Zane Grey Highline 50-Mile Endurance Race

2006

Davy Crockett

Saratoga Springs, UT

Other Crockett running adventures

 

Pictures from www.zanegrey50.com

 

The Zane Grey Highline 50-Mile Endurance Run is held below the Mogollon Rim near Payson, Arizona.  Western author Zane Grey built a large cabin near this historic trail (hence the name for the race).  In 1990 a massive forest fire destroyed the historic cabin, 46 homes, and also tragically took the lives of six fire fighters.  24,174 acres were burned.  (Cabin rebuilt in 2005)

 

Looking up to the Mogollon Rim

 

Last year I ran in the 2005 edition of this race.   I completed it, but it left me wasted and humbled.   This race is billed as “the toughest 50 miler.”   Last year I certainly couldn’t argue against that.  It punished me.   I didn’t rush to sign up for it again, but at the prompting of some ultra friends, with 2,100 more training miles, and eight more ultras under my belt, I decided to go punish myself some more.   I felt fairly confident that I could perform well.  A week earlier I had run a Grand Canyon double crossing (See write-up) and felt strong. 

 

Is Zane Grey Highline 50 the toughest 50-miler?   I discussed this subject with Todd Holmes (finished 9th).  What makes it so tough, is the constant climbs and descents on fairly rocky trails.   The route progresses below the Mogollon Rim, not on top of it.   This means that it criss-crosses countless drainages, gullies, valleys, and washes.   Down and up, down and up.   Most of the climbs are short, but there are four pretty substantial climbs that can wear you out.  What makes it tough, is that you just can’t run it fast.  The trail is in control.  It forces you to slow down.  If you don’t, you will pay the price, tripping, falling, scraping yourself up, or other nasty results.  There are other 50-milers with more elevation climbs and at higher altitude that could be physically tougher.  The difference is that you can run those courses faster.

 

 

I spent a relaxing Friday in Mesa, Arizona with Todd Holmes (from Colorado) and his parents.  I grew up with Todd and have remained very close to his family.   Ultras have given me a great excuse to have more frequents visits with them.  At 2:30 a.m. we departed for the start trailhead.   We arrived in time to make preparations and say a few quick hellos to friends.   At 5:00 a.m. we were off and running in the dark.   My goal for this year was to finish in 12:30.   I knew I could do it if I had a good day.   That would be 90 minutes faster than last year.

 

The first three miles consists of one of the four major climbs.   I felt strong with no problems to start out with.   Soon running buddies Phil Lowry and Dave Hunt caught up and we exchanged greetings.  Dave went on ahead to run a strong 10th place finish.   I continued to run a little ahead of Phil.   I paced Phil for 60 miles at Wasatch 100 last year and we ran together for the first 13 miles or so of The Bear 100.  I hoped to keep up with him for a while at this race. 

 

 

Last year in the pre-dawn I took a tumble.  This year I recalled that fact and was trying to be careful.  Nice thoughts, but it didn’t help.  At about mile two, down I went again.   This time it was much harder.  My chest hit a rock and as I quickly jumped up, I could tell immediately that I had cracked or bruised a rib.   What a way start!  I tried to keep pace with those around me, but the shock of the fall made me slow down to regroup.  Phil ran on ahead.   I immediately thought of Matt Watts, who took a major tumble during Wasatch 100 last year, broke some ribs and punctured his lung.  He toughed it out for ten more miles before a doctor convinced him to stop.   I wasn’t injured nearly that bad.   I took inventory and could tell that deep breathing would be a problem, so also would be pounding the downhills, but I thought I could still tough out 48 more miles.   I continued on.

 

The toughest part of the first eight miles was all the brush along the trail.  It was making a shreaded, bloody mess on my legs.  I knew it wouldn’t last, but boy, it really started to become a pain.  At about mile five, I had more bad luck.   Somehow, my left foot kicked a hidden cactus (probably prickly pear) very hard.   Like missiles, sharp, long needles pierced clear threw my shoe and impelled my toes!  I took one step, yelled in pain and crumpled onto the trail.   No one was behind to watch the spectacle.   I crawled off of the trail, figured out what had happened, and then started to pull needles out of my shoe.   That wasn’t enough.  Needles had gone all the way in the shoe, stabbed my toes and broken off.   I pulled off the shoe in great pain and quickly pulled out amazingly long needles from my toes.   Runners started to pass me on the trail, all asking if I was OK.  “No, but I’ll live.  I kicked a cactus.”   I pulled off my sock and inspected the damage.  With great difficulty I reached into my shoe and tried to break off any remaining needles.   After a frustrating, wasted ten minutes, I started pulling on my shoe.   Lyle Nay (from Salt Lake City, Utah) stopped, took a picture of me and kindly waited until I was on my feet again. 

