Ultra Fiord Patagonia 2016 - A Bad Plan B

An interview with ultra runner Augusto Gamero on Ultra Fiord Patagonia 2016

 

Augusto Gamero is a Canadian runner from the Ottawa region, member of the Pearl Izumi Run Team and a personal friend. Experienced, strong and fit, he takes on several ultra challenges each year and does consistently very well. For having shared many runs and events with him, I know he's a responsible adventure runner, aware of the risks and challenges our sport presents and I know he prepares accordingly. He is also of Honduran descent, well-traveled and a native Spanish speaker.

After I learned about the disappearance and tragic death of our friend Arturo Rueda at the Ultra Fiord Patagonia this year, I wanted to sit down and ask Augusto how he navigated the event, how he felt about the situation and what had actually happened, from his perspective. Here's the result of our conversation.

Q. You wanted us to have this conversation.

A. Yes. I’ve had time to revisit the event and everything that has happened, and I want to tell the story of Ultra Fiord 2016 from my point of view. I want this story to sift through the filter of polished marketing and empty public statements so that my fellow runners get a real sense of what happened, for the sake of truth and accountability.

Q. So tell me how it all started.

A. I attended the Trails In Motion film festival with beautiful movies of awesome races and that really got me inspired. I wanted to find an adventure of my own, one that would mix travel and racing. My friend Maude and I started looking around for an event and found the Ultra Fiord Patagonia, with its gorgeous videos, its promise of adventure and its awe-inspiring mountain setting. It seemed to be everything I was looking for.

Q. Did you research the event? How did you get your information?

A. I quickly realized this was a young race and that the previous year had significant issues with logistics and coordination. However, it seemed the organization had made amends and implemented substantial corrective measures. One important thing to understand is that NIGSA, the race promoter, excels at marketing. They have a very slick-looking web site, high-quality images and videos and they make everything look highly-organized and professional. When I read their material, it became obvious that this would be a difficult, challenging course with extreme weather and I knew to expect a semi-autonomous environment because of the mandatory gear list and the seemingly rigorous application process, where you had to describe your experience as an ultra-runner before gaining entry.

It was also made very clear that manned aid stations with basic food and water would be available along the course, as well as medical support and runner tracking through electronic chips. The whole registration and follow-up process gave me the feeling that Ultra Fiord was a challenging race, designed for seasoned ultra runners and held by a high-tiered organization.

Q. So you journeyed down to Chile and got to the race site. What was it like?

A. It was quite messy from the start. The most apparent sign of that was the absence of your typical race headquarters; things were all over the place. There was a spot for drop bags, another for race packets and yet another for the ceremony. NIGSA changed some of the locations last-minute, too, and it got really confusing for the runners.

Q. Was there a briefing?

A. The “pre-race briefing” was unnecessarily long and pompous, and NIGSA boasted that there were runners from all over the world, yet provided very poor English translation with conferences and official speeches in Spanish only and about 30% of the race briefing being translated. You could see there were runners present who had no clue what was going on.

This is when we were informed of the course changes due to severe weather conditions to allow the race to go on. NIGSA published an edited map and informed runners on how the course would be affected. Some of the fjords would be missed because of the changes. We were told the weather would be pretty bad with high winds and low temperatures, including snow. The course changes were obviously last-minute, but I feel that we, as ultra runners, have to be ready for such things to happen and I think at this point, everybody seemed to appreciate that the event was still taking place.

Q. What was the “vibe” like, at this point?

A. There was a lot of confusion and frustration. A lot of runners did not understand much of what went on because of the poor translation and everyone was trying to figure out the vital information while the program went on with a Spanish-only conference on mountain climbing. I think it’s fair to say that the runners would have much preferred some clear, upfront information on the weather, the course and how support would be affected rather than sitting confused while some guy talked about a topic totally unrelated to the race’s scope and environment.

