Where to start?
In the days leading up to this run, the magnitude of it was clearly an itch in my brain. In other words, I was scared shitless. 43 miles? 10000 feet of vertical? 10 hours? Or more? I had never done anything longer than 5 hours or a marathon. I had not trained with longer runs or anything of significant vertical this winter spring. What the hell was I getting into?
I tried to shake this off because I knew other folks who had done it, and I was confident (in an inappropriate sort of self talk swagger sort of way) if they could pull it off, I could too.
That said, I certainly did not want to be the “that guy” who ended up getting his ass drug out of the Canyon on a mule.
Friday night we packed up. I packed six gels, three bars, a bag of powerbar chews (much like shotblocks), several packets of gatorade, about a dozen S-caps, an extra pair of socks, gloves, an ultralite shell, brim cap. All this was shoved into TZ’s High Sierra camelbak. I loaded that up with 70oz of Gatorade mix, fairly sweet to start thinking I would thin it out through the day. I would wear a tech shirt (Mt Washington as a matter of fact) and my longer shorts that have a few pockets in them. For shoes, I went with a well worn pair of Cascadias.
At the last minute, I decided to NOT wear the Garmin. I got concerned that the battery would die at 10 hours, and that I would be out there with no idea as to what time it was. Instead, I opted for the Altera, and further rationalized that I’d not get good GPS data anyway (based on what I heard from several folks).
I had also decided to NOT bring my IPOD. I thought I might in case I hit a bad patch. But I then decided that this run was about exploration: the exploration of the Canyon, of the really long run, and of myself. I decided that if I hit a bad patch, I wanted to explore that too. I did not want to drown that out with music but to really hear it. So I left it behind.
I had predetermined that I would not specifically advertise a time I wanted to run. I knew that JV wanted to beat his 8:43 from the year prior. John had goals near or under 10 hours. I really had NO idea. I knew I would not rip it as fast as JV. Simply, I had not done the training and I was not going to push this bugger give the “first time” nature of it. But I was not sure if that meant 10 hours or 12 hours or 16 hours. I had visions of wandering back up the South Kaibab out of the Canyon, mumbling, stumbling, dry in the mouth – needing water and hoping to finish before dark.
As a joke at the last minute before we went to bed, I pinned my number from the Kohl 5k on the front of my shorts. It had been left in my windbreaker from the week before. We did some last minute exchange of various beta on the trip. Through the ride down, JV had given me lots of tips, pointers and insights on everything – where there was water, where to run on the way back up, the break points … while I had never been on the Kaibab trails, it was almost as if I had been with the pictures he had painted.
We woke at 4AM with intention of 530AM start. These are Arizona times – which means that they were an hour behind Mountain Daylight Savings Time. Arizona does not observe DST. Unless you are in the Navajo nation parts. Ridiculous. But I digress.
I had slept soundly – maybe even more so than the other guys. JV mentioned he had been up since 3 or so. We did the typical morning of a run stuff: meaning we went to the bathroom about 10 times each. I suited up and covered all the sensitive areas with Vaseline. Crap, what the hell sort of nipple chaffing am I going to have after a full day of running?
I took in a couple of bananas with peanut butter, and took in a couple of bottles of Gatorade. I had been trying to force the hydration (intelligently) for the day before. It was right near 40 degrees so I put on the shell and the gloves.
We collected into the van around 5ish and headed over to the lot near Kaibab road entrance. It is about 6/10ths of a mile from that lot to the actual trailhead. We walked / jogged very lightly in the dark.
Other runners that were from Colorado were already out there. Meaning – OUT THERE. There was at least one person who had started at 7PM the night before. And several folks had started at 3AM. One guy joined JV, Homie and me. We hit the bathrooms at the start as the mules in the nearby paddock stared at us with interest.
And then we went. My watch read 5:36 and change when I switched over to the chrono and started it. JV and this other guy took off very quickly down the trail. I held back intentionally – repeating the mantra that I needed to establish a pace that I KNEW I could hold for a very long day. Homie settled a handful of yards behind me. I gave a loud whoop and it was returned by the other guys: here I was … IN THE CANYON. RUNNING THE GRAND CANYON. Seeing it at sunrise. With friends. Enjoying the great spectacle it was, and serving up a setting for me to test myself in a new way. How glorious could that be.
I had also elected to pack a camera. I had thought about not bringing it, but decided that since I was not “racing” this – I had room to enjoy this. I snapped some shots as we moved down the trail.
