Mexican Beauty/Mexican Reality: Race Report, Carrera de Resistencia en las Montañas 62k. “What a long strange trip it’s been.”

We would run the route out and back for a total of 62 kilometers

   What’s there to say about a well-executed race? Not much, really.

 Fortunately for you, neglected reader, my race was a long-and-winding disaster, so the report that follows might prove a bit more appealing than if all had gone well.

But first a digression:

 No one talks much about the Grateful Dead’s studio success, and with good reason. They made their magic on stage. However, there are at least a couple studio standouts: American Beauty and Workingman’s Dead. I bring this up only to recall the cover of American Beauty and also to justify my use of the somewhat tired “what a long strange trip it’s been” line which comes from one of their few radio hits (Truckin’) that was a track on American Beauty. If you recall the cover, depending on how you looked at it (or depending on what you were in the mood to see), it said both “American Beauty” and “American Reality.”

  I haven’t listened to the Grateful Dead in the past decade and a half but this popped into my mind at the end of the race for reasons that will be made clear at the end of this report.

Boring race background stuff:

  My big goal race is the Jemez 50 miler on May 25 in New Mexico. I woke up at midnight back in December to be the first person to sign up for the race. I’ve got plane tickets and personal days lined up. Why Jemez? One, because I’ve got a friend who lives there (who, sensibly, is running the ½ marathon) and two because I wanted my first 50 miler to be the hardest 50 miler in the U.S. (don’t ask, I don’t know why). And most folks figure that the toughest 50 miler distinction is a toss-up between Zane Grey, San Juan Solstice and Jemez.

   So everything has been geared towards Jemez. I ran a 50k (followed by a ½ marathon the next day) back on February 2 and 3^rd, and then ran just over a marathon in the mountains a couple weeks later. But then I got wonderfully sidelined by one of the great experiences in my life: performing in the theatre production of A Woman in Mind. After 20+ years I was back on stage. Running took a bit of a back seat. I didn’t stop running, but the long runs didn’t get much beyond 30K (and there weren’t too many of those) and I fell short of 50 miles a week, hovering in the forties, at best.

  I did run a few shorter trail runs in the first couple weeks of March, and I improved dramatically in all three runs from my efforts the previous year, but success at 14k, 16k and 26k doesn’t readily translate to success at longer stuff.

  But the big part of my plan was to run the 62k Carrera de Resistencia en las Montañas (CAREMO.) It was perfectly timed: a month before Jemez. I’d spin the wheels on a long run and still have time to recover. I told myself it was a training run, but a race is still a race. Nobody likes to get passed. Even when training.

  I didn’t have grand goals. I dreamed of 8:30, a bit out of reach, but I was certain I’d finish sub-9. I had run the course in one direction: CAREMO is the first 31 kilometers of the oldest marathon in Mexico, the Maraton Rover, but instead of running down to Cuernavaca after arriving in Tres Marias as the Maraton Rover does, you turn around and run back to Mexico City.  UP/Down/Up/Down.  31k out, 31k back. There’s a few kilometers of flattish running in there, but not much. My 31k split to Tres Marias was 4:15 last year in August. I thought I could match that.

  And I almost did. I’m definitely in ok 20 mile shape. I went out very conservatively and then started picking things up, passing some folks around 15k. I made the climb up to the highest point of the race and then the long descent into Tres Marias. I arrived around 4:25. Good, I thought. I took it easy.  I knew the tester in this race would be the steep climb back up to the Cerro. 

  I climbed well. Didn’t get passed.

I was distracted, however. Earlier, about a kilometer after the turn around in Tres Marias, a group of runners looked distraught and as I passed them I caught the words “me asaltaron/They assaulted me.

  I’ve heard tales before. Folks having their mountain bikes taken at gun point, a few news reports of hikers getting robbed. It’s all been second-hand info. But it happens. Some have warned me about training alone out in Desierto de Los Leones, but I see so few people out there that it seemed a bit of unjustified paranoia so I never gave it much thought.

 

 These freshly assaulted runners were going to end their race in Tres Marias.

 I did the only sensible thing and kept running.

My two points of logic that led to above decision:

1. The thiefs (or, as I heard runners referring to them later, Ellos que no tienen madres/those without mothers) probably would not strike again, as the word was out, as were a few police trucks

2. The tried and true “it probably won’t happen to me”. (always 100% correct until it isn’t)

But let me clarify so you don’t accuse me of building cheap suspense, and because my grandmother, Nina Carlin, is a regular reader of this blog (the only regular reader, I should say): I wasn’t robbed. I made it home, showered, ate and wrote this report.

