14 January 2007

The Ghost Town 38.5

Hillsboro, New Mexico 

Most definitely this will go down as one race I should not have entered, but shall remain, at least for the moment, the most memorable.  I say I should not have entered because of my almost non-existent preparation.  I registered 3 months in advance and then suffered from IT Band Syndrome.  Yeah, what the heck is that?  That' s what I thought.  Most surely it was the end of my Ghost Town adventure.  I took about a month off to let my IT Band heal, while religiously stretching it out 2-3 times a day.   

At 6 weeks away from the Ghost Town, I put the event out of my mind and focused on just resting by taking up group cycling.  My doctor advised me that I might never run another  1/2  marathon again.  Yeah, that's what I thought, time to switch doctors.  I start running again, building slowly from 3 to 5 miles a day.  My IT Band is not 100% but at least I no longer limp while sprinting across the street.  Then at the end of the year I decided at the last minute to sign up for an organized trail run with PC Trail Runs.  My goal?  I registered for the shortest distance, which was 8K.  The run started out great.  I was really feeling it.  The race director reminded us to follow the yellow ribbon (heck, I can' t remember what color it was) and if we reach an aid station, we missed the turn.  That meant we were on course for the longer distance.  Well, being the directional challenged individual that I am, I found myself at the aid station and completed the 20K.

 So big deal, I got almost a  1/2  marathon out of the way will little preparation.  I resolved to go to New Mexico and make a vacation out of it.  Less than a week to go, I get hit with the flu; projectile vomiting and the whole mess.  Whatever, I say it"s not like I"m actually training.  Finally with the stomach cramps over, the stress of work behind me, I"m packing to finally go to New Mexico.  Since I told the race director that I would volunteer (that at least gets me a T-Shirt) I packed my running shoes and running belt with my water bottles.  After all, I would be hiking to my post to hand out bottle of water to the runners.  I found out my hotel had an indoor pool, so I packed my spandex trunks. 

 I would be remiss if I did not at this point mention a turning point in my thinking.  Two weeks prior to getting on the plane I joined a group of trail runners for what started as an 8 mile round trip up Mt. Tamalpais.  In the group was a very experienced ultramarathoner (I haven ' t been given the OK to mention this person by name, then again I haven"t asked her.)  After arriving at the top of the mountain, I broke off with the pack and joined this person for what turned out to be 16 miles round trip.  During this journey, this person and I spent hours sharing experience (mostly hers) and I got a tour of Mt. Tamalpais.  Two things I remember most, she told me:  1) Focus more on time on my feet rather than miles covered and 2) TAPE THE FEET to avoid blisters.  The second one becomes very important.

 I finally arrived in Albuquerque where I met Carroll, who had driven.  On the drive down to Truth Or Consequences (the town was indeed named after the game show) I made the announcement that I was going to run in the Ghost Town 38.5.  I was going to find Susan, the race director and not take no for an answer (I did after all pay the registration months ago.)  Somehow Carroll was not surprised.  Crazy? Absolutely.

We pull into Hillsboro and stop at the first gas station/ convenience store/ motel.  I go inside and ask for a lady by the name of Susan Reynolds.  This not being her, I asked if they might know where I could find Susan.  I figured this was the way to find people in small towns, after all, everyone knows every one else and their business.  Drive out to the edge of town, over two bridges, last place on the left before leaving town.  In short, I found Susan and told her I wanted to run.  Not too surprised, she got me officially registered, gave me my bid number and the run down (no pun intended.)  Then I told her THE LIE.  My bag was lost at the airport and never arrived.  I have no running gear with me except for a pair of shoes.  Well, Susan began going through her closet trying to get me outfitted.  I felt like I was shopping at the thrift store for my biggest challenge to date.  Needless to say, the best item I got was a beanie for my head.  At least I was officially registered again.  Now, it was time to go shopping! 

 Next stop, Las Cruzes, south about 120 miles, where I found a Home Depot and a Big 5.  Thank God Home Depot is now found in every city around the United States with a population over 5000.  I was able to procure a roll of duct tape.  I was surprised at the array of colors duct tape comes in now.  I chose white.  On to Big 5 where I picked up two pairs of socks, 2 high tech shirts, one long sleeve, one short and a pair of stretchy long john type bottoms.  I was not going to win the fashion award but I  was never the less outfitted.

