Desert Delirium

The moment my feet hit the ground I began to regret not leaving earlier. At 7:45 in the morning the temperature had already cracked 80 degrees and was just getting started. I originally planned on leaving around 6 but my bed was awfully comfortable at the time.

My training plans for the day included a trip up Blacketts Trail, followed by a Phoneline Loop. You can access Blacketts Trail right off of Phoneline, less than a mile from the trailhead.  It is a short, albeit ridiculously challenging jaunt up the mountain. I have recently embraced running in the heat. The night prior I was saying, "I don't even care when I get up, I love heat training!"

So 6 o'clock turned into 7 o'clock, which in-turn resulted in leaving closer to 8. Running is a lot like life, you have your good days and you have your bad days. I can usually determine what kind of day I'm going to be dealt within the first few moments of my run. On this particular morning I was dealt a bad hand. Besides the blistering heat, my energy was zapped from the very beginning. 

I'm very stubborn when it comes to running. Come to think of it, I'm very stubborn when it comes to a lot of things. Stubbornness is a trait I would like to hang on to, I sort of enjoy it. But I digress. Maybe I should have heeded the signs that this was going to be a cruel, even dangerous day of running. Unfortunately, on this day the stubbornness would prevail!

By the time I hit the trail, which is about 2 miles from my doorstep, I was pouring sweat off me like a broken faucet. I began the initial ascent, starving for air, feeling slug-like from the start. I began getting irritated with the heat, the rocks, the hikers and the steepness.  "The lack of shade on this godforsaken trail is down right sinful" I thought to myself. 

I trotted up to Blacketts Trailhead gasping for air. I looked up, way up to the top and made my only rational decision of the day. "I think I'm gonna skip Blacketts, just too hot, I'm too tired, I'm not right.." Followed by the most irrational decision of the day. "I'll just do Phoneline." 

I took a deep breath and set off. I would run for a few minutes and suddenly have to stop, exclaiming "what the hell is wrong with me?" Run for a few more minutes and halt to a stop. I began to feel dizzy and light headed. My mind became numb and I was short of breath. I looked back the way I came, "maybe I should just head back?" Thinking to myself, "nah I've gone this far, I'll just keep going." And so I did. 

I embrace my stubbornness because it's what gives me the will to not give in. I don't have a whole lot of talent but lord knows that I'm willing to work hard at it. But again I digress. I managed to string together a couple mediocre miles as the deliriousness began wrapping its wicked tentacles around me.

Once I hit the last section of trail before the descent to the Tram Road, the heat was scorching, my mind was melting. At one point I stopped, heaved my hand-held into the side of the mountain and began laughing hysterically. I wasn't right in my head and that was genuinely funny. I topped out and hid in some shade between a few giant boulders. I peered down to the Tram Road. I think I saw steam rising off the asphalt, almost certain of it. "Not the Tram Road" I mumbled, "I fucking hate the Tram Road..."

I came stumbling down the last segment of trail, but not before nearly suffering a heart attack after narrowly avoiding stepping on a garter snake that was the size of a piece of spaghetti. This just wasn't my day, in more ways than one. I took a five minute breather and said, "here I go, the final stretch of misery." I felt a tear trickle down my salty face. Or was that just sweat? Either way, I was sad.

I took off at a nice clip. I was able to hold onto a 6:30 pace, hammering away as best I could. I ran about halfway down before retreating to some shade. I sat there watching other people go about there activities. I daydreamed of making it to the bottom and calling Kristi to come pick me up. "Worst day of running in my life!" I would tell her, "just awful. Come get me, I can't make it.." I felt sick to my stomach. "Maybe I should throw up?" I thought. 

Everyone that has run the Tram Road knows about that last hill before the final stretch. This hill isn't that big, really. It's just that it is perfectly placed at the very end, right before the homestretch. For such a small bastard, it's downright debilitating. I decided to just gun it up that thing, I wanted to get it over with. This was a bad idea. After making it to the top I began to have some mild hallucinations and was extremely nauseous. I collapsed to the ground near the edge of the road. "Less than a mile to go, you can make it" trying to convince myself, "almost there."

