Red Rock Mountain Marathon : The Real Deal

Would you like a personalized engraved finishers medal? Artificial obstacles and pretend Special Forces Officers? How about a colorful custom gender specific tee shirt? Age group awards 10 deep? Spectators, awards ceremony and plenty of personal recognition? What about the respect and admiration of your friends and family? Sound good?

You will not find any of that stuff at the Red Rock Trail Run.



Do Not Attend.
As promised, this is an advanced run on a very difficult, remote, rugged and potentially dangerous course. This run is intended for experienced, self-sufficient distance runners only. Drop bags are not necessary. Drop bags are a frivolous waste of time and resources. Real ultra runners carry. Trail marking and support will be far apart and MINIMAL. No map will be provided.You will be completely responsible for yourself. If you are unsure or apprehensive, do not attend.

"Be nice,
or go home"

When you receive this kind of pre-race e-mail, you know you're in for the real deal. You know you've got to have your shit together. You know you're running a Luis Escobar event. The man's motto is «Be nice or go home».

The raw, gritty, real truth is, when you sign up for a Luis Escobar event, you're getting ultra running at its finest. Good, old school trail fun with like-minded people who won't frown on your pre-race strategy of beer, whiskey, hula-hoop or salsa dancing by the fire. You know you will be among the best crowd of grumpy, bitching half-awake ultra zombies at an ungodly hour in the morning, shivering before a race official who reminds you of the event's rules.

Hungover, pre-race zombies.

«OK guys. If you made it here, you know this is a difficult course. Follow the trail markings. If you see a white chalk line, don't cross it. If you cross a chalk line; turn around or you're gonna get lost. If you cross a chalk line and keep going, you're a triathlete.»

Go!

Luis convinced me to sign up for Red Rock the very next day after the Nine Trails Ultra, a nightmarish course designed to break your will and confidence somewhere along the up-and-down trails of the Santa Barbara mountains. Even though the run itself had me abandon at the half-way point crying for my mommy, I'd really liked the funky crowd I ran with and actually looked forward to meeting them again.

So after a long season of ultras and runs all over the Southwest, I thought it would be awesome to have my last official trail event of 2013 with my friends the Californian Coyotes. I packed my van full of Indio beer and drove from Phoenix to the beautiful Rancho Oso, following La Mariposa and Dave Bloom through a hellish rain storm for hours on end.

Since we were a day in advance, we decided to camp out at the aptly named El Capitan Beach, not too far. We got there too late to turn around when I realized that they charge FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS for one night of camping (I mean, seriously?!), so we relunctantly dished out the dinero and went to sleep. We woke up to a fresh, but sunny day out and spent some lazy hours strolling on the beach, cooking breakfast, napping and reading magazines.

Welcome to Mas Loco Town

We took off in the early afternoon to meet our friends at Rancho Oso, a beautiful property on the slopes of the Santa Barbara mountains. We got there about the same time Sweeney did, so we comandeered a great lot for all our friends to camp out together; we named it Mas Loco Village.

A couple hours later, the place was filled with laughs, hugs and bottle-clanging sounds as Crista Scott, Michelle, Bobby, Adrian, John and the Clemens brothers Chris and Tyler were pitching their tents and cooking a big communal dinner.

Way too much booze later, we slowly left the big campfire and many more friends who had joined the fun and we headed back to get some sleep before the big day.

East Coast,
West Coast
And North Pole.
Represent.

Californian nights in the mountains are usually pretty cold, but that one – and the following morning – were simply brutal. I found myself frozen to the bones, unable to warm up and I shivered all the way to the starting line, wondering how the hell Sweeney, who wore not much else then a pair of shorts and arm warmers, was not convulsing in hypothermia.

Dave Bloom, Tyler Clemens and I agreed that we would take it easy and start from the back of the pack. As soon as the go was given, however, Dave vanished ahead in his own version of slow, leaving Tyler, me and a fellow runner named Mary heading for the first big climbs together.

Tyler and Mary

It took some miles to warm up, but the arm warmers eventually came off somewhere along the first couple miles. The day was beautiful and the company great, everyone was in high spirits and looking forward to great trail running.

