Sedona Canyons 125 Race Report: Trail Redemption
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This was a race to warm a grizzled ultra vet’s heart! Outstanding company of friends and newfound fellow trail travelers. Amazing deserts, canyons, and mountains in a point to point journey. All sorts of cool flora and fauna. Generous cutoffs without constant time pressure. Challenging but fair. Superb race organization and generally very good markings. Weather that was predictably sunny and dry but not unbearably hot, and got a bit cooler as we moved higher on days 2 and 3. And 125 proved to be an unusual but pretty cool distance. So it all came together for a great race experience, the stress meter running reasonably low though there were moments. All this was good for a return to a 100 mile finish line I hadn’t experienced in 8 long years. Finally that lucky 7th 100–damn it felt good!
Day before checking out a water station we'd pass the next day
The particulars are that I finished in 62:11:17, 124nd out of 197 starters and 144 finishers. I was 12th out of 16 among the male sixties set. This was the “half” version of the Cocodona 250. We started in Jerome and ended in Flagstaff. Our course had been modified in the previous month so it wasn’t identical to the back half of Cocodona, due to Forest Service capacity restrictions related to endangered species. We veered off their course in several sections and joined up again later and finished together, and we shared the course with the 38-milers at the end. We had a pretty sweet mixture of single track, double track, jeep road, dirt roads, and streets and highways. Just when you got bored with one surface or terrain or set of vistas, the course changed it up and threw something new and interesting at you. Including a couple of water crossings.
Our max elevation was about 7,200-7,300' and our minimum 3,258'. Total gain per race organizers was 14,775', with total loss at 12,463'.
With my good friends Steve and Lesley we decided to approach this with a tortoise strategy or, as I thought of it, more of a “short 200” with multiple days each including rest. Rather than a “long 100.” In a 100 most don’t sleep (many of us don’t have time to spare!) but in a 200 you have to and can’t just do one forever sleepless push. We had some experience (including of the hard knocks variety!) to guide us at least. Steve had finished Tahoe 200 (where I paced and crewed him), I had attempted Bigfoot 200 twice (getting as far as 127 miles and together with Steve we made it mile 93 another year), and Lesley had run the 314 road miles across Tennessee at Vol State (unsupported!).
At the same time neither Steve nor I had finished a 100 in some years, with some setbacks we’d rather forget since (!), and Father Time maybe rearing his ugly head there (not to mention some physical ailments, surgeries, a pandemic). Lesley was looking for a first 100 finish. We three had come up short at a couple hard races we started together, though we'd had some awesome adventures, like three days of deserts and mountains in Utah-Colorado to substitute for the fire-cancelled Jemez in '22. Finishes at big destination races had eluded Steve and me the last few years in particular, though we had decent showings at local and regional events and lots of fun had on outings where an upcoming race felt like an excuse for quality time on the trail. So let's just say some individual and group redemption was in the cards if we were able to execute this time!
Training and buildup: I feel like I did more things right this winter-spring with training and training races than last year and maybe last several years, building toward a big summer race or in this case May. Volume was good but not massive, maybe 40-60 miles per week from February. Races were a 6 hour in January, in March a long 50k in NJ and Badger Mountain 50m in Washington State, and then in April the 50 miles/3 days on feet on CT/Westchester trails with Steve with a portion of the Traprock 50k on the middle day. Then a good 2.5 week taper with a family trip to Paris at start to enforce non-running! Badger and the three back to back days with Steve were probably the two key workouts. Badger was super specific to the desert terrain and runable-but-with-some-big-climbs nature of SC125.
This time I emphasized runable and time on feet over vertical, seeing that I wasn’t going to get in Tahoe 200 waitlist for June and previewing what Sedona promised from videos and race reports regarding terrain and footing and elevation profile. I didn’t get in a ton of faster workouts, but managed some tempo runs on non-race weeks and a handful of visits to Monday night speedwork classes. Strength work was hit and miss with my schedule but I got in some gym time and a few Iron Strength home workouts. Crucially, I avoided any work/research travel during an otherwise already busy teaching semester, pushing trips to before the training cycle and then 3 weeks after the race. So I came in pretty well trained and with quality time on feet on trails pretty specific to what I’d encounter (as much as you can in the East), but also reasonably rested. For heat I did a couple sauna sessions and took advantage of a few rare days in 70s/80s in last 10 days prior to get out mid afternoon in Central Park and along the East Riverwalk for short walks or runs.
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Just before the race, and pre-race mug shot at registration by the one and only Howie Stern!
Prerace and start: The logistics of this one were complicated! Six drop bags could be left at start for them to trasnport to aid stations on course as well as a finish bag. Steve and I took full advantage while Lesley went minimalist. Many thanks to Lesley for coming to pick me and Steve up in Flagstaff day before, so we could check out and leave our rental parked there close to finish along with stuff we wouldn’t need till post-race. We got to hang with her and husband Jeff, see their rental house outside Sedona, have a quick dinner in the delightful historic silver mine ghost town of Jerome, check in for the race, and rest at the historic Connor Hotel. We’re not sure if it was the wind or the famous ghosts who were banging the shutters all night as we got some shuteye but were awakened a few times!
