It blew up.
But the running was still good. Better than ever, actually. Not just faster - oh, yes, I did manage to get faster - but better too. The running has been all mine again, a great outlet for joy and frustration.
I feel like I don't really deserve the speed I've found. Or maybe it found me, I'm not sure. Maybe it was lurking there the whole time, waiting and watching from some dark alley. But for whatever reason it sprung itself on me this fall and is holding tight. I still don't think of myself as being able to do some of the things I've done.
I PR'd my 2.5 mile handicap by a minute.
I ran Run Rabbit Run 50 miler (on short notice with little specific training) and finished in 10:08. That's a 2 hour PR.
I ran a Rim-2-Rim-2-Rim Grand Canyon trip and got to experience that immense beautiful awesome ditch while doing my favorite thing. One of the best running experiences ever.
I ran the Rehoboth Beach Marathon in 3:27. That's a 26 minute PR. I qualified for Boston, something I thought would be really hard for me to do.
And in the first part of 2012, I ran the Bandera 100K in 13:20. The first 50K lap I did in 5:50, which is my 50K PR by ~18 minutes. And it's a PR on that course by 40 minutes.
So, as the repository for my running, I'm now up to date. I may come back and write race reports for myself, maybe not. All of those race experiences were stand outs, with great memories every single one. I can't believe how much fun this running faster thing is. I'm freer now to see running wholly in the way that I've only struggled to catch glimpses of before. The expression of being something small in the midst of something great, the wonder of being able, the honesty and un-pretentiousness of lacing my shoes.
Here's to more of that!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
HR pacing
I was as antsy to pace at Hardrock as I am for the races I actually run. Bones and I drove to Silverton Friday morning and watched what some might call an anticlimatic start. A few of the runners in front ran a few yards before they joined the rest of the field in power hiking up the first climb. To me, though, the start just built on the anticipation of the last week.
Despite wanting to see as much of the race as possible, Bones and I knew we'd likely get little sleep in the next 48 hours. So. Back to the hotel for another 3 hours of sleep. It's a precious commodity for crew!
We both had left our best raingear at home, like fools, and so we shopped for new rainjackets in Ouray. They had a decent selection, but at regular price, neither of us bought one. We thought we'd try to get away with our water resistant stuff, or borrow something if it was necessary. We spent the rest of the day scouting some of the trails in Ouray, specifically Bones's section coming down from Engineer. It was helpful to get a look at the markers on the side of the trail, and how closely they were spaced. We caught up to the rest of the crew, who had manned the Maggie Gulch AS earlier, and headed to Grouse Gulch together.
We set up our chairs, and settled in to wait, and watch the runners coming down the switchbacks on the grassy slope. It was sunny and cool. As it drew closer to the time we were to expect Ken and Neil, we started calling out when a runner came into view with a green or blue jacket. Judy would look through her camera - is that Ken's running style? Was Neil wearing calf sleeves? Over and over we would think that maybe it was them, only to see our mistake and start looking again. The estimated time passed - but soon, Neil came down - the relief in Judy's voice was plain. On his way out of the AS, Neil walked straight up to Kurt, stops in front of him, hand on hips, and says accusingly, "Coonrod! This is fucking HARD!"
The light was starting to fade a bit, and we saw Ken's characteristic stride. Everything was laid out, Jean and Kurt go to meet him at the road. It was clear from their expressions as they walked Ken to the AS that all was not well. Bones has been set to go the second Ken gets through the AS, but Kurt pulled him to the side and started explaining the facts of life. Ken had gotten too cold. His stomach had gone. He'd need to sit for a bit, get warm, and get some calories. Kurt looked especially worried. "He's come back before, but maybe not from this deep..."
This crew knew it's business. We can't get Ken warm outside the tent, so into the tent he went. I was not the only one to question whether he'd be able to continue. Not that he ever said one word of complaint, just a serious but dazed look, with an occasional slight smile thrown in - I think that was meant to be reassuring. Darkness fell, it started raining. I guessed Bones and I should have bought those rain jackets! He dug the spare crew rain jacket out. Great, now it's cold and wet and dark. After more than half an hour in the tent, Ken got up and prepped to leave. Bones' face revealed his anxiety about shepherding an already weary, nauseous runner over a high mountain in the rainy darkness. They strode off, one resolutely, the other with some fidgeting into the obscuring darkness, and I wondered how the next several hours would play out. Would Ken come back, as he had in so many other races? How would he manage the cold wet night after already getting too cold once before?
We packed up from Grouse in the dark, carrying chairs and bags and jackets, dodging raindrops. We headed to Ouray for some sleep in a hotel there for some of us, others would barely rest their eyes before jumping out of bed to meet Dennis or Neil. Ken and Bones were due to come in around 2, if their pace was ok, and Josh was to take over pacing. In the middle of the night, I heard Bones' voice and thought blearily that good, Ken's through, and Bones will get some sleep. I finally woke up around 7 am. To an empty hotel room, save Kurt's niece (still asleep) and his dogs. Who looked at me expectantly. They are unresponsive when I ask them ever so politely where the heck everyone has gone. I look for a note. nothing. I sent texts to everyone. Nothing. Finally I reluctantly texted Bones, not wanting to wake him early after a night of pacing. He filled me in on the rough night, slow progress though rain and cold. But Ken had made it to Ouray, and after a nap there, he had headed out with Josh - well behind his estimated time, but still moving, upbeat, and determined.
