Hobbling Around Europe Part 1: Francia, Pais Vasco y Ultra Trail de Ehunmilak

Hobbling Around Europe Part 1:  Francia, Pais Vasco y Ultra Trail de Ehunmilak



"We can make it if everything goes right.  We can make it if everything goes right."  I'm late as usual and Megan and I rush into downtown Prescott to borrow Josh's car to drive to Phoenix and try and board my flight.  Last time I borrowed Josh's car the timing belt broke.

We made good time down the 'hill' and I think to myself 'I am good,' when the tire blows.  I'm not sure what my problem with motor vehicles has been lately, its been a rough year, besides Frank.  Frank is the shit and is tough as nails.  Frank even went unscathed in the tumblings that destroyed my ankle a few weeks ago while chasing bulls, besides a broken windshield which one could argue isn't truly a part of Frank's essence.  

Luckily for me Josh is more responsible than I am and had all the necessary tools to throw on the spare in the back.  I lose about ten minutes but we fly into the airport and board just in the nick of time.  I made it,  with lots of sweaty hard work, and just by the skin of my teeth.  Unknowingly I had set the theme for the next month of my life.  It seems like everything has been close, hard, and relatively stressful.  But then again, this is how I travel.  Traveling for me is not a vacation, it is not relaxing, and at many times not even enjoyable.  I guess like all adventuring should be, whatever adventuring means.

My boarding pass says Oslo Norway.  Norway?  As much as I would love a trip to Norway, I had already begun to question trying to fit in a Norway trip right before my Spain/France endeavors this summer.  Luckily for me, United airlines loves engaging in the habit of selling more tickets than they have seats on the plane. An hour later I'm going to Paris instead with a hefty flight voucher to boot.

Ten hours later I'm in Paris, and none of my things are.  I file a claim and they say they'll send it here on the next flight, which means I need to find something to do for 24 hours in Paris.

I'm not very good at cities.  Especially when I've been awake all night and don't have my things.  I spend the day walking around Paris and riding the metro.  I wonder how I'm going to get to Spain.  Up until now I had thought a lot about buying another motorcycle and riding around Europe.  When reality started to sink in, I realized that the expense and logistics of actually doing this would be too much.  I'm already broke and its day one of a 10 week trip.  I knew I didn't want to take trains or buses.  Zipping around and paying top dollar for speedy trains to tourist destinations is not why I am here.  I find a bike shop and overpay on a new bicycle.  My trip just turned into an impulsive bike packing trip.

What a terrible idea.   Even at the time, I knew it wasn't the wisest decision I've ever made.  I am not at all prepared for a bike touring trip.  I have a huge backpack full of climbing, running and camping gear.  I have no idea how I'm going to get it on the bike.  I have no idea where I am going or what routes there are.  I don't even particularly like cycling trips.  I've done a number of them in the past, around the southwest, one from Costa Rica to Mexico, and every time I relearn that I'm not very good at it.

So here I am.  24 hours ago I was going to Norway to run fjords and mountains and motorcycle to Spain.  Now I'm in Paris about to ride a bicycle through farm country until Pais Vasco when I will finally hit some mountains.  In retrospect I feel unsure about these decisions, unsure if I regret not going to Norway, unsure if this is going to be fun, if this is going to be worth it.

After an incredibly stressful night, I'm back at the airport to pick up my things that I am unsure will arrive.  They do, and I spend the next few hours figuring out how to pack them onto the bike.  I feel the need to get out of Paris as soon as possible.  I needed out of the city and wanted to be on the bike.  I load onto a train for about an hour heading due west towards somewhere I don't remember where, unload, get on the bike and start heading south, or west, just kind of towards Spain.  I figure with Spain to my south and the ocean to the west it would be kind of hard to get lost.  Without a map or idea of what I was doing I set off and the first stage of my trip, finally, and it felt good.

In Paris, it was recommended that I head to the coast.  There was word of a coastal non-motorized cycling route  that spans the entire western coast of France all the way into Spain.  Traveling with no guide or map is interesting.  Never knowing what is around the corner, never really knowing when the next town was or the next resupply.  On a bike, its a constant balance between finding the least traveled road with the least traffic, but also making sure the road goes through and continues in the general direction of travel.  I probably spent 3 or 4 hours of each day being completely lost and retracing the way in which I had come, just to find a way through. 

The few days that it took me to arrive at the coast were pretty fun, albeit mildly boring.  Riding your bike through central and southern farm country on small roads  is awesome....for about half a day.  At a certain point every cow, every field, every stone barn, and every stone cathedral starts to blur together and look the same.  Oddly enough some of the funnest times were when I was lost, hopping fences and walking the crop fields, pushing my bike through the endless rows of greens.

I arrived at the coast somewhere north of La Rochelle, a town so stereotypically French I almost couldn't believe it.  I found the cycling route and trails somewhere around this time and started making my way south on 'The Velodyssye,'  the 1,250 km route that spans the French coast.

The bike culture is amazing in France.  I spent the first couple of days riding utterly confused, simply because people respect cyclists.  They actually don't mind slowing down and waiting to pass you until they can give you plenty of space.  Everywhere I went in France their were numerous other riders enjoying the countryside.  The Velodyssye is just one of the many large non motorized cycling routes in the country, and I was happy to be on it.  The southern section of this route takes you through the pristine beaches and forested southwest region of France.

