Zane Grey 50 Mile Endurance Run - Run

The race has 5 checkpoints with cut-off times that you need to beat in order to be allowed to continue on towards the official finish time at 9:00 pm for a total of 16 hours.

Elite and good runners have no trouble with these cut-offs; us average runners need to be aware of these cut-offs and run smartly so as to avoid a DNF.

For reference, I'm showing the race based on the checkpoints (& aid stations) along with their cut-off times for actually leaving the station.

The trail tracks roughly parallel to the Mogollon Rim and is cut through the foothills that transition from the desert at 5,000 ft elevation to the top of the Rim at 7,200 ft.

The trail is basically described like this: Climb up a foothill on a steep, switchbacked trail, cross over or around the top of this foothill, go down the other side on a steep, switchbacked trail, cross over a creek bottom that is either running with water or dry, and repeat the process all over again and again for 50+ miles.

80% of the trail is covered in loose rocks from the size of baseballs to toasters (just neglect the smaller ones) and rocks that are fixed in place and are just part of the surface. The trail in some places is just erosion gullies from knee to waist deep (with rocks in the bottom, of course) and virtually everywhere there are stout bushes, scrub trees, and thorn bushes called "cat-claws" for good reason, that are poised to snag the skin and clothing of passing runners.

I'll admit right now I was a bit nervous about this race: The length, the heat, the reputation of a tough course, and the fact that I had cramped up badly (and DNF'd) during a very hot race (101°) in May of last year. But I had driven too far and had too much invested in this to back out now.

I had put in my training miles, was well prepared and did not have lofty goals; just beat the time cuts, finish, and don't make any poor decisions. If I executed my plan, I was looking at a 14 hour day; hopefully my prediction would be close.

5:00 a.m. Start to CP#1 Camp Geronimo @ mile 8 (7:30 cut-off)
I lined up towards the back and waited for the countdown from 10, the gun was fired and we were off. It was good to finally be running and get warmed up. Typical 'inch-worm' effect of 'spread out and bunch up' as we started hitting the first of the hills. Running in the dark is always a little tricky to avoid tripping, but you are trying to maintain your position and keep a good pace. The hills begin right from the start and they just keep on coming.

Was walking up a hill behind a guy wearing a race shirt that was VERY similar to my Arrowhead 135 shirt. In the semi-darkness I couldn't make out the markings and I asked him what race it was. He said it was some race in southern Minnesota where he lived.
Me: "Hey, I was in International Falls this past January attempting the Arrowhead."
Him: "Anybody who does that race is crazy."
(A check of the final results showed he dropped out at some point.)

Soon enough; the sun was coming up, the day was still cool, the runners had strung out, the trail was somewhat flat, soft and glorious; it was a perfect run, and then there would be another hill. I just walked where I had to and ran where I could; no problem.

The biggest part of my plan was to drink the Camelback dry before arriving at an aid station; keep pounding those fluids. Combined with 2-4 e-caps every hour and the usual gels and sport beans, I was hoping to ward off any cramps.

A lady behind me saw me glance at my watch and said we should be coming up on the CP pretty quickly. This wasn't her first time here because sure enough, in a few minutes I could hear the noise from the spectators and workers, we were that close.

Encountered the first of many creeks, but it was narrow and easily crossed by stepping on the rocks. I was going to do my best to avoid wet feet for as long as possible.

Arrived about 6:50; 40 minutes ahead of the cut-off and right on schedule with time to spare.

CP#1, Camp Geronimo (7:30 cut off) to CP#2, Washington Park @ mile 17 (10:00 cut-off)
Still feeling strong with no issues. Handed off my headlamp to my wife who was waiting along with my dad and said a quick hello.

Decided to fill the Camelback with "Gu Brew" (the race's electrolyte drink) instead of water. I never had drank that before, so I was taking a bit of a chance, but my stomach is very tolerate of all food and drink combinations and I felt like I might need all the liquid help I could get.

Ate some salty pretzels and potato chips, a banana half and a couple of orange wedges. They also had boiled potato slices that you could dip in a bowl of salt; ate a couple of those, too. You could say I got some salt during this stop.

The early race excitment has worn off and now it's time for the serious business of the long day ahead. The field has strung out and it's not unusual to go quite awhile without seeing anyone, so it's just you and the trail and the day.