Haunting you since 1899!
Race morning the race shuttle took us a few miles up to the old abandoned mine that served as start line, Gold King Mine Ghost Town. Not nearly as windy or cold as we had envisioned from the check-in there evening before. Spectacular views. There were nervous moments for me as the SPOT tracker they assigned for me wasn’t syncing and they had to give me a new one only 10 minutes prior after I waited anxiously for an hour. So much for that last trip to Portasan as I wanted before start!
DAY ONE: BITING OFF A BIG CHUNK
This was our longest day, time and distance wise, at 55 miles. As planned. The first sleep station was too close to make it our stopover (at Sedona at 38), and this way we'd get over 40% done before our first rest.
Jerome to Dead Horse Ranch State Park, start to mile 10.1: There were awesome views in the early miles, first looking down on the valley (Jerome is about mile high) and then as we descended looking back up at Jerome nestled in the barren mountains. Early roads gave way to single track. Most of it reasonably smooth, but there was one particularly steep and rocky downhill section and we were still tightly bunched together. A woman fell, doing no harm, and burst out laughing--get it out of the way early, we told her!
Somewhere around mile 8 was the Verde River crossing. Nice, cool, and lush there. Water flowing fast, but only ankle to calf deep. Very refreshing in the heat. At Dead Horse, Steve, Lesley, and I took our time eating, lubing and putting on sunscreen, shedding and changing layers from our dropbags, and grabbing food for the long next section. I/we made pretty good time in the first 10 miles, averaging about about 16:12 minute miles.
Looking back at Jerome
Jerome
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Verde River crossing--cool comfort (and yes it was green)! (Credit: Anastasia Wilde)
Dead Horse to Deer Pass Trailhead, 10.1-mile 23.2: There was a brief riparian section not long after the aid, which felt like a welcome oasis. But the rest of this section was quite exposed to the sun and it must have been into the 80s by that point. We ran through the towns of Clarkdale and Cottonwood. I believe it was in the former (which was a long downhill) that the yards were quite scenic, with cactus and rock gardens for lawns. A few residents were out cheering us on. One woman tending to her plants yelled, "You came all this way just to meet me!" I had to chuckle, and complimented her garden.
As we got into the more urbanized setting of Cottonwood, Lesley was in need of a bathroom, and decided to stop at a gas station. Steve and ran ahead along the streets. I remember seeing a Mexican bakery and thinking it would be nice to grab a concha or pan dulce, but it was the other side of a busy street so I thought better of it. As we go out of town, we were on the shoulder of a pretty busy highway. At one point a racer from behind came running up, having spotted on the ground some electrolytes I had just realized I dropped. Much appreciated!
We turned from the highway onto what would be a couple miles of wide, quite sandy back roads. Often deep sand, not really dirt. There were signs for Sedona. Occasional airport shuttle-type vans. Vehicles would kick up a lot of dust so we had our bandannas or neck gaiters at the ready when they came by. There were random RVs and trailers along the way just parked in the desert, and I commented to Steve and Lesley that this reminded me of "Nomadland," the Oscar-winning film (which I loved, and where Frances McDormand truly deserved her best actress award.) People must live here or camp out on BLM land, we sort of concluded.
We stopped once in this section to cool down and apply sunscreen. Then came a really sweet section of single track, which eventually took us into Deer Pass. I guess this was the lowest-elevation section of the course. Those guys continued to lead the way, but I would keep them in sight, and catch up to them when they slowed down for whatever reason.
By the time we got to 23, my Garmin recorded a cumulative average pace (including stoppage time) of 18:06 minute miles.
Deer Pass Trailhead to Sedona Posse Grounds Park, 23.2 to mile 37.5: This was a long, hard, and hot section, but also the most beautiful of the course. There was a manned water station at 29.9. At Deer Pass the volunteers doted on us, telling us to sit in the shade and bringing us food and our drop bags. We took our time eating, changing into dry layers, grabbing warmer outer layers and our puffies which we'd need past sunset (and as required gear from Sedona on). I believe Lesley or both tended some to blister issues on her/their feet. I got a big clump of ice in my bandanna from a volunteer, which felt nice but was so solid it almost choked me a bit at first when I put it back around my neck.
The next section featured a lot more rolls and climbs. Things strung out a little as I had trouble keeping them in sight. I didn't want to let me heart rate stay up into the 130-40s for too long. Things got a little confusing nav-wise as we approached the water-only aid station, but I checked the GPS and to see that there was a runner behind coming the same way. It was interesting being back there as we had stopped in the car to see the race leader for the Cocodona 250, Jeff Browning, come through the day before. So it was a known landmark which we were now seeing from the trails. People were a little strung out coming in there due to the heat of the late afternoon and exertion of the section. A guy whom I believe is someone I had spoken with earlier from Carson City, NV, was cramping bad, and said he had never cramped before. Those guys were there when I got there but left before I did.
