Ghost Town 38.5

Ghost Town!!!
My first Ultra distance race in 5 years, and the longest I've ever attempted to run, so far.

This race was such a blast, it's hard to decide where to start in describing it. First and foremost, there's Susan, the RD. This woman is incredible and seriously has a huge heart. Matt, her husband, is equally fantastic and their awesomeness resonated throughout every moment of this race-weekend-experience.

On a slightly more somber note, this was to be the last GT to be run, and while there is certainly a piece of me that is quite sad to say that, I feel truly honored to have been a part of this last running of the GT.

Where to start...in all honesty my thoughts have been largely consumed with elements of the GT for more than the past 2 months. Initially I was just another hopeful runner on the wait list, but I had committed to volunteering at the race, so already there was something to look forward to. Community is a word that begins to describe this race experience. Having never been to the race in the past, I was getting a sense of it through my e-mail correspondence with Susan, and the excitement grew exponentially nearly every day. Even when I was sure I wouldn't get to run, I still couldn't wait to get out to the small, sleepy town of Hillsboro and have the GT experience.
A little side note here: Even if I hadn't gotten into the GT, I've been training for the Old Pueblo 50miler that will be on March 5, 2011, not too far from my current hometown of Tucson. Work has been keeping me crazy busy, so more often than not the bulk of my training runs come in the form of my morning and evening commute. I'm lucky enough to live outside of the city limits and about 5 miles door to door from my office. By commuting to work on my feet, I guaranteed at least 10 miles a day, 5 days a week...and more often than not I'd sneak in some extra miles either direction. (Especially when I manage to get up and out the door early enough to run up Tumamoc before 6:30, those are truly spectacular mornings)

Okay, where was I...oh yes, the beginning, more or less. It came in the form of an early birthday present. On December 15th, while at work, I received the massive GT list e-mail stating that I was the latest runner to have been given the chance to graduate from the wait list to the registrant list. Now, at this point, I think it is fair to say that my co-workers were already a bit tired of hearing me talk about some random race that was way too long to think about in some sleepy town they'd never heard of...but I came jumping, or was it skipping? bouncing? Tigger-like movement is what we're going for here folks- So I come, all Tigger-like, out of my office with the most ridiculous goofy grin on my face and stand in the doorway of my executive director's office:
me: 'Guess what, guess what, guess what?!'
the ed: 'Um, what?' (accompanied with awkward grin and puzzled look)
me: 'I got into the race! I'm officially on the Ghost town Runners list!!!'
the ed: 'RAD!'
(p.s. it really pays to have supportive/understanding co-workers, which fortunately, I have)
Truly, it was an incredible day. I was so excited...and then, maybe a day or two later it sunk in: In no more than a month, I will be running the longest race I've ever run, whether I'm ready or not.

