Mesquite Canyon 50K

6 days after running with our friends in Urique, Michael Miller and I headed out to run Mesquite Canyon, presented by one of my favorite running companies in the world, Aravaipa. The run is pretty typical of the Arizona ultras I enjoy so much, and since many of you often ask what it's like to head out and run in the desert, I present to you this awesome recap video made by my friend Michael Carson. It captures it perfectly.

I'm a black dot wearing a blue thing at some point in that film.

Enjoy!

Crown King Scramble 50K - Best. DNF. Ever.

«If you're hurt or injured, don't press on and make matters worse. Just know when to call it a day.»

Although it's not always easy, I try to live by my own advice. Mind you, I consider myself privileged because I run all I want and I seldom, if ever, get injured. Knock on wood, I haven't had any serious injuries for a couple years now.

But that comes with a little price to pay; I can't have an ego. Not that I want one anyway, but still, I like to keep up with my running friends and do well in the events I run.

So when my right knee started to hurt less than 2 miles into Crown King Scramble 50, the pinch I felt the most was to my pride. I was running with La Mariposa, and I was feeling very happy to be out in nature with my friend, about to experience a new part of beautiful Arizona. The morning was fresh and the day full of promise, but all I could feel at that point was disappointment and worry.

«What is it?» she asked, noticing my form had gotten weird. «My knee. It hurts. I'm gonna have to walk bits. Just go on, run your race, I'll see you at the finish.»

«No way», is what I got for an answer, and after a couple friendly «Andale, huevon», I gave running another shot. For about 300 yards. Things were getting desperate, and I knew I couldn't hope for a finish that day. I stopped at Nathan Coury's truck, less than 2.5 miles in, and looked at his passenger's seat. «Really?!» he said. «The day's just starting. Take it easy, walk bits. No worries. Make it at least to the first aid station, then see how it goes.» I returned his friendly smile, and went on.

The first aid station came, about 8 miles in. I hadn't run a lot, and when I did, I felt this shooting pain in my knee that I know too well. It's exactly like an IT Band symptom, except in my case, it's just my body screaming at me. Like a warning light on the dashboard. «If you keep going, I'm gonna mess you up.»

No one at the first aid station, including La Mariposa, had any pity for me. Most of what's ahead is hiking anyway, I was told, so no point in stopping now. Make it to mile 15, then you'll be at the bottom of the long steep climb. Keep a good hiking pace and you'll make the cut-offs, easy.

My buddy Richard

Ah, well. Walking didn't hurt, so I reluctantly kept going. I was really grateful that my friend was with me, even though it was turning her run into a leisurely walk while everyone else was whisking by. Soon enough, though, my other knee started to hurt, and then my hips. Walking was now painful, too, and my greatest fear, getting hurt, came to haunt me. Luckily, the mile 15 aid station was coming, and I told Maria I was done for good. I stopped and sat on a chair, massaged my legs in the morning sun and cheered on the other runners.

Soon, the aid station staff figured they had to do something with me, but no one was going in the direction of the finish line, where all my friends and El Capitan were. While they were breaking down, one of the local radio operators, Richard, showed up in his macked-out Rubicon. «Can you take this guy up the trail?». Richard just smirked. He pointed to his Jeep with his chin and said «The ride might be a little bumpy.» I smiled wide and said «Bring it.» Instantaneous friendship ensued.

Richard's macked-out Rubicon

We climbed in his Jeep and Richard gave me a preview of what his machine could do. We climbed rock walls, bounced off pitches and rocked left and right as we drove up to the next aid station, listening to French music and talking trail adventures. We picked up another tired runner on the way, Chris, who was more than happy to jump in with us and enjoy a little break. We all squeezed in the two-seater and we got to the third aid station before we knew it. I high-fived my new friend, thanking him for the awesome ride. «Chris will take you guys to the finish from here, I have to go back to work.»

Crazy Chris and his Trail Machine

A third fallen brother, Vance, was waiting for a ride, too. His face was pale and he looked like he was ready to call it a day. I figured we'd hop on some kind of pickup truck, but instead, we were pointed to a 4-wheel dune buggy-looking machine, which I later learned is called a Razor. There, another Chris waited for us, and he was smiling, too.

«Let me set up your guys' harnesses», he said, smirking. This guy looked like trouble, and I loved it. I called shotgun, not that I think any other guy wanted the seat anyway, and jumped in front, my camera in hand. So, instead of telling you how it went, let me... show you :)

My DNF ride absolutely made my day and allowed me to cheer on my friends and experience the trails they ran on. I got to the finish line dirty and grinning from ear to ear, excited with our trail shenanigans. It was an absolute blast, and a good reminder that whatever you do out there on the trails, including dropping out from a run, has always the potential to make you happy and enjoy a great day out with friends!


Post-race note. My knee's just fine. After 3 days of rest, I've been enjoying two days of pain-free running over all sorts of terrain. I guess my long drives from the days prior to Crown King kept my legs always in the same position and caused some sort of muscular unease.




