Salida's Run Through Time Marathon - race report

Salida, Colorado, just north of the San Luis Valley in what is known as the Arkansas Valley (named for the Arkansas River), is known for its proximity to Monarch Ski Resort and for its kayaking community.  The town is wedged at the base of hills, with its own town mountain marked with an "S" the same way Del Norte has Lookout Mountain marked with a "D."  But where Del Norte's hills give way to more small foothills with few trails, Salida's quickly become an entire network of progressively bigger elevations that become the San Isabel National Forest.  This was to be our first local race, a mere 1.5 hours from home.  Since our race in Moab I integrated a lot more hill work thanks to the snow melt, so I was hopeful to have a better race.  Or, at least, to not be so horrifically sore afterward.

Run Through Time Marathon course, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile)

Elevation profile, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile).  Blue line = my pace.

The race starts just across the river and railroad tracks at the base of "S" mountain.  Just ahead of us in the glob of a start was a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, two triathlon bottles strapped to his chest (it takes too much energy to pick up the bottle with your hands, so they have long straws so you barely have to turn your head to drink), and two trekking poles.  The race commenced at 8:00am sharp, and but five seconds later the dude already dropped one trekking pole and caused backup while he tried to retrieve it and nearly tripped everyone around him.

The first couple miles are a loop around the base over dirt roads to help the pack spread out.  There's a small climb at a half mile in, during which I realized my Garmin was not set to autolap every mile.  I accidentally hit the interval setting instead, and in disabling the intervals it ended up restarting my time.  Whatever.  (So when looking at the elevation chart, know that I refer closer to the true mileage.  The chart shows everything a half mile before it actually occurred.)

Suddenly some woman decked out in Salomon gear (read: expensive) wearing Salomon shoes 2-3 sizes too big went sprinting past in a panting fit.  What the heck?  The race just started, lady.  A minute later she was pulled over to the side, hands on knees, huffing and puffing.  I said to Nathan, "I know it shouldn't bother me, but I find that really annoying."  Nathan agreed.

We wound over that first small hill, back down to the water's edge, and toward the "S" hill to ascend singletrack and begin the real race.  Miss Salomon Specialness again sprinted past.  I silently shook my head.  Two guys just ahead of us pointed at her and chuckled.  It was her all out sprint start that made us all react, because that's just downright dumb in a marathon with a supposed 4000feet each of climbing and descent.  Once part way up "S" she was again pulled over, hands on her knees.  Honey, its going to be a long morning....

The trail ascended with the town shrinking in our hind view.  Once on the backside of "S" it winds up and down, in and out, along the waves of topography.  Many parts remind me of the east coast but for the desert dryness and different flora.  The weaving became repetitive, feeling like an M. C. Escher work in much the same way that part of Pine 2 Palm felt.  That's just how mountains build.  The east coast has less of that repetition since they are declining and crumbling mountains where it has all smoothed over.  I felt good on these hills.  Nathan did too.  We were able to run the ups without feeling any rehash.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Mile 8 opened up to a full sized dirt road that was the big, long climb of the day.  Steep enough to make things slow going and occasionally require walking stints, though just shallow enough to run (albeit slowly) and to fool you as to the severity of its actual grade.  Per my Garmin, it varied from 5-15% grade.  Here is where Nathan started to fall back, trying to preserve his stomach and ensure he could finish.  A women slowly passed me midway.  She asked if I ran Moab, and said she kept seeing me on and off throughout the first 20+ miles.  I asked her name: Emily.  She was moving well and I wished her a good race.  Some guys passed me at the base, but I caught most of them by the lollipop turnaround at its climax.  I wasn't very far behind Emily by the turnaround, and we exchanged a high five as I neared the turn and she was on her way back.  Nathan started the lollipop as I neared the aid station at its base.

I paused to refill with water and dump another salt tab into my fluids.  I had to get help to undo the capsule since my hands were cold enough to lose fine motor control.  It only took about 30 seconds total at the station, but it was enough for Miss Salomon Specialness to pass.  F***er.  She was within easy sight as I began the second half of the race, and I knew I could catch her once we hit the upcoming downhills.  In fact, I was looking forward to it.  I wanted to finish in 4:20, and I hit half way right on target at ~2:10, though my new goal was simply to beat her. 

I couldn't remember when the real downhill would start.  The next four miles included another mile of steady ascent within 4 miles of snow and ice.  It would have been slushy and muddy had the weather been 10 degrees warmer with sun, but the cloud cover and high in the 40s kept things pretty solid.  I started walking the icy bits just to make sure I didn't wipe out.  I passed a handful of guys.  I usually wait until I know my pace will continue faster than theirs and until I have an open enough spot appropriate for passing.  Once or twice I softly asked to pass only to then trip once in front.  I apologized each time for being that jackass, wincing at the thought of Mr. Blue Wobble's similar shenanigans during last year's Escarpment.  I ran a good 2 miles with one guy.  Adrian, perhaps?  I let him pass when I slipped a few extra times and decided more food and drink mix was needed.

