Korima Run Day 2 - Michael Miller - The Red Hawk

Today, the sun is shining. There haven't been a lot of days yet where it really feels like summer, so it's making my heart happy and my feet light. Today is also the very first day of the season when I get to wear my huaraches, the Luna Sandals our Raramuri friends inspired Barefoot Ted to make.

Today, I run with one of the pillars of the ultra-running community, and definitely one of the pillars in my life. This man has been quietly behind a lot of the projects supporting the Raramuri community, and knows the true meaning of being a Mas Loco. He has a heart as big as a mountain.

I spent many days running with him up and down the canyons and deserts of Arizona, and many evenings after that, cooking and enjoying great wines with his love, La Roja Bonita, The Redhead Kimberly. They have been my friends and family for several years now and we have shared so many things together. Adventures and exaltation, drama and sorrow, laughter and pain.

My friend's totem is the mighty Red Hawk, the proud bird that soars high. Every single time I see one, my heart goes straight to his.

Although we're thousands of miles apart, today we ran together and shared the warmth of the sun, the joy of sharing steps in the late spring grass and the reassuring feeling that we are never really separated.

May you stay strong, run long and hug longer. I love you, my Brother Man.

Anew

My quest to try to become a better Human has taught me many things. Hug more. Don't ignore your feelings. Keep dreaming. But in the midst of this journey, I also learned something that I think is paramount to a more peaceful mind; learn to let go.

Things change, it's in the nature of the Universe. You can't think of anything as static. People, situations, places, moments, even yourself. So instead of clinging onto everything in hope all remains the same, embrace change. Be water. Flow and adapt and enjoy the ride.

Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco, like all things, will not always remain the same. If one sees it as an event created by one man to do some good in a wonderful, remote place, they will feel like it has ended last year. On the other hand, if one sees it as an event between cultures, a bridge between two very different worlds where people of good faith gather and create magic for the time of an epic long run, it goes on.

Caballo will not come back from his last long run to tell anyone how he feels about the whole thing, and I'm convinced that even if he could, he would simply say that it is not his place to determine what UMCB is or has to become. He would say it belongs to the people, and that as long as everybody gathers down to create peace, to run, to enjoy their bodies and their health, to celebrate freedom and community, he would be happy. And so am I.

As my backpack rests against the door, like every time over the past 4 years now, I take a moment to reflect. I find myself wishing to see my friends of the Barrancas happy, thriving, relaxed and healthy. I want to hear the roosters and the dogs, sit down in the shade with old friends and be woken by the singing doves. I want to breathe and taste the Canyons dust while my feet crunch away along the trails. I want to feel the sun sinking in my skin, reviving me from the emptiness of winter.

No matter how UMCB changes or what it becomes, as long as it will be a celebration of peace, health and friendship, I will run it.

Mourning Doves

Peaceful. Quiet. Spiritual. Words that will often be used by those who visit the Copper Canyons of Mexico. Whether they came to experience a running journey with the Raramuri or they wandered down on a traveling adventure, visitors of the Barrancas Del Cobre emerge back transformed, changed.

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?

No.

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

And this is where Norawas de Raramuri, the race directors and the family of Mas Locos drew a line. Saturday, February 28, 2015, in the face of violence, we decided to take a stance. We decided that, notwithstanding the clear and present danger of the situation, cancelling the race would not be a matter of security. We would do the only thing in our power to protest the madness and destruction. Cancelling the race would be a humble, quiet, nonviolent statement for Peace.

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

As the dust kicked up on the view of Urique, climbing up that wild winding road in my friends’ truck, my stomach, my heart and my soul were sick. I felt the worst abandonment, powerlessness and despair. I still do to this day and will for a long time. I cry for the loss of my friend Leonardo Cleto, senselessly murdered in the cycle of violence. I cry for my Raramuri friends who could not walk away like those from closer villages and stayed behind, caught in the confusion and face-saving sham. I cry for the selfishness and insensitivity of some foreigners who used the events for self-promotion and glorification. I cry for Mexico, The Beautiful, from which I received numerous messages of shame and sadness. I cry as I still receive horrible news of substitute policemen reeled in for the unsanctioned race being kidnapped and killed as retribution. I cry for the fear that eats away at the weary heart of the Uriquenses.


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.

