Honesty and Hills: March 2019

You know that feeling of happiness when you come home to your dog?
You open the door, and there they are, excitement and joy emanating in 20 different ways. They jump up and down, tail wagging so hard their body wriggles back and forth. They spin in circles, run laps around the room, and bring offerings of chewed up and drooled on stuffed animals. And the smile, so big they sneeze repeatedly until you provide adequate attention. That dog is like me when I finally get back to the mountains. Except with less sneezing. And I don’t have a tail to wag.

Dem SLC mountains

A few weeks ago I traveled west to the mountains in Utah to run in the Moab Red Hot 55k trail race. I flew from KC to Salt Lake City, spent a night there, and met up with my parents. Ernie and his girlfriend, Emily, live in Salt Lake City joined the party the next day and we all drove the 3.5 hours to Moab.

The parents know how to stock the freezer!

Moab is incredible. The landscapes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The mountains are big and don’t have many trees. One of the reasons for wanting to do the Red Hot 55k was that I wanted to explore Moab. I could write an entire blog about the national parks we saw on this trip, but I’d be covering a very small percentage of what the area has to offer. Instead, I’ll focus this blog on the race and throw in some of our exploring pictures from completely different days. Another reason I wanted to run the Red Hot 55k was because of the competition. The race attracts high level runners and provides a stimulating course.

The day of the race we awoke to a few inches of snow. The night before, the weather app had shown a 40% chance of snow. I was slightly disappointed because I had been looking forward to running fast and I knew the snow would make traction more difficult. Especially on the “slickrock” the course was known for. But all I could do was roll with it. As I’ve taken more laps around the sun, I’ve accepted weather as something out of my control. Everyone racing has to deal with the same conditions.

I added a few base layers before heading to the start line to get my run on. I truly love snow and it made for beautiful scenery. All the runners congregated on a gravel road, at the base of a few large hills we’d soon run up. After a quick national anthem and count down, we were off.

Immediately, a group of guys tough enough to wear shorts in 30 degree weather separated themselves. I recognized a few well-known runners in the group. Also, the fact that they were fast/tough/proud/dumb enough to wear shorts in snow led me to believe this was “the fast group”. I wanted to be like them. But with manpris.

Strava link here

I burned a match and caught up with the back of the pack making us a group of 6. The first mile or so went by quickly. A few of the guys knew each other and chatted casually. We took turns slipping and stumbling in the snow. I made my way to the back of the group to watch where their feet lost traction so I knew not to step in the same spot. While racing, I prefer to not look at my pace/watch because I want to feed off those around me, and overthinking sucks. However, being in a fast and competitive group like this was new territory for me in a 4+ hour running race. After a mile or so, I glanced at my pace. We were cruising mid to low 6 min miles. I knew I was in decent shape, but running sub 6:30 miles in the beginning of a 34 mile race was asking for a lot of myself. As soon as I started to see the pace dip below 6 min/miles on some slight downhill and flat sections, I knew I needed to slow down. The small layer of snow was not holding these guys back.

I gradually let a gap open and began running my own race. Since there wasn’t anyone near me from behind, I was quickly in “No Man’s Land”.

Near mile five I began a long climb that eventually led me to the highest point on the course around mile 10. I felt good running uphill. The steepness and snow felt manageable. I slowed up at a few intersections because I needed a moment to find the footprints in the snow from the group of five in front of me. After a decent amount of climbing, I made it to the slickrock. I took my time, knowing there were many miles ahead and perhaps the sun would melt the thin layer of ice covering the slickrock. I was little glad to be on my own so no one could see me daintily stepping around ice patches in my manpris.

The slickrock terrain was a completely new experience. The area was open, and oftentimes it was challenging to see where the trail went. Unlike a trail in the woods where a path is eroded, everything looked to be worn the same. To guide runners, short sections of pink ribbon had been tied around bushes or tree limbs every 100 feet or so. Though it felt frustratingly slow, I made steady progress along the climb up to the highest point following flashes of pink and footprints in the snow. Again, like the weather, the necessary route-finding was out of my control and everyone encountered the same situation. In my head I knew it would have been much easier to find my way with sureness if I’d been able to keep “the fast group” in sight or had some experience with the route.

