Activated Charcoal

But I have writers block, I can't think of anything to write. Well, why not write about not being able to write. I have a head full of ideas and stories to tell... But where to begin?

Following my adventurous single footed trek from Lake Pleasant to Crown King, I was filled with optimism and denial. I was able to walk fine after the race, so I felt like my foot was healing up. So what if I just spent over 5 hours beating my crippled foot. I finished the race and was able to walk away from it, just fine. I was ready for my next challenge. Zane Grey here I come! The Zane Grey 50 is one of the most difficult 50 mile races in the country. Rocks. Lots and lots of rocks, I've been told. Sounds pretty entertaining if you ask me. 

After giving myself a nice 3 day rest, I began my ZG training. I went for an easy 3 miler and I noticed that...wait for it...my foot still hurt! What the hell, how can this be?! I was having trouble wrapping my brain around this. I ran a 50k and was able to walk just fine, even felt like I was better than prior to the race. "It's just sore" I thought to myself, "I will give it go in a couple days".

After a couple more equally crappy and unfulfilling runs, I still wasn't convinced. So my very best thinking brought me to a simple solution; I will run further and faster! That should prove that I am no longer injured! I felt running up the Tram Road was a glorious idea. The Tram Road is 3.8 miles of pavement that ascends up Sabino Canyon. Sabino Canyon in located in the Catalina Mountains, which are strategically placed in my backyard. Full round trip distance including the added mileage from my apartment, about 10 miles. 

So off I went. On a mission to prove my body a point. I will show you, foot, I'm the boss of this body! Right from the start it was clear that my foot was out to prove me a point. I was having a substantial amount of pain on the top of my foot. I pushed on. I was not willing to face reality. I made my way up the road and with each step my brain was flooded with pain and denial. 

Pain.

Denial.

Pain.

Denial.

This formula had brought me about halfway up the road when I stopped and thought, "I am not feeling good about this, I should probably just turn around."

Pain. 

Denial.

Pain.

Denial.

The dance continued.

Pain must have finally penetrated my thick skull because about a mile from the top I decided it was probably a good idea to head back. I started cruising down the road, pounding my foot quite nicely as I sustained a 6 minute pace. "Hey, I am not injured" thinking to myself, "I couldn't run a 6 minute pace if I was!" I was ecstatic. That's when it happened. I felt something happen in my foot. I can't even describe the feeling as it was like nothing I have ever experienced. It was like I felt a bone move. I don't think that is what actually happened, but that the best description I can come up with. I felt a bone move.

I was halted to a stop, filled with confusion and frustration. I was beaten into a state of reasonableness. I finally, after weeks of denial, was fully ready to accept the truth. My foot was injured and I should not be running. I was also forced to swallow the fact that I have continued to make it worse.

It was clear that the journey home was going to be a painfully dreadful experience. My foot felt weird. I know "weird" is very broad, but that's how it felt. For the first mile I sort of half limped a jog in a daze of frustration. I would have preferred to work through the emptiness of knowing that I would not be running for quite a while, by myself. But unfortunately I was located in the Mecca of running/walking/exercising/hiking/touristing of Tucson, when it happened. I love drama.

Before I turn this into a full fledge pitty party, in retrospect I do find a small amount of humor as I recall a lady passing me as she pushed a double stroller up a hill. At the time, I was enraged. I made my way home mixing up limping sprinkled with sadness. T'was a lonely stretch of time.

I burst through my apartment door and began whimpering out an explanation of what had had happened, to Kristi. "So much for Zane Grey" I cried, "I can't run anymore, this is horrible". I reluctantly must add that there was also a smidgen of weeping that followed. Again, I love drama.

That evening I felt a calmness come over me. I realized that I didn't want to deny the reality of my injury any longer. I didn't want to run in pain anymore. I think that's when the healing finally began.

Realizing that in order to keep my sanity I needed to replace my running with something, so I decided to go back to the gym. I also began writing.

I just returned from a visit to the town in which I was raised, Corrales, NM. I watched my younger brother, Max graduate from The University of New Mexico and spent Mother's Day with my parents. Max is moving to Florida, leaving my parents with no more of their children to share New Mexico with.

I am glad I was there to experience what feels like the ending of a chapter in our lives, and inevitably, the beginning of a new one. My father, Robert is a Chiropractor and happens to be the greatest healer I know. More than that, the best father I could ask for. I had some adjustments during my visit and spent some time off my feet.

I enjoyed spending time with friends and family during my stay. I got the chance to catch up a little bit with my cousin, Seth, whom I grew up with. We shared some memories of our exploits in the barrios of the South Valley during my visits as a child. And of the "fruit stand wars" my looney neighbors had. Seth has some interesting views about an array of topics, all of which have a dry wittiness about them.

