Archive for November, 2012

Griffith Park Trail Half Marathon (CA)

Posted: November 29, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , , ,
13

In Hollywood the woods are full of people that learned to write but evidently can’t read.  If they could read their stuff, they’d stop writing.
– Will Rogers

Trail race or death metal concert?  Either way, count me in!

For most of the races I’ve run, I don’t necessarily remember why I decided to run that race.  Sometimes it’s the setting, probably my most common motive here in the Bay Area.  Sometimes it’s a convenient excuse to travel somewhere enticing, as in the case of Moab earlier this month or the Run Crazy Horse Marathon I ran in the Black Hills of South Dakota last year.  Sometimes it’s my preference for a specific race organizer, as in the case of my favorite local outfit, Brazen Racing.  And sometimes the reason is simply, to quote English mountaineer George Mallory, “because it’s there”… this was the case for the Pikes Peak Ascent two years ago.

But for the Griffith Park Trail Half Marathon, staged in the Hollywood Hills last Saturday, I remember exactly when and why I decided to run.  On November 12 of last year, we were at the pre-race expo-on-the-beach for the Malibu Half Marathon, which I’d be running the next day.  My sister-in-law Laura struck up a conversation with a cyclist who was wearing what looked like a race t-shirt, but then again maybe not, because it was honestly the coolest, most eye-catching t-shirt I’d ever seen (sorry, Affliction devotees).  It was more like body art than body wear.  The colorfully clad cyclist told us he’d just run the Griffith Park Half Marathon that morning and had received the t-shirt, crafted by the SoCal-based apparel design company INKnBURN, as part of his race registration.

That was the moment I filled out my mental registration form for the 2012 Griffith Park Half, a scant 371 days away.

To say I’d give you the shirt off my back would, in this case, be a lie

In recent years, the “free” (as it’s often advertised) race t-shirt has become a norm in the racing community, an ingrained feature of just about any race that strives to be taken seriously.  The t-shirt has become the standard entry-level requirement for staging a decent race… any race director seeking customer loyalty and free advertising includes, at the very least, a t-shirt with each registration fee.  For some runners, the t-shirt is the highlight of the race and their raison d’être for lacing up in the first place.  Though others of us frown on this mindset and tell ourselves we would never fall victim to such shallow motives… we run for the medals instead.

Each race t-shirt typically features the race name and logo emblazoned on the front, along with the names and logos of the various race sponsors on the back.  So by proudly showcasing his accomplishment, each race participant in effect becomes a walking billboard.  Although typically short-sleeved, race t-shirts occasionally come in long-sleeved versions, and some race directors even provide each runner with a lightweight jacket, wind shirt, or hoodie (an upgrade usually reflected in higher registration fees).  A recent positive trend in race t-shirts has been the move away from cotton in favor of “technical” t-shirts – these are shirts made from lightweight synthetic fibers rather than cotton, which wick moisture (i.e. sweat) away from your body to keep you cooler and more comfortable during a workout.  And now this is starting to read like a Wikipedia page.

Hollywood beckons!  A place where fog is a natural consequence of hot air meeting cold, hard truth

Like the races themselves, the quality and artistry of race t-shirt varies dramatically.  But for me in most cases, it’s the thought that counts.  Every race t-shirt is unique and has its own distinct charm, and I’ll never disparage a small race on a tight budget for its no-frills t-shirt.  Certainly some are more stylish, useful and wearable than others; the Merrell tech t-shirt I just scored in Moab easily ranks near the top of my list, whereas Nike’s black trash-bag-with-armholes-and-crooked-logo at the well-funded 2011 Austin Half Marathon ranks near the bottom.

And if you’re an endorphin junkie who over time has accumulated a small ransom in race t-shirts while quickly running out of closet space, never fear… there are now companies online that will “turn your favorite t-shirts into a beautiful quilt”.  Call now, seamstresses are standing by!

So clearly the t-shirt has become a race-day staple, but Griffith Park would be the first time I’d ever committed to run a race based first and foremost on the t-shirt.  Couple that with the fact that the race is run on hilly dirt trails with a sweeping view of Los Angeles stretching to the Pacific Ocean, and how could I say no?  The only potential pitfall turned out to be the $120 registration fee… but after a $15.00 online discount (partially offset by an $8.40 service fee) and some adroit sleight of mind, I rationalized the steep fee as a one-time expense for a kick-ass trail race and one-of-a-kind swag.  Plus, racing in SoCal gives us a chance to visit family: my brother Chuck lives with Laura in Long Beach, while Katie’s parents live in Orange County.  By the time my brain’s perverse machinations had run their course, I could no longer think of a viable reason not to run Griffith Park.

This is my brother Chuck… he’ll be standing in for Katie as today’s blog photog

Fast forward to last Saturday, and as I… actually, let me digress to say that “I” will replace the usual “we” in this post: for only the second time in recent history I’d be Katie-less for this race, having left her in bed to recover from a nasty stomach bug.  So as I navigated north on Hwy 5 through pockets of heavy gray rain, I wondered vexedly what had happened to the climate-controlled dome I’d always assumed Disney to operate over the Greater Los Angeles area. Apparently this was one of the five days a year when Goofy and the gang retract the dome to clean it and repair cracks.  But still I held out hope that Griffith Park would remain in a rain-free pocket of the storm, even as the rain intensified on Los Feliz Blvd just outside the park, where I’d arranged to meet Chuck and Laura so we could carpool to the start line.

