2012 Old Pueblo 50 Mile Trail Race Report - A Visit to Pleasantville

This report is a bit of a catch up on my blog, an apology for my absence to the few random people who stumble across this page on occasion, and a glowing review of this year's Old Pueblo 50 Mile Endurance Run.  Enjoy.

Way back in July 2011, I ran my heart out in Nevada, covering 500 miles with 28k feet of climbing, 14 mountain ranges, 6 state parks, and 5 wilderness areas all in just 11 days. During the trip I expected a windfall of publicity and fanfare.  The end came and went but the exposure never did. I fault myself for (still) not having posted a decent video about the whole thing online. I also moved back to Tucson after the trip, which as everyone else has also experienced, can be a major distraction.  But the spring running of the Old Pueblo 50 Mile Endurance Run fills up quickly in the fall and by the time my checking account showed the deduction of my $125 race entry, I was too thrifty to stay on the couch on race day, regardless of my absence of any training. Typically, I like to get in at least 3 long runs before a race like this and despite my best efforts not to run all winter, I almost met my quota.



Two weeks earlier I celebrated my 40th birthday by running 40 miles. Prior to that I think I had run two other times since the Flagstaff Marathon in September. I was mighty sore after that 40 that I pulled out of nowhere, so I conveniently took a week off. Then I got an offer to join a team for Ragnar Del Sol, a 200 mile, 12-person relay from Wickenburg to Phoenix the following weekend. It turned out that they had lost 3 teammates right before race day and asked if I could fill in for all 3 runners. That meant 9 legs, or 52 miles of running in a 24 hour period on 2 hours sleep. It sounded fun, and I had been resting all week so I joined them. The weekend after that was Old Pueblo.

There's something relaxing about going into a race totally unprepared.  The stakes couldn't be lower. You say you're worried about your performance? Well, you could have just stayed home and skipped the whole thing, so just showing up makes you a winner, right?  I found myself saying things the night before like, "Don't worry. If you start to feel bad, just drop out. It's not like you trained for this or anything."

Though it may sound like I was setting myself up for a DNF, I was really just getting into a comfortable mindset that this wouldn't be a race as much as a slow enjoyable effort.

I showed up at the race headquarters of Kentucky Camp Friday night around 7 pm in my Sienna minivan. In years past, I've always had to set up a tent to stretch out for the night but since I was a new owner of a van, I was grateful for the opportunity to lay down in the back on already heated carpet.  Still, being the night before a big race, I found myself waking many times through the night, worried that I would oversleep the early start time of 6 am. This, despite the fact that I had set all 5 of my watch alarms as well as all 3 of my cell phone alarms, just in case.

To non-runners, running must seem like the simplist of sports. Get some shoes (or not), some shorts (or not) and move your legs one after the other. Racing for me is a bit more involved than that. I love my gadgets and accessories and can throw myself into a frenzy if my Pearl Izumi headband is not coming out of hiding, if one of my grey cotton gloves is missing, or my lip balm with sunscreen isn't in the outer velcroed pocket of my hip pouch. It wouldn't do to pack the black gloves or the silver mittens, or the Mountain Hardware Dome cap, or the cherry flavored Chapstick.  I have to have just the right items in just the right place. And that's why I decided not to pack my Garmin Forerunner 305 GPS watch.  I didn't pack it because for my recent birthday I got the Garmin Forerunner 310 and planned to take it instead. The only problem was that I hadn't charged the new watch since Ragnar, and when I was packing for this race, I couldn't find the charger.  My old GPS watch is useless on a 12 hour run because the battery only lasts 8 hours. The 310 is supposed to last for 20 hours on a full charge but since I couldn't find the charger, I was going to be GPS-less on this day. (How did I ever run across America without this thing?)  Grabbing my drop bags and leaving the van, I was just about to accept wearing my old trusty Timex stopwatch as a last resort when I saw a small baggie in my food box leftover from Ragnar. I had already checked this bag while at home for my charger but somehow it escaped detection until now, 45 minutes before race start.  I grabbed the charger, my watch and all of my other gear and closed the van.

The wind was still howling and at  5:10 as I packed up and hastily hustled the half mile down hill to the checkin and race start at the historic mining cabin called Kentucky Camp.  It. Was. Cold. Some have claimed it was 16 degrees that morning.  Walking down hill in the dark, I lugged my 4 drop bags over both shoulders.  This race offers many places to have your essential racing items within reach throughout the course and I chose to leave items at mile 24, 33. 40 and the finish.  Some people pack everything from bandaids to gu to underwear and raincoats, but I chose to only include some cheese crackers, a Red Bull, and some Hammer energy pills in mine.

Once at the start area, there was no way I was going to shed my layers 45 minutes before the start. I waited until only 5 minutes till. I would have found myself standing in front of the only propane heater, but it was a small one, the size of a salad plate, and there were 20 people already huddled 4 deep in front of it. Maybe they knew it, but it looked as though they were keeping more heat just standing together than what they actually got from the propane. Their cheery singing in the darkness was testament that life couldn't have been too bad in that huddle.