Within 10-15 minutes I realized I was overdressed. It was warming up quickly as we descended. I pulled off the side of the trail, flipped off the pack and shoved the gloves and the shell into it. Homie slipped by and got about 100 yards up on my before I started moving again. Occasionally I would catch sight of JV several switchbacks down. The sun was rising and beginning to paint the canyon with its reds, browns and greens against a gray to blue sky.
And then I got my first warning. We passed a location called Skeleton Point and I felt the beginning of my right quad bemoaning the descent. We were maybe 20 minutes in? Crap. Way too early for this. My choices? Stay reserved and move on.
Homie remained a few switchbacks ahead as we descended. He’d gain a little ground as we hit the more vertical technical drops and I’d get a little back as the trail went to more gentle terrain … it was ever gentle. The trail drops 4500 plus feet in seven miles. It should be easy to rip this, but with the water bar drops, it is not like running down Flagstaff Road.
We got site of the river and then came to the tunnel at the Black Bridge – the bridge that crosses the Colorado. I went through the tunnel and WHAM. As I came out of the tunnel, I hit a lip at or before the bridge and went down on my right knee and hand. Blood began to leak out of both. My choices here? Stay reserved and move on.
We had hit the bridge in about an hour on the nose. HR and effort wise I was fine and enjoying the morning. I was concerned a bit given the right quad that was increasingly complaining and the fall but neither was overwhelming. I slowly caught up to Homie as we pulled into Phantom Ranch. We slowed down as we looked for where we could gather water and finally found it. We moved quickly, but not panicked. Homie slipped out of the Ranch a few steps ahead of me. We left the Ranch about 70 minutes into the run.
I popped some S-caps, took a couple of swigs of water, a few of the powerbar chews while walking quickly up the trail and then settled into a slow jog as the trail started to climb. I had to pee. I decided since this was a trip of firsts, I would also try another first here: peeing while running. All I can say is – it is possible, I did it, but it is more of a waddle than a run.
I rolled Homie up in a few minutes and kept the thought of keeping reserved, run easy, never press, that I had a long day ahead. We had moved into the big expansive stellar views of the Canyon to a box canyon, adjacent to Bright Angel Creek, with a slow climb. The North Kaibab would take us to the North Rim over the course of 14 miles and some 5500 feet of elevation gain (so a little more gain than what we had just dropped but over twice the mileage).
I kept plodding, and glancing back, I could see Homie anywhere from 30 to 150 yards behind.
There was a true water crossing – maybe 15 feet wide? There was ankle deep water running over it – so nothing hugely technical but I was very thankful that there was a zip line over it to steady against.
As we made our way up, we began to catch some of the early starters. This was motivating because seeing others out there always gave you a target to chase and a brief moment to exchange some pleasantries.
Eventually we came to the Cottonwood campsite and he caught up to me as I filled with water. I was envious as to how quickly he could fill his water bottles, while I had to take longer with the more challenging backpack hydration system. He asked me how I was doing. We were at 2:30 into the run, so I answered, “well, this equals in terms of time about the longest run of the year I have done so far. Now it gets interesting.” The night before I had heard this was a run of six seven mile runs. Seven to the creek, seven to Cottonwood, seven to the North Rim, repeat in the opposite direction.
Back to the slow plod up the gentle climb. A short while after Cottonwood is the Roaring Forks site. This was maybe 10 minutes later? – so I elected to not stop for water here as I was still full.
We had climbed out of the shadows of the box canyon, and the sun was climbing in the sky and it was definitely warming up. With the heat, I backed off to a walk on the steeper stretches – again the mantra here was that I did not need to kill anyone climb as there was still many miles to run. We passed crews working the trail, who gave quiet hellos. I think they clearly knew what we were doing but it really was not something to be discussed.
Homie remained anywhere from 40 to 200 yards behind me. I was not directly competing with Homie but at the same time, I was mentally leveraging him for motivation. I was concerned about the descent coming from North Kaibab back to the river. My quads were mushed from the initial descent and the fatigue of climbing another 14 miles was slowing continuing to provide an element of Chinese water torture to them.
There were some very cool water falls, including a couple you actually ran under, that provided a nice cooling effect – albeit briefly from the sun that seemed to light up all of the Canyon. I just kept moving – walking where the trail was steep and jogging where it would flatten out a bit – but steadying my effort to be as light and as consistent as possible.