I can't count how many times I felt like I was in Prescott, or Flagstaff, riding my bike through the pines on single track, just like any other day back at home.

I was so surprised and pleased by the forests in southern France.  In some places the forests would run right up to the beach, and terminate in the sands just before the waves.  The long stretches of abandoned beaches provided constant relief from the heat and humidity of the long days, and it was always nice to be back in the trees immediately after swimming and running on the beaches.

*          *          *

I didn't really even know I had crossed into Spain.  I knew I was close and I had come into town to try and find my way towards San Sebastian.  Suddenly I could understand people.  Well, kind of.  It has been some three or four years since I've spoken Spanish everyday, and the dialect in Pais Vasco is not exactly the the Mexican ranchero slang I'm accustomed to.  But I could communicate, and it was great.  I hadn't talked to anybody in a while.  

I ride into San Sebastian.  I had heard a lot about this place.  It's apparently considered to be one of the highlights of European tourism.  Food, culture, beaches, etc.  I had done a google search of San Sebastian before I arrived somewhere in France, and read these opening lines on the Lonely Planet's webpage:

         "It’s said that nothing is impossible. This is wrong. It’s impossible to lay eyes on San 

          Sebastián (Basque: Donostia) and not fall madly in love."

Anybody want to guess what I did???  I laid my eyes on San Sebastian...and wasn't all that impressed.  I went swimming and got some food and headed for the mountains.  The next day I finally arrived in Beasain, the start and finish of the Ehunmilak 100 miler I was going to 'run' in about a week.  I was lucky enough to get put up by the local alburgue.  This 'Hospital de Perigrinos' is one of the many housing options for pilgrims making there way towards Santiago on one of the many 'caminos.'  El Camino de Santiago is one the most famous pilgrimages in Europe, and I had unintentionally fallen into it, and would continue to interweave it into my own way west in the forthcoming weeks.

The 'Hospital de Peregrinos' in Beasain.

Beasain is about 10k from the village of Zegama, a small, nearly unheard of town in Pais Vasco; that is unless you are a trail runner.  The Zegama Marathon is one of the most famous mountain runs in the world, and has served as the World Skyrunning Championships.

The next morning I pack up my running pack and head for the course.  The course winds its way up and down into and out of the forests and up above treeline several times before finding its way back to Zegama, en route traversing highly technical, rocky terrain and accumulating a staggering amount of elevation gain for such a 'short', 42km, run.

The mountains here, are not very big, considering elevation.  But what they lack in height they make up for in ruggedness and prominence.  The trails up these mountains are classically European, opting for steep direct lines rather than meandering and switch-backing. 



Once up, the rocky tops make for some fun yet difficult running.  The Ehunmilak runs much of the same course as Zegama, only in the other direction. 

As much fun as I was having that day checking out the Zegama course, I couldn't help but think forward to race day.  These technical rocky trails were fun today.  The ridiculously steep climbs doable now.

  

The thought of running these routes  after I had already run about 80-90 miles and some 30,000 ft of elevation gain was enormously intimidating. 

 

 

Like most mountains in Europe, there is a rich history of human endeavors deep in the mountains.  Old churches, refugios, old buildings I have no idea as to what uses they'd served.

The Ehunmilak course runs up into and through this old cave/refugio.

Most of my time in Beasain was spent resting and recovering.  I was generally exhausted from riding my bike across France to get to Beasain.  My ankle hadn't recovered as much as I had hoped, mostly due to me reaggravating it continuously every few days, not letting it heal by doing things like running the Zegama marathon course.  Oh and riding my bike to and running up Txindoki.

Txindoki.

On the way up Txindoki.

From the top Txindoki.

The next few days were rather stagnant.  Trying to rest and let me ankle recover.  I had reaggravated it on Tuesday while bouldering and then again on Wednesday descending Txindoki. I tried not to say much to anybody, I tried not to admit it to myself, that all the time and money and energy I had put into getting here, and this race was going to come down to a decision I would make the day of the race.  Injured and under trained, I waited for Friday.

*         *         *

The Ehunmilak Ultra 100

I have a uncontrollable trait of just going for things.  Regardless of whether its intelligent, advisable, or practical.  This whole trip is an extension of this, and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't run.  I hadn't had a long run in about 3 months.  I had run maybe a total of 5 times in those 3 months due to a combination of taking a mid season break and then getting injured.  

Oh well.  Fuck it.  Lace up and run in the mountains.

Photo courtesy of Festak.com

I felt really good the first 60k.  I was having fun and enjoying the atmosphere of my first european race.  The energy and the people is unlike anything I have ever experienced.

Photo courtesy of Festak.com

The wheels began to fall off somewhere around midnight I think.  I get asked a lot for advice from people running there first hundreds.  I always tell them that, 'Its extremely important to know and have the confidence that you will feel better.  When you hit those low points, those moments of suffering and emotional weakness, that it will get better and you will feel better.'  I waited all night for it to feel better and it never did.

I don't want to dress this up too much with philosophical bullshit and spiritual nonsense.  I went into one of the hardest races in the world under trained and injured, and I had a really hard time.  That's really all there is.

