Late Race Report

Sorry for the delay on the following race report. I got sidetracked a bit with some other adventures. Those of you that have signed up for the resurrected Crown King 50K in two weeks may find some interest in this and hopefully will convince more of you to check it out. The race is more than half full.

 

Crown King Scramble 50K Race Report 1997

 

I thought it would be a good idea to write a race report in retrospect on my first ultra 16 years later before internet race reports and result tracking were commonplace. With the return of the Crown King 50K this year after a 6-year hiatus, my entry into the race brings back nostalgic memories of some wonderful and interesting experiences. This event produced a lot of firsts for me which still provide lasting memories. For those of you still sitting on the fence about entering Crown King for the first time or maybe you already have and want a little more insight, then this report is for you.

 

In the '90s not only were race reports lacking, race advertising was pretty low-key. If you went to one race and came back to your car you might have several fliers for upcoming races under your windshield wipers. The local running clubs usually had a quarterly rag published with upcoming race info and recent event results. A lot of it was by word of mouth. That is how I heard of Crown King, listening to the unbelievable tale told by a marathon running buddy of mine about his experience scrambling up washed-out dirt roads and gullies through untamed and inaccessible desert wilderness. On one Sunday morning long run, Darryl Wagner told us the story of how he in March of 1995 showed up late to the start of his first ultra race in the middle of the Arizona desert. He took off behind the entire pack and ran a brisk marathon race pace to catch the leaders by mile 15. This is where his troubles began. He didn't take enough water and was getting overheated and dehydrated and wanted to lie down and pass out. He managed to place 3^rd overall and spent the rest of the afternoon in Crown King licking his wounds and searching for a ride back to his car in Lake Pleasant. Hmmm…I thought, that sounds kind of…weird.

 

I heard that story in 1996 and decided to challenge myself the following year. I had been running 3-4 competitive road marathons a year since 1992 and was looking for a change of scenery. This running up and over mountain passes sounded like just the thing. I had done a couple TTR events to prepare like Wasson Peak (14 miles), Bear Canyon (17 miles), and I even ran Esperero Loop (21 miles) the weekend before the race. All that was left to do now was drive to Phoenix Friday night after work and find a motel to stay at before the race and I was on my way.

 

We drove up to Phoenix Friday night with our two kids, Ashley and Caleb, nine and five years old, and a new 8-week old Golden Retriever puppy. I don't remember the name of the motel but it was some ratty little place by the freeway in North Phoenix. They didn't allow dogs so we snuck the puppy, Montana, into the room under a blanket and tried to keep him quiet. We arrived too late to get a decent meal so we grabbed some fast food around the block. Luckily I had carbo-loaded the previous two days.

 

Morning came way too early as we had an hour drive to the 6am start and I still had to get my race number. I was a bit anxious on the drive to Lake Pleasant and turned on some music to escape my thoughts. About 10 minutes away from the start destination, Green Day's Brain Stew came over the radio. This song vividly illustrated what I unknowingly would experience a few hours later:

 

My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed
Dried up and bulging out of my skull
My mouth is dry
My face is numb

As time ticks by
And still I try

 

On my own… here we go

 

My mind is set on overdrive
The clock is laughing in my face
A crooked spine
My senses dulled
Passed the point of delirium

On my own… here we go

 

Perfect…now that song will be in my head for the next 5 hours. At least it was better than Barney the Dinosaur singing "I Love You," which has happened and it's no fun. We pulled up along the highway near the start at twilight and opened the door to the cool desert morning air; actually it was a bit too warm for 5:30 in the morning. It was going to be a hot day in March. The kids were sleeping in the car so Trish dropped me off and let me go on my way while she went back to the hotel to get everyone cleaned up and to get some breakfast. We had never been to Crown King before so we had no real idea of how long it would take to drive up the 26-mile road through Cleator from Bumble Bee off I-17. It turned out that Trish's drive time was as near perfect as could possibly be, albeit inadvertently; more on that later.

 

The sun began to make its way above the horizon about 5K into the race. I carried a Gatorade bottle refilled with water in one hand (without a hand strap) and had another one stashed in a drop bag at mile 15 in case I felt I needed two bottles later. Carrying at least one bottle was recommended by race direction. As I ran down the dirt road toward Castle Hot Springs I felt the warm desert breezes on the hilltops and the cold patches lingering in the washes at the bottom of the descents. I was just getting warmed up for a long day. Around 10K into the race I had caught up to 3 other runners that had gone ahead of me from the start.

I wanted to say something to break the ice as I joined their pack, "I could go for a stack of blueberry pancakes." I was met with snorts and glances of derision.

One of them whom I didn't recognize said, "What are you doing out here? I thought you were a road marathoner." True enough, I wasn't sure what I was doing out here either…

 

We came to the 8-mile aid station so I stopped to fill my bottle and see what kind of snacks were on hand. I had heard that these ultra aid stations were like mini-smorgasbords in the middle of nowhere so I was eager to get some breakfast. The other 3 guys breezed in and out before I had my bottle cap unscrewed so I quickly grabbed an orange slice and took off. After another 2 miles I caught back up to them but this time nobody said anything because we were all huffing and puffing up a steep hill. I managed to pull away and never did see them again. The road turns and twists and has many short but steep climbs and descents all the way to the 15-mile aid station. I stopped here to pick up my second bottle and posed for some pictures with the saloon girls that were handing out goodies. I think Linda V may have been one of these helpful girls. I didn't see my three cohorts coming yet so I took off toward the wilderness.

