Start to Amasa Back – The Early Miles
This would be my eighth running of the Moab 240-Mile Endurance Run, and my nineteenth 200-mile race. My goal was to finish among the top five runners overall. I knew the course well, and I had learned many lessons along the way. But it was still a 240-mile race, and anything could happen. I’d had a head cold for the last few days, but I had not felt any effects that might impact my race. Later, the head cold would shift to my chest and create some breathing problems, but standing at the starting line I felt good. I felt strong. As always, it helped that my wife was here. She, too, had a lot of experience with 200-milers. This was the eleventh 200-mile race she would crew for me.
The race started at noon on Friday, October 11, with 217 runners toeing the line. As we ran through three miles of Moab streets, I deliberately held myself back even more than I typically did at this point in the race. When I hit the gentle, easy, upward slope that leads to Kane Creek Boulevard, I walked. I don’t think I have ever walked that miniscule hill in my previous seven Moab 240 runs, but I wanted to set a tone in my mind from the very start. I was going to hike more hills in the first 70 miles than ever before, and by doing it from the very beginning I would cement the idea into action. This year I was going to make an extra effort to save my legs for later. And it started now…barely two miles into the 240-mile race.
When I arrived at the first aid station, mile 8, I assumed I was back somewhere around 30th place. If I’d known I was 17th I might have worried I was going a little faster than I intended. But, in the end, knowing one’s position this early in such a long race is interesting trivia, but it’s also rather irrelevant. A volunteer filled a water bottle for me, and then I was back on the trail and starting the steep, rocky ascent up the side of the mesa to Hidden Valley. It was already hot, and the temperature would hover in the 90s throughout much of the afternoon as we crossed a succession of completely exposed mesas and valleys. I was happy I had invested the time to acclimate to high temperatures in the weeks leading up to the race.
I came into Amasa Back aid station, mile 17, in 7th place. Improving my aid station discipline was a major goal for this race. For various reasons, I had a bad track record at Moab for longer-than-necessary aid station stops. Only two out of my previous seven Moab 240 races had aid station times that I considered good. I had asked Heather, to help me focus on managing my aid station times this year during the seven crewed aid stations, and I would handle the seven uncrewed stations. Heather kicked it off well at Amasa Back, and she got me through the aid station quickly despite the onlookers who walked over to strike up conversations. My stop was quick enough, in fact, that I was in 3rd place when I left the aid station, meaning that four of the runners who had come into Amasa Back before me were still getting aid when I was hitting the trail.
Before departing, I made a comment to Heather that, “It feels as if no time has passed from the start to here.” That comment encapsulates how I experience these long races when I am at my best. My mind shifts to only focusing on the moment I am experiencing. I am looking neither forward nor back. I am simply existing in tune with my body and my immediate environment. There is not a future to anticipate or dread, and there is not a past to regret or celebrate. There is only now. When I am in that state, the pain and fatigue of running do not vanish, they simply exist in the same way the sand beneath my feet exists. It is there, I understand it, I feel it, and I move through it without conscious thought.
Amasa Back to Shay Mountain – A Strong Start
For the first time since 2017, I took my trekking poles with me when I departed Amasa Back. Typically, I don’t pick them up until Indian Creek at mile 67. This was another part of my “save the legs” plan. Although there were almost 6000 feet of climbing between Amasa Back and Indian Creek, there were no major climbs, and the rolling hills were spread across 50 miles of trail. Ordinarily I wouldn’t break out my poles for that type of terrain, but this year was different.
The miles ticked by relatively quickly. Kevin Carson and Samuel Dickie passed me sometime around the Lockhart water stop, mile 34, but I caught up to them at Oasis aid station, mile 54. I did another quick transition at Oasis, and got out of the aid station a little ahead of them. It wasn’t long after that when I began pushing just a little bit harder on the easy hills. I was feeling good at this point, alert and strong. The only incident during this portion of the race was when I briefly went off-course as I was approaching Indian Creek aid station near mile 69. Samuel Dickie slipped past me while I was finding my way back onto the course, and he arrived at Indian Creek just ahead of me. However, another quick transition, this one with Heather’s assistance, put me back into 3rd place when I left the aid station.
Between Indian Creek and The Island I ran and hiked through the dark hours of the morning. The sun had risen by the time I hit The Island, buoying my energy back to where I needed it to be. Tony Cline and the other volunteers at The Island helped me to restock my pack quickly, and then I was out on the long ascent to Bridger Jack. My pace was strong until about two-thirds of the way to Bridger when I started feeling sleepy. I fought the drowsiness for a little while before deciding to take action. I stepped off the trail, set down my hydration pack as a pillow, closed my eyes, and seven minutes later I felt refreshed enough to move on. The next eighteen miles from Bridger Jack to Shay Mountain went largely as planned. The steep, slick and sometimes technical descent from Bridger kept me focused on not making a misstep. The run through the flat wash that followed felt shorter than usual, which was an indicator I was feeling good. Then I switched to a strong, grinding pace for the first Shay Mountain ascent as the noon heat was approaching. That climb is always a bit of a bear. It does offer a few respites of flat and downhill trail, but it kicks you in the teeth at the end with a steep section that makes you wish the top was just around the next bend.