At that point I think either my pace was dragging or theirs was picking up. People who left that station just after me passed me and I'd leapfrog with them. I caught up briefly to Steve at one point (he would hang back to stay in contact) when there were picture-postcard views of the Sedona red rock. But that didn't last, and I resigned myself to not seeing them again till the Sedona A.S.
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Cathedral Rock Dwarfs Mini-Me. Credit: Scott Rokus
I believe it was at Deer Pass that Lesley told me that her husband Jeff, tracking the race, had told her by cell that my official race tracking info wasn't showing. Lovely, I thought! So I was a bit preoccupied by that (the safety issue as much as no friends or family being able to track me), as we got to the series of ups and downs as we approached Sedona. Remembering that the race director had texted everyone his number for emergencies or problems and told us we'd have cell reception most of the way, I texted him that I believed my tracker wasn't working. Their "GPS guy" (his words) called me a few minutes later, and asked me to take off my pack and tell him the serial number. "Aha," he said. Apparently in their rush at the start to swap out my bum tracker they were trying to recharge, they had recorded wrong the number of the replacement they gave me in haste. So doing the descent and getting onto the edge of Sedona at dusk, I then called Esperanza to let her know where I was and that my tracker seemed to be working ok. There were some twists and turns, some busy streets, and then a bit of trail as we got to the aid station.
I got to Sedona aid maybe 45 minutes after dark. Through mile 37 so about a half mile before, my cumulative time was 12:39:50, good for a 20:32 pace (compared to an overall cutoff finish pace around 36 minute miles). It felt like I'd slowed a lot, and I was laboring more in those miles leading into Sedona, but I was still on track and moving with purpose.
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Love this official race pic of Lesley! (Credit: Scott Rokis)
Sedona Posse Grounds Park to Schnebly Hill: 37.5 to mile 54.7:
I got into Sedona after those guys, but we left together. It was dark and alreading cooling off. We put on our layers, including pants or tights, grabbed our extra lights and batteries, ate, changed shoes and socks. I believe I re-taped over one developing blister on side of heel. The volunteers quizzed us leaving to make sure we had the required colder weather gear as we were going to be on the Coconino Plateau at higher elevation the rest of the way (heat sheet, puffy, pants). A few hundred yards after we left the aid station, people were checking out a slew of javelinas who were feeding on not sure what in the rocks by a sidewalk. Their eyes glowed back at us. Pretty cool! Pretty quickly as we ran a little bit on a road before hitting a trail, we overheated and had to peel off a layer or unzip. It wasn't yet that chilly.
The miles leading up to a bridge underpass and eventually the Oak Creek crossing seemed to take quite a while. They were pretty rolling, and in a few places you had to pay attention with GPS and marking due to twists and turns. It was forested. A highlight, as I tried to keep the two of them in sight, was glancing to one side of the trail and seeing a family of deer sitting, their lights glowing in my headlamp beam. Too little time to pull out the phone for a pic, though--rats!
It seemed like the section winding down to the creek took forever. We took turns using the rope as the water was fast moving and up to our knees to lower thighs. The current was pretty fast. We sat on the rocks on the other side to take off our shoes, and put on the fresh socks we carried. It was taking me a bit of time to change the combo of gaiters and liner socks and outer socks, and they got antsy and said they were going to move ahead.
We knew it was a long climb up the Casner Canyon Trail. (The Alltrails app says it's a 1,640' climb.) It was probably the toughest section of the race for me, combined with what came after. It alternated steady and steep climb--you might say "steep, steeper, steepest." It was narrow and overgrown and rocky and you couldn't get any rhythm. Plus the wind was blowing and it got downright cold in the late evening hours. And did I mention that there was a lot of exposure, thankfully concealed a bit by the darkness? There was a lot of stopping for a few seconds here and there to muster my breath and strength. It was really hard to see where the top was, though some folks passed and for a while I could see their headlamps ahead. I was alone throughout that section.
Once at the top, it became more rolling, and was quite chilly, a bit windy. At mile 47.5, there was a water drop, and I think a volunteer. Lesley and Steve were waiting, but were freezing as it was a very windy spot, and wind chills were subfreezing probably. I had to fill some water (though I'd consumed precious little liquids and calories on the whole climb), and swap out some batteries on my headlamp or waist lamp. I'm not quite sure what happened, but my headlamp had already burned out despite using Lithium batteries (too high a brightness setting?). And the special waistlamp battery, which usually gets like five hours, had only lasted like three. So I was down to just the waistlamp with its backup battery till I got to the next aid.
