30 years running: An account of my first Moab 1/2

Southern Utah in the spring. A racing tradition of thirty years. The Moab Half Marathon.

It's become so popular over the years the race director turned registration into a lottery. Once the lottery closed, the only way to get in was through The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training program. Since I work for Team In Training, I was in charge of our small volunteer force in Moab. About twenty of us went down, volunteered at the race packet pick-up, and ran the next day. I had a few hours between volunteer shifts to drive up the canyon and see some of the course I would be following.

I'm sitting on a rock by a river. A brilliant blue is the backdrop to rock cliffs. The slow movements of deep time are playing out before me. Water cuts rock. Canyons deepen. It is in slow-motion. The shadows are lengthening down canyon walls. The sun is warm on my body. I am in a quiet moment shattered by the effects of man: too close to a road; not close enough to solitude. But the river flows on. The late afternoon sun shines off the surface of the water. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Red and yellows fill my eyelids; the warmth of light fills my body. If I sit still enough maybe roots will grasp rock. I will become part of all that is around me.

I slept in my truck. I was too lazy and basically too cheap to get a hotel room. The original plan was to sleep in the bed of the truck. I would be able to spread out, and get a clear view of the dark, desert sky. No real planning went into where I was going to park for the night. I figured I could find a good spot on a quiet street close to the race finish line. I would be up with the sun and ready to catch a shuttle bus to the start. I didn't plan on feeling too vulnerable to go through with it. If I had been with someone else it would have been okay. But lying in the back of a truck on some random street in Moab, Utah didn't sound so appealing in the end. I opted for sleeping in the cab instead. At least it was a bench seat. And if I positioned my body in such a way, I could avoid the seatbelts and actually spread out almost comfortably. I listened to Jack Johnson as I got ready for the night. The only real downfall of sleeping inside the truck was that I wouldn't be able to see the stars. I was looking forward to the falling ones.

What a trip. Probably one of the worst races of my life. ...I wanted to stop running after mile two. I still had eleven to go. The first few miles of the race were unshaded. After 10 o'clock it's starting to get pretty hot to be running in the sunlight. I think having that in the beginning really ruined me. It sucks, though, because they started busing people up the canyon at 7 o'clock. I got up there around 8-8:30, so I had almost two hours to sit in this cold canyon. They wouldn't let anyone up by the real start line--where the sunlight was inching. But by the time the race actually starts (whoever heard of a ten o'clock start time? Why so late?) the sun is in the canyon. I can't deal with heat. But I did.

I figured three scenario's could go down today. Well, actually four. 1) I would have both my problems (IT Band/foot), 2) I would only have one problem surface, 3) I would have neither problems and lastly, 4) I would have some totally unforeseen problem. I guess it was more of the latter.

Besides the heat, I had to deal with tight legs. Legs that really weren't used to running a lot of miles. My last long run was probably six weeks ago. So my legs were hurting.

They're right what they say about this half marathon. It is beautiful. There is something about running down a canyon that does wonders for the mind, body, and soul. The deep reds of the canyon walls were a strength to me; her blood mixing with mine.

Drum Beats. Heart Beats. Rhythms of the earth. Beckoning me to leave the safety of the canyon. Bidding my farewell as I turn to face the world ahead. It is what sticks out most to me in my head. Soft beats growing louder with each step until they are upon me. Deep rhythmic power.

The last few miles sucked too. Once we were out of the canyon there was no
shade. We were running on HWY 191. Talk about horrible and never ending. It was all I could do to make it to the Denny's--that's where I knew the turn was. But then we had to run down 500 West for what seemed like a million blocks. Then it was up 400 North to the finish line. I was so close, and eventually I could see it, and I wanted to stop so badly, but I couldn't let myself. I couldn't just give up and let it beat me like that. It's like life. If you were so close to eternity, you couldn't just give up and throw it all away. So I endured and finished.

The ending to this race was interesting. It was the usual finish line corral. (Although you could stop and get your picture taken with your medal.) There were the bananas. The Gatorade. The water. Various bread items. That was all normal. What I didn't ever expect to see happened a little later.

I was walking back to my truck, tired of waiting to see people I knew. I figured I would get back on the road and head home. I didn't think too much of the big crowd of people standing around some person about 200 yards from the finish line. She must have collapsed. A result of dehydration or pure exhaustion. I walked closer. Through the legs of people I saw her face. Her eyes glazed over. Transfixed on that void in front of her. She must be in shock, I thought, knowing nothing of the severity of the situation.

...She wasn't breathing and didn't have a pulse. ...They started doing CPR. An ambulance drove by. People tried to wave it down. It just drove by and [the driver] seemed so apathetic. We later learned that she was transporting someone
else already. EMT's came on the scene. Another ambulance came. They used the
defibulator to get her heart started. It was so scary. I hope she lives. Her friends were so distraught. How sad.

I later learned she didn't live. Heart failure. You would think her friends would have seen the warning signs. She obviously wasn't doing well. They were literally dragging her to the finish line. That just shouldn't happen at a half marathon. At any race. Death is not welcome among so much life.