I got up, brushed the dirt off my sweaty corpse and continued the death march. I swear that last mile was a complete blur. The next thing I remember, I was sitting on a bench under some shade with my head hunched over my knees. I sat there for quite awhile, looking at my reflection in the pool of sweat between my feet. "Well" I said to myself, "should I just call Kristi and end this torture?" 

I hate to be so redundant, but man, I am stubborn! It was only one more mile to my apartment, so why stop now? I couldn't think of any legitimate reason to give in at this stage in the game (other than suffering heat stroke and dying). I stood up, took a deep breath, said a prayer, cursed the heat, dry heaved and took off. The last mile was the perfect ending to my day. It was a fitting finish to a workout gone wicked. Pure agony. 

I made it home and fumbled up the stairs to my front door. I flung the door open and proclaimed, "That was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Just awful." And It was. It was definitely one of the toughest days I've endured doing what I love. 

Yet, I long for more.

           

                   "We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival."

                         ~Sir Winston Churchill

Wrightson Wrelief

This weekend a few friends and I took a trip up to beautiful Mount Wrightson. The ascent of Wrightson is always a nice break from the tourist infestation that occurs in my backyard. Mount Wrightson is located in the Santa Rita Mountains south of Tucson. The trek to the summit via Old Baldy Trail is 5.2 miles of heart-pounding, quad-busting, mind-numbing, elevation-gaining good times. The 5 miles stretch has an estimated 4,033 foot elevation gain. In a nut shell, it's steep. Very steep.

During the last 3 years I have run a marathon in October and for each of them I've done the bulk of my training during the summer. I now set my sights on a race that is nearly the equivalent of four marathons in a row. This race also happens to be in October. So here I am again, looking at the sweltering summertime training plan. What is one to do when you reside inside of an oven? The answer is quite simple, go find higher ground. At 9,453 feet, Mount Wrightson is a nice option. 

In just my 3rd week back from injury I am not trying to set any World Records, I will give that another month or so. I decided to stay very conservative at the beginning of the ascent, but wanted to focus on running as much of it as I possibly could. One of the gifts I have gained from being hurt, and there are a few, is that I now allow myself to actually enjoy running.  Something unbeknownst to me, I hadn't done in a very long time.  Before, it was put the hammer down and don't let up until I either finish the run or blow up. Whichever came first. 

It always amazes me how quickly this trail beats you down. From the very start it is nothing but uphill. You never get the chance to warm up, your heart is ready to explode right out of the gate. As I made my way up the mountain it was pretty clear, I was going to have a solid day. I was holding a strong pace, for the difficulty that this trail offers. There was a surprising amount of shade out there, shielding me from the fireball above. 

I continued my climb into the cooler atmosphere beyond. I have done this run a handful of times but for the first time ever, I was falling in love. I was in heaven. The conditions continued to get more satisfying and serene. My legs were turning and my heart was pumping. I felt a smile tattooed across my face. Nature is an amazing playground filled with wildlife and danger, curiosity and challenge.

By the third mile I was pretty much in the zone. I continued running the majority of it, minus a few spots where hiking is required. I honestly felt better than I had ever felt on Old Baldy Trail. All of a sudden a thought trickled into my head, "I have a shot at a PR!" 

Onward and upward I went. Now I was in combat mode. I knew the rest of my run had to be flawless if I wanted my PR. To hell with "enjoying" my run, that's for the birds, put the pedal to the metal and go! My focus intensified as I pushed my lungs to their capacity. Sweat began pouring off my face, into my eyes, burning my vision. My feet falling in-between rocks like the puzzle pieces of earth. 

The final segment to the top starts out with some very runnable trail. In fact, it's the most runnable section of all. But as soon as you get comfortable, it turns on you. Suddenly it's the most difficult section of all. Switchback after switchback of pure rock, each looking the same as the last. I was pushing myself to the limit and it was almost over. 

