Pass Mountain 50K - November 13, 2021

Nightmares

The night before the Pass Mountain 50K, I cannot sleep.  I'm worried about the weather for the race, specifically, the forecast for higher than normal temperatures.  I have a history of not coping well with hot conditions.  In June, I dropped out of Ran It with Janet 50K partly due to the 90 degree heat.  In February, 2020, I dropped from Elephant Mountain 50K, at least in part due to the heat. 

Cathy and Emaad choose another way at
Boyce Thompson Arboretum

Earlier on Friday Emaad and I meet our friend Cathy at the Boyce Thompson Arboretum in Superior. She is a member and an enthusiastic gardener, and she treats us to an hour long guided tour of the main trail at the arboretum. The shaded portions are pleasant, but I feel the heat when we are in unshaded parts of the walk. 

Even though I have a plan to deal with the heat, I spend a troubled night, never quite being able to sleep for any length of time.  No need for the alarm; I'm awake and up well before I have to be.

First Loop

The course consists of two loops around Pass Mountain.  From the race website, it looks relatively flat, with most of the 2500 feet of ascent in the two climbs from the second aid station (mile 6.8 of each loop) and the passage at Bulldog Saddle at the top of the trail.  And that climb is followed by a nice four mile descent back to the start finish area. Since we did over 3000 feet of climb at Boulder Field 50K, this doesn't sound at all bad.  And it is in the desert, so no roots to contend with or trip over. Maybe just a few rocks.

The race starts at 7 o'clock sharp. The 58 entrants in the 50K head out onto the smooth dirt of the trail.  Emaad and I are toward the rear and as usual we chat with the runners around us.  We don't push the pace, but don't go too slowly either, figuring that the more miles we can log while the sun is still low (sunrise was 6:56 a.m.) and the temperatures down, the better off we will be later in the day.

Emaad runs into the sun on the levee (mile 3)

The course rolls just a bit for the first couple of miles, then turns onto a levee built to protect a neighborhood on the edge of the park for flash floods. We get through the eponymously named Levee aid station (mile 3.8) in 44 minutes, get back on the levee and continue for a bit more before the trail leaves it for more generally flat track to the next aid station at mile 6.8.

From here it is 8.6 miles back to the start-finish.  I make sure that my hydration pack is filled to its 1.5 liter capacity. Fellow runner David, who is using trekking poles and has run the race previously, gives us a brief on what to expect ahead.

The course heads up gently, between the Cat Hills, then along a bit of gently rolling, but rocky, trail running to the east.  We chat with a couple of women runners about the difference of running in the East and the West.  A hiker wearing a sidearm passes us going the opposite direction. (Protection against snakes? Loaded with snake shot? Protection from other wildlife?) We are in a different culture here.

Looking toward Pass Mountain from the south (mile 4)

The trail turns northward and upward, but the rocks do not end.  The trail is rockier that I had anticipated and it makes running difficult. Up we go. Since this is the desert one can see the runners - actually mostly walkers - on the trial ahead and above.

Finally we come to a switchback that is just solid rock and steeply upward.  This is the point that David told us would mark the final ascent to Bulldog Saddle. Just before we reach the top we come upon a pair of mountain bikers preparing to descend that stretch.  It seems to be an ill-advised and particularly risky idea but we go on leaving them to their effort. We see them later in the day unscathed.

Cresting the saddle, we now have four miles and 700 feet of descent to the end of the first loop.  It should be a place to make up time.  Emaad takes off.  But I proceed slowly.  As I've gotten older, downhills have become troubling - I am becoming increasingly afraid of falling and am losing confidence in my ability to bound down them.  The trail is still rocky, and there is nothing be a steep slope on one side. A misstep, slip or stumble in the wrong direction and it will be a slide down a rocky, cactus slope for who knows how far. Adding to the concern, portions of the trail are eroded, further narrowing the path.

Headed toward Bulldog Saddle

I go on, unconfident of the trail, but confident that I'll make the four and a half hour cutoff at the end of the first loop.

Second Loop

Emaad is waiting for my at our drop bags.  The day is now hot, and the portapotty that I use is sweltering.  I change shirts, fill the hydration pack and grab my handheld water bottle.  My plan is to use the water in the hydration pack for drinking and the water in the handheld for cooling, pouring it on the cooling towel I have around my neck.

We cross the mat to start the second loop in 4:11.  This gives us officially 4:49 to run the second loop to finish under the official nine hour cutoff. But we not particularly concerned about that, knowing that the 50 milers on a somewhat differ course will still be out there later than us.

We have barely gone a few hundred yards than we come across a runner sitting by the side of the trail. He says he is OK but has decided to call it a day.  A bit further along we come across another runner walking back toward the start-finish.  He, too, tells us that he is calling it a day.

By now we are pretty much alone. I want to run, but Emaad urges that we go easy, as the time is approaching noon, the sun is high, there is no shade, the day has become hot and we still have a long way to go.  It's good advice.  We mostly walk, or walk and run.

We spy a runner ahead, mostly walking and talking on her phone.  When she is done with her call we fall in with her and the three of us proceed together sharing stories.  It turns out that she had run the 2019 DC North Face Endurance Challenge 50K, the same race at which Emaad and I had run a bit with ultralegend Dean Karnazes.