We rounded up the others and made the trek to Telluride. I drove: I had just been over this road from Telluride to Ouray twice the weekend before (failed hut trip). I skillfully avoided being pulled over for speeding this time. We ate at the grocery store deli, and got to the park just in time to see Kurt heading out - he let us know that Neil and Dennis were doing ok. So we set up to wait. So much of crewing is eating and waiting! Now the weather had cleared for the day - sun, a few light clouds, good temperatures. Runners and pacers were coming through steadily, until, sooner than I expected, we heard Ken and Josh. The hive of activity around Ken recommenced - food, sit down, drink, repack the bag, shoe change? (why bother?). We got the download from Josh - his spirits were good (aided perhaps by the spirits that Josh toasted him with) he was moving pretty well, he wasn't eating a lot, but he would eat when pressed. Richard paid close attention. Quickly, Ken was ready to go - which jacket, gloves, armies, more gels? more waffles? And they're off again. And we pack up the chairs, bags, jackets, and tromp through the sunny park and reload the truck. Off we go again to Chapman.
Bones and I talked over how the rest of the day will go, who will drive Alex to KT? -Bones will. There's a map. Somewhere. Time to eat the second half of the sandwich. Chapman wasn't necessary a crew access point. We could have crewed on the dirt road, but instead, knowing we'd have some time to wait, we carted stuff to the AS. In the rain, again. On crossing the small stream on the way there, I saw a few branches and a 2x6" that could be stacked into a bridge... So a bridge I made. Crossing that multiple times I was very happy not to have wet feet already. I took some video to keep myself occupied. I helped out the AS staff, handing out water, soup, cookies. Judy and Neil came through looking wet and tired, but determined also. After a few minutes, they were repacked and refueled and headed out. The rain lightened a bit before coming down harder again. The AS tent got pretty crowded with crew, pacers and a few runners that decided to hang out, rest, and miss some of the rain. When it cleared, and the sun reappeared, we spent time watching the mountainside. Occasionally we'd see tiny black spots crossing the few snow fields. I hiked back along the path a few times, until I saw Richard and Ken coming toward me. Ken was quiet and focused as Richard told me what he'd been eating, that he hadn't been talkative and struggled a bit with the last climb. Ken had broken his one remaining hiking pole (the other had broken earlier) crossing one of the snow fields on the way down from the pass. This Ken was quite different from the Telluride Ken - no laughing, just tired and focused on continuing to move. Richard told me he was planning to nap at the AS, and when we got there, he tromped right over to the corner of the AS that was padded with blankets, took off his pack and laid down and didn't stir for 15 minutes. Nervously, the boys asked Richard about the last section. We tried to keep our voices down. Finally I prepped myself to leave on my pacing section - 8 miles over Grant Swamp pass. I was so excited to have the chance to pace Ken, especially after the way the race had started out. We laid out all the gear he'd need to take, I packed a few baggies of chips and other things I might be able to talk him into eating. Given the pace over the last section, we calculated a new estimate for arrival at KT, probably 4 hours from when we left. I don't think he actually slept, but after the allotted time, Ken got to his feet and we strapped his gear to him. Since the first thing we had to do on leaving the AS was to ford a wide and knee deep creek, we didn't see the need in changing shoes or socks.
Ken took Richard's hiking pole, and we headed out. Once across the creek, Ken found the pole to be too heavy, or just not right. I called out to Richard on the other side of the creek, and tossed the pole to him. Like a girl. I thought the pole might not even make it the 20 yds across. I never have learned to throw NOT like a girl. I guess that's just not high on my to-do list.
I knew we'd be climbing for the next few miles. We found Ken a suitable walking stick along the path, and we climbed. I related the whole of the failed hut trip story to Ken, including the mice, the poor directions, the massive number of downed trees, the lost trail on the first day, the lost trail on the second day. (I hoped he wasn't getting worried about my ability to stay on trail!) He seemed content to listen, and between episodes we lapsed into friendly silence. The trail arced steadily up through the pine forest. The rain had released the tell-tale piney-woodsy scent into the cool air. As we got higher, we'd traverse open meadow sections, and be able to look at the mountains that Ken had already crossed in the 80+ miles he'd done to get here. It was unbelievable to see the scope splayed out around us in the sunset. A few broken clouds were now all that was left of the rain. Every few minutes I'd prompt him to eat a chip, or drink some water, though he seemed fully capable on his own. He told me about Josh on top of Virginus, about the scree we'd be climbing up ahead, and the reward of the view of Little Island Lake from the pass. Kris and his pacer caught up with us just on the edge of the last meadow before the scree field. We chatted while they shed jackets getting ready for some harder work. Now I could see why some think the markers need to be closer together. It became a little hard to spot them in the rocks, with hardly any trail connecting them. But with Kris leading the way, the job of trail spotting didn't fall to us, and we climbed. At the bottom of the steep scree field, I left a lot of space between Ken and I to make sure he didn't have to worry about sending rocks down on my head. The scree was wet from the rain, making it less loose. With only a few brief pauses of a second or two, we scrabbled our way to the top. Ken, on a mission, continued right down the path, but I had to stop for a look. The valley we had just climbed out of was caught in the gleaming yellow light of sunset. Little island lake was still partially frozen over on the other side of the pass. Mountains, 13 and 14 thousand feet high poked the horizon in 360 degrees. It was overwhelming, massive, beautiful. Being in the high places in colorado makes me feel the wonder and awe like nothing else.