Abandonner une course, ce n'est pas abandonner la vie. C'est juste prendre un autre chemin, qui peut se révéler aussi passionnant, excitant et mémorable que le plan initial:)

The Story Of My Very Unlikely First 100 Miler

Ultra running is weird. The more I do it, the more I realize I don't know anything about it. Our bodies are such amazing machines, capable of so many wonders, and yet if "the stars are not aligned" on a given day, we won't be able to do much of anything. On the other hand, there are days when you seem capable of doing anything, like you're boundless. Like you have forgotten your limits at home.

I came to Across The Years almost by coincidence. I had many plans to do many things; drive up to Los Angeles to meet Sweeney for a road race, take advantage of my short stay in Phoenix to go to the junk yard and salvage some parts for El Capitan, go check out the famed hippie hangout Slab City, or go meet my friends the Coury's and offer a little giving back for all the awesome running events they manage. Since many of my running friends were headed there as well, I chose to tag along with Maria, and show up for a couple of aid station volunteering shifts with Patti's crew.

We got there early the first day, just in time to watch the start of The Crazies, the ones who would run for 6 days straight in 500-mile + attempts. I was both in awe and in despair at the sheer amplitude of the task they had ahead of them.

The sun rose a little higher and we enlisted as volunteers with Nick, who started to scribble on the runners list as well.

"What will you run? 48? 72 hours?"

"Oh, you don't need to do that. I'm not running. I'm just here to help out with the aid station."

He looked at me funny.

"But you're gonna run at least a little bit, right? Might as well have your miles logged in, plus I'd rather have you wear a bib if you're gonna do loops around the track anyway."

Before I knew it, I had a bib, a couple volunteer shifts and a bright sunny day ahead of me.

That was the original plan; hanging out on the course...
El Capitan quickly turned into my personal aid station.

Maria and I hung out for a while, cooking breakfast, cheering on our friends and making coffee. We were really out there for fun, just joking around and having a good time. around 11:00, the sun was warm enough to ditch a couple layers.

"Wanna do a couple loops?", said Maria. She already had the spark in her eye. Sure. We changed into running gear, snapped the bibs on and started running around the 1.05-mile course, that basically weaves around some baseball fields and walkways in a huge sports complex. I thought I would get bored pretty quickly, running around in circles, but the track offers enough variety that it keeps things fun. Of course, the nicest part of this type of race is that you're actually running with everyone, from the champions to the last of the pack. We're all in this together, and this creates a very unique spirit.

Running with Jamil...
A rare chance for me

I was all smiles and happy, and soon realized I was running really fast. I had been resting a lot in Mexico and my legs were fresh and springy. Since I had no distance to go for, I simply enjoyed my speed and energy without a care in the world. This allowed me to run loops with some of my very fast friends, like Jamil and Dave, and it made my day. I got a little tired after about 20 miles, so I simply stopped, changed back into my jeans and t-shirt, opened a cold Dos Equis and walked to the Millers' RV for an afternoon chill session in the sun. Or at least, that's what I thought.

See, it's all the Redhead's fault. Under her guise of good looks and smiley gentleness, really, she's pure evil.

I wasn't half way in my first beer when she started playing her tricks on me.

"You looked really good out there, why did you stop?"

"I ran what I felt like running. I'm not here to do anything else than volunteer anyway. My shift starts at 1:00 in the night, until the morning."

"But it's only early afternoon! You could run 3 or 4 more hours, take a nap and then go to work?"

"Why would I do that?"

She looked at me funny.

"You have three full days ahead of you to run as much distance as you want."

"..."

"You know they'll give you a sweet buckle if you do a hundred miles..."

I looked at her funny.

She said nothing more, smiled and started fiddling with her phone. I went back to my beer. But a couple seconds later, she turned the screen around and produced an image of the very nice 100-mile buckle, something I've been coveting for a while and failed to get at my last attempt. I quickly got back to my beer again, but it was empty.

"Fuck it."

I sprung up from the chair, shaking my head, and headed back for my van. The Redhead smiled. Her sneaky deed was done. She had successfully nudged a perfectly happy slacker and totally unprepared runner into a 100-mile hopeful. Evil, I tell you.

I changed back from my jeans into my running gear, and joined the flow of runners again. The weirdest thing; no one was puzzled or seemed surprised by my back-and-forths. I just got welcome back smiles and nudges. What kind of crowd had I gotten myself into?

So I ran again. 10 miles, maybe 11. And again, it was great fun hanging out with everyone. I saw Deborah the Aquaphor Girl and Jaime, Ed The Jester, Mark Hellenthal and I met many new friends. By the time I was back at the van for a little nap before my shift, I had run 30 miles.

I showed up to work with Patti's crew in the main aid station and hung out with Zach, a veteran volunteer. We kept busy filling up the food plates, drinks and attending to the runners' needs. When Patti realized I was also running in the event, she came to me.

"So you're going to work AND run?"

"Is that OK?"

She looked at me funny.

The hours flew by, in the cold desert night. Lucky for me, we had a propane heater in the aid station tent to keep warm. But we felt for the runners out there in the shivering cold, so we worked on the double, making hot chocolate, cup-o-noodles and fresh coffee. My shift was supposed to end at 9:00 the next morning, but at 7:00, Patti gave me a little tap on the shoulder.

