The San Francisco Peaks (and Start Line for the SC 100)
It's been a while since a posted a good old fashioned race report up here, but I had such memorable outings this past few months that I felt compelled to share the stories.
On something of a whim, I decided rather last minute to throw my name in the hat for the local Stagecoach 100 trail race here in Flagstaff. Typically each year, I run the shorter (55K) edition of this race, and always have a blast running along the Arizona National Scenic Trail up and over the shoulder of Arizona's highest peak. This year however, my training has been going remarkably well, and sometime in August a gnawing thought crept into my mind: maybe I should go for the full 100...
The Stagecoach 100 full course runs almost entirely along the Arizona Trail and continues all the way up to the small town of Tusayan, just outside of the Grand Canyon's south entrance. The route actually parallels closely with the route I ran this past May on my Canyon to Crest (Hole to Hump) adventure, but more squarely on the single-track AZT (rather than on old forest roads). A few years ago I paced a friend over the last 20 miles of the Stagecoach race and really enjoyed the trails and scenery, so it didn't take much to convince myself to go after it. Lingering deep in my mind, another small question kept poking its head up as I was debating whether to sign up. That question was, At my age (now pushing 50)...am I still capable of completing a Trail 100-miler under 24 hours?
A decade ago, running a sub-24 time over 100 trail miles was something I was doing with a fair amount of regularity. But, this was also during a time when I was running four or five 100-mile races each year. These days, I'm lucky to get in a single 100-miler in a calendar year, despite my love of the distance. In my almost 20 years of running ultras, I remain convinced that the 100-mile distance is not only my favorite to tackle, but that it is the purest ultrarunning distance (despite the rising popularity of the 200-mile distance).
My track record at 100-miles as of late hasn't been all that noteworthy. I did have one good outing last year at a 24-hour event (covering 110 miles), but that was on a closed, paved, loop course. All of my recent 100-mile trail efforts have been well over 24 hours. I've been seriously contemplating a lot lately if father time may have just caught up to me, and a sub-24 on trails is simply no longer within my reach.
I can still vividly remember my very first trail 100, the 2009 Vermont 100...I crossed the finish line in 23:16 and was ecstatic to earn the coveted sub-24 belt buckle (a buckle that I still wear to this day). I wanted to know if I could still accomplish this feat now over 16 years later.
Mile 75 of the 2009 Vermont 100
At the finish line of of the 2009 Vermont 100
With my training moving about as well as I could have hoped, I reached the end of September as ready as I could be for a 100-mile jaunt through the wilderness of northern Arizona. Early in the morning, C and I drove up to the Snowbowl area at the base of the San Francisco peaks and we parked at the start line near the Flagstaff Hotshots Ranch. I took in the moment as the sun began to rise, and then made my way to the start line. After a few short words from the race director, we were all of on our adventure...
The view from the start
Hanging out with my doggo at the start
...And we're off!
Right out of the gate, the course would be familiar. The 55k course uses that same course as the 100-miler...meaning for the first 6+ hours things would feel just like they always do. I knew every inch of that first 55km so my strategy was to simply run like I usually do...only a bit slower. The course is quite forgiving in that most of the steep climbing is in the first 10 miles. My strategy would be to simply take it really easy during this stretch so as to conserve for later. It did feel weird to be moving so slowly on the first climb, and watching countless people pass me, but I knew it would pay dividends later.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, I topped out on the first climb at mile 6 and was able to open my legs up a bit as we all ran down along the Hart Prairie Rd. This section of the course is always so lovely. The sun was fully up by this point and it looked like that we were going to have a spectacular weather day (I didn't know about the pop-up showers that were forecast for later in the day)
The second notable climb back up to the Arizona Trail happens at mile 13 but then the course features a very long 15+ mile descent all the way to the finish line of the 55km course. Its this descent that makes the 55k race so much fun and allow for such fast finish times. Last year (2024), I somehow managed to finish the 55k as first-place masters (men).