Here the "climb from hell" turned into the "endless road from hell." It was a wide dirt road, forested on both sides, and constantly, subtly, but unforgiveably uphill, mile after mile. A bit soul-crushing! Just at the time of the middle of night that the sleep monsters were attacking (I eyed with envy someone who had a one-person bivy tent they were holed up in trailside to snooze--so much so that I ordered one from REI after the race to try it out myself.). Steve had waited for me a quarter mile or so down the road, and I tried to hang with him for a while. But I think he despaired of my plodding pace, and decided to try to catch Lesley. It wasn't too long after that, as I played with my light or fished around for calories or electrolytes, that I got too close to the rougher edge of the wide road, and foolishly fell. Nothing bad, but skinned my hands a bit, and of course just at the moment I had taken off my gloves. As I tried to get up, I got a muscle cramp (my only one of the race come to think of it), and a runner coming up behind lent me a hand in getting up. I was beat and just a little demoralized.
I kept checking the GPS, as there were some junctions. I could see we crossed under a highway. I thought from there it would be relatively close to the Schnebly aid station. Fat chance! It was a couple miles, uphill of course, and with a lot of two-way traffic on the dirt road, kicking up dust, with crew and race vehicles. I desperately wanted to at least get in there before dawn, but no such luck as it was 4:50AM by my Garmin but already getting light when I pulled in.
Schnebly-Munds Park shuttle and brief rest: To re-connect us with the original course and re-route us around an endangered species section, they had a couple van shuttles for the 10-minute ride to Munds Park. So I got to quickly grab some food and my drop bag, and right away a van pulled up and whisked me, solo, off to Munds, as I wolfed something or other down during the ride. They swiped our race number chips to freeze our clocks, and then re-swiped upon arrival to re-start (though the scanner was malfunctioning, so they wrote down my arrival time at Munds--eventually it did get deducted from the clock time of my finish).
Now at Munds, there was a sort of large cabin, with many cots and a couple bathrooms. A volunteer pointed me toward a bunk. I think I saw Steve sacked out on one and assumed Lesely was somewhere too. I laid down for about an hour, but couldn't sleep. It was already light, and my moment had passed. But it was restful and a mental reset. As I got up to go the bathroom and debated if I'd try to rest a bit more, I saw Lesley getting up. So I proceeded to change into daytime apparel, change my shoes, eat a nice eggs, bacon, and pancake breakfast, and get my stuff together to depart, as they did the same. I had the ER volunteers put some disinfectant on my hand scrape from the fall.
DAY TWO: INTO THE HIGH COUNTRY
Officially about 33 miles, this was our "short day." It was my sleepiest day.
Munds Park-Kelly Canyon, 54.7-Mile 70.2: This was a long and--for me--slow section. Though the three of us started together, they quickly moved ahead. We spent a lot of time on the Arizona Trail, which runs like 800 miles across the state. Rolling, sometimes more dirt road and other times single track. There were a lot of logging areas, including some with active machinery. It was pretty, lot of evergreens, verdant. I was getting passed a lot. I was feeling the sleep deprivation, and occasionally would imagine something I saw on the side of the trail to be something completely other than the piece of wood or whatever it was. Daytime hallucinations. At one point I decided to find a spot off the trail, spread out my bivy sack, and try for a 15 minute nap. But I ended up calling it quits after 5 minutes, unsuccessful.
The navigation became more complex, as it got hillier, with lots of twists and turns. I was pulling out my phone a lot to check the GPS. At one point I became convinced I had been at this spot before, and it seemed as if the markings were pointing in a direction away from the general direction of a highway I could see on the GPS we needed to go parallel to for a while--in other words, I thought I was doubling back or going in circles. So I decided to set out on a bushwack toward the trail section along the highway, following GPS. Unfortunately, that proved to be a fraught endeavor, as the contour lines and detail on the GPS were not great and I ended up maybe doing some pointless descents and then ascents. Anyway, I eventually did get back on trail, and the last couple miles were mostly uphill.
The Kelly Canyon aid station was pretty full of people and quite warm and sunny without shade, and I ate something quickly (typically at each aid I'd eat something with protein, something salty, and something sweet like fruit) and filled up the bladder with water without sitting down.
Pace-wise, in this section it seems that my miles ranged from 20:30 to 35:00, averaging high 20s maybe. It was a slow section.
Kelly Canyon to Fort Tuthill, 70.2 to Mile 87.0: Well, there was this sign saying "8 miles to Fort Tuthill" leaving the aid station. It had the Sedona 250 logo, but so did some of the course markings that then specified SC 125 if we did something different--this did not, and said nothing about our race. With my sleep-deprived mind, I thought, "somehow I screwed up, and that last section was MUCH longer that advertised" (I no longer had cumulative mileage on my Garmin, as somehow it had gotten stopped and saved at 67.2, and a new segment started.) Throughout, the sections tended to be longer than the official mileage, so not shocking. Seeing how I'd filled my 3 liter bladder and filled two 500ml bottle and it was getting to be late afternoon, I thought once back on trail I'd lighten my pack out by pouring my bottles out at least. But along came another runner, and reflecting on the next section she noted, "that sign was just for the 250 milers. We've got 18 miles left." Duh! This one of those shared sections where we diverged prior to the next aid, in our case with an 8-9 mile loop added just prior to arriving at Fort Tuthill. It was going to be a longer day/night than expected!