"Go get some sleep, things have slowed down, we'll be fine here."

I headed back to the van, slipped in my bed and fell hard asleep. Two hours later, I woke up to a beautiful sunny day, the sound of runners' steps on the track... and what felt like a mammoth task ahead. I was tired from a long day, and had to run 70 more miles if I wanted to score a hundred. I had another work shift coming up that night, at 8:00, so I had to squeeze in some sleep as well.

Deciding that the best course of action was "more running, less thinking", I reluctantly got out of bed and started putting my running clothes on. The morning was cold and my first steps out of the van were painful. I couldn't quite run, I was just too sore. Things didn't look great, but I was moving. I just started real easy, walking around the track for a couple loops.

Beauty and the Blistered

"HEY!!! Look who's here!"

A very happy Mariposa was already dancing around the track, side-by-side with my friend Jess! I had no idea she was coming, and was super glad to see her. She looked fresh and as beautiful as always, and I started trotting along just to be with my friends. Not a half loop later, Jess and I are running strong in the warming sun. What happened? I can never keep up with her, as she's such a better runner than I am. I just started feeling as good as the day before, and Jess and I went on running together, stride for stride, for many hours. Things felt easy and it was great to spend some time chatting and having fun. By the time the afternoon was over, I had 33 more miles in. And a plan.

Jess would volunteer on the evening shift with us. Since we brought a third person in, we would take turns doing a loop while the two other friends would be at work, if things weren't too busy. It didn't look like the plan would work at first, but around 9:30, we started going out for a loop, one at a time.

I was a little desperate, because reality struck me sometime that night. I had 63 miles in and a work night ahead, which meant I would need to get up the next day to a 37-mile run before I took off to Gilbert and then San Diego, 7 hours of driving away, to pick up my Belle and start our vacation. It was nuts.

Again, "Less thinking, more running". Every chance we got, we went out for a loop. I told my friends that when our shift was over, I didn't want to go to bed until I had 71 miles in. Why? Really, I don't know. It was just a stupid notion in my head that I could pull off a 29-mile day on the next morning, but not more. So I kept going in circles in the night, after my shift, until the counter said I had 71.4 miles (68 loops). It felt lonely and pointless, but at least I got to meet more interesting runners like Marylou from Ontario, who was steadily building mileage all by herself in the night, offering me a beaming smile each time we would cross paths.

A visit in the World of Hurt

I managed to get a little sleep, but my body was protesting my sudden change in lifestyle. My legs were twitchy and I had a hard time staying warm, even though I had a heater in the van. I wasn't eating too well (not at all, really), except the handfuls of aid station snacks I would grab here and there and the gels I was doing when running. Not exactly a winning recipe for a successful 100-miler.

The next morning was brutal, with a sore body and the realization that I needed to run all day, and possibly into the night, to hit the 100 mark. My feet had started to blister pretty badly, and I had already popped two bad ones which started to hurt way more than I care to remember. I couldn't put my feet in my shoes because the pain was too bad. Desperate, I got my first-aid kit out and used blister pads, taped over with Band-Aid tape (works wonders!). But now the problem was that my feet didn't fit my shoes! I'd been wearing my Skechers GoRun Meb Speed, my usual choice for road runs, because of the Resalyte sole and the overall lightweight feel. But now I couldn't even squeeze my foot in it.

Taped blisters...

... Under taped socks.

I dug into my shoe stash and tried many other ones, but the only that fit was my GoRun2, an even more padded shoe with a slight arch support. I had worn those for a marathon without any issues, and anyway I had no other choice if I wanted to keep going. The blistered spot under my right pinky toe was so bad that I had to tape the Injinji sock over the taping I had already done on the toe itself. I winced as I squeezed in my foot, and the first steps were horrible. But I was back on the track. Walking.


I had a moment, that morning. My run had gone so well and I was so ill-prepared for a 100-mile, I thought, that it had to come bite me in the ass at some point. I had run almost every single loop up to 71, but now things were about to go south, quick. I was more hobbling than walking, and a single loop felt like a 5k. My moral was sinking.

I got my MP3 player out, something I hadn't done in maybe 2 years. I hit the button and the music started, with blaring heavy guitars. It was Five Finger Death Punch. And they had a message.

"You won't break me,
No matter how hard you try.
You can't shake me down,
I'm fucking bulletproof!"

From the bottom of my toes all the way up my spine, I felt a wave of something, like a warm liquid injected in my veins. A nudge forward so palpable that I think I even felt a push in my back. I leaned forward and started running. To my absolute amazement, I discovered that running didn't hurt my feet. Only walking did!

From that point, I knew what I had to do. Let my legs go, breathe and sink into the music. One loop. Two loops. Then I stopped counting. Yes, that's it. Float in that timeless spot inside, where nothing gets to you. Look through your own eyes like they are the window of some vehicle taking you on a voyage. Daydream stories that make no sense and amuse you. Smile. Catch a glimpse of other runners' eyes for a tiny moment in time, connect, then come back inside.

