Armpit Police

Well, it is official. The return to running from an injury "honeymoon" phase has ended. It was wonderful while it lasted. I was convinced that I would never have to force myself to go run again, that I would be so grateful and appreciative that I can run, I would have all the motivation I could handle. Sadly, no. It has fizzled out and now I'm back to "I don't feel like running today" or "I'll just rest today, it's too hot" etc. And so on and so forth. And what have you.

It's not everyday that I have  to "force" myself to get out and run, but at least a couple times a week that is the case. On my drive home from work the other day, I told myself at least a dozen times that I was too tired to run and that I should take the day off. I got home and preceded to tell Kristi all the things I had been telling myself. "I'm too tired, I'm not gonna run today." I looked to her for a response, only to be met with a blank stare. Kristi has learned to ignore my self doubt, as her response has never swayed my decision one way or another. She knows better. "I'm just not feeling it today," I tell her as I pull out my running shoes. 

Eventually, I put on a pair of running shorts and depart. I managed one of my fastest runs in a long time. My last mile was 6 flat. I got home and started spitting out all my splits to Kristi, "the first mile was 7:15 then 6:50 then..." was she even listening? ".... and my last last mile was 6 flat!" I shouted, ending the explanation of my daily statistics. I must be a world of entertainment to live with. 

I want to be the best. I want to win races. I want to come in first place and stand on the podium. This is what I strive for and these are my dreams. And I love it. I want to work harder than I've ever worked in my entire life to achieve my goals. I will not settle. 

There is nothing in my life that is as powerful as running. It has molded me physically, emotionally and spiritually. I have learned to love myself because of running and as a result, I have learned to love others. This may sound too dramatic for some people to comprehend, but these are facts. 

One facet of my life that has been reconstructed from the pile of rubble I created is the relationship that I have with my family. For so many years I took for granted the family I was blessed to be part of. Sometimes I feel like I'm living 2 completely different lives, in one lifetime. There are parts of my past that I have trouble believing actually happened. At times when I reflect I think, "did that really happen, or was it just a dream?" 

A few months ago my sister, Ariana said she was going to come visit me during the Summer. I thought, "visit me in Tucson, during the Summer? Who does that?" Most people run away from this incinerator during the Summertime. 

Staying true to her word, my sister came out with her two boys and visited me. Here. In the Old Pueblo. In the days leading up to her visit I was struck with fear. A fear of what to do. "What can we go do?" I thought, "these boys live next door to the almighty Disney World, what do I have to offer?" I hadn't seen my sister (or my nephews) in over 2 years. Needless to say, I was very excited. 

As soon as Ariana and the boys, Noah and Toby arrived, the fear of finding stuff to do, disappeared. It was so great to see my nephews and my wonderful sister. We sat in my living room and caught up. Kristi suggested that we go drive up to Mount Lemmon and ride on the ski-lifts to the very top. We all agreed that was a perfect idea. Thank God for Kristi, the only idea I had come up with was 'Sonoran Hotdogs'.. 

The following day we went and picked up Hannah, Kristi's brilliantly awesome daughter and all of us headed up to the magnificent Mount Lemmon. Everyone was excited to get on the ski-lifts, except for Mr. Toby. Ariana decided to stay with Toby and the rest of us prepared for departure. Noah and I shared a lift and had a nice conversation. It was great to spend time with him, he is such a kind soul. As we neared the top I received a text from Ariana, "We are on the way up" she wrote. I later found out that she had bribed Toby with fudge. Well done, Ariana. Well done indeed.

We all spent some time together on top of Mount Lemmon. We enjoyed the beautiful views and the cool air. We took pictures, we laughed and teased each other. I love my family. Toby requested to ride with his Uncle Sheddy (nickname courtesy of Toby) on the way down. On our way down Toby turned and looked me in the eyes and said "it's so peaceful up here." I just love that kid.

That evening, after indulging on some outrageously delicious Sonoran Dogs, we all went swimming. As I was swimming around It became quite apparent that Toby is fascinated by armpit hair. "You have armpit hair!" He shouted, giggling like a maniac. Noah chimed in, "he's obsessed with armpit hair." I turned and looked to Toby for his rebuttal, "I'm the armpit police!" he exclaimed. There is never a dull moment when that boy is around.

The following day they had to leave. We only had one full day together and we made the best of it. Kristi, Hannah and I walked the three of them to their car to say our good byes. As the car was pulling away we heard a little voice screaming, "bye Hannah, bye Hannah!"  We all waived goodbye and the car disappeared into the distance. I was overcome with emotion. I went to my bedroom and cried. I am so grateful for my life and my family.

A few hours after they departed, I went on a run. As I was running, I reminisced. I think the most important part of running for me, is the time it gives me to think, to appreciate. I am very appreciative that my sister, who was visiting my parents in NM, drove hundreds of miles to visit me and see my world. I have a pretty cool life today and want to share it. Thank you all for spending time with me and my family and getting a glimpse of my world. You are welcome to come back anytime!

The temperature was well into the triple digits as I zigzagged my way up Esperero Trail. I thought about the life that could've been. My legs pushed harder up the simmering rock face. I recall having nothing except the clothes on my back. I am overwhelmed with heat, I am sick to my stomach. I remember having no direction. I only push harder. I am alive. I reached a point that I felt fit to make my turnaround. I took a seat a shed a few more tears for my second chance at life. I am truly blessed. I powered through the remainder of my run, fueled by immeasurable appreciation. This is all the motivation I need.

Noah Livin' The High Life

Toby and Uncle Sheddy

The Whole Crew

Artwork By Noah Strong

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

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!