At times the trail is super-easy to follow with no chance of losing it and it is marked with yellow ribbons at random places. But there are times when the trail gets into a flat area and there are no erosion ruts, and no footprints on the rocks, and no ribbons, and you are just going through thick brush; at that time it becomes VERY easy to lose the trail.

Several times during the day, I and others would lose the trail; not badly and not for long, after doing some backtracking, but enough times to where you are constantly worried of making a huge error.

Classic high desert: The cold morning fades quickly away as the sun has been up for 2 hours and it is starting to get very warm and the sweat is flowing even though it is only 8:30.

Here's a comment that is applicable for the entire trail and day: There are no mile markers telling you where you are, how far you've gone, and how far you've got to go. For a first-timer, you're running by watch time and 'feel'. Even if you have a GPS, and even though the CPs are "X" miles apart in the race guide, these distances are all approximate. What is supposed to be 8 miles can really be 9, so you never really know.

Two more small stream crossings hopped across on rocks along the way and more switchbacked hills and ups and downs and always the rocks, but the miles eventually pass and now I'm running down a hill into CP#2 at ~9:20.


CP#2, Washington Park (10:00 cut off) to CP#3, Hell's Gate Canyon @ mile 25 (12:00 cut off)
Saw my wife and dad waiting there and snapping pics. Told them I was feeling good while a volunteer filled my Camleback with more Gu Brew (thanks) as I was eating random items off the food table. Stuffed a couple of gels in my belt and I was ready to run again.

Immediately, after leaving I heard the sounds of rushing water and knew there was a sizable creek waiting to be crossed. All the CPs are located in the bottom of a canyon because that's where the access roads are and that's where the creeks are and there's always a downhill going in and an uphill going out.

Though the creek is wide, there are enough rocks and logs to make it across without getting the feet wet.

17 miles done, but now it's going to start getting really hard. Within a mile or so you enter an area that was burned during a forest fire back in 1990. Because of this, there are very few trees of any height, just thick brush, and that means very little or no shade for the next 16 miles and we are going into the heat of the day.

More ups and downs, and I'm starting to enter that part of the race when a fast walk is more productive than a slow run; less painful, too. The downhill pounding starts to take a toll on the feet and legs, and of course the constant dodging of rocks, sticks, bushes, and limbs poking and snagging you.

In a couple miles I cross "Dude Creek" and I stop to wet my hat, bandana, and small hand towel to wipe off and cool down. It's amazing how cold the water is, given how hot the sun and the day has become.

It is oh so refreshing to wet everything down and drape the bandana over my head and pull the hat over it. The cooling effect of the dripping water and sun protection makes a big difference and I repeat this at every creek crossing from here on.

It is somewhere in here that I meet up with three racers and we are all running about the same pace; I pass them, they pass me, just depending on who is a little faster at any point.

They are Geoff and Paige (married) and their friend Brian and they are from Chicago, IL. They have traveled to AZ because it is Brian's birthday and this is their 'big trip celebration'.

We cross a couple more creeks and Brian is clearly having some issues. We wet our hats and rags, while Brian wets his whole body by lying in the water and keeping his shoes on the rocks. The heat is getting to him and it's showing.

Geoff is wearing a Garmin and it says we have a couple more miles, but who can trust it? Finally, after seemingly 'forever', we approach the CP and check in at 11:30; we've beaten the cut off by 30 minutes.

Due to the remote location, there are no spectators or drop bags, and just the bare minimum of support. Access to this place is by 4WD jeep trail and there are a couple of jeeps, shade canopies, ice, water, Gu Brew and some snacks.

Everyone is clustered under the shade canopies eating, drinking and filling up with fluids. I hear racers asking a volunteer if there is room to catch a ride back out of here. People are starting to drop out.

CP#3, Hell's Gate Canyon (12:00 cut off) to CP#4, Fish Hatchery @ mile 33 (3:00 cut-off)
I've filled my Camelback with a maximum of ice and Gu Brew and head off into the heat of the day. 25 or so miles done and 25 plus to go. I've got 3 hrs to make it the 8 miles to the next station. Normally, I can run 8 miles in an hour; today is not a normal run.

More up and down. The only redeeming aspect of the up and down is that it is not horribly long. Just about the time you're getting really tired of going up; your lungs and legs are screaming, you top out and you start going down. And then about the time your feet are really tired of the pounding and you're tired of holding back against the constant pull of gravity, you get to the bottom and start the process all over again.

