Jemez Mountain 50 miler

The big mistake of the race came on Friday afternoon. While filling up on gas and coffee in Walsenburg, somehow I managed to lose my right contact lens. This is OK for driving, but it does mess up your depth perception, which causes all kinds of problems if you’re trying to run on technical trails. So as if running 50 miles up and down mountains wasn't hard enough, I was not going to do it half blind. Oh well, as I always say, I love it when it sucks!

Part I: Start to Mitchell Trailhead, 4.9 miles
Did what I could during this section, running at night with messed up depth perception. Just did my best not to trip on all the rocks and roots. After about 40 minutes the sun was up and I could ditch the flashlight, which helped things a lot. Came into the aid station right around 52 minutes. They had 120 people start the race, I was somewhere in the middle of ‘em at this point.

Part II: Mitchell TH to Guaje Ridge, 2.2 miles, 7.1 miles total
First major climb of the day. Lots of switchbacks up the side of a big hill, but nothing too bad for a Manitou resident. I settle in with a pack of four and maintain a decent pace up to the aid station.

Part III: Guaje Ridge to Caballo Base, 3.0 miles, 10.1 miles total
After the climb the trail drops pretty quickly here. Eventually we hit a concrete dam and climb a ten foot ladder to continue on. Really nice singletrack here, through a beautiful green forest. It’s chilly, as the canopy is blocking out the sun, but I wore the Moeben sleeves I stole from Pete and they’re working fine (though I may have to contact the company about making a custom pair of lightweight titanium sleeves - it's pretty hard to contain my guns!).

Part IV: Caballo Base to Caballo Summit, 2.0 miles, 12.1 miles total
Climb number two. Up to the summit of Caballo Mountain (10,496 feet) and back down. Pretty steep, I get into a fast hike and make my way up. About halfway up I see something moving in the bushes. A bear? A mountain lion? An alien (Roswell isn’t too far away…)? Nope, it’s a chick taking a dump. Stupid contact lens. I’m sure the gal thinks I was watching her drop her deuce and thinks I’m a pervert.

Part V: Caballo Summit to Caballo Base, 2.0 miles, 14.1 miles total
As I’m at the summit of Caballo the lead runner for the 50K passes me (50 milers had started an hour earlier than 50Kers). I begin the trek down the mountain at a decent clip, though that’s hard to maintain due to lots of rocks and roots, as well as all the runners coming up. It’s a fun out and back, as I get to see a lot of friends, including all the Texans who have made the trip to the mountains.

Part VI: Caballo Base to Pipeline, 2.8 miles, 17 miles total
Fairly uneventful stretch. I’m still running well here, though not feeling great. But instead of a feeling of impending doom, I have an idea that things are going to get better soon. I continue on and soon hear Robert H talking smack. He’s volunteering at the Pipeline aid station and has my drop bag ready for me. I drink a ton of coke, eat some turkey, and dig my iPod out of my bag. Robert tells me, “jt, you’re literally going to run off the side of a cliff to start this next section.” Whatever. Crazy Texans, always exaggerating stuff…

Part VII: Pipeline to Valle Grande, 4.0 miles, 21.0 miles total
“Seriously, I hafta go down this? Where’s the rope?” Guess Robert wasn’t exaggerating after all, leaving Pipeline you take a straight drop down a cliff. You just kinda go and try not to kill yourself in the process, reminded me a lot of some of the sections of Hardrock. Once I finally reached the bottom I fired up the iPod and was energized by the tunes. I ran a great pace the rest of the way to Valle Grande, mostly jeep roads, and passed quite a few people, including Shannon.

