Respite - by John Prohira

Respite (noun) - a period of temporary delay, an interval of rest or relief.

Impatient for spring and in need of escape from Western New York's winter I traveled to the high desert of Arizona hoping to find warmth and respite. In the predawn on March 1st I joined 70 other men and woman to traverse 50 miles of road and trail in the eastern portions of the Santa Rita Mountains.

We would run on the Arizona Trail, which I assumed had a long history, perhaps relating to "how theWest was won". I was surprised to discover the trail to be the result of the recent dream of Flagstaff hiker and schoolteacher, Dale Shewalter. In the early 1970's, Shewalter conceived of an idea of a trail stretching across Arizona from Mexico to Utah. Since that time, hundreds of trail enthusiasts have joined together to make the Arizona Trail a reality. Today it stretches from the Coronado National Memorial in the south to Coyote Valley in the northern most part of the state.

The Old Pueblo 50 Mile Endurance Run is staged about 35 miles north of Mexico, where gold was discovered in 1874 in one of the largest and richest placer deposits (gold blended with sand and gravel) in the state. The way to separate the riches from dirt was by washing the mix with water. But water was scarcer than the precious metal, so miners would place sacks of this dirt on the backs of burros and haul it to the region's few running streams. In 1902 James Stetson, an engineer from California, conceived of a plan to channel runoff from the mountains into reservoirs, accumulating enough water to keep a mine going for ten months a year. From 1902 to 1906 he attempted to coax the precious ore from the countryside. A mining camp was built in Kentucky Gulch but abandoned when the endeavor became unprofitable. The Coronado National Forest acquired this land and the remnants of the Kentucky Camp, rebuilding a couple of decaying mining camp structures. One of these restored buildings served as race headquarters was for Old Pueblo.

Duane and Julie Arter and friends stage this intimate gathering and trail run. Every aspect of this event was top-notch, from the pre race coffee and aid throughout the day to the cookout afterwards. Shirts without advertising commemorating the day were given to each entrant, as was a cloth (not paper) race number bib. A handsome belt buckle was awarded to every finisher.

The Kentucky Camp, which was race's start and finish, lay at an elevation of 5142 ft. The course dipped as low as 4031 ft and climbed as high at 5857 ft. These are not significant altitudes by any means but, flatlander that I am, I sensed the "skinny air" from time to time. Our route was billed as having a 6% grade with 7000 ft of climb and 7000 ft of descent over the 50 miles. I found distances here to be impossible to gauge, the land was so wide-open; unimpeded vistas without contrast. Even when running into and out of the canyons and arroyos, up and down steep rocky trail, it was as if I could see forever.

I wondered what it must have felt like loading bags of dirt and gravel onto pack animals and carrying them from these deep, dry canyons. There were times when I had all I could do to haul my own sorry self up and out and on towards the finish line. Ah, but the rewards on top were breathtaking! Rugged mountain outcrops lined some of the trails, often just overhead. The primitive beauty that surrounded me most of the day was rejuvenating and was indeed part of that sought after reprieve and rest.

It had rained a bit in the days leading up to the Old Pueblo event and the springs and creeks were swollen by desert standards. I hadn't expected as chilly a day as I found. Dawn brought clear and mostly sunny skies. Rain that had pooled as puddles froze overnight and the cattle bridges we moved over where slippery.

Cattle bridges are grates made of metal with 4-5 inch spaces between the rungs. Cattle won't walk over them and this ultrarunner will not run over them. I had nightmare visions of slipping a foot into one of those gaps in the grates and breaking an ankle. A bridge like that was one signal to walk, as were the steep climbs and the many opportunities to just stop and drink in the world that was being presented. Cool breezes met us at every ridge top.

I came seeking respite and that is what I found. The combination of hot sun and cool air seemed to nurture my spirits. Dawn brought with it a world of red rock and dirt and I remembered cowboy movie matinees I saw as a child and felt that I'd seen this land before. Perhaps I had, for I learned that many movie Westerns had been shot here.