Single track gave way to paved road a few miles in. I was mostly by myself, but there were people near, particularly in the loooong section as we approached the turnoff for the loop. I leapfrogged with a few of them, but several 250 milers came cruising through (you could tell by the color of their race number, and sometimes by their gait--much respect, they had been out 2 days and 125 miles farther than us! I tried to shout to them encouragement about how much of their race was already in the bag).
I stopped to put on my lights and warmer layers including pants (gets cold quickly at night there especially now above 6,500-7000') in a little single track section near some houses. Two women passed me in that section, and I ended up catching back up just as we got to the turnoff. They nicely introduced themselves as a local runner and her pacer from the Bay Area. We chatted a bit as they surged ahead on the fairly smooth and wide dirt road of the first section of the loop. Knowing that I didn't have anything left except my waist lamp with a battery good for a couple hours (and no extra batteries or new headlamp till the tantalizingly near but oh so far away Fort Tuthill), I decided to keep a close distance, but without treading too much on their space, as they were old friends deep in conversation. My fear was that at any moment I'd have to switch to my phone light, and I don't think I had a charger handy and saw thatt the phone, also used to navigate by GPS, was maybe somewhere between 50 and 70%.
About three miles in, as we turned to sort of complete the far end of the rectangle we were more or less running, the wide dirt road gave way to single track. Twisty, turny, vegetated, and rolling single track. It was like that for the whole rest of the loop. I kept their lights in sight, with one hand adjusting my waistlamp and another holding the phone to follow along. I could tell the pacer, who was much more copus mentis as the runner (doing her first 100) confessed to a lot of sleep deprivation and just tiredness, was doing a very good and careful job navigating. I just wanted to make double-sure we didn't miss a turn, and also be ready to switch to my phone light at a moment's notice, as that particular waistlamp gives little warning when it's going to conk out. The hard part with all the twists, and with some stumps and branches and rocks that could trip you up if you didn't watch each step, was that I'd have to keep one eye on their headlamps and another to shine the close-up beam to actually see the path they'd taken to where they were. All without benefit of the faraway beam of the headlamp (my preferred two-light strategy as I don't see perfectly at night on trails).
At one point, we became separated, and I yelled their names several times, but the trails were so circuitious, and they were talking, so they couldn't hear me. I managed to catch up, and periodically when they stopped to regroup I'd catch up to within earshot or eye reach of them. I hope I wasn't too annoying, but I really didn't want to be alone on that section, for fear of getting stuck out there without workable lighting (the GPS signal on the Gaia app was working fine for the nav, fortunately).
In the last few miles, as the mental and physical exhaustion set in, I had started flashing back to the third sleepless night at Bigfoot 200 in 2021, with my pacer Sue. As had happened then and I remarked in my mental daze to her at the time, I kept feeling like we were back in the very same place as before, and perhaps going around in circles (by then I'd put the phone away--speaking of the present moment--and was trusting in their navigation most of the time). I knew I had no rational basis for this belief, but it was still there, and reinforced by the fact that the runner kept asking her pacer how much farther it was, and I feared she might need a longer stoppage or need to stop and doze off, bringing our momentum to a half. Anyway, a runner passed us, and at one point we could see other lights in the distance. Eventually, we got to the point where the loop ended (we were jubilant!) and merged back into the short (less than half mile) dirt road into Fort Tuthill. Eternal gratitude to the runner (Lori Robinson, I see from the results) and her pacer (her name was Balla or Bolla, I believe). For their kindness and companionship (and not leaving this old Manhattanite to his own devices out in the woods at night--I never did mention to them my lighting concerns).
Pace-wise, I apparently re-started a Garmin track at Kelly Canyon, and my pace for the next 16 miles ranged from about 24-34 minute miles, averaging somewhere in the middle.
Ah, Fort Tuthill was a like a fortress! A big common room, with chairs, a food area, a drop bag area, a massage table and masseuse, and a big adjoining common sleeping room with cots (nice and dark) as well as bathrooms and a changing room. I cleaned up a little with some wet camping towels (leaving a racer to ask a few minutes later if I'd taken a shower as I smelled good!) , and took off my dirty layers and put on something dry to try to catch some sleep (unfortunately on the bottom what I grabbed was non-breathable rain pants). As I was getting nestled into my bivy sack in the dark room (with a lot of snoring going on around me!), I got a text from Steve, indicating they were planning to try to sleep till, if memory serves, 2:30AM, and if that's the case then it was midnight, as I remember thinking it would give me 2.5 hours. Unfortunately, the muscles wouldn't calm down, and I was shaking a lot, like having the chills. Parts of me too hot, parts too cold, and sweating a lot. I did manage to at least calm down, but I knew by an hour in that it would simply be rest, but not any actual REM sleep, and I should try to make the best of it. My old bugbear--can't sleep on demand when I have the chance at 100+ events! (Why I didn't reach for the Zyquil tablets I had in my pack, search me!).
