Elephant Mountain 50K - DNF - February 1, 2020

There are times, when explanations, no matter how reasonable, just don't seem to help.
- Fred Rogers, Life's Journeys According to Mister Rogers (2005)

The End
"Emaad!"

"Emaad!" I yell a second time.

He finally hears me, stops, and turns around.  He is about 30 yards ahead of me on the long uphill about a mile from where we left the Start/Finish area to start our final 8 mile loop.

"Go on," I say, "I'm done. I'm going back." After 24.7 miles and 6:45:48, my day at the Elephant Mountain 50K is over.

He doesn't try to talk me out of it. A wave of the hand, an "OK" and he goes on and I stop. I trudge the mile back to the Start/Finish.  I pass a few more 50K runners headed out for that final loop. They don't try to talk me into continuing either.

At the finish I report my DNF and get a handshake for my effort. No finisher's pint glass for me.

The Beginning
In the days leading up to the race I obsess over the two cutoffs posted on the website - one for when we return to the Start/Finish line at about mile 23 (7 hours) and the second at the finish (9 hours).  It seems generous enough, but the course has some climbs, the weather can be hot, and the footing is unknown.  And results for previous years do not show any finishers over 9 hours, so I take it that the race organizers are serious about the cutoffs.  I prepare a pace card so we can see how we are doing.

The day before the race Emaad and I visit the Desert Botanical Garden with friend Cathy, an ultrarunner who relocated to the Valley of the Sun about ten years ago.  She has honed her gardening skills with classes at the Gardens that she uses in her own yard and to instruct us about the various plants we will see during our run.

Final instructions at the start

Saturday morning we get a parking spot about 30 yards from the start line. We put together drop bags for the turnaround at the Spur Cross Aid Station (mile 11) and I do one for the start/finish.  They are pretty minimal - a shirt, some gels, maybe a handkerchief.

Promptly (nearly on the second) the 61 50K runners are off at 7 a.m. Fourteen 50 mile runners started an hour earlier (ten will finish).  The sun is still below the horizon, but there is enough light to run by.  Still to come are runners in the 35K, 22K, 12K and 6K distances. We'll see (and get passed by) 35K runners later, but the others will be well done before we are anywhere near overlapping with them.

Sunrise

It is a long climb up at the start, but the golden glow of the impending sunrise behind the hills and mountains to our right is inspiring.

In less than three miles we reach the Go John Aid Station (named for a runner named John who always implored others to "Go!").  A quick drink, a check of the pace card and off we go.

Lost

Looking back to the start/finish

It doesn't take long for the field to spread out, but we have a couple of runners following us.  We head up a ridge and hear howling ahead.  To my untrained ear it sounds like a a bunch of runners goofing off at an aid station, but one of the local runners with us, says it is from a pack of coyotes.  We scan ahead as we head down a gentle slope with good views but don't see anything.

Speaking of which, we haven't seen any of the polka-dotted ribbons that mark the trail either.  We have gone awhile without seeing any, but we are clearly on a trail, and we can see a couple of runners ahead.

But one of them heads back towards us and expresses concern about not seeing any ribbons.  Emaad consults the GPX track of the course that he had downloaded on his phone and confirms that we are indeed off the course.  On the other hand, we are headed on a trail that will intersect with the course at the next aid station..  Meanwhile, another pair of runners catches up with us.  The eight or so of us give a collective shrug and decide that all we can do is press on.

Avoid the pointy plants

Gravity Never Takes A Holiday
In parting at the Botanical Garden, Cathy told us to avoid plants with points, especially cholla cactus, which have small but nasty barbed spines. We assure her that will be do our best to look but not touch.

The trails are generally firm dirt, but with plenty of rocks that require attention.  Unfortunately, I catch a toe on one during our off-course section and gravity tugs me earthward.  I'm an experienced faller, so I tuck my right shoulder in and go into a roll when I hit the ground.  The maneuver helps spread out the impact, but I nearly take out one of the runners with us, bumping up against her shin.  But I stop just short of a prickly pear cactus.

A few miles later, on another flat section, I go down again.  Again, no significant damage and no encounter with pointy plants. Later that night I catalog scrapes on my right shin, knee, hand, elbow and shoulder. At least the wounds show that I was able to spread the impacts.

