R.A.T.S., a Bull and a Rabbit….

It’s July, 5:20 a.m., it’s 92 degrees and the humidity is an unbearable and very unusual 70%. My pack is heavy, my legs are tired from yesterdays 30 miler, and I am just 5 miles into today’s 25 miler. “How the hell will I do this for an entire week” is the thought that has haunted me through what will be my biggest training week of the year.

I survived that training week and the race. This is my story…

By car the trip to Moab from Grand Junction isn’t so very long. As we headed out of town I looked across the windy, barren desert and made out the La Sal mountains to the south-west. Seeming far away, dark and ominous as I realized they were my destination, not now in the car but later in the week, by foot, through the desert, virtually alone.  My stomach sunk and I did as I would come to do many times during the next week, I looked away, not wanting to see how far I really had to go…

Moab was as Moab always is, hot, dry and windy.

The hotel bustled with the usual mix of foreign tourists, dusty, thin mountain bikers and dustier, not so thin jeepers. I looked to pick from the crowd the bizarre few that would be part of my adventure.

In a lunchroom off the lobby we gathered. I hope I didn’t look as scared as the rest of those in the room, knowing of course that I was. We fumbled with our gear, waiting to be officially checked in and assigned a number. From the corners of my eyes I sized up my competitors: Fast, faster, not so fast, can’t tell, and not sure. I wondered how I looked from their view. Thin, light and fragile I guessed...

Across the room I pegged the language as Italian. Two of them. One mixing English and Italian, laughing and gesticulating. The other watching, deliberate, thick and intimidating. His comments were short, and strictly Italian. The race meeting was at a downtown restaurant. I offered them directions in exchange for a ride. And Voila, a friendship begins…

At dinner we all laughed, shared a little background and began what would become nightly routine #1. Dinner together, story telling, laughing and a race meeting with director Reid. Day 1 is focused on “not getting lost” said Reid. Suddenly we all focused more intently on the maps we had been handed. “Last year almost everyone had trouble on the first day.”

That feeling hit my stomach again…On the ride back to the hotel my new Italian friends were frantic.

Routine #2 Translations, and my most enjoyable moments. Matteo would ask me questions in English. I would answer and he would translate into Italian for Davide. I let them know that I had run in Reid's 50 miler and knew the first sections of the day and we would all be o.k. “Watch for the Kokepelli markers” and you’ll do alright. Did you all hear that? It’s very sound advice.

Day 1 20 miles: Load into the van, gear packed. Dressed and ready to run. An hour and a half drive back towards Grand Junction. Once I looked south to the mountains. And that was enough…. It’s going to be a long, long week…

Pictures, nervous trips to the restroom, concerns for the heat as it is now 1:00p.m. and how about that headwind? Reid dragged a line through the dirt with the toe of his shoe and with a “ready, set, go” we were off!

I have a friend that quit drinking coffee once. He said. “I don’t remember the last cup I had before I quit” “but I will never forget the first cup I had when I started again”. That is how the first step felt. Months of training, the week of hell in the summer of Phoenix, two weeks of taper and stress and worry and packing and weather checking and now I took that step.

With 150 miles to go you have to pace yourself. So why was I running so hard? I was smiling like a kid that just walked out of high school on the last day of senior year. My heart rate monitor said slowdown, my mind said slow down, my body said “screw you” “lets get this party started”.

Mile 5 or so and we wrapped around the head of a canyon. I looked across knowing I had gone out strong and sure I had a comfortable gap. Wrong!

Routine #3. I was being hunted by the Italians. “Great plan”. “Let them know you know where to go and which trail is which”. “What the hell would you do if you were racing in Italy and someone said they knew the trail”. ‘Hello!”.

My plan had been to go hard, get comfortable then kick back and get real comfortable. “O.K.” “Turn it up a bit, make it to the climb, tighten the screws a little, and then throttle back.”

Mile 7 or so a quick glance back, way back, Matteo. Excellent I thought. But where is Davide. Further back I think, slow down and see if he makes the corner. Nothing. Stop to pee, give him a minute and get my heart rate down. HOLY RATS he is with me. Daily Routine #4, and the best part of my RATS 2005. Davide and I run in tandem. I slow, he slows. He speed up I speed up. He pees I pee. Then when everything seems just right for one of us he, or I apply the pressure. Slow, deliberate, smiling as you go but intensely applying pressure to break your new found friend and the only human being for miles.

Up, down around and across. The desert is beautiful. The desert is intense and the desert is big. I speak no Italian, Davide speaks no English. For miles we run. Sometimes apart by a few yards sometimes by a few inches. Mile 19 and he turns it up. I do the math, know that the finish is within a mile or two and keep it steady. Camp.