 

From the 15-mile mark the road turns onto the Crown King Trail. It's basically a jeep road and the further you go the nastier it gets with ruts and gullies everywhere. It was fairly runnable up until the hill at mile 19. I'm not sure that the term "hill" fits the bill here; the road ascended up the side of a small scrabbly mountain. I was forced into a walk and as I scrambled up toward the top. I was continually disappointed by false summits. It was starting to get warm so I was quite relieved to find several jugs of water available for self-replenishment at top-out.

 

After shaking my legs out I found a nice stretch of runnable road almost all the way to the 23-mile Fort Misery aid station. I would be remiss if I didn't mention a few more of the rolling hills between 19 and 23 but nothing like the monster at mile 19. Fort Misery was a welcome sight. The Phoenix Hash House Harriers set up this aid station and were having a good time of it. Most of them had camped out the night before in a small meadow area. They had Bloody Mary's, Mimosas, beer, and Tequila shots as well as your usual aid station drinks. I knew many of the kennel from previous hash runs so it was kind of a reunion. I even got flashed for good luck by one of the well endowed harriettes as I was leaving the aid station.

 

Miles 23-27 are simply described as…hell; relentless uphills, screaming quads and aching hamstrings, sizzling heat, large loose rocks, countless switchbacks, oh…and let's not forget, ATV riders going up and down the hills stirring up trails of dust clouds. All of this while looking up the side of the mountain to a tiny aid station outpost 4 miles away. Literally, you can see the aid station four miles away and about 2,000 feet above. The lyrics from Brain Stew began to physically manifest in my body. My face was numb and my mouth was dry; my eyes were bulging out of my skull while the clock laughed in my face. After every switchback I looked for the runner behind me but could see no one on these short stretches. I was only safe by a minute or two at the most. Up until mile 23 it never seriously occurred to me that I could win this race. Now that I had the lead this far it would have been heartbreaking to give it up by walking. I was forced to walk though because my legs were fatigued and muscles burned and cramped. I looked at my watch and after 15 seconds of walking I would force my legs to a trot until walking was the only option again. I made it to the mile 27 aid station in this manner.

 

27 was a much needed respite for calories. The volunteers were enthusiastic and helpful. I was nauseated but I made it a quick stop due to fear that the next runner would be approaching. The next two miles proved to be the most difficult as I was not prepared mentally for the non-stop uphill I would face to mile 29. The course gradually ascends from mile 27 and snakes in and out of the recesses of the mountain rising up from the road. The snow was still melting which made for many mud puddles to negotiate. After what seemed interminable I saw volunteers with water jugs cheering from the top of the last hill. This was the final top-out. They yelled, "It's all downhill from here!" When has this ever happened to you and it was true? Well, the next mile was all downhill and then there was a kind of flat section for about 100 yards and then it was all downhill again until the finish. Amazing…finally the home stretch!

 

With a half-mile to go I made a left turn toward town and pushed my legs as fast as they would go down the muddy road. As I approached the bridge into Crown King proper I could see my wife Trish pulling into town from the opposite direction. She managed to time her arrival perfectly as I was just finishing the race. I crossed the line near the entrance to the saloon and walked over to the trees and collapsed. Trish had parked and ran over to find out how I was doing. I couldn't speak, my throat was constricted and my body was cramped, I felt like I was going into shock; I wanted to cry. After pushing my body far beyond its normal limits and not knowing any better I managed to accomplish something I had never done before. By the way, the next runner came in 15 minutes later.

 

Mike Sheedy, the race director, came up to me after a few minutes. I had all the color back in my face and managed to sit at a picnic table.

He asked, "Are you coming back next year?" I couldn't believe my ears; I thought to myself…are you kidding me…who does this stuff twice?

I said, "No, once is enough, I feel like shit!"

He said, "We always comp the entry fee for the winner into next year's race."

I said, "Hmmm…I'll think about it."

 

After seeing Scott Modzelewski finish and proclaim in triumph that he just finished his 30^th ultra-marathon I wondered what kind of people I had gotten involved with. After a plate of BBQ and a couple glasses of free keg of beer I saw Mike again. He asked me again what I thought about next year. This time, less than an hour later I said, "Yeah…I think we'll be back."

 

Since 1997, Trish has finished Crown King 50K 5 times and I have completed it 8 times. I ran the 50-mile race in 2003 after swearing to never do the 50-mile version on this course. It started at 3am outside of Wickenburg and joined the 50K course with 25 miles to go. The event grew from 3 people on a Western States training run in the early 1980s into a race and ultimately in 1998 had 222 finishers to make it the 5^th largest 50K in the United States. If you haven't experienced this yet then you're missing out on a classic.