 That night the winds came.  As I lay there not sleeping much, I kept hoping that the winds would die down.  They didn' t.  It was 20 something degrees outside and stormy winds.  I then realized that the sun would not rise until about an hour after the start of the race.  As the runners gathered at Susan' s house, the official race headquarters, I looked around at everyone with their headlights.  My goal at that point was to keep up with a group of people wearing headlights to guide my way until dawn.  Susan then gathered everyone outside for the start.  She announced that someone left a flashlight in the house.   " Did anyone forget his or her flashlight? "  she cried.  I stepped up.   " If no one claims it, I could sure use a flashlight. "    After one more attempt at finding the rightful owner, she threw it in my hands.  The last thing Carroll said to me before the start was that if it starts to rain or snow, turn around and come back.  The count down began,  " 10, 9, 8..GO! " 

 So the start of the Ghost Town 38.5 began.  On any other day, the first 6.3 miles to the first aid station would be rather uneventful.  I held my flashlight like a dagger, stabbing the icy air with each step.  Luckily I didn' t have to worry about starting out to fast.  My pace felt like a 10 minute mile and I was towards the front of the pack.  The wind clobbered us and at certain points it literally stopped me in my tracks. Little by little as I approached the first aid station the true leaders passed me as I fell into position.  Arriving at Station 1 and the arrival of dawn, I dropped the flashlight and grabbed some pretzels, the breakfast of champions.  Support vehicles were allowed on the course up to 8.2 miles where the road then narrowed making it hazardous for the runners.  Carroll and I drove there the day before so he would know the route where he promised his support.  True to his word, he was there and snapped my picture; so far, so good.

 Aid stations 2 and 3 were a distant 7 miles apart, the furthest distance between aid on the course.  The cold was getting to me.  At one point I decided to snack on a power bar stashed in my runner ' s pack.  I unzipped the pocket and something was wrong.  It appears to be stuck on something for it wouldn't give.  Then I realized it wasn't stuck.  I couldn't grip it for I had no feeling in my fingers.  Care for TMI?

 Just before Station #3, the course took a quick detour where we came upon Ace.  Ace is a pair of stuffed jeans and a shirt who represents a dude named P. Luis who was caught cheating in a card game and shot over a 5 dollar ante.  Once I came face to face with Ace, I reached down into his pot and took a poker chip, which was proof I didn't cheat the end of the path.  Upon reaching the aid station, I handed over the poker chip in return for half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  So far my fate is better than P. Luis ' .

 Station #3 is about 16.5 miles into the race.  Then next 8 miles of the course is a treacherous out and back, with rolling hills littered with rocks, tree roots and at one point some broken glass from an unfortunate SUV.  My plan up to this point has been to walk on the up hills and run on the flat ground and down hills.  I ' m reduced to mostly walking as there is no flat ground and the down hills prove too hard on my aching knees.  My lack of conditioning has really caught up with me.  I checked it at Station 4 which marked 20.8 miles.  The time was 1052.  I had been on the course for almost 5 hours.  I ' m deep in the wilderness.  It ' s cold.  I left one layer of clothing back at a water station which will be gone once the last runner goes by.  I ' m reduced to walking with spurts of painful sprints and I still have 18 miles to go.  Here is where the mental game comes into play.

 Station #3 also doubled as Station #5 on the way back. Upon arriving I asked about some vicodeine, err, I mean Ibuprofen.  The answer was no but one of the medics offered a seat in the warm truck as the other prepared a splint to immobilize my leg.  It was getting extremely cold again as noticed my speech was slurred because I lacked feeling in my face.  I knew once I got in the truck I was done so I declined.  The splint was a futile attempt to keep my leg straight while I still moved forward.  100 yards past the station it came off and I was reduced to walking.  I had just less than 15 miles to go and I was freezing.  I knew that I had to blow my nose, but I when I reached for my face, I couldn't feel it.  I realized the possibility of frozen crud stuck to my nose with no chance of cleaning up.  My gloves were like a dirty Kleenex.  I hope they weren't taking pictures at the finish, which at this point was a delusion.