As I came around what I hoped to be the last switchback I was met by two other runners making the descent. I looked up and immediately recognized one of them. It was a friend of mine whom I hadn't seen since we ran nearly every step of the final 18 miles of Old Pueblo, together. This guy ran a 2:47 marathon in Boston this year and was a witness to all of the mayhem that took place there. We got to talking and catching up... Tick.... Tick.... Tick.... My watch barked at me. "Ahh hell" I thought to myself "I'm not gonna make it." 

I pushed up the last of the monstrosity and hit the summit. I looked down at my watch and said aloud, "guess a PR wasn't in the cards today.. Who gives flying fuck."  

The summit of Mount Wrightson is magnificent, you can see for thousands of miles in every direction. It has a 360 degree view of southern Arizona, and into Mexico. I breathed in the cool, crisp air. I absorbed that indescribable feeling of freedom. There were a few hikers sitting there soaking in the scenery, as well. "You one of those crazy runners?" One of them asked. "I'm crazy, but not because I'm a runner" I quipped. 

It turns out I only missed my PR by about a minute. So be it. The beauty of this sport is that I never stop learning. It really doesn't matter that I missed my record, that's not what's important. I am realizing that the secret to becoming a great runner is to stay relaxed and let it come to you. The only reason I even had a chance at a new best was because I spent the majority of the run enjoying myself and the beauty that this lovely planet beholds. Plain and simple.

All the hikers headed down and I stood there all alone, on top of the world. A welcomed shiver coursed through my body, granting me relief from the smoldering inferno below. We live in a beautiful world. Sometimes when I think about my life, my past, I realize that I could have missed all of this. To think that I could have missed out on this gift is heartbreaking and empowering, all at the same time. I get to thinking about how lucky I really am, for I was granted mercy. It is a high to be this high and I'm hungry for more.

Endless Vision

Ain't Life Grand

Inferno Flashbacks

Summertime in the Old Pueblo.

Need I say more? 

Hot. Very, very hot. Excruciatingly hot. Overwhelmingly hot. Unbearably hot. 

I said more anyway.

Inferno-esq, if you will.

It's rough to train out here in this heat. It does however, make you tougher. That's the goal I guess, to get tougher. Yesterday I got home from work and went on a run. It was a scorching 105 degrees and windy. It felt like I was running against a blow dryer. Good times.

As I was fighting through each step, the heat penetrating each pore, my mind began to harass me;

Stop. 

Quit.

Turn around. 

You're an idiot. 

Asshole.

Only a fool would be out here right now! 

While all of these obstacles were flashing through my mind I began to think about my life. That's right, as I was suffering through the immense heat, I began to think about my life. My life has had it's fair share of pain, the majority of it being self-induced.

When people ask me why I run, I respond, "if you have to ask me why, then you'll never understand." And it's true. But when I ask myself the same question, the answer is quite clear. Because it saved my life.

I didn't choose to move to Tucson, my parents handed me a one way ticket and said, and I quote, "this is the last thing we are going to do for you. Good luck." I had used up all my 'get outta jail free cards' and the gig was up. My time in Albuquerque was over and it was time to try something different.

This isn't my life story, so I choose to leave out most of the hideous details of my checkered background. I'll save that for my autobiography. I found my "rock bottom" in Tucson, which turned out to be exactly what I was looking for. I still go drive by that abandoned house on Grant and Oracle from time to time just to keep that memory fresh.

Time after time I would put my life back together but was always left with a void inside of me. Inevitably, I would have another bout of insanity, leaving me clueless to as why my life was torn apart again. There was an emptiness enveloping my soul that I couldn't explain. I felt doomed. 

I've always run. I ran as a child. I ran in high-school. I ran when I was a dead beat drunk in my twenties. I ran away. I ran. So when my older sister, Ariana (who also enjoys running), asked if I wanted to go run a half marathon with her, I was all in. 

Although I had done a lot of running, I had never really trained for anything. 13.1 miles sounded completely insane but I wanted to do this. And so I began to run with a purpose. I became obsessed with this goal and it was life changing. Literally.