I'm not sure if y'all are aware, but there are some holidays that happen towards the end of December and the beginning of January, and sometimes it makes it hard to stay consistent with training. For me, it wasn't so much the holidays that were getting in the way, it was my schedule. My family knows that when I'm around to visit it usually involves running my favorite trails I grew up on in the North Phoenix Mountain preserve. The trails are great and technical, but the elevation peaks at no more than 2,000, which is lower than where I currently live, which is a bit of a bummer. I made 3 or 4 dozen tamales to freeze and take to the GT pre-race potluck while I stayed in Phoenix for a little more than a week. I ran most of those days, and then headed up to Flagstaff for my Wilderness First Responder training. I was feeling pretty solid about my running regimen and had decided that my goal for the GT was to finish under 10 hours. I knew from looking at the course elevation profile that it was going to be tough, but I thought that was reasonable.
I was really excited to head up to Flag on the 30th, both for the training and to get some cold-weather/high elevation running in so that I could be even better prepared for the GT. I was a bit less excited, however, when my 2 hour drive to Flag turned into a nearly 10 hour drive/sit on the highway in a snowstorm standstill fiasco, which I will not go into here.
If you've ever taken a WFR course, you know it's 10 pretty long days with a ton of information thrown at you and that, if you're a geek like me, it's hard to squeeze in all the reading for the following day into the few hours you have at night, especially if you're also trying to get in a good run. So, my training schedule got a bit off track up there, but on my one day off within the course I managed to get an awesome 14-17mile run in...much of it through the snow, so it was like doing 6 miles of wet football tires. (the mileage is super approximate, as my gps was being a bit wonky)
On the last day of my WFR course I realized I was 9 days away from my GT race. I was excited, I was nervous, I had no idea what was about to happen. I reviewed my class notes one last time at about 7:53am, made sure my phone was turned off, and sat down on the floor with a crazy creek chair to take the written exam. Our partners for the practical exam had been written up on the board, I was satisfied with my pairing and we were about 2/3 of the way down the list, so I knew we'd have a bit of a wait. I finished the written exam, double checked my answers, psyched myself out of 2 right answers (ugh!) and turned in my test. (In spite of the 2 correct answers that I changed, I'm happy to say I still ended up with a 91%)
I turned on my phone and stepped outside for some air and to mentally review the elements I needed to know for my practical. I called my friend to leave a voicemail wishing her a happy birthday and , being the geek that I am, awkwardly sing 3 different pieces of happy birthday songs, apologize for the lengthy message, and hang up. Then my phone gave the shudder of the vibrating mode notification; it was a text message from my friend Kate: 'Holy s%#t, Gabby Giffords was just shot.' Stunned. I immediately respond: 'Are you okay?' After a few more back-and-forths, I understand that she's just heard the news, she wasn't actually there, and yes, she's okay. Okay. She's okay. Who else might not be okay? I can't think about that. I can't lose focus. Focus. You're not done with this class yet. Focus.
I take my practical. No problem. Pass with flying colors.
And now the dangers of a 'smart phone'. Google search: 'Gabby Giffords shot': 20 shot, some dead, a whole lot of information and none of it making sense... Okay. If people I know are hurt, I'll find out sooner rather than later, bad news travels fast, right?
The WFR course is officially over. I go back to my (super amazingly hospitable) friend's house, pick up my stuff and head back down to Phoenix. I find the local community news radio station and am bombarded with bad news. No names released at this point, but things do not sound good. I am stunned, and relieved at the mountains interfering with the poor radio reception in my work truck. I listen to the one country station that comes through and drive, a bit numb, back to my parents house.
My parents hear about the shooting through a text message from me, and when I get home the news is on and details are starting to come together. I get on the computer trying to sort things out, and there it is: Gabe Zimmerman, 30, dead. I didn't know how to react. He was a runner, he was an amazing individual, he had an immense and selfless heart. And now, he was gone.
I headed back to Tucson in a bit of a daze, knowing there would be more work waiting for me than I could know what to do with, and less than a week before my big race. I somehow had to pack into all this time some running, some healing, and a lot of work.
Well, I got the work done, I'm still working on the healing, and there was very, very little running.
Ghost town was moments away...was I ready? Well, I was as ready as I would ever be, and I knew I was going to do it.

Arriving at the studio to officially sign my waiver, Susan gets out from behind the desk and gives me a big hug, welcomes me to Ghost town, and breaks it all down for me. This, was exactly what I needed. This, absolutely epitomizes the energy behind my Ghost town experience.