 

I started slowly, but soon determined I was fine.   I enjoyed running with Lyle for the next few miles.   We would see each other on and off for much of the day.  I soon noticed a strange pain in my knee and discovered dozens of tiny slivers sticking into it, deep enough to bother my knee cap.  Gee what next!  I don’t know how they got there, but I tried my best to pull some out.   Welcome to Arizona!  My legs were a scratched mess.   I soon recovered and maintained a good pace.   I joined in with a large group of about ten runners who were content to just stay in line.  On the downhills, I wished I could push on ahead, but the trail was a narrow, rocky, single track, so I just kept my patience and stayed with the group.

 

Finally, we all arrived in mass together at the 8-mile aid station.  My time in was 1:38 (47th place), five minutes slower than last year.   It was a discouraging start, but I still felt pretty good.   After each aid station is a major climb.   I knew these climbs would be coming, so I just psyched myself up for the climbs, determined not to fade.   The morning was beautiful, with not a cloud in the sky.  I next joined a small group led by Kim Gimenez (who I had recognized from 2005 Avalon 50).   We hung together on the tough climb and maintained a good strong pace.  (Kim went on to finish 23rd overall, 2nd woman).

 

Typical rocky trail

 

Next up, another frustrating challenge.  I was forced to make a 10-minute-plus pit stop in the bushes.  I didn’t let it bug me too much.  I know that it is just part of the sport.   With that long stop, I felt better and much rested.   I joined a new group of runners and little-by-little passed many of them.   As the rocky trail descended through the valleys, I was pleased to see that despite the pain in my chest, I was able to push the downhills pretty well in a section I struggled with last year.   I passed several other runners and then arrived at the 17-mile aid station (Washington Park) at  3:51 (60th place), still six minutes behind my 2005 pace.  My stop was very quick.

 

The trail was marked superbly with plenty of yellow ribbons along the way, with blue ribbons warning you not to take a side trail.   I never really worried about being off course.   Whenever I was in doubt, I would very soon see a yellow ribbon or a triangle blaze marking on a tree.  The general rule of thumb all day long was:  If you arrive at a drainage, you will usually quickly cross it.  Look to the other side of the creek for a ribbon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last year after Washington Park, I faded poorly for the next several miles.    This year I was determined to not let that happen.   I pushed ahead strong on the climb and understood that soon the burn-out section would start.    This would be about 15 miles of very exposed terrain caused by numerous fires over the years.   My attitude was that I would attack this section.  I knew it would be hot and tough, but this year I wouldn’t let it get the best of me.   I worked hard to keep hydrating myself.   I carried two bottles, making sure I emptied them before arriving at the next aid station.   At the 33-mile aid station, I had a third bottle in my drop bag.  I would go with three bottles from there.

 

Picture taken after 1990 fire

 

As I entered the burn area, I thought of the six firefighters who lost their lives in 1990 a couple miles to the south in Walk Moore Canyon as a result of the Dude Fire.

 

The day became warm.  Shady spots were seldom.   One difference this year is that there seemed to be more vegetation in this area.   The grasses were plentiful.  In some sections the trail went through soft, thick sections of grass that were very pleasing to the legs.   I passed fewer people, and fewer runners passed me.  It was a lonely stretch.  I kept myself entertained by singing aloud songs playing on my MP3.   With my rib pain, I had long ago given up racing the course.  My strategy was to just enjoy the day, take it easy, and try to beat my 2005 time.   I knew that I was much stronger than last year, so despite my injury, I still should be able to post a good time.

 

 

In the burned section (from 1999 race)

 

I pressed on through the growing heat.   I finally arrived at the next aid station, properly named, Hell’s Gate (mile 25.2), at 5:33 elapsed time.  I had made good time and was now seven minutes ahead of my 2005 pace.  I had climbed up into 51st place.  Hell’s Gate was a welcome oasis in the hot burned landscape.   I was surprised to see Lyle Nay sitting in a chair.  He explained that he was having bad cramping problems.   I sat down next to him.  A nurse immediately noticed my knee full of splinters and she kindly went to work on it.  She tried putting some duct tape on it, then rip off the tape.  That got some of them, but not the deep, large, splinters.   As she was hunting for needle to dig into me, I thanked her kindly for the help and told Lyle it was time to hit the trail again.   This was my longest stop at an aid station, about seven minutes.   I was in and out all of the others quickly.

