I fell in
love with the San Juans in the summer of 2007 on my first trip to
Telluride. I had just finished my first
year as a teacher and decided to travel to Colorado for the Telluride Bluegrass
Festival and to explore places I’d only heard about. The minute I crested the pass and saw Trout
Lake ringed by snow-capped peaks just outside Telluride, I knew I had found
paradise. This place was special. I have since spent many hours in the
mountains, exploring some of the most beautiful scenery this country has to
offer, but I still find myself drawn to the San Juans. If you’ve been there, you get it. If not, well, it’s difficult to explain. They are massive, rugged, and undeniably
beautiful. I am in awe every time I go. It truly feels like home. I have since gone back to the Bluegrass
Festival 6 times, and it never gets old.
I look forward to my yearly trip and can’t think about anything else the
last few months of school. I get to run
in the most beautiful mountains in the U.S. for hours, then listen to bluegrass
music until the early morning hours. It
doesn’t get much better than that.
(Trout Lake)
The summer
of 2007 also marked my first mountain ultra, the White River 50 Miler in
Washington. I suffered quite a bit that
day, but I was hooked. 2 years later I
signed up for my first 100 mile trail race, the Wasatch Front 100 in Utah. It was rugged and beautiful, and it just
happened to be a Hardrock qualifier (although this was the furthest thing on my
mind when I registered). I decided to
put my name in the Hardrock lottery, but I was not chosen. Nor was I chosen the next 5 times I tried,
and with each passing year (accompanied by more trips to the San Juans) my
fascination with Hardrock grew until I could barely contain myself. I HAD to run that race. It was the perfect combination of rugged
beauty and extreme challenge. As the
race grew in popularity, the chances of getting selected in the lottery grew smaller
and smaller. I was lucky enough to pace
a friend (John Sharp) in 2012, so I got to experience firsthand the final 54
miles in the clockwise direction (the race alternates direction each
year). I was both frightened and
enthralled by the experience. Finally,
after 6 tries, my name was called.
(Finishing the White River 50 in 2007 - my first mountain ultra)
I had followed the previous 5 lotteries via Twitter, waiting
anxiously with friends to see if any of our names were called. This year I was in the mountains of northern
Georgia running a 50k with a friend in some of the most horrendous conditions
(the mud was laughable), so there would be no waiting by the phone or
constantly hitting refresh on my computer screen. I knew that friends and family would let me
know if my name was drawn, and I anxiously awaited the end of my race so I
could check my messages. When I got back
to the car (and had time for my numb hands to dry and thaw out), I saw dozens
of messages congratulating me on being selected for the 2015 running of
Hardrock. I was speechless. I had been waiting 6 years for this. After the euphoria wore off, I was left with
a slight sense of dread and worriedness.
How would I train for this race, with it’s 67,000’ of cumulative
elevation change and average elevation of 11,400’, in San Antonio? I had hills, but no mountains. This was going to be quite the challenge, one
I was ready to tackle.
After
sitting down with my coach and close friend Joe Sulak, we hammered out a plan
that would prepare me for 100 miles of “wild and tough”, as the race’s motto states. We carved out weekend trips to the Guadalupe
Mountains in West Texas, countless hours of incline work on the treadmill, and
a couple mountain races to test my fitness along the way. I totally trust what Joe says, so I knew that
whatever he had me doing would work. I
would continue my weekly strength workouts with Joe, which I firmly believe
have made me a better runner over the years.
I would arrive in Colorado 3 weeks before the race, giving me ample time
to acclimatize to the altitude. With the
plan in place, I began counting down the days until school was out and I headed
West. I spent hours watching You Tube
videos of the race, reading reports from past years, and talking with Joe
Prusaitis (who has 7 Hardrock finishes and offered a wealth of
information). I studied maps and
memorized elevation profiles. Although the course is marked (“sparsely
marked” in the words of Course Director Charlie Thorn), there are section where
navigating can be difficult. Snow, fog,
and animals eating flagging all wreak havoc on the marking, so anyone
attempting Hardrock should have a fairly good understanding of where the should
be and where the course goes. I prepared
for this race like none before, because it was a race like none I had ever run
before. I didn’t want to leave anything
to chance. I had to do it right.