Q. How did you feel?

A. I was there for the experience and determined to do the race. I felt confident about my gear and my preparation; I had my own food and my overall experience to count on. I was bugged by some pre-race aspects of the organization, but I was determined to run and finish my 70K endeavour. I won’t deny I was nervous because of the environment and the weather; I knew some of the conditions, like the wind and cold, were worrisome. I didn't know how my body and mental would be affected, but I saw it as a challenge.

Q. Let’s get to race day.

A. The logistics issues started with the 6:00 AM shuttle to the starting line, where we were told there would be a delay to allow the 50K runners a head start in order to avoid aid station traffic. The 70K runners were left shivering outside to wait a full hour for their later start, in biting 38-degree weather. I was fu*%#ing cold! There were no follow-ups and I was surprised that there was absolutely no check for the mandatory gear at any point.

When they finally let us start, I went out at a comfortable pace and focused on my race strategy. I had about 30K-worth of food and hydration and knew to take it easy on the hard climbs. I arrived to the first aid station and asked about the drop bags. The volunteer I asked had no idea so I thought it’d be in the following aid station. That was about 12K in the race so I was confident to find my drop bag at the next aid station. As the race went on, and went through aid stations, it became apparent that I was not going to have access to my drop bag, where I had most of my food.

Q. What did the aid stations look like?

A. Very minimal. Semi-closed tents, the first of which had very basic stuff like water and some food. The 2^nd and 3^rd had nothing, and the only “food” I came across was a guy offering some cookies outside of the aid station area. I started getting pretty nervous.

Q. Were the other runners coping well at that point?
A. Yes. I think everyone was prepared to be autonomous, at least for the first several kilometres. But I wasn’t paying too much attention to other runners, at least not during the first 30 kilometers or so.

Q. When did it start to really go wrong?

A. By the time I reached the 3^rd aid station, around the 30K mark, I needed my drop bag to get my gear and my food. There were no bags anywhere. When I asked the volunteers, they didn’t even know what a drop bag was, and I got pretty rattled because I knew I couldn’t finish my run on a couple of cookies. I couldn’t get reliable information on distances in-between aid stations either, as no one seemed to know. I realized the organization was failing and that I couldn’t rely on anything at that point, so I rationed everything I had, slowed down and prepared to stretch very thin on my last 40K. At least there would be water from the rivers, and anyway I’d already seen the aid stations fill barrels in the same way because there was no filtered water available anywhere. Aid station volunteers even told runners to use the river water themselves.

Q. Wasn’t there any tracking? Was there medical staff?

A. All the race material said there would be chip timing and tracking as well as medical support, and it was confirmed at the briefing. I am positive that there were no medical personnel anywhere on the 70K course or in the aid stations, and the only tracking I saw was people writing down some of the runners’ bib numbers on papers. Although volunteers systematically scanned our chips at every point, we were told the chips had not worked because of the bad weather and that they were useless. Being a Canadian runner living in Ottawa, I have run in every possible wintry weather condition before and knew that chips couldn’t just “freeze” in weather close to freezing point.

Q. Could you just have dropped out of the race and be safe?

A. I could’ve stopped at an aid station, but I remembered the 70K course description said it was one of the wildest sections and there was no car access. I figured I’d only quit as a last resort, such as if I’d gotten injured, and even then I knew I would’ve been stuck there waiting in the cold for a long time. I also knew that if I slowed down to a hike and took a conservative approach, I would manage. At that point, I was angry and frustrated and just wanted to be done but the trails and views were of incomparable beauty, so that kept me distracted for a while.

Q. So how bad were the conditions?

A. It was really cold, windy and snowy. Many of the 50K runners I passed were “hangry” and tired, and I met some runners who had very little experience and were completely out of food, which made me question the whole “selection process” I’d gone through to get my entry into the race. Everyone I talked to knew that they would fare better by finishing the race than by dropping out.

However, you have to understand that I was running more at the front, where everyone seemed to have the proper equipment. I knew the back of the line was probably a different story and it worried me to think about people not getting their drop bags and running out of food. But at that point, I had only one thing in mind; get it done. By the time I hit the 50K mark, I picked up the pace because I had no intention to finish past daylight.