Kristi was laying on the couch suffering from stomach pains after over indulging on some delectable New Mexican food when my mother offered her one of our family secret remedies, Activated Charcoal. I went into detail about how amazingly quick Charcoal can cure a stomach ache. I was very passionate in my attempt to convince her of these healing powers when Seth quipped, "the only thing that makes me need Activated Charcoal is this family." Seth is currently in Law School and I am convinced he will make a great Lawyer. When I returned home I went for my first (honestly) pain free run in a very long time.

I had some redemption on that paved hill in my backyard, this morning. I am so grateful to run. This mornings run was my longest since Crown King, and the 5th consecutive day I have been blessed to run. My motivation level is sky high, I am ready to fully commit to my training. I am now aware of the privilege it is to run. At any given moment it can be taken away. 

I am the type of person that demands to know the reason things happen. I am learning that answers don't always present themselves right away, sometimes you have to be patient. Patients is a trait that I have not embraced well. I was so angry when I got injured. The timing couldn't have been any worse. Why? Why the hell did I have to go on that run, that day? I was making myself crazy. When I finally accepted it for what it was and decided to stop feeling sorry for myself, I began to grow. 

So through this injury I have gained so much, much more than I lost. I traded a few days of running for a lifetime of writing. I hope more of life's twists and turns will continue to inspire.

The Grad and myself

My amazing parents

Back in my element

Crown King Scramble

Coming off a disappointing day at Old Pueblo, I wanted to jump into another race as soon as possible. As I looked over the upcoming race schedule I noticed one race that stuck out to me; The Crown King Scramble. After doing some research I became aware of the storied history that this race embodies. A 50 kilometer (there was also a 50 mile option added later) point to point on dirt roads from the Sonoran Desert floor on the outskirts of Phoenix to Crown King. Total elevation gain of around 6,750 feet. The race was held every year dating back to 1987 and is well known in the ultra community. CK was last held in 2007 but disappeared for several years until the masterminds at Aravaipa Running brought it "back from the dead."

In the weeks leading up to the race my training was going well, in fact I was running better than I probably ever had. I had just ran a 3:48 Esperero Loop, smashing my old PR by nearly an hour. My final long training run was TTR's brutal Mica Mountain Marathon. This 27 mile ascent/descent in the Rincon Mountains seemed like the perfect "cherry on top" to my CK training.

I felt pretty good as I made my way up Douglas Springs Trail. I did notice my left foot had a twinge of pain in it, I thought nothing of it. I hit the summit at Mica and headed back down. As I came off Cowhead Saddle I was fully aware of the pain in my foot. It was at this point, noticeably slowing me down. I still had a good 8 or 9 miles to go, so on I went. I finished up the run and took a seat. I sat there trying to ignore the pain. I drank a Gatorade, talked about the run with some folks and relaxed. As I stood up and began to walk, I mean hobble, I realized just how bad this injury was. I was in excruciating pain. I couldn't even put my foot to the surface of earth without mind blowing pain. Fuck. I tried playing it off, saying "it's just bruised, it will be fine". But deep down I knew it was bad. I limped to my car, got inside and engaged the clutch... Holy mother of pain! It took me several attempts to endure the pain long enough to actually get the clutch engaged. Sitting there with tears of pain pouring down my face, I thought to myself, "I can't be hurt, I have a race in 2 weeks."

I did no running for the next week and even missed a day of work because I could hardly walk. One week remained before CK and I decided to go for a jog. I managed to sort-of limp a jog around the block, so I was upbeat. The next few days I strung together a few crappy 3 or 4 milers and proclaimed to Kristi, "I think I'm ready to race!" She of course seemed to have some concern, but my stubbornness wouldn't let me fold! I was determined to do this race.

So the night prior to the race Kristi (my wonderful, supportive and beautiful girlfriend) and I set off to Phoenix. Our plans were to drive all the way to where the race begins and find the closest hotel. Sounds like a great idea, right? So off we went. We drove through Phoenix and beyond. Lets just say we had some trouble finding the starting point. Frustrated and tired we decided to just get a room at the Comfort Inn, in Peoria. By the time we checked in it was after 9 and we hadn't even eaten dinner. We ordered a pizza and settled down. As soon as my face hit the pillow, I was out. It couldn't have been more than 20 minutes before I was jolted up due to the party going on in the room next to us. I later found out the Kansas City Royals farm team was to blame. I called the front desk and complained. It stopped. Then it started up again. This routine continued on.. I hate the Royals!

I got up on a bum foot and a couple hours of sleep wishing I just stayed home. I felt like death. We checked out and headed to Lake Pleasant. After choking some McDonalds oatmeal down, I was ready! Kristi dropped me off at the start and set off to Crown King. It was such a eerie feeling saying bye to her, not knowing if she could find this little mining town atop the Bradshaw Mountains. Unsure if I could even run more than 4 miles on my crippled foot.

So here I was standing at the start, full of questions. 3-2-1 and we were off! For the first couple of miles I ran with a group of about 10. I saw 2 runners immediately create some distance and disappear. My foot seemed to be feeling okay, so I was feeling optimistic. I cruised along at a steady pace and thought about the adventure it was to get here. I thought about Kristi and what a trooper she is. I envisioned the finish line and the celebration that would follow. I thought about my foot. Unfortunately, I would spend the majority of the race thinking about my foot.