Photo courtesy of Festak.com

I had made a lot of friends in Beasain.  The community had welcomed me with open arms and were excited to see an American run this race.  Finishing Ehunmilak was maybe one of the stupidest things I have ever done to myself.  Their is racing, their is finishing, their is suffering and overcoming and gutting out finishes.  I'm not sure when you cross the line into detrimental effects to the body from these things.  At some point, I just made up my mind that I was going to finish.  It was going to be ugly and dangerous, but I wasn't going to stop.  I felt I owed it to everybody that had helped me get here, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I didn't finish.

I'm not very proud of what I did.  I'm dissapointed and wish I had run better.  I don't ever care about what place I get in a race.  I just want to feel good about my run, and that I ran to my potential.  Most importantly I want to enjoy myself and have fun.  I want my races to add to my overall experience and make me feel happy and accomplished.  My personal experience at Ehunmilak didn't do any of that, and for the first time in my running career, I have begun to seriously doubt why I do these races.  I'm not talking about that feeling you get in the middle of an ultra, something like 'I am never going to do this again,' and then the next day you sign up for a another race.  I have spent that last couple weeks seriously reconsidering and rethinking my role in the sport. I am not an athlete, I am not very interested in 'the sport' of running, and when I see myself becoming more concerned with competition rather than enjoying myself, being active and being in nature, I have to take a step back and regroup.

I want to run free, without cameras, without mandatory gear, without watches.  Once again I need to find that spot where I am having fun and enjoying my time running.  This probably means I am not going to be very competitive at the upcoming races.  I guess I'm at a point that I don't really care.  I'm going to run for the experience, for the fun of it, and I am going to enjoy these things as much as possible, and I feel really good about it.  I have switched to the shorter, marathon version of Desafio Somiedo, and I am really looking forward to the race.

Nos Vemos a Somiedo!!!



The following video has nothing to do with running or me, and more to do with me missing home and missing playing music and my guitar.  Todd Snider is one of the best current songwriters and storytellers and he makes me miss America!!!

Fumbling Into Europe; Preperations for Ehunmilak

Fumbling Into Europe; Preperations for Ehunmilak

I have never traveled through Europe.  When I was 17 my mother and I flew into France for two weeks and did the Paris thing.  Cigarettes and cafes and sightseeing.  I never went back as an adult, mainly for not really having a reason to go.  I am a terrible tourist.  I don't like going to look at things.  To me western Europe always embodied this sort of travel, getting shuttled around on trains and buses, going from one popular destination to the next, taking photos, eating cheeses, drinking wine, spending money.

I started traveling when I was 19 years old.  From the very beginning I was always attracted to the more exotic places in this world.  I certainly didn't have anything against Europe, its just too similar to the US,  it's still western culture.  I wanted to go to the '3rd World'.  That place not seen on PBS specials or in Frommer's guide books.  I wanted to see dark and uncomfortable places, get pick-pocketed, be tested.  Europe is where you go to vacation, relax.  I've never wanted to do either of those.

I spent years traveling around to parts of the world that fascinated me.  At 19 years old I flew to India.  Got my first real taste of a different culture.  Found my way to Nepal and snuck and hitchhiked through Tibet.  My first Latin American trip a year later with friends from AZ.  During college I traveled extensively around the Rockey west, spending 4 weeks in the winter and 3 months of every summer out hitchhiking,  lugging around backpacks full of climbing gear, Colorado, Nevada Wyoming, Washington, Montana, Oregon.  It was on one of these trips where I was picked up by my friend Gib who owned and worked a horse ranch on the Canadian border, a spot I would return to every summer for some work and idealistic existing.  These western American hitchhiking trips, which encompassed some three years of my life, countless trips, countless experiences, countless stories, have unfortunately and inevitably blurred together in what feels like a singular experience, a singular friend made, a single mountain climbed.

When college ended, I found myself with an open window.  An opportunity to leave and not have a date I needed to be back.  I graduated Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona with a duel major in Biology and Chemistry.  Quite literally the morning after graduating, I hopped on a one way flight to Buenos Aries, Argentina, and began making my way to Patagonia, La Tierra Del Fuego, and a land that has since stuck as one of the most breathtaking and magical places in the world, southern Chile.  I spent the next part of my life busing, bicycling, hitchhiking, working, hiking, climbing my way back to Arizona, en route to some of my most cherished experiences and memories.

When the dust finally settled I found myself back in my hometown of Prescott, AZ.  Within a week or two a job opportunity at the community college manifested, and a few months later I bought the property that I now currently live and work on.  The last few years have been some of the most static of my life, working my property, and spending my summers traveling and seasonal working gigs in the mountains.  Countless Mexico trips, Canadian Rockies, and motorcycle trips, but nothing overseas in a few years.  It wasn't until the promise of the Ultra Trail du Mont-Blanc, did I begin thinking of another overseas trip, and finally the reason I had hitherto lacked to finally venture towards Europe.  Finally, after a decade of traveling, there is nowhere else in the world I would rather spend my summer, than Europe.

---

I'm still relatively new to this whole running thing.  To be perfectly honest I still feel apprehensive about even calling myself a runner.  So I was as surprised as anybody to find out that the reason I would have to finally go to Europe would be racing. When I applied to UTMB, I actually didn't think I was going to get in.  I figured I would throw my name into the lottery, and get my odds increasing for following years.  A strategy that many of my fellow runners use towards Western States or Hardrock.

