Big smiles at the San Juan Solstice 50
It's been a very long while since I posted what I would consider a "traditional" race/run report, but I had an experience this past weekend up in the lovely San Juan Mountains of Colorado that I felt merited a genuine recap on this antiquated journal site.
Let's rewind a little first....
Back in the summer of 2008 I had my first true alpine thru-hiking experience. I had to spend about 3 weeks doing some labwork in Denver, and decided to use that opportunity to immediately jump on the Colorado Trail for a "mini thru-hike". The previous summer of 2007 I had completed the most difficult and demanding adventure of my life along the Appalachian Trail. Over the subsequent 10 months my mind was never truly able to leave the trails and I longed for another multi-day adventure out in the wilderness. I figured the Colorado Trail was a perfect way to scratch the itch as it presented a much shorter endeavor (just a mere 500 miles!). What I didn't appreciate at the time, was that hiking at altitude during a high-snow year in the mountains of Colorado would be NOTHING like hiking along the spine of the long green Appalachian tunnel.
I had never hiked along deep snow fields, I had never experienced sleeping over 12,000 feet altitude, I had never dodged afternoon pop-up lightning storms, and I had never spent multiple days in a row going up and over high mountain passes. The closest I had come to this type of hiking (and it's a stretch) was maybe my 200-300 miles in New Hampshire and along the rugged trails of Maine.
During my thru-hike along the CT, I discovered quite a few new things, first of which was that I was absolutely hooked on hiking at high elevations in BIG mountains. I simply couldn't get enough of it. There was a stretch along the CT where the trail followed the literal continental divide for over 100 miles and it was unquestionably my favorite stretch of hiking I had ever done. At one point along this segment, I crested a snowy hill near the trail's high point of Coney Peak. As I crested, a massive and jagged shark-fin shaped peak emerged in the distance. This peak was the most magnificent mountain peak I had ever seen in person. It was towering, fierce, and inspiring,....yet somehow also welcoming. I still vividly remember the feeling I had at that moment as that mountain peak came into view. I snapped a photo of it, and after a few minutes of digging through my maps....learned that the peak was the well-known "14er" mountain known as Uncompahgre Peak. To this day, it is still my favorite of all 58 of the Colorado 14ers.
Uncompahgre Peak as seen during my 2008 CT thru-hike
Near Coney Peak (CT High Point)
Along the vast and wondrous Continental Divide
It was during this hike that I truly fell in love with the San Juan Mountains. It was also during this hike that I passed through Silverton and learned of the Hardrock Hundred run (which I talked about many times in other posts). Needless to say, my CT thru-hike served as an introduction into an entirely new world of high mountain adventures. Incidentally, I went back to Colorado with C in the summer of 2011. We rented a 4x4 jeep and summited Uncompahgre Peak together.
2011 - Just below the final summit of Uncompahgre
The final summit block
On the summit of Uncompahgre Peak (2011)
Here we are now 17 years later, and I can still vividly picture the views from that thru-hike and feel the emotions as they came to me then on that adventure. It's because of this deep connection that I find myself so often returning to these mountains and why I often say that the San Juans are quite possibly my favorite mountains in the US (it's a toss-up with the North Cascades in Washington).
I've since been back many times over the years to play in the San Juans, and now that I live in Northern Arizona, I can be in Silverton in less than 6 hours by car. I feel incredibly fortunate to live where I do and have such easy access to one of my favorite places.
So with that brief walk down memory lane now fresh...I suppose it's time to bring up the San Juan Solstice 50. I can recall while reading through Andrew Skurka's hiking site back in 2009 as I was preparing for my first run at the Leadville 100, that he had carried out a race in the San Juan's known as the San Juan Solstice 50. He noted in his report that the run was quite tough...with a lot of climb...but that it followed along a large section of the Colorado Trail near Coney Peak. As I read his report, I remember thinking that given how much I enjoyed that section of my CT thru-hike, that I would love to do that race one day. At this point though, I had only completed two 50-mile races and both were in Vermont. So, I shelved the idea for another time, and when my mind finally did come back to racing in the San Juan's, there was another race that had become my top priority: The Hardrock Hundred. Consequently, the SJS50 slowly faded and became another one of those races that I would sign up for "someday".
Fifteen years then passed, and while I had now run Hardrock twice, I still had never run the SJS50. Finally, in 2024, I pulled the trigger and tossed my name into the run lottery.
In February during the lottery draw, I was not selected, but did get a very high spot on the wait list making my entrance all but guaranteed. So I did what I was supposed to do over the next few months: I trained. I upped my weekly mileages, increased my elevation gain, and prepared myself for a difficult 50-miler in the high country of Colorado.
