“I’m sorry for all the heavy breathing. This is hard.”
No DNF.
No falling.
No whining.
With about a mile left to go in the Whiskey Basin half marathon, I was deep in the pain cave, grunting and gasping for air and willing my calf to uncramp as I scrambled ungracefully through the Prescott granite dells. The phrases for the day were “I can do hard things” and “Keep moving forward.” If those aren’t life mantras, well fuck.
I can do hard things.
Last year, I registered for the Whiskey Basin 31k (now 33k). I had to withdraw about a week before the race because of a nagging mystery foot injury which was super disappointing and now annoying. Aravaipa Running credited my account so I was determined to put the credit toward Whiskey Basin this year. Unfortunately, this mystery foot injury has kept me from building any good base mileage and I’ve been taunting the runner gods to punish me with an injury for months. While I was definitely in no shape to run 20 miles, I decided I could suffer through a half marathon, which was a new distance added for this year’s Whiskey Basin trail runs. Yay!
I put on my “weekend warrior” trail hat for several weekends leading up to the race and was feeling more and more comfortable on the trails. I got a really good 10 miler in with Tucson Trail Sisters two weeks before race day, but then clumsily rolled my ankle at Sabino Canyon the following Thursday. It wasn’t a horrible roll, but enough to keep me off running for a week. In the end, it turned out to be the least of my worries on race day. Phew.
Whiskey Basin trail races are run in Prescott, AZ (which sits at about 5,300′) around/near Watson Lake. The 88k, 60k, and 33k traverse the Prescott Circle Trail and the half marathoners and 10kers run around Watson Lake. All I have to say is that 10k was easily the most technical of all the races and the half definitely came in a close second.
Race morning brought perfect temps, which hovered around 50 at the start of the half marathon. Wind was negligible, so overall I couldn’t complain. Jimmy decided to jump in the half marathon, mostly because I don’t think he wanted to sit in the car for 3 hours :P.
The first couple miles of the race were run on a section of road, then on a pretty flat, wide trail. I really wanted to keep the effort conservative early in the race, so I was a bit disappointed to discover that 8:20 pace did not feel easy. Then and there I decided I really needed to listen to my body and just ride the wave since I knew I was in for some rugged climbs later on.
Miles 2-4.5 went through a gorgeous granite dells section which slowed everyone into a hike. Thankfully, the course was well marked with flags, ribbons, and white dots on the granite rock but I’ll admit it did take some mental energy to pay attention and not go off trail. I was humbled by how hard I was working and just told myself that I’d be approaching a flat, runnable section soon.
Here’s a couple photos from that section (photo credit: Aravaipa Running):
After the scramble through the dells, we headed down Peavine Trail on a wide open, flat out-and-back stretch which though into a headwind, felt like a break because it was a net downhill for the next 3 miles (which I didn’t realize at the time, and cost me later). I went stride for stride with another runner for a while and we chatted for a bit, but I got a bit impatient and dropped him around mile 6. Mistake.
Shortly after, I saw first place come sailing past me in the other direction. He looked extremely relaxed and had put a huge gap on the rest of the field. There was no one around for several minutes after that. Next was the first place female who was also moving really well (and from Tucson, apparently!). Still trying to run by feel, I was again, disappointed that my “easy” pace wasn’t any faster than 8:00 on a runnable, downhill section. My legs just never felt fresh. I’m sure I was also just feeling the effects of lack of training. Either way, I knew I wasn’t really having an ‘on’ day.
About 7 miles or so into the race, I saw Jimmy coming toward me, in third place. I gave him a high five and some words of encouragement before continuing on what had turned into a boring grind with fewer and fewer scenic views. “Just get to the turnaround”, I told myself. I counted the ladies coming back at me and got excited when I realized I was well within the top 10.
Someone (me) didn’t study the elevation profile very carefully because I actually thought that the out section was a gradual uphill and the back was a gradual downhill, which ended up setting me up with some really false expectations for miles 9-11. When I turned around to head back, my pace almost instantaneously slowed by about a minute per mile, my legs suddenly felt like bricks, and I found myself sucking wind. It was like I ran smack into the dreaded wall. But oh wait…
No whining.
Ok, fine.