After about 5 miles out, there was a little orange sign with an arrow pointing... up. It was one of the little extras Luis had planned for us. An ultra-steep, 0.3-mile, 700-foot climb to a high ridge where volunteers were waiting for us with our finishers AKA amulet medals. The deal was, either you climbed, got your medal and presented it at the finish line, or you DNF'ed and had to mail it back to Luis – with your excuse for not finishing :)

The climb was great, the view greater and the volunteers simply awesome. I got my medal, a hug, good laughs and a fun scramble down. We picked up two other runners in our little group heading back on the main course, who entertained us with recipes and stories of cooking awesome pies and homemade cookies until we begged them to stop, drooling all over the trail.

The first aid station came pretty quickly. It was an important stop, however, because it was the only support we would be getting for the next 12 miles or so. The volunteers had done a great job of bringing more than the «water and not much else» promise we had from the race director, and I was delighted to pick up some PB&J's and a couple bite-sized Snicker bars. Awesome. As I was expecting mossy-green creek water and BBQ'ed squirrel, no need to say I was ecstatic.

We took off pretty quickly, but to my great dismay I had to let my friends go because of an urgent, unavoidable side-trail business. I was pretty bummed, but thought I could maybe catch up with my amigos later.

I got back on the trail and felt really, really good. Since the start, I had decided to heed to my friend the Red-Tailed Hawk's advice and eat 200 calories per hour, which means 1 shot of 100 calories every 30 minutes. Way more than I'd ever eaten, but it promised to keep me up, running and energetic for the whole day. I was determined to follow through and see if the strategy would work. So far, so good.

When the first switchback descents started, I found myself speeding down the trail with a grin wider than my face, dancing and dodging and jumping like a little kid. I came across many interesting features of a real, outback trail run; downed trees, muddy creek crossings and washed-out segments which made sure I stayed alert and focused.

I started crossing 50-mile runners, who were running the course from the other side first. Everyone looked really good, but this was early in their long day; still, it was awesome to side-step from the trail to let them pass, high-fiving and cheering. I realized I was on a runner's high while running, which both surprised and pleased me. I surfed that awesome feeling for long minutes, taking great joy in being outside, playing in such a beautiful environment.

The 12-mile segment, as expected, felt long and sometimes lonely, but rewarded me with beautiful landscapes and great running moments. My energy was steady and my feet felt great. It was difficult to eat every 30 minutes, but I managed to do it without getting disgusted by my food and I kept a positive attitude about it.

I emerged from the trail section onto a road, and cruised down at very decent speed to reach the second – and last – aid station. Since my early morning start, and knowing the trails from my previous experience, I had expected to run approximately 8 hours, double my road marathon usual time, if everything went well. Although I was wearing a watch, I wasn't bothered looking at it or trying to calculate; I just trotted along happily until the aid station, which was a little over 6 miles away from the finish.

When I reached it, other runners were there eating and chatting and I picked up a conversation. «Yeah, we're doing pretty well; if I can leave quickly, I might be looking at a sub-7 hour finish». «Really?!», I said, a bit startled. «well, do the math. It's about 6 miles away, and we're 10 minutes to 5 hours right now.»

My next idea came pretty quickly. «Well, then, let's get the fuck outta here!»

I picked a handful of chocolate-covered espresso beans (I shit you not; they had that, too!) and started a steep climb to the ridges. Quickly, I lost my fellow runner and was alone again, but that was fine. My legs weren't fresh anymore, but I had plenty of energy and was climbing steadily, then breaking into a nice little run on the downhills. I was really satisfied with my time.

The course climbed more than I would've liked, so it took me some time to go through the first half of the last stretch. When I finally emerged on the dirt road, I heard a quick-cadenced thumping behind me and was passed by a really fast dude, all smiles. «Yeeee-haaw! It's all downhill from here!» he shouted, over his shoulder. Man was I happy to hear that!

I let gravity do its work and picked up some speed. My legs didn't feel super solid but I had enough strenght to hold the pace. When I left the dirt road to enter the last trail stretch, I looked at my watch. It said 6:15. I really wanted to take a break, but the idea of a sub-6:30 was simply too sweet not to try. I kept going, fueled by my monstrous eating, and emerged at the finish line in 6 hours and 25 minutes! I was extremely happy with my run and even happier to reunite with my friends and a cold beer.

It was a great day to run among the coyotes, and a great day to be alive :)



The Red Rock Mountain Marathon and Ultra is another awesome race directed by Luis Escobar. For more details and sign-ups, go to www.allwedoisrun.com. But be nice. Or go home.



Courir Red Rock, c'est se brancher direct à la source de la course d'ultra. C'est laisser faire les artifices, les petites attentions et le chouchoutage, lacer ses souliers et s'élancer dans les trails, juste pour voir quelle genre de journée on peut en tirer. Juste pour voir quel genre de coureur on est.

