Zane Grey Highline Trail 50 Mile

***Warning: this is a long report, but I was out on the course for a LONG time, so I get to write a LONG race report!!!***

On the eighth day, God took all the leftover rocks and liberally spread them over 50+ miles of the Zane Grey Highline Trail.

I flew into Phoenix on Friday morning. Took the rental car shuttle to the rental terminal, which is, by the way, larger than Austin's terminal, got in my car and drove 2 hours to Payson, Arizona. I pulled into the Best Western (Payson Inn) parking lot around 1pm and went inside to discover check-in time was at 4pm. But, my room was ready to go, so I checked in and went to my room. I got back in my car and drove to the Pine trailhead. This is where the finish would be this year for the, ahem..., "downhill" course. I walked up the well-marked trail over half a mile. There were some rocks, but nothing that concerned me. Little did I know how helpful this walk would be at the end of the run on Saturday.

I went to the pre-race dinner/packet pickup Friday night at the Casino gymnasium just south of Payson. I was hoping to see and meet the contenders, but I don't think any of them were there, at least none I recognized. I saw Olga Varlamova standing in the packet pickup line and went over to introduce myself to her. I knew what she looked like since I've seen pictures of her on her blog. Normally, I don't go up to a stranger and introduce myself, but I have learned some very valuable information and gained inspiration by reading her words, and I wanted to meet her, if even for a brief moment.

Back at the hotel room, I made final preparations with my drop bags. I've never ran a point-to-point race before and the aid stations were anywhere between 8 and 11 miles apart. This made it especially important to get things right. Off to bed and an early 2:30am wake-up. I felt surprisingly awake and walked a few hundred feet from my room to the charter bus that would take many of us to the start line. The bus left the parking lot promptly, as advertised, at 3:15am. About an hour later, we were at the start line. I put my drop bags in the designated spots and got back on the bus to stay warm before the start. About 10 minutes before the 5am start, we all got off the bus and huddled together waiting for the starting horn. The horn sounded and off we all went into the dark down a steep ravine. There wasn't much running going on since we immediately were forced onto single track. I didn't use a light since I knew it would be light soon. Plus, I figured I could see what I needed from those who did have lights. It was a good plan.

The trail to the first aid station at 6 miles was nowhere as bad as I had expected, as far as rocks go. I thought if this was how rocky Zane Grey is, no big deal. Ignorance...gotta love it! I was a little frustrated with how slow people were running the downhills. There was no way around them so I just stayed where I was and tried to be patient. There were dozens of us in a pack. I made it to Christopher Creek in 72 minutes--exactly what I wanted. Off to the Fish Hatchery. Another mile, or so, and I finally was discovering the race's claim to fame--the rocks. I'd been hearing about the rocks for about a year, but there's nothing like firsthand experience to really understand the insanity. My patience was starting to run thin with the long line of people that I couldn't get around, especially on the downhills. I made up my mind to begin passing people on the uphills while they walked. I wanted to get away from the crowds. As I was running along on a flat section, I noticed Olga just ahead. By the way she was tenderly moving, it was obvious she was having some problems. I gently tapped her on the shoulder as I passed and gave her a thumbs up. A minute, or so, down the trail a runner that was close behind mentioned that she didn't look good. I told him to never count her out. I've read some of her race reports and from what I can tell, she is one tough, exceptional runner. I also came across a guy with a really nice camera taking pics. He looked familiar, but I couldn't figure out where I've seem him. I was walking across a very rocky section and decided to at least put on a show and began a semi-run across the rocks to at least make the picture look good. The next long downhill section was complete joy. Lot's of fun just letting myself go. I made it to the Fish Hatchery, got my drop bag, and grabbed what I needed, including my mp3 player. It was a mob scene at the aid station and I got out of there as quickly as possible. I was feeling great.