It was around this time that I had also been communicating and working on an interview with Abel Noe Rodriguez, founder of Ultra Life Team, http://www.ultralifeteam.com/, an online trail running community in Spain.  After we found out that UTMB was happening, Abel and I began discussing opportunities of racing in Spain earlier in the summer.  This quickly grew into an entire summer of racing in Europe, including what will be my most difficult race to date, Ehunmilak.

Ehunmilak.  100 miles.  36,000' of ascent. Basque Country.  Western Pyrenees. Hardrock Qualifier.


EhunMilak, el viaje de las 100 millas. from Ornitorrinco Collective on Vimeo.

Although I'm biased towards the mountains, check out some of these other areas we run through on the route...Ehunmilak Meet Our Environment

To be honest I'm not completely sure how to prepare myself for this race.  It will be by far the hardest run of my life, and I feel a bit like I am running my first ultra.  I think a highly undervalued and unspoken trait of ultra runners is the ability to withstand and overcome moments that they have had no preparation for.  During moments of inexperience and insecurity, they are able to overcome, push through, figure it out and keep going.

If I can say that I am good at anything when it comes to ultras, I would like to believe that it is this side of things.  I am not the most gifted athlete, I am not the strongest or the fastest, I am often times the most inexperienced runner near the front.  I'm a terrible trainer and eat a mediocre at best diet.  But I can keep going.  I can keep running and moving under desperate conditions.  Simply put, I can suffer.

One thing I love most about my time running, are the places it literally takes me.  Western Pyranees.  Basque Country.  Southern France.  The Pyranees offer a chance at authentic European culture, underdeveloped, cultural mountain towns.  I love that what brings me into these unexplored, unknown regions are initially races, and always grow into something much more, in this case, a summer based in and around Spain.  A quick google search brings up this.

http://www.esloqhay.com/excursiones/acherito/

As of this writing, I have one more week before I venture overseas.  Flight scheduling 'recommended' I fly into and out of Oslo, Norway.  I took the bait and will be heading to Europe a few weeks before Ehunmilak in order to explore Norway and most likely over do it in preparation for the race.  The plan is to find a cheap motorcycle and spend my days traveling on that.  I reckon I can't think of a better way to travel through Europe, just don't tell Frank.

Its also worth noting that approximately 5 days ago my Uncle Joe from Texas came to visit and help wire up the cabin I have been building the last 6 months.  Needless to say I drank a bottle of tequila and decided to herd a stampede of cattle on my motorcycle (pretty standard for an Uncle Joe visit).  SOMEHOW I crashed and smashed up my right foot and ankle.  The severity of the injury remains a bit of a mystery as my talent for herding cattle on Frank is exceeded only by my stubbornness to not go to the doctor.  Given I nearly cut off my finger last month, and now crashed on Frank, I was recently told that I am 'injury prone.'  I laughed and agreed and walked away.  Later I was thinking to myself that it's not necessarily being 'injury prone' if you drink a bottle of tequila and stampede cattle on your motorcycle and crash.  Its just what is going to happen.

To me running is an amazing part of my life.  But it is exactly that.  One part of many amazing things that I get experience.  I watch many athletes around be become obsessed, where running begins to dictate other aspects of their lives in a negative manner.  Running to me exists in addition to the life I already live, and by no means defines me.  I never want to catch myself saying that I can't, or won't do something because 'I'm training' or 'I have a race.'  Living life to the fullest comes first, and when running adds to the adventure, it can be a beautiful thing. 

I hope that this summer's races do exactly that, add to my adventures and I can continue to experience and live life to the fullest between the races.  Given the locations (Norway, Spain, Pais Basco, France, Switzerland, Italy) and people I will be surrounded by (Abel, Ehunmilak crew, Desafio Somiedo crew, UTMB crew, European friends, American friends), I am filled with confidence that this summer will be one of my finest.  Moving forward,  I can only hope and trust that my body will respond accordingly, and I'll be ready to toe the line in 4 weeks at Ehunmilak in Pais Vasco.

A Week In The Desert, & A Hundred Mile Run

I have been trying to focus on 100 mile runs for a while.  Last year I decided to hit the road on the motorcycle and run the Skyrunning series instead of the big summer mountain hundred milers.  I finished my year with an attempt at the 107 mile Mogollon Monster near my home in Arizona, only to have the race called off at mile 58.  With the offseason taking me through the winter, I geared up for a big 2015, including 2 of the hardest hundred milers in the world in Europe in July and August.  My spring so far has been hit and miss with racing, running mostly mediocre races and not being able to find my competitive step.  A steady day at the Black Canyon 100k, a controversial fun run in Mexico, a painful 50k at Mesquite Canyon.  

I didn't want to wait till summer.  I had been craving a hundred miler for over a year.  Enter Zion 100, some 10 days away.   Impulsive, arrogant, disrespectful, I needed another 100 mile finish.

My friend and climbing partner Josh Bradley (aka Diabetes) leave Flagstaff Monday morning and head north.  We comment on the ridiculousness of driving through so much amazing terrain on our way towards Zion.  Why drive so far for exploration when there's so much to be had nearby?  We pass one of my favorite spots in the world, Lee's Ferry on the Colorado River at the top of Marble Canyon.  Little Colorado Gorge and River, Marble Canyon, Vermilion Cliffs, Paria Canyon, what's left of Glen Canyon, The North Rim, Escalante, etc etc etc all within an hour.  Josh and I muse at the idea of climbing The Tooth.  One of the largest sandstone spires in the world is visible from the access road to Lee's Ferry.  It has a wild history in desert climbing lore, being freed for the first time only just in 2007.  We drive on.