Tribesports Gear Is Here!

FlintLand's content partner Tribesports has successfully completed its Kickstarter campaign and is launching a brand new line of technical apparel for runners and outdoors enthusiasts. Their idea is to offer top-of-the-line clothing at a reduced price by skipping the middle men, doing no paid advertisement and foregoing the elite sponsorships that cost tons of money. The result: an affordable line of quality gear.

In the coming months, FlintLand will be among the first blogs to review some of that gear, putting it to the test on roads and trails. In the meantime, here are some shots of tribe members hard at work (playing) in their Tribesports gear :)

Pass Mountain 2013 Race Report

In the dark hours of the Javelina Jundred, a couple weeks ago, I started really falling apart. Afraid I wouldn't even be able to finish 100K, I started negotiating with myself. «Just finish this one run, then it's over. You don't have to run anything else for weeks, even months if you must. Just get through these 4 loops». Knowing I wouldn't have to put out any more efforts for a while relaxed me, and eventually, I did complete the 100K.


And, of course, a couple days later I was back out running :)


I re-filled my calendar with more fun events, but I decided to sometimes opt for the shorter distances. My right foot was still not 100% back, and I wanted to give it a little break. So when I signed up for Pass Mountain, I decided to run a single loop. 25K. I had a couple good training runs before, and I felt some speed was getting back into me, so I thought maybe I could pull a fast one and try to get a new PR.


I drove to Usery Park in advance to camp out and relax, and immediately met Rick Valentine and his family, who had the same idea. We sat down for a couple beers, and ended up cooking together in their RV since the weather had turned to rain for the first time in my 3 months in Arizona. We didn't stay up too late and everyone went to bed to wake up fresh in the morning.


Maria had driven in later in the evening and other runners had trickled in as well. I was served another beautiful desert sunset, and fell asleep smiling.

The morning came quickly, like most race days. We all woke up early to see the 50K runners off. Michael and Kimberly Miller had joined the party, along with the best surprise of the day; Apache Tony Russ!!! He showed up 15 minutes late for his start, popping out of nowhere, and still took time for a big hug and some happy words before he took off chasing the other runners. I was super happy that Charity had made the trip too, so we spent some good times chatting and catching up.

An hour later, it was our turn to line up at the start. For some dumb reason, Maria and I ended up in the 5^th or 6^th front row, and I immediately said we didn't belong there. We should have been in the back, chatting up other runners and taking it easy. But it was too late; the signal was given and out we went. Fast.

The course starts out flat for several miles, so there was plenty of room for me to take off and sustain a pace way faster than my usual. But I have to say, I felt great and exhilarated. I was stunned, too, that it took me at least a mile to catch up to La Mariposa, whom I'd never seen run so fast. «Whoooaaaa, girl! I could barely catch up to you!». «Yeah!», she hollered back, «Maybe we're running a little too fast?»


Maybe.


It was too late to change my game plan, so I smiled and went ahead. I have to admit I was very pleased when a fast runner approached behind and didn't pass me. «You go ahead, man!». «Nah, you have a great pace!».


We stayed together for maybe 2 more miles, playing in the twisted rolling trails. My legs were strong and I felt energized, but I knew this feeling wouldn't last long. Slowly, my energy started to wane and my running buddy pressed ahead.

It's all right. I'm never going to run fast if I don't try, right? So I slowed down a little, and enjoyed my last miles until the climb to the pass. I ate a gel or two, trying to regain some energy. But I didn't feel much of a kick. Ah, well.


The climb was fun and challenging at times, mostly due to the presence of mountain bikers, but mostly recreational hikers of a certain age. Some of them were nimble and quick enough to move away from the trail, but not others. At one point, I had to come to a literal screeching halt because an elderly man was blocking the path, and it was the only way to avoid a painful encounter of the face-to-face kind.

When the climb got steeper, it became quite obvious that I wouldn't pull a PR, so I started to take it easy and stopped to take a couple pictures of the gorgeous environment and surrounding mountains.

«SPLAT».


I heard a sound like if someone had thrown a raw chicken against the rock slabs. Then a girl screamed for help. I turned around and darted back on the trail, to find a crashed dude, still face down, his hands and face dripping bright red blood on the rocks. He look pretty smashed up.

«You all right? What's your name? I'm first aid, we're gonna take care of you».


«Will.»


