Korima Run Day 1 - Phil Gendreau - Run to the Water

The Korima Run starts today and will last 7 days. I invited you to join me in any way you can, and many have answered. It warms my heart to see we remain connected and we remain united with our Raramuri friends.

In support and in their honor, I will run every day of the Korima Run. And since we live in times of pandemics and separation, I will run every day with - and for - someone close to me in our big worldwide Mas Loco community.

Today started at first light. In support for our friend Phil Gendreau who will run from sunrise to sunset, Karine and I started in darkness and ran south, to the shore of the St-Lawrence river where we were greeted by a display of pink and orange sky.

Phil will donate for every KM ran today, and we wish him resolve, health, a wide smile and light feet. Run Free, my friend!

Inspired by your endeavour, Karine ran her very first full 5K today, an all-time personal best!

First light on the St-Lawrence river

New Horizons

Photo credit: Tyler Tomasello

As runners and Mas Locos, we’ve all had our lives changed by one, or more, trip(s) to the Copper Canyons of Mexico. The remoteness, the authenticity and the culture have charmed, inspired and taught us so much. It has made us better in many ways, and shown us the true power of Korima.

Like our friends in the Barrancas, Norawas de Raramuri has navigated many challenges as an organization. From its inception to support Micah’s dream and actions to its revival in 2012, all the way to this very day, our group has had a single driving principle: channel our friends’ financial support to our other friends in the Copper Canyons. 

Over the years, you have helped us provide tens of thousands of dollars to purchase the food vouchers awarded at every Caballo Blanco Ultra Marathon. You have supported the amazing Caballo Blanco Trail Project, which now spans all the way up and beyond the Canyon of Urique, reviving an ancestral pathway used for generations. You have contributed to the wonderful kid’s race, la Carrera De Los Caballitos, that now attracts hundreds and hundreds of happy, excited youngsters to the streets of Urique to celebrate health and running. You have supplied schools with material and supported health care intiatives, most of which I oversaw personally, in the field. As a group, as One, we can be proud of what has been achieved and of the vast movement of kindness that has reached the bottom of the Canyons.

2015 marked an important change of context for the race, for the Mas Loco runners and in no small way for the Urique community as well. Out of a tragic initial event, an idea sprouted that the local people could take over the organization of the race and see to its perenniality. This idea is empowering, beautiful, and ultimately a logic step in the life of Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco.

In 2016, we were witness to the very first, locally-managed UMCB and it showed without any doubt how much love and dedication the Urique people have for the event. I know they are hard at work right now preparing the next one, and many of us will be running it with great enthusiasm.

This change in context has redefined many things, among which the role Norawas de Raramuri can play in the future and my personal role in the organization. We spent some time thinking about it and as the flow of events unfolded, we have come to the conclusion that it is no longer the best outlet to show our support in the Copper Canyons.

Although Norawas will issue its own official statement about how it will manage the remaining funds and see to their distribution, I wanted to take this occasion to announce I am stepping down from my role as a board member and to personally thank you, our supporters, our family. You are in the thousands. I can’t count the number of times I was told by our friends in the Canyons how much they appreciated the help of us “gringos” :) These thanks go directly, rightfully to you.

I will, of course, keep being involved with the Raramuri and the Copper Canyons through other venues and I’m committed for life to keep living Caballo Blanco’s vision of creating peace at the bottom of the canyons using the simple, humble act of running. It is also no longer a secret that I am part of a wonderful new initiative, Mas Korima, to which I will devote my time, resources and efforts to develop a direct business partnership with our Raramuri friends. It’s a bold, new idea that I strongly believe in and I want to fully devote to.

In the meantime, I personally invite you all to join us in Urique on March 6 for another celebration of beauty and connection and I also invite you to follow – and join - us in our future Copper Canyons endeavors.

Much love,

Flint

The First Day of Mas Korima

Today is a very important day.

First of all, I woke up in one of my favorite houses in one of my favorite places in the world. I went for a quick run around the neighborhood, surrounded with desert mountains. I also exchanged funny, quirky, lovely little messages with The Dragonfly, which reminded me the incredible luck I have that she's in my life.

I am a grateful man, for all the beauty that's in my life.

Today is already excellent, but it's also about to get downright exceptional. We are gathering our things and getting prepared to head to Fountain Hills, Arizona, at the Javelina Jundred site to officially launch Mas Korima, a dream we've been working on for over a year now.

