April 23, 2005
Zane Grey Highline 50 is run below the Mogollon Rim near Payson, Arizona. Western author Zane Grey built a large cabin near this historic trail (hence the name for the race). In 1990 a massive forest fire destroyed the historic cabin and also tragically took the lives of several fire fighters.
Looking up to the Mogollon Rim
This was my 4th ultra for 2005 and I knew it would be the roughest. It is billed as “the toughest 50 miler.” I certainly can’t argue against that. It punished me.
Todd Holmes (finished 10th) and Carol Gerber (finished 43rd) of Lakewood, Colorado picked me up from the Phoenix airport on Friday evening and we drove up to Payson. I picked up my racing packet at the Payson Inn, grabbed a last meal, and succeeded in getting some sleep before waking at 3:15 a.m.
I caught a shuttle to the start line located at the Pine Trailhead. The usual nervous excitement started to build up inside me. 125 racers converged on the starting area. The field was packed with many of the fastest ultra runners in the country. The starting area was confusing in the dark, I wasn’t sure what direction we would be heading. I donned my coonskin hat, and as 5 a.m. neared, I heard someone in the crowd count down 5,4,3,2,1… and away we went in the dark. Within five minutes I took my first fall, tripping over one of the million or so rocks to come. I picked myself up and Todd Holmes yells, “Davy is that you?” He couldn’t see me blushing with embarrassment in the dark, but yep, it was I.
I like to go out fast because I seem to finish these 50s with plenty to spare, so I ran the first few miles with the top 20 runners. The moon was almost full and low in the horizon, casting some eerie shadows through the forest. We ran the first of many treks up toward the Mogollon Rim. We would never reach the top of the rim, but would traverse parallel underneath the rim through countless drainages, gullies, valleys, washes – you name it – up and down all day long. I can’t remember a flat section anywhere.
It wasn’t long until I received my first set of scratches on my legs from the unavoidable bushes. I knew my legs would be a bloody mess before the day was done. The rocks cut the cords on my gaiters within the first hour – I should have used steel cables.
The warm sun started to rise revealing the beauty of this portion of Arizona. I wish I would have taken more opportunities to gaze at the landscape, but I was too busy checking out all the “cool” rocks on the trail trying to trip my feet again. We soon made our way down into a valley containing Geronimo Camp (8 miles), the initial aid station. I arrived at 1:33 (elapsed time), 12 minutes faster than planned. I was in 35th place at that point. I asked for a refill of sports drink and thought it was curious that the volunteer filled it using a jug. Another volunteer noticed the mistake – she had filled me up with Gatorade concentrate! Some of the front-runners weren’t so lucky. Todd Holmes was also filled up with the same stuff and later told me he took a drink on the trail and about choked to death on the stuff. He had to scoop up water from streams until the next checkpoint. Besides that mistake, the volunteers were great.
Typical rocky trail
The trail was marked superbly with plenty of yellow ribbons along the way, with blue ribbons warning you not to take a side trail. During this next section I did go off trail once, wasting about 5 minutes. I returned to the last ribbon, hunted for the next one, and then waited for the next group of runners to arrive and help me figure it out. It should have been obvious. The general rule of thumb all day long was: If you arrive at a stream, you will quickly cross it. Sure enough, across the stream was a ribbon. My pace started to slow. It was impossible to get into a running rhythm because of all the rocks and so many short stretches of up and down.
Typical stream crossing
I did one smart thing that turned out to be very helpful. I taped a small version of the course elevation profile to my hand-held bottles. I referred to the graph often and it helped me to set my expectation correctly regarding the course ahead. There were only five aid stations spread out across the 50 miles, so it required some extra forethought to make sure I was stocked up with enough food and drink for the grueling stretches ahead.
I reached Washington Park (17.4 miles) at about 3:45, still 15 minutes ahead of my goal schedule. I had fallen to 45th place. I took a little more time at this aid station preparing for the next 8-mile stretch. It was time to ditch the coonskin hat — too hot. Each aid station was located in a valley. The pattern was constant all day. After the aid station would be a long uphill stretch out of the valley. I soon became frustrated because I felt low in energy and people were passing me. I looked back down the trail and thought I spotted Carol Gerber catching up. Sure enough, I waited for her and told her that I hoped she could help me jump-start. I let her set the pace and it worked for a couple miles until we reached the infamous “burn section” between miles 20 and 30 – the location of several fires in recent years. Shade would be seldom.
In the burned section (from 1999 race)
I let Carol go on ahead of me. I could no longer keep up. I felt well hydrated, electrolytes balance OK, but the energy level was down. A blister started to develop on one of my big toes. My mind went into the usual debates. “Should I stop for several minutes to fix it?” “Should I grin and bear it, hoping the pain will go away.” Oh, the endless debate! My mind was turning into mush at that point, just going into death-march mode. All I could handle was pushing on ahead. I ignored the pain and eventually it did calm down after several miles.
I pressed on through the growing heat, greeting too many that passed me during this stretch. I finally arrived at the next aid station, properly named, Hell’s Gate (mile 25.2), at 5:40 elapsed time. (I was now in 56th place. My split time for this leg revealed that it was indeed slow, ranked 75th). Hell’s Gate was a welcome oasis in the hot burned landscape. They mentioned that we were running in the middle of the pack with about 50 or so runners behind us. I stayed there for about ten minutes, making sure I was well hydrated for the next eight-mile section, including five more miles without shade. I noticed a guy with some sort of uniform eyeing me. I suspected he was a search and rescue guy wondering if I would be the dude that he would have to haul out of the wilderness.