Typical trail (with rocks to trip on)

I'll fall again around mile 13, on a rockier stretch of downhill, but without serious damage.  I quip to hikers heading in the opposite direction, "Go on. Nothing to see here."

But the falls do take a bit of a toll - my lower back is sore, probably from being twisted or wrenched in the falling.  A couple of ibuprofen help for a bit, but the pain returns later in the day.

Friend Sara, running the 22K didn't get the warning from Cathy.  She falls on a downhill - "like I was sliding into home plate" - right into a cactus, maybe a cholla.  At the finish she goes to the medical tent to have the spines removed from her leg.

Back on Course

Emaad crossing Cave Creek about mile 12

We rejoin the course at the Rodger Creek Aid Station (mile 5.9).  The aid station workers are not surprised to seeing us come from the wrong direction, as others have preceded us. They suggest that we cross the timing mat and we do.  We have shaved about 0.9 mile from the course. We are not going to win any awards anyway, so it is unfortunate but not such as thing that would require us to disqualify ourselves.  Because of my concern about making the cutoffs, I'm secretly pleased that we have saved a few more minutes.

With the exception of the fall on the way out, the run to the Spur Cross Aid Station (mile 11) is uneventful, but is filled with great scenery. At one point we can see the aid station below and seemingly near, but we have to run away from it while headed down, and then cross Cave Creek on a small improvised two-board bridge before reaching it.

At the aid station I change from the long sleeve shirt to a short sleeve one, get my handkerchief, refill my bottle and use the Porta-potty, entirely forgetting to get anything to eat at the station.

The view on the Spur Cross Trail

The day is getting warm (temperature will reach 79) and the sun is high and bright. I have gels and salt tabs with me and I am taking them, but at irregular intervals.

You Think You are Tough
On the way back to Rodgers Creek, we fall in with a woman runner. As usual during an ultra, we chat.  We are walking a fair amount now, I I mention my concern about the cutoffs (although we were 35 minutes to the good at Spur Cross.  She too, has a pace card, and suggests that we need to pick it up a bit if we wish to maintain our cushion.  He says that she cannot run the rocky stretches because she is legally blind.  She also tells us that she has MS.  Neither affliction prevents her from running away from us, although we briefly catch up to her approaching Rodgers Creek before she goes ahead for good.

Emaad circling Elephant Mountain

Onward
At Rodgers Creek Aid station (mile 16) I soak my handkerchief and hat to provide some cooling, and this time we get on the right part of the course that we missed outbound.  The first stretch is an old road, flat but particularly rocky. The next stretch is a short bit of paved road. Neither is pleasant, but we are soon enough back on the trail, and into the Go John Aid station with our time cushion undiminished.
We work on the section around Elephant Mountain toward the Start/Finish.  It gets rocky and uphill.  The sun beats down on us, and our pace flags. A mountain biker comes flying down one particularly steep and rocky stretch, telling us not to worry about him.  Finally the trail levels out and then heads down to where we started (mile 24).  We beat not only the official cutoff, but my unofficial cutoff, but we have given back time.  The 35 minute cushion is down to 17 minutes.

The Abruptness of the End
I change shirts again, re-soak my hat and handkerchief and we head out. It is the long uphill that we started on and we are mostly walking, even the more level stretches.  I tell Emaad that we need to pick it up if we are to make the 9 hour finishing cutoff.

We reach a stretch on one of the uphill switchbacks that is level and he urges me to run.  We do.  He gets ahead of me.  We both keep walking uphill.

I look up and see not only him but that the stretch of trail further along - and uphill.

It's a gut punch. No, a knockout punch.  I don't even agonize over whether I can go on. At the time I feel no shame, no regret, no sadness, about it.

I call out to Emaad and quit.

Another runner comes along and I get an ibuprofen from her. She goes onward and I turn around to go down.

Emaad goes on to finish in 8:42, 18 minutes under the offical 9-hour cutoff.  But because of the addition of the 50 mile race there are four runners who finish over that time. The cutoff wasn't a cutoff.

Reasonable Explanations?
The heat.
The falls and back pain.
The failure to manage electrolytes and nutrition.
Under-training.
Misapprehension of the cutoff.
Not taking time to regroup.
Lack of mental toughness.
Failing to realize that I only had 100 feet of the 500 feet of climbing to go.
My age.

Mister Rogers was right. Explanations don't help.

Swag: Shirt, bib (but no finisher's glass)