Surprisingly we make it without to many delays to Zion.  We arrive in the afternoon and decide to get our feet wet on an adventure route and get a taste of the climbing grades here.  We find a route 800' up Aries Butte on the east side of the park rated 5.7.  The approach may have been more fantastic than the climb.

We rope up and simul climb the easy frictiony slab and are up in about 20 minutes.  

 

 

 On the decent of the route dubiously named 'Led by Sheep,' we find this desert bighorn.

The next morning we head for a more traditional, but just as amazing day within the park at Angel's Landing.  We link the Emerald Pools trails to log a few extra miles, and head up one of the coolest trails out there.

At only 2.5 miles up, Angels landing may be the coolest 5 mile run in the world.

We spend the rest of the day climbing and exploring the lesser visited areas of the park.  

 The next morning we head to Kolob Canyon, the northern section of the National Park.  It didn't
 disappoint.

I'm not much of a sport climber, but with climbs like this...

Dramatically overhanging sandstone with varnished pockets and jugs, I have never seen anything else like this spot.  It was absolutely made to climb.  By far the coolest sport climbing wall I have ever been to.  We left a bit early as it was absolutely freezing in the canyon, and I didn't want to push my luck with the race on Friday.

Thursday morning we wake up and I plan on a whole lot of nothing besides eating and hydrating.  That lasts till about noon and we head to Snow Canyon State Park and climb the 4 pitch 5.10c Living On The Edge.

Top of pitch 1. Photo by Steve F. Gray Photography.

Photo by Steve F. Gray Photography.

Photo by Steve F. Gray Photography.

Photo by Steve F. Gray Photography.

Zion 100 Mile

4 am we decide to make coffee on our camp stove in the hotel room.  Needless to say a fire breaks out, we get it out quick, fill our room with smoke and blast the a/c with windows open hoping the alarms don't go off and evacuate the hotel.  Pretty good way to start the day.

It's hard to know how to feel the morning before a hundred.  You know rationally what you are about to do, but to actually understand wholly what you are about to undertake, the emotions you are about to experience, the pain you are going to push through, its hard to comprehend.  You just kind of go for it, start without too much thought, and try not to push your self to early.

For me that morning, the pain started early.  I found myself struggling to keep the pace of the lead pack by mile 20, and by 25 I was spent.  If the race was a 50k, I would have had a hard day.  Megan surprised me at mile 30, she said she could not come because of work.  I wish I could have shown more excitement but was already hurting.

As a competitive runner, its a difficult decision to make.  We come to compete, to race.  On days where we don't have it, whatever it is, do we throw in the towel, or gut out a finish.  We know we can finish, its not about the finish.  We have 34 hours to finish, and realistically could walk in the last 50 miles and still finish.  Do we save it for another day, or do we put our ego aside, and give it the best effort we can for that day, even though we may not be proud of the time or result afterword?  I'm still not sure what the right decision is on days like these.  I have DNFed before, but always in 50ks.  I think that for whatever reason I have something in me that demands to finish the longer runs.

I damn near collapsed at mile 48.  I sat with my crew, Josh, Megan, Brianna.  I sat for along time debating my day.  I had decided to drop about three times already.  I asked when pacers were allowed to start in and Megan found out that it was now.  I decided to stagger my pacers and use them for the 6-8 mile legs in between aid and alternate with pacer then without pacer for these legs.  About 20 minutes later, I get up and head out.  The next 6 miles I seemed to wake up.  Running with Josh, for a reason I have no idea why, made me feel good.

Photo courtesy of PhotoSynthetix.

What proceeded for the next 9 hours or so was a fairly uneventful evening of emotional and physical hills and valleys.  Constantly feeling destroyed, followed by brief moments of looseness and clarity.  I kept moving and with my awesome crew and pacers was able to come in just under 19 hours.  My second 50 was better than my first, and at the end of the day, am super excited to finish. 

My Zion 100 crew.

 Although obviously disappointment I wasn't able to race,  I came away with a much more humble and authentic gratitude for finishing.  I guess sometimes the only thing that matters is the running.

 

Photo courtesy of PhotoSynthetix.

On another note, I was super happy to partake in an Ultra Adventures event for the first time.  Matt puts on Grade A events and I'm already looking forward to the next.

My first race buckle that I will actually wear.

Its interesting to note that in Utah, 100 milers are held on Friday instead of the usual race day Saturday.  This is to accommodate for the fact that many of the participants are Mormon, and since most runners go well into the next day, they would not be able to partake with a Saturday start going well into Sunday. 

We hung around on Saturday, soaking in the Virgin River and mingling around the race finish.  We watched the 50k runners come in for while and drank beer.  Sunday, Megan and I headed home for Flagstaff, stopping every chance we could to get out and move around.  Just outside of Colorado City, we found some amazing bouldering.

Colorado City is home to the fundamentalist sect of Mormons made famous by Jon Krakauer's book Under the Banner of Heaven.  I highly recommend the read.  We drove around and looked at all the bunker style homes, then decided we had pressed our luck enough (one does not want to get stuck in Colorado City) and moved on.  