We're starting something new., something good. We will use the workings of consumer marketing to bring excellent heritage nutrition products to the endurance world, which in turn will directly benefit our Raramuri partners and their communities, who provide the heirloom corn, ancient knowledge and labor that make the products so unique, wholesome and healthy.

Athletes and supporters will not only get access to the best natural endurance food from the Running People of the Copper Canyons, they will contribute to their livelihood, well-being and empowerment at the same time. Good food, good deeds, good will. The perfect circle.

By turning to a profit-based business model, we work with our friends as equal partners and we help them deal with the unavoidable modernity that's closing in to their homes. They get to decide how the crops are produced and handled and they are responsible to build the local network of people involved in the operations. They get to use their values, heritage and culture to guide the way of a real-world business, on their own terms. They face the same issues, questions and challenges that every starting company has to deal with, and we are here to support them and learn from this incredible adventure as a working group, a community.

And this is where I get so incredibly excited about Mas Korima. It's a new model, an idea based on equality. It's an opportunity to support and be taught, to face adversity and meet success, to make decisions and influence everyone's future in a respectful, humble and positive way. This is a chance to make a real difference.

You, me, Mas Korima, our Raramuri friends. Our way to live by the value of sharing, to create a powerful circle for positive change.

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.

Back From The Barrancas

I had a weird summer, you know. Between hard personal decisions and a nagging little injury, my spirit was weighed down by many thoughts and questions. A lot of those gravitated around a place I love, a place I had come to consider a second home; Urique. I spent many moments wondering how my friends were doing, how the overall situation was and about what the future would hold for this running paradise.

So when the opportunity arose for me to travel back down to the Barrancas, even though for a very short trip, I packed my bag in a heartbeat.

On the road with a truckload of giggling chicas :)

Ever since Michael Miller and I drove out of Urique with heavy hearts, we both swore we would be back no matter what. As the year was slowly nearing its end, Michael told me he had received some positive news from the other side of the border and that there was a window of about a week where not only we could go, but we would also be joined by our good friend Patrick Sweeney, who’d just finished another awesome feat of endurance by running the Chicago Marathon, then running to New York City and running the NYC Marathon as well, Forrest Gump-style.

The positivity started from the get-go. Seeing Sweeney was a real treat, and getting to road trip with two of my best running friends put a huge smile of my face. Even though we red-eyed it all the way, there was still room for happy-hour shenanigans, breathtaking runs and hot pepper shopping.

Beautiful morning run atop Creel

Everywhere we looked, traversing Mexico’s northwest from the Arizona border all the way down to Creel, things seemed pretty quiet and relax. There was only a single roadblock on the whole way, which can only mean that things have cooled down quite significantly.

The magic of the Canyons started for me as soon as we reached Mario’s cabins, nested on a magnificent promontory in San Isidro, where our Raramuri friend Horacio was waiting to take us on an evening run to the rim. Although I have traveled to many places in the Sierra, the canyon top is one of the places I have been the least so I was delighted to discover the trails that lead to Cerro Gallego, the Urique overlook, as well as the gorgeous creek trail that descends into the village of Porochi, where both Miguel and Horacio live. We came back at sunset, just in time for drinks by the bonfire Mario had lit for us. It was perfect.

Cabañas San Isidro, our friend Mario's gorgeous ranch

We set out the next morning, on foot, and descended unto Urique through rugged, ancient trails that are sometimes etched into the boulders by centuries of travel. I was shocked at the amount – and steepness! of the climbs that lead to the rim before the descent begins. On the way, Horacio was generous with information on local farmsteads, connecting trails and meaningful landmarks. Our spirits were high and we felt how specially meaningful it was for us all to be coming again to Urique, on foot, together, using the ancient trails of the People we respect and celebrate.

On the way down to Urique

After a rather difficult hike, we emerged in Urique to the symbolic chant of mourning doves. It brought me a sense of peace and closure, and a strong feeling of being back home. We met with our friends in the government and exchanged meaningful words, united in wishing to perpetuate the running tradition Caballo Blanco created.

Walking to the gate at Entre Amigos almost brought tears to my eyes. The place looks as beautiful as ever, and our friends Maruca and Tomas were waiting for us, all smiles, like they were welcoming their own family. Seeing that beautiful garden once again, and the trees loaded with fruits, was a true joy.

And just when things couldn’t get any better, our friend Prospero and his wife Sabina showed up to give us great news about the Caballo Blanco Trail Project and share even more ideas for the future.

We will be back, Barrancas!