And now it starts to sink in: okay Scout, it's official, you're going to wake up early tomorrow morning and run 38.5 miles through the Gila Wilderness...ready or not. 68 of us gather around the yard at 4pm Saturday afternoon to hear the race rules, ask any questions, put names to faces, and gear up for what lies ahead. Many, I think it's safe to say most, of us stuck around for the pre-race pasta dinner and potluck. Having arrived relatively early in the day, I had already had the pleasure of meeting the kitchen king Tim, zucchini preparer extraordinaire Jeff, and super-ultra-supportive runner and garlic smasher, Iliana. As we chatted, and prepared food and laughed, more and more I felt like this race was going to be the perfect way to re-start my running/ultra-running career. Now the fruits of our labors were laid out on long tables for all to enjoy inside the wonderfully warm giant party tent. When the go-ahead was given, everybody lined up and piled their plates high with goodness.
Knowing I would want pasta, but that I couldn't eat any that was there, I had planned ahead and cooked some brown-rice pasta at home Friday night. I went out to my (borrowed --> thanks Mom and Dad) car to grab my pasta, I decided I would throw some nutritional yeast and unsweetened almond milk on it to make it kind of 'cheesy' and super delicious. I started to pour the almond milk onto the past and it wasn't right. It had definitely turned. Oh well, I hadn't poured that much onto the pasta, it would be fine, it would balance out, just throw some more nutritional yeast onto it. (This decision, which I will argue is supported by many years eating questionable foods while out on trail crew, would come back to haunt me for the first 12 miles of my race)
We ate, we talked, we listened to an awesome local string band, Susan handed out prizes, I got a sweet new running hat, and then it was time to try and get some sleep. Having decided I was too lazy to set up my tent, and too nervous about getting too cold, I set up a sweet sleeping situation in my giant vehicle. (Again, thanks Mom and Dad, it was awesome). Tomorrows race clothes laid out, check. Alarm set, check. Drink more water, check. Have to pee again, check. Race clothes still ready to go, yup. Okay, time to get some sleep. Surprisingly, by the time I really settled down, I fell asleep fast and hard, and woke up 5 minutes before my alarm at 4:33. (Yes, my alarm was set for 4:38, I have a weird thing about not setting alarms at multiples of 5, I have no idea why, it's just something I do.) I stretched, got dressed, got out of the vehicle. I tried to eat a piece of bread I had made with some peanut butter on it, and my stomach was less than stoked. I choked about a 1/4 of it down and decided it wasn't worth the effort. I attempted 1/4 of a banana to similar results, chalked it up to nerves, and made sure I had a snack on me so that I would have something to eat before the first aid station at ~10miles, in the hope that my stomach would settle before then.
It was dark, it was cool but not super cold, and we all gathered around and got ready for the start. I heard a few hoots from Christian, the ATLien, Susan counted us down, and we were off. I started at what I felt was a pretty conservative pace. I (surprisingly) passed a few folks, and figured they'd likely pass me again later. I told myself to stay consistent, and not rush things, and everything would be fine. And then my stomach reminded me it was still there. And in case I had forgotten, it was not happy. The first 6 or so miles were a gradual climb out on pavement. Every chance that the highway shoulder gave me I was running on the soft shoulder. Pavement is not my best friend, I avoid it at all costs. My stomach sent little burps, border line vurps (that's a vomit-laced burp for those of you who are unfamiliar) for the first 5 miles. Fortunately a real nice runner named Steve, from Albuquerque, was feeling chatty and ran with me for a while. Our conversation kept my mind off the stomach issues, and I kept a decent pace. As the sun continued to climb up and the road got lighter, Steve pulled away and I held back, not wanting to push my pace too early in the race.
I arrived at Junction Station, the first check point,  and I blew right through it, keeping my sights set on the Stone Hut station where I had a drop bag. The one larabar I had with me was not in any way palatable. I found myself taking tiny little bites off of it, trying to chew it enough to get the sugars moving and just letting it sit along my gums until I eventually would spit it out. This was not good.
I  made it to Stone Hut and looked at the contents of my drop bag. There was an apple, apple sounds good. Sugar, palatable...lets try apple. I took a bite, chewed, swallowed...no immediate nausea, this is really good. Okay. Apple it is. I took another couple bites, carried them in my hand with me, grabbed a Honey gel packet and took off.
Then, there was the spur...suffice it to say there was a devil sitting at the top of this spur taking pictures of us all as we scratched our way to the top. I think that about sums it up. I met 2 awesome Tucsonans, Renee and Dallas, who I hope to see at the Old Pueblo 50. They passed me up the spur, as Dallas randomly stopped or slowed to take pictures. As I watched them go by I thought: this is what ultras are about. The good news, my stomach was starting to be a bit more cooperative.
I'm back on the main course now and heading towards the Hilltop station. I run for a while with Greg from Albuquerque and have some good conversation, we get closer to Hilltop and I hear cowbells and cheering...my grin gets wider. As Greg and I approach the station we do as we had been instructed and call out our race numbers. As with every aid station, our numbers are checked out, and the incredible volunteers say out names, and then cater to us. No joke. It was like we were celebrities. 'Can we get you anything? You need your water bottles topped off? You have a drop bag? Feeling alright? You're doing awesome! Keep it up! See you back here soon!' The volunteers, all of them, were tremendous at this race. I can't say that enough.