I pulled myself out of a chair, scooped some ice into my hat, and headed back on the trail. Things started to improve. I was able to keep pace better. I discovered that my mind came back to life. I began to think about many things instead of just putting one foot ahead of the other. This was a good sign. I played the leapfrog game with several runners who I would see many times during the rest of the day. Generally, I would fall behind them on the downhills but catch up on the uphills.
I had read many debates that this eight-mile section was longer than advertised. I made sure that I wouldn’t be fooled and frustrated. I assumed it would feel long and it was! I now understood why so many runners in past years threw in the towel at the next aid station.
A short steep climb
Finally, trees started to appear. The burned area was disappearing. I actually passed a couple people. Within two miles of the next aid station I joined a group of four other runners. We stayed together for a while until I felt a sharp pain in my right knee from all the downhill pounding. It felt significant and started to ache. Oh no! Dreaded DNF thoughts crept into my mind. I still had 18 miles to go! The pain just wouldn’t go away. I fell behind. I stopped, put a strap on the knee, and hoped that this minor adjustment would work. I finally limped into the Fish Hatchery aid station (33.2 miles) at 8:31 elapsed time. (I was now in 67th place). What a sorry scene it was to see. Exhausted runners, sitting in chairs, with all-too-kind volunteers serving them. I plopped down in a chair located in the shade and did my best to regroup.
I was now an hour behind my goal pace for a 12:30 finish. The next stretch would be eleven miles before the next aid station. Was I ready to press on? I looked at my knee. No swelling. A volunteer suggested that I should ice it for a few minutes. No, I was committed and ready to press on. I had three full bottles. I would have to make them last for about three hours. Eleven miles, here I come.
Next was the longest uphill stretch on the course — endless switchbacks and steep drainages. The good news was that I felt pretty good and kept up a nice pace, passing a couple runners. Extra good news, my knee started to feel fine, the strap or the uphill calmed it down. The bad news was at the top of the hill I felt a terrible blister on my heel where I did a poor pre-race tape job. I again used the “grin and bear it” strategy, but slowed significantly on the downhills.
A wonderful thing happened. Wind and clouds! The forecasted storm was on its way. The shady clouds and cool breeze was a welcome relief! I sustained a good pace, a lonely pace. It seemed like I didn’t see anyone for two hours. They didn’t pass me and I didn’t pass them. We were all in a steady groove.
Runable trail in the forest
At the 38-mile mark, everything came together. I felt great and was able to really start running again. I was pleased to see a couple guys in the middle of no-where with water for refills. I filled up, expressed sincere thanks, and knew I wouldn’t run out of water. I had everything I needed. No one would pass me for the rest of the race. At the 40-mile mark, I passed a runner who was sure that we only had two more miles to reach the next aid station. I sadly informed him that we had four more miles. I predicted that I would not reach there before 5 p.m. I pushed on with renewed strength and arrived at Christopher Creek (mile 44) at 5:10 p.m.,12:10 elapsed. (I had climbed into 61st place.) The aid station volunteers broke into a chorus of “Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.” I’ve heard that one a few times, but never before at 44 miles into a run. Thanks! I quickly downed an Ensure, talked with an old friend I hadn’t seen in seven years, and pushed on with confidence.
I felt amazing! Only six miles to go. The volunteers asked if I had a flashlight. Yes, I did, but my new goal was to finish before dark. I knew I could do it. I would have to cover the next six miles in less than 90 minutes. I pushed up the last long hill. There was only four miles to go. The trail now was very runable. Time to really kick it into gear. I felt no pain and very strong. What an amazing feeling! I started to pick off runners one by one. However, at this point, they were all spread out, about a quarter mile apart.
The clouds became dark. Thunder and lightning! Next came the rain. Wow, this would be an interesting finish. A nice shower descended and soon I was drenched. I could have got discouraged, but I put away those useless thoughts and instead considered how cool this was, cruising through the forest in the rain after covering 47 miles. I didn’t have anything warm to put on so I considered that if I really kicked it into gear that I would stay reasonably warm. My next two mile-splits were amazing. Where was I finding it? I was running far faster than I was at the beginning of the race. I could run all the uphills fast, no problem. The light started to disappear. Could I finish before dark? Would I beat the 14-hour mark? Yes, yes, finish strong! I could do it.
The noise from the highway soon could be heard between the roar of thunder. I cruised around a corner and there was the finish! 13:55. 56th place. I did it. (My split time for the last leg was 45th fastest). I felt great but very happy to see the finish. I was given a blanket, and ushered into a tent just as the heavens opened and the downpour really started. I then thought about 50 or so other runners who were still on the trail. They would be the real heroes of this race, pressing on through the deluge in the dark.
The winner of the race completed the 50-mile course in 8:17. I was at mile 32 about that time. 96 runners would finish, the last one at 17:01, or 10:01 p.m., a 68-year-old man. 29 people dropped out along the way.
Two days later as I write this, I am still nursing sore muscles and many wounds. Zane Grey 50 was a punishing challenge, but also a memorable adventure.