Of course, things are not perfect in the Barrancas. They never were. There are crimes committed frequently all over the Sierra. The people’s struggle with violence is very real and must not be forgotten. But as things stand right now, relative peace appears to have returned, people are back to their daily occupations, and life seems to go on.

Although the race we’ve known and loved will now be an event organized and promoted by Urique, as a runner and as a friend of the Running People, I will be back in March. And so will others.

And that’s a really good thing.



You can follow our work at Norawas de Raramuri on our official website, www.norawas.org

On The Importance Of Running

The Raramuri are The Lightfooted Ones. In their heart, in their Land and in their bodies, running flows like a sacred blood which ties them to the Earth, to themselves and to their environment. Using their own feet to transport themselves, they acquire a level of freedom and health that is a true reward and a treasure of wisdom for all of Humanity.

As part of the so-called Modern World, we are taught that we possess the highest knowledge and technology. After meeting the Raramuri and other Running People, and after spending time with them, I'm not so sure anymore. Rooted deep in their running tradition, there's something more, something better, something that reminds me of what it means to be a real Human being.

Instead of depending on technology and machines, we could do like the Raramuri and depend on each other. Instead of acquiring ever-increasing amounts of material possessions, we should learn the treasure and value of sharing with others. Instead of traveling with hermetic, super fast machines, we should learn the life-changing experience of foot travel, at a speed that allows discovery and wonder at this world we inhabit. And instead of a fruitless pursuit of body image, we should learn to use our natural movements to keep our bodies, our minds and our souls healthy and thriving.

Through the simple, humble act of running, I bow to the ancient cultures and traditions of Humans who understood the importance of connecting our body to nature. I make myself available to new experiences that change the way I think, the way I look and the way I feel. By sharing the importance of running, I celebrate crucial ancient knowledge brought to me from time immemorial through the journey of many, often on the fringes of History, who nurtured and acted as stewards of a true treasure. Step, after step, after step.

***

This text was shared as a contribution to The Origins movie, by runner and Mas loco Mikko Ijäs. If you have a couple minutes to spare, I highly recommend you watch the movie trailer.

***

En pratiquant la course, je salue les traditions millénaires d'autres Humains qui, avant moi, ont parcouru les âges pour m'envoyer un message de la plus haute importance. Une foulée à la fois.

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.

What is Korima?

I hesitated before posting this, as it is a very personal experience. Then, I remembered my promise.

Mas Loco runners and travelers to the Copper Canyons are all aware of Korima, or Circle of Sharing, which is a cornerstone principle of Raramuri society. It has been explained many times, and its beauty lies in its simplicity; what I have, you have, too.

In our Westerner eyes, this is a beautiful, poetic tradition which highlights the unimaginably privileged life we happened into and reminds us that opening our hearts and sharing with others is not a compromise but a duty of social justice, humility and decency.

I was served a lesson in true Korima, a couple weeks ago. I got a call from my friend Cecy, who asked if I still had some donated clothing at hand. She was with a Raramuri lady who walked into town, desperate to find food for the 9 children she left at her village. Eight of those children are hers, and she adopted another orphaned child whose mother had died recently. Some of the children had no clothes to wear; another one, no more than two years old, was standing shily away, barefoot, dirty and starved from a long trip.

I did a quick inventory of the materials we had left and gathered the warmest pieces of clothing I could find. I was, again, so thankful to our friends from the Ponce family who made beautiful, very warm blankets; there were two left and couldn't be put to better use. I crammed everything into a bag, and took off to town.

On the way, I stopped at the abarrote, one Urique's little grocery shops. I bought a bag of blue corn flour, three bags of beans and as many cans of tuna as I could fit in the bag. About a week's worth of food, hopefully. I hurried to meet Cecy and bring her the goods, not necessarily wanting to present them myself. I am already shy around the Raramuri, and I'm not sure yet how it is perceived when a chabochi, an outsider, addresses a woman directly. But Cecy just waved for me to join, and we met the woman by the stairs.

She showed her the clothes, the blankets and the food, and made sure she could carry everything back. The woman turned to me and offered thanks, but I answered in my broken Spanish that no thanks were needed, that these were not gifts – simply Korima. It was only normal that the food and clothes I had be shared with a sister and her family, without an expectation for thanks. She nodded. Then she turned back to Cecy and exchanged a few words, which I didn't completely understand.

«She asked where you live», said Cecy, «because on her next trip she wants to bring you a bag of pinole and a small craft».

«Thank you kindly, but that's not necessary», I quickly replied.

«It's not a gift», quietly said the woman.