Of course, we made another obligatory stop at Lee's Ferry for another ice bath in the river.

Back in Flag, I spent the next couple of days running and climbing.

Monday I spent about 4 hours trying to get from the right side of this rock to the left.  I didn't do it.

Adios nos vemos pronto...

Why I Ran: The 2015 Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco

Why I Ran.

Last year (2014) I was extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to travel to Copper Canyon (Las Barrancas Del Cobre) and participate in what has come to be known as the Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco.  Today with help from the race organizers and the Narawas de Raramuri, the race continues to preserve the message of community, hope, peace and running free, and serves as an opportunity for international runners from around the world, and local indigenous Tarahumara, or Raramuri to share not just trails, but in the pure love and passion that we all have for running.  It has become truly one of the most unique races in the world, and has become an important economic staple for the town of Urique.  When Maria (co-RD with Josue Stephens) asked if I would return for the 13^th running this year, I accepted without hesitation. 

This year I was fortunate enough to travel down to the canyons with other runners from Arizona. Rene Peinado, Erica Smith, Miguel Moreno and myself piled into Rene’s truck at 3am Tuesday morning, and headed for the canyons.  The Narawas de Raramuri have helped many Tarahumara runners to travel and race in the United States.  Because of this, all three of my fellow travelers have become close friends with not just the runners but with their families.  It was then that I realized my trip was going to be dramatically different than the previous year, where I spent most of the trip interacting with other runners mostly from the US, and staying at the camp/hostel where most visitors stay.  The Raramuri are notoriously stoic and humble people, so I was excited to have the opportunity to stay amongst them in a much more personal and authentic manner this go around. 

Las Barrancas del Cobre, and more generally, the entire Sierra Madre, with its endless wilderness, deep canyons, inaccessible terrain, indigenous peoples and variable weather, attract not only tourists, but naturally drug traffickers and cartels.  They exploit not only the terrain, but also the local indigenous and non indigenous families and children.  It is a part of their daily life here, and often have to endure extended periods of ‘lending’ their children to work the fields.  As it was explained to me, children will be abducted by the cartel, and put to work doing simple field tasks, and returned after the need for labor is reduced.  Objection in the canyon is met with violence, and resistance is easily suffocated.  It is just one example of the daily struggle that many of the local families endure.

Despite all of the violence that breeds within the canyons, the Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco has gone off with no major hitches in its first 12 years.  From those humble beginnings and first race with Scott Jurek, Jen Shelton, et al. Micah True’s race came to fruition.  Since then the race has grown to a now unforeseen status.  It is the largest economic week in the town and neighboring villages and is without a doubt the most internationally recognized ultra in Mexico.  The idealistic footrace that one envisions of a small, grass roots event in the middle of the Sierra Madre is no longer.  Chris McDougall’s book Born To Run 2009, let the secret out of the bag.  Every year thousands of people from around the world, mostly Mexicans from neighboring cities and states, descend upon Urique for festivities ranging from live music, live dancing, government speeches, and of course the races.  With all of these festivities, it is easy to forget, that all of it, is happening quite literally in the backyards of the cartels.  One could even argue that the cartels ALLOWS the event to take place every year, and even sees to its success. 

The Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco serves as a sanctuary, a beacon of peace and community that imposes itself on the canyon country every year come March.  The focus they are able to bring to the canyons transpires beyond the runners, and sends a message of hope to the families living within their depths.  In the races many roles within the community, this may be the most important; a symbolic stand against violence, within ourselves, within the canyons, and across the world. 

Our group arrived early Wednesday evening, with Miguel and Erica choosing to spend a night on the rim at ‘El Chato’s’ (Mario) camp, Rene and I descended into Urique.  The leadings up to the race went off as expected.  All of the events went off as scheduled even up to and after the children’s race come Saturday morning.  The big difference this year that I noticed compared to the previous was the talk of recent violence in the area.  Rumors had begun to leak about cartel violence in not just the area, but this time in downtown Urique.  Like many things in Mexico, this talk was hushed, swept under the rug if you will to preserve the atmosphere and preserve the race. 

It is important to note that it is extremely rare for violence in Mexico to involve foreigners.  Both local governments, and the cartels seem to mutually agree on the benefit of tourism, and would prefer to leave foreigners, especially Americans out of the mix.  This may be one of the most important if not the reason that the race has gone off every year under such a guise of tranquility and peace.  This year however, the race seems to have come at a time of high conflict between rivaling cartels.  Word in the canyon this weekend was that in the month of December alone, there were over 100 murders in the neighboring canyon within the ongoing war between the competing cartels.  It seems this information could be exaggerated as other sources cite numbers far lower.  It would seem that this year, even the race would not be enough to calm the violence.

It is extremely difficult to gauge the seriousness and magnitude of cartel violence in the Sierra Madre for a number of reasons.  The race directors and Narawas de Raramuri experienced this first hand this year.  The local governments, in attempts to put on a pretty face for tourists, tend to cover up the violence and downplay the war.  On the other hand, local rumors spread like wildfire up and down the canyon walls, and what could have been a relatively small violent act within the cartel, can be exaggerated into a massacre once it reaches the canyon rim.  Therefore any information about what took place this last weekend, should be received with a fair amount of skepticism and maturity.