During the descent I put on some good music on my little iPod shuffle, and simply found my flow. For hours it seemed as though I was just vibing along the trail, moving well, but still being a bit conservative. Somewhere around mile 30 I caught up to another Flagstaff local and friend, Claire, and the two of us ran on-and-off together to the 55k finish line. I had finished the 55k race last year right at 6 hours, so my goal for this mark during the 100-miler was to try to reach the same mark in under 6:30. When Claire and I rolled in, my watch read 6:13. I was a bit worried that perhaps I was moving too fast, but I still felt great. We both sat for a few minutes rummaging through our drop bags and resupplying. This my first planned aid-station resupply point on the course, so I made sure to take my time. My next big stop wouldn't be until the "Boundary" aid station about 25 miles later, so I took extra care to make sure I had enough layers and calories.
Stagecoach 100 elevation profile
Feeling good at the mile 34 aid station (55 km)
Through these middle miles I pass by a handful of remote aid stations and resupplied as best I could. When it came time for the longest unsupported leg of the race, up to the Boundary station, I made sure to fill a third bottle. The race advertises this stretch as being 11 miles, but in reality it was closer to 14, so I'm glad I had the extra fluids.
I reached Boundary (~mile 58) in about 11 and a half hours into my race, just as the sun was starting to set behind the mountains. I realized as I rolled in that I didn't have my headlamp on me, so I definitely cut it a bit close with this aid station. I did have my high-powered light in my drop bag, but I made sure to also grab my smaller back-up light just in case. I again spent several minutes refueling and resting while at this station. I was about to start into the long night miles of the course, and I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed: layers, lights, nutrition, music, clean socks, hat, gloves....
Of all the aid stations, I spent the most time at Boundary...probably about ten total minutes. I knew this was a bit much, but I really didn't want to forget something and I wanted to make sure I was able to take in plentiful calories.
Leaving Boundary, I continued to head north up towards the next pine forest. I had a somewhat protracted climb for many miles, but it was relatively gentle, so I was still able to jog for most of it. For several hours along this part of the course (from miles ~65 onward), I never saw another runner. I felt as though I was on a solo journey run (just like my canyon-to-crest run). I would roll into aid stations and surprise the volunteers. They'd tell me that they hadn't seen someone in over 20 minutes. When I'd leave, I would think that someone would absolutely catch up to me, but I never saw a single headlamp behind me...even in places where I could look back for miles.
It's this exact time during a 100-miler that I so cherish. The wee hours of the night, all alone in the dark...it's simply indescribable. I was in may perfect happy place and the miles just melted away. I found myself in a truly blissful state until around mile 75 when my toe caught a rock and I went face down into the dirt. Thankfully, the fall wasn't too damaging, but it was still wildly frustrating. My knees did get a little banged up, but otherwise I was just annoyed that the fall completely disrupted my positive vibes.
Around mile 80 the course takes runners on a 2-mile out-n-back stretch to the Hull Cabin aid station. I remembered this section from when I paced my friend a few years back. The course descends something like 400 feet down a steep road to the cabin, and then runners turn around and go right back up. It's annoying, but it also gave me a chance to see if anyone was even remotely close behind me.
I spent only a few minutes at this station and then started the climb back up. Somewhere about half-way up the climb I finally saw a runner coming down towards me...putting them about 2.5 miles behind me. I realized at this point that as long as I kept moving, it was very unlikely anyone would catch up to me over the final 20 miles.
Once back up on the Arizona Trail the course trends back downhill over the final 20 miles. I was now hiking a fair amount as my legs were getting really heavy, but I continued to move over 3 mph pace on average. I hit the last aid station (~mile 91) under 21 hours, so I knew that as long as I kept moving, I should hit the finish in under 24. This realization put a little extra pep in my step and I picked up my pace.
I cruised along the gentle trail under the canopy of ponderosa pine trees and I could see the sky starting to light up a bit. By the time I reached mile 99 on the course and the last small climb, it was sufficiently light out to turn off my headlamp (although still before sunrise). I pulled out my phone--which had been off the entire race--and sent a quick text to C letting her know that I was about 20 minutes from the finish line. My watch read 23:20 at this point, so I knew I was going to make it under 24.