Now the real descent began.  I still felt good.  We could see the next valley and peaks to the east.  It was a beautiful view throughout the entire course.  I kept reminding myself to keep my eyes on the trail to avoid tripping.  I hit a 120 degree turn to the right that, per my Garmin, then descended at 21% on loose dirt and rocks that acted more like thick sand underfoot.  I paused, knowing that two flags were posted to the right before the turn (indicating a rightward turn) but I did not see any confirmation flags afterward.  Standing with feet in place, I turned my head back to scan for other flags I may have missed.  I reasoned that I'd have seen others leading elsewhere, so turned my head around to continue on.

Without having stepped my footing gave way.  SMACK.  Right knee and right palm hit hard.  I'm really good at this falling-while-running thing.  My Garmin beeped completion of another mile on the way down.  I stood up to walk it off like usual, but my leg would not accept any weight.  That's when the flood gates opened, and all the stress of relocation and acclimating to a new place (both for me and for Nathan) came pouring out.  Apparently I hobbled at a 56 minute per mile pace trying to get down off that hill, reasoning each step with myself that my knee was not showing signs of instability and that now was not the time for a mental breakdown.  See the largest blue spike above.

It took five minutes for others to catch up from behind.  One woman recognized me and asked if I was okay.  By then I was at hobble jog pace, moving slowly on all rocky drops.  My ankle was feeling it too, though I could not tell if it received a little twist when I fell or if it was secondary to a sensitive knee.  A half mile later was an aid station.  I thanked them for being there but didn't stop, didn't even give myself the option.  The leg was slowly warming back up.  I had stopped crying, but I felt very much on an emotional ledge.  I had probably added a good 10 minutes to my total time.  I knew that my previous goals were no longer reasonable, so I went into salvage mode to simply finish.  I was much more cautious on the rocky downhills thanks to difficulty seeing depth and less confidence that I'd clear my foot properly.

The downhills kept on for a few more miles.  I could see the tower at the top of "S" hill, so I knew we were somewhere within the finish.  I just kept moving at whatever pace I could muster.  Again the trail wove up and down, in and out.  There was a modest sustained climb that I hiked.  Eventually on the back side of "S" was the last aid station.  "Just over two miles to go!  Keep up that smile!"  I realized I had smiled at them, trying to hide the melancholy I felt.  I just wanted to be done, I wanted Nathan to be okay, and I wanted to can our plans for the day in Salida and instead simply go home.

The want to be done can do amazing things for one's progress.  It helped that was mostly downhill along the switchbacks of "S."  A little out and back along the waterfront, over the bridge, loop back under the bridge, and then pop out next door at the Steam Plant to finish.

4:26:34.

Less than one minute too slow to make the top three for my age category.  Had I not fallen I'd at least have made 4:20 if not faster.  So it goes.

The afternoon after.  The real bruise started coming out this morning.

I hobbled to and from the car a few times to get warm clothes, water, a protein drink, etc, all the while watching for Nathan and desperately hoping to see him finish.  Our car was parked in the lot on the "S" mountain side of the bridge, so I had full view of those coming down the mountain.  I was cold, emotionally labile, and anxious for Nathan.  I kept seeing black long sleeve shirts with black/gray shorts but it was the wrong bag, or the wrong hat, or the wrong movement patterns.  As my nervousness escalated near levels from Moab Nathan finally appeared, walking down the last zig zag of "S."  I moved close to the finish line and waited for him to get through the little out and back and get across the bridge.  He finished with a drawn face, so I knew he was hurting, but he mustered the best jog to cross the finish line that his stomach would allow.

Nathan, finishing in ~5:20.

Nathan's stomach turned sour at mile 14 again, with florescent yellow puke the same color as during Moab.  At least this time was not nearly so bad.  We sat inside the Steam Plant during the awards ceremony.  He had one more puke on the way to the car, but then made the hour and a half drive home without incident, probably because he fell asleep.  Once home he stumbled into bed and slept for a good three hours, and managed to get in some juice and chips in the late evening without incident.

Moab's Red Hot 55k - our anti-Valentine's Day race report

My female work colleagues cooed when they found out I had Valentine's Day off, eye brows raised and hands flapping.  I think I actually snorted while laughing in reply.  Were we to spend the weekend at some couple's spa or hot springs or some place wearing matching robes and surrounded by water features... undoubtedly we would be bored in about five minutes.  Instead we ignored the day, as we always do, while traveling to a race.  We were heading to Moab, Utah, heading west out of the valley for the first time since moving here last fall.