(The Guadalupe Mountains - my "local" mountain)
(Fun at 40%)
The second
semester of school whizzed by, and before I knew it I was wishing my students a
happy summer and packing my car for the month-long adventure. The plan was to spend 5-6 days in Telluride
(by way of Taos and Rico), another few in Ridgway, followed by 10 days in
Crested Butte before moving over to Silverton the week of the race. We had received an email in mid April
detailing the snowpack conditions on the course and predictions for the
race. Snow had been sparse in the San
Juans and we could expect a mostly dry course come July 10. But then a funny thing happened in May in
Colorado (and elsewhere) – it snowed…a lot.
By some accounts the San Juans received more snow in May than any other
month this season. Now the rumor was that
this could be one of the snowiest Hardrocks ever. Since I live in South Texas, I have limited
experience with training and running in snow, especially the deep stuff. I made my mental plans of routes I wanted to
hit, peaks I wanted to bag, sections of the course I wanted to scout. But when I stopped in Taos, NM on my way out
to Colorado, I realized the snow in the high country was going to make these
tasks very difficult, if not impossible.
(Lots of this while I was in Colorado)
I tried (unsuccessfully)
to summit Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest peak at over 13,000’. I made it to just under 11,000’ before the
waist-deep post holing began. After a
few minutes of this I realized I was fighting a losing battle and headed back
down to try another approach. I made it
all the way (through snow) to Williams Lake at 11,000’ before turning
back. I would repeat this same scenario
numerous times over the next 10 days as I trudged up and down the peaks around
Telluride and Ouray. The days were warm
and clear, and the snow was melting fast, but there was a whole lot of snow to
melt. I ran solo most days and enjoyed
the solitude, although it was nice to have a familiar face join me a time or
two. I spent a few days in Crested Butte
before one of my pacers, Dave Brown, arrived with his family and dog (who
apparently is immune to leaps from second floor balconies). We explored the Elk Mountains and Maroon
Bells surrounding Crested Butte, a place I would move to in a heartbeat. I am obsessed with that town, maybe more so
than any in Colorado. Everything was so
green, and the contrast against the reddish hue of the Maroon Bells was
spectacular. It made tapering very difficult,
and I found myself cutting a few outings “short” at 16 miles and wanting
more. I can’t resist summittng a pass,
and I’m a sucker for high mountain lakes.
(Copper the Wonderdog)
(The Maroon Bells)
Cindy joined us in Crested Butte for a few days before we
headed to Silverton. I had experienced
great weather for 95% of my trip, but that all changed in Silverton, where it
rained for much of the week leading up to the race. I guess this could be seen as a blessing, as
I wasn’t tempted to spend countless hours exploring the mountains so close to
Hardrock. I hiked the 4 mile section
from the Bear Creek (Ouray – there are 3 different Bear Creeks on the HR
course) trailhead to Ouray AS and out to Camp Bird Road with Dave and Eric
White since Dave and I would be hitting that at night and wanted to be familiar
with it. Chris (crew, chief napper) and
Liza (pacer) drove up from San Antonio a couple days prior to the race, and we
all had fun seeing other runners and crews walking around town. We sat through the “shortened” (2 hours
instead of the typical 4+) course briefing, during which Charlie Thorn detailed
the various ways we could die on the “sparsely marked” course, none of which
made Cindy laugh. Several of us walked
the last few miles of the course to make sure we knew the route and could find
our way home in our oxygen-depleted state at the end of the race. I packed my drop bags (ask Chris for a detailed
account of this), bought some souvenirs, and stopped at the local coffee
shop/brewery for one final beer before settling down at the house for what I
knew would be a very restless night. In
what I can only describe as one of the funniest conversations I’ve ever
overheard, a local miner detailed life in Silverton to Cindy. After boasting that he had once driven from
Silverton to Ouray in 17 minutes (if you’ve ever driven this road, you know how
ridiculous that sounds), our new friend remarked (with a sheepish grin) that
“you can’t pick up any white women driving slow”.
(Helping the local economy)
(Dave exploring the climb out of Ouray)
(Mineral Creek - mile 98.5)
(Even aliens want a picture with the Cactus Kid)
(Ready to go)