I glanced down at my watch and found myself in the 9:30ish territory and just promised myself I would try to maintain that pace until I got back to the final scramble. For whatever reason, around mile 9 or 10 my right hamstring started to nag, which was really annoying, but I just reminded myself that there was really nothing I could do about it except try to relax, suck it up, and keep moving. I glanced behind me near mile 10 and saw the guy I had dropped on the out steadily gaining on me. As he approached and ran with me for a few strides, I said, “You paced this a lot better than I did. Awesome job!” He eventually passed and I put my energy toward catching a lady in a pink shirt who was probably no more than 30 seconds ahead of me. “Go get her”, I thought.
After running 6+ miles on a flat, non-technical stretch, getting back into “pay attention” mode was a bit of an adjustment. Ironically, I was actually thankful for a change because to be honest, that out and back section turned out to be a surprisingly tough grind. I was ready to change it up.
A few minutes into the scrambling, I caught the lady in the pink shirt and she let me pass. This section really tested my mental and physical limits. Looking for the damn white dots was like a scavenger hunt and in my tired state, I could not afford to get lost or fall, so I was extremely cautious through this section. Due to the fatigue setting in, the technical terrain, and steep climbs and descents, I hiked almost the entire final 30 minutes of the race. A couple runners passed, but for the most part, it seemed like everyone near me was running on fumes too. This section was a serious challenge for my quads, glutes, calves, and surprisingly, core and upper body too. Thank you yoga, for helping me work on my balance and overall fitness.
With about a mile to go, my calves loudly declared they were ready to be done. They seized up and I found myself deeper and deeper in the pain cave. I was a safe distance ahead of a few other runners, and could only see those ahead of me on some of the granite switchbacks (is it still called switchbacks if you don’t really even know where the fucking trail is?). It was at this point that I started grunting and talking to myself. Yes, literally, and out loud. Every time the trail flattened out, even if only for 10 or 20 meters, I tried to pick it up to a jog, but my calves revolted. I tried to get my body to relax, but everything was tense and I was just going to have to grind this out.
“I can do hard things.”
“Keep moving forward.”
So I did. Those last 10 or 15 minutes were some of the most humbling I’ve ever felt during a race. I continued to trudge forward, redlining and struggling but grinding as best I could. I would not let pink shirt (or anyone else) catch me. For the first time all morning, I switched my brain into true race mode and just kept moving as fast as I could, refusing to appear weak to any of my competitors.
As we approached the finish, I could hear people cheering and I willed my legs to turn over into what I’m sure was the slowest jog ever. I ascended the final hill across the finish line and felt like I’d been to hell and back. Here is photo proof of that (photo credit: Aravaipa Running):
I am no longer embarrassed by unflattering race photos. I own it. I thought I was going to die and that comes across, dontcha think?
I found Jimmy who had just finished and apparently had a worse calf cramping experience than me, which sidelined him (literally) on the course for several minutes during the last scramble.
I ended up finishing 6th female, 14th overall (chip time: 2:10:55). The course wasn’t quite a half marathon, so I think that would have put me pretty close to my loose time goal coming in, which was to finish under 2:15:00.
In retrospect, this race was deceptively hard and actually didn’t include much of what I consider “trail running.” I was either hiking, scrambling, or running on a dirt road for most of the race. There were probably no more than two miles of the single track trail running I was hoping for. The views for about half of the race were gorgeous, but the actually running wasn’t really that great, so I probably wouldn’t do this race again. It definitely isn’t a bad race, but I’m ready to move on ;).
All in all, I was thrilled to have finished the race, knowing I left everything I had on the course. It was my first non-5k race since October of 2017 and my first trail race since CV 50 in November of 2016. Even though I sorta wished afterward that I had run the AZT Vail half marathon instead because it would have met my expectations more, finishing Whiskey Basin really wasn’t about racing a fast half marathon or PRing or placing. It was about unfinished business, which I now consider finished. That being said, every time I get on a trail to run I want more of it. Guess I’ll have to find another trail race before 2019 is over as there’s an expiration date on my time in Arizona and its abundance of great trail running.
Though this whole “play it by ear” thing isn’t my first choice, I have to say it’s led to a lot more spontaneous running, exploring limits, and more time spent with other badass runners in Tucson’s running community. I hope the coming months continue to be full of more twists and turns and surprises. I’ve had some serious highs and lows lately but I’m just trying to ride the wave and hold on. I will never stop growing and learning through this incredible sport.
But no more rolled ankles, please. 