«OK, man, take it easy. You dizzy? Nauseous?» He was pretty banged up, but he made sense. I ruled out that he might have severe trauma or a head injury, but he still looked pretty bad. Some more runners arrived at the scene, and one jumped out of the little crowd. «I'm an ER doctor». I turned around, and told her to unzip my vest and take out the bladder, to get to my S.O.L. Survival kit. She was pretty pleased that I had some gear, so she opened up the pouch and took out some duct tape while I used a sweat rag to press against a pretty bloody gash in my poor new friend's eyebrow.

We used rolled napkin bits and duct tape to patch up the wounds, then someone thought of using my Buff as a headband, which would keep the makeshift bandages in place. Some minutes later, Will was back up on his feet and, although wobbly, able to walk.


After reassuring her that I would stick with Will on the trails until the next aid station, the running doctor leaped ahead and resumed her run. We started walking slowly along the trails, and I made sure to stay close to Will for his first steps, asking him many questions to make sure he still made sense. He had a headache, but no other symptoms.


The rest of our run was mostly a walk, and we never crossed another aid station so we stayed together the whole way. Not only did Will tough it out, he even managed to resume running for the last couple miles and cross the finish line running. I gave him the «Toughest Guy On The Trails» award for the day, in the form of a cold Indio, but I guess he didn't feel like beer. He stayed in the medical tent for a bit, then seemed to fall asleep so I left him alone.

Before we went our separate ways, I explained to him the story of the Buff he was wearing. It was given to me by Josue Stephens and his wife Paula, in the Copper Canyons, after I'd lost mine. This Buff had traveled to numerous places and been on countless runs, and now it was his. He would get to keep it until someone else needed it, then give it away again. He liked the idea.

So maybe one day, while running the trails, you will trip on something and face-plant, then some stranger will patch you up and make sure you're OK.

Leaving you with a very special blue, white and gray-striped Buff.



On est des humains avant d'être des coureurs. Quand l'un de nous tombe, on tombe tous un peu. Alors on tend la main et on fait ce que les humains font le mieux; on s'entraide.

Trail adventure : The Arizona Trail

When I went up to Sunflower, Arizona, for the annual Mazatzal Trail Run, I noticed the area was full of beautiful, open camping spots. I also saw, from the main jeep road we were running, that several trailheads took off in various directions. One of those is the Arizona Trail, which crosses the whole state and beyond. I decided to drive back here and explore a section of it.

A room with a view :)

I found the perfect camping spot on top of a little mountain, with a breathtaking view of the whole chain, on both sides. There isn't a soul for tens of miles around and I am served the most amazing sunsets every night, as my little fire of dry mesquite wood keeps me warm from the hauling summit winds. This is life at its best.

This morning, I stayed curled up in my warm bed until the sun rose high in the deep blue sky. I peeled 2 pomegranates and had coffee, then I was too lazy to come outside so I sat in the sun in my new swivel seat and dove into a new book I got recently. It's called «Running to Thousand Letters» and was written by Wendy Drake, whom I met while running Canyon de Chelly a few weeks ago. I read almost half of it before I started to get excited enough to put my running clothes and head to the trails.

The Jeep road

Since the Mazatzal run, I figured my right foot issue might had been caused by my over-lacing. I was careful to lace loosely on my previous run, with fellow Mas Locos Caleb Wilson and Michael Miller, but my foot still hurt after a bit. However, it felt good this morning, and I laced very carefully, loosely enough to have wiggle room in my shoes.

I headed out on the jeep road for a little bit, then veered right at the first trail marker that I crossed. It simply says «Trail 47», but I'm pretty sure it's the Arizona Trail. The view is awesome from the start; the trail starts in pine-needle covered ground near a lower summit, then twist and turns down the side of the mountain to a little pass, then shoots up to the next one. Perfect rolling hills, which allowed me to go way faster than I expected.

It was one of the first times when I felt my legs were really solid, so I indulged in several very fast downhills even though I didn't know the trail. The smile on my face widened at every turn, with open views of the majestic summits that tower above the lower passes.

The strangest thing was that, at this altitude, the weather is much cooler and it actually looks like fall in the north; the ground is partly covered in multicolored fallen leaves, a sight I had not had in Arizona since I got here. The sun was warm enough, but the fresh air kept things cool. Perfect.

I ventured out another 3, maybe 4 miles before I turned around, as the sun was getting closer to the first peaks. I took long, deep breaths of fresh mountain air as I was climbing up the same way I came, soaking in the solitude of the still nature.

