The Inaugural Ute

Last fall, after DNF'ing at both Run Rabbit Run and Javelina Jundred, I once again vowed to never run another 100 miler. 50 milers would become my new goal. Seriously. I swear. Honest

Then I talked to Marco Zuniga and he told me I needed to try again. I thought about it, knowing how much I hate ending on a failure, thinking that I would just go back to Run Rabbit and finish it this time. 

November rolled around and I started visiting the web pages of 100 milers. None of the ones I considered, including Run Rabbit, sounded like fun. I just couldn't see myself signing up for any of them.

Then I stumbled onto the description for a new race called The Ute 100. The race course was in the La Sal Mountains outside of Moab and was advertised as the highest and most scenic in Utah. I had seen those unique dome-shaped laccolith mountains many times as I was running through the sugar sand and stifling heat of southern Utah and every time I thought, “Why the hell aren’t we running up there?” 

This one was enticing. I looked at it, reviewed the price, course, cut offs, etc. It was almost full and I still couldn't decide. I emailed the race director and asked about a wait list. Nope, he wanted to keep it small for the first year. Either enter now or forget it. I entered.

I went to the La Sals in July to run on parts of the course. I liked it! I rounded up some pacers, including Marco, and fully committed to it.

I trained really hard but also smart. I was ready. For me, pacers and crew are imperative to finishing. Mary Ann Stout, my wife and seasoned crew boss, took  me to the start at 0’dark thirty for a 3 AM start. We saw a few shooting stars from the Perseid meteor shower on our way. Mary Ann took care of me at several aid stations. Lucky to have her!

We were all given a pacer bib that said "Unicorn." Turns out that Unicorns are the greatest thing since sliced bread. At mile 33 I picked up my first unicorn, Ellen Hatch, a 4th year medical student planning to go into palliative care. I wanted her with me early, fearful that if she saw me later in the race she would be all too eager to pull the plug and end my suffering. We headed out for our highest climb of the day, Mann’s Peak, topping out at 12,272 feet. As we neared the top, we heard music coming from the ridge. A forlorn-looking boom box sat there, its tunes coaxing us up those last lung burning yards. The descent from Mann’s was a bit daunting for those not used to talus slopes, but once we cleared the shifting, evil rocks, we were rewarded with several miles of fantastic downhill single track.  

We continued our journey, running through stands of magnificent aspens, past mountain lakes and through herds of contented cows. All was well until I reached the soul sucking part of the course: The Jimmy Keen Loop. Even though the hottest part of the day had already passed, it was still quite warm, and I almost lost my mojo as the trail skirted groves of scrub oak with their false promise of shade. On the plus side, we saw a humongous horned toad and a beautiful, brilliant green Mormon cricket. And we were treated to still-frozen popsicles at the self-serve aid station. On the negative side, the runners hanging out at the aid station were really bringing me down. I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.

The real adventure for a 100 miler starts when the sun goes down. By this time, I was running with Marco Zuniga, my second unicorn. I followed his lead down and back up the Kokopelli Trail. I was sorry that I was running this in the dark, because I had heard the views were quite spectacular. As the second dawn broke, we were slogging up a 4 wheel drive road when Marco silently stepped off the road and motioned for me to join him. About 40 yards away, in the pines and aspens, stood a cinnamon-colored black bear. We stood and looked at each for a long minute or two, and then it ran off into the woods.

At La Sal Pass, I picked up my third unicorn, Jaime Aagaard, an emergency physician (because you never know what you will need during the last 18 miles of a 100 miler). We ran some totally sweet single track and then came to the final “short climb” that brought me to my knees. I convinced Jaime that, if she allowed me to sit down, I would eat at least 100 calories. About 600 calories later, we finally reached the top, and then it was literally all downhill. We hit one last self-self water station where the boom box from Mann’s Peak now sat next to a bottle of whiskey, playing Johnny Cash. We pulled up to the finish line party with plenty of time to spare before the 40-hour cut off. 

Now what? I swore that if I finished the Ute, I would be done. I now have 5 belt buckles. One for each of my grandkids (not that they want them). I do not want to end on a failure and the best way to ensure that is to stop now.

It is really kind of fun to see how my thinking changes. Initially: I am finished. Then, well if I go back to Run Rabbit and I don't finish, it would not be a failure since it was already a failure. Now I am thinking that I really don't know what I will do. I talk about it as if it is not a choice, that part of me will make the decision and the rest of me will have to abide by it. 

No need to decide now. I am just carefree and excited about running this fall.