Near the top of the first climb, my gut started giving me problems. Anytime I tried to run downhill or even on the flats, it got worse and that pushed on my diaphragm, which, in turn, upset my stomach. Not good! This exact thing happened for the first time at Palo Duro, and, again at Sunmart. It was almost 10 miles from the last aid station to Hell's Gate, not the "as advertised" 8 miles. Thankfully, we all were told this at the pre-race meeting. This is also where the massive burnt section began. It was just endless scorched toothpicks for miles and miles all the way to the top of the Mongollon Rim. No shade, even for all the lizards scampering around. And not a cloud to be seen. I would later find out that the temp at Hell's Gate approached 90 degrees. Really? It sure felt hotter. Due to my stomach, I was reduced to a shuffle. This just made things worse because that 10 miles just went on forever. I saw 17-year old runner, Michael Hayden, who I met on the bus. This was very surprising to me since I expected him to be near the front. He was sitting on a log and looked very distressed. He said his stomach was giving him trouble and he wanted to know how much farther to the aid station. He told me he had run 3 ultras for the last three weekends and he's running Miwok next weekend. What does one say to that? He started moving again and said he was going to drop at Hell's Gate. I wouldn't see him again until the finish line where he was hanging out watching runners come in. The sun was really beating down on me. The rockiest trail I've ever been on by far. As I climbed each ridge, I just knew I would see the 26.4 mile aid station. But, as I topped each climb, all I saw were more ridges and endless scorched earth. The fluid in my bottles had become very warm and it was difficult to get any relief by drinking it luke warm, but I must. I had every intention of turning in my bib at the next aid station. I was also looking for any excuse to get pulled. A broken ankle (never rolled an ankle once all day), possibly a snake bite (didn't see any), just anything to put me out of my misery. The aid station HAS to be over the next ridge...it wasn't. I just wanted to scream. The aid station was tucked very tightly below one of the ridges. That meant you literally didn't see it until you were a hundred yards from it. There was Hell's Gate. Out in the burnt out landscape. Nothing much taller than a bush. That was the longest eleven miles of my life.

They had a tarp rigged for shade and several chairs under it. This looked as inviting as a roaring campfire on a cold night. As I sat there in a chair, Matt Crownover from Dallas, came in about ten minutes after me. He said I was "kicking ass". No, actually, Zane Grey was kicking my ass. I met Matt for the first time on the bus a few hours earlier--truly, a great guy. He has paced Jorge Pacheco the last two years at Rocky. I eventually headed out and had a newfound energy, but that would be short-lived as soon as I tried to pick up the pace. My gut revolted. Many of the creeks had no water in them. The few that did were running very low. You could cross without getting your shoes wet. I wanted so badly to just lay down in the sparse water and cool off, but I had to keep moving. I would kneel down at each creek to splash ice cold water on my face and head. The relief was only temporary. There was an unrelenting steep climb up a ravine that lasted for awhile. Just when I thought I was near the top, I would reach a false summit--it just kept going. There was no shade, completely exposed to the sun, and no wind in the burn section. I sat down on a huge rock outcropping to take in some calories. Not too long afterward, Matt showed up and we chatted. Then, here comes Olga! I knew she would come back! She mentioned she had messed up her hip early in the race when she accidentally kicked some rocks. She kept plugging away going up the climb. I soon followed but couldn't hold a decent pace.

The rocks. There was every conceivable type of rock on the course. Little, big, flat, round, square,...basically every imaginable type. They were all over the flat sections so when you wanted to run, you couldn't. There were some very nice sections in the flats near creeks with clumping grass, but this hid the rocks, so I'd accidentally kick them since I couldn't see them. Much of the trail where the rocks were sparse was destroyed by horses that had come through very recently when the trail was muddy. This made for a entirely different challenge. Then, there were the deep trenches in the trail littered with rocks and/or deep horse tracks. The trenches were so narrow in places that you had to high step to keep going. Then there were the bushes along the trail that slashed everyone's legs. I didn't realize how torn up my legs were until I was sitting at Hell's Gate and commented to another runner about how bad his legs were cut up. He said, "you should see your legs". "Oh...".

I finally made it into Washington Park at mile 33. I was planning on throwing in the towel here, too. The area looked like a MASH unit. There were people laying in the shade of tall pines being attended to by EMTs. I had actually been looking forward to this aid station since it was mile 33 and my bib number was 33. I had met the group from Tucson the evening before that would be running this aid station. They told me they would take care of me when I got there, since I was bib 33. What an understatement! All of the sudden all I hear is "Larry is here, Larry is here!". Little did I know they would be my crew. I walked up to the aid station table and all I could say was, "F#@k!" They immediately sat me down in a chair in the shade of a canopy and immediately went to work on me. They began icing my neck and head. They did this for at least 10 minutes. They poured cold water over my head, cleaned my sunglasses, filled all my bottles, gave me chicken broth, pb&j's, and much more. How could I not go on after all that attention? My stomach was still screwed up since I was still very bloated in the gut. I could only eat when I sat. I couldn't even eat when I walked since it upset my stomach so badly. I got up and asked how far to the next aid station. The info I had indicated 9 miles, but the cardboard sign nailed to the tree said 10 miles. Ten miles it is. Off I go climbing out of the aid station. Every aid station involved an almost immediate climb. Each one required a drop in.