 

A short steep climb

 

 

Within a quarter mile out of Hell’s Gate, I found Lyle sitting at the side of the trail.  He was still cramping badly.  I offered words of encouragement and then pressed on ahead.  There would still be eight more hot and exposed miles before reaching Fish Hatchery.   I “played leap frog” with several runners for the five miles, not going terribly fast.   As we reached the downhill section starting at about mile 30, I started to feel great.   I kicked up the pace a couple notches and blasted down the trail, passing many runners along the way, receiving surprised looks and kind compliments.  I noticed that someone was hanging with me, but I didn’t look back to see who it was.  I thought it was one of the guys I passed who woke up and decided to blast down the trail with me.  After about a mile of this, running about twice the speed of anyone else around, that guy was still with me!   I finally looked back to make a comment about how fast we were cruising and I was shocked to see that the guy was Lyle!  “Where did you come from?”  He explained that he solved the cramping problem by drinking straight water for a while.   It was fun to have company.  Lyle let me lead the way.  I faded a little on the short uphill sections, but cruised hard on the downhills.   About two miles before the next aid station were some volunteers who stated that the next aid station was about 30 minutes ahead.  I said to Lyle, “30 minutes?  We can beat that easily.”   Sure enough, we beat that challenge and cruised into Fish Hatchery (mile 33) at the 8:15 mark.   I was 16 minutes ahead of my last year’s pace, but fell to 57th place.

 

Last year Fish Hatchery seemed like a M.A.S.H unit.   It looked similar this year.  The volunteers wanted runners to sit down and they would bring them what they wanted.  I appreciated what they were doing, but I didn’t want to get sucked into a comfortable chair.  I was only staying for a couple minutes.    I helped myself to what I needed, put some ice in my hat, and headed on out.  

 

I knew the next 11-mile section would be tough.   I headed out ahead of Lyle, knowing that he would probably catch me during the next tough uphill section.  Sure enough he passed me by as I started to fade.   Thankfully the trees returned, but the afternoon was still very hot.   For the next couple hours I struggled hard to work against dehydration.  It was a losing battle.  I pushed liquids hard, but could tell that it still wasn’t enough.   Finally the cool breezes returned and the day started to cool.   That made a huge difference.   I felt much better but still couldn’t find the extra gear to run fast again.   It was a lonely section because I met fewer people along the trail.   We must have all been running at the same pace.

 

The drainage crossings seemed to never end.   At one point I laughed.  I was convinced that the drainage that I was crossing was the same crossing I had seen over an hour earlier.  “This course is going in a circle!”   Either that or I was stuck in an old roadrunner cartoon where the background landscape repeated as the characters ran.

 

Finally, I reached the 44-mile aid station at the 11:48 mark (58th place).  I was 22 minutes ahead of my 2005 pace. With six miles to go, I thought of my friends from Utah, that they had probably already finished their race.  (Sure enough they had).   When I arrived at the station, I was surprised to see Lyle again.  He was sitting in a chair with a blanket around him.  The volunteers were taking his temperature.  He explained that he ran out of liquid and became dehydrated.   He was having a rough race.   I wondered if his race was done.  (He went on to finish in 14:58)  I quickly rehydrated, ate some salty potatoes, and pushed on ahead.

 

Runnable trail in the forest

 

Last year I ran the last six miles pretty fast.  I knew to beat last year’s time, I would have to put aside all the fatigue and pain, and just go for it.   The final six miles consist of beautiful forest.   I pushed the uphill section as hard as I could and just hoped that I could find my running legs for the final four miles.   At the end of most of my 50-mile races, I get a great second wind.   The same thing happened today.  With cooler temperatures and nice runnable trail, I found the rhythm I needed.   I started to run fast!  Within about ten minutes I passed a group of runners who I had leap-frogged with for many hours during the day.   They gave me surprised looks, thumbs up, and complementary comments as I ran hard past them both down and up the hills.   Was this the same guy they saw struggling during sections earlier?  Where did he find the energy, and why didn’t he use it earlier?   I wish I had those answers.   I felt fantastic and ran without stopping the final three or four miles.

 

I finished in 13:32, 52nd place out of 131 starters.  I was an hour off my goal, but still 23 minutes faster than last year.   The winner completed the course in 8:51.  The last finisher came in at the 16:05 mark.  31 runners did not finish.  I felt great at the finish, but pleased to be able to stop and relax.   Last year Zane Grey wasted me.   This year, it felt like I had just completed a typical nice 50-miler, not the toughest one.  Because of my fall near the beginning of the race, I had taken it easy.   My legs felt great, but within a couple hours, my rib-area started to scream.   I knew it would be a long recovery, but I would be fine.