Shay Mountain to Monticello Lake – Still On Track
Less than a mile after departing Shay Mountain aid station, I felt a tightness in my back. It felt similar to what I had experienced at Moab in 2022 and 2023, a tightness that started on one side of my back before expanding to the other side and ultimately affecting even my abdominals. It was Runner’s Lean and it had derailed both of those races, forcing me into a leaning position that made it almost impossible to run for more than a very short distance before shifting back to a slow hobble that minimized the pain.
I didn’t know with certainty that what I was feeling after Shay Mountain was going to turn into the Lean, but I didn’t want to take that chance. After the 2023 race, I had dug through countless websites looking for any potential preventive or restorative techniques. There were lots of theories about core strength and potassium, but it was all a lot of speculation with no proven solutions. Only one article stood out from the others. The article included a few paragraphs about a doctor who claimed he had found a technique to stop or reverse the Lean during a race. I did my best imitation of his technique right there on the side of the trail. Using a boulder half-rooted in the ground as a means to apply focused pressure to my glutes, I worked my glutes for about five minutes and then stood up. The tightness in my back had vanished. And it never returned at any time during the race.
Monticello Lake to Needles – Losing Time
Monticello Lake, mile 126, was planned as my primary sleep station. It was the second night of the race, and I had arrived twenty minutes earlier than planned. I knew I needed to sleep, and Heather was ready for me. I stepped into the van we had rented, ate, stripped off my shoes and then crawled into the bed at the back of the van. I lay there for thirty minutes without sleeping. I finally got up, ate just a little more, slung my pack over my shoulders and then got back on the trail. Considering I didn’t get any actual sleep, what should have been a 10-minute stop had consumed an hour. And I was still going to have to try again to sleep when I hit Dry Valley in seventeen miles.
In the first miles of the section, I wasted another twenty or thirty minutes attempting to find a turn that wasn’t where the map showed it. Then, a few miles later, I wasted even more time as I sleepily weaved my way up the gentle slope toward the top of the Peter’s Point climb before descending into the valley. For some reason I can’t explain, my sleep deprived brain kept repeating the word “house” as I climbed, and only stopped repeating the word when I neared the top and snapped out of my mental fog. It’s possible I was actually muttering the word throughout part of the climb, rather than merely echoing it in my mind. I just don’t know.
I laid down again in the van at Dry Valley, but this time I was asleep a few seconds after closing my eyes. Heather woke me up thirty minutes later, I put on my shoes and gear, and then it was a long, straight, flat dirt road to Needles aid station at mile 158.
Needles to Pole Canyon – A Few Bumps in the Road (and Trail)
Kevin Carson arrived at Needles aid station around 10:30 AM on Sunday, an hour after had I left. The next section consisted of a flat and rolling dirt road all the way to the Road 46 aid station. Kevin’s and my paces remained similar throughout the 13-mile section, leaving me with the same 1-hour lead when I hit Road 46. Unfortunately, sometime that morning the head cold I had started the race with had become a chest cold. I started coughing up all kinds of disgusting semi-fluids, and I was finding it difficult to breathe whenever I exerted myself on an uphill run.
Heather was waiting for me at Road 46, and guided me to our van, where I sat to take in some calories while she refilled my hydration pack with fluids and gels. A couple minutes after I sat down, I experienced sudden lightheadedness and blackened vision. Heather called a medic over, who checked me out and assured me the symptoms were just a result of a change in blood pressure from stopping running. I lay down on a cot for a few minutes, and it cleared up. Then it was time to get moving again.
The route to Pole Canyon was a bit of a rocky slog, and my chest cold wasn’t helping me. The struggle to breathe whenever I tried to run the hills was becoming even more difficult, so I ended up hiking almost this entire section. My cough and breathing issues would haunt me the rest of the race, but I quickly accepted it as nothing more than any other condition imposed on me by the weather or by the course itself, and I largely stopped even thinking about it.
Pole Canyon to Geyser Pass – Slipping Back
By the time I hit Pole Canyon, mile 185, the race had essentially broken up into two different groups of front runners. The true lead group consisted of two people, Max Joliffe and Harry Subertas, who would battle for first place throughout the entire race. The next group consisted of three people who would be fighting for 3rd place: Kevin Carson, Sarah Ostaszewski and me. The rest of the pack was a long procession of runners who would reposition and break up into subgroups as the race progressed. Some of those runners were probably aiming for a top-10 or top-20 finish while others were giving their best with little or no concern for where they finished relative to other runners. Regardless of one’s position in the race, each of us faced the same struggles and triumphs that a 240-mile race through the desert delivers.
