Tag Archives: Ultra

Smelly Armchair Musings: On My Zane Grey 50 and DNF’ing

How do you write about a failure? How do you share it in a way that reflects your true feelings, but that is also palatable to those around you? I don’t know. So I’ll just do like I tell my children and “word vomit”, letting the words fall where they may.

I went into the Zane Grey race with trepidation. I’d injured my calf and I had taken time off to try to let it heal. I had no idea how Zane would go.

The night before I scoped out the start line so I’d know where I was going in the morning. The smell of pines in the air was fresh and wonderful. I walked the first few feet of the trail barefoot and enjoyed the dirt underfoot.

Race morning came and the start was electric. Everyone was excited and talking and there were so many friends there! That was wonderful, but I was very in my head, making it difficult to engage very much.

The race began in the dark, so headlamps bobbed and flashlights weaved. We were tight together on the trail, rubbing elbows, watching out for pine cones. We were an ebbing and flowing stream, slowing and accelerating as one.

My injured calf felt okay until, while still within that first mile I stumbled and caught myself on it. It had felt a little tight but at this point it cramped up and felt rotten, ripped. I tried to keep running and couldn’t, so I moved to the side and started walking. I contemplated going back to the start line. If I couldn’t run, what the hell was I going to do? I tried stretching it. Eventually the raw feeling calmed down and I was able to maintain a light jog.

I recognized the voices of friends up ahead of me on the trail as the quiet grey light of early dawn began to give shape to the forest around us. It was peaceful, incredible, fulfilling, but what was wrong with my body? Calf aside, my body felt sluggish, bonky, and at the slightest incline my heart was racing. In a race filled with uphills, that wasn’t a good sign. What to do? Go back to the start? It was close. Or keep going?

A little back story on DNF’ing. Two years ago I made my first attempt at a 100K at the Javelina Jundred in McDowell Mountain Regional Park. It consisted of four loops on the Pemberton Trail, a trail I know well. My first two loops were fine, but my third loop was not. Excruciating IT Band pain hobbled me and I walked the entire third loop. I started out power hiking, but by the end of this loop I’d cried a legion of tears and was unable to bend my knee. 45 miles in and I called it. I didn’t have another loop in me. I DNF’d. But was that my best? Was that everything I had to give? It was evening at the end of that third loop which bolstered the feeling of hopelessness. What if I had slept for a few hours and tried for that last loop? My knee still would have hurt, but could I have made it? I don’t know, and I’ll never know now. That DNF taught me something so cliché, but something I think we each must learn on our own and in our own way; never give up. I was ashamed of this race, ashamed I didn’t finish it, ashamed of the unknown, and so I never really talked about it, and certainly never blogged about it, until now.

And so, as awful as I felt so early in my benchmark race, I would not give up. I resolved to make them pull me off the course. If I was ahead of the cut-offs for each aid station then I would keep going.

I made it into the first aid station at 8 miles doing okay. I think I was thirty minutes ahead of the cut off, so I was doing fine. Plus, a number of my friends were here volunteering. It is such a boost to see familiar faces along the race- I love it!

At some point, Meghan Trainor’s “Dear Future Husband” began making its rounds through my head.

The whole race ran along the base of the Mogollon Rim. It was incredible and I knew I was desperately, head over heels, in love with this trail. I snapped photos with my phone, moving as quickly as I could. At the second aid station I was greeted by more friends. I was still ahead of the cut-off, though not as far.



Dang it Meghan Trainor. How many times can one line of a song go through one person’s head?

Third aid station- I was definitely slipping but still ahead of the cut off, so I ate quickly and got out of there.

Zane Grey

At Zane Grey 50 Mile Race

The next aid station was where my husband and children would be waiting for me and was at mile 33.5, just 9.5 miles from the third aid station. But I was so slow. So slow. My body was done. My quads were shot. I wanted to quit. I wanted to just sit down and be done, right there on the side of the trail. But how would I get to my family? I had to keep moving: no sitting, no stopping, no quitting, one foot in front of the other. But I was so slow. Nothing was working correctly. I trudged along, thoughts of Javelina flitting through my head, and Meghan Trainor of course. I cried, feeling sorry for myself, starting to give up, then, “No Amber! No quitting! No slowing down on purpose! Keep going!” Then I cried again, listened to the Meghan Trainor song in my head again, thought about Javelina again, the cycle continued. I refused to look at my watch because I didn’t want to know how slowly I was moving. I was POSITIVE I was behind cut off and would be done at Fish Hatchery.

I came upon a section of trail that looked odd- I was pretty sure I was on track, but I was getting all messed up in my head and hadn’t seen any ribbons. Just behind me were two men who said we were good and on trail still. Then one of them said we were still fine, still ahead of cut-off. What??!?!?!? How??!?!?! I was disappointed because I wanted to be done so badly, but I still had a chance and I really did want to finish. We ran into the aid station. And I burst into tears, there was my family and more friends. Everyone had been worried about me- I was hours behind when I normally would have made it to this point. I had to make a decision- keep going or be done? I only had ten minutes to get out of that aid station if I was going to keep going. Everything hurt, I didn’t want to go anymore, and the next section was supposed to be the hardest of the entire trail. I was a hot mess, but I would not repeat Javelina. I grabbed food and water and got out of there. I asked my husband to meet me at the next aid station, See Canyon, because I didn’t know if I’d make it there in time and because if I did, I needed to see him.