I darted after Ken and caught up to him in time to get to do a little snow and mud glissade-ing on the way down. (That was so much fun!) It was starting to get dark now, and we still had a few miles to go before the KT AS. Ken was running. After 85 miles and probably 25,000 feet of climbing so far, he was still running. I was amazed, and couldn't slouch along if I wanted to keep up. The mud got slick and deep in a few spots. Stream crossings were frequent, and made sure our feet didn't dry out, until finally we came to a creek? river? that was thigh deep and fast. Several snags had fallen right where the trail met the creek, and made it hard in the dusky light to figure out the best point to cross. I went ahead, scouting. I stepped over a branch, and lost my footing, going up to my neck in the water before I grabbed a part of the snag and scrambled to my feet in the now waist deep section I was in. I turned around, and with adrenaline pumping through my system calmly told Ken (who was looking upstream for a place to cross and missed me almost getting washed away) "Don't come this way." Little did I know that Ken had also dunked himself looking for a way across. Upstream a little was a much better, shallower place to cross with the help of a few rocks and tree branches. On the other side, we started moving again. I realized a few troublesome issues: 1. it was getting colder. 2. I was now completely wet underneath my rainjacket. 3. I didn't have any spare clothes with me, and my pack was also completely wet. 4. Movement would be the best way to warm up and dry off, but I would stay with Ken no matter what. 5. It was starting to rain again.
As we jogged steadily down the muddy trail, I found that the effort was enough to keep me warm, and the AS was no more than a mile or 1.5 miles ahead, where our crew would be. Where dry clothes or at least a dry shirt would be. I didn't need to worry about me, but I did need to make sure that Ken was still eating, drinking and not getting cold. We dug out handwarmers for him, and kept moving. Darkness creeped in on us while still in a forested section, and the rain turned to sleet. The trail left the protection of the woods to a traverse of a steep grassy slope. Markers here were sparse, and I was keeping a close eye on the trail for any turns. In one section, Neither Ken nor I had seen any markers for a seemingly long time. I hadn't seen any potential ways for us to take a wrong turn, either. I went ahead though, and ran quickly through the sleet until I saw another marker.
"Oh good! still on the right path. I thought we'd be able to see the AS by now, but it must be just ahead. Hm. how to signal to Ken that he should keep coming this direction. wave my light? Do nothing, and maybe he'll just keep coming? hm."
I settled on shouting once or twice and waving my light about. Maybe not the right thing to do; once he got to me Ken wanted to know what all the light waving was about. oh well. We're still running, the trail is faint. I shined my light on every marker I saw to reassure us both that we are still on the right track. Finally, the AS lights were visible, and pretty near to us. The hill must shield the AS from view.
I was getting colder and colder now. My clothes hadn't dried out, so I was looking forward to the change of shirt. And, I thought, I had done a good job of pacing Ken through this section. No major mishaps (I still didn't know he had dunked himself in the creek) and he was moving really well. I wished I could have seen more of the course, but maybe next year I'd get in, or get to pace someone else. What an amazing event. I ran over what I needed to tell Alex, the next pacer, and what items Ken would need from his drop bags.
Pulling up to the AS, all I could see was a tarp set into the hill side with some chairs and a couple of propane heaters. No Alex. No Bones. "Is there another tent? Another section of the AS?" I asked one of the volunteers. "No, this is it. What can we get you?"
No Alex. no crew bags. No dry shirt or warmer gear. What we had was what we were going to use.
Spaghetti noodles sounded good to Ken so I got him some of those and settled him right in front of the propane heater. There's a blanket over one of the chairs, and I wrapped that over his legs. I took my jacket off and wrapped that around his shoulders for an extra layer, as I could tell he was cold. The cold wind cuts through my wet tech shirt like nothing! As he eats, we talk about what we should do. Alex was really looking forward to pacing (everyone loves to pace at HR), and we wanted to give him every opportunity to get there. I checked my watch - we were a little ahead of the 4 hour mark, but the crew still should have beaten us there. I remembered the directions, and how tired Bones was - I wondered (to myself) if they were lost. After talking it over, Ken decided to wait for 30 min for Alex. As I turned to get more noodles and soup for Ken, I couldn't help smiling to think that I might get to continue on, see more of the course, and get to see Ken finish. I tried to get some info on the next section from the AS volunteers. They did warn us that within 100 yds, we'd come to a high fast water crossing that was a little treacherous. After that, one long climb and that should be it. The sleet turned to rain, and then back again. I helped the AS volunteers prop up the tarp to empty it of pooled water. I refilled the baggies I'd taken out of Chapman with chips and cookies. I got another bag from the AS and filled it also. And I made sure to eat something too, now realizing I might be out here longer than I thought. I took stock of the resources we had left: food, batteries, lights, and handwarmers. I found some handwarmers in my pack, and got them ready. I had batteries for my lights, and Ken had spares for his too. I noted what extra gear Ken had in case he got cold again. I was wearing everything I had - a ls tech shirt, tights, gloves and with the rain jacket Ken had draped on his shoulders, that would have to be enough. We were in pretty good shape, I thought. Ken had gotten warmer by now and was chatting with Lance. I couldn't believe how upbeat he was, sitting in an AS, pacer for the next section not showing up, no crew bags to raid, and the current pacer didn't know the route for this final section. I hoped I wouldn't mess things up. I also hoped he wouldn't want to wait longer than the 30 min he planned, as I wasn't sure what the next section held, and I knew the clock was ticking. Lance went and looked for Alex, but came back with no sighting. Ken looked at his watch, and at me, and said, "we'd better go."