I’m sure by now most of us have seen the reports of a double murder and abduction that occurred the weekend of the race.  I had heard this rumor sometime on Friday.  At the time that I heard this, it seemed apparent that many of the local figures, including Mario and his brothers, on whose property myself, Miguel, Erica, Rene and many of the now visiting Tarahumara from neighboring villages were camped, were acting a bit strange.  It had also seemed to me that whatever had happened that morning, the aggressors had made it a point to not alert any tourists and visitors.  Urique was as normal as ever Friday night, and Saturday morning continued without incident.

It is difficult to gauge exactly what happened in this initial incident but one source of information cites the following:

"Editors URIQUE.- After reporting the execution of two people about 20 miles from the county seat of Urique, yesterday morning an armed deprived of freedom the commander of the Municipal Police, Ramón Sáenz, and disarmed the agents of the corporation. While the spokesman for the prosecutor Zone West, Alexa Lara Meraz, confirmed that state agents Research Division received a report of a double homicide, the Town Clerk, Jair Jairo Rincon Band, said execution It happened last Thursday night in the area known as La Cobriza, however, the municipal official secrecy to a suspect, said he was unaware some other event occurred yesterday morning; Meanwhile, several calls from frightened citizens armed themselves and value reported that an armed group stormed the municipal seat, disarmed the officers on duty and no shot was the commander Ramón Uriah. The witnesses reported to the media that heavily armed civilians took an ambulance equipped and stole a pickup recent model citizen. Upon the occurrence of the above, dozens of Mexican Army arrived in the mountain town for constant tours pick ups and trucks. So far it is unknown whether the police command was released or is still retained. Those killed are David Israel Herrera and Isael Castillo Castillo Torres."

It was not until Saturday afternoon, after the children’s race and during packet pickup for the race on Sunday that something had obviously changed.  I obviously cannot speak for the directors of the race, but I believe they had been enduring mixed information from the local and state governments all weekend, and it had finally came to a boiling point on Saturday.  As per Maria Walton, "There have been approximately 12 murders in Urique since December. The Government officials were aware of the danger, and were not honest with sharing this information with us since we began questioning. Josue and his son witnessed the abduction of these murdered officers."  In addition to the incident that had already occurred, there were reports from locals and tourists alike of gunfire in the neighboring village of Guapalaina, some 2 or 3 miles away.  For runners that know the course of the race, this is the village that you run through on your way out to and back from Los Alisos. 

It would later come to our attention what had actually happened in Guapalina that day.  After our departure from Urique on Monday, we stopped in Creel at Rene’s Aunt and Uncle’s to say goodbye and to thank them for their hospitality.  The information that had been accepted in Creel about the incident on Saturday by many reputable figures was far worse than what any of us had imagined.  I feel the need to repeat that THIS INFORMATION IS NOT CONFIRMED, and one should take it as speculative.  Supposedly on Saturday two rivaling cartels exchanged gunfire for approximately 5 hours in the village of Guapilaina, leaving approximately 20 dead.  Four police officers were taken captive and executed.  As far as anyone knew, all deaths were fighters within the cartels, and no civilians and certainly no tourists were harmed.  Whether truth or speculative rumor, one can only imagine what was going through the minds of the race directors and local authority figures come Saturday afternoon.

I again cannot speak for the directors, and what information they had and did not have, but they without a doubt made the correct decision in cancelling the 2015 Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco.  I respect and support their decision 100% to not hold the race in the middle of such acts of war.  It would have been a huge mistake to ask the runners to head out onto a course where the directors could not 100% guarantee the safety of the runners.  It would be hard for me to give people like Josue, Maria, Flint, Mike, etc more respect than I already have, but they earned it on Saturday by making such a difficult decision during such a turbulent time.  This one statement from Maria sums it up perfectly.  "As Race Directors, and Parents, we could not with a clear conscience allow our runners, our family and friends participate in a running event which would clearly endanger their lives."

The announcement was made to the ‘Mas Loco’ group at Entre Amigos around 3pm, and as an act of solidarity and peace towards the community, we were asked to walk united into town to deliver the message to the community and other runners.  At 4pm on Saturday, Josue announced to the crowd that this year’s race was cancelled, and all attempts would be made to regroup and come back next year and hopefully hold the race during a time of peace.  The announcement was greeted with obvious mixed emotions from the international and Mexican runners.  It is important to understand that at this time, the majority of runners had ZERO knowledge of any violence at all that had taken place.

That evening at around 8pm another rumor had started.  The local government of Urique and the state of Chihuahua were putting the race back on.  In what can only be described as a takeover, the local authorities had decided to try and save face and hold the race in some form on Sunday.  Given the importance to the local economies that the race had become, one can understand their motives.  Police reinforcements descended into Urique, and runner’s safety was ‘guaranteed.’ 

Personally I greeted the news with skepticism.  I went down town and found Josue and confirmed that whatever race was to take place on Sunday, had absolutely no affiliation with the Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco, Fuego y Agua Events, Las Narawas de Raramuri or any other partnering organization.  What proceeded in the town square was a series of announcements by local authorities, greeted by hundreds of drunk locals and foreign tourists which evolved into nothing short of a civil fiasco.

