I have never been one to make a big deal about my age or a birthday for that matter, but this one felt different.
I thought the best way to enter this new territory would be to run. A lot.
Makes sense, right?
And so I did. In the four weeks leading up to my birthday, I ran over 260 miles with more than 40K feet of climbing. Not the most I've ever done, but my best training block in a long time.
Midway through that stretch, I decided to register for the Oracle Rumble 50k.
I was feeling good and having done the 50 mile race a couple times, I knew this course inside and out! This would be the perfect way to start my middle age meander.
I would go downtown hammer town and walk away with the win!
Hell yeah.
This is 40.
Raking in W's, like a boss.
One thing I have learned in ultra running and racing over the last decade is that you can't predict shit!
Some days I feel good and race poorly. Some days I feel like garbage and race well. It's useless trying to figure it out. Some days I am completely out of shape and fly for god sakes! I mean, really?
Just stop. IT'S USELESS!
But this one just felt right. I was going to crush it.
I knew it!
Raceday morning arrived and my alarm shrieked me out of a half slumber.
"Ah, man..." I moaned. "I feel sick."
My throat was as dry as the Tucson desert on a scorching summer day.
"Can't be. Of course. Of course it is." I muttered as I put my racing gear on.
I eventually made it to the starting line feeling much better than I had when I woke up.
"It's just a sore throat. Suck it up, Sion." I told myself.
Peter Davidson was also racing the 50k and Peter is quite fast. I knew it was going to be a battle today.
I wished Peter luck as we all lined up.
As per usual, I took a moment to envision my day. I would give it hell for 32 miles and not let anything get in my way.
Not Peter, not nobody. Not a damn cactus for all I care. Nada.
This was my day. I would run the fastest today. I put in the work and it was going to pay off.
40 years old. Who cares? I am the fastest!
We all counted down from 10, AZ Trail connoisseur Matt Nelson let a bullet fly and a mob of trail junkies were off!
Peter wasted no time.
And when I say Peter wasted no time, I mean Peter... He wasted no time.
We were dropping sub 7's from the jump.
This race is heavy downhill early, heavy uphill late. So you have to take advantage. Within reason, of course...
Peter quickly made separation as I gave chase, along with another runner by the name of Tyler Scheibenpflug.
"What the?" I thought to myself. "this is supposed to be a race between Peter and me, what are you doing here? Who is this guy?"
The nerve.
Peter continued slowly stretching the lead, the two of us hammering away after him.
"Hey, you can pass anytime, just let me know." Tyler shouted back to me as we zigged up and down the Arizona Trail.
The sun was rising, spraying golden rays across the desert landscape, giving the cholla fields a softening, almost inviting feel.
"Oh, nah, I am good with this pace actually..."
And I was. We were hauling.
"Doubt Peter is gonna maintain this pace, especially when we hit the climbs." I added.
The climbs are my money maker. I love running up steep shit. It's how I level it out, ya know? By running stuff that isn't level. You get the idea.
"This is my first 50k, so I know I'm gonna completely wreck myself!" Tyler quipped.
"First 50k? Just a rookie!" I screamed.
"Yeah!!!" He shouted back, with what sounded like a lot of confidence.
"Hope I don't regret that whole 'rookie' comment..." I began thinking. "That was a dumb thing to say."
I can't say that I felt that great, but some how the three of us all trotted into the Beehive Well aid station together 8 miles into the race.
We all choked down some food, refueled and continued on.
The next couple miles of hilly forest roads began to chip away my energy level at a rate that was rather concerning
"What the heck? This shouldn't hurt this bad." I moaned.
We were dropping 6:20 pace around 10 miles, when I had to make a pit stop.
"Okay, let them go." I told myself. "Run your race. Let them beat each other up, you'll catch them on the climbs."
The two quickly disappeared into the distance.
"Out of sight, out of mind..."
I settled into my own pace as I began the first of many big climbs.
Speaking of climbs, remember that thing I said about climbs?
Well, on this day... THEY HURT!