"Yup, let's go. We're ready. I have snacks, here's your pack." I got Ken suited back up, with all his shirts and jackets on, both of us with handwarmers and we headed out in to the wet cold night. We made the turn by the white truck, and came to the water crossing. It was deep and fast, but only a few steps across. Not bad. Of course, it meant that our shoes were wet again, but I had long since stopped caring about that. Ken probably didn't even think about it anymore. And after the crossing? well, more climbing, of course, through more water. We entered tree cover again, and the trail was occasionally more solid. The trees dripped in our lights. Ken talked, told me how he knew Lance, and Kris. As the trail went higher, it got wetter - at one point Ken lost a shoe to the mud. Without bending down, he quickly shoved his foot back where it had been, and pulled it from the mud with the shoe on it before I even had a chance to react. Soon afterwards, I saw Ken look at a rock on his left, and do a double take. He chuckled, "I won't even tell you what I thought that was." And later, he shook his head at some rocks. "I can't believe it." he said. "Must be kids. Teenagers. Come up and write on all these rocks. Isn't that something?" He points to some rocks, maybe granite, that have some hatching in the marbling of them. He's pretty insistent, but my imagination fails me, and I can only say, "I don't see any writing, Ken." Wow, I thought. Hallucinations. Seems pretty tame and harmless so far.
Trail markers guided us up and farther along, in and out of the trees, in a constantly waterlogged trail. Finally I could see we were nearing the top of something, and there were a few lights ahead of us. Wow, I thought - top of the last climb already?!? Pacing this section had been pretty easy after all. We should go down to an AS after this, and then the finish. The trail wound around a bit, but soon we were headed slightly downhill. I thought I could see some lights in the distance - must be the AS, I thought, and pointed it out to Ken. We were both cheered by the thought. We continued slightly down, and then... well. And then the trail turned up again. And continued up. I saw the lights I thought were an AS had disappeared. The markers started to get farther and farther apart again. I would sweep my lights back and forth, looking for a glint of reflective tape or metal. We were definitely going up now. I could see the shadowy form of the mountaintop in front of me, and what I hoped would actually be the top was not as near as I would have liked. I'd spot a marker, hike quickly to it. Turn and make sure Ken was still coming the right direction, then hunt for the next marker. I would shine the light on my back or the ground behind me to make it easy for Ken to see me. There was no trail over this grassy mountaintop. Tufts would turn your ankle while we hiked from marker to marker. It was slow, but we made steady progress. Ken would stop occasionally to rest on his stick - the one he originally picked up over 10 hours ago. At the top, we caught a little trail and followed it and the markers across the ridge, and then down into the next valley. Feeling so terrible that I had gotten our hopes up for the AS too early, I said only that we were "pretty close" to the AS now. Down we went, with a couple more chances at glissade-ing. The markers still weren't close together. Down, down... I haven't seen any markers in a little while. Worry clenched my heart. No, no no nonononononono. I can't have lost the trail now. Crap. "Ken wait here, I don't see any markers." I continued down a bit, and then concluded I've lost the trail. I headed back up, and told Ken we have to go back up to the last marker and go from there. Back up is the last place either of us wanted to go now. At least it wasn't raining anymore. I dashed ahead, and saw that after crossing a snowfield, I took us downhill, and there was a marker I missed directing us to the left. I called out, and Ken doesn't blame me, we just kept moving. Thankfully, the last AS popped into view. We both sat, just for a moment, and relaxed. Now we knew exactly how far we had to go (6.5 miles), the trail was downhill to Mineral Creek with a short climb after that. After getting something to eat, Ken's no dawdling law took effect and we're off again. We're energized to know how close we are to the finish. We caught up to Kris, who had gotten ahead of us while we waited at KT. Ken chatted for a bit, and then we pass. Ken was still moving really well, and we made good time down to the Creek. Compared to the crawling and uncertain uphill section between KT and Putnam, we were flying. At the creek, it was obviously fast, deep, and we'd have to be careful. A rope had been strung across to help. Ken, without waiting, said he'd go first to make sure it was safe. I'm thinking that perhaps that was my place, to make sure he's ok, but he can't hear my protests over the roar of the water. As he's 1/3 the way across, I hopped in. The shock of the cold took my breath, but holding on to the rope I made my way across. The creek yanked at my legs, not wanting to let me move perpendicular to the flow, barely yielding, tugged at my jacket. Without the rope, staying upright would have been more than just difficult.