Camp is home, comfort, safety, and FOOD! Expertly run by two of Sherry Griffins finest river rats these guys have it totally going on. For six days and five nights these guys never stop smiling, never stop cooking, never stop cleaning and never stop making you feel like they will do everything they can for you. The food is amazing. Salmon, wild rice, steaks, pasta, pancakes, melon, soup, brownies… Unbelievable! Did I say coffee? How about cowboy coffee at 6:00 a.m. Strong enough that you don’t have to brush your teeth and gritty enough that you could skip breakfast if you wanted to…

Around the table it’s stories, laughing, maps and recaps. It is amazing what a day like this does to bring people together. Yesterday strangers. Today, strangers with a lot to talk about and a lot in common. The most important tidbit I learn is that in Italy Davide is called “The little bull” because he is unstoppable and relentless. (Little my ass I’m thinking. More like Taurus the bull in the sky that is there ever time you look...)

The tent arrangements are up to the racers and they will hold 3-4. I shack up with the Italians. I faintly remember my history and the strategy of keeping your friends close and your enemy’s closer. Perfect, on both accounts!

My worry in this race was simple. Recovery. If a sound marathon strategy is taper for two weeks and then don’t run another one for several. And a100 mile ultra strategy is taper for a few weeks then don’t walk afterwards for a couple of days, then how do you do this? Especially if you want to race it, or set a course record of push every stage?

Day 2. 39 miles. Morning cool, legs stiff. Coffee, yogurt with granola and load up the packvest. Reid’s instructions were clear. 17mile aid, water drop at 24miles then water again at about 30 miles. (Note to self, fill up at 17 and skip 24.)

Let’s see how the bull does as tour guide today… and we are off. 39 miles is a long ways so no reason to hurry here.

Davide has other ideas however and I start to wonder if my idea of letting him pick the route is a good idea?

The desert here is fantastic. The mountain is there, but I still won’t look at it because it is still very small. The river comes in and out of view and the canyons are red and soft and curving through the sand dunes. For the first 10 miles or so we very gradually drift downhill. Haven’t seen the bull for a long time and he may be making a move. About the time I start to worry like magic I crest a hill and the bull is frantic. Like the bulls in the fighter’s arena running left, then right, stopping, looking, eyes a bit crazed! The trail is going every direction. I say a quick thanks to the big guy upstairs. (God, not Taurus) then pull out my map. Quickly I take off North. The bull isn’t so confident but he follows. We round a bend and there is the marker, a Kokopelli symbol at the top and we both pick up the pace. However the bull is now happy to follow… Bummer…

The climb out is intense and the trail is shoulder deep in tumble weeds. We fight to the top and I know from the map that it is about 4-5 miles steep downhill to the aid. We both apply the pressure. Somewhere along the way we pass Reid on his bike scrambling for a camera as we cruise on by. We surprise the river rat manning the aide station, well ahead of someone’s predictions. From here to mile 24 is old paved road and the bull has chosen to make his move. I relent and off he goes. I hope for a little gain when he stops and as planned I fly right past the water drop.

Back on trail it is midday, windy, warm and desert desolate. I find myself on an old, old dirt section that stretches ahead of me for miles. Like Mt. Doom from the Tolkien stories the La Sals loom. No deigning the distance here. The solitude is defined by the endless power line and railroad track that vanish in heat waves before the horizon. I am alone. The bull is gone. I now realize that while we have virtually not spoken we have become companions, friends. And he is gone….

Shoot! I mean he is really gone. I am sure I can see, unobstructed for 4-5 miles and he is nowhere! Forget the friendship he is kicking my ass! I get it in gear and scan the horizon as I run. Nothing. Run faster. Nothing. There! No, just a gate. I cross the gate and come upon a old dry wash that is flowing like the river in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the summer. In the mud I see his tracks. For a moment I am confused because I see Nike tread patterns and I am looking for the split hooves of a bull. Must be the sun and the fact that I am about out of water. The tracks go right, I jump straight across. Working up the road, head down as I climb the hill I suddenly realize something is wrong. Different. The trail is undisturbed. There are no tracks! Where is he? Where am I? I pick up the pace.

From the brush to the east he comes. Cross country, having gone “up river” to cross. We crest a hill and suddenly we intersect a main, well established dirt road. The water will be here, this must be 30 miles. (I check my computer and we are at 31 miles). My camelback is dry and I am sure Davide is dry also. We pick up the pace. We pick it up again. I check my watch. We are running 7:00 min miles. This is really fast for me but the road and the change is welcome so we keep it up. Davide fades, I press. We round a corner and Reid is flying up in his Subaru. He is caught off guard, his eyes wide like a kid caught with his first playboy as we are well ahead of schedule. He works quickly to get water out before we reach him. We both douse our bodies and fill our dry mouths. I fill his bottle, he fills my camelback. Reid gives a quick recap of what to expect on the way to the end and we are off. We pick it up. We look at each other and we press. A long way to go, a long way into a day and a lot of days ahead. We press. I don’t remember Reid mentioning a hill but a hill it was. Coming back onto the pavement, the heat radiating through my shoes reminds me of home. Reminds me of a week that I survived and I press. The wind blows hard, cooling my hot head, my watch says 8:30 pace, the pavement rolls under my feet like the dreaded treadmill, and like the treadmill I am not moving. All my senses tell me I am moving but I am not. I squeeze more gel into my mouth, I slap my cheeks, and I look at my watch. The seconds are ticking, the pace is registering but I am certain I am running in place. I look back, no bull. “O.k.” I must be moving. Those 3 miles were like no other I have run.