Traffic into the park was minimal, and we parked with ~30 minutes to spare before the 8:30am race start.  Making our way uphill (already… feeling… winded) toward the staging area over half a mile away, I was relieved to find that the rain had subsided, likely for the moment but hopefully for at least the morning.  I have no problem running in the rain on well-established trails like those in Griffith Park, but I’d always prefer to keep it dry.  And speaking of trails: although a meandering network of trails zig and zag their way through Griffith Park, apparently few of them readily map to a 13.1-mile race course, because the course map showed three separate out-and-back sections.

The staging area on narrow Commonwealth Canyon Drive was small and fairly crowded.  Laura quickly spoke with race director Keira Henninger and then disappeared back down the hill to help in a volunteer capacity.  Chuck tried but was denied race-day registration, since the field had already reached its 400-person capacity.  So instead he strapped on his camera and prepared to play substitute race photog in Katie’s absence.  In contrast to my usual nick-of-time arrivals, I had a few minutes to kill as I collected my racing bib and t-shirt (can I leave now?) at the uncrowded registration tent, conquered the surprisingly brief line for the porta-potties, and cycled through my warmup routine.  I also elected to ignore the race website’s dictum (on its FAQ page) that “You must carry some sort of water bottle with you to start this race,” especially on this day where weather wouldn’t be a factor.

By this time the crowd of runners milling around the start line had grown and become more densely packed.  A pronounced sogginess filled the air and permeated exposed skin.  As I waited for some verbal cue from Keira and the customary countdown to start, I stood behind the crowd talking to Chuck and stretching away my nervous energy.

The soggy staging area on Commonwealth Canyon Drive… red street flags mark the start line

Suddenly a muted cheer went up near the start line and the crowd of assembled runners surged forward, signaling the start of the race.  And there I stood, in the back of the pack still holding my goodie bag and wearing my jacket.  Muttering a few high-impact profanities for Chuck’s ears only (really? not so much as a last-minute heads-up?), I stuffed my jacket and bag into his hands and took off.  I immediately found myself staring into a teeming mass of cheerfully slow-moving backsides… how sadly ironic (in the Alanis sense of the word) that I’d arrived 30 minutes early and still started late.  Immediately I déjà vu’ed back to the 2009 U.S. Half Marathon in San Francisco, where an unanticipated porta-potty stop just before the starting gun had left me in dead-solid last place crossing the start line… I’d needed roughly a quarter-mile just to catch up to the moms jogging leisurely with their strollers.

Back to Griffith Park 2012, and as the swarm of runners turned left off the asphalt and began its collective ascent up the narrow dirt trail, I focused on passing as many people as I could, as quickly as I could.  This initial uphill on soft loose dirt wasn’t quite single- or double-track, but more single-and-a-half track.  By hugging the left side of the trail, I was able to slide by and break free of the slow-moving throng more smoothly and rapidly than I’d anticipated.  So I ended up losing very little time at the start, after all.  Only the fellow ahead of me nearly being clotheslined around his ankles by another runner’s dog leash slowed my progress. Public service message for other racers: While I don’t doubt that your precious Bark Obama or Mutt Romney is the sweetest pup on the planet, if it’s not a service animal then leave… the dog… at HOME.

I was starting to think the Marin Headlands had followed me to Hollywood
(foggy foto by Chuck)

After a steep staircase-style ascent (up, level out for a few steps, up, level out for a few steps) of ~700ft over the first 1.4 miles, a brisk downhill ate up the rest of mile 2.  Mile 3 comprised a gentler up and down, then transitioned briefly onto asphalt before returning to dirt on the Mulholland Trail.  Thus began the first of three out-and-backs, as the trail skirted the ridge overlooking one of the many canyons in the area.  Far below me to the southwest, the impenetrable cloud cover turned Hollywood appropriately enough into its own life-sized model of Gotham City, with foggy tendrils slinking between and obscuring the tops of high-rise buildings.  And the thought crossed my mind: on almost any other day, this panoramic view would be striking.

This section appears like switchbacks on the course map, but more accurately the trail meanders back and forth along the ridge toward the turnaround point at mile 3.7.  This allowed me to look ahead and see the caravan of runners I was chasing, though the turnaround remained out of view.  The lead runners flew by in the opposite direction, and noting that five of the first ten runners who passed looked to be roughly my age, I kissed any hope I’d had of placing in my age group goodbye (as it turned out, there would be no age-group awards).  But as my mind had wandered freely I’d fallen into a comfortable running rhythm, and before I knew it I’d reached and almost blown by the turnaround.  Heading back the way I’d come, I fell into step behind a fellow who seemed to know every tenth runner or so coming the other way, doling out shout-outs of recognition and encouragement like a swiftly moving spectator.

Abandon all hope, ye who ignore the orange ribbons (photo and caption idea by Chuck)

After another brief transition on to asphalt and back on to dirt, we followed our first steep descent down Brush Canyon Trail toward the second turnaround.  I desperately tried to keep pace with the cool kids in the downhill crowd, until an uphill blip at Bronson Canyon Park just before mile 6 slowed their momentum.  Two women leisurely jogging in the opposite direction clapped their hands encouragingly at me and cried “Great job, looking good!”  As I sputtered out an appreciative “thank you” I realized they were looking past me, and they ended their cheer with “you’re the third woman!”  Apparently their support provided said female with a burst of energy, because at that moment she surged past me.  I had just enough time to notice her impressively sculpted calves before we reached the third aid station at the mile 6.1 turnaround, beyond which lay the Batcave featured in the 1960s Batman TV series.