Pandora 24 - Friends, Space And Beauty

My running life is funny. I live and train in Montreal and its surroundings, with a lot of different friends from all over. I’m happy that I get to know such a wide range of people and share bits of their running lives. Yet, when it’s time to sign up for trail ultras, I never run in my home country. It’s like flicking the switch to another life, with a whole other group of people I equally love and share stories with. I take off to some part of the world, meet my hobo traveler friends and have an adventure.

After spending a full year of doing just that, I had to come back home, settle back down and go back to work. Funny. Back to back to back. But I digress.

To make sure I stay happy and not experience a crash landing from my wanderer’s life of the past year, I decided to look around and find some trails to run and, who knows, maybe an event or two. I was delighted to discover that a lot of stuff had started happening in Quebec, and previous trail events had started offering some pretty interesting ultra distances.

Awesome race directors Dominic, Martin and Jeff

However, one event immediately stood out. Maybe because it was a premiere. Maybe because a lot of my friends were already excited about it. Maybe because it was so close to home. The race was called Pandora 24, and not only would it be the first-ever 24-hour trail ultra in Quebec; it would also be an important fund raiser to save the beautiful, old-growth forest of Prevost, less than an hour drive from my front door.

I registered and made friends with Martin and Dominic, two of the RD’s. Then they got excited. And I got excited. We talked about the Copper Canyons, the Mas Loco family and my running friends from all over the world. They made a crazy cool offer; if La Mariposa Maria Walton, the heart and soul of Mas Locos, wanted to travel up, she would be made an honored guest.

Claire, Norbert, Flint, La Mariposa, Josie and Donald.
El Kodiak? Gone for breakfast :)

What felt like five minutes later, all was set. My crazy Apache cousin was on her way, and more Mas Locos had answered the call, too. Locals like El Kodiak Marc Séguin and Donald Audet, of course, but also the only Mas Loca massage therapist, Josie Hémond, and the travelling lovebirds Claire Denise Johnson and Norbert Blobel would join us on the trails!

We got to Prevost on the Friday night and set up camp at the start / finish. Since the Pandora is a loop course, El Capitan would double as our personal aid station. Maria and I gave a conference that night to talk about the Raramuri and the Copper Canyons experience, then we met up with several runners and chatted the evening away until bed time.

The guys had planned the event the Quebec way; no crazy-early start before daybreak. We would hit the trails at 10:00AM, plenty of time to wake up, get some breakfast  and soak in the morning sun. Everyone was in high spirits and we decided we would all run the first 10K loop together as a little Mas Loco family. Claire, Norbert, Donald, Marc, Maria and I took off for the woods and spent some wonderful time dancing, laughing and sharing stories.

The day was young, the sun was out and the forest was, as always, stunning.

When the second loop came around, we split up in smaller groups and some of us left to come back later. I decided to keep running with El Kodiak, who’s always about the same speed as I and a good friend I like to share adventures with. We were swift and efficient, and both felt that this would be a great day. The mood was good and the second 10K felt breezy.

"Lime and pepper chips. Excellent."

We didn’t make much of a stop at the start / finish and headed directly back on our third loop, both making a decision that would prove problematic a little while later when we started feeling the ground a little too much in our minimalist shoes and suffered a bit of bruising. It wasn’t too much of a biggie, but we both looked forward to changing into our Altra Lone Peaks to get some extra comfort and cushioning.

After a little break and some re-supplying, we took off on our 4^th, accompanied by a charming team runner, Audrey, who was running her first-ever trail event, and her first-ever distance over 5k. We shared most of the loop until the long downhill to the aid station, where I started noticing an annoying feeling I know too well. Just like at Crown King Scramble, my knee was hurting, with that nagging, specific little pain I know won’t go away. I was really disappointed.

Marc told me he was starting to feel the distance and elevation, too, and said he would stick with me. We slowed down a little bit, but managed to finish the loop with a smile on our face. Back again at El Capitan, I took a little longer to get started again and did something I’d never tried in an ultra; I picked up my hiking poles.

Audrey, myself and El Kodiak Marc Séguin

With 1,400 feet of vertical per loop, the course isn’t easy. There are steady climbs over pretty technical terrain, some rolling single track and pretty much all types of obstacles a forest can throw at you. Between roots, rocks, creeks, logs, boulders and mud, your feet have plenty of dancing around to do and your mind has to stay alert.

Marc had a friend waiting to run with him for that 5^th loop, so I did this one on my own. With a lot of thinking to do, I was happy to have a long, solitary moment in the forest to answer some tough personal questions and think about what lays ahead for me in my life. It felt very calming and peaceful to be out on my own.