And of course, there are the rocks. And the ever present sun burning down.

I haven't mentioned it, but I've tripped and stumbled a dozen or more times. Because I've got great balance, I've haven't fallen yet, but there has been plenty of crow-hopping and great saves. But the battering is starting to take a toll; every kicked rock and stumble is a slight loss of energy on a day when every bit is precious.

A mile or so down the trail I see a guy walking back to the CP. He says the heat has gotten to him and he doesn't want to chance going out any farther. His race is done. You see, there is no way out of here except at a CP because of the point-to-point nature of the race. To bail out means to walk yourself out, either forward or backward. Within another mile, I pass two more racers walking back. (My wife was talking with the RD's wife and she said they've had to carry racers out on stretchers before.)

After awhile, Geoff and Paige catch up to me and we run together. Their friend Brian did not leave the last CP. We leap frog each other much like we did before.

We were running along and spread out with about 10 yards between each of us, Geoff in the lead and Paige in the middle, when she hollers out to Geoff; he had run right past a ribbon and its turn and was heading the wrong way. It wasn't the first wrong turn, nor the last.

A couple more miles, some more ups & downs, and more rocks & bushes and we come up on a guy down on the ground sitting up against the only shade tree around. He's out of water and his body is fully cramped up. Racers on ahead of us have instructions to send help. He says he's 'OK' and Geoff lets him drink as much as he wants from one of his bottles and we move on.

We cross another creek and spend several minutes wetting ourselves down and cooling off; it feels so awesome, you just want to linger, but the clock never stops. Geoff's Garmin says we only have 2 more miles, but it seems like a very long ways. We go a long time without seeing a ribbon and we're nervous we've missed a turn in all this brushy area.

Just thought I'd mention that in addition to the rocks and brush, there were lots of fallen trees across the trail that would require straddling over the easiest way you can. Some had been cut with a saw, some not.

Finally, we see a ribbon (talk about being relieved) and soon a couple of race staff carrying water heading down the trail to help the fallen athlete. They say we're getting close, but it still seems long. The sun is blazing and I've sucked the last of the Brew from my Camelback.

After what must be the longest mile ever, we pull into the CP at 2:27; still beating the cut-offs by 30 minutes or so.

CP#4, Fish Hatchery (3:00 cut off) to CP#5, See Canyon @ mile 44 (6:30 cut-off)
I have a drop bag here and in it I have two empty 24-ounce bottled water bottles with flip caps that I've ghetto-rigged with duct tape to act as hand-carry bottles. Once these are empty I can crush them down to stuff into the pack or loop the race belt through the handle and they only weigh a fraction.

One volunteer is filling my Camelback with ice and water and another is filling the bottles with Gu Brew (he loves my rigged bottle idea) while I eat, pop some e-caps, and change socks. It's the first time I've sat down today. Even though I've managed to keep my feet dry, the spare socks aren't really necessary, but I figured fresh socks would be nice for the upcoming, grueling part of the race.

It is only now that I see how bloody and scratched up my legs are from the cat-claws. Mixed with the red dirt (we used to call this a "Geronimo suntan") they're a mess. My wife said she saw numerous bloody knees and legs throughout the day.

I hear a guy talking about his body shutting down and throwing up everything he's eaten and drank. Several others are sitting in the shade, looking shellshocked. My wife would tell me later that they saw lots of racers drop out here. The thought of 3-4 unsupported hours of running/walking during the hottest part of the day was just too much to tackle.

I can hear the roaring creek and I've already asked if it's possible to cross without getting wet and they say yes. Loaded up with 3.5 liters of fluids, more gels and a Payday candy bar, I check out of the aid station and head into the hardest portion yet.

I approach the creek and start the rock hopping exercise, but my legs are wobbly from the 33-mile beating and I slip off a rock and step right into the water. Dang it! My brand new, clean, dry socks are wet. Nothing to do, but carry on; they'll eventually dry. To go back to the aid station after checking out, I would be considered a DQ for "race abandonment". Just like before; after every creek crossing, you get to climb up a steep hillside.

By now the field has really thinned out; the fasties have and are finishing (8-1/2 to 10 hrs), the fallen have dropped, and I'm somewhere in the back of the pack. I don't care as I'm steadily knocking down mile after mile one stride at a time, but I won't see another racer for a long time as Goeff and Paige left the aid station before me.