 It ' s strange how the mind attempts to rationalize the irrational when faced with extreme conditions.  As I approached Station #6, I measured the distance in my mind.  Just over 9 miles, which is the distance between my apartment and the Great Highway and back, then, back to the Great Highway again.  That ' s like a morning jog, plus the next morning and then again the next morning.  It sounds doable, if my legs would just jog a little.  Each attempt at running produces pain and muscle spasms.  I even try altering my stride, which involves lifting the right leg a little then quickly swiveling the hip around like a slingshot.  It doesn't get me where I'm going any faster than walking which I ' ve resolved myself to doing for the next 3 trips to the Great Highway.

 I'm now approaching the final 8.2 miles which is the point where support vehicles would be allowed to once again greet runners.  I was hoping, no praying that Carroll would be waiting for me.  As I approached the spot, I saw the car in the distance pulling into lot and Carroll got out.  My speech still slurred I manage to ask for a long sleeve cotton shirt and my hoodie which I packed for after the race.  If only I could warm up, my spirits would lift again.  I asked Carroll to meet me at the last Aid Station #7.  A few runners passed me, which made me more resolved to try running with no success.   With 6 miles to go, I was back on the highway where the race started.  Two more participates passed me and we exchanged greetings.  Aid station #7 marked the final 4.5 miles of the Ghost Town 38.5 and the two participates were a mere 20 yards ahead of me.   With all the determination I could muster, I closed the gap and struck up a conversation.  The couple were from El Paso and this was their first race over 13 miles.  I asked the gal if she thought she ' d do this again, to which she replied,  " No way! "   She equated an ultramarathon to being pregnant.  Maybe one forgets how painful it is.

 Then we realized we could still finish in under 10 hours.  With about 1.5 miles to go it was 11 minutes to 4PM.  Yeah, no way I thought.  Even on a good day, that was a pretty good pace.  We continued with idle chatter and when we passed the 38 mile mark, my new friends made their break (the story of my life?)  I started my sprint and with each stride, the finish getting closer and closer, my confidence grew.  I crossed the finish and their was Susan, Carroll and my former new friends J

 I turned to Susan and managed to mutter,  " I did it, I finished your race. "  

 Susan was smiling and said,  " Yes, you did. "   Ten hours and four minutes after the word Go, I arrived back at Susan ' s house.

Jeff Johnston (CA)                                                                -----------

from Marcus Nashelsky (IA): "I am quite enamored by the unique distance in a unique place, to paraphrase the website.  ...the magic of the Ghost Town 38.5 as it appeals to both novice and experienced ultrarunners in a safe, encouraging atmosphere of a small event.  The personal attention that you give to each participant and his/her family (if present) make this event special and different from most others.  It is that simple, to me, and this delicious event can be maintained undiluted if continued in the model of these very successful 2 years. ... I'm still basking in the satisfaction of a successful long run last Sunday in New Mexico.  It was terrific.  Thanks much, Marcus"   (Marcus is a charter member of the Ghost Town, having run in '06 - our very first year, and now having returned in '07...he's on the way to something special if he returns for the next 3 years!)        --------------

Hey Susan--JC and I (Tracy #38) just returned from our trip.  Thank you so
much for such a fabulous experience!  This was my first ultra event and I am
still feeling happily overwhelmed by the adventure.  Your hospitality is amazing,
your volunteers stupendous!  Thank you again so much :)

Tracy Smith
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"Despite the windy cold start, it wound up being a lovely race and a I enjoyed the scenery very much.  Please thank all the volunteers for their great support."  Larry Cawthon            --------

 "Again, thank you so very much for the incredible race!  What an amazing experience!  I will never ever forget my first ultra in your beautiful 'neck of the woods.'  I really trusted you, because you took so much time to respond to my questions in depth and always responded to whatever silly thing I might ask.  This truly brought peace, because I knew you cared about your runners!  It was wonderful meeting you and your family!  My husband Dan is talking about running Ghost town himself next year! We'll see.  Many thanks!"  Shelby Backman            --------

"Hello, Susan, I just wanted to say thanks for a great race.  Your volunteers did an excellent job, and it was a cold morning for many of them.  The course is very nice and I think the area in and around the Gila is a prime location for an ultramarathon of any distance.  I encourage you to continue organizing the Ghost Town 38.5.  I will certainly return if I can."  Ed Heller

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"Please thank all your crew for I really enjoyed the event."  John Spannuth

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Michelle Wolpert wrote me both a short email and shared her report.  I'm posting them both here:

Hi Susan, well, I had so much to say that I wrote a race report and sent it
to all my friends/family as well as for inclusion on the
Hillcountrytrailrunners website, and in my local running club newsletter.
Here it is for your perusal.