All was going well, and about 3 weeks before the race I headed to Spain and Morocco for a 10-day vacation. I had a brilliant time galavanting around southern Spain and northern Morocco before heading home just about a week before I was set to drive up to Lake City for the SJS50.
At some point during my journey home from Spain, I picked up some sort of nasty stomach bug and it wreaked absolute havoc on my gut. For days I couldn't keep food down, and no amount of medication seemed to help. I was having terrible cramps and multiple visits to the doctor and gastroenterologist revealed no real answers. My only hope was that my "condition" would sort itself out before race day.
Spoiler: It didn't
When I arrived at the start line for the 2024 San Juan Solstice 50, I was still a miserable and gut-troubled wreck. In retrospect, I should not have started, but I just so badly wanted to see the course that I decided to toe the line.
After about a mile of feeble jogging I was reduced to a quick-paced hike...and then not long after a much slower walk. For the entire day, I was hunched over in gut pain, making several "bathroom stops" along the course. I chased the time cutoff for hours and at one point arrived at an aid station with just 30 seconds to get out before being cut. I thought for sure this was going to be the first race that I'd be time-cut at a race and was resigned to just accept my fate. Over the next 6-mile downhill section, I managed to muscle out a feeble jog and somehow arrived at the 40-mile aid station about 10 minutes ahead of the cut-off (I had surprisingly made up 9 minutes). I decided to push on and see if I could finish and after another miserable few hours, I hobbled into town, a broken and pain-riddled mess, crossing the finish line in 15 hours 49 minutes (just 11 minutes ahead of the final cutoff).
So...I had finished, but I did not once stop to look around on the course, I felt no joy, I experienced no bliss, and the entire run was misery. I found no solace in the fact that I had a finish...since the entire point of me running this race was supposed to be so that I could revisit the magic of my 2008 CT thru-hike.
I stewed on this for weeks and it ate away at me. So....in January of this year I decided I would put my name in the lottery again. I wanted to experience the SJS50...not just survive it. I was pleasantly surprised to be drawn immediately as a starter and a small smile crept back in. I would be heading back to Lake City for another go.
And this is where we finally get to the present.
C and I made the drive up to Lake City last week (she decided to come with me this year), and we also brought our dog along for the adventure. On the drive up all I could think about was how one year earlier I was hunched over at my steering wheel trying to will away my gut pains. This year, I felt fit and healthy.
The doggo enjoying the San Juans...
We arrived on time, checked in, got my in-reach tracker all set up, and then went to bed early. I wanted to be fully rested and ready. In the morning I still felt good, and was cautiously optimistic that it was going to be a good day.
At exactly 5:00 AM, the race director yelled out a "Go!" and we all headed off down the dirt road towards the Alpine Gulch trail. I remembered the exact spot in 2024 where I started walking. This time, I was comfortably trotting along at sub-9 min/mile pace. I found a good position within the conga line of runners and worked my way up the Alpine Gulch trail that started at around mile 3. There were nine very cold creek crossings--a few quite deep--but they were all notably less difficult than in 2024.
At the start line
At the turn up the East Fork, I felt fantastic. It was a cool morning and we were all still shaded. After a series of switchbacks we made the first aid station right at the 2 hour mark (already 30 minutes faster than in 2024). Over the next 2 miles I happily trotted along the exposed ridge over to the first highpoint (just under 13,000 feet) and kept tripping over my own feet (as I couldn't stop looking around that the amazing scenery). As the first major descent started I caught myself picking up my pace to more of a true "race pace." But then came a moment. The race pace felt ok, and it felt like I was racing....but it also felt like while moving at that pace, my focus was no longer on the mountains, but instead on the race. I realized I had a decision to make. Would I genuinely race...and keep the more assertive pace going...and likely forfeit a fair amount of enjoyment, OR, would I dial it back a few clicks, keep the heart rate lower, and suck the marrow out of the experience. I decided that I wanted to have a day full of smiles and beautiful miles, so I went with option two. I let several fast runners push past me and I eased back on the descent down to the first major aid station at mile 15....and it felt great.
When I arrived at the aid, I made a quick porta-potty stop, refilled my electrolytes and waters, wolfed down some calories and was back on the course within two minutes. C met me here and we walked together for a few minutes before I started running down the 3-mile road stretch to the base of the second (and biggest) climb of the day. It was good seeing her and I was glad to share my decision with her to take it a bit easier. I knew I wouldn't be chasing cutoffs, but I also knew that I wouldn't be hurting due to any sort of hard "race pace".
I happily trotted along the 3+ miles of easy road and allowed my body to recover a bit before starting up the 4000+ foot climb to the course's (and CT's) high point at Coney Peak. I actually really enjoy this climb on the course as the majority of it is on a jeep road, which to me, makes it go by so much quicker. I maintained a consistent 3.2 mph power hiking pace up this climb and in less than an hour I was arriving at the Carson aid station at mile 20. There, I had a drop bag waiting where I restocked all of my gels and nutrition, while also gobbling up some high-calorie aid station food. I was in and out in less than 3 minutes and was eagerly anticipating the above-treeline alpine section just ahead.