Moab's Red Hot 55k was our first race since relocating to Colorado.  The lack of trees means constant views of Utah's incredible landscape including Arches National Park, the La Sal Mountains, Canyonlands National Park, and the Colorado River while traversing terrain ranging from jeep roads, sand filled jeep roads, and trails leading over giant rock structures with slick rock.  A third of runners wore Hokas, the same uber-cushioned shoes I used during the latter two thirds of my hundred miler last September.  I noted this but did not fully interpret the meaning behind their massive popularity at the time.  Four thousand cumulative feet of elevation gain and loss sounded fun and refreshing despite knowing that I had but half my usual mileage and a quarter of my usual climb/descent training.  It was also the steepest field for a trail or ultra that Nathan and I had ever been a part of, with easily a dozen recognizable men and women.

Moab's Red Hot 55k elevation profile, per my Garmin 210

And, it was warm enough that we wore SHORTS.  Glow-in-the-dark white thighs were happily on display by myself and others.  That was a ridiculous treat.

Red Hot started by ascending a mile long double wide jeep road on the edge of a ridge.  It was runable, and I cautiously kept a good clip until just feeling plain silly and returned to my usual uphill hike that is not that much appreciably slower than others' uphill run.  The sun was up already as the race started at 8:00 a.m., but the fresh morning sun made for a beautiful multi-colored landscape across the already watercolored rock.  Then down we went into a canyon.  I missed downhills more than is sane, and so I let myself use gravity and momentum and have fun with the descents so long as they were not super steep and precarious.

My legs could feel that they had little descent training, but overall felt okay.  My right rectus abdominis began to cramp from eccentrically controlling my trunk, so as much as I had fun flying down the hill for a mile I had to slow my pace and leg people go by.  I tried slowing my breath, but that almost made it worse.  I then thought back to some newer pain science research being used by fellow PTs, where adverse breathing patterns cause altered CO2 levels in the body.  But whereas historically everyone pushed for belly breathing, this is often not necessarily the case.  CO2 levels can be both high or low, thus making bodies excessively acidic or alkaline within a mere few minutes.  Should this be sustained, which it is for days/weeks/months for some people, it can cause the unexplainable pain that continues when there may be no other significant injury present.  So I purposefully increased my rate of respiration, and the cramps went away within the next minute.  Magic. 

At some point we hit aid station (AS) 1.  I don't remember if this was in the canyon or after some initially steep climbing again.  Either before or after AS 1 we turned onto Metal Masher Road, another jeep trail that slowly leads up to the top of the rim.  You do not realize the impact of the subtle uphill until it starts accumulating and your legs feel heavy.  Nathan was continually near or close by through all these miles, which was the most we've spent together in any race.  It was fun to chat with another runner, saying "Yes, my husband is also running -- there he is!"  Another descent and we hit AS 2 (mile 13), then ascended again to a dirt road that was relatively flat called Arth's Pasture.  Somewhere a few miles later Nathan progressively fell off my pace.  Without any trees around I could turn around and wave at him from a modest distance away.  AS 3 (mile 17) came and went.  The real terrain then began to show itself as easy trails gave way to steep climbs up broken rock.  I had held something of an 8:30 per mile average, which then dropped down to 12:00 per mile, 15:00 per mile, 18:00 per mile....  I arrived at AS 4 (mile 22) feeling a bit of the miles but overall okay.  I poured salt into my water bottle.  Salty water tasted wonderful. 

Leaving AS 4 I no longer had sight of Nathan.  But an ultra friend I met during my first fifty miler in New York, Will, coincidentally moved to central CO within a few weeks of my moving to the San Luis Valley.  Will was also at Red Hot.  We were able to connect and chat prior to the race start.  I figured he was up ahead of me like he had been in previous races.  In this section he caught up to me, chatting with others along the way.  We ran with two or three other women for a few miles, in a nice little supportive pack.

The boulders became huge rock hills with substantial angles that were up to 20% grade per my Garmin.  For the first few miles of that section I definitely slowed on the climbs but then made up the difference flying down the rock on descents.  That was probably not the best choice, considering the unforgiving nature of rock and the length of the descents.  By about mile 27 my quads were demonstrably stiffening and my right foot was over the inversion baseline of traversing hills horizontally.  It became a full-on ultra shuffle.  Check out that elevation profile again and you'll understand why.  I stayed kinda-sorta-relatively with Will and the other ladies before slowly puttering out.  I came to the last aid station (AS 5, mile 28/29) after the others left.

A volunteer probably saw my face before she said, "It's only five more miles from here, and its a lot easier than what you just finished."  I hoped she was right.  Thanking her, I began my trot after the others.