I tried to level the input of food, water and S caps. I was not hungry, but I wanted to keep the tank correctly full. Every half an hour or so, I pop a cap, or a bar or a gel.
I arrived at the Supai Tunnel and recalled hearing that this was about 2.5 miles from the rim. Water was not on here – which was a disappointment but not unexpected. I had run out of water in my pack just before the tunnel. This meant I was about another 10 miles from a pure water source – way too long. I weighed a couple options as I moved through the tunnel (careful not to trip this time!): snow, the river I walked through, and puddles at the bottom of some of those waterfalls. I would end up doing all of these on the descent.
The conditions above Supai were different. Wooded versus open and rocky canyon walls. And about half the trail was snow covered. The snow covered parts were well packed with many footprints from all the winter travelers. I kept an eye on the Altera, watching the elevation climb from 6000 to 7000 and seeing it approach 8000. JV came running down, having already reached the top. He looked great – smooth and controlled and we both gave each other words of encouragement. In this section, I caught up with many of the early starters. The last I saw (Bob), I asked “hey – this is my first time … is it about a mile to the top?” He grinned and said “how about a hundred yards?” thumbing over his shoulder. And there was the north kiosk.
I tagged the kiosk, took a picture and noted that I arrived there in about 4 hours and 32 minutes. I then turned around and started the descent.
I was both enthusiastic and nervous. I had run 21 miles and saw everything that I had to cover. I was confident that I would finish. I was also nervous because my quads were already complaining with the first steps down. I wondered if I would be reduced to a painful walk to the river within a mile or two. I wondered if I could break 10 hours.
I saw Homie a few minutes down and told him I thought he’d probably catch me given how my quads were mush. The first couple miles back down were slow because of this and the snow. And, being out of water – I took handfuls of snow and slowly ate them to get something to hydrate with.
Back through the Supai tunnel, and into the heat. It was warm, and getting warmer. I hit one of the waterfalls and got down into a push up position and took long draughts of it. It tasted good.
I eagerly approached the Roaring Forks site – ready to fill the bladder of the pack. I was thinking I would fill here, take as much as I can and then fill again at the Cottonwood site so that I could get ahead of my hydration – or actually back from being behind on my hydration. I pulled off at the spigot, turned it and got about 12 ounces in the bladder … and it stopped. I fidgeted with the spigot, cursing. Homie pulled in and I told him the bad news. I was already putting my pack back on and getting ready to head to Cottonwood to get water there. He mentioned it was dribbling, but I was already heading back down the trail.
This downhill was much more gentle now and I was moving with the motivation to get to Cottonwood. I was feeling good and my quads were thankful for the gentler grade.
And I fell asleep. Essentially I ran right through Cottonwood. I totally missed the water. Just a total mental lapse. I realized it maybe 50 yards past the site, and half contemplated going back for the water – but stupidly chose not to. I recalled that the stream crossing was just below the site and decided I would drink there. I did. I should have actually filled the bladder there but that was another mental error.
I guess I never went through a black patch or a really bad patch, but I did go through some gray times where I was tired and had to relevel myself a bit. Clearly, the effort was taking its toll. I now realized I was without water, and had a bout an hour to Phantom Ranch and fresh water.
The heat built. The quads were fried. I was fine aerobically but I could feel my effort rising as I dehydrated. I was dry in the mouth and even my sweat was slowing. None of this was good. I knew I would make it to Phantom Ranch, but I wonder what the cost of this error would be. I glanced back a few times – and could see no sign of Homie.
About 30 minutes into this segment to that hour to get to the Ranch was pretty challenging. But it was one of those where I knew I had to keep moving. Stopping would only delay me getting to water. I started a trip report of things done wrong.
I had kept count of the bridges on the way up, so I used those as landmarks for progress on the way down. I had a scare at one point – a helicopter landed just above me in the Canyon. As it was coming in, there were guys there telling me to just move on through. I hoped that I would not come around the corner and see a crashed JV there, lying in a heap. Thankfully – that did not happen.
Then I fell – for the second time of the day. This time I bounced off my left hand, leaving my palm bruised. I cursed as I fell. I got up, talking aloud, “okay Zack, get up, walk it off, get moving.” I had tripped on some round river stones where the footing was tricky. But I was okay.
Finally I got to the Ranch … and drank. I filled the bladder and drank probably 20 ounces off it right away. I did this again and took in another 10 ounces. And then I drank a bunch more from the spigot. I started the march out, taking in some food, passing the tourist who looked at me with a concerned eye. I was dirty, sweating, moving quickly on a warm day where most folks were doing whatever they could to not expend energy.