Q. Was it easy to get lost? How was the marking?

A. Probably the only thing that was well done. It would’ve been really hard for someone to get lost. There was a combination of posts and flags with constant visual contact, probably one of the best course markings I’ve seen. I even got sidetracked once and knew right away I wasn't going in the right direction because I didn't see any markings, so I turned and got right back on the course.

Q. So you finished?

A. Yes. I was tired, starving and pretty frustrated. When I got to the finish, we had been promised food and there was nothing else than a cereal bar I didn’t want to eat. I hadn’t brought any money and was very lucky that one of my friends could at least buy me a coke. I finished in about 9:20, and quickly changed into warmer clothing (yes!, my drop bag for the finish line was at least there) and jumped on the boat because my friend told me he didn’t know when the next one would be after that. I was later told that runners who came in past the 10-hour mark had to wait for hours for the boat and got back to town at about 2:00 in the morning.

Q. When did you learn that a runner had gone missing and died?

A. There was not any info on the race course or at the finish, not even rumours. There were some postings on social media the next day, so we asked around when we went to town and heard stories here and there, but people were confused. They said one runner went missing and died and that the family of other runners were looking for information on their running relatives they knew were on the mountain but were unaccounted for. I only found out for sure at the awards ceremony the day after, when race director Stjepan Pavicic held a minute of silence to honor Arturo. He then went on emphasizing how gear and preparedness were critical in such conditions and mentioned the probable cause of Arturo’s death, although unconfirmed, was hypothermia.

It didn’t take long for very angry runners to blame the director, the race and the whole organization for their negligence and to say that if proper logistical and medical support had been there, he wouldn’t have died. One runner made it clear that the race organization had not even called the police or search and rescue because she, in fact, had been the one to inform them first. There was a lot of mixed emotions among the crowd, and I heard many very sarcastic comments about the RD’s attitude and the explanations provided.

Q. How do you feel the race organization handled the situation?

A. I still don't have all the facts and the real sequence of events. I know for sure the organization didn't inform the police. There was even talk that the police didn't authorize the race because of safety and emergency access issues. It took 3 days to bring back the body and other missing runners to town. The organization justified Arturo's death by hypothermia, but where was the promised support? Where were the first response teams? Where was the verification of mandatory gear? Not to mention anybody with a trained eye would have seen Arturo was confused coming in through one of the most critical aid stations on top of the mountain and would have pulled him out of the race.

As runners, we bear the responsibility for our security and for bringing the gear and sufficient supplies for the environment, but I also think what was promised by the organization should’ve been delivered. I payed to have fun and to get minimal services from the event, and I ended up getting no service and having my safety and security endangered, along with all the other runners.

It's still hard to comment on what happened to Arturo, part of the responsibility is on every runner to monitor their health and make sure they're not pushing themselves over their limits or just being stubborn, but as the same time the organization has the responsibility of basic safety and logistics and my sense was that basic minimal support lacked throughout the race.

Q. What do you think should happen now?

A. There should at least be a thorough investigation into what actually happened out on the course and into the responsibility of the race organizers. On top of that, there are many recommendations I would make :

• Have a single race headquarters in Puerto Natales, to avoid unnecessary confusion;
  
• If this is an international event as claimed, all the information needs to be available in English as well during briefing activities, both pre- and post-race;
• All runners understand that weather in Patagonia can swing drastically. But if the race is going to be held anyway using alternate routes, make sure plan A and plan B are equally sound and safe;
• If the race organization knows about Patagonia, they are supposed to be equipped and ready to deliver their service no matter what the current conditions are;
•  It is inexcusable that the chip system failed, and if it did, it is negligence to let runners out on the course untracked;
• Any aid station must have a captain with the authority to pull runners out of the race if they are putting themselves in danger.

Q. Would you recommend the race to anyone?

A. No. It seems the same mistakes that were made in the first year were repeated, with deadly consequences. If anything, the problems got even worse. In my opinion, if you’re going to have an ultra adventure in Chilean Patagonia without any logistical support, don’t pay money just to get a nice t-shirt and a buff…

FlintLand wishes to offer our most sincere condolences to the family of Arturo Héctor Martínez Rueda, a fellow ultra runner, a Copper Canyons Mas Loco and a friend. May you run free forever. Gracias para la amistad, y descanse en paz, hermano.

