Running Las Vegas: Cottonwood Valley

You're in Las Vegas. Maybe you live here (like me) or maybe you're just in town for a visit. You're sick of the blaring lights of The Strip and you're looking for respite from the asphalt. You're in luck -- you don't have to go far to get in some awesome single-track running that will make you feel like you're light-years away from the madness of Vegas.

Blue Diamond Highway. Also known as Route 160. Also known as Widow Maker Highway. Hop on that and go west. Keep going. Go past where the housing developments end. You'll come to where Route 159 breaks off to head to Red Rock Canyon. Stay on 160, go about five miles further and on your right you'll see a parking lot with bathrooms. That's your spot.

If you're there on a weekend, you'll likely see a bunch of cars in the parking lot -- most of them are mountain bikers. Don't worry, you'll occasionally have to dodge a biker, but the trail system is vast enough that you'll be mostly left alone.

There are some rudimentary trail maps at the parking lot. They're of pretty limited use. I'm sure you can find some better maps online, but, frankly, it's not really that necessary. Just hop out there on one of the trails and get going. One of the great things about running in the desert is that it's very hard to get lost (if you're smart, pay attention to your surroundings, bla, bla, bla).

What else do you need to know? Not much. The trails aren't very technical at all, the scenery is amazing, and there is a lot to explore. So what are you waiting for? Go get some.


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Running the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim

I'm not really into the blow-by-blow trip reports so much, but I guess if I'm ever going to do it, it's for this one.

I guess a good way to start this is to set out exactly what it means to do a double crossing of the Grand Canyon. Very simply, it means starting at one rim of the canyon, running down into it, running up and out the opposite rim, then running back down into it, and, finally, running up and out the rim that you started. In my case, that meant starting at the south rim of the canyon, running down the South Kaibab trail, crossing over the Colorado River, hopping on the North Kaibab trail, following that up to the north rim of the canyon, then doing it all in reverse.

What does that mean in numbers? It means running just shy of 42 miles and climbing a bit more than 10,700 feet.

At 6:20AM on Saturday, October 22, I set out with five other crazy runners -- Shad, Brett, Shane, Casey, and Mike -- to tackle this, well, very grand canyon. We parked about a half mile from the North Kaibab trailhead and started off at a brisk trot to warm up. It was about 30 degrees when we started, so I was donning a long-sleeved shirt and a Buff under my hat.

Since it was still pretty dark, when we hit the trailhead we didn't spend much time hanging around trying to see the sights and instead got right to business. The trail was steep -- which was to be expected since the North Kaibab trail drops down from roughly 7,000 feet to 2,400 feet -- but right from the get-go I knew that my quads were about to take a serious beating.

It seemed like I'd hardly blinked and we were at Skeleton Point, the scarily-named point that the folks at the National Park suggest day hikers don't try to go beyond. The downhill made for relatively easy running, but the abuse on the legs was constant and because of rocks on the trail, erosion-preventing logs, and the ever-present danger of death by 3,000-foot plunge, it was tough to get too much of a rhythm going.

Early union break.

Of course while I was busy trying to keep myself from plummeting to an untimely end, the sun was rising and and revealing the unbelievable grandeur of the Grand Canyon. And boy was it grand. We took a couple of short stops on the way down to keep the group together and take opportunities for a few pictures. Awe inspiring doesn't nearly do justice to the views that we were treated to on the way down.

In another heartbeat we were at the Colorado River and crossing over the Black Bridge. Although we had a pretty good pace going, we stopped to walk over the bridge and enjoy the views of the river.

Me at the Black Bridge

The Colorado River

Brett getting ill on the Black Bridge

I wasn't watching the time closely, but it wasn't much more than an hour by the time we had covered the 7.4 miles to Phantom Ranch. Phantom Ranch is a campground area in the bottom of the canyon that has a restaurant, campsites, and lodge- and dorm-style accommodations. Because you're, well, in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, everything that goes into and out of Phantom Ranch does so via mule trains (oh yeah, I forgot to mention above that we had to dodge mule poop all the way down the South Kaibab trail). Maybe most importantly, Phantom Ranch was our first water stop.

Yum, snacks...

The trail flattens out after Phantom Ranch as it runs along Bright Angel Creek and the running got easier -- and faster. The scenery continued to be spectacular, with the creek roaring along beside us and the canyon walls rising up all around, but now we were able to settle into a nice, comfortable 9-minute-or-so pace. As we made our way further along, and the sun continued to rise, we lost what shade we had left and the temperature started to rise. Of course, being late October, the eventual high for the day was somewhere around 85 -- not much of a peak for somebody that's been training in the Las Vegas heat all summer.