FYI, this was my 36th ultra, most of which have been 50Ks, but I've also
run five 50 milers.  This was one of the toughest, up there with Bandera in
TX, the Highlands 40 miler in W. VA., and Bighorn in WY.

Feel free to pick any quotes from my race report...enjoy!

and here's the report:

The Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run, or, A Body in Motion Remains in Motion

By Michelle A. Wolpert 

I decided to run the Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run on January 14 in Hillsboro, New Mexico for a variety of reasons, but none of them truly compelling.  However, maybe in combination they’ll make some kind of weird trail-ultrarunning sense: 

1)      I wanted to do a marathon or ultra distance in January, and didn’t want to run Houston or Bandera;

2)      I didn’t want to travel very far so I could do the race over the long MLK weekend;

3)      The Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run was in southern New Mexico, and I’m partial to New Mexico since my parents live in Santa Fe; and

4)      The website charmed me with its quirkiness, its homespun qualities, its incompleteness, its hand-drawn maps, and, most important, its name: www.journeyheretothere.com. 

So, I signed up.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with Hillsboro, NM, (like I was) it is a small town of just over 100 residents nestled in the foothills of the beautiful Black Range in southern NM (about mid-way between Los Cruces and Truth or Consequences). It was “…founded in 1877 following the discovery of gold and silver in the surrounding hills and valleys…[However] as the gold and silver dwindled so did the population…The population dropped so low, in following years, that Hillsboro was listed as a ghost town on many maps.”  Hence, the name of the race. 

As race day drew nearer, I anxiously checked the weather forecasts for temperatures and precipitation.  Race day was forecast at a range of 19-45 F, with a 10% chance of precipitation.  Obviously, it would be a very cold day, but I knew that with the proper layering strategy I could survive: tights, a singlet, two long-sleeve tops, a windbreaker, two pairs of gloves, and an ear muff – no problem!  The race had 43 people signed up, mainly from out of state, and ranging from as far a-field as California, Alaska, New Hampshire, and Georgia. 

Well, after a fitful sleep Saturday night, plagued by bad dreams of losing my shoes, sleeping through my alarm, missing the start, etc etc, I finally woke up at 5 am Sunday morning to the sound of howling winds.  Now, weather dot com forecast nothing about winds, but it was clearly extremely windy, so much so that the beams of the rickety old Barbershop B&B where I was staying were creaking and groaning with the strain.  I drove the ½ mile from the BB&B to the home of the race director, which was the start / finish, and hung out in her studio with a bunch of very quiet runners as the minutes slowly advanced towards the 6 am start.  Conversation was minimal as we all tried to deal with our fear of that lethal combination:  cold and wind. 

At 6 AM, the journey began, and what a horrible journey it was for the next 10-15 miles.  It was pitch black, about 20 degrees (or minus 20 with the windchill), and uphill on a single lane road…other than rain, what could make it worse!  Initially I jogged with a group of about five runners wearing headlights as we slowly moved uphill, battling the wind the whole way.  After 1-2 miles the group thinned out, and I was alone.   

At that point I said to myself:  why bother running uphill into the wind?  The effort of running was a wasted effort, and I should probably conserve my energy and just walk.  In fact, in some sections, as the road wound through canyons and between cliffs, the wind was so strong it almost stopped me in my tracks.  I couldn’t feel my face, my fingers felt frozen, and almost all I could think of was heading back to town, quitting the race, and driving the four hours north to Santa Fe to spend the rest of the weekend being pampered by my parents.  I was definitely suffering from a well-deserved case of self pity. 