Kevin had gained a lot of ground over the last 14 miles, and arrived at Pole Canyon within a few minutes of me. I quickly finished sorting my gear and refilling bottles, and then got back on the trail. Kevin caught me about a mile and a half outside the aid station, at the start of the Doe Canyon climb, while I was adding extra layers of clothing to deal with the cold of the canyon at night. He was moving well, no doubt motivated by slipping into 3rd place. It was a little after 7 PM, the start of Sunday night. Our last night out on the course. Sarah Ostaszewski was still about 12 miles behind us, but between her own internal drive and picking up Jeff Browning as a pacer at Road 46, she was moving faster and closing the gap on us. She had a solid lead as 1st place female, and she was still in contention for 3rd place overall if she could continue her drive for another 70 miles.
Between the chest cold and the lack of mental focus that sometimes descends on my brain late at night when I’m sleep deprived, I lost ground on both Kevin and Sarah during the 15 miles to Geyser Pass. Kevin pulled farther ahead and Sarah drew closer to me. The segment includes a number of steep ascents and descents, and all the leaves on the trail made it hard to identify the trail at times. For me, it felt like I was moving through a lot of winding, challenging trail but wasn’t really making any progress. Once I got past the majority of the steep climbing sections, I knew I was finally getting close to Geyser Pass, but that made the remaining miles seem even longer as I kept hoping the aid station was going to be just ahead of me. Kevin arrived at Geyser Pass with an hour and a half lead on me. I had built an optional 30-minute nap into my plan for this aid station, and I knew I needed to take it or I wouldn’t be sharp enough to push hard through the last 39 miles of the race. Due to the lethargy of my deteriorated mental state, my 30 minutes of sleep at Geyser Pass actually cost me 80 minutes. Eating and getting ready to sleep consumed most of the wasted time, but I wasn’t particularly speedy getting prepped to run after sleeping either. The silver lining was that I had beaten Kevin out of the aid station. He was either still asleep or possibly getting ready to depart. Either way, I suspected his extra time spent sleeping might pay off through the final miles of the race.
Geyser Pass to Porcupine Rim – The Battle Begins
About 8 miles into the 21-mile route to Porcupine Rim aid station, the trail spills onto Warner Lake Road, which is a dirt road that begins with a glorious, 6-mile downhill slope. The descent ends shortly before the turnoff to Sandhill Flats Road, and then Sandhill Flats takes runners along 7 miles of rolling dirt road to Porcupine Rim aid station. As I made my way along the trail out of the Geyser Pass area, I knew the Warner Lake Road descent was where I would initiate the real fight for 3rd place. I knew the route, and I knew how hard I would have to push to widen my lead. To top it off, there was always good cell coverage in this area. This meant that when I threw down the gauntlet, if Kevin and Sarah were checking the live GPS tracker they would know exactly what I was doing, and they’d have to make a choice to either follow suit or be left behind. I hoped that this would put additional pressure on them, and maybe one or both would choose not to accept my challenge.
I stepped onto Warner Lake Road at 7:30 AM Monday morning. The sun was shining, but it was early enough that the air was still cool and refreshing. 32 miles of road and trail remained. It was going to be a long push to the finish. But it was time to start the battle.
As I ran the descent, I checked the tracker a few times. Sarah was falling behind. Kevin was not. In fact, he was closing the gap. When I hit the bottom of the descent and the route shifted to gentle rollers, I switched to an alternating walk-run that kept me moving forward at a decent pace. It wasn’t long before I was approaching Porcupine Rim aid station. I checked the tracker one more time. Kevin had gained even more ground. His long rest at Geyser Pass had certainly refreshed him.
Porcupine Rim to the Finish – The Battle Ends
The Porcupine Rim aid station volunteers graciously called out to me as I ran in, asking if I wanted them to make me a burger or a breakfast burrito. “There are two people gunning for me,” I called back, “I need to dump weight and get moving.” I started pulling items from my pack that would be unnecessary for the remaining miles. I kept only the mandatory gear, along with a few gels and enough fluids and electrolytes to keep me strong in the rising temperatures.
I still had some gas in the tank, but I’d spent most of it on my attack from Warner Lake Road to Porcupine Rim aid station. I kept a steady pace, but knew I was losing ground to Kevin. I glanced at the tracker one last time to assess the threat from Sarah, and found that she was far enough behind that she’d have to move 50% faster than me for all of the remaining miles in order to have a hope of catching me. I decided that was probably impossible, which eased the burden of feeling chased.
When I came to the end of Porcupine Rim Trail, I had three miles of road left to the finish. Since I could no longer affect the outcome of the race, I decided to just relax and enjoy these last miles. I shifted to a fast walk with some occasional light jogging that eventually carried me to the waiting arms of Heather.
Kevin finished in 3rd place overall, of course. I took 4th overall against my goal of being in the top five. Sarah was 5th overall, and was the women’s winner to boot. A success for all of us, I think, and a fun and challenging adventure along the way. One last bit of trivia before I wrap this up: the top 5 finishers in the race were all between the ages of 30 and 33…except for me, the 56-year old.
Thanks to all the volunteers who helped me, with special recognition for Tony Cline. And thanks to my amazing wife Heather who is my rock of support throughout my 200-milers and in life.
See you on the trails!
Wes Ritner