Quickly bat-turning past the aid station with a nod of thanks to the volunteers, I passed both the second- and third-place women and headed back over the uphill blip the way we’d come.  With the most severe climb of the day looming, I wouldn’t be seeing either of them again before the finish.  Shifting back into uphill gear I felt that familiar midrace energy lull wash over me, helped out by a gusty headwind and light drizzle.  Also adding to my fatigue was the steady stream of energetic runners moving easily downhill in the other direction.  Fortunately both the elements and my fatigue were short-lived, and my energy reserves kicked in as I passed several more runners on my way back up the Brush Canyon Trail ascent, which although lengthy (nearly 1½ miles) didn’t feel particularly steep.

Who woulda knew there was an Observatory and city skyline beneath all that fog? (photo by Chuck)

Reaching the top at ~mile 7.4, I followed the paved road until signs directed me back up the dirt on Eckert Trail.  After running a very short distance uphill I heard sounds on the asphalt below, which ran parallel to my trail.  Looking down I saw two runners – both of whom I’d recently passed – running along the asphalt in the same direction as me. “@!#?!” I muttered in frustration, channeling my inner Q*bert.  The last thing I wanted was to lose the edge I’d gained from making great time up Brush Canyon Trail.  I felt sure I’d correctly followed the signs up Eckert Trail, particularly since I’d followed another runner wearing a body-sized plastic-bag-turned-poncho.  Then again, there were two runners on the asphalt below me who clearly felt they too were headed the right way.  Jogging a few steps around the next bend, I saw no orange ribbon marking the trail ahead.  So rather than run another step forward in what could have been the wrong direction, I slowly and reluctantly jogged back the way I’d come, resolving not to continue until I spotted someone else with a bib number following me.

Finally, about 20 seconds (which seemed like 5 minutes) later I got the reassurance I was looking for, in another bibbed runner coming up the trail.  Turning quickly, my legs whirling in place like a Looney Tunes character, I punched the accelerator and tried to make up for lost time.  Despite my frustration at the time lost, I did feel a slight sense of satisfaction at having built a comfortable lead over my closest pursuer.

Descending into the fog toward the Observatory down the Mt. Hollywood Trail (photo by Chuck)

Working my way toward mile 9 and the third out-and-back, it didn’t take me long to catch the plastic bag-clad runner (turns out she was a course monitor).  Soon after that, as I closed in on the lead woman I looked up to see Chuck standing along the trail with camera poised… he’d run a mile up the trail to snap pictures.  I was psyched to see him, but also disappointed that I couldn’t give him a better subject to shoot: me huffing uphill through a bank of fog wasn’t going to win him any Pulitzers.

Chuck saw me on my way, as I transitioned to the Mt. Hollywood Trail and began the descent toward the Griffith Park Observatory and the third turnaround.  Both the Observatory across the canyon and downtown L.A. beyond it were shrouded by the persistent veil of fog that seemed to have leeched all color from the surrounding landscape.  The course contained quite a few dogs walking their people, and at one point I quickly accelerated between two harried dog-walkers on opposite sides of the trail – one with five dogs, the other with four – before any multi-mutt nether-sniffing could break out.

Reaching the mile 10.4 turnaround just short of the Observatory, I started back up the trail and used this final uphill to pass the lead woman.  Then I passed Chuck, who was waiting to take more pictures… luckily for Katie, her contract as my exclusive photographer isn’t up for renewal soon.  At the top of the hill I transitioned to the Hogback Trail once again and headed downhill toward the finish, knowing this final ~1.5 miles would be a furious scramble as I tried to stay ahead of the fleet-footed lead female.

Heading down the Hogback Trail toward home, with lead female Kaitlin Lavin (wearing gray) in hot pursuit
(photo by Chuck)

Cruising downhill at a brisk pace, I hit a couple of short dicey stretches where I focused on vaulting from one dusty rock to another without wiping out.  A fellow walking in the opposite direction clapped and urged me to “keep it strong!” before turning to his buddy and telling him, “My tattoo’s still itching.”  As the terrain stabilized and my footing improved, I focused on maintaining pace while wondering whether I could reach the finish before the first female.  This was going to be close….

Or so I thought, until a navigational blunder with less than half a mile to go sent me flying by the sharp right U-turn that signaled the final stretch to the finish.  The course signs here were unclear, and almost immediately I knew I’d made a mistake when I saw asphalt directly ahead of me.  As I glanced back skeptically a Japanese woman holding a camera uttered a loud throaty sound, pointed down the trail and said simply, “That way.”  I thanked her and, frustrated with myself and the questionable course markings, headed down the trail in the right direction.  But not before I’d lost several valuable seconds as well as my slender lead over the first-place female.  Down the Aberdeen Trail I followed her to Commonwealth Canyon Drive, where a sharp right turn led back on to the asphalt for the final 50-yard push. Enthusiastic cheers erupted ahead of me for what I assumed was her arrival at the finish line, and as I rounded one last curve I was amused to see Laura awaiting me with medal outstretched, which I gratefully accepted with a finish time of 1:48:00.

Just a few more yards ’til I can wear my INKnBURN shirt
(photo courtesy of Brian Cravens Photography)

Glancing down, I saw disappointedly that my Garmin read 12.56 miles.  I never object to running farther than 13.1 miles – the lone race I won, the 2009 Limantour Odyssey Half Marathon in Point Reyes, clocked in at a muscular 14.8 miles – but running less than 13.1 is a bummer, because it prevents you from claiming a PR (not that this would have been) and comparing your time to other half marathons.