I think I got up a little before the time I'd set the alarm for, to eat something, and start working on the whole ritual of sock and shoe change, lubing, checking for blisters, and eating a good breakfast (unfortunately, it wasn't yet breakfast food, and I can't remember what I had beyond potatoes and broth). Lesley told me, to my surprise, she thought her race was over. Turns out she'd been experiencing a lot of top of foot pain. She showed me a bright red spot that looked nasty. She was conferring with medical staff. As Steve and I moved toward finishing up, a woman from Jackson, WY area, Tina, whom I'd met at Sedona Posse aid, was getting ready too. She had met them somewhere on the way into Sedona, and then apparently spent a lot of day two running with them.
So it would be a change in the identity of the amiga for the three amigos as we set off into the very chilly early morning still in the dark (I believe it was around 4:20AM). We all gave Lesley hugs, made sure she had a plan to get back to her rental house, and assured her we knew she was making the right call, and that 89 miles was not a bad haul, and it had been a great experience already. It was sad to leave her, but she seemed sober-eyed and has dealt with injuries before (haven't we all!).
DAY THREE: THE FINAL PUSH
A 55-mile very long day, and a somewhat more reasonable 34ish mile day, were now in our rear-view mirror (actually measured, not official miles). Now what remained to the finish in downtown Sedona was 38 miles, which we hoped (at least originally) we might make by nightfull or shortly thereafter, well ahead of the 75-hour cutoff falling at 10AM the following morning.
Fort Tuthill-Walnut Canyon, 87.0-Mile 104.9: This was a varied section of mostly sweet single track with some road sections mixed in. We were basically coming from the west of Flagstaff, and doing an almost complete circumnavigation around it, moving east, then north, then heading back west, going through the foothills of the San Francisco Mountains and a vast network of trails on the northern edge of the city, before descending back along its western edge, and finally heading onto streets toward the finish.
It was probably close to the freezing mark the first few miles. As the sun came up, and we warmed up, we stopped to shed layers, and apply sunscreen. After a road section, we came onto some nice single track in a park-like setting, not far from residential areas. Then we emerged at one point onto what I think was the Arizona Trail, and single track that was more remote from the city. For a while we saw a smoky haze, which I think was from a control burn east of the city that the race directors had let us know about via group text since a couple days prior. I spotted some movement on the bluff above and pointed to a herd of elk, barely visible through the haze that in enlarged photos looks almost more like mist. Very cool! There were also numerous views of the very impressive and snow-covered Humphrey's Peak, the tallest in AZ.
It was on the Arizona Trail that things opened up, and the 38 milers (Elden Crest 38) started zooming past us. They would share the whole rest of the course with us. We were buoyed by the complimentary shouts we'd get from the fresh young runners, and we cheered them on. I shouted at one to ask if he had gotten his feet on the rock-hopping across a small stream we had just crossed, and he shouted back annoyed, with a British-seeming accent: "They put water on the course when everyone knows Flag is effin' dry." Hilarious!
After being on that section for a while, we passed what was a water-only station intended for the 38 milers, before we continued onto a hot road section through a park and climbing up city streets, and then a section that alternated between single and double track and sometimes dirt road. It was a ranch and spread out residential area outside the city. It was quite warm by then, probably mid-70s but real feel in 80s as the sun is so intense there. We were re-applying sunscreen 3-4 times a day being out all day. Steve and Tina had pulled ahead. I believe I took out my phone on the road section, seeing aid was not far ahead, and called both to check on Lesley (Jeff had picked her up and she was doing great, and confirmed my tracker was working) and also to say a quick hi to Esperanza. (I think I touched base with her each day, and a couple times said a brief hello to my daughter Mihiret, but the time difference and scheduling made it hard to do more than say, I'm doing great, and at mile X.)
At the aid station, I saw the pacer B waiting for her runner Lori to come in along with a few others, and we gave each other a warm greeting. Steve and Tina were sitting in chairs in the shade, eating and tending to sunscreen and liquids and lube and eating. I think by then the subject of chafing in the nether regions was coming up and vexing both of them. I went on one of my characteristic odes to the virtues of Bodreau's Butt Paste (much superior to Desitin!), which I swear to and was using religously at each each aid station. (Sorry for the TMI!)
We were tired but in good spirits, and set off enthusiastically as we were starting to smell the barn! (And yes, I do remember that phrase being used a time or three!).