By the time I looked up at the monitor, the afternoon sun was high in the sky and the counter said 85 miles. I started getting mixed feelings. On one side, I was getting more and more certain that I could do it, at long last. I could cross the finish line of a 100-mile run, something I sincerely doubted was in my reach as a runner. But on the other side, the pain in my legs and the fatigue were getting to me, poking holes in my confidence. I couldn't take any walking breaks, it simply hurt too much. Was this a blessing or a curse?

The MP3 player, once again, provided my answer. It played one of my favorite tracks, from Rise Against.

It's called "Give it all".

I resorted to an old marathon trick. Run one loop with someone. During that time, think only of that person, of what they represent for you. Be that person. Incarnate what it is you admire about them, and bring it to life. Pierre. Donald. Karine. Juan Pablo. The Navajo.

90 miles.

The Raramuri. Terry Fox. Dan. The Red-Tailed Hawk. My brother. Méganne. The Leaf Warrior. Nick.

Micah.

By the time I was surrounded with all the inspiration that came to me, I had one mile to go. One loop. I was running side by side with Rachel, who showed up like an angel and acted as my own brain, calculating for me and keeping me on track, and then with Casey, all smiles, who brought me to the finish line. I crossed it to the sound of an Apache cry from Maria, and emerged into a brand new world on the other side.

A world where little me runs 100 miles.

A setting without any limits.

A place where my thirst for life becomes endless.

My friends went on to run incredible distances and perform astonishing feats of endurance. Michael Miller won the 72-hour event with 243 miles. Marylou smiled away and won the 72-hour with a mountain of 265 miles. Kelly Agnew flew through and won the 48-hour with 201. Ed The Jester traveled an amazing 476 miles. The Evil Redhead finished a hundred of her own. Jess did her hundred like a walk in the park. And Maria Walton covered two hundred smiles, floating free with inspiration. To all of you, hearty congratulations!




Qu'est-ce qu'on cherche en courant en cerlces pendant 3 jours et 100 milles? C'est mieux de ne pas le savoir. La découverte en est tout autant plus merveilleuse lorsqu'on émerge de l'autre côté, avec une soif de vivre sans fin et l'émerveillement face à ce dont nous sommes capables. Nous sommes des machines absolument extraordinaires. Des miracles de la vie.


Photo credits: Bret Sanquist, Aravaipa Running

100 Thank Yous

À ma Belle, qui m'a témoigné un appui indéfectible, même sans tout comprendre.

To Micah, who never ceased to inspire and guide me, to this day.

Maria, whose unfailing friendship warms my heart.

Dan, the Weatherman, and his thousand words of advice.

Dan, my brother, who taught me about bravery and resilience.

To my brother, for showing me that life is made of risk.

Sweeney, who told me our Mexican adventure would give me the fortitude I needed.

The Red-Tailed Hawk, for showing me the way and believing in me.

Jess, ever so graceful and light, who so enthusiastically shared the journey.

Nick, who generously spent some time explaining what such an adventure required. Also, for running alongside me in the last moments, sharing words that will be cherished.

To The Mas Locos, for everything.

Rachel, so light-footed and generous, sharing my last loops and cheering me on.

To the Redhead, whose fault that all is, for gently nudging me forward.

Jamil, Nathan and all the Coury family, for making me feel at home with such generosity.

Ian, a true champion, who humbly taught me hares and turtles both share the same challenges.

To Pierre, who inspired me to run in his footsteps.

To Donald, for not letting me fool myself and for his unfailing confidence.

Augusto, who shares my journey into life and running in so many interesting ways.

To The Leaf Warrior, The Great Tree, for the invisible link that unites us.

Baby Tiger, my fighter, my spark of life.

To Quebec runners and ultra enthusiasts, who make me feel home every time we cross paths.

Karine, so that somehow you feel your challenge is shared.

To Casey, for all intents and purposes an absolute stranger, incarnating what I love most about the culture of ultra running.

To the Arizona runners, for becoming an instant family.

To Luis the Coyote, for keeping it real, for real. For his generosity, his genuine kindness and his radiating strength.

The Santa Barbara runners, for being the rowdy awesome bunch they are.

To my Leatherman's Loop friends, who remain close to my heart year round.

Juan Pablo, who taught me a lesson of resilience I will never forget.

All the runners on that course who struggled, dug deep and kept going, for showing me how it's done.

To all my friends, close and far, who cheer and spur me on in my crazy adventures.


To Terry Fox, who planted a dream in a young boy's head years before any of this would happen.

And finally to you, FlintLand readers, for all your messages of support and love, which mean the world to me every single time. Always.




You have all contributed to making me who I am, and you have all played a role on that crazy track, where I spun myself stupid looping around day and night in search of something that is hard to describe or explain, until I got a firm grasp of it - crossing the finish line of a 100-mile run.

Thank you.