First things first: I congratulated Kaitlin Lavin, who’d run well down the stretch and finished just ahead of me in winning the women’s division.  Though as I’d expected, that final neck-and-neck downhill chase turned out to be academic: taking into account my back-of-the-pack start, I still finished ahead of her in the final standings based on chip time.  Nonetheless it would’ve been nice to physically cross the finish line first, if for no other reason than in a race with 349 finishers, it would have been a major accomplishment to finish ahead of the entire woman’s field.  Silly maybe, but motivation is as motivation does, and this unforeseen motivation of me vs. the women’s field had arisen organically during the race.  More than anything, my imagined chase had kept me kicking hard up and down those final hills.

The final 20 yards on Commonwealth Canyon Drive

Appreciatively accepting a coconut water from the Naked Juice rep, I stretched out my right calf, which radiated a familiar “thanks for the workout, I’ll quiet down in a couple of days” tightness (which it did).  Laura continued to award medals as I cheered on finishers and browsed the lunch provided by Keira, which included sandwiches, pasta and salad from Whole Foods.  Although some runners were chowing down, my stomach would have preferred the usual post-race standbys of bananas, oranges and peanut butter pretzels.  Instead, I sipped on my coconut water as Chuck rejoined me and introduced me to his friend and ultrarunner extraordinaire Michelle Barton.  Unfortunately a knee injury had forced Michelle to sit out Griffith Park this year, although her 73-year-old father Doug had picked up the slack by winning the M(70-99) age group with a hotshot time of 2:34:22.  Coincidentally, the same knee injury had sidelined her for the Moab Trail Marathon two weeks earlier, so I’d missed seeing her in Utah.  But it was great to finally meet her, and here’s wishing her a speedy recovery and triumphant return to the race circuit very soon.

As the steady current of finishers slowed to a trickle we reclaimed Laura, leaving Keira to distribute medals to the remaining finishers.  During our stroll back to the car, Laura told us that a couple of runners had not only bandited the race, but that each of them had also tried to collect a medal at the finish line.  To “bandit” a race means to run it unoffically without paying the registration fee, a practice that in some circles is now treated as the racing equivalent of treason.  Apparently, when Laura confronted each bandit and asked where his bib number was, the first chose the high road and handed back his medal whereas the second fellow chose poorly and actually ran off with his.  Officers, bring in the medal-sniffing dogs!

Trying not to sweat on ultrarunner Michelle Barton
(photo by Chuck)

After registering for this race based almost entirely on its swag and SoCal location, I was pleased to discover that Griffith Park is in fact a bona fide trail race, meaning plenty of tough hills and scenic views (on a fog-free day).  In the weeks leading up to the race, I’d even held out hope that I’d found a worthy challenger to rival Rocky Ridge as the rootinest, tootinest half marathon in California.  But despite its significant hillage and elevation gain/loss of ~2,500ft (billed misleadingly as 5,100ft on the website), Griffith Park ain’t no Rocky Ridge, as evidenced by my 8:36/mile pace vs. 10:58/mile at Rocky Ridge.  For now at least, Rocky Ridge remains The Big One on the California half marathon circuit.

So bottom line, I’m glad I ran the Griffith Park Trail Half.  It’s a well-executed race on a fun course in a cool location, and with a medal that does its hometown proud.  And thanks to my head-turning race t-shirt courtesy of INKnBURN, I can CRASHnBURN in my next several races and still look good doing it.

Maybe that makes me shallow… but in Hollywood it makes me fit right in.

PRODUCTION:  Griffith Park is a relaxed, well-organized trail race on an excellent (albeit short) course.  Trail races in general are more laid-back affairs than road races, and Keira did an admirable job of ensuring that all the key details were in order and that everything and everyone ran smoothly.  Although I would invest in a bullhorn and forego the silent start next year… even a solitary “one minute to start!” announcement would have been appreciated.  Based on the three criteria of course layout, race organization/execution and overall value, I’d still rate the Brazen Racing crew here in the Bay Area as my favorite trail racing outfit in the state.

In her pre-race email, Keira assured us the course would be “marked so well you could probably run with a blind fold on, and still find your way.”  In general this was true, with orange ribbons lining the course, and enthusiastic and supportive volunteers on hand to direct runners at key transition points.  But allowing for the fact that I often run like I’m blindfolded, I’d recommend clearer signage at a couple of places where multiple trails converge and where course markings might be (and were) overlooked, i.e. the fork up Eckert Trail at ~mile 8, and the final U-turn down Aberdeen Trail.  Most importantly, the course should be extended by half a mile or the race renamed the Griffith Park Trail 20.2K.

Off the dirt and on the street: cool urban scenery in Hollywood

Credit to photographer Brian Cravens for making his collection of start- and finish-line photos freely available on the race’s Facebook page.  Any photographer willing to share his photos without stamping his website URL or the word “PROOF” across them deserves a shout-out on a blog with upwards of a dozen readers. (UPDATE: After posting this, I learned that Keira actually paid the photographer to allow runners free access to all his photos, so let me appropriately redirect my shout-out… thanks, Keira!  Posting free photos is a major bonus, and not many other races do it.)

For many trail runners, the major deterrent to running this race will be the substantial $120 registration fee (minus the online discount and plus the service fee).  A sizeable chunk of this fee seemingly goes toward the INKnBURN race t-shirt, which as I may have already mentioned is very cool (and durable).  So it may be possible to reduce the registration fee by offering a “no t-shirt” option during registration.  However, given that the race is small (400 slots) and only in its second year, its popularity should only increase in the future, meaning the registration fee will likely increase as well.  In which case, maybe next year a tiny portion of that fee could go toward post-race bananas, oranges and peanut butter pretzels?

But hey, these are minor grievances… at least there was no HEED at Griffith Park.