The Leatherman's Loop 2016

There are running events that have inspired me and spurred me on as a runner. And then, there are running events that have changed me as a person.

When I ran my first Leatherman’s Loop, in 2012, times couldn’t be any harder. Micah had just died, my life was in ruins and I had kindly asked the Leatherman runners to please excuse me for not coming. They had none of it and requested instead that I and Olaf come present our recent running footage with Micah and honor our friend’s memory.

This would be the start of an amazing friendship and a lasting relationship with a group of beautiful people I now consider family.

Little Wings and two dweebs

I got to meet Christy Little Wings first. Instant love ensued. Then Dean, of course, who can make me burst into laughter at any given moment with a witty joke. El Copadre Tony, who welcomed me with the warmest of open arms, and Judy soon after. Born-Mas-Loco Kurt and his crazy homemade sandals. Jugglin’ Joe Cloidt, Karen, Gerry and his lightning bolt of a son Aemonn, Rob Cummings, Smilin’ Mike Poletta, Dave, Danny The Lion and the list goes on and on…

Every single one of these people reminds me why I run. All of them are beautiful, quirky, genuine, honest humans with colorful spirits. If your friends are a mirror of your soul, these people make me a beautiful person.

Pre-mud shot

The run itself is its own thing; a mudfest with waist-high river crossings, which begins each year by a prayer to Beauty. A wild rumble in the woods with yodlers and bagpipes to keep you smiling. An event that is nothing else than a huge party of runners who’ve been waiting for this as the starting gun to spring and to a new season of running happy, healthy and free. It’s nothing short of the best 10k you’ll ever run.

This year was extra fun because Rob surprised my good friend El Kodiak with an impromptu invite to join the fun as “The Stowaway” (that’s even what his bib said). We packed our stuff into my little truck and drove down together, taking every chance to be the happy idiots that we are. After having to show our passports to buy beer, making a wrong turn into back roads and off-roading with Dust-E in the back of a camping area, we finally arrived at the race site at sundown, just in time to see the awesome “Circle of peace”.

The top 2 on my podium in the girl + awesome divison

See, where other races will put up sponsor booths or podiums or a stage with music, the Leatherman’s Loop will always do something to inspire, to bring together and to make life a little better. This year, El Copadre’s family gathered to create an enormous “peace” sign with trail marker flags on the lawn of the Pound Ridge Reservation where the run takes place. Before the start was given, Tony addressed the crowd and, among other things, invited all runners to take some of these flags back home, saying “Take home a piece of peace”.

So we woke up to a gorgeous, sunny day, brewed some coffee and joined our friends at the starting line. We laughed and prayed and hugged and smiled and took off and splashed and splattered and sunk and rolled and sprinted and huffed and laughed some more. Simply, we lived one of these perfect moments that make life wonderful.

Beauty all around me as I run

I don’t know what I ever did to deserve being adopted by such an awesome family, but every April, my heart sings and my spirit dances with some of the best, craziest, authentic Human beings I have had the privilege to encounter.

Leatherman People, I love all of you!

El Copadre Tony, and the tribe.
(credit: Closer North)

A Homecoming

Standing at the UMCB 2016 starting line, I felt like I had been catapulted into this moment through a whirl of events which started 4 years ago, when I showed up in Bauichivo, dusty, tired and absolutely amazed only to stumble onto Caballo Blanco and have my life changed forever.

With a single color bracelet at my wrist, I contemplate the extent of the day ahead of me, but quickly wipe that thought and concentrate on what matters; the sun will shine in the Barrancas today, I'm here and so are my friends.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and we are off in a crazy cavalcade, as always, through the early cheers of excited Uriquenses standing on their porches in the early light of a new Canyon's day. I take a couple of weary steps, and everything suddenly falls into flow. I'm a the right place, and this is the right time. It's all going to work out exactly as it's supposed to.