By the time we hit Ribbon Falls we had already gained around 1,300 feed from the Bright Angel campground (shortly before Phantom Ranch) and were still feeling good and at a good trot. A little over a mile later, we hit the Cottonwood campground and stopped just briefly to refill water bottles. We continued on and made our next stopover at Roaring Springs -- another 1,200 feet up and about two miles further from Cottonwood. At this point we had already started mixing hiking into our running to make the most of our energy.

At Roaring Springs still looking happy...

Snacks!!!!

I'm not exactly sure how to describe the rest of the trip up to the north rim except to say that it was a slog. The distance covered was less than five miles, but it was another 3,000 feet up from Roaring Springs. We made a brief stopover at the Supai Tunnel because the water was still turned on there and we took a few breaks for photo ops (the views were... um... well.... amazing), but mostly it was just putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible.

By the time we reached the north rim there were just five of us (Brett decided to break off earlier and do a slightly shorter route), but everyone was in pretty good shape. The same couldn't necessarily be said for some of the other folks that we met on the other side. Along the route we'd seen a fair number of other runners, some who looked like they were going to toast the trail with no problem and some others that looked like they may have gotten in over their heads. Up on the north rim, there were at least a few people that seemed to be questioning whether a single crossing might not have been the better choice.

But no matter, we had ground to cover.

One of the other runners in the group remarked to me on the way back that it seemed like I was taking decidedly fewer pictures on the return trip -- which was absolutely true. Trust me, you can't get sick of the views that you have in the canyon, but at the same time you've captured a lot of them already and -- at least for me -- it was the pounding that my legs took coming down the north rim that really woke me up to how much was left.

By the time we'd covered the worst of the pounding descent (with a brief stop at the Supai Tunnel and a slightly longer stop at Roaring Springs), I was really happy to be done with the toughest downhills of the day. In fact, by that point I was thinking that the cliche "It's all downhill from here" has it way, way, way wrong. I'd rather it just be all flat.

About five miles or so from Phantom Ranch, one of the group stopped to relieve himself and I'd realized that I hadn't peed the entire day. Mind you, this is nearly 30 miles and eight-plus hours or so into the trip. Big deal? Could be, so I made myself pee. Dark. Not encouraging as it suggested dehydration. That was a little weird since I didn't feel particularly thirsty, nor did I have any trouble spitting. In any case, I downed the water I had left in my bottle (I still had some in my pack bladder as well) and figured I'd deal with the situation when we got to Phantom.

If there was a stretch of the run I remember as being particularly enjoyable, it was the rest of the way back to Phantom. My legs felt fresh, the trail was flat, and I was logging eight- and nine-minute miles easily. If there was a stretch of the run that seemed absolutely interminable, it was the rest of the way back to Phantom. Particularly since I had re-hydration on the mind, that five miles seemed to go on, and on, and on, and on.

I finally did get to Phantom and immediately set about downing a liter and a half of water. It seemed too late -- I was unbelievably nauseous and felt like my face was turning green. I filled up my water bottle once more and found the rest of the crew enjoying a break in the Phantom Ranch restaurant (two were enjoying beers!). I got a lemonade to go with the water, but no dice -- I felt like my entire stomach wanted to turn itself inside out. I and one other member of the group -- who was battling dehydration -- stayed behind when the rest of the group headed out. Better to deal with the problem now rather than stupidly try to tackle the final seven miles and 5,000 feet back up to the south rim feeling like crap.

Mike and I, *post* Phantom Ranch stopover, on the way back up.

Then I recalled that it was roughly the same feeling as I had at the end of the Golden Hills Marathon and that I had attributed that to too little salt replacement. My plan for the run had been to take one salt cap per hour. I figured that, combined with the Cytomax that I was mixing in my bottle, would be plenty of electrolytes. But I didn't exactly stick to that plan. It was hour nine of the run and I had only been through six of the salt caps and two of the three Cytomax mixes. So I immediately popped a cap and mixed the final Cytomax pack. Within minutes, I felt like a new man. Amazing. I filled my pack bladder all the way up (Phantom was the last water stop before the finish) and we headed out.