UPDATE: Keira promptly and thoughtfully responded to all my suggestions (see her comment below), which I think speaks to how committed she is to her job as race director and to growing the sport of trail running. Based on her feedback, I’ve no doubt the Griffith Park Trail Half will be an even better experience in 2013.

I would’ve posted sooner if my editor didn’t need so many naps

FINAL STATS:
November 17, 2012
12.56 miles in Griffith Park, Hollywood
Finish time & pace: 1:48:00 (first time running the Griffith Park Trail Half), 8:36/mile (official 8:15/mile pace based on a 13.1-mile course)
Finish place: 19/349 overall; 5/56 in M(40-49) age group
Race weather: foggy and cool (temperatures in the 50s) with intermittent light rain
Elevation change (Garmin Connect software): 2,420ft ascent, 2,431ft descent
(Garmin Training Center software): 2,897ft ascent, 2,815ft descent

Moab Trail Half Marathon (UT)

Posted: November 16, 2012 in Half Marathons, RACE REPORTS
Tags: , , , , ,
5

In between the bright lights and the far unlit unknown.
– Rush, “Subdivisions”

Few places in the continental U.S. can rival the spectacular vastness and beauty of Southern Utah.  This ~400-mile swath of wide-open highways and byways stretching to the horizon features a “who’s who” of national parks, including (from west to east) Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands and Arches.  Each park is a geological masterpiece of deep sandstone reds and robust earth tones painstakingly laid out and integrated on a distinctive canvas, all of which evoke a strong appreciation for how wild the West once was, and in many places still is.  In the late 1800s, for example, Butch Cassidy and his Wild Bunch took refuge in the remote uncharted wilderness of what is now Canyonlands National Park, frustrating their federal pursuers who quickly abandoned the chase.

I’d been here once before: in the summer of 2000, two buddies and I had road-tripped through southern Utah en route to the state’s five national parks.  In addition to all the natural wonders revealed by daylight, two of my most vivid memories from that trip were actually born in the pitch-blackness that engulfed us during our nighttime drives.  First, I spied for the first time with my naked eye the Milky Way galaxy overhead; and second, while driving one eerily dark and peaceful stretch of road, a winged UFO – we convinced ourselves it must have been a bat – flew into and caromed off our front windshield with an adrenalizing {THUMP}.  So southern Utah was a bit of a wake-up call for us city boys.

Southern Utah’s own start and finish lines include (clockwise, from upper left) Double Arch, Delicate Arch, Landscape Arch, Turret Arch at sunset, Double O Arch, and Mesa Arch.  Mesa Arch is found in
Canyonlands National Park; the others can be found in Arches National Park.

For those approaching from the Colorado (eastern) side, the town of Moab acts as gateway to the natural spoils of southern Utah.  But for trail racing aficionados last Saturday, the town promised more measurable spoils as host to the annual Moab Trail Marathon, Half Marathon and 5K “Adventure” Run, with the Marathon doubling as the 2012 USATF Trail Marathon National Championship.  Meaning there’d be prize money on the line… though not for me, for two reasons:  I’d be running the Half Marathon, and short of showing up with a ski mask and gun, I’m not walking away from a race with prize money anytime soon.

So why Moab?  With a population of roughly 5,000 residents and an economy dependent on eco-tourism, Moab’s laid-back and low-key vibe conveys a “play hard, work not so hard” mentality.  Red sandstone cliffs and miles of dusty trails reflect its definitively Old West character, and earn the town its identity as a mecca for hiking, mountain-biking and rock-climbing enthusiasts.  So Moab itself is a popular destination for outdoorsy types.  But for me its real allure lay in its proximity to both Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, the former of which lies on the town’s doorstep.  Plus, I can’t recall another town where the Chevron gas station advertised itself in the local newspaper as having the “Best Chicken in Town!”

No word on whether the local KFC was offering an 8-piece “high octane” value meal

I’d chosen the Moab Trail Half in collaboration with my college suitemate Ken, who now lives in Denver with his wife Jenny (also a college friend).  Both were willing, able and even excited to meet us for a weekend in the great outdoors, Moab-style.  Plus, I felt I owed Ken another race in the mountain time zone after my ill-timed foot injury had derailed our plans to run the Leadville Heavy Half together in June, leaving his misery without company during the ear-popping climb up to 13,200ft (though he’d sucked it up and run a strong race without me).  Sure my guilt was unwarranted – every runner knows injuries are the great unknown of race training – but still I felt the need to redeem myself, even if he didn’t.

With that in mind, I was looking forward to my first race in the state of Utah.  After a day of travel on Thursday (flight to Denver followed by a 6+ hour, 375-mile drive to Moab), Katie and I spent much of Friday in nearby Arches National Park before picking up our race packets that evening from the friendly race volunteers at Milt’s Stop & Eat (a local hamburger joint and race sponsor).  We then met Ken and Jenny, who drove in late from Denver and arrived just in time to get their bearings and get to bed.  We’d all be lodging at The Gonzo Inn, another race sponsor and for the record someplace I’d definitely stay again in Moab.

Rule #1 of dining out: Never trust a waiter wearing a nurse’s uniform
(Milt’s Avocado Melt was actually very good)

Saturday morning we awoke to bright cloudless sunshine that belied the crisp, though not quite biting, 39°F desert air that awaited us.  Fortunately race start for marathoners and half marathoners wasn’t until 9:00 a.m., giving temperatures a chance to soar all the way up into the mid-40s during the race.  The four of us drove to the start along Kane Creek Road, with sheer vertical sandstone cliffs flanking us on both sides and the Colorado River snaking along next to us on our right.  Our carpool status allowed us to park in the “preferred parking” gravel lot next to the finish line, and after a brief stop at the surprisingly uncrowded porta-potties, we made the short walk to the start line.