I don't know exactly where this chain of events started. Is it when my brother Dan gave me that book, or when I could't just finish it, put it down and go on with my life, and went online looking for the Raramuri? Is it when I got down from the train and ended up drinking a beer with Micah True 15 minutes later, or when he left me and all my new Mas Loco family to go run with the Elders forever?

All I know is I found myself surrounded with a handful of close friends in a human ocean of Raramuri runners, and that all was right in the world again.

La Plaza, the day before the race

I'll never really know what the Canyons folks really think of us weird gringos and our crazy ideas. What I do know is that they had a twinkle in their eyes this year, and a palpable excitement to see us that felt genuine and almost overwhelming. Sweeney, Tyler, Mike, Muldonado, Kimberly, Tony, everyone was called by name and cheered on like the long-awaited return of a family member. Even Raramuri families on the side of the road seemed to forego their legendary shyness and shouted "Weriga!" for me, something I had never witnessed before.

The miles started piling and my excitement didn't fade. It seemed like everyone shared a little extra friendship, a little extra joy of seeing that no matter what happened before, we were all still here, we were all still running together and we were all, as it always will be, one.

I don't know if it was because so few of us had showed up, but the Raramuris and the local runners showed heartwarming hospitality and shared the trails with large smiles and nods of approval at every corner. I ran some sections with women, who usually step out of the trail at the first sign of a chabochi, looking down or away in silence. With a smaller group of younger Raramuri girls, we even joked about the fact that a faster girl and me, who ended up progressively passing them, were a weird pair with my huaraches and her running shoes. It looked like we were all just a big family out on a long run together, and it was a fantastic feeling.

Coming out of my first stop in Urique, I stumbled upon two very young boys from town, who told me they had been training and preparing for months to be able to run the race. I grinned from ear to ear and congratulated them on their achievements. We shared a good section of the way to Guapalayna, until they decided to take a break away from the rising heat.

The aid stations were filled with happy, giggling teens very eager to help and offer us fruits, pinole and abundant water. There were teams of Red Cross volunteers everywhere, ready to step in and help out struggling runners even on the way out to Los Alisos, far away from the closest road. One of the unit chiefs, a young girl all decked in her Red Cross uniform and vigorously hiking the trails under the burning sun, cheered me on and made sure I was all right before giving me a little slap on the butt and shouting "andale!" which gave everyone, myself included, a good laugh.

As always, showing up half-dead in Los Alisos and being revived by Prospero and his team was a high point of my day. Seeing our friends so busy and dedicated to the race was both humbling and heart-warming, and the hugs and cheers at the end of the trail gave me energy to keep going and reminded me of the importance of what we were doing; we were showing our friends that we love them, the Barrancas and this event, in whatever shape of form it takes.

No matter how hard the day went, people everywhere went out of their way to help out, from that police dude in Guapalayna who literally showered me with a bucket of water to the young girls in La Laja who sat me down and gave me an awesome leg rub with a local analgesic pomada, all the way to that lovely young woman on my last way out of Guadalupe, who popped open a Tecate for me, offered a couple sips and assured me her boyfriend wouldn't kill me if I gave her a kiss. So I gave her two :)

My Oso's and my colors :)

Absolutely everything went as well as I had hoped, and even better. My Raramuri friend Javier placed 7th overall in the race, smashing his previous record and finishing ahead of some legendary runners despite a pretty bad cramping bout on his last stretch. Tarzan Tyler had an amazing run and finished first gringo under a thunder of cheers. All the Mas Locos in our caravan finished their runs and crossed the line with a lot of emotion, as some were experiencing this for the first time. No matter where you were in Urique, UMCB 2016 brought joy, excitement and a whole lot of positivity.

I managed to have an about-12-hour overall run, which I am very satisfied with. After a rather demanding stretch from Los Alisos almost all the way up to Guadalupe, I pumped myself full of the gels my friends had scrambled for me in Urique and pulled a pretty impressive last 5K, catching up with my friend Muldowney and finishing in daylight, exhausted but filled with joy.