Safely on the other side, in wet feet yet again (still?) we crossed the road - which made me think, "ah, just down there is Silverton, just a mile or so as the crow flies. Ken's doing great!" But we don't follow the road, oh no, we took an old jeep road up and around Silverton. Up is still not a direction either of us is too excited about. I kept looking for a trail breaking off the jeep road to the right, I could see the lights of Silverton through the trees. But the markers led us on and on. Until finally, we came to the right turn and entered the quiet streets of Silverton. Only another 1/2 mile, another few blocks. I was amazed by what I had seen of the course. Ken thanked me, and I thanked him for the adventure. More than I had bargained for, but just what I had wished for. We turned the corner and could see the finish line. The crew was all there, cheering. In the end I was lucky to get to see and experience 20 miles and 11 hours of the course. Amazing. After this, I will put my name in the hat for as long as I can still move forward.
Despite wanting to see as much of the race as possible, Bones and I knew we'd likely get little sleep in the next 48 hours. So. Back to the hotel for another 3 hours of sleep. It's a precious commodity for crew!
We both had left our best raingear at home, like fools, and so we shopped for new rainjackets in Ouray. They had a decent selection, but at regular price, neither of us bought one. We thought we'd try to get away with our water resistant stuff, or borrow something if it was necessary. We spent the rest of the day scouting some of the trails in Ouray, specifically Bones's section coming down from Engineer. It was helpful to get a look at the markers on the side of the trail, and how closely they were spaced. We caught up to the rest of the crew, who had manned the Maggie Gulch AS earlier, and headed to Grouse Gulch together.
We set up our chairs, and settled in to wait, and watch the runners coming down the switchbacks on the grassy slope. It was sunny and cool. As it drew closer to the time we were to expect Ken and Neil, we started calling out when a runner came into view with a green or blue jacket. Judy would look through her camera - is that Ken's running style? Was Neil wearing calf sleeves? Over and over we would think that maybe it was them, only to see our mistake and start looking again. The estimated time passed - but soon, Neil came down - the relief in Judy's voice was plain. On his way out of the AS, Neil walked straight up to Kurt, stops in front of him, hand on hips, and says accusingly, "Coonrod! This is fucking HARD!"
The light was starting to fade a bit, and we saw Ken's characteristic stride. Everything was laid out, Jean and Kurt go to meet him at the road. It was clear from their expressions as they walked Ken to the AS that all was not well. Bones has been set to go the second Ken gets through the AS, but Kurt pulled him to the side and started explaining the facts of life. Ken had gotten too cold. His stomach had gone. He'd need to sit for a bit, get warm, and get some calories. Kurt looked especially worried. "He's come back before, but maybe not from this deep..."
This crew knew it's business. We can't get Ken warm outside the tent, so into the tent he went. I was not the only one to question whether he'd be able to continue. Not that he ever said one word of complaint, just a serious but dazed look, with an occasional slight smile thrown in - I think that was meant to be reassuring. Darkness fell, it started raining. I guessed Bones and I should have bought those rain jackets! He dug the spare crew rain jacket out. Great, now it's cold and wet and dark. After more than half an hour in the tent, Ken got up and prepped to leave. Bones' face revealed his anxiety about shepherding an already weary, nauseous runner over a high mountain in the rainy darkness. They strode off, one resolutely, the other with some fidgeting into the obscuring darkness, and I wondered how the next several hours would play out. Would Ken come back, as he had in so many other races? How would he manage the cold wet night after already getting too cold once before?
We packed up from Grouse in the dark, carrying chairs and bags and jackets, dodging raindrops. We headed to Ouray for some sleep in a hotel there for some of us, others would barely rest their eyes before jumping out of bed to meet Dennis or Neil. Ken and Bones were due to come in around 2, if their pace was ok, and Josh was to take over pacing. In the middle of the night, I heard Bones' voice and thought blearily that good, Ken's through, and Bones will get some sleep. I finally woke up around 7 am. To an empty hotel room, save Kurt's niece (still asleep) and his dogs. Who looked at me expectantly. They are unresponsive when I ask them ever so politely where the heck everyone has gone. I look for a note. nothing. I sent texts to everyone. Nothing. Finally I reluctantly texted Bones, not wanting to wake him early after a night of pacing. He filled me in on the rough night, slow progress though rain and cold. But Ken had made it to Ouray, and after a nap there, he had headed out with Josh - well behind his estimated time, but still moving, upbeat, and determined.
We rounded up the others and made the trek to Telluride. I drove: I had just been over this road from Telluride to Ouray twice the weekend before (failed hut trip). I skillfully avoided being pulled over for speeding this time. We ate at the grocery store deli, and got to the park just in time to see Kurt heading out - he let us know that Neil and Dennis were doing ok. So we set up to wait. So much of crewing is eating and waiting! Now the weather had cleared for the day - sun, a few light clouds, good temperatures. Runners and pacers were coming through steadily, until, sooner than I expected, we heard Ken and Josh. The hive of activity around Ken recommenced - food, sit down, drink, repack the bag, shoe change? (why bother?). We got the download from Josh - his spirits were good (aided perhaps by the spirits that Josh toasted him with) he was moving pretty well, he wasn't eating a lot, but he would eat when pressed. Richard paid close attention. Quickly, Ken was ready to go - which jacket, gloves, armies, more gels? more waffles? And they're off again. And we pack up the chairs, bags, jackets, and tromp through the sunny park and reload the truck. Off we go again to Chapman.