The view along Kane Creek Road, en route to the start line

From a distance we could hear race director Danelle Ballengee addressing the crowd over the PA system with several pre-race announcements and reminders.  Danelle herself has a life story worth telling, and one that would make almost any other runner feel like a bona fide weak-kneed couch potato.  For one thing, the 41-year-old Ballengee is a world-class athlete – four-time champion of the Pikes Peak Marathon, three-time winner of the Primal Quest adventure race, and recipient of six “U.S. Athlete of the Year” awards in four different endurance sports.  Sports Illustrated once called her “the world’s premier female endurance athlete.”  And in 2000 she set the women’s speed record by summiting all 55 of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains in less than 15 days.

Even more amazing than her athletic achievements, though, is her story of personal survival.  While running with her 3-year-old dog Taz in this same area of the Moab desert in December of 2006, Ballengee slipped on a rock and fell 60 feet.  Somehow she managed to land on her feet, but the fall shattered her pelvis and caused extensive internal bleeding.  After five hours of dragging her broken body through the canyon over frozen terrain, she lay exposed and freezing for another 52 hours until County Search and Rescue members, with help from the unshakably loyal Taz, found her alive and remarkably coherent.  It was an implausibly happy ending: most people with similar injuries don’t live longer than 24 hours, doctors told her, and yet she’d survived for more than twice that time outdoors in sub-freezing temperatures.

Less than five months later Ballengee – registered as a solo competitor under the team name “How’s This for Rehab?” – completed and won the women’s division of the 60-mile Adventure-Xstream adventure race in under 12 hours.

Danelle greets finishers and narrates the action as Ken crosses the finish line behind her

Ballengee’s presence can be felt around Moab in other, more subtle ways.  All proceeds from the Moab Trail Marathon races would benefit Project Athena, a non-profit foundation which Ballengee co-founded and for which she holds the title “Seraphim of Survival.”  Project Athena offers scholarships to female athletes who have “endured life-altering medical setbacks” and are making “that life-affirming transition from Survivor to Athlete.”  And on the topic of potential medical setbacks, in 2007 Ballengee and her husband purchased Milt’s Stop & Eat, a greasy spoon hamburger joint and local landmark since 1954.  Our race goodie bags included a $7 Milt’s coupon which would come in handy after the race.

Mike Sohaskey and Ken pre-Moab Trail Half Marathon

Pre-race posturing with our dual (and dueling) Garmins

So as the four of us approached the start line, the thought of our race director’s own near-fatal outing on these same trails suffused me with a healthy respect for the technical terrain that awaited us.  In this regard, we’d been cautioned to be watchful of the 3 C’s – cliffs, crypto (a living soil crust) and cactus.  Luckily Moab had been precipitation-free in the days leading up to the race, dramatically reducing our odds of discovering first-hand how slickrock earned its name.

Ken and I said goodbye to Katie and Jenny (they’d both be running the 5K beginning 40-ish minutes later) and positioned ourselves at the back of Starting Wave 1 (i.e. the leading wave, comprising the top 1/3 of all runners), behind a mass of lithe excited marathoners and half marathoners engaged in all manner of last-minute warming and stretching.  In true Moab spirit, we were treated to a uniquely free-spirited rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” performed by a local zydeco-style band, who offered their own jazzed-up (though no less respectful) interpretation complete with tuba, accordion, frottoir/rubboard and accompanying dancer with baton.  Suddenly San Francisco didn’t feel so far away, after all.

This was the most popular and crowded arch in southern Utah on Saturday

As the last vestiges of accordion faded the assembled masses cheered, runners whooped in nervous anticipation, Danelle’s countdown reached zero and the eventual winners shot forward while the rest of us… shuffled slowly toward the start line.  A classic case of “hurry up and wait.”  Starting on rocky singletrack will do that to you.

Crossing the start mat the crowd began to thin, and the course soon began an uphill trajectory on Pritchett Canyon Trail that lasted for the first four miles.  My Garmin quickly lost its satellite feed twice during that first mile, and by accidentally hitting the “lap” rather than the “enter” button the first time it happened, I ensured that my mile-by-mile pace times for the entire race would be all out of whack.  But at least my Garmin immediately regained its satellite signal each time.

Course elevation profile or in-race heart rate monitor?  You decide

This initial ascent was unlike the uphills I typically encounter in Bay Area trail races, as this terrain was more technical and the footing more variable.  The trail (and really the entire course) was an alternating mix of dry slickrock, red sand and firmly packed dirt overlaid with rocks of all sizes.  Orange flagging tape and white chalk led us over slickrock and loose rock where no true trail existed… singletrack, doubletrack, really what’s in a name?  And it dawned on me just how perilous the footing along this course would have been under wet conditions.  Luckily the course boasted few tree roots, my toes’ usual nemesis on Bay Area trails.  Nonetheless each step demanded my full attention, and by maintaining focus I was able to keep pace with Ken, who routinely trains in mile-high Denver.

Surrounded by slickrock in Arches National Park

Near the mile 4 marker the flow of runners briefly slowed to a crawl as we hiked up several shelves of boulders.  Although this section appears as an intimidating stalagmite-like spike on the course’s elevation profile, it didn’t feel so severe since we were forced to speed-hike rather than run.  But then the trail summited (~4,800ft elevation) and immediately headed back down the other side, and runners eager to release the parking brake dashed downhill over the rocky terrain.  I followed as quickly as I dared, still vigilant of my footing until the course leveled out somewhat and we found ourselves running through red sand, chasing our shadows on the ground ahead of us.  At last I was safely able to look up from the trail and admire striking views, on both sides, of orange-red sandstone cliffs imposing on brilliant blue sky.