She is a recent graduate of George Washington University, and is interested in international humanitarian efforts.  I tell her that I know someone who works at the Agency for International Development and that if she wants I can put her in touch with him.  In an only-in-DC moment I tell her that I happen to have one of my business cards in the rear outside pocket of my hydration pack (how many other trail runners carry their business cards with them?) and that she is free to take a picture of it so that she can contact me later.  I had the business card with me because I had written the race emergency number on it in case I needed it on the trail. But still . . .  a business card?

She is talking about dropping at the Levee aid station, but we and the aid station workers talk her into going on. At one point Emaad and I get a bit ahead of her and exchange concern about her.  We wait and she catches up with us and assures us that she is fine, but is going to drop out at the Meridian aid station (mile 22.2). She has to get to CVS in time to get a COVID test as she is flying to Germany on Monday.

As we approach the aid station, a volunteer meets us.  He, too, tries to talk her out of dropping, but her mind is made up.  She calls one of her friends (one dropped, one finished) to come pick her up.  

Emaad has gone on ahead, and calls back to me to pick up his handheld, as he left it behind.  I do, and after a couple of hundred yards I curse myself, because in getting his I left my behind.  I turn back to get it. A volunteer sees me coming back and realizes what I had done, and brings it out to meet me, saving me precious steps.

Now we are alone and the day is hot.  We have been over this ground before, but somehow it seems longer, probably because we are going slower. (On the first loop we did the 6.8 mile distance from the start to the Meridian aid station in 1:27. It took 2:00 on the second loop.)

I'm keeping my cooling towel wet with water from the handheld. But the upward climb seems endless.  With no runners (or even hikers for that matter) on the trail ahead, it is hard to know where the saddle is.  All I see is mountainside, with no obvious way over.

But eventually we reach the "just rocks" part, and partially on all fours, I crest Bulldog Saddle.

Looking to the north from the Pass Mountain trail (mile 29)

As on the first loop, Emaad takes off downhill and I trudge downward. At least now this side of the mountain is partially in the shade. A good thing too, as I'm starting to ration both my drinking water in the hydration pack and the cooling water in the handheld.

About a mile down the trail I come upon Curtis, a runner who, it turns out, had been thru the Meridian aid station 18 minutes ahead of us.  He is not looking well.  I offer him a salt tablet, and I take my last one.  Then I go on, but keep looking back to see how he is doing.  He is moving forward, so I figure he will be OK. 

I've run out of water in my handheld, so I use water from my pack to wet my cooling cloth.  But than causes me to even further cut back on what I drink.  I try a trick from Emaad - take a sip and swish it in your mouth for awhile before swallowing.  Anything to make the water last.

With about a mile left, first one leg, and then the other starts to cramp. I use a nearby bench to press back and stretch.  Somewhat successfully, I resume moving.  But then I start to get lightheaded and stop on a rock to put my head down. The cramping resumes. I start to wonder if it is time to get out the business card to dial the emergency number.  But both the dizziness and cramping subside.  On I go. But I'm out of water.

I ask a runner headed in the opposite direction if he has a gel, forgetting the I have two on me.  He doesn't.  A bit later I cross paths with a mountain biker.  He asks if I'm OK, and when I hesitate, he asks if I want some water. He pours some, including some ice, from his hydration pack into my bottle. The cold water is refreshing, both inside and out.

Live Results Screenshot

And in a bit I pass the parking lot by the Wind Cave trailhead ("the false finish" as one runner described it on the first loop) and travel the half mile or so to the finish.  I cross the line and plunk down in a chair.  One of the finish line workers gives me my finisher's award and gets me something to drink and a snack.  Emaad, who finished 20 minutes ahead of me, comes over.  He tells me that he vomited after finishing, and one of the medical staff checked on him. 

Curtis comes in 20 minutes behind me.

Finisher or Not?

The live tracking shows that I finished in 9:29:47, 37th overall, and 24th male. I was the oldest finisher by five years.  Emaad finished in 9:09:33. Curtis was the only finisher behind me.

The temperature tops out at 88 degrees, ten degrees above the normal high for November 13 in Mesa. It takes a toll on the runners. Only 38 of the original 58 starters will be recorded as finishers, an attrition rate of 35 percent.  This is far above the attrition rate for the previous three Pass Mountain 50Ks, where the rates were 15, 13, and 14 percent, respectively.

When the results are posted to Ultrasignup, we three are all listed as DNFs. We went from finishers to non-finishers. 

At the Finish

Although we didn't make the announced nine hour cutoff, this DNF does not set will with me.  I email the race director, pointing out that at "the 2020 Elephant Mountain 50K [a race put on by the same company], 16 finishers who did not meet the 8-hour cutoff were recorded as finishers, including four who were over nine hours.  Just like Pass Mountain this year, that race had its inaugural 50 miler" so there were still runners out on the course when we finished. I ask that he include me, Emaad, Curtis and a fourth runner who was also over the nine hour cutoff.  Emaad also sends an email.

We get no response for eight days, so I write again. The race director responds to Emaad and I agreeing to do so, although not without a bit of a backhand:  "because you seem so passionate about receiving a finish for a race that you finished over the official cutoff, we will allow your result to be posted."  But he doesn't do so for Curtis who remains a DNF. On the other hand, while not telling us, he moves a 50-mile finisher from a reported "did not finish under the cutoff" to an official finisher.  

We didn't make the cutoff. If, at finish I was told that I was a DNF I would have accepted that. But the company ignored the cutoff for another one of its races, so consistency is expected. Once you tell me I'm a finisher and give me a finisher's medal, you do not get to unfinish me. (And at my age, I need all the finishes I can get.)

Swag: Shirt, Bib and
FINISHER'S MEDAL