And that screaming downhill early in the race was all but a distant memory. What remained was a lot of climbing. More climbing than I remembered, fittingly.
The next few miles were a complete grind.
As much as I thought they were pulling ahead of me, I finally caught sight of them weaving up the switchbacks just beyond Mountain View aid station.
I was in and out of the aid station with a little more pep. Fifteen something miles in, I knew there was a lot of race left. I also knew by how I felt, the second half was going to be quite painful.
"Just keep grinding!" I barked at myself as I chugged up the steep terrain. "You will catch them."
I crossed the 20 mile mark and was moving pretty well. I hit another forest road and trotted up a steep section, followed by a long stretch of runnable downhill.
I cruised for a bit before realizing that I didn't recognize any of the area.
"What is the deal here?" I wondered. "I think I'm off course..."
Having done many races, I've had the unfortunate experience of being off course a handful of times. And let me say just this, it is one of the most demoralizing feelings ever.
My mind was racing as I continued down the forest road.
"This can't be right, I don't see any footprints. I'll just go a little further..."
Soon I reached a fork in the road. Not a race marker in sight.
I came to an abrupt stop. Aware that indeed, I had missed a turn.
"Are you fucking kidding me!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs!
I turned around, looking up at that steep road I had spent the last mile or so running down.
I put my head down.
"Your race is over."
I began sprinting back up the road, frustration boiling over as adrenaline coursed through my veins.
Up I went, faster than I had run since that pit stop at mile 10.
"I can't believe this, ruined your race..."
As soon as I topped out, I saw the turn I had missed. It was clearly marked.
"Well, shit. There ya go." I moaned as I got back onto the trail and continued on.
For a brief moment, I actually felt fantastic. The thing is, adrenaline can be a cruel villain. And once the adrenaline wore off, I began a downward spiral that ranks among the most painful I've experienced as an ultra runner.
First it was my old nemesis, the cramps. The two of us hadn't tangoed in some time, so what the hell. That with a side of nausea will do the trick!
My attitude plummeted.
"Screw it, I'm dropping." I whined.
I was in a world of pain. Nothing felt good. I began wishing I went back to sleep when my throat was hurting. I crawled up the trail, nothing but climbing. No end in sight.
"I cannot believe I'm running this at a slower pace than when I've run 50 miles out here..." I whimpered. "Ridiculous."
I hit the Tucson Wash aid station completely wrecked. I sipped a cup of coke and filled my handheld, wishing this was a convenient place to drop. I was now at 25 miles and the thought of another 8 or 9 miles seemed impossible. Or just senseless...
Finding out that I was now about 20 minutes back only added salt to the wound.
I stumbled off, back on course. Shuffling ahead.
I made a decision to quit. That's right, I was going to drop at the next aid station. I just had to survive for another 4 or 5 miles. That's amateur stuff.
I would rather not go into too much detail about that stretch from Tucson Wash to Tiger Mine, but to summarize it;
I hit rock bottom, then I accepted the suffering.
This was the adventure I signed up for. This was the challenge I chose. Feeling like crap, getting lost, bonus miles, full body dry heaves...
"Embrace it! All of it!" I told myself.
"Finish what you started!"
The 4.5 miles from Tiger Mine to the Finish line were nothing more than a sufferfest. One foot in front of the other type shit.
I crossed the finish line in just over 5 hours, somehow holding onto a podium spot in 3rd place. I hugged Kristi and was greeted by Peter and Tyler.
Peter ran a sizzling time, setting the course record in 4:21! Huge congrats to Peter Davidson, big things to come man!
And that "rookie" Tyler? He held on to second place finishing in a solid time of 4:51! Well done!
That was by far one of my toughest races and one I won't forget for a long time. And I wouldn't change a thing about it.
Here's to another 40 years!!
Cheers!
*Huge thanks to the RD's Steve Outridge and Michelle Hawk for an awesome and well organized race! And to all the volunteers out there making the journey that much more enjoyable. I highly recommend this event!*
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