«It's Korima.»



The non-profit I work with, Norawas de Raramuri, is currently running a funding campaign and seeks your help. If you can spare a few dollars, please support us today.





Le Korima, ce n'est pas qu'un joli principe, poétique et idéaliste, qui veut que tout ce que je possède, tu le possèdes aussi. C'est un mécanisme de justice sociale puissant et un rappel de notre devoir à l'humilité. C'est l'une des plus grandes leçons que j'ai apprises des Raramuris.

The "Road" To Huisuchi

Clenching the steering wheel, I stared at the rocky riverbed in absolute disbelief, then looked at Sweeney in the passenger seat. This was not the road we were told of, not even the risky off-road path we had been warned about. This was a totally washed-out patch of rocks bigger than basketballs, with a trickle of slippery mud streaming in-between. He seemed as worried as me. «Think we can make it?»


«Think we should even try?»

Sweeney, Maria and myself had left Creel early in the morning, heading to the village of Huisuchi to meet our Raramuri friends for the Rarajipare and Ariweta, the traditional ball and hoop races. It was an absolute first for us all, and a very exciting first stop on our long trip deep into the Barrancas del Cobre.


From having traveled around the Canyons before, I knew just how bad the roads could get. Sitting in jacked-up pickup trucks, I had seen the river crossings, bad bridges and rock slides over some already treacherous terrain. Therefore, I had asked repeatedly how the road was, and made a clear point of explaining to everyone I was NOT driving a souped-up off-road machine, but a standard city van.


«If it's 4x4, you'll be fine.»

The... "Road"

We'd left the comfort of asphalt off the main Batopilas road and already made our way down to Samachique, carefully weaving around boulders and washouts, rarely getting into second gear, making painfully slow progress. But as soon as we left the village, things started getting bad. Little did we know, we were just getting started.


«Just take it slow», said Sweeney, half-convinced.


I released the brake pedal and let the impulse move us forward. Immediately, the van started bouncing left and right, up and down as we rolled from one boulder to the other. I tried to keep the low parts between my wheels, aiming the tires at the highest protruding rocks.

Can you feel the tension?

SCREECH.


The bottom scraped against a rock. Luckily, the lowest part of the van was the cargo tray, a metal carrier plugged into the hitch shaft. The last thing I wanted was to repeat a painful experience we had two days before, when I drove over a rock on the road and hit the oil pan, effectively punching a golf ball-sized whole in it and losing all the engine oil, leaving us stranded for hours.


I let go of the brake again, even slower, allowing only half rotations of the tires before braking again.

A nicer segment.

Steep slopes, covered in huge rocks and scarred by deep, eroded water washes. I thought we would have to face that for a small stretch, then get back to what they call «mas o menos», more or less driveable. They couldn't possibly have told us to drive on that miserable excuse for a road all the way, right?


SCREECH.


God damn it.


We finally reached the top of the hill and I released a deep sigh. In front of us, more bad road was stretching, only interspersed with cleaner segments of maybe 200 feet. At that point, the best idea would have been to turn around, leave El Capitan behind and seek a ride with a bigger truck, but what would happen to all the donations we were carrying? And how would I get back to my van after the event, and to go where? So we just kept going, slowly, in a tense silence.

Turn right at the tree, then...

Some time later, after more of the same, I came to a full stop. In front of us, the steepest of the hills so far, covered in even bigger rocks, without a single visible path to safely attempt a climb. I parked the van. «I can't do this.» I looked at Sweeney, disheartened. «There's adventure, and there's stupid. We're gonna end up in big trouble if we keep going.»

I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel. The idea of backing out broke my heart, and the path was so narrow and bad I wasn't even sure I could actually turn the van around. Even by doing so, we were facing an hour or more of very bad driving that could cause a breakdown in an instant. I took another breath and tried to empty my mind. Out of the blue, someone popped into my head; Christy Little Wings. Her presence was so vivid that I could actually hear her voice. I repeated out loud what she had told me, maybe a year ago, while running rough trails in upstate New York.


«The only way out... is through».

Yeah. Through... that.

I put the van back into drive, and slowly started moving ahead. The road didn't get any better. Not long after, we came across the first river crossing. Several inches of fast water were swirling over a rocky path that we couldn't see, making every foot of the way an absolute guess. We went in as slow as I could go, making sure never to stop so that water wouldn't gurgle down the exhaust pipe, and made the crossing. Once again, I sighed in relief.