Walnut Canyon-Sandy Seep, 104.9-113.3: Now we had gotten as far east as we'd go, and were basically proceeding north, crossing under the interstate (so many tunnels under highways in this race), and getting back onto the AZ Trail. It was single track, semi-arid, some grass and sagebrush-type vegetation. We entered into what was either a state park or national forest land as we started to move back west toward the northern fringes of Flagstaff. About this point the two guys who ran the whole 250 with the US flag came running by--impressive! I jockeyed some with people I hadn't seen before and a few I had seen all the way back to day one. Steve and Tina had forged ahead.
I re-assembled with Steve and Tina again at the last aid station at Sandy Seep, for what would prove the last time. Spirits were light as we bantered with the aid station volunteers (about things like beer and chafing), ate some real food, loaded up with water for the last time, and pushed off after a few minutes.
Many two-story freight trains like this swept past our hotel in Flagstaff at all hours. Here we had a tunnel under and then an overpass over the interstate that the railroad paralleled.
Sandy Seep-Finish in Flagstaff, 113.3-125 (maybe more like 127-128?): Pretty quickly we started climbing. Tina took off, and Steve took off after her. The turns started becoming a little tricky with a maze of trails suddenly, including one where we diverged off the AZT we had been following for quite a while and then another not long after, which I at first missed. They weren't so clearly marked, and I pulled out the GPS a lot. A few times I yelled ahead for those guys, and tried to call or text Steve (phone was on airplane mode though) just to make sure they hadn't missed one of those turns.
Eventually we emerged onto a continuous trail, mostly descending, and by then I had pretty much given up on catching up to them. I did ask some hikers or a non-raing runner heading the opposite direction if they had seen two people with their description, but none had (with a steady trickle of runners, I guess). I thought to myself, they are experienced navigators, and probably got through just fine, and were somewhere ahead, likely pretty far. I stopped at a boulder to put on my headlamp and warmer night layers, and set to the task of getting myself to the finish. I had hunted for the proper size cord to connect my portable charged to the phone at several points, at one point borrowing Tina's cable to get more juice in my phone. But I determined in that last search of my pack that I must have either droppped it or left it in a dropbag, as I only had the wrong size Apple cable and the cable for my watch. When oh when will they make a universal charger!
After. a while the course got into hilly, forested, windy trails with signs of urban civilization on one side and trails heading up to the various peaks on the other. As it got dark, I was concerned about my phone battery, as I'd have to use the GPS pretty regularly in the dark. I can't recall if I was down to either my 2nd headlamp or my 2nd waistlam, but didn't have both working, and each took different size batteries. Oh the frailty of technology!
So the nav became a little convoluted as the course essentially skirted the northern fridge of "Flag" and then were going to wind our way very circuitiously along the northwest fringe. It was hard to get enough enlargement to get good detail on the GPS. At some point, after it got fully dark, I realized I was on a trail but not quite on the track. So here I started to bushwack to try to get back on trail. It was clumsy, as I needed poles for the obstacles that could trip me up (it was brushy, hilly, rocky) at the same time I had to follow closely the GPS track. I kept picking lines to move that were a bit off, and if I enlarged too much, I'd lose the window and have to start over again on Gaia. I do remember distinctly that all this stumbling around off-trail was something I had dreamt about (or so I thought), and it eerily felt as if I'd been here before. Sleep deprivation taking its toll for sure, and the mind starts to play tricks. Struggling to stay in the moment and not lose a grip, with the finish so close. I so seldom remember my dreams, so to have one come back to me so vividly kind of threw me.
After what seemed like forever but I guess was maybe 10-15 minutes (?), I reached a trail, and could see I was heading in the right direction. (Looking back at my Garmin, my 35th of the 37.6 miles I recorded for the last day took me 37:52, so it must have been that wandering one.) As I saw lights of what I took to be people in the distance, maybe volunteers, I had another deja vu moment--I've been here before, it's all so familiar! Well, in a crude bath of reality, once they directed me which way to go, I came to a sort of road crossing or intersection (it was very dark, no overhead lighting), and remember shouting out to people there who seemed to be in a sort of parking lot, "which way is the finish?" No one seemed to hear, and I was getting pissed ("you shout and no one seems to hear," like in the classic Pink Floyd song). As I tried to follow the GPS track, I asked which way the park was, thinking in my haze that was the finish. It turns out we just ran along it and then well beyond.
I remember coming to another point, where a road went one way but a dirt path another. I could see runners behind me had gotten to the other side of a clump of trees in passing me, and I had gone too far and had to backtrack and couldn't figure out how to get to where they were. I wasn't seeing markings, and the GPS track was a little too indistinct now in the urban environment. Pissed off moment #2, as I yelled out "How did you get over there?!" and got no detectable reply. Boy, I was getting frustrated.
Finally, I got to what seemed familiar, from watching the race simulcast and videos from past years, of the last stretch of city blocks, which I recalled goes on for quite some while. Here there were street signs, traffic lights, stop signs, push buttons to cross major streets. Such a contrast to the trail labyrinth I'd been trying to navigate a few minutes prior! At a corner I was surprised by Lesley and Jeff, who had come from their rental house near Sedona to greet us at the finish (and to pick up her drop bags). It was great to get hugs from them, and know that Steve was ahead and probably had just finished. They were taking off for Sedona, and flying home to Denver the next afternoon. From here I knew I was home-free, though I kept having to ask on which street I'd turn next.