Hadn't mentioned it yet, but I'm carrying a small video camera and have been periodically taking self-videos of me walking and talking and various sights along the way. (Viewing the vids at home later really brought back the race experience.)

More ups and downs and the fierce sun is burning the backs of my legs because those areas don't get as much tan as the rest of the body. I kick something and almost fall. A hundred rocks, but I didn't see a rock? I look back; a piece of rebar has been pounded into the ground and has about 2" sticking out. WTH?

Slowly, the miles start to pass and I'm toughing it out. The good part is, after a couple of miles we get out of the forest fire area and get back into some trees and their heavenly shade. I pull out that Payday I've been packing around. Yum.

I cross one of the biggest creeks yet, Horton Creek, and there's a group of Boy Scouts that have hiked in to camp for the weekend. It's an idyllic setting; there's wood smoke in the air from the campfire, kids fishing, the sound of rushing water, deep shade; it's awesome, and reminds me of my Scouts days up here. But I can't stay. I wet down to cool off and hit the trail as some of the kids cheer me on.

In another deep, shady area I come up on a racer sitting down and leaning against the tree. I stop and ask how's he doing. He is Todd from Colorado and the heat and the effort has brought him down, plus he just threw up whatever he had left in his stomach. By now I've drained my two bottles and I'm half-way through my Camelback or I would offer him something to drink. We chat a minute, but I need to get going.

A trooper, he gets to his feet saying he's got to get going too because he can't spend the night out here as we grind our way up the steep hill. We get a little ways down the trail and he asks if I have an extra gel or anything to eat. "It's all right if you don't, I understand", he says. I do and I freely give him a gel I'd grabbed off the last table.

Behind me I hear an exchange. A passing adult hiker from the troop asks Todd if he is OK. Todd asks him if he has any extra water he can spare. Yes, he does.

I start studying my watch and trying to guess how much farther I've got to go. The cut off is 6:30 and it's about 5:35, and I figure there's at least 4-5 miles to go. Who knows?

It really doesn't matter; I've GOT to get in and out of the check point by 6:30 or this whole day has been a waste of time and effort. I can't bear the thought of another DNF. I pick up my pace.

The sense of urgency is propelling me along with almost reckless abandon. I'm running as fast as I have all day; ignoring the pain of stepping on rocks and pushing past the thick brush. My ultra has been reduced to a 30 minute 'sprint'.

As I run, my mind is going through the steps of how I'm going to 'transition' through the aid station; drop this, get that, don't screw up, panic and forget something. I'm pouring sweat, and at least the sun has finally relented a little, but the hills don't.

My watch says 6:20, but I know I keep it 2 minutes fast to the rest of the world, so that I'm rarely late. I know I'm cutting it close; very close, but how close?

Topping over another hill, I hear the whoops of the crowd nearby as runners are entering the aid station. Everyone is aware of the looming cut-off and cheers go up when someone makes it in. I blast down the hill to cheers and go into action.

Officially, I arrive at 6:22, so I have 8 minutes to get everything done.

CP#5, See Canyon (6:30 cut-off) to Finish Line @ mile 50+ (9:00 official cut-off)
I throw off my hat, bandana, and glasses to my wife. Dump the empty bottles, hand my Camelback to a volunteer asking him to fill it with water while I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a banana, and some pretzels. Another volunteer brings me my drop bag and is fiddling with the duct taped opening; I tell him, just tear it open and get my headlamp. Thanks y'all.

I have an extra minute, so I relax, get a couple of cups of Gu Brew for the trail, double-check everything, kiss my wife good bye, and check out at 6:28.

Of course, it wouldn't be Zane Grey without a creek crossing and I get it done without getting wet. (Ironically, the socks I had changed into 11 miles ago were worse than than the ones I took off; I would've been better keeping them on, but it doesn't matter anyways; hurting feet be damned.) I get down the trail a ways and I hear the air horn blow signaling the closing of the check point.

Wow, that was really close. The emotion of just how close hits me and I choke up a little (only a little). *Only* 6 plus miles to go, plus it'll finally be getting cool as the sun sets at 7:05, and , AND, the hills I have been told are not as bad, it's actually considered easy by Zane Grey standards. With 2hrs-20mins to work with, I've got this.

The all-out sprint has exacted a toll on my body and I have nothing, the legs are numb, so I just walk easily along soaking in the late evening light, take a long video of the surroundings, enjoying the experience. I've done it; barring disaster, I'll finish.

