At the heart of the Caballo Blanco Ultra is such a story of personal, spiritual transformation. One man, Micah True, intrigued by what he had witnessed at the Leadville 100, began a journey to the Sierra Madre that would not only change his life, but the lives of many others. He would meet the Raramuri and, through his cultural sensitivity, adjust his behavior to allow ever more proximity and mutual understanding. By taking the required time to wander around the Canyons, by refraining from intrusion into the houses and villages, by remaining a humble and peaceful observer, he was offered a great privilege of growing access and exchange with The Running People.
After several years of a growing relationship, he decided to do something he felt was important, something he felt his new friends would understand and appreciate. With the help of local sponsors, he created a running event. A gesture of immense symbolism for a People who define themselves by the very act of running. They understood, and they responded. Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco, and the history that ensued, was born.
It was never easy for Micah True to realize his dream and vision. He understood the social, economic and cultural challenges both the Raramuri and Northwest Mexico face on a daily basis. He struggled with the local powers, both official and non-official. He was always culturally conflicted between establishing a bridge connecting the running people of the world and intruding on a millennial culture that had done well without interactions with others.
But he never gave up. He searched his soul for answers and he based his actions on a set of values which he would never compromise. Truth. Integrity. Peace. Openness. He would follow them to a fault, not hesitating to refuse commercial opportunities or widespread endorsement. He followed an uncompromising path of action very few can claim for their own.
When he left, Micah left the world, the Running People, the Mas Locos, the inhabitants of the Barrancas and his friends with a work of love that needed to continue. All of them united behind the importance of that work to agree it had to be perpetuated. Josue Stephens and Maria Walton stepped up, against all the unknowns, the risks and the open questions. They, before everyone else, realized that above all, UMCB had to carry on. Others soon followed.
2013 rolled in, and a first running celebration happened. It was moving. It was difficult. It was beautiful. It brought the realization that UMCB was still the life-changing experience Micah True had created. Facing the same challenges, risks and uncertainties.
2014 confirmed the commitment of international runners, an ever-growing group of Mexican nationals and the whole population of the Canyons to perpetuating a tradition that has become charged with meaning and purpose. “Race week” is not only a time for festivities in Urique; it is a time where runners from the whole world can come down to a sacred land and share what they do best. Being Humans and being runners who share the same footpaths, unhindered by politics, language, culture and appearances. It is a time for the Raramuri to witness good will, respect and support from the four corners of the world; to be given a mirror image of the beauties of their own culture and to humbly feel pride to be a part of it.
This is the true tragedy of UMCB 2015. This year, just as we were crossing that symbolic Bridge of Nations, we were faced with a surge of brutality and death right on the doorstep of our friends’ homes. We were confronted with the harsh, unfiltered reality of life in the Barrancas. We were victimized, just like the local people, by inhuman acts of violence.
Now I want to ask you; does it matter what the source of that violence is? Are there clear-cut sides in that conflict that can be oversimplified to the Good and the Bad people? Should all the deaths be accounted and described in gruesome details? Should that critical situation of personal and global security be used for sensationalism and shock value?
Whether 2, 20 or 200 people were kidnapped and murdered, whether hand guns, machine guns or grenades were used is completely and utterly besides the point. It doesn’t matter how many troops had to be brought in. It doesn’t matter what affiliation the people partaking in the conflict had. It doesn’t change a thing where the dead bodies were discovered.
What matters is the People of the Canyons are our friends. The People of the Canyons are human beings who suffer through violence, hatred, confusion and bloodshed. What matters is that mothers cry for their disappeared sons, and families are torn with grief in a silent, constant storm fueled thousands of miles away by people who simply don’t care and turn a blind eye, while rolling a Friday-night joint with their friends. What matters is, as I was told, this whole situation could not happen if not for the tacit approval of everyone. Everyone.
|Photo : Mikko Ijas|
We would speak with our bodies the same universal language we have shared since the beginning with the Raramuri. We would not accept to perform an act of friendship, openness and sharing in the face of a fratricidal war. We would not run.
With unspeakable sadness, I walked back to my camp in the comfort and company of many. I was stopped on my way out by countless townspeople and Raramuris who either voiced their thanks for our gesture or silently bowed their head, expressing more than a thousand words. As the hours passed, I was consoled by witnessing people coming together for impromptu meals and celebrations, sharing together like we have always done. I was visited by friends who could not hold their tears in a mix of resignation, frustration and despair at a situation that poisons the lives and the minds. We shared those feelings, together, as well.
When later in the evening, word spread out that an ad-hoc, unsanctioned race would happen the next morning, nothing had changed in the minds of many. The decision that had been taken had, truly, nothing to do with immediate security. The statement that had been made remained. The only thing that anyone could do, in most runners’ mind – and no matter how much everyone yearned to run with the Raramuri - was to quietly stay the course and maintain that stance of peace. The symbol was powerful, meaningful and direly needed. We were saying “We know, we suffer and we oppose.”
Turning around and running the ad-hoc race would have been a blatant approval of the very workings we deplore. Using the language of our bodies to support a façade would have been a lie and a misrepresentation of the values that brought me to the Copper Canyons in the first place. Joining the remaining Raramuri in Urique who literally ran out of options and lined up because they had so much more to lose was, to me, the worst thing I could ever inflict on a People known to turn away and leave at the first sign of aggression.
I packed my bags, hugged my friends and swore to them I will be back, no matter what. “We know”, they simply answered.
|Leonardo Cleto. Runner, father, husband, friend|
I, as many others who were witnesses, am losing sleep over such terrible events. But, like many of my friends, my determination has not wavered. My love has not faded. I hold no grudge to others who have lived the experience in their own way, following their own hearts, values and interpretation of events.
The message has not changed. Peace, truth and openness are what make Mas Locos. I will be back in the Barrancas. We will be back in the Barrancas.
The iconic bird of the Sierra Madre is the Mourning Dove. It is a quiet, shy creature. But its soft song can be heard everywhere in the Canyons.
It’s time to show the Raramuri that we understand the true meaning of Kuira Ba.
We are one.
Le sensationnalisme et la peur ne sont que la voix de ceux qui l'imposent. La paix, l'ouverture et l'humilité sont les seuls moyens pour les contrer.