I walked out of the aid station, eating as I went. Meghan Trainor kept up her noisy vigil in my head. I crossed streams, I got passed by other runners. I reflected on the fact that for the first time in my life I was running in the back of the pack, it was a new experience for me. I wasn’t trying to beat anyone, I certainly wasn’t being competitive, I was just trying to finish.


More people passed me. Then, the dreaded event happened- the sweeps caught me. They were very kind. They made sure I was okay and then they hung back and gave me my space. I appreciated that because then I cried a bunch. I’d already climbed the big hills, the rest was relatively easy-ish into See Canyon so damn it but I was going to cover it running. Ha-ha, running! It was a running motion, but it was as fast as I could go.

Meghan Trainor ran with me. Then she walked with me when I couldn’t hold that motion anymore- but I did power hike like a crazy white suburbanite mom in the park on a Tuesday morning. The soothing grey of evening began filtering in through the trees, slowly blurring the edges and making the forest soft again. The breeze brushed against my skin. I could hear the people at the aid station, and then I was there. Again, the rushing torrent of tears erupted out of my face as I hugged my husband with my nasty self. About 46 miles in and just 6.8 miles left of the race, I’d missed the cut off by about 15 minutes. I was pulled.

Sitting in the dirt, I cried in disappointment and relief. So close. However, Meghan Trainor was finally gone, thank goodness.

I’d failed. I DNF’d my race. I was angry. Sad. Disappointed. Frustrated. And yet oddly, I was incredibly proud of myself. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d left every last piece of me out there on that trail. I gave everything that I had and on this day it wasn’t enough. There was peace in that. I’d found a new strength in that which wasn’t there when I began the race that morning. I’d heard many people say that the majority of ultra-running is mental and I’d thought I understood that- I hadn’t. Whenever I get to attempting my first hundred I’m sure I’ll revisit my understanding of the mental capacity required in ultra-running, but for this day I had a new found knowledge.  

So, now you hold my word vomit in your hands, filled, apparently, with a ridiculous amount of tears (what can I say, I’m an emotional person). What will you do with it?


Run on.


Aravaipa Black Canyon Training Run #1

It was a cold and windy morning in Mayer, Arizona. A group of around 30 of us stood outside of the Mayer High School track, waiting for the brief instructions of our adventure trail for the morning. We were running a point to point course, essentially from where we were standing back to our cars which were parked about 20 miles away. Jamil (RD of Aravaipa Running) reminded us that we would be running on a minimally marked trail, and that we were to be, for the most part, self-supported. We shivered and shook in our minimal running gear, wishing for more clothes, but knowing that as soon as we started running we would be plenty warm enough. Amid the gusts of icy air, we set off down the road through Mayer.


We ran for perhaps two miles through the town, our pace moving along at a fast clip. It was too fast for me, but I knew that eventually we’d all string out and settle into our own paces. For this run, I was there with my friends Adam and Matt, and we were planning on sticking together.


Once we got out of town we ran on dirt roads for a bit. Then finally turned onto desert single track. The scenery here was different from what I’m used to running in; it was open and grassy, with occasional shrubs to break up the smooth, golden high desert plain. I began to settle in, somewhere in the middle of the pack, enjoying the tightness of the track that allowed the grasses to brush my calves.


Flying down a hill, I missed a turn in the trail, but was able to reorient right away. The main group out ahead of me had also missed this turn. Seeing that the turn was actually well marked with giant cairns and a sign, the main group went on. I waited for Matt and Adam, and once I saw Matt, I started off again. We’d gone maybe a quarter mile up the trail when I became worried; Adam wasn’t with us, and he should have caught us by then. After waiting for a few minutes and still no Adam, we turned around back down the trail. We came to the weird split off, and there was no sign of Adam, so we knew he’d gone off course. We yelled, and some other people responded! They headed towards our voices.  Adam wasn’t among them. One of the runners who came to our voices said there were others out ahead of them, and that he’d go run and catch them. He turned around and headed back out into the desert. Matt and I hung out until our friends came back.

Trail Shenanigans While Waiting:

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Finally, Adam came into sight, and we started off together again, that is, until we came to some sweet downhill and I took off. Over the next mile and a half I barely grazed the trail; I was having so much fun! I’m pretty sure I laughed out loud a few times, and had a huge grin on my face the whole way. When I came up on a windmill I stopped to investigate.



At a couple of points along the trail, Sabrina was waiting for us with water and snacks. The aid station she had on the plateau was struggling to stay on the ground because of the huge gusts of wind. She was all bundled up against the cold!

This trail was a mixture of jeep roads and seriously tight single track. And, it was almost all entirely downhill. This was my fastest 20 mile run ever! It was sub 4 hours, and that was including our worry time for our friend! I am excited to go back out here and run this again and see how fast I can do it.

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Back at our cars, in true ultra-runner fashion, the group was hanging out, drinking a beer and sharing their experiences of the trail. I am usually unable to stay at these after gatherings for very long, but they are the essence of the trail running community. Trail running is of course about the trails, the mountains, and the scenery. How much vert (vertical) is there? Is it single track or not? But in the end, it’s really about the community. We share our stories, showing our new blood and dirt tans, describing how we felt climbing the hills or running the downs. We get to know each other, and meet some of the best people on the planet.

This run was actually the first training run of three for the Black Canyon Ultras. I ran the latter two training sections last year (here’s Number 1 and here’s Number 2), but I am excited to hit them again this year. And, of course, I can’t wait to get out there for the race!

Here’s a VIDEO of our run that Jamil made!