish in 10 hrs. I thought I could remember these targets no matter how tired I was.
Before the race weekend I put a lot of importance on how I would do in the 50K. If I couldn’t finish in around 9 hours (please at least under 10…), I didn’t see how I’d be able to finish Leadville, even with a year and a half to work on it. I’ve been running a lot and loving it, but if I haven’t gotten any faster, any more endurance… I’d have to lower my sights a bit. Maybe change how I’ve been training. On the other hand, I thought – how cool! Try something that will be beautiful and challenging. Do it with friends. See what happens. No matter the outcome, no matter what the clock says, what my GPS says, being out there can feel amazing, like I am a part of the whole course. Let’s go! I can’t really say which half was louder….
About 9 pm, Jane, Steve and Amy return, we all talk over what we’ll wear, food we’ll carry, weather, the course… And I take an Ambien and head to bed. The ambien ensured that I fell asleep readily enough, but it doesn’t exactly KEEP me asleep. I woke up a few times, but all in all, I got more and better sleep than I usually do.
Wake (5:00). Dress. Oatmeal. Coke. Pack up the car. Steve rides over with me. Although tempted, I did not subject Steve to any Mo Karaoke. Check-in. Wait 20 minutes.
Start.
I seeded myself to the middle back. This is a funky course that covers a lot of ground – not just a simple out and back. The first 6.4 miles were part of the ½ marathon course last year. We climbed up to Guaje ridge – I was still with people at this point. 43 minutes to Mitchel trail head ahead of schedule. The climb to the ridge, I hiked. I knew I had lots of climbing ahead, so I held it steady. I reached the ridge at 1:35, right on schedule.
After Guaje ridge, we went down a treacherous trail, loose scree, narrow with a steep drop to one side, uneven surfaces. I thought I’d be picking up speed here, but after I put a foot wrong and my leg shot out from under me I lost my nerve. So, I cautiously descended. At the bottom, we followed a stream up the canyon. It was gorgeous down there – Golden Pea flowers bobbed near the flowing water. And it was quiet in a way – closed in, blanketed by the sound of the water. Soft trail underfoot (though still uneven) wound up the canyon, crossing the water at five points or so. The stream was wide enough I had to jump each time – which makes me feel like a kid. At one point the trail leads to an iron ladder to the side of a 12 ft tall cement holding wall over which the water fell. In my time estimates, I underestimated how I’d handle the gradual climb here up the canyon – I hiked quite a bit. I tried to dodge the feeling of uncertainty in how I was doing by enjoying the surroundings.
I reached the base of Caballo, ate and drank, filled my water bottles, and started up. (I did very well on nutrition and hydration on this race.) The climb was hard. I was with a group of 6 or so to start, but soon we broke up each going our own pace. It was hard work, but that was to be expected. There were runners headed down on the same path, and I see Tim on the 50 mile course – he looked like he was concentrating pretty hard. Not too much farther up, Ken comes shooting down the trail and he tells me to be careful coming down because the footing is loose. He looked good, relaxed and efficient. Lucky dog. A little while later (which, when climbing slowly, seems like an eternity) Jean runs down toward me, with Maria just off her shoulder. Wow, they look great. Then Amy comes down, and not far behind her is Steve, who tells me I’m not far from the top. And you know what? He wasn’t lying. It’s a pet peeve of mine that people tell me I’m not far, and then it turns out their definition of not far, and my definition of not far are NOWHERE near the same thing. Of course, the tricky thing about “not far” is that it depends on how good or bad I’m feeling. The worse off I am, the shorter my definition of not far actually is. This does make it a bit difficult for others to pinpoint, I concede. I reach the top, and it’s nippy up there! The volunteers are wrapped in sleeping bags. Admire the view, and around the cone I go, back down the mountain. I check my watch, and I was right on target – 3:30. “I guess it will take me 10 hours,” I think. *sigh* On the downhill I start to feel better, and I move downhill well, passing several people, maybe 8.
