Hello to all you fellow running winos. Jesse here, I am writing the blog today instead of Michele to give my race report on the "Deadman Peaks Trail Run", my first Ultra marathon.
I walked outside the morning of the race, it was cool, not cold (maybe 40°F). The perfect temp. for a start. David, my father-in-law, drove me to the starting line 8 miles from our B&B. On the way we saw a beautiful bull elk next to the road.., the day should go well. I had been nervous while driving into Cuba the evening before, but this morning I was ready. I got out of the car to go sign in and realized it was a full 10° colder at the valley floor starting line. Luckily, I had packed my running pants, hat and gloves. I could take them off at the first aid station 9 miles in.
This was my first headlamp race start. (Earlier this summer "Taos Marathon" started in the dark, but it quickly got light, it was on the road, and nobody needed headlamps). What an awesome way to start a race. I saw a friend of mine in the darkness,"Scott, what's up man? Kinda cold huh?" It was comforting having a friend out on the course. We started down the dirt road which lasted about 2 miles before turning to single track trail. It was really great to have that room so that most of the jockeying for position was done by the time we hit the trail. I ran with him for the first 3 or 4 miles, until I could no longer keep the pace, knowing I had another 50 miles or so to go. "Have a good race if I don't see you again." "Thanks man, you too." He said. I had made my first good decision of the race, I just need to keep my head in it.
I made my way to the top of the first ridge (mi. 6) by first light. There was a cliff to my left and the valley south of Cuba, NM spread out below in the early morning light. It was just gorgeous and I knew this would be the experience of a lifetime. No regrets. The steepest section of the course was just ahead. A 1.5 mile scramble strait down the side of the cliff. This part wasn't too runnable, though I noticed that those ahead of me seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it. I hooked up with Artem, from L.A., he was walking this section which seemed a bit safe, but definitely a good idea, I would hang with him. Don't beat yourself up too early, my second good decision. From the base of the cliff it was an easy mile or so to the first aid station (mi 9).
We rolled into the aid station and immediately they took my camel-back and asked if I wanted water or Heed. "Half and Half, thanks." Then they handed me my drop-bag and I took off my hat, gloves, long pants, and headlamp. I emptied my shoes of a few pebbles and put them back on. Did I forget anything? No?...OK here we go again. I shouted out "Number 48 out.," this was something I had seen a couple more experienced runners do. The entire aid station thing in this ultra blew my mind. The volunteers were so helpful, I never once had to fill my own camel-back. The tables were full of various goodies; chips, crackers, pretzels, cookies, pb&j, coke, hammer gels, sometimes even beer. They were also rigorously keeping track of each runner. We checked into and out of each aid station, and they talked with other aid stations via walkie-talkie, to make sure no runners went missing in the boonies. This was comforting because we only crossed 1 dirt road on the entire course.
From there we went through 2 more aid stations and over several more mountains before crossing the Deadman Peaks and down to the turnaround at mile 26.5. The trail was rigorous; alternating between solid rock and sandy arroyos, always with lots of rocks, and plenty of really steep, short pitches. The landscape was incredible; a cross between Painted Desert Arizona and N.M. pine forest, with a splash of Moab, Utah. I ran most of this section solo, in my own zone, listening to my science shows on the ipod and loving every minute of it. I started counting the runners as they passed me on their way back. "Holy cow, I am in 9th place!?!"
I got to the turnaround feeling awesome, maybe the best I had felt all day. There awaiting me was my whole family, my parents, my parents-in-law, my brother and his kid, my wife and my boy. I was so grateful to see them all. I sat down and Michele helped me change my shoes and socks. Angela held an umbrella over me for shade, which felt great. My mom ran to get me snacks from the table. "One marathon down, just one more to go..." I hung out with them maybe 10 minutes and then "Number 48 out." and I hit the trail.
The next 10 miles flew by. With 17 miles to go I noticed that I was starting to feel all the miles in my legs, but I still felt great. I ran into Scott again at an aid station, he wasn't feeling so hot, and was a bit down about it. We talked briefly and then I hit the trail again.
At 14 miles to go I felt a shooting pain in my left knee, it was my illiotibial band, which I hadn't felt in years, but I knew exactly what it was. This made running downhill quite painful and eventually made it impossible. Within a couple miles I tripped several times stubbing 3 toes on my right foot, which also caused a ton of pain. My head wanted me to stop, but I never let myself consider the notion. The pain came and went. I tried to cherish the occasional new view and the way everything looked different with the afternoon light on it.
I got to the final aid station, "you're almost there," a volunteer told me. "only 9 miles to go...". This time, for the first time all day, I wanted to sit down for a bit longer. Several runners came into the aid station as I sat there, making me hurry up. I thought I was in 7th and I really wanted to hold on to my place. The scramble up the cliff was a difficult one and 2 runners were catching me quickly. I kept at it, working hard. Shortly after reaching the top they caught and passed me, chatting with each other as they went by. It didn't seem like they were in as much pain as I was, and they were definitely in better shape. After they passed me I felt like my 9th place was fairly safe if I just kept a decent pace, this was hard to do because the next 4 miles were a steady downhill, and downhill hurt the worst. I slipped down into my own little pain cave with my favorite podcast "Hardcore History with Dan Carlin," and tried my best not to dwell on anything. Before I knew it I was on the dirt road where the journey had started. I didn't recognize a thing, it had been dark before. I turned around and there he was behind me, about a quarter mile back, the runner who could kick me back to 10th. I dug deep, opened my stride, and ran my fastest mile in the last 45.
Crossing the finish line I felt great and started to cry, then I hugged Michele for a while, and cried again. Honestly at this time I felt really good, and it got even better as I sat there drinking some Marble beer, some Vivác Chardonnay...and some Vivác Dolcetto and reminisced with other runners. I felt great about my time, I felt proud of my accomplishment, I left everything out there on the trail. I don't yet know how many more of these I will do in my life, but if the answer is zero, I am glad I did it at least once and glad that Deadman Peaks is the one I did. As it turned out I got 8th out of 53 starters (14 of which wouldn't make it the full distance), with a time of 10:48:08. What an amazing day.
Thank you to everyone that made this possible for me, I love you all.
-Cheers from the Vivác Family!
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