A tone of conflict had been set.  It was a tone of division, of ‘us’ and ‘them.’  Runners now had to choose sides, whether to run this mock race on Sunday, or to unite as an act of peace and leave town in the morning.  That evening I found myself in the middle of meetings I felt I had no business being in.  Amongst all of the information that was most pertinent, of all the emotions, of all the politics, all the bullshit, the thing that stood out most, was that the Raramuri had stayed, and they wanted to run.  Suggestions of a ball race crept into the picture.  The Raramuri seemed to not care about the violence, the conflict, the politics.  They didn’t care about who was in control of the race.  The only thing that made sense to them, was to run.

That night after the downtown had calmed down most of us (Americans) found our way back to Entre Amigos where Maria was having a meeting with the ‘Club Mas Loco’ runners.  It was after these discussions that everyone had agreed to take a united stand to not participate in the race in the morning, and to make a stand of peace and protest the mock event on Sunday.  I sat quietly during most of this meeting, not having the courage to voice my true opinion on the matter.  I said to friends that night in the same room with everyone around that I didn’t think it made sense.  In many ways it made the most sense to run the canyons, not to run home.  I also felt committed to Maria, as she had personally invited me this year, so I decided out of respect to her and the stand that the organization was making, I would not participate in the following days' events.  I did however voice that I would be there at the start, and during the race to support the runners that did run, and to support the Raramuri.  Late into the night, I laid down with an uneasy feeling about the next morning.

Miguel woke me up.  I had slept in late and barely had time to make it to the start.  I cheered for the runners and envied in their courage to toe the line that morning.  The other thing that I had noticed was the lack of support from foreigners.  This had turned into a truly local event, and in many ways was a more authentic race than the one that was to take place being that the majority of runners were Raramuri.  A group of us went and sat down to have breakfast, and to wait for the runners' return.

It is this moment when my attitude truly began to sway.  I saw the Raramuris take off that morning just as they would in any other race, just as they have been doing for generations, and just as they will do for generations to come once all the outsiders are gone and Caballo Blanco is just a myth.  To them, it didn’t matter about the violence.  It is part of life here and something that they have to deal with day in and day out.  They will still run.  They didn’t care about the politics.  The previous night’s events were squabblings and emotions running wild.  They will still run.  They didn’t care about the corn vouchers.  They have survived long before and will survive long after the donations stop coming in.  They will still run.

That morning as we sat on the street in Urique, myself, Miguel, Erica, Dean, Dang, we watched.  We watched locals continuing their daily work.  We watched legendary runners take off in the true spirit of the canyons.  But the thing we watched the most, were tourists, with loaded backpacks, walking down the street, headed for buses and airplanes that would take them to safety.  As the Raramuri were out running their race, these lucky foreigners, left the community behind.  I know this was not the intent of anybody that left on Sunday, and I completely understand and respect their decisions to do so, but you must understand the message that it sent to the community of Urique.  For me, the metaphor was too much.  It left a feeling in my stomach that I don’t think I have ever felt before.  I felt sick. Just being a tourist in the streets that day I felt disrespectful, like I was rubbing something in that I didn’t know what.  I can only imagine how the locals felt watching these fortunate people abandon them in the bottom of the canyon.  Leaving them to deal with their own problems now.

The locals don’t have the option to flee.  This is their home.  These are their lives.  They will run in peace.  They will run in war.  They will run with us, or they will run without us.  The most important thing is TO RUN.  I could not get this message out of my head that morning.  Forget everything else, and run with the Raramuri. 

I saw Maria in the street and approached her and told her how I felt.  I told her that I loved and respected her more than she could know, but for me, the most honest and authentic thing I could do that morning was to run in Las Barrancas Del Cobre with the Raramuris.   Some two and half or three hours after the race had started, Miguel and myself stripped down in the middle of the street in downtown Urique, and with Erica accompanied by the cheers of the locals, ran to the start where they drew numbers on our legs, and started off into the canyons to run with our friends.  I found Rene who was near the bridge supporting and cheering for runners and told him that I would hope he would join.  Later I saw him on the course pacing his friend.  She wanted to drop a little over half way into the course.  Rene took it upon himself to help her get to the finish, and we celebrated when she did. Reinforced by the many people who cheered me out of the streets of Urique, I knew I had made the right decision.  My only regret was not having the courage to come to these realizations earlier.

I don’t know how far I ran that day.  I don’t know what time I ran it in.  I have no idea what place I got, or if I was even registered in the race. What I do know is that I have never run so easy, so free and light. I ran all day in the sun up and down canyons, in the middle of hundreds of Raramuri and never felt better.  All the negativities of the violence, the fighting, the dramatics, the politics of the preceding weekend were gone, and we were running.  This was the stand.  This was the protest.  This was the message.  We were running for peace in a place ravaged by war.  We were running for community and family.  We were running to simply run,  sharing in the true spirit of all of the runners who have ever run those canyon walls.  This was running free.

I don’t know what is going to happen to the Ultra Maraton de Caballo Blanco.  This year changed a lot of people’s outlook and feelings towards the race, and I can only hope that whatever happens down there, will continue the spirit of what Micah originally wanted for his race to be, to support the Raramuris culture, and to reinforce running free in that culture.  I know that for me, as long as I am welcomed, I will be back to see it for many years to come.

Corre libre.

“While they are at war, we come together to create peace and hope at the bottom of a deep canyon in the middle of nowhere; nowhere but beauty, to create peace and run free.  What more is there?” -  Micah True (1953-2012).