I came back down with a knee that was getting more and more painful. I still could hike pretty quickly, but there was no more running. At 50K out of at least 100 that I’d set out to do, this was a major disappointment. I considered calling it a day, but decided to keep going when a good running friend, Martin St-Pierre, suggested we do that loop together.

Nothing like running among friends. Family.

Night had settled and the forest was transformed, and it was awesome to be out. I’d been looking forward to a deep-night loop since the morning, and now was the perfect time. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I hadn’t seen Martin in a long time, so we spent plenty of time chatting the loop away. But the closer I was getting to the start / finish, the more I was thinking I needed at least a long break. After a pretty tough last descent, I stopped and pulled a chair.

I sat down with La Mariposa, who’d made a bad fall and hit her head. It was pretty clear she had a mild concussion, so she decided to play safe and end her run. We hung out, ate and laughed for a while and, just when I was re-considering my decision to stop and pondering if I should head back out, it started raining. Hard.

That was it. The bulk of my motivation flew away instantaneously, and I hit the sack. A 100K – or more – in the forest of Prevost would have to wait another year.

My friends at Pandora 24 pulled together a world-class event, which I’m really proud to have been able to experience. My ultra running friends from all over the world should consider a running of that beautiful, challenging race with the emerging Quebec ultra community. This event has everything it needs to find a spot in the international ultra running circuit. Come see it for yourselves!




La Pandora, ce n'est pas seulement le premier événement d'ultra trail de 24 heures au Québec. C'est une forêt magnifique et des gens extraordinaires, tous réunis autour de la cause de la préservation de la nature et tous unis par des valeurs de santé, de partage et de respect. La Pandora 24, c'est un événement de course de classe mondiale.

Leadville 100 Beer Mile Race Report

“I can drink more than I think I can. I am drunker than I think I am. I will not puke.”

After the Beer Mile oath is taken, there is no backing out. I started regretting getting suckered into this after about 3 gulps of my first beer. See, I can’t chug, and I can’t run, at least not quite like Sweeney, Meissner, Powell, Tyler and pretty much everybody else in the field.

Everyone was on their way to their first lap, and I wasn’t even at half my can of Tecate. Luckily for me, this dude Leon couldn’t chug either, and a steady stream of foam was dripping down his long ZZ-Top beard while we were exchanging empathic looks of mixed amazement and pity.

I let out an obligatory loud burp, threw the can to the side and took off. My belly bloated so badly, I thought it would rip open and show everyone the ginormous burrito I had less than an hour before this, adding dumbness to my stupidity. I tried to start running, and my body rapidly reminded me we were in Leadville, at 10,200 feet of elevation, where running is already hard enough that you don’t need to make it any tougher. I slowed to a jog.

At 1/8th in the mile, I had already decided I wasn’t going to see this through. With great eloquence, a couple hundred feet from crossing the line for my second beer, I let out a loud “Fuck this”. However, I discovered that my refusing to quit is stronger than my common sense or my self-preservation. Before I even realized it, I was popping my second can open and making a mess of myself.

I semi-hobbled my way to the turning point, not even trying to look like I was running this. I turned around, already feeling sorry for myself because I had only half of the job done, and I was ready to check in at the ER, the AA or anywhere that would get me out of here.

It only got worse. At beer 3, my body simply refused to drink. Every sip I forced down seemed to pile up a couple inches below my throat, and it wasn’t long before I started gagging, spitting and doing other things better to stay unmentioned. I was getting ever closer to a dreaded, gigantic barf that would only have me drink an extra beer and run an extra loop. Yeah, these are the rules.

It was largely evident, at that point, that I would finish well behind everyone else, if I finished. But that didn’t matter. I kept drinking as best I could, threw the can to the curb and got on my way. This time around, there was no running for me. I could barely walk and had bloated to the point that my whole chest was hurting really bad. I needed to burp, but couldn’t. About half way to the turning point, I crossed my friend Mike Miller, who didn’t look like he was doing too well either. “How are you?” he asked, looking a bit concerned.

Instead of an answer, what came out of me was the most beastly, cavernous, gigantic, otherwordly mix of a scream and a burp. I christened it The Scurp. It was terrifying and amazing at the same time. It was humanity at its worst and its best, trash and art intertwined. It was beautiful. Trees around me fluttered. Time stopped for an instant.