How I got from there to camp still confuses me but like waking from a bad dream my eyes cleared and the RATS banner announced that I had arrived.

We camped at the river. Sitting on the slippery rocks, hot from the miles but chilled from the cool water, washing away the sand and the effort was a beautiful reward for all in camp that day. We then relaxed under the huge cottonwoods are shared stories and M & M’s and coached each other through blister care and stomach problems.

Friends were quickly becoming family.

Day 3: 9 miles. Photo day! I knew I couldn’t lose a lot of time but it was becoming apparent that in the words of my hero Lance “every second counts” I had to stay focused. I hatched a plan during dinner that maybe this would be a day that we all took it easy, ran together and took photos. It mostly went that way and Matteo, feeling strong, won the day!

Day 4: 52 miles. Today would be a day of consequences. A day to remember, a day to suffer. I knew it and I knew the bull knew it. 10 miles, stride for stride, not to slow, not to fast, beautiful morning and not a word. Dewey Bridge and we took pictures of one another, filled our bottles and heading out for a long, hot, hard climb, from the river to the mountain. Walk, run, drink, and eat. Pee, shake, run, drink. Stride for stride, tit for tat. Something had to give. All along, today and the last three days I was amazed at how I continued to feel incredible. I was excited that the bull, too was feeling strong and neither of us suffered from the blister and stomach issues that afflicted so many. I started to be over the feeling that I might come undone and focused on the feelings of how much more could I push. I knew I wanted a cushion going into the last day. And I knew today was the only day left to get it. When?

Climbing to mile 15 finds you at the entrance to the dreaded canyons. Deep, dark, hot, remote canyons violently carved from the mountains annual runoff. They dive, then climb, turn then twist. At one of the twists I went. Out of sight for a minute I went harder. Too early? Certainly. But sooner or later someone had to go. I ran as hard as I’ve every run for the next 12 miles to the 2^nd aide station at mile 27. I knew from there it was an 11 mile climb with huge altitude gain and I wanted a lead and I wanted to build my cushion here.

As I entered the aide he was back there. A ways, but not more than five minutes. I fueled, hydrated and split. Spending a minute or less. (In my haste I had forgotten to eat). I learned later Davide stopped for 5 minutes or so and ate. I pulled back a little, knowing that I would stay consistent on the climb. Close to the top now, my stomach a wreck, unable to drink my energy drink, sip my hammer gel or drink my water I started to unravel. I weaved across the forest road, tripping and stumbling; praying for the aide station that I knew must be there. In the soft dirt I recognized the tracks of a bear and realized I was now in fear of bulls and bears. What next? The tracks went down the road for more than a mile. I considered covering myself with gel in hopes of encourage an attack and ending my suffering. Finally the top rewarded by an all to steep downhill that was more than my legs could stand. Where was that aide station?

A truck suddenly appeared! It was my parents who had driven down from Vail for the finishing days! What a sight. “How Far?” “About 2 miles to aide, then a mile climb, then 5 miles to camp”. That was it, I was finished.7 or 8 miles and I couldn’t imagine going 7 or 8 yards. “Drive up the road and let me know if he is back there”. Off we both went. In less than two minutes I heard the truck coming up from behind. “Are you F***ing kidding me I yelled?” Looking to see my dad and realizing it was a different car with a different driver… “Sorry”. They sped off before I could explain. Then another truck. “Four minutes.” My dad yelled as they pulled along side. “What!” “He’s four minutes back” and he looks better than you.” Off I went. For the second time that day I pushed myself to run harder than I had ever pushed. I never did ask the bull how hard he went those last 7 miles, but somehow I managed to add about 12 minutes to my cushion, which like my sleeping matt, wasn’t quite thick enough to allow a good nights sleep.

The soup at camp was the best I’ve ever had. The beer my parents brought for everyone at camp was the best I’ve ever had, and cheering on, then hearing the cheers after I went to bed, of other RATS as they came in throughout the night was the best night camping I’ve ever had. We all worried about that stage. But each of us did great that day and earned the day of rest that followed.

Day 5. 0 miles. Rest. Worry, plan, wash, nap read, eat, and worry. Repeat.

Race meeting: Reid. “So here is how we do the last day.” “Morgan, you are the Rabbit.”

“You get your lead over second place, and then I send the pack.” If the Bull catches you, he wins the event.” Nice…

I ran in fear that day. Fear of the bull goring the rabbit. Fear of the wheels falling off after going way to hard on way to many days. Fear of going farther and harder than I had gone before. Fear of letting down my parents who had driven far and waited long. Fear of letting down my wife who supported me through a long, long summer of training. And ultimately fear of letting down myself. But when I ran into Davide on the trail that day, in a section that Reid strategically placed to intentionally cross the paths of the leaders and the pack, and realized that I was about to win my fear changed to sadness. I trained to win this event. I lined up at the starting line focused on winning and I ran each stage to win. Now with my goal in hand, I was sad. Sad because winning came at the expense of beating my dear friend Davide. Sad because such an incredible event was ending and sad because my new friends, my new family, would soon arrive at the finish and then like the sands in the desert drift away….. Rats….