Spot how to DNFU - Do Not Feck Up! At the 2023 Black Canyon 100k

There are no bad ideas. Just great ideas that go horribly wrong

100 km, 62 miles is a long run. And what is it that Keynes said about long runs? In the long run, we are all dead. The Black Canyon 100k is a long run, one I’ve done before, but what better way to spend a long weekend than to prove a long dead economist wrong, while simultaneously providing a Keynesian economic boost to the travel industry? What sounds like a great motivational idea for signing up for an ultra, turns out is not such a great idea after all. Every month, starting in April of 2022, I started a running deficit. By the time February rolled around, would I be able to pay the bills due? Or have I lost all your interest already?

A little background. Black Canyon 100k is an epic one-way run through mountainous trails just north of Phoenix, Arizona. The course is deceptively hard - the elevation profile is modest but the rocky terrain makes keeping a smooth cadence challenging. There are at least three water crossings some years adding to the fun factor. Also, if you haven’t dialed this in yet, 100k stands for 100 km. That is 62 miles and it is a long way.

Training

I could make lots of excuses for why my training wasn’t stellar. Perhaps doing all my weekday runs with a chihuahua wasn’t the best idea. Perhaps doing sandbag bucket farmer carries in the hopes of being the world’s first professional bucketeer wasn’t realistic. Perhaps doing 100 burpees every day for a month was just pain, no gain. Still, my longer weekend runs felt good and even if I hadn’t done many shorter (50k is short?) races, I felt confident enough that my base was good. And it’s all about the base, about the base, no trouble, as our Trainor says.

Our camp spot on Santa Cruz Island

Trail run on the island

I had all intentions of signing up for a 50k race three weeks prior to Black Canyon day. My partner in crime for this event, Sylvie, did and won the female division. While I could never do that, even in my most supportive sports bra, it would have been a good training run and status check. Instead, I got lucky with a last-minute camping permit for the Channel Islands. Wife and I had a lovely backpacking trip on the islands. I went on a couple of runs there and promptly rolled my ankle. The first mile after seemed okay, but the remaining 4 mile run to camp and the subsequent 4 miles backpacking out of camp were par for the course for your drama loving run blogger.

Onlyswollenfeets.com

Swollen ankle meant virtually no running for the next three weeks. Alternatively, I was aggressively tapering, overachiever that I am. In the final week before the race, 2 miles into a jog to check the ankle, the ankle seemed better, but my calf seized up and I limped the last mile home. My calf has a tendency to cramp for weeks at a time and I gave up running for most of my 30’s because of it. Some of you may be thinking, what do you mean “most of your 30’s? Aren’t you only 36 years old?”. Haha, yes, you got me.

Anyway, I figured that I could DNF at the first aid station due to my chronically bad knee with the lateral sprain, my rolled ankle, or a cramped calf. Maybe if I make it past the second aid station, I should be good. But no way of knowing unless I start.  Such is ultrarunner logic.

The pregame

I heard that, the week before, Phoenix hosted the Western States/UTMB of football. Because of that, arranging a place to stay and getting a rental car were difficult to say the least. Taking advantage of my trip, the spousal unit decided to drive out a few days in advance, presumably to scout the course but more likely to see her ex-boyfriends and plot what to do after collecting on my life insurance the next week. I flew out Friday, the day before the race, and rendezvoused with Sylvie at the airport, with Martha at lunch, with Mindee and Jason at dinner, with Chris at the airport, and with destiny at race check-in. 

Race morning, because it's a one-way race, we took shuttle buses to the start. Might surprise you to learn it snowed on the course a few days prior and was only 37F when the bus kicked us out. Surprise! Unlike 5 years ago, we weren’t able to hide inside the high school gym but instead had to freeze outside in our shorts and sports bras. Shrinkage, it’s not just for surfers.    

The first half

The buses did not arrive much before the start time and it was upon us sooner than expected or hoped (maybe by a few months!). The first few miles went far smoother than feared. No cramping. A slight tingle in the ankle that came and went, and a little niggle in the knee that came and went.  

A brief stint on fire roads meant that we crowded onto single track fairly early, forming several trains. One can’t follow too closely though as you need time to maneuver your feet around the rocky terrain. Also, you want to look up now and then. Snow capped peaks behind saguaro cactus fields? Yes, please. In and out of the first aid station. In and out of the second aid station. Like most ultras, the first 20 miles were so easy.

The second half

By the time I hit the third aid station at Bumble Bee Ranch, my two niggles weren’t going away. At mile 19, 3:50 in, I decided to walk a bit to see if a break would help. It’s only 4.5 miles to the next station and I wouldn’t lose too much time by walking this section. It took about 70 minutes, not bad for mostly walking, to get to the Gloriana aid station. No progress. Ankle felt just slightly swollen and my knee would hurt if I stepped on a rock at the wrong angle, which is pretty easy to do on this course. But I felt too good otherwise to drop, so I thought I better keep going to the next stop, even though it’s 7.5 miles away.

What are you doooing, step-cow?

Where cookies and creme come from

Among the cactus? cacti? Why is cact-i plural instead of cact-us? 

Sometimes when you feel like you are f*cked, you are only about 45 percent f*cked

Getting to the Soap Creek aid station was frustrating. I was glad to be able to lift the spirits of so many runners, encouraged by passing this turtle, but not being able to run when I otherwise had the energy to, and feeling my joints getting no better. Still, I was averaging 17 min/mile, so I got that going for me, which is nice. 

Spot the baby cactus

Somewhere along the way, Sylvie dropped too, albeit far ahead of me. She doesn’t want me to tell anyone, but something something rhymes with explosive pizzeria. Not wanting to step into that mess, I decided I better drop at Soap Creek.    

Overtime

Some running and three and a half hours of mostly walking got me to 50km. At least that’s still an ultra. However, this is a remote aid station and a lift out wasn’t practical. So with encouragement, I walked another 6.2 miles to Black Canyon City. And why not? It’s a beautiful day. I will have another creek crossing and maybe a sunset if I go slow enough. Without the pressures of race day on me anymore, I had an enjoyable stoll through the canyon. I put some music on my headphones, which I almost never do, and listened to U2’s Joshua Tree. Yeah, I know it sounds cliche. But I wasn’t an early U2 fan. I mainly heard that album from other Marines while stationed in Twentynine Palms (next to Joshua Tree NP) and again when deployed to Saudi Arabia/Kuwait. So for me, that soundtrack has a strong association with the desert and some serious emotional shit.

Photo of the photog - photoception!

Giving up is not in the blood, sir - Nims Purja

Isn’t it, tho? - me

Getting to mile 37, I contemplated continuing. And why not? It’s only 25 miles to the finish. Heck, that’s not even a marathon! And even at a relaxed pace, I would probably finish in under 17 hours and get that Western States qualifier I don’t want. But it wouldn’t be a satisfying nor honorable finish just walking 40 miles for a race I’ve finished running before. Saving my joints for another day, I called it quits at Black Canyon City, 37 miles in 9:48. Meh.

The postgame show

We don't do these because they are easy. We do them because we thought they were easy

Why is my hotel room so far down this hallway?

Stupendous training aside, my body was a wreck. Recoverritos (recovery burritos) helped, but I had a hard time sleeping as my legs cramped. My knees hurt while in bed, too, confirming that I do make a good decision once in a blue moon. The next morning was perhaps the best part of the whole trip - breakfast at Cracker Barrel. Hush puppies filled any remaining space in my stomach. Recovery nearly complete, I just had a 6 hour drive home remaining. Delayed onset something something muscle soreness complete.

And one last economist joke:

Sweden formerly had a credit rating of AAA, now it is ABBA.