The next several hours were spent clenching the wheel, worried sick about the road and angry at whoever had told me this road was drivable. I felt bad for dragging my friends into this, and responsible if anything happened to us. We were full to the brim with donated material, which was now screeching and scraping over canyon rocks, riverbeds and all sorts of nasty road hazards.


We crossed other trucks on the way, vehicles way more suited for that kind of driving which had blown their differential spinning and skidding up treacherous rocky hills. We saw people stranded on the trails with oily parts taken out of their engines, trying to achieve a quick fix that might take them out of this mess. At one point in the steepest of climbs, going no more than 2 to 3 mph, I could smell El Capitan's transmission overheating and I felt its blistering heat seeping through the floor. I decided to stop half way up, park for half an hour and cool things down, including myself. Maria took Guadajuko for a walk, Sweeney strolled around and I fell into an instantaneous, deep sleep that felt like a single minute.

«Flint. Wake up, man.»

Clench. Worry. Repeat.

«How long's it been?», I asked, still half-asleep and wishing someone would tell me they saw the village just above the hill we were climbing. «Twenty minutes. We should get going.». I climbed back at the wheel and started driving again. We weren't talking much, and everyone felt how bad our situation was. At that point, there was not much else we could do than go forward.


The drive went from crazy to ridiculous. When we hit the lowest point in the valley, the stream was over a foot deep and rushing down with enough force to move the van. Every time we went in, I had to guess where the highest path was and hope not to hit a hidden rock on the way. After several crossings, one of which was so deep it actually made the exhaust gurgle, I stopped the van again.

«Now where the fuck is the road?»


No one had an answer to offer. The rocky path led straight down to the river, which was about 25 feet wide and rushing over rocks way too big to try to drive through. On the other side, a forest with not even a footpath between the trees. Baffled, we looked at each other, suddenly considering the possibility that we'd taken a wrong turn, hours ago, and now had literally reached the end of the road.


Sweeney jumped out the van and walked down to the river. He turned around, looked at me and threw his hands in the air. I stepped out and joined him. Even from the edge of the water, there was not a single clue if the road went anywhere from there. He stepped in the cold water and started to cross, to get a better perspective. I took off my jeans and did the same. The water was extremely cold, but in that moment, this was the least of my worries.


We reached the other side and realized the road did continue. To get there, however, we would have to sink into the stream, maneuver between sunken boulders we couldn't see, make an almost 90-degree turn around a huge cliff side rock and climb back onto the path through a steep, unfriendly muddy bank.


We were neck-deep in stupid.

... And it takes only one rock
to break down.

We gathered by the van and tried to assess the situation. There was virtually no coming back, considering how lucky we had been so far not to break anything. But there was no guarantee we would make it even to the turn in the river, much less to the other side where more horrible road laid. I wasn't going to make that decision alone. «We need to all understand what we're into right now. Whether we go back, move ahead or do anything else, we need to all agree.» After some discussion, considering various options and their consequences, it was decided we would try to push through.


That's what the madness had come down to. Two bug-eyed gringos listening to a third one in his underwear, shivering from the biting cold of the river, making doomsday scenarios about every available option there was. Whichever way we went, I thought, we were not going to make it. No way.


Nonetheless, we all got back into the van, and everyone held their breath as we dropped down into the stream. The van moved sideways, so I gave it more gas to move forward. It bounced on the rocks and the cargo tray screeched and banged against the bottom, but we made the turn and headed for the muddy bank that would take us back into relative safety. The wheels hit it and the van stopped. Panicked, I stepped on the gas in a last-ditch attempt to get out of the river and the wheels spun, but eventually took grip and nudged the van back into movement. When all four wheels got to the other side, I let out yet another sigh. We'd made it.

The Bridge. Zoom in on this picture. It's really worth it.

I foolishly thought that the bottom of the valley would be the worst of the road that we would see, but we spent many more hours weaving and dodging at a snail's pace, with every stretch looking worse than the one before. After a series of very steep climbs, we reached the top again, and as we started coming down, I noticed the sun was getting ever closer to the canyon rim. «If we don't make it by daylight...» I said, looking at Sweeney, who just nodded. No need to finish that phrase. We would have to camp out in the wild, and therefore miss the beginning of the ball race.


Just as the last light was stretching overhead and we started looking for a spot to safely move away from the rocky path, we crossed a truck. I rolled down my window and asked if we were still far from Huisuchi. «No! Very close! Half a mile».