Pass Mountain 2013 Race Report

In the dark hours of the Javelina Jundred, a couple weeks ago, I started really falling apart. Afraid I wouldn't even be able to finish 100K, I started negotiating with myself. «Just finish this one run, then it's over. You don't have to run anything else for weeks, even months if you must. Just get through these 4 loops». Knowing I wouldn't have to put out any more efforts for a while relaxed me, and eventually, I did complete the 100K.


And, of course, a couple days later I was back out running :)


I re-filled my calendar with more fun events, but I decided to sometimes opt for the shorter distances. My right foot was still not 100% back, and I wanted to give it a little break. So when I signed up for Pass Mountain, I decided to run a single loop. 25K. I had a couple good training runs before, and I felt some speed was getting back into me, so I thought maybe I could pull a fast one and try to get a new PR.


I drove to Usery Park in advance to camp out and relax, and immediately met Rick Valentine and his family, who had the same idea. We sat down for a couple beers, and ended up cooking together in their RV since the weather had turned to rain for the first time in my 3 months in Arizona. We didn't stay up too late and everyone went to bed to wake up fresh in the morning.


Maria had driven in later in the evening and other runners had trickled in as well. I was served another beautiful desert sunset, and fell asleep smiling.

The morning came quickly, like most race days. We all woke up early to see the 50K runners off. Michael and Kimberly Miller had joined the party, along with the best surprise of the day; Apache Tony Russ!!! He showed up 15 minutes late for his start, popping out of nowhere, and still took time for a big hug and some happy words before he took off chasing the other runners. I was super happy that Charity had made the trip too, so we spent some good times chatting and catching up.

An hour later, it was our turn to line up at the start. For some dumb reason, Maria and I ended up in the 5^th or 6^th front row, and I immediately said we didn't belong there. We should have been in the back, chatting up other runners and taking it easy. But it was too late; the signal was given and out we went. Fast.

The course starts out flat for several miles, so there was plenty of room for me to take off and sustain a pace way faster than my usual. But I have to say, I felt great and exhilarated. I was stunned, too, that it took me at least a mile to catch up to La Mariposa, whom I'd never seen run so fast. «Whoooaaaa, girl! I could barely catch up to you!». «Yeah!», she hollered back, «Maybe we're running a little too fast?»


Maybe.


It was too late to change my game plan, so I smiled and went ahead. I have to admit I was very pleased when a fast runner approached behind and didn't pass me. «You go ahead, man!». «Nah, you have a great pace!».


We stayed together for maybe 2 more miles, playing in the twisted rolling trails. My legs were strong and I felt energized, but I knew this feeling wouldn't last long. Slowly, my energy started to wane and my running buddy pressed ahead.

It's all right. I'm never going to run fast if I don't try, right? So I slowed down a little, and enjoyed my last miles until the climb to the pass. I ate a gel or two, trying to regain some energy. But I didn't feel much of a kick. Ah, well.


The climb was fun and challenging at times, mostly due to the presence of mountain bikers, but mostly recreational hikers of a certain age. Some of them were nimble and quick enough to move away from the trail, but not others. At one point, I had to come to a literal screeching halt because an elderly man was blocking the path, and it was the only way to avoid a painful encounter of the face-to-face kind.

When the climb got steeper, it became quite obvious that I wouldn't pull a PR, so I started to take it easy and stopped to take a couple pictures of the gorgeous environment and surrounding mountains.

«SPLAT».


I heard a sound like if someone had thrown a raw chicken against the rock slabs. Then a girl screamed for help. I turned around and darted back on the trail, to find a crashed dude, still face down, his hands and face dripping bright red blood on the rocks. He look pretty smashed up.

«You all right? What's your name? I'm first aid, we're gonna take care of you».


«Will.»


«OK, man, take it easy. You dizzy? Nauseous?» He was pretty banged up, but he made sense. I ruled out that he might have severe trauma or a head injury, but he still looked pretty bad. Some more runners arrived at the scene, and one jumped out of the little crowd. «I'm an ER doctor». I turned around, and told her to unzip my vest and take out the bladder, to get to my S.O.L. Survival kit. She was pretty pleased that I had some gear, so she opened up the pouch and took out some duct tape while I used a sweat rag to press against a pretty bloody gash in my poor new friend's eyebrow.

We used rolled napkin bits and duct tape to patch up the wounds, then someone thought of using my Buff as a headband, which would keep the makeshift bandages in place. Some minutes later, Will was back up on his feet and, although wobbly, able to walk.


After reassuring her that I would stick with Will on the trails until the next aid station, the running doctor leaped ahead and resumed her run. We started walking slowly along the trails, and I made sure to stay close to Will for his first steps, asking him many questions to make sure he still made sense. He had a headache, but no other symptoms.


The rest of our run was mostly a walk, and we never crossed another aid station so we stayed together the whole way. Not only did Will tough it out, he even managed to resume running for the last couple miles and cross the finish line running. I gave him the «Toughest Guy On The Trails» award for the day, in the form of a cold Indio, but I guess he didn't feel like beer. He stayed in the medical tent for a bit, then seemed to fall asleep so I left him alone.