I had really examined the course profile, so when I reached the bottom of Caballo and the aid station volunteer said, “there, you’re done climbing! The rest is downhill.” - I knew he was oh-so-wrong. In fact, the next non-unsubstantial climb started almost immediately past the aid station. My climbing muscles were tired, but I plugged and chugged, hiked up the switchbacks. People ahead of me were starting to slow down. At the top, I started jogging immediately. After 30 seconds or so, the legs feel weak, like I should stop, but I don’t. I know that feeling will pass if I keep jogging. It does. I passed more people now, as they continued walking. My legs felt tired, but still ok – no cramps, I was still moving pretty easily. I reached pipeline in a running groove. Drank some coke – 2 cups. Water, tried a boiled potato, ate something salty. I didn’t really dig the boiled potato. But my stomach didn’t care too much and it handled everything I threw down my gullet. Maybe I paused here too long, as some of the guys I passed got to the station and headed out before I did. So, right, Ken says this isn’t a sight-seeing trip, so let’s go. I’m running, but most aren’t anymore. Some give me envious looks as I pass them. I feel good. Just 3 miles to the ski lodge, and I suddenly think that I’m getting ahead of schedule. That fuels me. This section was fun – I had been here 2 times in the winter skiing and it was a kick to suddenly be somewhere that was both familiar, and unfamiliar with all the snow gone. I saw Amy, and then Steve on this section as they are headed back to pipeline. This section is great to run on – wooded and rolling, wide trails. Before I know it, I’m at the ski lodge, and they cheer as I run in. ok, that’s a bit odd – but I’m happy to be there, so maybe the cheering is for my big smile. I hit the aid station at 5:25, ahead of schedule.Wahoo!
MMmmm, ham and cheese wrap. More coke. More water, Gatorade, etc. Bathroom – I’m dehydrated, despite the cool weather and my drinking like a fish. *sigh* More water. More sunscreen. And I head out leaving the station feeling great at 5:33. Awesome! Let’s get back to pipeline and then get down to the finish. I thought maybe I’d have problems running back to pipeline – it’s slightly uphill. But I ran it, passing more people. Ran passed the photographer, and though he didn’t get a picture of it, I was smiling. Maybe it was on the inside. Pipeline aid station shows up really quickly. Fuel, fuel, fuel.
I follow the sign out of pipeline down a jeep road, and …
There’s a big hill down the road. It looks like a wall. The course profile indicated some rolling hills, but this was more. It was intimidating. I pass this guy, and he asks me how much longer I think it will be. It’s now 6:15 hrs in, and we have 11 miles to go. Normally, I’d say two hours, or less as it’s mostly downhill. It won’t be that easy though, as the hill in front of us suggests. I tell him 2.5 hrs and keep moving. And now, I start telling myself to pay attention. It’s here that people get lost, missing turns. No bonus miles this year. Keep looking for the course flags. I round a corner on the jeep road, and see another wall. I may have groaned. But shortly there after, I see course markings directing me to another forest single track trail. Another very run-able section, and I love it still – feeling my legs moving, listening to the wind in the aspens. There’s no one in sight now. I enjoy the solitude.
The course flags are placed far apart here, and I get nervous at a few points. I haven’t seen any other trails to follow, but if I were to miss a turn, I wouldn’t see the other trail. Every flag I see is a little pat on my back. I arrive back at the Guaje ridge station, where I get more sunscreen, more water, more fuel. I’m getting a little tired of fuel at this point. Nothing is particularly good. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not good. And now my feet are definitely tired, and hot. Five miles to the next aid station, and only seven miles to the finish. Resolutely, downhill I go. This section is down a rocky ridge, with several downed trees to climb over. It’s exposed, and the sun is out. I get a little warm, but I don’t feel like drinking anymore. I do some anyway. I’m back on a portion of the course I’ve seen before. It was on this section that I got lost last year. I came to that spot and this time, I took the path most traveled by!
I see someone now in the distance. I think I can catch him. Pushing a little, I am catching him – then he looks back, sees me, and takes off. The trail undulates, and he’s walking the hills while I keep running. A perfect scenario to keep my head where it should be. I pass him, and figure I still have a mile to go to the aid station. As I get close, I see a sign, striped red and white that reads, “Naughty!” Stopping in my tracks I wonder if I’ve gotten off course again. But if that’s the case, shouldn’t it read, “wrong way” or something? Hm. I keep going, and see another sign that reads, “or NICE?” colored in red and green. Ok, this must mean the aid station is close, and I am on the right track. I get there, and they tell me how good I look (and I actually believe them – I must be delusional). Their station is Christmas themed. It’s funny. I spend little time here, thinking – I’m just 2 miles from the finish. It’s just past 8 hours. I can do this under 9! I remember this section from last year, and it was hard – I was toast after doing 6 bonus miles, and it’s a little uphill. This year, though, I ran most of it. And I felt great about it. I almost stepped on a snake, too, but that’s beside the point. I was not toast. I was still running. My feet hurt (and my neuroma had bothered on and off the whole race) but it hurt no more to run than to walk. And the discomfort wasn’t that bad. I finally got to the road, and the finish line. Where they actually did tell me I could stop now. After 8:37. That’s flippin’ fantastic.