Part VIII: Valle Grande to Pajarito Canyon, 7.8 miles, 28.7 miles total
Time for the big climb, to go along with the longest section between aid stations. The early part of this section is pretty cool. You’ve been running on singletrack and jeep roads through the forest for most of the day and here everything opens up and you head across a field through the Valles Caldera National Preserve. The first mile or so was slightly uphill, nothing too steep, and I was still running while most people were walking. Did a great job of not breaking an ankle here. Again, I passed quite a few runners. Eventually things got a lot steeper and I was forced to hike, but I kept a good pace. Even got to do a little bit of class IV scrambling through this section, reminded me of hiking a Colorado 14er. Soon I caught up to a runner who made a wisecrack about my young age (compared to him, anyways) and we got to talking. Turns out the guy had spent time in central Pennsylvania and knew the area, including Sunbury and even Kratzerville, very well. As we finally got to the top of the climb I told him “can’t believe I let an old fart hang with me.” We would continue this banter the rest of the day. Soon after, right around 25 miles, Shannon caught up to us. She said to me, “hey, I remember that hat from Fruita.” I had run behind her for several miles out there, and I was afraid she’d slug me if I told her what I remembered about her from that race, so I just congratulated her on her strong finish out there. I ran down the hill with those two for a bit, but eventually hit a rock wrong and wrecked my right ankle. I stopped to walk while those two took off. My ankle didn’t hurt for long, but for some reason that slip up had taken all the gas out of me. I was suddenly dead tired and had to walk for a while. But good times and bad times come and go in races such as these, and after about two miles I got a surge of energy and took off once again. I started running very well, quick enough that I thought I’d catch the old man and Shannon within no time. I was running so strong here that I started to think I could rally over the second half for that 11:09 I needed to win a six pack of beer. Guess I was thinking way too much at this point, because I soon realized it had been a while since I saw a course marker. FUCK ME! A conservative guess was that I had run a mile straight through an intersection where I shoulda made a left turn. Made even worse by the fact that I had to climb back up to the intersection. While it may not sound like much, what’s running two more miles if you’re already running 50?, psychologically this was a killer for me. Instead of being two more miles closer to the finish, I had run two miles and made it no closer. I was crushed. I found the intersection, which was very well marked, and slugged my way to the aid station. The longest 7.8 mile stretch made almost ten miles due to my own stupidity. I pretty much gave up after this point. Once I saw they had Fat Tire at the aid station, I took a seat against a tree and enjoyed a cold brew.


Part IX: Pajarito Canyon to Townsite Lift, 3.9 miles, 32.6 miles total
After sobbing in my beer for what seemed like hours, I finally left the aid station to continue on my way. Mentally I was defeated after the extra distance, but physically I felt decent enough that I thought about walking it in from here just to get the finish. But that’s a long way to walk, so I settled into my usual airborne shuffle. This entire section is a climb, but nothing too rough. I run some, I hike some, I stumble over some roots and rocks like the half blind half mind I am. I’m very tired by now, but as much as I’m suffering I’m having a good time, enjoying the beautiful scenery and exploring new trails. I soon come upon the aid station at the bottom of a ski lift.


Part X: Townsite Lift to Ski Lodge, 3.6 miles, 36.2 miles total
Time for the final climb. Back and forth across a ski run to the top of Pajarito Mountain (10,441ft - the 149th highest peak in New Mexico). Shortly after leaving the aid station, my mouth and both hands filled with food, I pass a guy barfing out a lung along the trail. “Dude, that’s pretty epic, you gonna be OK?” I ask. And in the most polite voice ever, he replies, “Oh yeah, I’ll feel much better after this.” A few switchbacks later I’ll look down the hill and give a yell of encouragement to the guy, who would continue on (unfortunately, I would find out later he dropped at the next aid station). Anywho, wow, did this climb ever suck the life out of me! I knew I was well ahead of the cutoff so my pace continued to slow down with each step. The climb reminded me a lot of the final climb at San Juan, not really that bad but it just knows the perfect time to come at you. And the whole time I was being taunted by the ski lift, making me wonder if I should take up another activity that requires no physical effort to get to the top of a mountain. To make things even worse, this part had quite a few false summits. Sheesh, I was tired. Eventually I did make it to the top, only be greeted by the one thing I hate more than climbing – a retardedly steep descent. I could see the Ski Lodge from the top of the mountain, but in between was a straight shot down a double black diamond ski slope. Too steep to run. Too rocky to slide. This was gonna take a while. But I trudged on and eventually got to within earshot of the deck at the Ski Lodge, where Robert was waiting and yelled out, “JT, you run like a girl.” That didn’t sit too well with the dozen or so females hanging out at the lodge.