But the thought stuck with me, the negativity began to flood in. I thought back to the trash along the side of the road in the first part of the race. I recalled the gentleman strolling along whom I saw just casually throw a bottle in an empty yard (well, empty except all the other trash that was strewn there.).

  I reflected on Boston.

  I contemplated on the phrase “hijos de la chingada.”

  I mused about poverty and whether or not that was any excuse to leave garbage everywhere.

  I decided it wasn’t.

  I had dark fantasies about getting robbed, but turning the gun on the robbers and putting holes in their kneecaps as a well-earned lesson in not taking things from runners who are tired.

 I noticed every piece of trash on the course.

 I went to a dark place, and my race was falling apart. I had finished the last major climb, but couldn’t get things to turn over on the downhill. My stomach was tight. Folks started passing me.

  I was nauseous, dizzy.

Not wanting to eat a GU, but knowing I needed to eat a GU.

I reflected on what an easy target I would be for robbers. And how unlikely it would be that I would have the wherewithal to provide them that well-earned lesson in the kneecaps.

  In fact, three teenagers with small sticks could have held me up.

  These three fantasy teenagers with hypothetically small sticks would have been rewarded with 3 packets of GU, 50 pesos and a Garmin watch. I fantasized that I could negotiate with these hypothetical robbers to leave me with my Patagonia Houdini, as it’s so flimsy and cheap looking they could never imagine I spent nearly a 100 bucks on the thing. They could take my cell phone. I don’t know why I brought the damn thing anyway as I hadn’t taken a single picture. And what the hell would they do with a Nathan Pack?

 

  Especially after I blew out their kneecaps.

 

 And so it went.  (in my head, while I was running shuffling down the mountain back toward Mexico City)

Around kilometer 50 a crew of about 6 people passed me. Passing all of us was a happy couple running like gazelles downhill.  

 They were running the race I wanted to run. I’m glad I got to see it.

  “Well done, happy couple. Well-executed race. I forgive you the smug looks I imagined on your faces when you blew by me.

 Bet you wish you had a great race report to write. Maybe next time. I’ve got a training plan for you.”

 It would have felt nice to vomit, but I couldn’t. I more or less kept moving.

And then I came to a little impromptu aid station. It wasn’t there on the way out (As a side note, the first aid station was at kilometer 25. As much as I hate wearing the pack, it was the right call.)

Nothing sounded good. I didn’t want anything; I just wanted to feel better. So I drank some Red Cola (not even real Coke. I love the 300 peso entry fee, but Jeez!) and a bit of water.

 

  I was asked offhand if I’d been robbed. I had to think about it, as in my head at that moment I had been robbed and I was wanted by the police for the unjustified shooting of three teenagers armed with nothing but small sticks. I don’t know where the gun came from.

  Apparently a few folks had been robbed, not just one. I didn’t ask for details. I was left with only the slightly flimsier point number 2 in my logic as described above.

  Still, the sensible thing was to keep moving.

  And then I was out of the woods, back in the neighborhood that had crept up the mountain: haphazard, unfinished houses up high. Some no more than four brick walls with a tin roof. And trash was everywhere. And I was never running this race, or any race that used this route ever again. It was a disgrace. All this I spoke very loudly in my head. But it wasn’t just the race I was chastising. It was all of Mexico.

  If you’ve every lived in a foreign country for a while, you’ve probably done some version of this. When things go bad, we expats don’t blame the DMV, the IRS, the Cops, the Democrats or Republicans. We blame the whole country. And this I was doing, indicting all of Mexico. They had failed to maintain civil society  --as evidenced by some runners who got robbed and all the trash strewn about—and I was leaving, an act that would ripple far and wide across the nation and result in a lot of soul searching and perhaps a national reading of Rosseau’s The Social Contract, followed by rigorous discourse which would result in sweeping changes: the most notable being no trash where I run, and robbers will not be a threat to my possession of a Garmin GPS watch.

And then I lost the course.

There were no ribbons to be seen. A big truck was moving slowly down the hill. I knew they were the thieves and I thought of removing my watch, just to have it ready. Hoped they would be satisfied with the Garmin, my last packet of GU and 50 pesos, and not take my Patagonia Houdini.

They drove past.

 And then there was another runner. Never been so happy to have someone come up behind me in a race. He said we were on the right path. He was a seasoned vet, and I tried to follow. On the downhills I could stay with him, but I was such a sorry shuffler on the flats and couldn’t keep up. I struggled to keep him in view. He seemed to have his wits about him. We were in traffic now. And then the course flattened out for a long while. I saw him turn. And when I took that turn I was in the middle of a street packed with vendors, covered in tarps, with people walking everywhere. One of the markets that spring up across the city on the weekend. I had no idea where to go.