Then, the best thing that could happen, given the circumstances, did happen.  Another runner caught up with me and started talking.  Tim from Minnesota totally agreed with my decision to walk, and from mile 3 ish to 6 ish, we walked and talked together, mainly about how horrible the wind was.  At mile 6 we turned off the road onto a jeep road into the Gila National Forest, and I convinced myself to keep going with the (silly) hope that maybe the wind would die down once we changed directions.  Well, it didn’t die down, but at least now the sun was starting to come up.  So, next (silly) hope:  maybe the wind would die down when the sun was fully risen.  This didn’t happen either, so at the ten-mile aid station I said to the volunteers that I was quitting: a DNF. Gulp.  However, quitting wasn’t so easy:  I would have to wait for a car to head back to town from further up the jeep road, or walk back myself the ten miles to Hillsboro.  Then Tim said the words that ended up saving me from a DNF: he said “Why don’t you just keep walking up the road with me until a car comes”.  

Sounded like an easy decision: keep walking, or sit in a cold car with the aid station volunteers waiting for a ride back to town.  So, we kept walking and walking and walking.  The course was still uphill, but little by little, the wind died down, and the sun shone fully on a beautiful day with sparkling crystal blue skies.  Tim and I stopped complaining about the wind and the cold, and started admiring the scenery:  the cliffs, the bluffs, the canyons, the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the smell of the juniper and pinion trees, and the occasional stream with water as clear as glass.  We talked about all sorts of subjects, from running, to work, to books, to movies, to health, to families, etc etc.  And soon enough, we had passed through all the aid stations up to the turn-around of this out-n-back course, mostly by doing a brisk hike but occasionally managing to run some of the flat and downhill sections that weren’t too rocky (over the miles, the jeep road had deteriorated from a flat hard-packed dirt surface to a rutted, rocky trail).   

The return trip, like most on an out-n-back course, was much easier than the outbound trip.  The temperature had probably reached a high of around 35, but without the wind, it was relatively pleasant to keep hiking / jogging.  I never removed any of my layers because as soon as I started to feel a tinge warm, the trail would enter a shady section of forest and the temperature would drop five degrees.  By mile 26 ish, we had left most of the rocky sections behind, and were able to run the downhill sections of the jeep road relatively easily.  However, fatigue was of course setting in, so we alternated running 100 yards or so with walking, even on the downhill and flat sections.   

Along the course there were a handful of interesting man-made sights, including an abandoned mine entrance; the grave of P. Luis, who was shot in 1882 over a $5.00 gambling debt; and a huge stone at the side of the trail with about 30 2” holes in it.  Apparently, in the old days, when the miners used to get all "lickered" up, they'd challenge each other to hand-drilling contests, and the holes in the stone are testimony to their efforts some 120 years later.  However, the best man-made sight was of course the house of the race director, which was the finish.  At just under ten hours, Tim and I crossed the finish line together, and successfully completed The Ghost Town 38.5 Mile Run. 

 Upon reflection, this race taught me once again what my physical and mental limits are, and how important the social component can be when running an endurance event.  I truly don’t think I would have finished if it hadn’t been for Tim encouraging me to keep going at mile ten.  One well-placed sentence can make a world of difference. And, in keeping with Newton’s First Law of Motion, a body in motion remains in motion unless…

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"The course was beautiful along the forest line.  Trail running is a healing feature as you stride as road course scenarios tend to take the beauty out of the picture.  I felt the support was great and indeed the event flowed smoothely along.  The wind was interesting, but you make do and embrace what is at hand, smile..." Thondup Saari "see you next year!"            ------

"Thanks again for putting on such a fun event!  The course was challenging and beautiful, and things were well organized."  Elise Boeh    ---------

And here is a posting from my oldest finisher in '07...if you don't know the story about our "settlement negotiations" Gene did everything he could to get me to allow him a half hour early start - he even suggested I reschedule the start for everyone - this on Saturday (one day before the race!)....Gene's a very experienced runner but the clock stresses him and so he came to the studio several times over Friday and Saturdayto see if he could break through my resolve to have him start with everyone else.  It was all in good humor, he's a delightful person, and by the end of our debates I'd not only encouraged him, assuring him he could beat the clock...he has so much experience under his feet!...but should he make the final cut-off at station 7, I'd allow him to finish and receive his time and certificate and medal, even if he was slightly over the 12 hours.  Neither of us could have predicted the horrific winds of Sunday morning, and so Gene never knew that on his behalf and actually everyone else's the cut-off at Station 7 was adjusted to 5:00pm  (an extra 15 minutes) after the race started.  Gene does refer to "the 1/2" he added - he got lost briefly in the woods and may have added a half mile, though I don't think it was actually that much extra distance.  So here is our latest exchange: