1. I wanted to do a marathon or ultra distance in January, and didn’t want to run Houston or Bandera;
2. I didn’t want to travel very far so I could do the race over the long MLK weekend;
3. The Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run was in southern New Mexico, and I’m partial to New Mexico since my parents live in Santa Fe; and
4. The website charmed me with its quirkiness, its homespun qualities, its incompleteness, its hand-drawn maps, and, most important, its name: www.journeyheretothere.com.

So, I signed up. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Hillsboro, NM, (like I was) it is a small town of just over 100 residents nestled in the foothills of the beautiful Black Range in southern NM (about mid-way between Los Cruces and Truth or Consequences). It was “…founded in 1877 following the discovery of gold and silver in the surrounding hills and valleys…[However] as the gold and silver dwindled so did the population…The population dropped so low, in following years, that Hillsboro was listed as a ghost town on many maps.” Hence, the name of the race.

As race day drew nearer, I anxiously checked the weather forecasts for temperatures and precipitation. Race day was forecast at a range of 19-45 F, with a 10% chance of precipitation. Obviously, it would be a very cold day, but I knew that with the proper layering strategy I could survive: tights, a singlet, 2 long-sleeve tops, a windbreaker, 2 pairs of gloves, and an ear muff – no problem! The race had 43 people signed up, mainly from out of state, and ranging from as far a-field as California, Alaska, New Hampshire, and Georgia.

Well, after a fitful sleep Saturday night, plagued by bad dreams of losing my shoes, sleeping through my alarm, missing the start, etc etc, I finally woke up at 5 am Sunday morning to the sound of howling winds. Now, weather dot com forecast nothing about winds, but it was clearly extremely windy, so much so that the beams of the rickety old Barbershop B&B where I was staying were creaking and groaning with the strain. I drove the ? mile from the BB&B to the home of the race director, which was the start/finish, and hung out in her studio with a bunch of very quiet runners as the minutes slowly advanced towards the 6 am start. Conversation was minimal as we all tried to deal with our fear of that lethal combination: cold and wind.

At 6 AM, the journey began, and what a horrible journey it was for the next 10-15 miles. It was pitch black, about 20 degrees (or minus 20 with the windchill), and uphill on a single lane road…other than rain, what could make it worse! Initially I jogged with a group of about five runners wearing headlights as we slowly moved uphill, battling the wind the whole way. After 1-2 miles the group thinned out, and I was alone.

At that point I said to myself: why bother running uphill into the wind? The effort of running was a wasted effort, and I should probably conserve my energy and just walk. In fact, in some sections, as the road wound through canyons and between cliffs, the wind was so strong it almost stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t feel my face, my fingers felt frozen, and almost all I could think of was heading back to town, quitting the race, and driving the four hours north to Santa Fe to spend the rest of the weekend being pampered by my parents. I was definitely suffering from a well-deserved case of self pity.

Then, the best thing that could happen, given the circumstances, did happen. Another runner caught up with me and started talking. Tim from Minnesota totally agreed with my decision to walk, and from mile 3 ish to 6 ish, we walked and talked together, mainly about how horrible the wind was. At mile 6 we turned off the road onto a jeep road into the Gila National Forest, and I convinced myself to keep going with the (silly) hope that maybe the wind would die down once we changed directions. Well, it didn’t die down, but at least now the sun was starting to come up. So, next (silly) hope: maybe the wind would die down when the sun was fully risen. This didn’t happen either, so at the ten mile aid station I said to the volunteers that I was quitting: a DNF. Gulp. However, quitting wasn’t so easy: I would have to wait for a car to head back to town from further up the jeep road, or walk back myself the ten miles to Hillsboro. Then Tim said the words that ended up saving me from a DNF: he said “Why don’t you just keep walking up the road with me until a car comes”.

Sounded like an easy decision: keep walking, or sit in a cold car with the aid station volunteers waiting for a ride back to town. So, we kept walking and walking and walking. The course was still uphill, but little by little, the wind died down, and the sun shone fully on a beautiful day with sparkling crystal blue skies. Tim and I stopped complaining about the wind and the cold, and started admiring the scenery: the cliffs, the bluffs, the canyons, the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the smell of the juniper and pinion trees, and the occasional stream with water as clear as glass. We talked about all sorts of subjects, from running, to work, to books, to movies, to health, to families, etc etc. And soon enough, we had passed through all the aid stations up to the turn-around of this out-n-back course, mostly by doing a brisk hike but occasionally managing to run some of the flat and downhill sections that weren’t too rocky (over the miles, the jeep road had deteriorated from a flat hard-packed dirt surface to a rutted, rocky trail).

The return trip, like most on an out-n-back course, was much easier than the outbound trip. The temperature had probably reached a high of around 35, but without the wind, it was very pleasant to keep hiking / jogging. I never removed any of my layers because as soon as I started to feel a tinge warm, the trail would enter a shady section of forest and the temperature would drop 5 degrees. By mile 26 ish, we had left most of the rocky sections behind, and were able to run the downhill sections of the jeep road relatively easily. However, fatigue was of course setting in, so we alternated running 100 yards or so with walking, even on the downhill and flat sections.

Along the course there were a handful of interesting man-made sights, including an abandoned mine entrance; the grave of P. Luis, who was shot in 1882 over a $5.00 gambling debt; and a huge stone in the ground with about 30 2” holes in it. Apparently, in the old days, when the miners used to get all "lickered" up, they'd challenge each other to hand-drilling contests, and the holes in the stone are testimony to their efforts some 120 years later.  However, the best man-made sight was of course the house of the race director, which was the finish. At just under ten hours, Tim and I crossed the finish line together, and successfully completed The Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run.

Upon reflection, this race taught me once again what my physical and mental limits are, and how important the social component can be when running an endurance event. I truly don’t think I would have finished if it hadn’t been for Tim encouraging me to keep going at mile ten. One well-placed sentence can make a world of difference. And, in keeping with Newton’s First Law of Motion, a body in motion remains in motion unless…