Before we went our separate ways, I explained to him the story of the Buff he was wearing. It was given to me by Josue Stephens and his wife Paula, in the Copper Canyons, after I'd lost mine. This Buff had traveled to numerous places and been on countless runs, and now it was his. He would get to keep it until someone else needed it, then give it away again. He liked the idea.

So maybe one day, while running the trails, you will trip on something and face-plant, then some stranger will patch you up and make sure you're OK.

Leaving you with a very special blue, white and gray-striped Buff.



On est des humains avant d'être des coureurs. Quand l'un de nous tombe, on tombe tous un peu. Alors on tend la main et on fait ce que les humains font le mieux; on s'entraide.

Mazatzal - What Ultra Running Is All About

 

Since I've been down in Arizona a lot, I've had the chance to run several events with the Coury brothers and their awesome company Aravaipa Running. They have built an excellent reputation as professional race directors, and their events are much sought after for the impeccable organization and memorable aid stations.

But the Coury's also have another side, a taste for the old-school events that started our sport. These are more or less ad hoc races, often called «fatass» with very little organization and great personality. So when Jamil told me such a fatass was happening in the Tonto National Forest area, and that it was probably his favorite running event in the year, it didn't take long for me to accept the invitation.

The day before, I drove about an hour north of Phoenix to highway mile marker #222, then veered on a little side road, like the e-mail said. It also said «follow the ribbons», but I never found them. Luckily, my friend Caleb was going, too, and he figured out where the camping spot was. We arrived as the night was setting him and we met Anthony Culpepper and his friend, who had already set up camp. A can of Tecate magically appeared, and we all sat down to watch the magnificent mountain sky filled with stars so bright we could see the Milky Way.

I went to bed early, but didn't sleep too great because I forgot to park El Capitan on an even surface; I felt like I was rolling out of bed everytime I fell in deep sleep. The night was fresh and the morning came fast, with the sound of Michael and Kimberly Miller's truck parking next to me. More friends.

Pre-race "meeting"

Fatasses, in my opinion, are the essence of ultra running. They are gatherings of like-minded people, often way too early on a Saturday morning, which are followed by a trail run of variable lenght and usually end in BBQ, laughs and a couple beers. Minimal aid is provided, the course is more or less marked and runners are expected to be autonomous and helpful to others.

The Mazatzal run was an 18-mile course that starts by shooting straight up a jeep road for about 5 miles, then rolls up some more for another 2, then rolls down to a trailhead that somewhat follows a riverbed down patches of catclaw (a nasty, thorny little angry bush that will scratch you to blood) and other prickly things such as nopal cacti. All that over gnarly, rocky, rolly ground that will command your whole attention for about 4 to 5 miles. If you make it through, another 4 to 5 miles of climbing jeep road will take you back to the start.

Climbs always look so easy...
on pictures

It was the second time I ran after the Javelina Jundred and, although I still felt fatigued, I was glad to see I had enough legs to run the first long climbs. When I got to the trailhead, however, it became abundantly clear that my weakened right ankle wasn't ready to take the beating; I had to walk, sometimes carefully, through almost all that section.

It was good to be out there, however, and I had a happy grin on my face the whole time. The sun was nice and warm, but not too hot; it was a perfect day for a trail run. Going slower also allowed time to reflect on my ankle and foot issue, and I had an epiphany; since I started wearing my La Sportiva trail shoes, I tend to tie them down real tight. The laces are very thin, so I yank hard on them and then my foot swells during the run and suffocates. It doesn't have space to move!

The... trail.

When I came out of the trail, I took a minute to loosen up my lacing significantly. To my great satisfaction, the pain started receding. This will need more testing, but I think I finally found what's wrong!

Still captivated by my discovery, I climbed the last steep sections walking, taking time to look around and appreciate the beautiful day. I expected I had about 3 more miles to go when I saw Caleb's head peek out from a ledge and yell «Look alive for your finish photo!». I took off running, grinning, and finished my run to cheers from my friends, a nice cold beer and some burgers grilled by a smiling Nick Coury who finished first and smashed his previous record. What a great bunch of people. What a great day.





Les courses «fatass» comme Mazatzal sont l'essence-même de l'ultra. Sans grande organisation, bourrées de monde cool et dans les endroits les plus magnifiques. Quelle chance de pouvoir y être.

The Javelina Jundred - Jopes And Jardships

What is failure? That is a question I had a lot of time to ponder out in the Arizona desert. Eighteen hours and fifty-eight minutes, to be totally accurate.

Mas Loco Sandwich

In a way, the Javelina Jundred represented the crowning of my ultra running season, a unique moment in my life where I spent months traveling and running events all over the Southwest with some of my favorite people in the world. It was, for me, the best possible chance I had of completing the titan of ultras, the 100-mile distance. All my friends would be there, I had a lot of inspiration and I had been told by many that the moment was right, that my time had come.

But the truth is, I had my doubts from the very beginning. My body, although solid and healthy, was tired and worn from the many other races I had done. From my altitude training spree in Boulder to Nine Trails to Javelina Jangover to Water is Life to Hunter Gatherer to Canyon de Chelly, I didn't have a lot of time for a key element; rest and recovery.