  I’m supposed to run through the market? I kept going until it was obviously Not the Right Way. I asked a Taxi Driver where the Pemex was, he pointed me back the way I had gone. Back through the market again.  I figured since I was lost I might as well use the phone and capture a bit of the market on video.

  My Garmin had died. A blessing. It would have been painful to know the time.

  I wandered. I thought about just getting a cab and going home. I didn’t want the shirt, the medal. I was done with this race. And anyway, I was leaving Mexico.

 And then I remembered this was my first “ultra” beyond 50k. Would I fail to finish my first ultra? I wandered and asked and finally found the street I was looking for. I walked.

  I saw the Pemex. I still walked. Some folks started cheering and I felt a bit ridiculous for walking, but after nearly an hour of wandering around lost, it seemed almost dishonest to jog it in.

  And then I got a big hug from one of the volunteers. She put a medal around my neck. And immediately I felt quite stupid about being such a grump.

  And then I was sitting on the ground, in front of a Pemex station, about three feet from where the cars where barreling past, where the longest avenue in the world, Insurgentes ends and turns into the Cuota (toll road) to Cuernavaca. A few racers where chatting. Without me asking, a cold beer was put in my hand. I didn’t know any of these people. A woman who turned out to be the second place female was next to me, and we chatted a bit. I prayed to all/any gods that she not ask me my race time.

She didn’t.

 Incidentally, in addition to being very fast, she’s strikingly beautiful.

  We talked about running and training, but strangely, not the race. What a relief. The assaults were mentioned in passing and then not brought up again.

  It was a beautiful moment there on the side of the highway.

 

It turned out that others got lost, too. We saw one runner arrive by bus from the other direction and then finish. We all had a good laugh at that. Numbers were exchanged. Vague plans to run were made.

  Sitting there on the gravel, exhausted, cramped and a few feet from the highway, cold beer in hand, surrounded by a few good people, I decided I wasn’t going to leave Mexico. I decided my terrible race had actually been a fantastic adventure. Which is all for the best, as truth be told, I’m not much of a runner. Never have been.

 But I can hold my own on an adventure.

 

  Somewhere in there I realized that Mexico is a great, beautiful and flawed place.

  Like most places; like most people.

And that’s when I had my American Beauty/American Reality epiphany, and realized one had to see all sides simultaneously to understand the whole. I also had the idea it would make a good title for this report, so I finished my beer, said my goodbyes, and went home to write it.

Like some sort of miracle, this photo was just posted to the Solo Para Salvajes site as I was uploading this report. Thank you, thank you, thank you Sir Mike Kazt, whom I don't know. I owe you a beer. The man who kindly put a beer in my hand at the end of the race is Eliseo Sosa, sitting to my right with the red cap.

 Postscript: As it turns out, it was a bit worse than I knew while racing. Six racers were assaulted and beaten and robbed by armed men. If you read Spanish, here's the link to the article. 

Racing at night in the mountains: Carrera Nocturna

  I needed a long run in the mountains this weekend, and when I saw that the 12 hour night race was offering a six hour option, I thought, why not?  I ran my first 50k on February 2 at Ray Miller with Jeremy, and my focus for the next three months is getting ready for the Jemez 50 Miler on May 25, which will be my first 50 miler.
  I didn't have any experience running at night other than the first 50 minutes of the Ray Miller race. So on Thursday I got out to the Mountain in Desierto De Los Leones and ran up in the light and came down in darkness. My headlamp is a very basic Petzl model which provides just enough light to run and just as I was finishing that run I wiped out pretty hard (about 1 minute from the end of the run) on a root that left an ugly bruise on my thigh. It served as a good reminder to take it easy at night.
  This race was the first "timed" race that I've run, and it consisted of two loops, only the second of which would be repeated. The first loop I've run many times in other races (Camino Largo y Sinuoso) and in training. It starts in El Zarco (a little outpost about 2 kilometers before Marquesa) and climbs on some winding singletrack to a smooth ridge road that descends slightly for about six kilometers before crossing a wooden bridge and then it climbs up a rocky fire road that winds to the top of the Cerro de San Miguel (12,500). This out and back section was billed as 25k, but my Garmin showed a bit longer. The second loop began with the same singletrack climb to the smooth ridge road, but then we would veer off to the right and follow the road as it slightly climbed to an aid station about 7.5 kilometers which was the turn around. The 12 hour runners would keep running this second out and back until morning, but my goal was to run both loops once, getting in 40k or 25 miles. At this elevation, with over 4,000 feet of climbing, I knew there was no way I'd finish the 40k under the 5 and half hours which would have allowed me to continue on a third loop. I also knew I really didn't need to be running 55k at this point in my training.