Not willing to chance missing the finish time, I start running again. About 7:30 I can't see anymore and the headlamp goes on for good, but there's a problem. While trying to run, I keep kicking and stumbling in the rocks. The light distorts my depth perception and I can't see very well. It's the high angle of the bright light, even on low beam. So I take it off and carry it in my hand. The now low angle casts shadows of the rocks and I can see them; no more stumbling, problem solved.

I hear noises and I think it's the finish line are getting close. What? Now? I stop to listen; no, it's coyotes yipping and howling. Keep on running. The trail is marked with ribbons and glow sticks, so it's easy to follow, but you still have to pay close attention.

After awhile, I stop again, turn off the light and just look up at the stars. Soak it in while I can because I won't see this again any time soon. I have not seen another person since leaving the aid station.

During this quiet time I reflect back on all the ultras and hard stuff I've done and tried to rank this one. I say about 5th on the list: the 100-miler is tops, climbing the Grand Teton is next, 55 mile DNF at Arrowhead was harder, 80 mile DNF at another ultra.

Now it's getting very cool, but the running effort keeps me warm enough. Continuing on, I see a blinking red light ahead and figure it's someone's safety light. Finally get up to it and it's a flashing bike light attached to a sign that states: "1 mile to go". First mileage sign all day, but the best I guess. Of course, in typical Zane Grey style, it's a freaking long mile.

After leaving the last CP I had 'guessed' that I would finish at 8:39. And dang if I wasn't close. I hear the noise from the highway that I knew was close to the finish. I hear cheers for someone finishing, the humming of a generator and finally, it's me coming up one last little hill into the lights and cheers of the finish line crowd.

Just like they have been all day, there's my wife and dad waiting for me. Excellent way to finish.

Sidebar
A check of the final results showed that Geoff & Paige finished 25 minutes ahead of me and Todd hung in there, making the cut-off and finished 7 minutes behind me. I'd like to believe that that gel I gave him back at mile ~39 saved his day. WTG buddy. (Turns out he is 53 also.)

Nothing.

I'd put in my training miles doing 'trail' running in the ditches where I live and was mentally prepared for an all-day effort. My hydration & nutrition was right on and my body didn't fail me. No blisters or ailments other than the general soreness of having run and walked that far.

I had a goal of finishing and had predicted getting it done in 14-15 hours. I consider finishing in 15-1/2 to be a successful outcome on a day when 42 athletes would DNF.

I was starting to get chilled so I put on my recently acquired finisher's jacket, changed shoes and socks, and ate half of a turkey wrap. Drank a can of Starbucks Double Shot (thanks Comet) and hobbled to the car for the drive back to the hotel.

Recovery from one of these is a process. By the time I get to the hotel I can barely move. I drink a couple of 20-oz Gatorades and try to eat some snacks. It will be 11:00 p.m. before I peed again (last time was about mid-day) and it's as dark as strong tea.

As I would make random movements and try to lie down and relax, waves of cramps would roll over me and my legs would pulsate. Several times I'd have to hop out of bed and stretch various muscles. Spooky.


Age and general ability; I'm not an elite. Everyone here is good, there are no casual, recreational runners here. This was a very difficult race. In fact, they call it an "Endurance Run" because it is so much more than just a 'trail run'.

The course adds 2 to 4 hours to your regular 50-miler time. Credible reports claim that this course is closer to 55 miles than 50 and exaggerations make it as long as 60 (it just seems like it).

Even though it was hard and hot, I would stop just short of calling it "epic" or "brutal". To be honest, I've been hotter and suffered more, so I'll reserve those descriptions for when they are really justified. Of course, to the athletes that DNF'd, this was a brutal day.


This was the 23rd running of this race. It is well known and highly regarded within the ultra community.

For a very hard race in a remote area, it is put on in a first class fashion. As usual, the volunteers at the aid stations were ultra running clubs and ultra runners know how to take care of ultra runners; can't give them enough thanks.

Pic #1 Beverly and I at 4:45
Pic #2 Coming into CP #2 (mile 17) at 9:20
Pic #3 Coming down the hill into CP #4 (mile 33) at 2:27
Pic #4 Leaving CP#4 to start the very hard 11 miles.
Pic #5 Dad holding the light and me stopping my watch at the finish.