Once I came to "Cocodona Alley," it was sweet relief! It was maybe 20-30 yards to run it in and cross the finish. Steve, who had come in about 24 minutes sooner, was there to give me a hug and you can see him watching me finish. He was elated about our feat! They gave me my handsome finisher's buckle. Ed "the Jester" Ettinghausen, famous and accomplished now veteran ultrarunner from California who dresses in full joker costume for every race, gave me a handshake, and had been doing that for hours since his finish. A very nice touch. Wow, the incredible journey was at last complete!
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Reaching the destination (Credit: Scott Rokis)
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Steve at the finish (Credit: Anastasia Wilde)
Redemption!
Steve and I, often with Lesley, have been through the wars, and have the battle scars to prove it! It's been challenging these last few years, as finishes at hard races (long, typically mountainous, often technical) have eluded us. This was after notching some tough finishes in difficult races maybe 10 or more years back, or in Steve's case as recently as Tahoe 200 in 2018. But we simply don't care much for the flatter, faster courses (we'd have to actually run too much, when we are more backwoods grinders!). And we've had some decent 50ks and 50 milers over that time on the kinds of courses we fancy.
The day after--picking up drop bags at finish area, outside our hotel showing off finish buckles, and Steve getting some well-deserved rest!
This one was challenging enough, particularly with the extra marathon thrown in past the 100, but had less climbing overall, and definitely less per mile, than 100 or 200-mile races we had finished and others we'd attempted. Lesley is younger and has a lot more years of racing in front of her, and made what proved a very wise decision to drop--turns out she had a foot stress fracture, diagnosed by X-ray a few days later. But for Steve and me, there was definitely a feeling of getting back to the feeling of accomplishment of training for and then executing a good race. Solid and dare I say--workmanlike. We knew our job, knew our bodies, had put in the training, dealt with some setbacks, and had the confidence and problem-solving skills and endurance to see us through. Next time, though--we'll get all three of us to that finish line! (And as for Tina, hats off to you on your fabulous first 100 finish, and it was awesome sharing the trails with you, and hope our paths cross again soon!)
Back to the original gameplan of the "short 200," I think Steve and I built in a positive way on the experience at the 200 distance (racing, crewing and pacing for me, his Tahoe finish, plus our long DNFs at Bigfoot, twice there for me). There's a learning curve with gear, resting, managing energy, and becoming comfortable with long days and short bouts of rest and breaking it down into manageable segments. This race felt less intense than 100s where we chased 34-36 hour cutoffs (Bighorn, Bear, Bryce, Massanutten), or than Bigfoot 200s where we were up against cutoff pressure by day two. Mind you, back in the day, we cracked the lock and finished Bighorn (me, three time) and MMT (both) plus others, and I even did that double once in the same year (in a previous life, at age 50 😆). It just became a much taller order in the last few years with age, injuries, and such.
Anyway, races and other organized events aren't what it's all about--thought this one was a blast! The down or challenging moments were overshadowed by the moments where we were cruising along within ourselves but with purpose. And besides those moments, and the things you overcome, are just part of the deal. Most of all, though, we probably race so that we have an excuse to train, as we just really enjoy the time on trails, the solitude, the time away from mundane cares, the immersion in nature. With no races, maybe we would have a tougher time justifying and getting out there so much?
One other reflection on the mental weirdness of sleep deprivation, and the still unsolved puzzle of how I can manage to get some real sleep at this super-long events. My third night at Bigfoot, where I'd maybe had actual sleep for 45 minutes to an hour total since the race's start despite efforts to sleep multiple times, is as indelibly etched in my mind as any out of my mind experience could be--feeling like I was going in circles, losing all sense of progress, finally being forced by the course sweeps to put on my puffy and hop in a bivy to take a nap so I wouldn't fall off a precipice as I was weaving all over the place apparently, and recalling only fragments of that night up till they made me sleep.
I think I couldn't help but flash back to that experience and those feelings in some way, even though I was never quite as out of it at SC125. My one fear had been, that if it did go deep into a third night in Arizona, that I'd be getting back into that mental space I'd been at in Bigfoot '21, and I'd just as soon never experience anything like that again!
As far as what to try next on solving the sleep puzzle, small doses of sleep aids and a portable bivy "tent" are something I'll be playing around with--and I'm certainly open to other suggestions! I guess in the end that's one of the things about these off-beat events that I love. They require a lot of preparation but since you never know quite what to expect and they throw a lot at you, there's a LOT of problem-solving and trial and error involved. Well, SC125 was one puzzle I sure loved solving! And I did it with some pretty awesome company!
What's next for the three amigos? Stay tuned!
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