  The Ray Miller race went really well for me, but I struggled with the Nathan pack. It's such a hassle to get into an aid station and have to deal with removing the pack, opening the bladder. And then repeating this again and again. It's a time killer. I knew there was an aid station at the top of the mountain (12.5 kilometers), and then we would return to the aid station at the start, and there was a small aid station at the second loop turn-around, so I went with one handheld (Ultra Direction, 20 oz.). It was perfect. I stuffed gu's in the pockets of my shorts (and kept a few more in my car at the start/finish) and I wasted zero time in aid stations. I'm done with the pack except for longer, solo training stuff in the mountain. 
  
  Mexicans tend to overdress for the cold, and most folks were wearing running tights, multiple layers and jackets. Standing around getting cold before the race, I started to second guess my choice, but I stuck with the shorts and two thin layers (long sleeve Ray Miller Race Shirt/and a thin pull over base layer) with the Patagonia Houdini jacket. When the Houdini jacket arrived in the mail, I was a little put off with just how flimsy it seemed considering the 99 bucks I spent on it. However, the only thing I can say now about the jacket is that it is genius. Tie it around your waist or stuff it in a pocket and you forget about it, but it was the perfect light weight layer and I was never cold, even on the long, slow, steep climb up to the summit. A buff around my ears and a thin pair of Nike gloves and I was dialed in: the perfect amount of gear: not too much, not too little.

  Finally the race started and we began the ascent to the ridge trail. I kept it to a fast hike, which was about all that could be done anyway as the trail is so narrow there is nowhere to pass. Once up to the road my plan was to keep it steady, but comfortable until the climbing began. A handful of folks passed me here, but I knew they were either front runners catching up with the lead pack or people who I was going to see on the climb. On the climb I just hiked hard and steady. Except for a couple early sections that flatten out or descend a bit, I didn't run. I saw some runners trying to maintain a running cadence on the hill and eventually I hiked past them. It's just too long of a climb and too steep to gain anything by running for anyone but the super stars.

  The descent was all about not biting the dust. I felt good and I was catching a few people and trying not to drift as I ran in a little cone of light. A few more night races might convince me to upgrade my Petzl headlamp. I think the one I have would be perfect for those late nights reading in a tent. The night sky was stunning. Not a lot of opportunities to for star gazing when living in a city of 20+ million, but out here on the other side of the mountain, the view was incredible
  
  After the descent it was a slight climb back to the final descent to the start. This section seems to always kill me, and during the carrera larga y sinuoso a number of people caught and passed me here, which was miserable so late in a race. I passed some folks in the first section and then just focused on running and not slowing down. For a long while someone was right behind me, but I never looked back to see who it was and finally he drifted back. 

  I made it back to the start, got some gu's and few hits of coca cola from my car, grabbed a bag of M and M's, went to the bathroom, refilled my water and  headed back up to the trail for my second, and last loop. It was pitch black and I had never been on this trail before, but the route was obvious and well-marked with glow-in-the-dark reflectors. I was struggling to run here, and was reduced to a walk at some points. I did catch up to the eventual winner of the 6 hour race at at one point, who seemed to be struggling a bit, but then she was gone. After the turn around I started to feel better and played a game where I would run hard to a distant glow-in-the-dark marker and then shuffle for a bit. One guy flew by me in this section, but other than that I was alone: run...shuffle...walk a bit, repeat.
  And then I was done. I didn't feel horrible. I was tempted to head back out there, a part of me was caught up in the 12 hour idea, but my plan had been 40k/6 hour race, so I called it a night. I'm usually racing away after races to go somewhere else, but I had the luxury here of changing into warm clothes, eating some incredible caldo de pollo and hanging out with the Solo Para Salvajes crew and watching the 12 hour runners come in and then head back out for another loop. 
  I felt a sting in my foot, but didn't think much of it, but when I got home and showered I saw that I could have slid the skin off my long toe like a used condom. I've never had any blister issues, so I can only attribute it to the thin dust which just works its ways through shoes and socks during this dry season.

  A solid training run for the Jemez 50. Got some gear decisions figured out and just over 4,000 feet of climbing, and everything over 10,000 feet, topping out at 12,500. Here's the Garmin Data.

A Tale of Two Races. The Ray Miller 50k/Surf City Half: The L.A. Double

After the race with (from R) Tom, Craig, Jeremy, the author, and of course, Sofia.