This heavy-footed sensation of running through an hourglass – I should’ve trained on the beach! – continued until roughly the first aid station at mile 5.7 (according to their mile markers; my Garmin read mile 6).  Still running together, Ken and I each grabbed a quick swig of water and began our next ascent as the trail morphed into Hunters Canyon Rim Trail.  The next 3.9 miles offered little in the way of level footing, as we renewed our painstaking climbs and descents over alternating loose rock and slickrock, with the occasional delay to hop down from or scramble over boulders.  Along the way we passed through a couple of singletrack sections that bordered relatively sheer drops; here in particular the course demanded a steady focus to avoid a reckless misstep and tumble that would make Humpty Dumpty cringe.

Another slow, switchback-like descent over layered slickrock brought us to mile 9.6, and we emerged on the paved surface of Kane Creek Road next to the second aid station.  By this point my feet, apparently thinking their vote counted, had begun to protest the relentlessly rocky and uneven terrain.

Either this is Katie’s love of rappelling shining through, or she knows where the photographer is
(photo © 2012 Chris Hunter)

Here the marathon and half marathon courses diverged, the former veering left in the direction of the aid station while we 13.1ers headed to the right.  Ken turned into the aid station and, after slowing briefly, I glanced ahead and saw the course continue up paved Kane Creek Road, where a caravan of slow-moving runners were toiling their way to the top.  Like old friends, seeing that paved surface and steady uphill climb renewed my spirit.  I waved to Ken to let him know I was skipping the aid station, and as my second (or third… or fourth…) wind kicked in, I shifted into a higher gear and passed several runners on my way to the top.

The ascent up Kane Creek Road was relatively short (~1/4 mile), but really its length didn’t matter because finally I was able to forget my footing and just run.  And when the road reversed trajectory and started back downhill I seized the opportunity to pick up the pace, stretching out my legs as I focused on the rhythm of my footfall and breathed in the desert scenery around me.

Mission accomplished!

So I was understandably disappointed when a volunteer appeared on the shoulder of the road ahead and signaled for us to veer left, directing us down more slickrock and into Kane Creek Canyon.  As I navigated the narrow sandy canyon where the creek drains into the Colorado River, I envisioned this potentially messy stretch after a hard rainfall and thanked Tlaloc the rain god for his decency.  Only remnants of Kane Creek – no more than small puddles, really – remained here, and my “creek crossings” were limited to splashing through a couple of puddles that barely covered my shoetops.  Though I may have felt some boyish satisfaction at maxing out the splash-ability of each puddle….

Of course even that minimal amount of mud got stuck in the tread of my shoes, and I carried it with me up a short steep embankment to the Amasa Back Parking Lot, and back on to Kane Creek Road.  As I reached the parking lot a volunteer offered me something to eat, which I declined… I think it was candy though I can’t be sure, because with roughly a mile to go I had finish line on the brain.

Ken skywalks his way across the finish line (photo © 2012 Chris Hunter)

After another short but gloriously runnable stretch down Kane Creek Road, two volunteers cheered us on with promises of “half a mile to go!” while again directing us to veer left, off the road and back into the Kane Creek Canyon drainage.  Negotiating several largely avoidable puddles and more undulating rocky terrain, I heard the mellifluous sound of nearby cheering as the orange flagging tape along the trail increased in frequency.

Finally I reached a point where a 6-inch-wide metal pipe spanned the creek, which here was actually creek-like with a width of approximately 10ft.  Two female volunteers assured me the finish line was just up ahead.  Rather than splash through the creek I crossed the pipe in two steps and one awkward leap to the opposite bank.  And I realized, as I stood looking up at a small-scale inflatable finish arch ~10 yards above me, that they weren’t kidding when they said “up ahead.”  Clambering up to the arch on all fours, I peeked out over the edge of the embankment and immediately straightened as I saw the finish line ~20 yards straight ahead.  Katie and Jenny cheered to my right as I high-fived Danelle (narrating the action with microphone in hand) and gratefully hit the finish line in 2:11:22.  Immediately I turned back around to watch Ken emerge over the embankment and finish strong roughly a minute later.

Jenny goes bananas for the post-race spread
(orange you glad I always go for the low-hanging humor fruit?)

In total, Ken and I estimated the half marathon course to contain ~3 miles of legitimately runnable terrain, including the straight-ahead stretch of soft sand leading up to the first aid station.

Collecting our medals and finisher’s mugs (a Moab exclusive), Jenny shrewdly noted that if you held the mug so as to conceal the “half marathon” (for me and Ken) or “5K” (for her and Katie) designation at the bottom, others would simply see the “Moab Trail Marathon FINISHER!” label above it.  Why put yourself through the stress of training for and running 26.2 when you can skip straight to the accolades?

The finishing four: Jenny, Ken, me and Katie

We then diffused around the finish area basking in the noontime sun until it hit me that whoops, I’d forgotten to wear sunscreen.  So I corrected that and then took advantage of the post-race spread, which was impressively stocked with Campbell’s soup, bagels, peanut butter, cream cheese, chips, pretzels, fruit and an assortment of soft drinks.  And we each scrawled a message and signed our name to the inflatable wall that asked the question “Why do you run?”

After what seemed like only a few minutes since our own finish, Danelle announced that the marathon leader was only ten minutes out.  So we gathered to watch her exchange high-fives with Cody Moat of Fillmore, Utah as he crossed the finish line in a crazy-fast winning time of 3:08:27, over six minutes faster than his closest competitor.  Kerri Lyons of Salt Lake City followed him 19 minutes later, winning the women’s division in 3:27:48.