I ran back down to my truck and took my clothes off, bathing in the warm rays of the glorious afternoon sun. I am literally alone here in miles of open nature, with only little chirping birds as company.

The light started to come down as I built a little fire and sat down to enjoy the last moments of my day. Slowly, powerfully, the sun approached the ridge of the mountains and splashed vigorous swaths of pink, red and orange over stretched out clouds, like a dramatic, vibrant painting. I thanked nature for that spectacular finish and for the perfect day we'd spent together.




This is why I travel.

This is why I live.



J'ai eu la Nature juste pour moi, aujourd'hui, du lever du jour jusqu'au plus puissant, émouvant coucher de soleil que j'avais vu depuis fort longtemps. Je suis vivant. Tellement, tellement vivant.

Mazatzal - What Ultra Running Is All About

 

Since I've been down in Arizona a lot, I've had the chance to run several events with the Coury brothers and their awesome company Aravaipa Running. They have built an excellent reputation as professional race directors, and their events are much sought after for the impeccable organization and memorable aid stations.

But the Coury's also have another side, a taste for the old-school events that started our sport. These are more or less ad hoc races, often called «fatass» with very little organization and great personality. So when Jamil told me such a fatass was happening in the Tonto National Forest area, and that it was probably his favorite running event in the year, it didn't take long for me to accept the invitation.

The day before, I drove about an hour north of Phoenix to highway mile marker #222, then veered on a little side road, like the e-mail said. It also said «follow the ribbons», but I never found them. Luckily, my friend Caleb was going, too, and he figured out where the camping spot was. We arrived as the night was setting him and we met Anthony Culpepper and his friend, who had already set up camp. A can of Tecate magically appeared, and we all sat down to watch the magnificent mountain sky filled with stars so bright we could see the Milky Way.

I went to bed early, but didn't sleep too great because I forgot to park El Capitan on an even surface; I felt like I was rolling out of bed everytime I fell in deep sleep. The night was fresh and the morning came fast, with the sound of Michael and Kimberly Miller's truck parking next to me. More friends.

Pre-race "meeting"

Fatasses, in my opinion, are the essence of ultra running. They are gatherings of like-minded people, often way too early on a Saturday morning, which are followed by a trail run of variable lenght and usually end in BBQ, laughs and a couple beers. Minimal aid is provided, the course is more or less marked and runners are expected to be autonomous and helpful to others.

The Mazatzal run was an 18-mile course that starts by shooting straight up a jeep road for about 5 miles, then rolls up some more for another 2, then rolls down to a trailhead that somewhat follows a riverbed down patches of catclaw (a nasty, thorny little angry bush that will scratch you to blood) and other prickly things such as nopal cacti. All that over gnarly, rocky, rolly ground that will command your whole attention for about 4 to 5 miles. If you make it through, another 4 to 5 miles of climbing jeep road will take you back to the start.

Climbs always look so easy...
on pictures

It was the second time I ran after the Javelina Jundred and, although I still felt fatigued, I was glad to see I had enough legs to run the first long climbs. When I got to the trailhead, however, it became abundantly clear that my weakened right ankle wasn't ready to take the beating; I had to walk, sometimes carefully, through almost all that section.

It was good to be out there, however, and I had a happy grin on my face the whole time. The sun was nice and warm, but not too hot; it was a perfect day for a trail run. Going slower also allowed time to reflect on my ankle and foot issue, and I had an epiphany; since I started wearing my La Sportiva trail shoes, I tend to tie them down real tight. The laces are very thin, so I yank hard on them and then my foot swells during the run and suffocates. It doesn't have space to move!

The... trail.

When I came out of the trail, I took a minute to loosen up my lacing significantly. To my great satisfaction, the pain started receding. This will need more testing, but I think I finally found what's wrong!

Still captivated by my discovery, I climbed the last steep sections walking, taking time to look around and appreciate the beautiful day. I expected I had about 3 more miles to go when I saw Caleb's head peek out from a ledge and yell «Look alive for your finish photo!». I took off running, grinning, and finished my run to cheers from my friends, a nice cold beer and some burgers grilled by a smiling Nick Coury who finished first and smashed his previous record. What a great bunch of people. What a great day.





Les courses «fatass» comme Mazatzal sont l'essence-même de l'ultra. Sans grande organisation, bourrées de monde cool et dans les endroits les plus magnifiques. Quelle chance de pouvoir y être.