  I'd been looking for a trail race to run in the U.S. with my brother-in-law Jeremy for some time, and the Ray Miller 50/50 was the perfect choice: beautiful trails, fantastic organization and it fell on a long weekend. However, when I first mentioned it to Jeremy he had already signed up for the Surf-City Half Marathon, sort of a tradition for him and his running partners, Craig and Tom. Additionally, my sister, Meggin, was running the half this year as well. Presented with this piece of news, I pondered for about 45 seconds and then stumbled on the obvious solution: let's run both!

  

The LA Double was born.

  It would be a study in contrasts. The Ray Miller race is in its second year, but has already established itself as a go-to early season race that is run by Kiera Henninger. Impeccable course marking, friendly and helpful volunteers (I was running mid-pack but as soon as I arrived at the first aid station I was greeted by a volunteer asking me "What do you need?" with a sense of urgency that one would expect guys like Dylan Bowman and Timothy Olson --who were running the 50 mile race-- to be received with) The trail was beautiful, varied singletrack with six climbs adding up to just over 6,000 feet for the 50k version of the race. All 300 spots were sold by January 1.

  The Surf-City half in Huntington beach is also well-attended. A couple thousand folks run the marathon, but the real draw is the half: nearly 20,000 runners run up and down the flat road that runs right along the Pacific Ocean. Bands along the way playing beach-themed tunes. Water/sports drink every mile. Lots of personalized t-shirts and carefully prepped outfits. I saw some folks so decked out with hydration packs, water belts and other gear that they looked like they were doing a self-supported run on the John Muir Trail.

Pacific Ocean Sunrise about an hour into the race at the Ray Miller 50/50

Gear check the day before the race

At the 6:00am start

 The alarm was set for 3:45, but I was already moving around at about 3:30 getting ready. We arrived at the race with plenty of time, especially considering the breezy check-in (30 seconds) and two-minute wait for bathrooms. The race director counted 1-2-3 go, and we were off. I was in no hurry for a couple of reasons. One, it was my first crack at the 50k distance and two, I knew that the course narrowed from two-track to a singletrack climb very quickly. The line-up formed quickly and we hiked at steady clip for most of the first climb. Jeremy stayed with me at this point, as I had a headlamp, but he began to pull away, as I knew he would as we approached the top of this climb. The sun began to rise and I felt great.

  My goal for this race was to find a pace that did not feel too difficult and walk the first three climbs and run the final two if I felt good. Once the runners got sorted out a bit I found myself in a sort of "group" where I would be passed on the downhills and gain my position back on the climbs. Unlike the previous (and shorter races) that I have been in, everyone around me seemed to know what they were doing. No one was breathing heavily or bombing the downhills at silly paces. I focused on drinking, eating my GUs and just enjoying the scenery. I stopped to snap photos. As we hit the third major climb I still felt great and I was impatient and tired of being passed on the downs by the same runners, so I deviated from my plan and ran up most of the climb. 

Tim Olson, charging up the hill behind me.  It's probably not necessary to clarify that he was running the 50 Mile race and I was running the 50k. From this point on I'm just going to stick with this version of events: I had a great race but Tim Olson blew by me at kilometer 45 and I just couldn't hang on.

   The only way I can explain what is was like to see Bowman and Olson charging up that hill with 47 miles on their legs is to compare it to an experience I had in high school when I lived in Tokyo: I went to see a professional tennis match (Ivan Lendl vs. Mats Wilander) and my friend Troy Palmer conned our way down to the family/coaches section using his fluent Japanese and personal charm. We were 20 feet away or so from Lendl and while I had seen him on television, nothing had prepared me for the jaw-dropping power of his forehand in real life. 
 Watching Bowman and and Olson move up that hill brought me back to Lendl's forehand. 
  It also brought me back to the fact that I had a bit of a climb left and then the downhill to the finish. I put away the camera and got it done, finishing strong and feeling good. Here's the Garmin Data.