After about 15 minutes down the trail, I realized I forgot my flashlight that I had in my mile 33 drop bag. I considered going back and getting it but I wasn't interested in going back. I kept moving. After about another 15 minutes, I contemplated going back, again. But this time it was to drop. I figured if I didn't turn around now, that I would have to continue the suffering. I kept going. I thought I would be DQ'd at the next aid station since lights would be required to leave for the final section. I finally had a rock solid excuse to end this misery, or so I thought. I eventually came across either some EMTs, SARs, Radio guys, or maybe a combination of all the above. They said "5 more miles to Geronimo". Bullsh#t! More like 7 or 8 miles. That may not sound like a huge difference, but it was. It took me just over 3 hours to cover 10 miles. The last mile, I ran hard all the way into the aid station. Why not, I thought, this was the end since I was without a light. I took a seat and had some 7-up to try and settle my stomach. But, this didn't work. I had two cups of broth and it tasted so good. I got up and decided to continue, for what reason, I'm not sure. I guess I figured if I've gone 42 or 43 miles, then what's another 8. In fact, I'd be proud if I was DFL at this point. It was obviously no longer about the finishing time. Those thoughts were a distant memory. A few of us guys were sitting around at the aid station getting in some good bonding time. I told them that I was going to finish even if I had to crawl. I overheard the talk of a light being required to continue. The aid station captain checked for a light and I confessed I didn't have one. They grabbed a 5 dollar D-cell flashlight that weighed quite a bit. But I was grateful for the offer. I left the aid station and immediately crossed a creek. At that moment, for the first time, I thought, I'm going to finish. Eight more miles.

I kept moving as best I could and even ran some of the uphills. It actually was the only time during the last 33+ miles that I didn't feel like I was going to puke. It actually felt really good running up the hills. The climb lasted about 6 miles and just kept going up, with a little down thrown in along the way. I was moving due West and after the sun had set and there was still a dimly lit horizon, I looked ahead to see another runner far ahead silhouetted against the horizon on an exposed ridge on the trail. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have seen--just difficult to put into words. I'm out there fighting to get this finish and for about 10 minutes along this open ridge, I keep my eyes focused on the moving silhouette in front of me. I finally catch up with the runner in front of me and we see a sign on the trail. It read "Pine 4 miles". It's almost over. We also thought the climb would be over, but it continued for another 2 miles. It was dark on the trail, but I couldn't run since the rocks were everywhere and the flashlight didn't cast a very strong beam. I was reduced to a careful walk. It was very frustrating because I really wanted to run. I moved more efficiently without the flashlight turned on with an almost full moon lighting my way. Then, the trail began an aggressive descent and I was fairly certain I was done with the climbs. I ran past a sign, turned around and shined my dim light at it. "Pine TH 1 Mile". A renewed sense of energy. I began running, again. I eventually noticed where I was on the trail since I had walked it the day before. I ran faster. Then I saw a few campers off to my left yell out, "only 3 or 4 more minutes and your done". I yelled back "thank God!". I kept up the pace and even picked it up slightly. I began to hear distant rumblings of the finish line. And, then I could see it way off in the distance through the woods. "Here comes a runner!", someone shouted in the distance. I picked up the pace some more. Within a few hundred yards I could hear some guy saying, "that's what I'm talking about! that's the way you finish!!!" Just as I was running down the finish chute I heard the screams of "there's Larry!". It was my mile 33 aid station/ad hoc crew. They had actually come to see me finish. I crossed the finish line and I was very humbled at how many people had stayed around to watch the final finishers. I immediately spotted a six-pack of Fat Tire on a table. "Is that for us?", I asked. "Yes", was the reply. I sat down, was handed a beer, my finishers bag, and my fan club handed me a thermal blanket. Fifteen hours and seventeen minutes after I started. I didn't care about the time. It is the longest time I have ever been on my feet, by far. It was my proudest moment.

Epilogue: Zane Grey was the most humbling experience of my life. I was well trained physically for this race. But, you have to play the cards you are dealt the day of the race. I've even got a little cocky lately, since I've had good improvement in endurance and speed over the past 6 months. My experience last Saturday has reset my previously conceived perceptions of what ultra running is all about. It's about the experience, nature, and, most importantly, the people you meet and suffer with on the trail. I met some great people running below the Mongollon Rim. When I got home from work tonight, my wife, for the first time, commented on how she was looking for the race results and couldn't find them. "Huh?" It's the first time she's taken any interest in my trail running. For that, I am truly grateful. And after all I experienced in Arizona, it's almost a foregone conclusion I'll be back next year.