Only a week before J-Day, I traveled back to Montreal to be with my loved ones; this proved to be an unexpected emotional roller coaster from which I haven't really come down yet. I'd also suffered a slight injury to my ankle and, although my Medicine Woman had taken care of it the Wednesday before, I could still feel the echoes in my foot and lower leg.

This man?
He's my pacer, Officer.

Since Javelina is such an awesome event, filled with creativity and crazy cool people, I focused on the fun aspect more than anything and thought I could draw a lot of inspiration and motivation from it. I had also the immense privilege of having one of the finest ultra runners and bloggers in my world, Patrick Sweeney, as my pacer for the later miles. His friendship, experience and devastating sense of humor were a promise that my last loops would be memorable. My friend Caleb was around, too, and offered to take the second night shift if Sweeney wanted to pace another runner. Things couldn't be any better.

Slamtastic
Michael Miller

From the moment I met my friends to drive up to Fountain Hills until the time we hit the starting line, I had a big smile on my face. It was time for discovery, for an adventure out of my comfort zone and for a test of my endurance. I wasn't the only one in questionable shape, either; Mas Loco Michael Miller had a bum foot and my brother Tyler had a knee issue and looked all serious and worried. Many more runners shared they felt ill-prepared or nervous. We were all in the same boat.

I hit the trails with La Mariposa, determined to not go out too fast and enjoy my journey. We shared almost the first half of loop 1, then I slowly drifted after abundant hugs and good wishes. I wasn't running a lot, trying to keep my energy for later. I ran flats and downhills, but walked all the uphills. The strategy seemed to work really well and I had a lot of energy, aside from a slightly upset stomach I blamed on my plan to take electrolyte pills from the very beginning.

My first loop ended in good spirits, running with lots of cool people and having fun doing it. Sweeney was hanging out at the Javelina Jeadquarters, dressed up as a mariachi. Flamboyant. Things were going well.

The ever-so-lovely
Kimberley Miller

Kimberley Miller was at the turnaround aid station, and gave me critical advice for the day. «Loop 1 is done; now what you want is take it easy for loop 2 to have energy for loop 3, which is the hardest in your whole run.» I ate some fruits and a burrito, and on I went.

The first half of loop 2 was pretty uneventful, as I shared the trail with more interesting runners. My hydration was good and I was eating decent amounts of calories, too. I crossed Hal Koerner and the other front guys, but the one I was keeping an eye out for is Ian Sharman. When I saw him earlier, he looked fresh and on top of things, a sight that made me happy. We said hi quickly and he just whisked by, light and efficient.

After Jackass Junction, the halfway point in the loop, the desert sun started to hammer down. The heat rose quickly and sharply, and soon everyone seemed to slow down and feel heavier. I am not easily affected by heat, so I just smiled, soaked in the warm rays and kept going. I was walking more than I would've wanted, but I thought there was no point in trying to run more and blow out. As long as I kept moving, I thought, I should be fine.

Tyler Tarzan
in the desert sun

I crossed Tyler for the second time around that point, and he looked worried. I asked how he was doing, and from his tone, I could tell he was thinking of dropping down, or out. He told me Michael Miller wasn't feeling any better, which the man confirmed himself moments later. It seemed like no one was having a good day; I was definitely not the only one feeling it.

I finished my second loop in much worse a shape than I thought. Out on the trails, I felt hot but all right, but when I hit the aid station, I realized I was incoherent and disoriented. I walked to a big plastic tub and a really nice guy splashed my head and neck with ice cold water until I started making sense again. I knew this couldn't be good. I grabbed some food, a couple fistfuls of ice and chilled out for some minutes.

Then I took my first really bad decision of the day. I changed my shoes. I went to my van and grabbed my Skechers GoTrail, which fit snugger than my other shoes. This was made worse by the fact my feet had swollen and that I was wearing two layers of socks. Stupidly, I thought I'd spent enough time fooling around already and had to go back out. This would fix itself up by itself on the trails, right?

As any runner with half a brain already knows, it didn't. My feet started hurting really bad, and there was simply nothing else I can do than tough it out for 15 more miles, on the notoriously critical third loop, in 100+ degree weather.

I'd also grabbed my walking stick to try and lessen the impact of my running and walking, and the change of form it caused was pleasant. People on the trail started calling me StickMan, which I thought was cool and funny, and partly took my mind out of the hurting spiral I had gotten myself into.

I spent many miles with Tess, a really nice and experienced Javelina runner. She provided a lot of advice and corrected some hydration mistakes I had done by having me swallow several more S-Caps to prevent cramping. She also calculated that, at the pace we were both going, we would be in very good position at the end of the third loop to be 100-mile finishers. «We need to keep this pace up if we want to have more wiggle room later on in the run». But I could feel she was slowing down, ever so slightly. We remained together for some more time, but eventually, I realized she had dropped behind.

Oppan Gangnam Style!

By the time I hit Jackass Junction again, things were looking pretty bleak. I was exhausted, overheated and pretty much unable to run. I tried to stay in good spirits and kept a smile on nonetheless. I had a lof of fun at the station with Justin, who was reviving zonked runners and distributing quirky words of encouragement left and right. I even broke a little Gangnam Style dance before taking off.