After the race I hung out for a while before heading down the coast to Huntington Beach. I was looking forward to chilling in the Governor's Suite that Jeremy's friend Craig had hooked us up with, but the thought of running 13 flat pavement miles on tired legs did not have me too worked up for the race. I choose to put it out of mind and enjoy the evening hanging out with Jeremy, Tom and Craig. 
  There is not much scenery to look at during a half-marathon. I read t-shirts [two favorites: "wedding dress here I come" and "Bye-bye Baby Fat] and was reminded that the USA is the undisputed personalized t-shirt capital of the world. I was on the verge of shin-splints and my knees hurt, so I ran on dirt/grass/sand whenever the option presented itself. I never could get the legs turning over too quickly, and I realized that my goal of sub-two hours was not going to happen. I never felt winded, but just couldn't move the legs any faster. Or didn't want to. 2:09.
 I drifted mentally. I dumped water on my head every mile. I wanted to kiss the woman who had a big bowl of M&M's (and I apologize for taking so many.) Later on someone had potato chips. I took another large handful and ran contented for a while. Forgot about my knees and shins for a short moment.
  Far in the distance I eyed a mountain range. Here we were, nearly 20,000 of us crowded together, running on straight, flat, unrelenting black-top: out and back.  Yesterday, 300 of us were spread out --often alone, or with two or three other runners-- in the mountains. 
Why the overwhelming preference for pavement? I don't know, but I'm done with pavement outside of the occasional 5k or 10k with my students. Back to the trail.

Room with a view

Meggin: "why let a broken rib stop me?"

Americana

In case you had any doubts I was really in Southern California

video of the finish line.

Final thoughts: I was worried about by fitness for the Ray Miller as I was light on long-runs and had lost a couple weeks in training: one to a calf issues and another to the flu. It didn't seem to matter much. On May 25 I am running the Jemez 50, which is going to be a huge step up, both in distance and elevation. My plan is to run the local 63k Carrera de Resistancia in preparation for that, as it falls on April 27. 

Last run of the year/first run of the year: San Gabriel Mountains and the Rose Bowl Parade

San Gabriel Mountains

On the descent from Mount Wilson, with Los Angeles in the distance.

  For my last run of the year I made it to the last section of the Angeles Crest 100 course that runs through the San Gabriel Mountains in Los Angeles. Jeremy, my brother-in-law, lives in the shadows of these mountains in Pasadena. Usually I associate LA with 8 lane freeways and 14 dollar movie tickets, but a short jaunt into the mountains reveals a network of well-maintained and scenic trails. My dad dropped us off at Chantry Flats, which is about 15 minutes up into the mountains off the 210. The trail is rolling single-track for the first few miles as it follows a ridge line before it begins the long climb up to Mount Wilson. As we climbed the endless switchbacks the snow became heavier. LA really does have it all. After nearing the summit we followed the course down a snow-covered two-track dubbed the Mt. Wilson "Toll road." We descended for a couple miles --back into the sun and heat-- and then linked up with another serpentine single track which took us briefly up and then down into the wooded Idle Hour Canyon. For the next couple of hours we would see no one as we ran (and hiked) the rolling climb up to Sam Merrill trail and then finally down to the popular Echo Mountain. At this point we departed from the A.C. 100 course as there were New Year's eve preparations to be taken care of, and we headed down a steep switched-backed descent down to the end of Lake Avenue in Altadena. Warning: avoid this section (or run it earlier in the day) if possible as there are loads of hikers on this trail. We had originally planned to just jog the last 3.5 miles to his house, but after four hours of climbing (6,000 feet) and almost as much descent over 18 miles, our quads were shot and the prospect of pavement running after all that incredible trail wasn't so appealing either. The run is beautiful, and even more striking considering it's close proximity to Los Angeles. An incredible run that makes me want to run the AC 100 in 2014 (already sold out for the August 3 running in 2013.) This run was a good training run for the Ray Miller 50k coming up in February. I'll be back out here for that race as well as the Surf City Half Marathon the following day. 

Here's the garmin data

Descending to Echo Mountain we finally emerged from the woods to some spectacular views of the city.

Snowy trails melting in the sun

On the "hot" side of the mountain
 

 The following morning we ran with Jeremy's friend Craig down to the Rose Bowl parade route as is their annual tradition. Not as stunning as the previous day's run, but plenty of unusual sights as we ran the parade route just before the start of the parade. Folks have been up all night reserving their seats and people are milling about everywhere and it takes on a sort of circus atmosphere.

Photo Essay: Evening Hike/Run in Desierto with Dean and Dogs

Desierto de Los Leones

  Second time up to Desierto this week. Above is the view from the trail going up to the ridge that lies west of the peak. This route is a much more gradual climb than my normal route (which goes straight to the top) and is --in theory-- runnable, though I was dogging it (hiking) up most of the climb. We discovered that the road eventually swings around the back (north) side of Cerro de San Miguel. We bushwacked a bit off trail to circle the summit and then head down. A dark descent. Just over 20k, 3:27. Can't find my "ant stick" so no garmin data...

