Red Hot 50+
One hundred and forty men and fourty-six women lined up in Moab, Utah Saturday morning—a balmy 19 degrees at the start—to tackle the Red Hot 50+. We were all there to cover an extended 50k trail (33 miles) on foot.
I signed up to use this event as booth an introduction to ultra-marathoning and as a qualifier to complete my official registration in the 56-mile Comrades Marathon this coming May in South Africa.
Many of Saturday’s runners were surprised at the difficulty of the course conditions, primarily due to the snow—8-12 inches of it from miles 11-12—and lots of slush and mud throughout.
Most of the runners were probably well aware of the technical difficulty of the course without the snow cover, but yours truly was completely ignorant. I naively assumed that when they make a race 34-mile running race competitors are going to able to run nearly all of it … or at least almost all of it.
My five hour and fifteen minute goal was completely blown out of the water and would have been in even the driest conditions. Those of you who’ve read any of my ramblings will know that this prosthetic leg of mine might not be much of an advantage, but rarely, if ever, has it been such a disadvantage.
The combination of the steep descents on slick rock and off-kilter footing throughout reduced me to a shuffle and a quick march for much of the event. (In retrospect I would have been well-served to use more of a walking type leg than a “C” shaped runner, particularly in 12 inches of snow!)
Things started out well with a long climb on snow-pack then leveled out for a nine-minute-mile followed by a couple of eights on a gentle downhill. Then we began climbing again things started getting technical: up and over and down rocky formations … some covered in snow. On occasion the obstacles were big enough that you had to reach for hand holds and much of it unrunnable for the early pack I was racing with.
When I was able to run I got in a few more nine minute miles, which was the goal pace, but 14-15 minute miles was the average. I even clocked a 28 minute mile!
Within that long mile came the highlight of the run: the view over the edge of a 1000 foot cliff. As I was marching up a hill I saw two women staring out behind me so I joined them to take in the view.
“This is nothing, go up to the edge over there and take a look over the canyon.” Since I wasn’t in it to win it, I made some fresh tracks through the snow 50 feet off course to take in on of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen with my feet on the ground (flying over NYC on a clear night might be the coolest).
The ground just disappeared below me. Highway 191 sliced through the redness of the valley toward the town of Moab 10 miles to the south. Arches National Park was to the northeast and the 12,ooo foot snow-capped La Sal mountain range popped out of the rocks to the southwest. This is the stuff that makes getting out of the house worthwhile and was well worth the few minutes tacked on to my finish time.
That delight came a couple of miles after checkpoint and aid station #4 at mile 18. Runners had the option to drop off special needs bags at the start of the race to be brought by the blessed volunteers to any of the several aid stations throughout the course. I opted for a PowerBar and a 20-ounce PowerBar Endurance drink—sure glad I did because they ran out of water just as I arrived. I stopped to reboot Stumpie—as I had several times along the way—reloaded my CamelBak (a beverage bladder you wear like a backpack with a hose to sip from) and headed out.
The course was so slick in places that the trucks who brought the aid failed to reach the next aid station at mile 25—the poor runners who didn’t get a chance to rehydrate at #4 would have to go a long way without water. I was so glad I’d packed that extra drink! I depleted that store before the final station at mile 30 and ate some snow to hydrate in the meantime. I imagine lots of folks were doing that.
Less than a mile from the finish, at the top of ridge we were to descend via a steep four-switchback plunge, I heard the familiar “Cooooo-wee!” call of my wife Sharon down below. I looked down and saw her pink fleece and waving arms and that told me I was certainly about to finish. She ran the final few hundred feet with me where I met Jack and Luke and snatched them up before crossing the finish line.
My goal late in the race was to finish before the awards ceremony at 3:30. Not four seconds after I crossed the line the winners were announced.
Victory often comes in the form of stretching your limits despite crossing the finish line after everyone else.