There were definitely some run-able sections between Phantom Ranch and the toughest of the south rim climbing, but I did very little running and instead settled into hike mode. I kept a pretty slow, steady pace for a while, but started to pick it up when I started to get concerned about hydration again. The queasiness returned and I started questioning whether it really was a salt issue. I popped another salt cap and guzzled down what remained of the Cytomax. Stomachache gone.

Sunset

At this point I felt pretty sure that I had a beat on what was causing my problem, but nonetheless, it was late in the day, my body was beat up, and the sun was setting, so I put my head down and mustered as much of a marching pace as I could. Along the way I passed a few other runners closing out their own R2R2R journeys, including one that was puking his guts up and looked like he was going to have a real tough time finishing out. (I stopped to offer salt, food, water, etc., but he refused all... Turns out one of our other runners ahead of me had already given him some salt tabs and I'm pretty sure that everyone that passed him was offering whatever they had on them). I also smoked a whole bunch of hikers.

Dang it's dark...

By the time I had reached the point that I thought marked 2.5 miles left, I came to a very soul-crushing sign that informed me there were 3.5 miles and 1,300 feet of climbing left to go. I marked the distance on my Garmin -- which was cutting in and out of reception -- and trudged on.

The south rim is far steeper than the north rim and the Kaibab Trail is a much steeper grade than the Bright Angel Trail (which most hikers go for). That, combined with an already long day, meant that as I went on, the trail seemed to steepen drastically as I went. By the time I reached the final set of switchbacks ascending to the rim, the scene was Seussian in my head, with the trial basically going straight up into the heavens, bending all over the place in wild angles. But on I went.

I looked down at my watch... Still another half mile or so left... And then... Wait... There are Shad and Shane sitting there with chips and beers.

Shad: "Great job dude, you're done!"
Me: "What?"
Shane: "You're done!"
Me: "No way, you're messing with me."
Shad: "We've got chips and beer, does it look like we're messing with you?"
Me: [speechless... big fist pump]

Feeling like there needed to be some massive punctuation mark on the day's work, I proceeded to walk back over to the canyon rim and scream "Konichiwa bitches!" over the side. Don't ask me why -- it just felt right.

Final time: 12 hours, 19 minutes.

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Packing Up - The Grand Canyon

Tomorrow I meet up with five other crazy runners to make the five-hour drive to the Grand Canyon. The plan is to get settled in tomorrow night and then get up bright and early on Saturday to rock a rim-to-rim-to-rim crossing of the canyon.

In a way, it'll be just like a race or a long Saturday run. In some other very important ways, though, it will be nothing like a race or a long Saturday run. For one, the double crossing is 42 miles, which is longer than I've ever run. The total elevation gain is something like 11,000 feet, which is just plain evil. While there are places to refill water a couple times, there are no aid stations, so everything I need I'll have to carry. And as if the distance and elevation didn't suggest it already, it's just a plain crazy route. Here's what the National Parks Services has to say:

Hiking to the river and back in one day is dangerous and never recommended due to limited shade, extreme heat, and a near 5,000 foot (1,524 m) elevation change!

Hmm... Then how about running to the river, past it, to the other rim, back to the river from that rim, past it again, and then back to the start?

Ok, so there's that. But let's get practical. How in the world do I pack for something like this? Obviously, the standards: trail runners, shirt, shorts, hat, watch, etc. But as far as stuff that's relatively specific to this trip, I've rounded up:

• Backpack. I run with my trusty Nathan pack on most of my long runs and am relying on it to carry everything I'll need for the run.
• Food. I did a big shopping spree at REI and, space permitting, hope to carry 2,000 to 2,500 calories with me during the run (~200 or so per hour).
• Water bottle and drink mix. In addition to food from calories, I'm going to carry some drink mixes along with an extra bottle.
• Salt pills. Running low on sodium is not a good feeling out on the trail. And by "not a good feeling" I mean dangerous.
• Duct tape. Good for just about everything. Wait, no, no "just about" involved, it's good for everything.
• Long sleeve shirt and Buff headscarf. According to the weather forecast, it'll be around 30 degrees when we start. That's not really t-shirt weather. In fact, I think I may want to add gloves to the list...
• Toilet paper. Need you ask?
• Headlamp and extra batteries. We probably won't finish before dark, so this'll come in handy.
• Camera. How else am I supposed to take awesome pictures for my post-trip report?

Now, dear reader, the big question: Will I conquer or be conquered? I'm really hoping the former. Really hoping. Stay tuned....