Bones and I talked over how the rest of the day will go, who will drive Alex to KT? -Bones will. There's a map. Somewhere. Time to eat the second half of the sandwich. Chapman wasn't necessary a crew access point. We could have crewed on the dirt road, but instead, knowing we'd have some time to wait, we carted stuff to the AS. In the rain, again. On crossing the small stream on the way there, I saw a few branches and a 2x6" that could be stacked into a bridge... So a bridge I made. Crossing that multiple times I was very happy not to have wet feet already. I took some video to keep myself occupied. I helped out the AS staff, handing out water, soup, cookies. Judy and Neil came through looking wet and tired, but determined also. After a few minutes, they were repacked and refueled and headed out. The rain lightened a bit before coming down harder again. The AS tent got pretty crowded with crew, pacers and a few runners that decided to hang out, rest, and miss some of the rain. When it cleared, and the sun reappeared, we spent time watching the mountainside. Occasionally we'd see tiny black spots crossing the few snow fields. I hiked back along the path a few times, until I saw Richard and Ken coming toward me. Ken was quiet and focused as Richard told me what he'd been eating, that he hadn't been talkative and struggled a bit with the last climb. Ken had broken his one remaining hiking pole (the other had broken earlier) crossing one of the snow fields on the way down from the pass. This Ken was quite different from the Telluride Ken - no laughing, just tired and focused on continuing to move. Richard told me he was planning to nap at the AS, and when we got there, he tromped right over to the corner of the AS that was padded with blankets, took off his pack and laid down and didn't stir for 15 minutes. Nervously, the boys asked Richard about the last section. We tried to keep our voices down. Finally I prepped myself to leave on my pacing section - 8 miles over Grant Swamp pass. I was so excited to have the chance to pace Ken, especially after the way the race had started out. We laid out all the gear he'd need to take, I packed a few baggies of chips and other things I might be able to talk him into eating. Given the pace over the last section, we calculated a new estimate for arrival at KT, probably 4 hours from when we left. I don't think he actually slept, but after the allotted time, Ken got to his feet and we strapped his gear to him. Since the first thing we had to do on leaving the AS was to ford a wide and knee deep creek, we didn't see the need in changing shoes or socks.
Ken took Richard's hiking pole, and we headed out. Once across the creek, Ken found the pole to be too heavy, or just not right. I called out to Richard on the other side of the creek, and tossed the pole to him. Like a girl. I thought the pole might not even make it the 20 yds across. I never have learned to throw NOT like a girl. I guess that's just not high on my to-do list.
I knew we'd be climbing for the next few miles. We found Ken a suitable walking stick along the path, and we climbed. I related the whole of the failed hut trip story to Ken, including the mice, the poor directions, the massive number of downed trees, the lost trail on the first day, the lost trail on the second day. (I hoped he wasn't getting worried about my ability to stay on trail!) He seemed content to listen, and between episodes we lapsed into friendly silence. The trail arced steadily up through the pine forest. The rain had released the tell-tale piney-woodsy scent into the cool air. As we got higher, we'd traverse open meadow sections, and be able to look at the mountains that Ken had already crossed in the 80+ miles he'd done to get here. It was unbelievable to see the scope splayed out around us in the sunset. A few broken clouds were now all that was left of the rain. Every few minutes I'd prompt him to eat a chip, or drink some water, though he seemed fully capable on his own. He told me about Josh on top of Virginus, about the scree we'd be climbing up ahead, and the reward of the view of Little Island Lake from the pass. Kris and his pacer caught up with us just on the edge of the last meadow before the scree field. We chatted while they shed jackets getting ready for some harder work. Now I could see why some think the markers need to be closer together. It became a little hard to spot them in the rocks, with hardly any trail connecting them. But with Kris leading the way, the job of trail spotting didn't fall to us, and we climbed. At the bottom of the steep scree field, I left a lot of space between Ken and I to make sure he didn't have to worry about sending rocks down on my head. The scree was wet from the rain, making it less loose. With only a few brief pauses of a second or two, we scrabbled our way to the top. Ken, on a mission, continued right down the path, but I had to stop for a look. The valley we had just climbed out of was caught in the gleaming yellow light of sunset. Little island lake was still partially frozen over on the other side of the pass. Mountains, 13 and 14 thousand feet high poked the horizon in 360 degrees. It was overwhelming, massive, beautiful. Being in the high places in colorado makes me feel the wonder and awe like nothing else.