Uplifted by this unexpected moment and by my newfound lightness, I resumed running. I turned around, got back to the line, popped open my 4th, managed to somehow gulp it down, then took off just when the last runner was making his home stretch. I proudly assumed my DFL status and hobbled along. Sweeney had long finished and decided to further torture my sorry ass by doing a live video interview, in which I hardly pronounced more than 3 words. But the finish line was coming, and I started savoring victory, added to the burrito-scurp aftertaste. I was cheered and welcomed, raised my hands up in the air like a true alcoholic champion and crossed that line for a final time, swearing I was never going to do this again...

... While asking when the next one would be.



The Beer Mile was performed by highly-trained professionals in a strictly-regulated environment under the supervision of international elite runners. Do not try this at home.

Game Changers

My friends at Tribesports have asked me an interesting question. They are in the midst of a feature they call “Game Changers”, which tries to highlight the exceptional people who have had such an influence on their sport that they actually brought some change into either how the sport was played or how it was perceived.

As an example, they mentioned Roger Bannister, who ran the first sub-4 minute mile, explaining the he had proven to Humanity that we could be faster than was reputed impossible, if we worked hard enough for it.


Then they asked me if I knew a Game Changer in running. It didn’t take me very long to answer. Not only do I know one, but I actually had the privilege of running with him and spending some time in the land he helped the rest of the world discover. I am, of course, talking about Caballo Blanco, Micah True.

Let me start right away by saying he would hate this article if he read it, scoff and call it all sorts of awful names. He would say that having an influence in the world of running is the last thing he wanted, that people should make their own minds and blaze their own paths. And that, in part, was the true genius of Micah; never would he tell anyone to do anything. He just did what he did, followed his heart and his vision and waited for no one to follow.

Caballo Blanco started ultra-running over 20 years ago, way before it was cool and probably before it was even recognized as a sport in itself. He would just hit the trails and run for hours, exploring the capabilities of his body and mind, reflecting on many things and setting his fiery heart back to a peaceful state. All the while, he was also looking for purpose, for a higher meaning to life. He was convinced somehow, there had to be a way for running to become not only a way of life, but the essence of a meaningful existence.

He kept running for years with this idea in mind, reflecting, searching, until the day providence made him cross paths with the Tarahumara. Within a couple hours of running with Martimiano Cervantes in the 1993 Leadville race which would change everything, Micah discovered a civilization that was in almost every way aligned on his yearning for a different world.

He never saw the Tarahumara as superhuman, half gods or anything of the sort. He recognized them as brothers and sisters, and felt a deep kinship with these proud, yet very humble people who kept mostly to themselves, favored peace over conflict and lived quietly in harmony with the earth. And in all the following years, when he travelled to the Copper Canyons and slowly made contact with the Tarahumara, it’s his humble respect that served as an ambassador and, ultimately, as the gateway to a most unusual connection.

When he was introduced to the world, clumsily, by an otherwise fascinating book, his reaction was not to live out his newly-acquired fame or to try and build a fortune around it. He simply, humbly recognized that he had been given a voice, and he decided to use it to carry a simple message. After years of exploring, by himself, with others and among the Tarahumara, he had distilled the essence of running down to a powerful principle, a philosophy so pure and simple that it stood in only two, small words.

Run Free.

Go out into the world. Use your body as the vehicle it was always intended to be. Reawaken your DNA’s memory and make one with nature. Explore. Do not relinquish your own judgement at the profit of the experts or the merchants of the time. Make your own mind. Fail. Then try again. Invest time and effort into your running, with an open heart and a true interest. And you will get more than you ever expected.

He spent the last years of a life too short spreading this message, not by trying to convince anyone, but by incarnating it. The bridge he had created with an amazing people, he shared with an open heart as well with a vast family of kindred spirits from all around the world, which he christened “the most crazy”, the Mas Locos.

He left this world richer than when he joined it, with a cultural and spiritual connection so strong that he is recognized in Tarahumara culture as a genuine member of the tribe, as a true brother. His humble vision and philosophy, shared and spread by the Mas Locos, lives strong today as the race he created continues in the same spirit and more people every year join the ranks of those who run free, the Running People.

When you encounter a runner today who doesn’t wear a fancy GPS, doesn’t follow a training plan and is keener on talking about the experience of their run rather than the time it took them to complete it, chances are this person has been influenced, in some way or another, by Caballo Blanco and his beautiful, important message.