Part XI: Ski Lodge to Pipeline, 2.9 miles, 39.1 miles total
Only 14 miles to go, once again I’ve come to peace with the fact that I can walk it in and still finish. But this is a short, flat section, so I begin my shuffle. Lo and behold, I pass a few people – one of them being the Old Man! “Where the hell have you been?” he asks. I put on a fake game face and say, “I don’t wanna talk. Where the hell is that chick?” “HA! She’s finished by now!” The old guy and I come into the Pipeline aid station together.


Part XII: Pipeline to Guaje Ridge, 3.7 miles, 42.8 miles total
I chug what has to be two liters of coke, eat a few turkey wraps, and begin to head out. The old man waves me on, saying he is taking a break. About two steps later some of the aid station volunteers point to a blow up sheep and tell me I can’t leave the aid station without having my picture taken with the sheep. Of course, being a hasher, I immediately begin molesting the poor thing, and the riotous laugh from all the volunteers leads me to believe this will be the photo of the day. There are two small climbs on a jeep road along this section, and they reduce me to a crawl. The old man rallies and passes me on the second hill. I’m now dueling with a runner wearing a UCLA shirt, and we’re going into an extensive history on the life and times of Ben Howland. Eventually the road turns to singletrack and I’m forced to slow down, a victim of my physical fatigue and poor eyesight. Eventually I hit the Guaje Ridge aid station. God bless those volunteers, they’ve been sitting on top of a ridge all day, enduring the dropping temperatures with no shelter from the wind.


Part XIII: Guaje Ridge to Rendija Canyon, 5.3 miles, 48.1 miles total
Leaving Guaje Ridge I decide to walk the final five miles to the finish, and this time I mean it. My legs are cooked from the past six weeks of huge mileage, I’ve been having trouble staying upright all day due to my vision, and frankly, I didn’t feel like running anymore. About two miles later I get passed by someone. And for some reason, this lights a fire under my ass. I begin running, pass the runner, and continue on. This section is somewhat technical, but for some reason I’m not having any problems anymore. I continue running and even pick up my pace. I begin to pass other runners. And there, up ahead, it’s the old guy! And he’s walking! And he hasn’t seen me! I pick up the pace yet again, and at this point of an ultra I feel like Usain Bolt, even though I’m probably running ten minute miles. I pass the old guy shortly before the final aid station.


Part XIV: Rendija Canyon to Posse Shack (finish), 1.9 miles, 50 miles total
The final aid station has a Christmas theme. As I run through without stopping someone asks, “you need anything?” “Yeah,” I reply, “where is the eggnog with booze?” Less than two miles to go and I’m now running like a madman. I run through a tunnel that we had passed about 48 miles earlier and now realize I’m within the final mile. I see someone ahead and go after him. After I get him, I see someone else and get him. I actually passed five people in the final mile, pretty hard to do in an ultra where people are usually spaced out. Soon enough, I round the corner near the horse stables and I’m at the finish line, crossing the in 13:37:58.

Part XV: Conclusion
Definitely not my best race ever. But after completing three 50 milers and a Grand Canyon double crossing in less than six weeks (and, let me remind you, also winning a 5K race in a course record time!), it’s about what I expected. My body is completely broken down right now, though that was the plan all along as I have plenty of time to get healthy again before Hardrock. Learned quite a bit from this race, like to remember to bring extra contacts to the next race, that I can go ten miles just using the two water bottles from my Nathan pack, and that I can’t tell the difference between 10,000 feet and 6,000 feet. It sure has been one helluva stretch and I will be getting to Silverton this year in much better condition than last year….

And for the record, this course is nothing compared to the San Juan Solstice!