After gaining a small amount of confidence on the slickrock, I refocused on moving forward with purpose. My competitive mindset was still in control. It was a long race and I thought I could find a rhythm heading downhill from the highest point and maybe catch a few people fading in the second half. As I began descending, I was treated with one of the most epic sights I’ve experienced while running. As the trail momentarily transitioned from slickrock to dirt, no more than 15 feet to the right of where we ran was a massive drop off. We were running on the edge of a canyon.

I picked up speed on the downhill, thanked some people at an aid station, guessed (correctly) which way the course went at another intersection, and generally kept turning my legs over. My stomach had a few moments where it felt unsettled so I slowed and appreciated the views. The landscape was truly spectacular. I was completely surrounded by open space with big mountains off in the distance. For as far as I could see there was no signs of civilization. I loved it. Miles 18-21 the course climbed again on fire roads before reaching more slickrock. With a rough understanding of the course profile, I knew I needed to push for three or four more miles of climbing before I’d, theoretically, get an extended descent to the finish.

The sun had thawed out the thin layer of snow and ice by the time I reach more slickrock. For this, I was thankful. Unfortunately, I was once again regularly stalled trying to discern which direction the course went. The only experience I was drawing on was my previous navigation “successes” about 15 miles earlier. I knew to look for pink ribbons as well as runners doing the 33k distance who should be becoming visible to me as well. Eventually, I caught up to a runner who had been in the front group of six and we were able to make decent progress together. In general, we’d reach a large, open section of slickrock, lose the trail, spin in a circle a few times, spread out, walk to the left, walk to the right, recite the ABC’s backwards (kidding), then one of us would say “over here” and off we’d trot. As much as I wanted to keep running, as the terrain was runnable, a number of times I went the wrong direction only to be called back towards the correct trail. We were about two and a half hours into the race, I was low on energy, and was getting irritated because it felt like I wasn’t making steady progress towards the finish. After having to come to an extended complete stop a few times, I realized that “competing” was no longer a priority. A fast time and racing people would have to take a rear seat. I shifted my outlook to appreciate the opportunity I had by simply taking in the views and experience.

I took my time at an aid station by chugging some water and taking in extra calories to get my head back in the game. Still running with the other guy from “the fast group”, we started catching some runners who were doing the 33k. (They had started later and were doing an abbreviated course which included the last 15ish miles of ours.) This provided some relief because every now and then we were able to sight a few figures in the distance to speed up our route-finding. Many of the slickrock sections had painted, white dashes that served as a beacon in these moments of confusion. Still, there were sometimes large gaps between the dashed lines, or I’d overrun a turn and miss one, inevitably coming to a complete stop before backtracking after not seeing a line for a minute. This added mental strain was not something I had expected, but it made the event feel more like an adventure and complete experience. Problem solving on the go naturally happens in endurance events, and this was just another challenge.

Eventually, I made it to the marathon distance. I was looking forward to the fire road and being able to “zone out” my navigating brain while I descended. But there was more slickrock in store. Three or four miles more. The course took us over several slickrock sections that included a number of short but very steep climbs. Knowing that I had another hour or so of running, I took my time at anaid station, pounding two cups of Coke and some M&Ms. I knew the Coke’s sugar and caffeine would help give me one last push before I reached the fireroads. Moab is well known for off-roading and this course was a Jeep’s Disneyland. We encountered number of Jeeps out having the time of their lives, no Coke necessary.

I gradually caught up to more of the 33k runners and we all headed towards the finish together. I soaked up the last three miles on the fireroad as I saw a paved road off in the distance for the first time in 3+ hours. A few spectators had hiked in a little ways from the finish and provided some much appreciated encouragement. A few steep switchbacks later, I ran my way across the finish line.

Overall, this race was a blast. I can’t emphasize the beauty of the location and course enough. I would love to return at some point in the future to run it again, hopefully without snow. If nothing else, I need more time to explore.

In the days around the race, we explored Arches, Canyonlands, and Dead Horse National Parks. All the parks were beautiful, unique, and much larger than I was anticipating. The pictures do not do this place justice.

Massive thank you to my parents for supporting me on the weekend and tolerating a slightly sketchy hiking route we insisted on in Canyonlands National Park.

I have a few races I’m excited around the August – October timeline but for the next few months I plan to focus on work and gaining more field experience. I gain a lot of satisfaction my work as an engineer and appreciate the balance it provides my life.