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The Golden Hills Trail Marathon and Three Things I Learned on the Trail

(How about this, let's ignore the yawning gap since my last post and just chalk it up mostly to my laziness/busyness)

Last weekend was the Golden Hills Trail Marathon from Tilden Park in Berkeley, CA to Lake Chabot. In broad strokes, it was a great race. The coordination was well done, the trail markings were great, swag was top notch (Patagonia t-shirt, Moeben sleeves, wine glass), and there was some good food at the finish. Oh, and of course, the trail itself was beautiful.

I'll skip giving the blow-by-blow of the race, but suffice it to say that it is a tough course. In the race materials it says that there's 4,800ft of total elevation gain, but when I plugged my Garmin in after the race it gave me roughly 8,600ft. And I will say absolutely that it felt way more like 8,600ft. There were a few really killer climbs during the race, but the leg-beating that you got from those was only exacerbated by the fact that there really weren't any long stretches of flatter running that gave your legs a chance to recover. You'd work 'em cranking up a hill and then give them a good beat-down pounding back down. Rinse and repeat.

But of course trail runners don't ditch the pavement to run sissy flat dirt paths, so the elevation profile was a very welcome challenge.

I'm not sure what level the competition was at for the marathon -- the Firetrails 50-Mile was going on simultaneously and that was not only a larger race in terms of participants, but it appeared from past years that the real animals went for that race. At the very top of the marathon, though, there were some serous speed demons -- the winner finished in around 3:06, which seems like an unreal time on that course. In any case, with a 4:20 finish, I managed to place 7th overall and 2nd in my age group, which I was pretty psyched about considering this was my first full-on-running marathon and first trail marathon.

That's was also nice considering this wasn't a focus race for me so it was far from a full-out effort. Of course, as a tune-up race for the upcoming Bootlegger 50k in November, I was hoping to come away with some aspects of my game that I could step up in the few weeks I have left. And oh did I ever...

Here are the three primary lessons I took away from the Golden Hills experience.

1. Getting a little salty... Before recently I hadn't really thought much about sodium. But after a conversation with some local ultrarunners, I realized that I needed to get that into my mix if I wanted to avoid some bad episodes on longer trail days and particularly in races. For Golden Hills I packed two salt tabs and downed one about 1.5 hours into the race. The other was left chilling in the pouch on my water bottle for the rest of the race. Bad move. With about three miles left, my quads started badly cramping and when I finished I was so nauseous that I couldn't stomach food for about 20 minutes. Some post race research connected the dots and let's just say that I won't be skipping the salt at Bootlegger.
2. Plan ahead for aid... Aid stations on trail races and ultras aren't the simple water-or-cytomax affairs manned by high school kids that they are on road races. With a veritable buffet of edible goodies plus a variety of drink options and a knowledgeable station crew that wants to help you get in and out quickly, trail aid stations can be a little overwhelming. Prior to Bootlegger, I plan to take some time to think about my overall hydration and nutrition plan so that I have a general sense of what I'll be putting in my body when. But on race day I'll also want to have some thoughts brewing prior to each aid station about what I need so that I can get in and out of each stop quickly and with everything I need. 
3. Oh God, the hills! Um, so I think that Golden Hills revealed that my hill training during this cycle has been pretty pathetic. I was walking sections of hills very shortly after the start and pretty much the whole race I was getting smoked on uphills. Not that I need to be overly hard on myself -- after all, I did just start running trails. More dedicated time working the hills needs to find a way into my schedule and I definitely need to get some gym time back in my life to work in some strength training. And it's not even just a matter of the uphills -- I gained a lot of lost ground on the downhill sections, but I could really feel the pounding from those stretches and know that some weight training will help keep my legs strong (and injury free!) through punishment like that. Alas, while the two points above I can definitely remedy prior to Bootlegger, I'll really have to wait for my next training cycle to work this stuff in.

Now before I close out the post, I have to give a big thanks to my great pal Lauren, who got up butt early to drive me to the starting line of the race and was there at the end to cheer me across the finish line, take the picture above, and listen to me bitch about how sick I felt. Running a race like that is hard, but the logistics can be a pretty big pain in the ass without awesome family and friends to help you out!

What's next? Well, with Bootlegger just around the corner, I've made the somewhat questionable decision to cram in one additional tune-up / challenge: A Grand Canyon double crossing next weekend. More on that soon...


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