My feet were getting hot at Hilltop, so I changed my socks from lightweight racing wool to technical poly-blend fiber. I eat half an orange, go stomach!, open up the honey gel I had grabbed at the last aid station, grab a piece of cantaloupe and hit the trail. Things are going well, I 'm feeling good, and I'm confident I will finish this race.
Almost to Vista station now, the super burly incredible ultra runners I dream of one day becoming are heading back home and I cheer them on as we pass in opposite directions. I get up to Vista and Marcus and Matt are there checking me in, telling me I'm doing a great job and asking me if I need anything. I know it's only 2 miles to the Cave Creek turnaround, and then those 2 miles back, so I make the first check in at Vista a quick one and head out to the turnaround...by the time I get there, more than half the race is under my belt!
In getting to Vista I'm passing more and more runners heading back in, and I'm recognizing how tough this terrain is going to be on the return...okay Scout, pace yourself, you're in good shape, well ahead of the cut-offs, just run your own race, and you'll be fine. I've managed to get an entire Honey stinger gel down and I'm feeling less on the verge of bonking, so this is good.
I make it to the Cave Creek turnaround, am greeted by Britt and his son, of the Roswell boy scouts, and head back to Vista. It was somewhere at this point that I met up with Kim of Albuquerque and Duncan of Flagstaff. These two are great and made wonderful conversation throughout the remaining 16 or so miles of the race. There were times I was by one of them, or by myself.
Kim and I shuffled together for a while towards the end, and she found a last kick that my feet simply did not have.
Fast forward towards the finish. Kim and I had been running off an on together for a while, we had come out of the Stone Hut station for the second and last time, and we were on the home stretch. The highway section was getting closer, and my feet were dreading the pavement. My head was fine, my legs were fine, but my feet were crying bloody murder, and did not want to get onto a harder surface. Kim pulled off ahead of me, and I was happy to maintain my shuffle. I glance at my Garmin, did a quick calculation in my head, and figured there was still a chance to make it under 10 hours.
For a moment, allow me to digress. Death is nothing new to me. To be honest, it is an integral part of life that I have been all too familiar with. I don't say that in search of sympathy, I say that simply as fact. The people in my life who have gone on, either after living long lives or having their own cut short...they very much are a part of my own driving force. They remind me why I get up early to run to work, to push myself, to feel alive. They no longer have that opportunity, so who am I to throw it away? That being said, I also believe that there are times that those friends of mine who have moved on show up to support me, and remind me that I can accomplish the goals I set before myself. About a mile and a half before I was back at Junction Station and the highway, I was running alone along the dirt road and my mind began to wander to the events of the past week. I though of Gabe and of how he could truly appreciate the beauty of this race, and the challenge it presented all of its participants. And then I looked to the brush to the left of me and saw the most magnificent Blue Jay land on the branch of a juniper. And it called at me, and waited for me, and when I was caught up to it, it flew ahead and landed on the next Juniper. It called, it waited, and we did this for the next mile, until I could hear the volunteers at the aid station encouraging Kim who was just up ahead of me, and I was nearly to the highway. Whether it was Gabe or any other friend of mine who has moved on, perhaps it was many of them working together, I don't know, but that Blue Jay lifted my spirits. It reminded me that, although my feet were begging me to stop, my legs would not. My head would not. My heart, most certainly, was not ready to stop.
I made it out to the highway and continued my shuffle. I wanted to pick up the pace, but my feet just wouldn't hear it. With about 4 miles left I  saw Cheryl's husband on the side of the highway waiting to cheer her on. He cheered me on, and told me I was a champion, and I'm pretty sure I picked up my pace a bit after that. As the last mile or two approached, Duncan came up from behind me. We chatted a bit more and he encouraged me about how easy my next race, the Pemberton 50K, was going to be compared to this. When we reached the cones to cross the 2-lane highway for the finish line, we had to wait for some traffic. Duncan had told me to cross the line before him, because he didn't feel right finishing before me. All of a sudden my feet forgot that they were tired and sore, and to the cheers of other runners who had finished long before me, I ran into the finish area of the GT 38.5, and was greeted with a hug from RD Susan.

This, is just a scratch on the surface of an attempt at explaining why I do these things. My family and friends, for the most part, think I am crazy. But the ultra community knows that I'm only as crazy as the rest of them, and if nothing else, at least we have that in common.

Thanks so much to all the incredible folks who made my GT experience so memorable. I'll see you out on the trails!

Oh! I nearly forgot: I finished in 9:45.12 a time I was quite happy with. It was under my 10 hour goal, and I hope to only get faster in future races. For now, you can call me Tortuga, because slowly, but surely, I will make it to the finish.