Apparently the 5K lived up to its “Adventure Run” billing, as Katie and Jenny navigated such obstacles as hopping to an orange pylon and back with both feet in a burlap sack, balancing on a seesaw plank, throwing into a frisbee golf basket, crawling under netting, wiggling through a child’s nylon tunnel, climbing two ladders, and negotiating two steep sections using a hand-line.  Katie’s only disappointment was the lack of a crossword puzzle as publicized on the race website… she’d targeted that as her best chance to make up ground on the competition.  I felt like a slacker listening to the blow-by-blow description of their 3.1 miles.

The four of us spent the remainder of Saturday in Arches National Park, before refueling at the very respectable Moab Brewery (the only brewery in Moab) for dinner.  After Ken and Jenny headed back to Denver on Sunday, Katie and I spent the next two days hiking through Arches and Canyonlands, ultimately deciding we needed more time in the latter.  Butch Cassidy and Co. knew what they were doing.

Overall, the Moab Trail Half is among the most rugged and unique trail races I’ve run… the organizers aren’t kidding when they advertise it as “an unforgettable journey through some of the world’s most scenic and unique lands.”  In many ways the course is what comes to mind when I hear the term “trail running.”  Its primarily sand-and-slickrock terrain is unlike anything I’ve raced in California.  As such it’s not my favorite type of course… I tend to struggle with highly technical, unstable footing (as does everyone to some extent), though diligent strengthening of my left ankle over the past few months has certainly improved my technique.

But Moab itself is an awesome backdrop for a trail race that – luckily for us – benefitted from awesome weather.  I’m glad we made the trip to experience both the race and the town first-hand, and if we lived closer I’d probably include the full marathon on my list of must-do races.  But we’ll definitely be back in southern Utah… it’s a stunningly beautiful region, with a far-from-the-madding-crowd vibe and plenty of postcard-worthy scenery.

And besides… what better destination for a runner than a place called Arches?

Unlike Moab’s other landmarks, Finisher’s Arch is visible one day a year for but a few hours

PRODUCTION:  Danelle and her fellow organizers did a terrific job with race organization and execution.  Friday (packet pickup) and Saturday (race day) each had a laid-back yet decidedly professional feel to them.  The course was well marked with orange flagging tape and white chalk, and well designed, particularly given that much of the course travels over slickrock rather than established trails.  Volunteers were across-the-board friendly and helpful, and seemed genuinely proud of the course.  The post-race ambiance was (to use Katie’s word) festive, due in part to the impressive post-race spread.  And Danelle set the tone with her exuberance and constant encouragement.

Swag-wise, the Merrell tech t-shirt (included with registration fee) is the best in class… it’s a solid piece of craftsmanship I’ll wear for a long time.  The medal, which sports a dangly Athena logo in its center, is a generic “Project Athena Race & Adventure Series” medal, but it’s nice in its understatedness.  On the other hand the finisher’s mug, while appreciated, is excessive… I probably should have politely declined it, since I’m not a fan of hot drinks and can’t envision ever using it.  Plus I don’t know a single person who’s ever wanting for a ceramic mug… aren’t they ubiquitous in homes and workplaces?  Based on their numbers, I’ve always assumed that two coffee-stained mugs left on the kitchen counter overnight find each other and generate many ceramic offspring.

Moab/Project Athena Race and Adventure Series medal

To make matters worse, I immediately filled my superfluous mug at the finish line with what I thought was water but which turned out to be HEED, Hammer Nutrition’s sports drink.  I appreciate Hammer’s sponsorship – I don’t want to bite the hand that feeds too hard here – but boy I wish they’d leave the HEED in the van.  The stuff tastes like cough syrup.  One accidental sip brought back my lone negative memory from the 2008 Grizzly Half Marathon in Montana, where I’d sampled HEED for the first (and what I swore up and down would be the last) time.  And as the name implies, since then I’ve been careful to heed my own taste buds.

As for age-group awards… if I understood Danelle correctly, Merrell stepped up nicely and awarded a free pair of shoes to every age-group winner rather than just the top men’s and women’s finishers.  And the top 3 finishers in each age group received “unique locally crafted trophies,” i.e. copper wire sculptures twisted into the shape of a runner and embedded in a large rock base.  Pretty creative and quintessentially Moab.  Since I finished fourth (by chip time) in my age group, I didn’t have to worry about explaining my awkward copper rock art to the friendly folks of the TSA.

The winners podium awaits the top Marathon finishers, including the Trail Marathon National Champion

GEAR:  My Mix Master 2’s took the slickrock challenge and had themselves a day.  They’re lightweight and provided excellent traction on some of the diciest terrain I’ve navigated.  Amazingly, not once did I lose my footing or have my foot slide out from under me.  Unlike at Rocky Ridge I had no problems with my arch, so maybe it was simply a matter of lacing them up tighter or breaking them in more.  I’d highly recommend them and plan to make them my go-to shoe for future trail races.

FINAL STATS:
November 3, 2012
13.0 miles in Moab, UT (click here for course map)
Finish time & pace: 2:11:22 (first time running the Moab Trail Half), 10:02/mile
Finish place: 73/505 overall; 4/43 in M(40-49) age group by chip time (5/43 by gun time)
Race weather: sunny and cold, low to mid-40s
Elevation change (Garmin Connect software): 2,800ft ascent, 2,822ft descent
(Garmin Training Center software): 3,118ft ascent, 3,011ft descent

Oops… mistakenly pressing the “lap” button during mile 1 skewed all my subsequent mile pace times