I darted after Ken and caught up to him in time to get to do a little snow and mud glissade-ing on the way down. (That was so much fun!) It was starting to get dark now, and we still had a few miles to go before the KT AS. Ken was running. After 85 miles and probably 25,000 feet of climbing so far, he was still running. I was amazed, and couldn't slouch along if I wanted to keep up. The mud got slick and deep in a few spots. Stream crossings were frequent, and made sure our feet didn't dry out, until finally we came to a creek? river? that was thigh deep and fast. Several snags had fallen right where the trail met the creek, and made it hard in the dusky light to figure out the best point to cross. I went ahead, scouting. I stepped over a branch, and lost my footing, going up to my neck in the water before I grabbed a part of the snag and scrambled to my feet in the now waist deep section I was in. I turned around, and with adrenaline pumping through my system calmly told Ken (who was looking upstream for a place to cross and missed me almost getting washed away) "Don't come this way." Little did I know that Ken had also dunked himself looking for a way across. Upstream a little was a much better, shallower place to cross with the help of a few rocks and tree branches. On the other side, we started moving again. I realized a few troublesome issues: 1. it was getting colder. 2. I was now completely wet underneath my rainjacket. 3. I didn't have any spare clothes with me, and my pack was also completely wet. 4. Movement would be the best way to warm up and dry off, but I would stay with Ken no matter what. 5. It was starting to rain again.
As we jogged steadily down the muddy trail, I found that the effort was enough to keep me warm, and the AS was no more than a mile or 1.5 miles ahead, where our crew would be. Where dry clothes or at least a dry shirt would be. I didn't need to worry about me, but I did need to make sure that Ken was still eating, drinking and not getting cold. We dug out handwarmers for him, and kept moving. Darkness creeped in on us while still in a forested section, and the rain turned to sleet. The trail left the protection of the woods to a traverse of a steep grassy slope. Markers here were sparse, and I was keeping a close eye on the trail for any turns. In one section, Neither Ken nor I had seen any markers for a seemingly long time. I hadn't seen any potential ways for us to take a wrong turn, either. I went ahead though, and ran quickly through the sleet until I saw another marker.
"Oh good! still on the right path. I thought we'd be able to see the AS by now, but it must be just ahead. Hm. how to signal to Ken that he should keep coming this direction. wave my light? Do nothing, and maybe he'll just keep coming? hm."
I settled on shouting once or twice and waving my light about. Maybe not the right thing to do; once he got to me Ken wanted to know what all the light waving was about. oh well. We're still running, the trail is faint. I shined my light on every marker I saw to reassure us both that we are still on the right track. Finally, the AS lights were visible, and pretty near to us. The hill must shield the AS from view.
I was getting colder and colder now. My clothes hadn't dried out, so I was looking forward to the change of shirt. And, I thought, I had done a good job of pacing Ken through this section. No major mishaps (I still didn't know he had dunked himself in the creek) and he was moving really well. I wished I could have seen more of the course, but maybe next year I'd get in, or get to pace someone else. What an amazing event. I ran over what I needed to tell Alex, the next pacer, and what items Ken would need from his drop bags.
Pulling up to the AS, all I could see was a tarp set into the hill side with some chairs and a couple of propane heaters. No Alex. No Bones. "Is there another tent? Another section of the AS?" I asked one of the volunteers. "No, this is it. What can we get you?"
No Alex. no crew bags. No dry shirt or warmer gear. What we had was what we were going to use.
Spaghetti noodles sounded good to Ken so I got him some of those and settled him right in front of the propane heater. There's a blanket over one of the chairs, and I wrapped that over his legs. I took my jacket off and wrapped that around his shoulders for an extra layer, as I could tell he was cold. The cold wind cuts through my wet tech shirt like nothing! As he eats, we talk about what we should do. Alex was really looking forward to pacing (everyone loves to pace at HR), and we wanted to give him every opportunity to get there. I checked my watch - we were a little ahead of the 4 hour mark, but the crew still should have beaten us there. I remembered the directions, and how tired Bones was - I wondered (to myself) if they were lost. After talking it over, Ken decided to wait for 30 min for Alex. As I turned to get more noodles and soup for Ken, I couldn't help smiling to think that I might get to continue on, see more of the course, and get to see Ken finish. I tried to get some info on the next section from the AS volunteers. They did warn us that within 100 yds, we'd come to a high fast water crossing that was a little treacherous. After that, one long climb and that should be it. The sleet turned to rain, and then back again. I helped the AS volunteers prop up the tarp to empty it of pooled water. I refilled the baggies I'd taken out of Chapman with chips and cookies. I got another bag from the AS and filled it also. And I made sure to eat something too, now realizing I might be out here longer than I thought. I took stock of the resources we had left: food, batteries, lights, and handwarmers. I found some handwarmers in my pack, and got them ready. I had batteries for my lights, and Ken had spares for his too. I noted what extra gear Ken had in case he got cold again. I was wearing everything I had - a ls tech shirt, tights, gloves and with the rain jacket Ken had draped on his shoulders, that would have to be enough. We were in pretty good shape, I thought. Ken had gotten warmer by now and was chatting with Lance. I couldn't believe how upbeat he was, sitting in an AS, pacer for the next section not showing up, no crew bags to raid, and the current pacer didn't know the route for this final section. I hoped I wouldn't mess things up. I also hoped he wouldn't want to wait longer than the 30 min he planned, as I wasn't sure what the next section held, and I knew the clock was ticking. Lance went and looked for Alex, but came back with no sighting. Ken looked at his watch, and at me, and said, "we'd better go."