The Urique government did an amazing job at organizing the event, from super-well-staffed aid stations to the 100% local cultural program. They pulled a world-class event pretty flawlessly, providing food and camps for the Raramuri runners as well as cash prizes and food vales like has now become tradition.

Like every year, I left Urique too soon, my head filled with memories and my heart filled with the pride of knowing that Ultra Caballo Blanco is in good hands with the people of the Barrancas, that it will go on for a long time in the future and that I, for sure, as always, will be back in the beautiful Copper Canyons as soon as I get the chance.

I kept my 5 colors on my wrist like a trophy up until today, not so much for the running achievement, but as a reminder of the love, friendship and peace we helped create.

I will be back in 2017 and I'm sure that I won't be alone. Until then, I have a year's worth of daydreaming and memories to cherish and a ton of new projects with my friends who live in the Barrancas, the home I will always love coming back to.

Moldonado, friends, and me, sharing
a celebratory cold drink at the finish line

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.

BTR 2014 - Whiskey Jerry, A Raramuri And The Marshmallow Man Walk Onto A Ranch...

The BTR Tribe

I woke up in my tent with a parched mouth and a terrible headache. The camp was still quiet, so I figured it was probably very early morning. Painfully, I turned over, opened the zipper door and fumbled out in the faint light to go get a bottle of water, kicking empty beer cans on the way to Sweeney’s car. My head throbbed and I couldn’t quite remember how the party ended the night before, aside from a vague memory of face-planting in the dark on my way to the Port-a-Potty.

Welcome to Born To Run, the Burning Man of ultra running.

This was the morning before my 50K, I couldn’t walk straight or mumble more than 3 or 4 relevant words in a row. Looking for some sympathy from fellow partyfaces, I stumbled to the Clemens camp to see if anyone had made coffee. Tyler handed me a Tecate, which I pushed back to him, gagging. “Are you nuts?!” I said, trying to keep my cookies. He broke the can open and handed it back. “It’s open now. Gotta drink it!”.

As more tent-zipper, groaning and can-kicking sounds arose, the camp slowly came to life on the glorious California morning of the Chamberlin Ranch. Everyone looked like shit, with some emerging out of tents that weren’t theirs, or others still buzzed from the craziness of the night before. If you’d taken a snapshot at that precise moment, no one would have ever believed you were among ultra distance runners, and some of the best ones at that.

Wheelchair-Racing-With-A-Wine-Drinking-Pacer
was not listed on Ultrasignup's event schedule.

I slouched down on a chair at Margarita’s camp with the most hung-over Josue Stephens I’d ever seen and we tried to slowly come back to life through excessive belated water drinking. On one of my first zombie pee walks to the Port-a-Potty, I came across one of my favorite running people. “Apache TONY!!! How’s it going, brother?” - The puzzled look on his face hinted that this maaaaybe wasn’t the first time I’d seen him during the past couple hours... “Hummm… you… don’t remember last night’s campfire much, do you?” he said, smirking. Oh man.

When your weekend of running includes half-naked men dressed like trees, archery runs, beer half-marathons and heavy metal mariachi shows, there’s no need to devise a hydration strategy or meticulously prepare your race-day food; your only job is to survive the party, surf the tidal fun wave and wait for the horrible Norteño music, 5:00 AM wake-up call and Luis Escobar’s broken voice over the PSA screeching “You have 15 minutes to show up to the starting line, dressed up and looking like a distance runner”.

Don't ask. No, seriously.

Seriously, though, what else could I expect? Born to Run 2014 was the literal gathering of everyone I love in the sport, with so very few exceptions that I could count them on the fingers of a single hand. Almost every person who’s made my life the homeless heaven it was this past year was camped out somewhere around me in concentric circles, starting from the “Mas Loco Village” established around La Mariposa’s car. It was a festival of love and a celebration of the running life.

