Now that I'm back at sea level and oxygen is once again getting to my brain, I thought I'd share my Jemez experience...

 

It was 6:30 p.m. on Friday evening, and it wasn't the looming mountains (snow-capped no less) that worried me as we raced to the Los Alamos High School cafeteria to pick our packets (although the mountains were plenty imposing).  What worried me was that I could already "feel" the altitude just hiking across the parking lot.  Not a good sign.  But since I wasn't going to acclimate overnight, I realized there was no use dwelling on it - what will be will be.  After a truly forgettable pizza dinner (Note: when in Los Alamos, avoid Home Run Pizza) with my compadres, Chris and Misty, it was off to the hotel to unpack, organize, and try to get a decent night's sleep. 

 

As always, "morning" came too soon and we were off to the Posse Shack, location of the race's start/finish.  Parking was close-by and plentiful and the Shack was comfortable, stocked with eats and drink, and detailed maps of the course, maps I probably should have studied a bit closer.  At 6:00 a.m. we filtered out to the roadway and were off.  After a little less than a mile of pavement, we hit the single-track trails snaking in and out of the canyons below the mesas on which Los Alamos sits, heading towards the first big climb of the day, a nearly 1600 ascent up to Guaje Ridge - no small feat for a flatlander even at sea level.  At nearly 8000 feet, well, let's just say I was, um, concerned.  And, in fact, it wasn't fun (or anything remotely close to it - actually, it sucked massively), but I made it to the aid station at the top and was rewarded with a fun, twisting descent into a beautiful, sometimes-lush canyon leading to the next aid station at the base of Caballo Mountain.  Ahhhh, Caballo Mountain . . .

 

By this point, Chris has put some distance on me and I suspect Larry and Kelly were not far behind.  So I arrive at a very busy aid station at the base of Caballo, refill my hydration pack, take a gel, and get ready to tackle to biggest climb of the day, a nearly 1900 ft, 2-mile monster to the top of 10,500 Caballo.  (Right before the race started, we were told that the llamas that were supposed to carry the supplies to the aid station at the top couldn't make it because of snow.  I was not comforted by the thought that pack animals were unable to negotiate a trail, but that a Houstonian who made it to Rice Stadium exactly twice before the race was expected to do so).  So I follow the flags and take off behind a small group of runners and after a few minutes a gentle climb turns to steep switchbacks that soon make breathing an enormous chore.  My progress was horribly slow at this point and I was being passed pretty regularly by fitter runners and better climbers.  At a certain point, I actually had to stop every couple of minutes to allow my HR to drop below 300 bpm, stave off the dizziness that I was now experiencing, and keep my heart from literally tearing through my chest and flopping down on the trail in front of me.  Then, after about 40 minutes of slow (I mean SLOW) climbing, the trail widened and leveled out significantly, but I still couldn't run without getting dizzy.  To make matters worse, for the only time all day, my stomach began to revolt.  In short, I felt like crap. 

 

Around this time I also vaguely wondered why (1) I wasn't climbing anymore and (2) I was being passed by runners who I hadn't noticed earlier, much stronger runners no less.  But I was tired, dizzy, and generally spaced out, so none of the dots connected . . . until i reached the aid station.  The wrong aid station.  Instead of the barebones aid station at the top of Caballo (mile 11.4) - the ones the llamas couldn't get to - I staggered into the Pipeline Aid Station (mile 16.3).  "Pipeline!  WTF!!"  Confusion, frustration, anger at myself . . . it wasn't pleasant.  These emotions were immediately followed by sheer exhaustion and a desire to simply sit down and give up.  Instead, I ate and drank a bit.  Commisserated with the super-nice aid station workers and eventually decided that I was going to just go ahead and continue running the rest of the course, accept my official DNF, but finish my own personal race.  Not a 33 mile race, but still an ultra. 

 

Once I made peace with myself, the rest of the run was a hoot.  The 5.8 mile out and back to the Ski Lodge Aid Station was gentle, runnable at times, and provided great views at the edge of the Caldera.  Back at the Pipeline Aid Station, the course branched off and up a 300 foot climb before descending approximately 1000 feet of tight, twisted, super-technical single-track to the Guaje Ridge aid station about 4 miles away.  After a ton of uphill, the tricky long downhill stretch was a white-knuckle blast.  Falling would have been, well, real bad.  Greeted the dedicated volunteers at Guaje (which is really sort of a remote aid station - no roads - everything had to be hauled up the old-fashioned way), downed a gel, had some water, and noticed the sign that indicated the next aid station was 5.3 miles away & that this stretch would have a net uphill of 36 feet and a net downhill of 1792 quad-shredding feet!  What the sign didn't indicate was that nearly the entire stretch would be through a totally exposed burned out area from a huge fire in 2000.  Oh, and that the trails on the entire stretch would be dead-ringers for Bandera - full of rocks of all shapes and sizes.  Big ones, little ones, embedded ones, loose ones, smooth ones, jagged ones....  My strategy was simple:  stay upright, stay hydrated, and run until the quads gave out.  Still, even though I ran 90% of it, this was a LONG 5.3 miles & by the time I reached the funky Rendija Canyon aid station, I was spent.  At Rendija, I was greeted by my friend, Misty, who provided all sorts of positive karma (as always) and reminded me that the finish was less than 2 miles away.  

 

Not long after leaving Rendija, I was passed by a runner encouraging me to pick it up because "there's only a mile to go!"  I would later realize that this runner was the super-talented Karl Meltzer, multiple-time winner of Hardrock, HURT100, and lots of other nasty-ass ultras.  He was running the 50 miler and would finish in a hair under 9 hours - really impressive on a course as tough as this one, but still nearly an hour behind the winner, Kyle Skaggs, who posted a mind-bending CR of 8:08.  If that doesn't sound particularly fast for a 50 miler, well, check out a few photos of the course:  http://picasaweb.google.com/billgeist/TrailMarkingForTheJMTR 

 

Finally, a little over 8 hours after I started, I finished.  Even after I explained what happened at Caballo to the kind folks at the finish, they tried to give me the finisher award pottery.  But after my self-induced stupidity, I just couldn't accept.  I did however accept some BBQ and munchies & sat for a bit and relaxed until my wife showed up a half hour later (she didn't think I'd be done quite so soon!).  We then hung out awhile longer until Chris and Larry finished, shared some beers, and called it a day. 

 

Bottom line, a wonderful race (notwithstanding my inattention).  Gorgeous, SUPER-TOUGH course, great volunteers, and a really laid-back atmosphere.  Like Mariela, can't wait to head back next year & finish some unfinished business.  If anyone is looking for a great destination race to test your mettle, you can't do much better than Jemez. 

 

Cheers,

 

Miles