... An hour later, we are still trying to make progress through the rocks, with Sweeney providing extra light by holding a flashlight in front of the van to spot the safest path. At very long last, we saw a series of white-painted rocks that led to the last treacherous rocky slope, and a long-awaited arrival.


But I had long run out of sighs to release.

Huisuchi at long last, a gorgeous Canyon gem
that we received as a treasure.

Ce n'est pas l'impossible difficulté du chemin qui m'a le plus dérangé; c'est d'être forcé de briser ma promesse, de revenir sur la parole que j'avais donnée de ne rien tenter de dangereux pendant mon voyage. C'était bien contre mon gré, et je n'y vois aucune gloire, même après en être sorti relativement indemne.

Review : Saquito Mix

 

• Type : Nutrition / hydration
• Use : Running fuel
• Price : $22 for 8-packet box

Introduction
Since the world discovered the Raramuri (Tarahumara) runners with Born To Run, every aspect of their culture and tradition was scrutinized, in search of their «secret». The real, raw, awesome truth is : the Raramuri have no secret. They simply have a lifestyle that is radically different from ours and they use their body in ways we, the Westerners, have forgotten. They work very hard physically every day and their feet are their main means for locomotion. Try that for 365 days a year, a couple years in a row. Then show me how you run.

The grossest and most common misconception about the Raramuri, aside from the belief that they run barefoot, is that they use chia seeds in their diet. Let me be perfectly clear; in 4 trips, 12 weeks and numerous miles running with many Raramuri, I have not seen a single one of them use chia, and I have not been able to find the seed itself in any store in the Barrancas nor anyone who knew what the hell I was talking about.

With that said, some of the traditional Raramuri do carry a little pouch with them. It is filled with a very simple, hand-ground corn powder that smells like popcorn and is called pinole (pee-noh-lay). They have been using it mixed in water as a sports drink, and it can also be served hot as a kind of breakfast oatmeal.

Now that we have this straight, let's talk about chia, and more precisely, Saquito Mix.

Sampling
I had my first taste of Saquito at the Leadville 100, crewing for their sponsored athlete Tyler Tomasello. It was late at night, I was tired, I had not eaten enough that day, I was not doing too well with altitude and my shift as a pacer was coming up. A fellow crew handed me a pouch of Saquito to try, and I ate it without a second thought. Within about 15 minutes, I started to feel the effect. I was more alert, felt energetic and actually looked forward to my runner coming in the aid station. I was also satiated and felt just like I'd had «real food», not some quick gel or energy drink. I was impressed.

Testing
But that, really, was anecdotal. However, the same thing happened again at the Nine Trails Ultra a month later, when my friend Nancy gave me a pouch as a post-run snack. I was intrigued.

Then, I traveled down to Texas to run Josue Stephens' brutal Hunter Gatherer Ultra, which had Saquito as one of their main sponsors. Runners could have their choice of one pouch of Saquito, or a bison-based meat bar called Epic at various points on the course. Being more of a vegetarian than a paleo, I obviously opted for the former. The result was very clear; Saquito works, and it works very well.

Analysis

Taken from Saquito's Facebook page

The mix of chia and hemp seeds, coconut flakes, goji berries, cinnamon, vanilla beans and other ingredients is 95% organic, vegan, is low in sugars and high in protein and fibers. And that, I think, is the key; no quick sugar buzz, no crash and a long-lasting effect of satiation. The mix itself is simply a bunch of grainy stuff with a couple dried berries that you can chew on and rince with water. Surprisingly enough, it tastes pretty good; moreover, and contrary to many other fuels like gels, it still tastes good after many hours out on the trails.

If the grainy texture doesn't appeal to you, you can bake the mix into cookies or cakes. Since I am fully satisfied with the powdery mix, I haven't tried any of that fancy stuff. Saquito's Facebook page features some pretty yummy-looking images, if you're looking for inspiration, although no recipes are provided.

Conclusion
Saquito works. It wakes you up, gives you energy and provides a long-lasting sense of satiation without any crappy chemicals, high-fructose syrup or even caffein. That's pretty impressive. In a market full of sorbitols, xantham gums and other questionable compounds, Saquito offers a simple, natural and very efficient product based on quality ingredients, complete proteins, omega-3's, high fiber content and low sugars. For the health-conscious runner, it doesn't get any better than that.

High points

• It works for real; try it
• All natural ingredients and 95% organic
• Easy to eat and incites you to drink
• Tastes good, even after many hours
• Pouches are re-sealable and biodegradable

Low points

• At $3 a pouch, it's not cheap

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.