The "short-cut"

Lola in the dark

Interlude/10k race with student runners

Rest Week

  Time for a short break.
First trail marathon run on August 12, first road marathon on September 2, 33k mountain race on September 30 and then last week's 40k with 5,000 feet of climbing. 
  This week? It's Saturday night and I've run a grand total of 15k. Three 5k runs. Tomorrow morning I'll take my student runners to a local 5k/10k and run the 10k with them. That will put me at 25k/15 miles for the week, which is the lowest mileage I've logged since August of 2011. I'll start to ramp up the kilometers in the coming weeks. On February second I will run the Ray Miller 50k in the Santa Monica mountains, and then on February 3rd I'll run the Surf City Half-Marathon in Huntington beach. Ray Miller will be my longest race and most climbing: 6,000 feet in 50k. The Surf-City half is flat as a pancake all at 0 elevation. Will be painful on fried quads, but it's going to be great fun to run with Meggin and Jeremy. 
  Sunday update: ran my best 10k with my students this morning. Negative splits that resulted in a 48:52, an improvement over my 51:19 from last 10k I ran in May.  I hope to get out to the mountain this weekend, maybe even sneak out for a summit on Thursday and test out the headlamp.

Lesson Learned (Finally): UTMX 40k Race Report

Rancho Santa Elena in Hidalgo, Mexico

  Hidalgo, Mexico doesn't seem to get its due.  Thirty minutes up into the mountains outside of Pachuca, Hidalgo is pristine forest and mountains knifed through by rugged (and eye-popping) canyons. Rancho Santa Elena, outside of Huasca, Hidalgo, was the location for the Ultra Trail de Mexico 80k and 40k races. I've spent the past year and a half building up my running base, completing several trail runs (from 14k to 26k) and two Marathon length runs in August and September (the latter on the road), but I didn't feel ready for the 80k. So the 40k it was. I was apprehensive because my last race, a 33k run in the mountains around Mexico city, went poorly. The final 10k was especially brutal, as I could barely run and a handful of runners passed me. Walking the flats while the parade goes by=humiliating bummer. My goal for this race was to take it out easy, especially on the downhills. I love to fly down the hills, but it seems to catch up with me at the end of the race.

Omitlan, Hidalgo.

 The trip to Hidalgo from Mexico City was made more pleasant by an early departure on Friday, skipping the last interminable "professional development" meeting of the day (in the unlikely event that any administrators are reading this blog, please note that it is lightly fictionalized, ie: that part about skipping out early) . Tania and I stopped at Entre Manzanas y Peras, a little restaurant in Omitlan that has an outstanding soup: bacon and apple. Our entertainment for the evening was provided by the local butcher who hung, skinned and butchered a pig while we watched. By the end of the meal, only the head was left hanging. 
  For me, Mexico never loses its charm.

Table-side entertainment in Omitlan

  
After the dinner/pig-skinning, we checked into our cabaña in Santa Maria Regla and then did a test drive to the ranch as I was anxious (read: paranoid) and I didn't want to be trying to navigate unmarked back roads and pleading for directions in a got-to-get-to-a-race panicked state at 6:30 in the morning.

                                                                                                                                       photo: Tania Baram

This was a different crowd from the usual suspects that run the Solo Para Salvaje circuit around Mexico City. I saw a few familiar faces, but I think if people knew how outstanding this course it, more would have made the trip. There was a contingent of foreign runners and a few Tarahumara runners (who were running the 80k, except for the 12 year old Tarahumara girl who passed me at the end of the first 12.5k loop). I can now add being passed by a 12 year old girl wearing huaraches and a long skirt to my list of running achievements. I took out my camera and literally sprinted (fastest split all day!) to catch up with her to get a photo. I was fumbling with camera, trying to keep up, wondering how stupid I would feel if I sprained an ankle trying to get a photo of a young girl running in sandals and a skirt. She disappeared into the distance. As a consolation, I got a nice photo of a guy sporting a 1980's Laker-era terry-cloth-more-recently-revived-by Lebron-headband and the race-issued cotton-T. 
  To each their own.

As close as I got for a photo....coming into the 12.5k aid station/finish line for those in the 12.5k

Despite the mad pace of all the 12.5k runners around me on this first up and down leg (they started about 10 minutes after the 40k race) I kept to my plan. When it was flat I jogged, I climbed the steeps steadily and I was mellow on the descents. I didn't like stepping off the trail to let people pass me on the descents, but I kept to my plan. I knew there was a good chance I would pass the runners bombing down the hills this early, because I've been that guy before. Keep it feeling easy until the fourth and final climb and descent, which would come around the 25k mark in the race. Then I would push....if I had anything left.

Race Profile. 5,000 feet of climbing, 5,000 of descent.