The camp offers a basic two room cabin for rent. There is water and electric there and a pit toilet. Looking for an available outlet for my watch, I learned that such a thing was a precious commodity. The race management had used every existing outlet with numerous extension cords to power string lights over the registration tables, a laptop, printer, flood lights, and the race clock.  I would have to find some other source in this remote place, located an hour and 20 minutes into the open desert outside of Tucson.  Friends of mine have commented that I have an uncanny knack for finding solutions to problems such as this.  I don't know what they're talking about but I found a solution, of course.

I'd like to thank the Cochise County Communication Emergency Response staff for allowing me to use one of the outlets in their fine beast of a command center vehicle. By the time the gun went off, my watch battery had charged to near full capacity and I was off and running.  Well, actually, since the first half mile is uphill towards the parking lot, I took my time walking the first stretch.

I was determined to start slow and I met my goal there. I was running a slow and steady ten and a half minute miles all the way to mile 19.  The sun came up and my bite valve, which had frozen solid, was now flowing again. The Heed energy drink at the aid stations was still slushy but it was turning out to be a beautiful day for running.  At the mile 14 aid station, I enjoyed connecting with my old friends and former coworkers from the Vail School District. They've been running that aid station for years and it's always a treat to run in and be greeted by them.  At mile 19 I came face to face with my neighbor, Craig Bellmann, from 3 years ago.

"Craig?"
"Brian? How the hell are ya?" he said.

We ran together off and on for the next 20 miles.  Craig is a crew member at Tri-Sports and a naturalist at heart. During a particularly long ascent up Gunsight Pass, while the rest of us were keeping our head down so we couldn't see how much further we had to go, it was Craig who was looking up saying, "See that swath of green on that rock outcropping, Brian? That's a really clear indication of all of the minerals up here."  Heck, he even stopped in the long ascent to pick up a colorful rock along the way. I joked that Craig was the only runner on the course who had brought along drop bags just to transport his rock collection back home. (For the record, I'm pretty sure he dropped the rock later so anyone worried about infringement on their mining claims can now cease legal action.)

Going over the summit at Gunsight Pass is always dangerous for me because what goes up must go down and this section is particularly steep and easy to begin running too fast.  It's not something you want to do on this course as it's only a mile or two before you turn around and go right back up to the ridge line.  This year I did a great job of slowly dropping in elevation.

Before too long I was at the mile 24 aid station.  Greeting me there was aid station volunteer Mike from the Tucson Trail Runners group that I have run with on occasion. It was nice to actually see him since he's usually near the front of the pack at our weekend runs, and I am not. It was also a huge relief to get there because in my warped / twisted running logic, as soon as I hit 24, I was well on my way to the finish. By my way of thinking,  from there it's only 8 miles to the mile 33 aid station, then only 7 more to mile 40. And who quits at 40 when you've only got 10 more to go?  Plus, there's one last aid station at 46, so it's really just like one last 10k and a 4 mile cool down at the end.  That's the kind of stuff that works for me during a race but I get mighty annoyed at my own little Mr. Positive when I've already been running for 5 hours, like I was when I got to the mile 24 aid station. Maybe if the next section had been flat I would have been ok. Maybe if I had run at all last winter things would have gone differently. But leaving mile 24, I was to begin a 4 mile uphill and the race began to change for me, and not for the better. That hill is a beast.  But it isn't so steep that you have to walk. It's only steep enough to make you think about walking.  Once you do give in, it's sure hard to decide to begin running uphill, especially when you've already been walking uphill for over 45 minutes. At least it looked as though I would finish before dark. Mike had volunteered to sweep the course with two other runners, finishing up at 9pm. It would be cold, and very dark by that time and I was glad (and appreciative) to let them do it!

I made it into the mile 33 aid station,  and took a very quick stop to refill and press on before any temptation set in to stop, as happened two years ago when I did drop here. Pressing on meant that I got to mile 40 even faster. 40 is my favorite aid on the course.

There's a guy, Bob, who is at this race every year, at Zane Grey too. He's always yelling at the top of his lungs from deep in the woods somewhere. He wears a bike cap with the brim turned up and a message in Sharpie written on it that says, "HOWDY!" His trademark cheer is, "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" Picture Rocky Balboa's trainer screaming at you with a cigar on the side of his mouth, but instead of huddled in the corner of the ring, he's out in the woods waiting for you. That's this guy. The first few years I heard Bob I thought that maybe he was a little too excited and over the top. But the ensuing years have made him my favorite race volunteer of all time for this consistent passion to runners and races.  When I saw the cardboard sign marking one mile to 40 and it had his trademark phrase written on it, I have to admit I ran that last mile a little faster.  And there he was, standing at the base of a wash, just before the short hill that leads into the actual aid station. He was red faced as he screamed his greeting to me. Then he followed it up with, "We've been waiting for you!" I replied, "You don't have to rub it in!" This aid station is also noteworthy as it typically has a person there who is playing bagpipes and wearing a traditional kilt. Maybe airfare from Scotland was too much this year because in his place, there was a boom box playing the bagpipes instead, and it wasn't wearing a kilt.