My legs protested – very much ready to be done. I had now completed 35 miles of running – way more than they had carried me in a single day. I reached the ranch in just under seven hours, and spent probably six or seven minutes there, hydrating. This gave me 3 hours to get out of the Canyon – to be sub 10. I had read AJW’s report of him getting out of the Canyon in 2:11. I thought this would make 3 hours fairly do-able.
I now wanted my GPS so I could take stock of my speed, my splits, my pace per mile. But I did not have it so I just had to run where I could and walk where I could not run.
I knew what was coming – a climb over seven miles and 4500 feet. This section was going to be a bitch, but there was no avoiding it. Constant forward motion. Push when hiking. Get back to running when hiking. Repeat.
I used hikers going up, hikers going down as motivation. Occasionally I would glance up and see tiny figures on a switchback in the distance, well overhead and realize that I would be there shortly and at the same time be a little freaked at how far I had to go. I’d get odd stares, nice hellos, and the occasional statement of awe and encouragement.
I ran out of water below Skeleton Point. Not a cloud in the sky.
Nothing I could do about that now. I tried to do the calculations to determine how much longer I had to go, and thought it could be as much as two hours. Not having water that long would suck, but I could deal with it. Again, I kept checking the Altera. I knew I had to get to an elevation of about 7000 feet. At times it seemed like forever for the watch to tick from 4800 to 4900 to eventually 5000.
But despite all this, I was having fun. My legs were trashed but my effort in my core was easy. My mind was gently determined, and not frantic. I was enjoying this journey through this majestic place – a place for my first ultra.
I reached Cedar Pt and knew I had about a mile and a half to go. I contemplated (many times) how JV was still done, and glanced back and down to see if I could see the red jersey of Homie.
I reached the place they call ooh ah point and I could see the final walls in the distance. My jog was hardly anything but a shuffle now, but I kept the motion going.
I passed the sign that said, “DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HIKE TO THE RIVER AND BACK IN A DAY” and recalled AJW had noted it took him about 11 minutes to get from there to the South Rim. I took note that I was at about 9:16. I knew that I'd break 10, but now wondered if I could go sub 9:30.
And six minutes later I was done. 9:22:50. I HOOTED really loudly at the top. Some young girls laughed at me and asked if I had set some record. I grunted a brief explanation, and sat on the kiosk – immensely satisfied. I basked in the glow of the Canyon, the ridiculous nature of what I had just done, the gift that I had in that I could do it, the day, my family and loved ones, my friends, its meaning and meaninglessness all the same time. My first ultra run. My longest run ever in terms of mileage and time. I ran well and could see lots of places to improve and test myself. In the GRAND CANYON. My stomach held together well. I did not hallucinate or crap myself. My legs were sore as all hell and I was walking slowly, but I was fine.
And I did not need a mule to get out.
I thought about waiting for Homie – but I knew I needed water, and there was none at this trail head. I caught the bus back to the end of the road, and then walked the 200 yards to the car. JV was there with a friend – and we exchanged war stories. He ran 8:15. On a cooler day in the canyon, with less snow above the Supai, and a few other tweaks – JV goes sub 8 in my mind.
We sat in the car and bullshited every aspect of the run. And then Homie came up the road. He sprinted into the lot – DAMN. More war stories exchanged and a lot of glee for the whole damn thing. We could not stop chatting about it all until well into the night …
Yeah, I will confess, I have thoughts of possibly doing this again and having less of a time with it.
Things done right
1.) Higher mileage coming into this event is the only reason why I could do it.
2.) Nutrition was perfect. Never felt hungry or bonked (this might have been because the effort was controlled)
3.) Mentally was steady. I made some mistakes but my resolve was balanced and strong.
4.) Enjoyed myself
5.) Pushed the hike when I hiked and got back to the run whenever I could
6.) Got creative (and lucky) with collecting water from other sources
Things done wrong
1.) No really long runs coming in
2.) No vertical coming in (particularly DOWN HILL vertical)
3.) Screwed up hydration, including bypassing water
4.) Carried too much gear for the heat. Never really needed the jacket, the second socks, or the gloves. That said, this one is a push … better safe than sorry. Hindsight is 20-20.
5.) Not sure if I’d use a backpack hydration next time … water bottles might be more efficient for time.