Just as I was turning my phone back into airplane mode, I noticed that it started chiming with multiple text messages and voice mails. Weird, I thought. When I looked at who they were all coming from, I saw that they mostly came from work colleagues. One of the voicemail transcriptions simply said that the person needed to talk to me about one of my students. I noticed that these all came in several hours ago, so I figured whatever it was, it could wait another 20-30 minutes until I was sitting at the finish line. I switched off my phone, and it put it all out of my mind. I had a mission, and I wasn't going to get distracted now.
I rolled over the last small high point, trotted through the small tunnel that goes under the highway, and popped out on the final bike path that leads to the finish line. From here it was a mere 1/2-mile to the end. over these final few minutes I thought back to early miles and I was thrilled at how the entire experience played out. I had a really good run, my body held up well, and I didn't have any major issues (other than the fall). I was able to run consistently for most of the race, and I was about to finish a 100-mile trail run under 24 hours (something I hadn't done for a while). Needless to say, I was feeling ecstatic. Just as I round the last bend in the bike patch, I could see the finish line stanchion. There waiting for me was C with my doggo. I stopped for a brief minute to hug them both, and the quickly jogged up through the finish line chute. I definitely was looking forward that that chair to sit in.
Nearing the finish line
My doggo waiting for me at the end...
My final finish time: 23 hours, 36 minutes.
When I rolled through the finish line, my watch read 23 hours, 36 minutes...and I couldn't possibly have been happier. But that's when everything changed.
As I eagerly sat down in that old camp chair, thrilled to be done with my run and excited to eat whatever food I could shove down my gullet, I remembered my phone. I told C about how when I turned on my phone a mile back to text her, it was weird that I got a whole slew of messages from work colleagues. As soon as I said this, her entire demeanor changed. It was clear she had been holding something back, and she immediately started crying. What I learned in that moment was that while I was happily navigating beautiful single-track trails through the northern Arizona woods, one of my graduate students had been killed in a car accident. Never in my life can I remember falling from such a high moment, to such a low moment, so quickly. We gathered my belongings and left for home almost immediately. Along the 90-minute drive home, my conflicting emotions had become too much for me and my exhausted body revolted. In all my years of running ultras, only once before have I gotten so sick at a finish line (and that other time was when I had a stomach flu at Badwater). It is a strange juxtaposition: less than hour prior I was on cloud nine celebrating a sub-24 finish, and now I was leaning out of the car along Interstate-40 heaving violently.
It's been almost two months since that finish, and I still think of my student daily. I think of his family and how much joy and optimism he brought to the classroom. Just two days prior I had spoken with this student about jobs he was applying for post-graduation. It's hard now to think about Stagecoach, and I'm not sure I'll want to ever run it again because of this association. I suppose I wanted to share this story as a reminder that no matter how much we prepare for certain things, there are always other things that happen that we can't prepare for.
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In this post I wanted to also briefly speak about my recent running at the Mountain Masochist 50-miler. The MMTR is a race that I aim to run every year as it has become of a reunion of sorts with many of my fellow Barkley friends. I've written about this event many times before on this site, so I won't bore you all again with the details. The short of it is that this was my ninth running this year! I eagerly look forward to my tenth running next year as 10-time finishers are given a special finishers jacket and recognition. Ten finishes at the MMTR is a huge milestone that many strive for.
The short recap for this year was that it was an overwhelming success. I ran with fellow Barkley finishers Travis and Brett, as well for a few miles with JB. We had perfect weather, and our pace was again spot on (finishing in about 11 hours 45 minutes).
This event has become something I genuinely look forward to every year as it is one of the few times I get to spend a few days away with friends. This year, we all flew out of DC, so following our run, we spent an entire day touring the National Mall (on scooters no less!). We also watched game 7 of the world series together and had fun cheering for Toronto (even though they lost in the most heartbreaking way).
...and I think I'll end it there. The year is coming to an end soon and I have one 50k race left on the calendar. Otherwise, I look forward to winding things down a bit over the winter break.
The gang at mile ~36 on Mt. Pleasant
The gang at the finish line
Jefferson Memorial
Scooters at the Jefferson Memorial
Washington Monument
Lincoln Memorial
Capitol Building