I worked up the remainder of the jeep road to the Continental Divide, dodging snow drifts, and then started the final single-track trail climb section up to Coney Peak. What struck me about this entire stretch this year was just how much quicker it all went by. I can recall last year looking back down the course while I was climbing up to Coney and seeing absolutely no one behind me on the trail; I was at the absolute back of the pack. This year, when I looked down as I neared the summit, there was a long line of brightly colored runners extending for miles down the road. This is how I knew I was right where I was supposed to be pace-wise.
I crested the final climb to Coney Peak and walked over to the summit cairn to tag the benchmark. This was something I failed to do last year, and I wanted to be certain to "tag" the summit this year. Once rolling over the summit, the next 8+ miles present runners with a stunning ridgeline run along the divide. Last year, my head was down for the entire stretch and I was doubled over with gut pain. This year, I couldn't keep my eyes off of the scenery. The views were spectacular.
I was in a nice pocket of runners along this stretch and I was able to run at an easy pace as the trail slightly undulated up and down on the exposed ridgeline. I definitely ran a lot more than last year. Eventually, I descended off of the ridge and headed down to the "Divide" aid station (mile 31). This was the station that I arrived at last year with less than a minute to get out before the cutoff. When I arrived this year, they told me I had "over an hour" till the cutoff. Just hearing that wiped away any possible anxiety I had. I knew at this point, that I could basically just enjoy the last 19 miles at whatever pace I wanted and would finish.
I was out of the aid station in about 4 minutes after refilling my bottles, and enjoyed a nice hiking pace up the next short climb. After a few rollers, I came upon what I would consider to be my absolute favorite part of the course: Right around mile ~36 on the course, runners must climb about 300 feet uphill on an old jeep road. Right as you crest this final hill before the long descent into the 40-mile Slumgullion aid station, the crest of Uncompahgre Peak rises up over the horizon. This is nearly the exact view I had in 2008 when I first discovered this perfect mountain. When I saw this view during my run, I stopped dead in my tracks. THIS was the moment I was waiting for. There she was...my favorite mountain...greeting me just as she had done 17 years go. I tipped my hat, smiled, and then began the long and fast downhill down to Slumgullion with a massive grin on my fast.
Uncompaghre Peak (this year)
Trotting happily into Slumgullion at mile 40
I ran the entire four miles down to the aid station and as I arrived C was waiting for me with all sorts of goodies. I put down whatever calories I could, refilled all of my bottles and gels, and after about 5 minutes was back out on the trail. I thanked C for driving up to crew me at this final large aid station and then mentally prepared myself for the final climb of the day: Vickers.
Many people seem to really despise this final 1700' climb, but I must say, I quite enjoy it. It goes by fairly quickly, and the entire section is nestled nicely within the forest. Yes, there are mosquitos in this stretch, but the ferns and aspens are delightful. I happily made my way long this section of trail, cranking some tunes on my ipod shuffle, and in no time I found myself popping out of the woods on the final meadow near the summit. I crossed the meadow and upon entering the woods on the other side, I knew I only had about 150 feet of climb left.
As soon as I felt the trail leveling off, I decided it was finally time to shift in to the next gear. So as the final 5-mile descent started, I picked up my pace notably. I blew through the final aid station, only stopping for a few seconds to fill one water bottle, before pushing on to the final 4 mile stretch. During this descent I gradually increased my pace each mile as I progressed. By the time I was working down the final switchbacks towards the roads of Lake City, I was back to running sub-9 min/mile pace.
I popped out onto the local roads of town and finally began to run out of steam a bit. I slowed my pace just as I was crossing the foot bridge over the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River. I made the final turn onto Silver Street and with a big smile on my face, crossed the finish line in 14 hours, 37 minutes (over 70 minutes faster than last year).
C was there waiting for me and we celebrated together. I immediately noted how good I felt, which was a testament to the more conservative pace I maintained all day. I hung around the finish for about twenty minutes cheering on other runners before finally head back to our small cabin in town for the night. The following day I had no soreness or pain in my legs and by Tuesday I was already running again. This is how I knew that I absolutely run at an easy and comfortable pace. There are definitely no regrets in the regard.
So...did I get what I had hoped for from the San Juan Solstice? The answer is undoubtedly, yes. It took me an extra year to get there, but in the end, I had the exact experience that I was hoping for. While running along the alpine ridge section I felt like I was right back in 2008 along my CT thru-hike. I had experienced the magic again.
Along the Divide on my 2008 thru-hike
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