"Yup, let's go. We're ready. I have snacks, here's your pack." I got Ken suited back up, with all his shirts and jackets on, both of us with handwarmers and we headed out in to the wet cold night. We made the turn by the white truck, and came to the water crossing. It was deep and fast, but only a few steps across. Not bad. Of course, it meant that our shoes were wet again, but I had long since stopped caring about that. Ken probably didn't even think about it anymore. And after the crossing? well, more climbing, of course, through more water. We entered tree cover again, and the trail was occasionally more solid. The trees dripped in our lights. Ken talked, told me how he knew Lance, and Kris. As the trail went higher, it got wetter - at one point Ken lost a shoe to the mud. Without bending down, he quickly shoved his foot back where it had been, and pulled it from the mud with the shoe on it before I even had a chance to react. Soon afterwards, I saw Ken look at a rock on his left, and do a double take. He chuckled, "I won't even tell you what I thought that was." And later, he shook his head at some rocks. "I can't believe it." he said. "Must be kids. Teenagers. Come up and write on all these rocks. Isn't that something?" He points to some rocks, maybe granite, that have some hatching in the marbling of them. He's pretty insistent, but my imagination fails me, and I can only say, "I don't see any writing, Ken." Wow, I thought. Hallucinations. Seems pretty tame and harmless so far.
Trail markers guided us up and farther along, in and out of the trees, in a constantly waterlogged trail. Finally I could see we were nearing the top of something, and there were a few lights ahead of us. Wow, I thought - top of the last climb already?!? Pacing this section had been pretty easy after all. We should go down to an AS after this, and then the finish. The trail wound around a bit, but soon we were headed slightly downhill. I thought I could see some lights in the distance - must be the AS, I thought, and pointed it out to Ken. We were both cheered by the thought. We continued slightly down, and then... well. And then the trail turned up again. And continued up. I saw the lights I thought were an AS had disappeared. The markers started to get farther and farther apart again. I would sweep my lights back and forth, looking for a glint of reflective tape or metal. We were definitely going up now. I could see the shadowy form of the mountaintop in front of me, and what I hoped would actually be the top was not as near as I would have liked. I'd spot a marker, hike quickly to it. Turn and make sure Ken was still coming the right direction, then hunt for the next marker. I would shine the light on my back or the ground behind me to make it easy for Ken to see me. There was no trail over this grassy mountaintop. Tufts would turn your ankle while we hiked from marker to marker. It was slow, but we made steady progress. Ken would stop occasionally to rest on his stick - the one he originally picked up over 10 hours ago. At the top, we caught a little trail and followed it and the markers across the ridge, and then down into the next valley. Feeling so terrible that I had gotten our hopes up for the AS too early, I said only that we were "pretty close" to the AS now. Down we went, with a couple more chances at glissade-ing. The markers still weren't close together. Down, down... I haven't seen any markers in a little while. Worry clenched my heart. No, no no nonononononono. I can't have lost the trail now. Crap. "Ken wait here, I don't see any markers." I continued down a bit, and then concluded I've lost the trail. I headed back up, and told Ken we have to go back up to the last marker and go from there. Back up is the last place either of us wanted to go now. At least it wasn't raining anymore. I dashed ahead, and saw that after crossing a snowfield, I took us downhill, and there was a marker I missed directing us to the left. I called out, and Ken doesn't blame me, we just kept moving. Thankfully, the last AS popped into view. We both sat, just for a moment, and relaxed. Now we knew exactly how far we had to go (6.5 miles), the trail was downhill to Mineral Creek with a short climb after that. After getting something to eat, Ken's no dawdling law took effect and we're off again. We're energized to know how close we are to the finish. We caught up to Kris, who had gotten ahead of us while we waited at KT. Ken chatted for a bit, and then we pass. Ken was still moving really well, and we made good time down to the Creek. Compared to the crawling and uncertain uphill section between KT and Putnam, we were flying. At the creek, it was obviously fast, deep, and we'd have to be careful. A rope had been strung across to help. Ken, without waiting, said he'd go first to make sure it was safe. I'm thinking that perhaps that was my place, to make sure he's ok, but he can't hear my protests over the roar of the water. As he's 1/3 the way across, I hopped in. The shock of the cold took my breath, but holding on to the rope I made my way across. The creek yanked at my legs, not wanting to let me move perpendicular to the flow, barely yielding, tugged at my jacket. Without the rope, staying upright would have been more than just difficult.
Safely on the other side, in wet feet yet again (still?) we crossed the road - which made me think, "ah, just down there is Silverton, just a mile or so as the crow flies. Ken's doing great!" But we don't follow the road, oh no, we took an old jeep road up and around Silverton. Up is still not a direction either of us is too excited about. I kept looking for a trail breaking off the jeep road to the right, I could see the lights of Silverton through the trees. But the markers led us on and on. Until finally, we came to the right turn and entered the quiet streets of Silverton. Only another 1/2 mile, another few blocks. I was amazed by what I had seen of the course. Ken thanked me, and I thanked him for the adventure. More than I had bargained for, but just what I had wished for. We turned the corner and could see the finish line. The crew was all there, cheering. In the end I was lucky to get to see and experience 20 miles and 11 hours of the course. Amazing. After this, I will put my name in the hat for as long as I can still move forward.
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