Even our Raramuri friends were here, with Equipo Caballo Blanco running its first BTR-sponsored event. Despite grand fears that this whole freak show would terrorize them forever, it was delightful to see them walking around the camp, hanging out under the shade of trees and – yes, you read this right – smiling. They looked relaxed, perfectly at ease, in maybe what they might have interpreted as the gringo-style Tesguinada (traditional corn beer party) they are so familiar with as the landmark event before any big Copper Canyons running meet.

Surrounded by my whole tribe, I spent the rest of the morning trying to rehydrate and telling everyone who’d listen (read: nobody) that I wouldn’t drink another drop of booze until after my run.

BTR's idea of sticking to
a strict pre-race regimen

Since I chugged away my wise pre-race decisions at the Beer Mile just a couple hours later, I guess I didn’t deem it worthy to get my gear ready or to prepare a proper final meal before my 50K. I spent the rest of the afternoon sharing beers with Papa Jim and the Clemens Clan (kinda sounds like a rock band) and had a family-sized bag of chips for dinner with my friend Greg Lowe, while a very drunk Alejandro fell off his camping chair and was lovingly rolled onto a blanket in the shade. Then Metalachi showed up, so I *might* have had a couple shots of tequila and that god-awful Fireball crap, which seems to have become the official allwedoisrun poison of choice, while screaming along at “We’re not gonna take it” to the sound of distorted trumpets.

Soooo, as you can imagine, 5:00 AM came in crashing, with a vengeance. I’m not sure what was the hardest: finding my running clothes in the dark and something liquid that was not alcohol to fill my hydration vest, or keeping in an increasing need to puke. I managed to shove a Clif Bar down my throat and walked to the starting line. In the half-obscurity of the early morning, things looked like the police had just busted in the ranch and were rounding up a herd of half-drunk hobos to put an end to this debauchery. At least, I thought, everyone looked equally “ready”.

Somewhere between the Beer Mile and the rock show,
I was officially adopted by the Clemens Clan

I don’t know if I spaced out badly or if the shotgun misfired, but without much ceremony, we somehow just got moving out the gate and onto the course. And then something really weird happened. We started running.

Between awesome segments with kick-ass Jody and my buddy Jon Zaid from Nine Trails, the first loop felt like an easy 5K. Shortly after that, I played catch with Durango Mike for a bit, saw Benedict whizz by like there was nothing to it and then came across the radiating beauty of Amy, closely followed by the highly inspiring Dan. I completed my second third of the run with my girl Crista, chatting and joking the miles away until we crossed the gate for the second time.

I really thought things were going OK, considering, but it only occurred to me that I might be doing really well when I reached the last aid station before my finish, with about 10K to go. I got in to get food and was really happy to see Margarita… and casually smiled at Michelle and Bobby, who were- Wait. What the hell were Michelle and Bobby, by all means WAY faster people than me, doing at that aid station?

This one serves to prove there was actual running involved

After some moments sinking in the realization that maybe I should get my ass back on the trails and actually try and keep up with my friends, we all took off together and dropped the hung-over hammer to get this thing done, I guess, and maybe see who still had a cold beer or two? Margaret was in a lot of back pain, so our merry band stretched out a little bit on the last long downhill. I only started to feel the burn on that last 1-mile stretch where you cross the finish line, keep going a half mile out then turn back for the real finish because, in the RD’s own words, “You still owe me a mile”. The heat had risen and the shenanigans from the last couple days had left my reserves, well, depleted to say the least, but I still managed to drag my carcass to the finish chute. I ended up ahead of Michelle, who forgot to run under the gate and had to turn around, which is absolutely unfair. But really, I don’t think anyone was counting that hard.

After catching my breath a little bit, I started wondering if I could really have ran my best 50K ever, ill-prepared and badly hung over, or if this was all some sort of withdrawal syndrome, post-alcoholic hallucination. So I went back, looked at the clock and marveled at what I can only call the Born To Run magic.

6:16. Go figure.

Born To Run, C'est le Woodstock de la course d'ultra, un festival de la folle amitié qui nous unit et la réalisation incroyable que ça se peut, courir 50 kilomètres sur un lendemain de brosse :)