Leaving the aid station, however, led me back to my solitude and my lingering thoughts about my ability to finish. I'm grateful I had a lot of time on my own, so I took a long, deep look at my day and my goals, and I asked myself honestly if I thought I could make a 100-mile finish. There were 4 more loops to run at that point (1/2 to finish my third, 3 more, then a final half-loop); My question pretty much answered itself.

I was unable to finish my third loop in daylight, which meant I had covered less than 75K in more than 12 hours. That was both disheartening and hard proof that my coveted belt buckle was definitely slipping away. Coming into the final stretch of my third loop, Tess caught up to me and I was really happy. I had picked up Luke, who at that point was probably the most zonked-out runner I had ever seen. He was delirious and incoherent, didn't have a light and couldn't make much better than 3-word phrases. There was no way I was going to leave him behind in the dark, so we walked together to the aid station. I tried to get some life back into him a little bit by offering stuff to eat, electrolytes or some water, but he said he couldn't keep even a single sip in. As we approached the aid station, I asked him how long ago was his last bite of food or drink of water. «Six hours», he answered. His race was over. He sat at the aid station and Tess and I hit the last stretch together.

Which way, again?

«You know,» she said, «You've got plenty of time to at least make it to a 100K, and you'll get a nice belt buckle for that, too». I was ready for that decision. I told her I was happy that I would at least make it that far, and that I'd do some of it with her. «Dear, the last thing I need is another 100K belt buckle. I have 3 of those already. I'm done, but you go get it.»

We walked in the Jeadquarters together, where a semi-worried Sweeney was waiting for me. «I'm not going to impose a death march on you, man. This loop's gonna be a zombie walk. You stay here and party, I'll be fine on my own.»

His answer? «No way!»

«Get your stuff together, go change your shoes, freshen up and meet me here in 15 minutes». He jumped out of his mariachi suit, put some running clothes on, and I threw away my Skechers and put on a third pair of shoes, with a change of socks. My feet suffered some damage, but they still were in decent shape.

It's amazing the effect of having a fresh runner by your side, when you feel so down and out. Sweeney was patient and joyful, and didn't go for a drill sargeant routine, instead choosing to just talk smack and laugh with me while we walked the long up to the half-way point. This made me feel really good, to have a good friend by my side, and to feel he wasn't disappointed in any way. We talked a lot, laughed a lot and, at one point and to my great amazement, I took a couple running steps that felt really, really good. So I kept going.

«Frenchie, you've managed to make me sweat!»

With a smile back on my face, I ran and power-hiked all the way to Jackass again, and decided to take a longer break to try and gather as much energy as I could. I ate tons of noodles, squeezed a gel or two and relaxed while Sweeney and Justin drank beers and had fun.

Heading back out proved extremely difficult, and my body was seized up. From that point on, I knew there was no way I would go further than the 100k, and that thought actually made me happy. I was still out here, in the dark, pressing ahead after many, many hours, and I would still manage to complete a distance I had only run one time before.

I eventually loosened up and managed a couple decent running stretches, but I knew that, as soon as we would hit the rocky downhill patches, my feet would hurt too much and I'd have to walk. As expected, the stretch took a long time to go through, and when we finally hit the last aid station, I was weak, beaten down and starving. We had planned to just walk through and keep going, but I had to sit down and slurp some more noodles.

I finally got back up and on the trail for one last time. At that point it was past midnight and I had been on my feet for more than 18 hours, but I promised my friend we would come in running for the finish. We kept talking and joking until we hit the road crossing, at last, and I broke into a little jog, that sped up to a decent running pace. After all that time, it seems that I still had some energy in me after all. I passed the finish line at 18 hours and 58 minutes while Sweeney looped around the chute and welcomed me home with a big hug. Having him with me on the trails meant a lot, and the emotions started to flow.

I then walked to the officials' tent, looked Nick Coury straight in the eye, smirked and said «I hereby request to be dropped down to a 100K.» He winked at me, handed me my belt buckle and said «You know, running a 100K is no small thing. Congratulations!»

I turned around to a big hug from Aquaphor Girl, AKA Volkswagen Runner Girl, AKA Deborah Goodwin and many congratulations from my friends who had already finished or called it a day. I sat down on a chair and finally enjoyed some rest, some great food and great conversations before finally passing out dead in my van for a couple hours.

I really didn't consider my Javelina Jundred to be a failure. I went out there with all I had, gave it my best and had the wits to know when to stop before causing any damage. It was a good day to be alive, a good day for a desert adventure and a good day to realize I had still some learning to do before I could be among the Big Buckle People.

100 miles, it seems, would have to wait.



Je n'ai pas couru 100 milles, cette journée-là, parce que ce n'était pas l'aventure dont j'avais besoin. Celle qui m'attendait s'est déroulée loin des sentiers, et va ma ramener à la maison, le coeur débordant.



Photo credits : Patrick Sweeney, Justin Lutick