A quick stop in the aid station to drink my Red Bull, eat some pretzels and I needed to leave before the lounge chairs looked any more inviting. Aid stations are really like free Hilton hotels. There's a huge buffet. M&M's, homemade cookies, baked potatoes, licorice, soda, energy drink, gu, oreos, bowls of salt(!), and anything they don't have out, someone will try to get for you if you really need it.  Then there's the lounge chairs. Always empty for the runners, usually parked by a foot bath, a couple of volunteers standing at the ready to help you get over to them or even, stand up after having sat down. Throw in a terry cloth robe and a "do not distrub" sign and I think you could start swiping credit cards at each one. The thing that these aid station volunteers do really well is listen and ask what you need.  As a runner, it's sometimes overwhelming to finally be at the aid station. You can't think right. You're wondering if you should stop and rest, go on or quit. The cookies look good. Is that bagpipe music? How far ahead are my friends? Can I still PR today? And all the while, those volunteers see that your energy drink flask is empty and they kind of start grabbing it while asking, "Can I fill this for you?" You find yourself saying yes and fumbling with the lid when you see them next put the lid on for you and re-holster it in your pack.  You're still looking at those lounge chairs and hearing bagpipe music, but you've just somehow eaten 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, gotten all your liquids topped off and had sunscreen applied to your legs and neck and you have no idea how any of it happened.

There's a long very gradual climb up a forest service road as you leave the 40 mile aid station.  Some campsites along the road had a few cars parked alongside.  At one site was the most noteworthy item of the entire day.  There was a converted flat-nosed school bus.  The back wall of it had been completely removed and replaced with a wall of wood which had been shined to glossiness and boasted a huge stained glass window on the back. The roof of the bus had been cut in two areas and actual rooftop lofts had been erected using cedar shingles, wood plank siding and more decorative stained glass. The whole thing oozed of attention to detail and I tried to imagine what someone's life must be like if that's the level of extreme they take just to modify their camping gear. It was the only time I really wished I had brought my camera. Since I didn't have one, I borrowed a picture of a similar bus from the web to give you an idea of it:

This wasn't the actual bus parked along the course, but it's attention to detail was similar in scale.

Though I had run the first half in 5 hours, I didn't expect things to continue to go so well during the second half. My PR for this course is around 10 hours and 40 minutes. Based on my 25 mile split, I was well ahead of that time.  But these uphills halfway through were slowing me down. As the miles wore on, I found myself predicting later and later finish times. "Ok," I thought, "If I can run from here to the finish I can still come in just under 11 hours. Ok, if I really start running now I can get there in 12 hours." I'm proud to say that I did finish the 50th mile of the race in 11 hours and 57 minutes (based on my watch which was automatically pausing itself whenever I stopped. The course is actually 51.2 miles and the race clock showed me finishing in something around 12 hours and 30 minutes. I didn't really care. It was over and I had enjoyed my day of running. The race offers fresh cooked burgers at the finish and though I was tired, sore and cold at the end, I found enough strength to walk over to the bbq chef and place my order. Man did that burger taste good.

The thing that sets this race apart from all others is the kindness of the volunteers and even the other racers. I had a lot of time to think about this out there on the course but I couldn't pinpoint why it's the case here and not elsewhere. At Ragnar, racers log their "kills", or number of people they are able to pass during their time on the course. They even use window paint on their support vans to broadcast their kill total during the 36 hour event. At Old Pueblo, people couldn't give a rat's hairy heiny that they had just been passed. I certainly didn't care when it happened to me, and it happened to me a lot in that second half.

Another notable difference is that people weren't plugged in during this race. I'm finding more and more, you'd have to do an in depth search to find someone in a race who doesn't have earbuds sticking out of their listening holes.  Maybe it prevents unwanted conversation, but it certainly works in giving off an air of "don't bother me, I'm spending some time with Hannah Montana right now."  This wasn't the case at this year's OP50.  Furthermore, when I talked to people here, they actually talked back! During Ragnar, while I was running a leg through Sun City at 1 am, two women runners came up from behind me and began running just off my shoulders.  I was happy for the company, especially since we were about to head out onto a desolate highway for 18 dark miles late at night. Trying to strike up some good cheer, I said to them, "Looks like we got ourselves a posse!"  Maybe it was just situational, being late at night an all, but without a word, the women, wordless, slowly pulled away from me and disappeared up ahead into the darkness, never to be seen again.  Or possibly they had misheard what I had said and mistakingly took my comment to be something suggestive. One more indication that this race was filled with approachable people: my ipod went unused all day.  I usually take my ipod along on these long runs and after 20 or 30 miles, I turn it on, having felt as though I had earned some tunes to carry me along. I just had so much fun talking with other people and enjoying the scenery that the device never came out.

Whatever the reason, running Old Pueblo is different from all other venues. People there were just really nice. Runners talked to runners. Aid station workers were helpful but not overbearing. The locals left the flagging tape in place so we wouldn't get lost.  It was a great day on all accounts. Well, except for the running part. But there's only one person to blame for that. See you again next year, old friend, Old Pueblo.  Maybe I'll even train next time.