From the very beginning of my training I became aware of how much better I felt physically and emotionally. I was getting in shape and had a purpose. For the first time, maybe ever, I had a goal. I had something I was working towards. More than 3 years have passed since I began training and I have never stopped working towards that goal. And I never will. 

On October 17, 2009 I participated in my first race, The Kansas City Half Marathon. Ariana and myself both completed the race and it was a remarkable experience. I was mesmerized by the entire scene. The atmosphere surrounding the race was simply beautiful. I had found my calling and I was home. I guess I can say that my sister has a lot to do with the life I lead today. So thank you, Ariana, you are a great sister. I must add, my parents continue to help me and "the last thing we will ever do for you" was the greatest gift I could have received. 

I have run in countless races and put in thousands of miles since that day. I have run down roads and up mountains. In the cold and in the heat. I love this life. I truly love this life. So maybe all the pain I endured during those lonely days was merely preparation for the life I run today? I can handle the heat and the suffering, the cold and the soreness. I am alive and I'm training for life.

There were days I couldn't even get out of bed to leave my apartment because I was paranoid and sick. Now I am preparing to run my first 100 mile race, The Javelina Jundred in October. It is a bit overwhelming to think about. Bold contrast. 

100 miles. 

On foot. 

Raise the bar. 

Push the envelope.

KC Half Marathon w/ Ariana- 10/17/09

                   

Element Control

Running is my equilibrium. I feel balanced when I can run.

I am fully aware of my surroundings as I jump off a jagged rock and land smoothly on the sandy surface of Earth. Without a moments hesitation I am flying down a steep descent. I am literally flying. I am flying and I'm feeling the freedom I have craved for weeks. 

I stop and look at the beautiful challenge nature offers me. I lay on the ground and I begin to laugh and tears begin streaming down my sun-kissed face. I let it out. I am at peace. I get up and laugh a bit at how dramatic I can be. I really do love to run and I just can't imagine my life without it. 

As I make my way back home I am filled with confidence. I know I am back. Running sort of ties all my loose ends together. A bad day at work is quickly erased by a long run. Frustration, worry, stress and sadness roll off me. I'm blessed to have found my secret to life. 

A few years ago I was taken on my first trail run, the infamous "Phoneline Loop" located in the Catalina Mountains. I was immediately hooked on the beauty that trail running offers. Phoneline Trail has a moderate ascent for the first 2 and a half miles, then gradually flattens out into some of the most spectacular single track trail my young legs have ever had the pleasure of running. Many sections of the trail are on sheer cliff, this just adds to the enticement. I've had the pleasure of running with a deer literally bounding those cliffs aside me. 

The next trail run that effectuated my desire for more is ironically related to the first. It is Phoneline's big brother, Bear Canyon Loop. Bear Canyon is also located in the Catalina Mountains, just northeast of Sabino Canyon. Bear Canyon Loop has it all; Steep switchbacks, beautiful waterfalls (when there is water, obviously), soft sand, gnarly rocks and breathtaking views fit for a postcard. Both Phoneline Loop and Bear Canyon Loop finish up via the Tram Road. Nothing like hammering out 4 miles of downhill pavement after giving your legs an honest trail beat down. 

The day before I suffered my foot injury I ran a casual Phoneline Loop that resulted in my second fastest time ever. To put it simply, I was feeling superb. I can't explain the high I get from running really well. I was frickin' bullet proof. Life was good. Then, BAM! No more running. 

The loneliness of a running mind deprived of running is a dark place. Good Lord, I love drama. I always have the most motivation to go run, when I can't. Go figure. So I kept looking at my Catalina Mountains, day dreaming of those trails I've come to love, to rely on. It was very depressing, albeit immensely motivating. Alas, I had my mission plans.

This weekend was full of honest appreciation as I returned to my element and regained control. I took on both Phoneline and Bear Canyon, leaving tears of freedom in my wake. A fire was lit inside of me, I now prepare for the next phase of my training. I have a brand new outlook on running and training, living and breathing. I am not bullet proof. I am not made of stone, nor that of glass. I am enamored in this ultra life that I have taken hold of. This is only the beginning.

Phoneline Trail

Back on top of Bear Canyon