A lot of the trail was a combination of sand and fine gravel that taxed lower legs. But the contrast of up and down was good; there was never any long repetitive motion. Trail running like this gives every part of the body the opportunity to work and play. I kept the trail out of my shoes by wearing gators. Twenty miles into the run turquoise stones littered the trail, as did unfamiliar scat. I saw no wild animals other than birds, no mountain lions or coyotes. I was oddly reassured that if I had wanted to I could run away and get lost in these hills. I smiled knowing that much of the land I ran on belonged to me as a United States citizen. We did cross private property from time to time, having to open and shut gates as we moved along on our way. At one point late in the race it took both myself and another runner to figure out how to open a primitive gate and then our combined strength to close it again.

It was cool enough to wear tights all day and the two bottles carried on my belt helped keep me hydrated between aid stations. Salt, GU, Ensure, fruit and chocolate candy fueled my body. The smiling faces of aid workers every 5 or 6 miles and the example my fellow runners provided fed my psyche.

Trail running on courses such as the Old Pueblo's can be spiritually uplifting but mentally draining. Attention must be paid to the lay of the land or the runner can find himself or herself seeing it up close and perhaps even tasting it. I usually watch where I place my feet, especially on technical parts of a course, it's when the trail becomes flat and clear that I relax too much. This occurred while on a red dirt road about 40 miles into the run. I do not know what I tripped over, maybe my own feet, but down I went. Boom! I wasn't hurt just completely down and prone -- horizontal. And it felt so good. That respite from movement in the midst of my intended respite felt exquisite. I just lay there a little bit drinking in how good it felt. I lay there like I often do in bed just after the morning alarm goes off. I know I should get up and get going, but in a minute . . . . in a minute.

We hopped over and through many small streams and creeks, perhaps some of the winter runoff that James Stetson had hoped to store and use to get rich 100 years ago. I managed to keep my feet relatively dry while crossing the water. One of my favorite parts of the course was dirt laden and led into a steeply banked gully that I moved down into by negotiating and running along its walls. It reminded me of a toboggan course, but instead of being lined and covered with snow it was made of red desert dirt.

I felt strong and capable most of the day. Aches and pains were transient. I thought my effort was measured and steady, but it's interesting how that perception was skewed. I came into the 25-mile aid station at Box Canyon after 4 hours and 45 minutes on the course. It took me 3 hours and 35 minutes to reach Cave Canyon at 40 miles and another 2-1/2 hours to finish up. Although I felt I was running well and moving right along my watch told me I averaged only 4 mph for the last 10 miles. Maybe it was a taste of the elevation; more likely a measure of my fitness. Nonetheless, I felt like a runner doing what a runner does and enjoying it. It made complete sense to be spending the day like that.

The field was limited to 80 entrants and 71 started. The group was small enough that there were long periods when I ran alone without seeing another runner. Alone but not lonely. Maybe this is how those solitary miners felt in years gone by. Coming across the finish line I smiled when I saw that there was no visible clock ticking the minutes away. I liked that! Time was of course recorded and I was more than satisfied with breaking 11 hours. Burgers, Coke and endorphin-inspired good will met me at the finish line.

I went into the canyons and ran over the high grazing lands of southern Arizona and found what I sought. An interval of rest, delay and reprieve from the stresses that everyday life presents the 21st century man and woman. I was able to step off that beaten path for a short time and gain strength through active respite. I was lucky enough to understand my need to leave newspapers and the computer behind and be able to distance myself from the onslaught of information that makes up my working day to day world, to rest -- if only for a little while. I needed that time of moving meditation to gain spiritual and mental strength.

I wondered if those hearty dirt miners at the turn of the century sought more than riches. Perhaps the rewards of self-sufficiency? Of solitude and a well-defined goal? I do hope that they found what they needed and were looking for. I found respite in the high desert doing a very simple thing moving from here to there and trying to pay attention to what surrounded me and remembering as much as I could, returning home refreshed and ready.

Happy Trails,
John

The results from the Old Pueblo can be found at www.ultrarunner.net/op50results03.html

Copyright © 2003 John Prohira

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