The trail --and everything about this race with the possible exception of the t-shirt (though the Lebron guy might disagree)-- were spectacular. There were some two-track roads, but they probably accounted for only 10% of the race.  Everything else was winding single track. After we got past the 12.5k and headed back up the mountain it felt more like a trail race: not many people around. I climbed for a while with a gentleman from Monterrey until he twisted his ankle and had to stop to get it wrapped up. He finished the race.  

Before turning his ankle over, the gentleman from Monterrey leading through this beautiful stretch of rocky mountaintop. 

After finishing the first two major climbs, the trail went around and then across a lake. After about two steps both I and the guy behind me realized the bottom was sandy and we could have taken of our shoes for this crossing. Note for next year?

trail (?)

Perfect day in the mountains

  After slogging through the lake, I approached the final climb. My feet were heavy from the lake water but I tried to keep the pace up (read: not walking) and knew my shoes would eventually dry out. The trail started going up and this was where I needed to make a move. A group of four or five runners in front of me were hiking the trail. I had been passing them on the climbs all day and then they would pass me on the descents. I hiked quickly past the group and then started running to get put some distance between us. 
 Man does it feel good to have a little gas this late in a race.
 On that final long climb I hiked everything as hard as I could and ran when the grade permitted. I arrived at the 30k aid station and ate a couple orange slices, took a few more potatoes, drank some gatorade and moved out. The aid station workers assured me the major climbing was "almost" done. I hiked to the peak, passing two more runners. And then it started going down. The trail was less technical in this last section,  and that had me worried as I thought someone with a little more leg speed would catch me here. The early descents had been really rocky and I was hoping for this type of terrain for the final descent, but it was not to be. Damn. Was I going to get passed again in the final part of a race? I tried to push it on any sections that had a long range of visibility, reasoning that if I kept out of view of anyone behind me, that would be to my advantage. I was totally alone in this section, running scared and not sure if anyone was behind me, but I wasn't going to look back.  I continued to descend until I could hear the speakers at the finish and there was one more runner ahead of me. I didn't have much speed left, and I wondered how hard he would fight when I passed him. We were on a dirt road at this point, but then the last part of the race was a steep, grassy incline that climbed up to the last flat stretch before the finish.  We hit this last little hill at the same time I started running up it but then I realized I could go much faster doing a hands-on-knees power hike, which seemed to pull me to the top, where I resisted a final look back, and "sprinted" to the finish. 5:45ish. Forgot to stop the watch and the official results haven't been posted yet.  Here's the garmin data for the race.

                                                           Happy Face at the finish.                                                                   Photo: Tania Baram

  I finally got it right this race, and it paid off in the end as no one passed me in the latter half of the race. Patience. All of the runners I had been leap-frogging with all day I passed for good on the final climb. I kept up with hydration and though I lost two GU in the early part of the race I was able to keep up with nutrition with the potatoes from the aid stations. And I got lucky: zero stomach issues (which plagued me at the last race and the legs never turned to iron like they did at the end of the Mexico City Marathon.
  Of course, that leaves me with a lingering doubt: how much harder could I have completed the first portion of the race and still had enough in the tank for the strong finish. I'll be sure to ruin my race next time trying to find out.

 I stopped taking photos after the lake crossing, but here are some I took during the first part of the race and some that Tania took as well.

The real deal; winner of the 50 mile race, I believe.            Photo: Tania

"Deer"-in-the-camera-flash-look that I rationalize posting here only because my grandmother (Nina Carlin; Nina Cheney doesn't use a computer) is one of the 5 regular readers of this blog and she is the one person in the world who might be interested in seeing a picture of me even if it is an awkward self-portrait that, in retrospect, I was only using as an excuse to stop because I was tired.

Next year I will be back, and I'll be back for the 80k because humans have no good memory for pain. At least I don't. Also, this race is too beautiful to miss. The trails are so stunning you don't want the race to be over (honest qualifer: almost). Bet you can't say that about your last road race. I certainly can't, anyway.

 No races on the calendar right now other than a 10k with some of the runners from the school team next weekend. It's time to stay off the legs for a bit before ramping up the mileage again. I'll spend some time on the bike, stairmaster and those ridiculous looking "elipticals." Or maybe I'll just drive out to Desierto and run for 4 hours in the mountains and screw up my recovery and get even slower.....

 Future plans include the Jemez 50 in Los Alamos, New Mexico on May 25 with Randy Grillo and, if I can swing it, a trip out to LA to run the Ray Miller 50k or 50mile, possibly with Jeremy if these photos can convince him that running in the Santa Monica Mountains is going to be so much more awesome than running past The Gap and BillABong in the surf city marathon....