The Start at Lake Pleasant

Around mile 5 or so the group had spread out. I was somewhere in the top 10. I felt good. a family in a ATV past by and a little girl wearing sunglasses smiled at me. I smiled back. I was beginning to gain on a few runners and past a few of them. I was enjoying the course. There was a lot of hills, followed by some nice descents. I noticed that on the downhills I couldn't hammer it the way I'm accustomed to. Every time I started to run hard I felt my foot start to throb. I kept playing it off. I remember thinking that it was probably a bad sign that my foot was irritating me before I hit the halfway point. The first half of this race is the "easy" half. It was getting noticeably hotter on the exposed dirt road. It became apparent, I was in for a long day.

Keep on Truckin'

I cruised into the mile 15 aid station feeling a little less optimistic than before. I stuffed some food in my mouth, popped a few S-Caps and headed off. This next section was a lot more difficult. There were super steep inclines with lots of rocks and craters. This was the most technical forest road I had ever seen! I do most of my training on very technical terrain and normally I would have no problem dealing with the difficulty of it. In fact, I would probably enjoy it. But not on this day. My foot was beginning to take a serious beating, the throbbing was constant. I thought to myself "Kristi was probably right, this was a bad idea..". Around mile 17 I began feeling not only the effects of running on my injured foot, but also that of not running much for the last couple weeks. I began to think about dropping. One runner past me, then another.

The course continued to get more difficult. I would reach the top of one brutal hill only to find an even less forgiving one waiting. My demeanor began to take a dive. I got lax on keeping track of where my feet landed and started bashing the injury more frequently. Another runner past me. As I approached mile 25 or so I ran out of water. I saw a Sheriff on a quad and I asked "how far 'til the next aid?", he responded "a mile and a half or so.. or maybe more." I thought to myself "or maybe more?" I kept on trucking. That same family in the ATV past by, the little girl with sunglasses smiled at me. I didn't smile back. I needed water. Finally I found some water flowing. I filled my handheld and took a long drink. Ahhhhh, relief.

It was a blessing that I found water because the next stretch to the aid station was particularly demoralizing. This hill went on for days. I began climbing the hill as I fantasized about food. I could see the aid station way on top of the hill as I past bushes with bras hanging on them. Was I hallucinating? I didn't smile. Another runner past me, then 2 more. Being fairly new to the sport, I have never experienced this before. It was pretty shitty to say the least. I finally shuffled into the 27 mile aid station. The aid station was blasting music and boasting friendly faces. The view from here was spectacular. I looked over the picturesque mountain rage as I shoveled Oreo cookies down my throat. I don't even like Oreo cookies. 2 more runners hit the aid and immediately took off. "Go ahead" I thought to myself, "I don't give a shit". I noticed a few more runners chugging up the hill and I thought, "c'mon Sion, get it together and finish this off." I stuffed a bunch of gummy worms in my pocket and set off.

mmmm Oreos

I was told that there was about a 1.75 miles of climbing left, followed by 2 miles of "screaming downhill". I pushed up the hill, my legs were beginning to cramp up and my foot had a irregular heart beat. On I went. I kept the runner ahead of me within view as I pushed up the last of the hill. I hit the summit. A guy was sitting on the tailgate of his truck, I stopped and said "that shit sucked.." He responded, "well, it's all downhill from here." In which I replied "already?!" I departed and started clocking off a 6:30 pace. I wanted the torture to end.

The last stretch into Crown King was amazing. Ponderosa pines spread a blanket of shade over my sun baked body. The road was smooth, the air was crisp. A feeling of euphoria washed over me. All of a sudden life was good again, I forgot about all the suffering I had just endured. I took a sharp left and saw the finish line next to the Crown King Saloon. I shot through it and collapsed to the ground. Becoming one with earth upon completion of a race has sort of become my trademark. I saw Kristi standing over me smiling. A few guys were asking me if I was okay, "he's fine, he always does this", Kristi answered for me. My legs were seizing, it felt like my muscles were going to rip right out of my skin. I got up, smiled and exclaimed "my job here is done!" Kristi and I both laughed.

I Survived!

Trademark Move

What a scene it was at the finish line in Crown King! I don't think a whole lot has changed there over the last hundred years. It looks like something straight out of an old western film. Kristi had quite an experience herself, which even included meeting a celebrity. There really is nothing quite like the finish festivities at the end of an ultra. This one was particularly entertaining.

When all was said and done, I finished Crown King in 5:16 and some change for 16th place. Not too shabby for running on one good foot, I suppose. Deciding to run 31 miles on an injured foot was not one of my wisest decisions. Without a doubt, it has prolonged my recovery process. But I hold no regrets for the choice I made. I always learn the most about myself when I suffer the worst.

I can't wait to toe the line at Crown King next year!

Crown King Elevation Profile

Crown King Saloon

Boom!