Post race, I hear how everyone else did, see Amy’s war wounds, hear that Keri came in second overall by only 6 minutes and won the women’s race. Everyone did great. I am so happy that I ran the second half of the race, relieved and disbelieving that I finished as fast as I did feeling as good as I did. I came in 13th woman, of 36, and 44th overall of 96.
And then I headed home to sleep and get up to bike the Santa Fe Century on Sunday.
Santa Fe Century, 103 miles:
I had trouble sleeping, but I got out of bed on time, and on the road. I thought I’d arrive at 6:50, and be ready to go at 7 as we had all planned, but there was a line of cars waiting to park at the start area. After finding Jane, Mark, and Chris, getting ready, it was 7:30 by the time we headed out. Ooops. Opposite from Saturday, I’m pretty confident in my ability to finish this 103 mi ride. I may need to draft quite a bit, but I’ll do it.
We started with all the Outlaws, but they pretty quickly left me, Jane, Ken, Amy and Chris behind. We enjoyed the downhill road out of Santa Fe
We got to Heartbreak Hill which Ken and Amy had not been up before. Amy thought it didn’t look so bad! Heading up, I was feeling a bit grumpy because of my bike, and my stomach and maybe because I was tired and had low blood sugar. Which made me stubborn. Very stubborn. I decided to climb HH without traversing, without stopping. About halfway up, Jane’s telling me to go ahead and traverse a little, there’s no traffic. I think I grunted. She might have been a little alarmed at how hard I was breathing. But I held out to the top. Maybe a dumb way to spend my muscle energy, but it was a nice boost to me psycologically. Surprisingly, shortly after Heartbreak hill my stomach started to feel better.
When we turned north, I was really starting to get tired. My morale was pretty low. Chris, Amy, and Ken kind of drift off ahead. I turned to Jane and she absolutely pulled me through. Literally. I sucked her wheel from Stanley to Galisteo, letting her go a couple of times on inclines only to catch her on the downhills. She was awesome. She tried to make conversation, and she did keep me entertained, but I wasn’t able to hold up my end of the bargain very well. And as we got close to Galisteo, we caught up to Amy and Ken. Thanks, Jane. You rock.
And here, I became famous. It was all about the socks. My compression socks were white, and knee high. Picture that with my black spandex bike shorts, and my shrek bike jersey. I was stylin’. (ha.) However, some of my fellow bikers couldn’t decide whether I was wearing tube socks, or was trying to dress like a catholic school girl. I had no idea of the confusion I was causing until at the Galisteo station, 20 miles from the finish, when a couple of guys asked me, “so, what’s with the socks?” Apparently, it took them 80 miles to screw up their courage. So I explained that they were compression socks. “Oh, like Tor Bjorn at the Ironman?” one guy says. I nod. They all nod and start asking me whether I think they work, do I like them, do I do triathlons… So, if you want some extra attention, wear compression socks to non-running, non-triathlon events. I’m just sayin’.
After Galisteo, it was only 12 miles or so to the coke stop. The aid station with a gas station next door where I could buy a coke. I had been talking about this all day. A Large Coke. Jane and I sang a little song about how much our butts hurt. Because they really did. A lot. Amy was struggling a bit at this point, I stayed with her for a while. Then Jane joined us. As we headed to the last climb, I felt like I needed to go my own pace… and I could taste that coke. I road into that gas station, completely bypassing the aid station, and bought a huge fountain coke. Actually, Ken bought it for me – he said I looked so happy holding that coke. I paid it forward when Amy came up, giving her cash to buy her very own coke. I understand the importance of a good Coke fix. I think they should sponsor me.
Our team of five had a little miscommunication here, as Ken and Amy wanted to get back (Jean and Josh had been waiting for hours for them) they went ahead. Jane, Chris and I, once we were convinced they had gone ahead (and I had finished my huge coke), we cruised in those final miles. I was feeling much better after the coke infusion, and we really motored.
And with that, my big weekend was over. I’m surprised that I did it. When I write out on paper that I ran 33.2 miles then the next day rode my bike 103 miles, I still shake my head. I’m doing it now.