Without trees I could see them between a quarter and half mile in front.  I had no pride maintain - I hiked every slight uphill and shuffled over the few flats and downs.  The size of the hills lessened and the trail curved more, taking the others out of sight.  About a mile after AS 5 began a series of time-carved drainage routes.  Just as I was contemplating my level of tiredness my right foot caught a lip and down I went, splayed across the rock onto my right ankle, knee and elbow.  Pretty sure I gave some unintelligible grumble of a yelp.  I made myself get up and start walking immediately before the actuality of what happened set in.  It was similar to Cayuga Trails last June, where I somehow pulled out the muscle memory of a dancerly body roll instead of letting myself whip straight down.  No open wounds except for superficial scratches on my elbow.  I scanned the surroundings, surprised to find no other person around to see or hear it.  Big breath.  Return to the shuffle.  Just a few more to go.

The trail changed from solid rock to sandy dirt on relatively flat jeep trails again.  Here I managed to shuffle past a few others in worse state than I.  With about a mile to go the trail started to finally descend along the side of a ridge on the Poison Spider trail, winding switch backs with music and cheering somewhere around the far corner.  It is always amazing what the knowledge of the finish, or as others call "smelling the barn," can do for your form and pace.  I sped (that's a relative term here, people) along in eagerness to finish, passing another few with broken quads along the way.

Time: 5 hours 50 minutes 49 seconds.
21st female, 98th overall

Much like the near instant rigor mortus after Pine to Palm, I slowly hobbled to my drop bag to get my coat and top layers.  Warm weather or not, once I finish my temperature plummets.  I dutifully drank my protein shake and refilled my water bottle.  I found Will, who finished only a few minutes before me, and we had a nice post-race chat.  Then I went to the finish line again and kept watch for Nathan.

After 45 minutes I still had not seen him.  I took a very slow stroll through the crowd, making sure I hadn't missed him at some point.  Picked up a small bowl of chilli with some corn bread.  Was watching the finish line from a distance when Will came up to me again.

"Where's the gift?!?"

"Mmm?"  It was all I could reply with a mouthful of food.

"The Gift.  You know Nathan's name means 'the gift', right?"

"I had no idea.  I also have no idea where he is."

Will saw the growing look of concern on my face and stood with me for a few more minutes.  He works Sundays, so he had start his drive home very soon.  We exchanged pleasantries once again and he took off.

I took up post once again directly by the finish line.  Soon I realized another woman next to me was also nervously awaiting the arrival of her husband.  We joked about our hubbies' history of death marching themselves to the finish despite having issues for the last 15+ miles of a race.  The joking became mutual delineation between the bizarre running forms of those in the distance, trying to help each other pick out if it was either husband.  It was now nearly two hours after I had finished, and the awards ceremony was commencing.  The number of finishers still coming across the line dwindled remarkably.  I kept telling myself to give him time, but something in my gut told me things were not right.  I checked my watch and decided five more minutes and I would inquire with the folks running the finish line roster to see if he had dropped at an aid station or if he was continuing on.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, whipped around, and found Nathan standing behind me with shoulders rounded and arms pinned to his sides.  I reflexively jumped into bear hug mode.  He startled, mainly because he had dropped due to unremitting nausea and vomiting.  He made it to mile 22, dropped, had to wait an hour and a half for the station to close down, then it took at least an hour for the off-road jeep to make it down the same 30+ degree slopes we had trudged up to bring Nathan to the finish.  When I realized he was shivering I then gave him my down jacket and declared it was time to go.

Nathan somehow held it together on the shuttle ride to the start line and then in the car ride back to the hotel.  I dropped him off and went in search of seltzer, ginger ale, unsweetened tea, and anything that might seem appealing should his stomach calm and he then want food.  Later I found out he vomited upon entering the hotel room, barely making it to the toilet.  The rest of our evening was composed of watching whatever television show that seemed interesting enough but had little movement, slowly sipping fluids, eventually giving Nathan a bath since he could not stand or sit on his own for more than 10 seconds (during which he commented "Is this what its going to be like when we are ninety?"), and then moments after returning to bed Nathan upchucking what little fluid he'd had into the trash can I carefully placed next to the bed.  Mercifully he then fell asleep for the rest of the night.  I stayed in the second bed so that my turning would not jostle his stomach.

By the next morning he had some gastric sensitivity but overall the nausea was gone.  A few pieces of bread upon waking then became an eleven o'clock brunch in Durango while en route to home.  His legs were fine and barely felt having done 22 hard miles the day before.  I was hobbling without the ability to bend my knees, but very satisfyingly so.

Sunset over Wolf Creek Pass, from our drive home