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Crown King Scramble 50K/50M 2001 Report(AZ): Lynn David Newton

On March 17, 2001, another Crown King Scramble 50K/50M race went
into the record books. I survived my own participation in the 50K
surprisingly well.

In 1999 I ran Crown King as my first ultra and wrote an extensive
report on it, which is available on my Web site, with pictures at

http://www.eecs.umich.edu/~lnewton/run/CrownKing/CK99.html

The course has not changed, and the weather was even similar this
year. (Fabulous!) Therefore, I decided that this year I'd write a
briefer report than is my usual habit, sparing you the details of
my preparations and recovery.

Excuses
-------

Given my present level of conditioning, my aspiration was to make
it to the finish before some official in a Jeep came along and
informed me I'd had enough and had to quit. There was never any
doubt in my mind that I could make the distance. The only
question was how long it would take.

The reasons for my reserve were:

o After a 48-hour effort at the end of December, I allowed myself
  a slack January, with only 95 miles of running and walking
  combined, followed by only 106 miles in February.

o In comparison, when I ran in 1999, I had built up a substantial
  mileage base, including one 7.5-hour run, and also ran a
  10-mile PR run one week before the race.

o I was also nine pounds lighter then, and of course, two years
  younger.

In summary, I was in substantially better running shape in 1999,
when I finished in 8:07:43, than I am now.

I wanted to repeat Crown King last year, but blew up in training,
trying to recover too quickly after running a 24-hour race the
end of December. So I dropped Crown King from my schedule, and
ran no races in 2000 until St. George marathon in October.

I don't mean to imply that I've been lazy about training. To the
contrary, I've been working as hard as circumstances allow. But
this year I *needed* to ease back into it to avoid crashing
again. My tactic was to rebuild my training gradually, in the
expectation that at best I would be marginally ready to complete
Crown King, but not achieve the best I am capable of. I prepared
myself to be satisfied with that, and accordingly made my goal.

The most salient feature of the Crown King 50K course is its
relentless incline, particularly from miles 15 to 29. For kicks,
here is an elevation guide you can look at to give you an idea
what we were up against:



The guide is for the 50-mile course, which joins the 50K course
four miles before the arrow in the middle.

Although the miles I've been putting in have been relatively few,
they have included some long treks on a treadmill inclined at
15%, and two double round trip hikes of Camelback mountain here
in Phoenix, most of which is steeper than any part of the Crown
King course. A double, less than six horizontal miles, is roughly
equivalent to a 16-mile flat run, in my estimation, a very good
workout that takes me just over three hours to complete.

No verbal description of the scenery from Lake Pleasant to Crown
King could ever do it justice. Every step is beautiful, with
endless turns and new panoramas to be enjoyed, each one seemingly
more attractive than the last. The only thing lacking is
sufficient oxygen in the higher elevations, which our Creator saw
fit to supply sparsely, foreknowing that in the future some
crazies would try to run up there, and desiring to keep them
humble.

If I were younger, faster, and stronger, I would mosey it next
year with a digital camera, and would put the images on my Web
site for the benefit of those who haven't been privileged to
experience it in person. Regrettably, I'm unlikely ever to do
that, as it takes every shred of my effort and concentration just
to get my porcine body up the hill.

The Race Begins
---------------

One advantage of being one of the slow guys and taking the early
start (6:00 AM) is the opportunity to see and greet almost
everyone else in the race as they fly by. Indeed, I *did* make
the effort to wave, greet, or at least groan at every person that
came near.

At 2:17[*] the 50K leader flew by so fast I could see the red
shift. That turned out to be Karl Meltzer, 33, from Sandy, Utah,
who won the race by a margin of 22:06 in 4:17:53, which is an
8:19 per mile pace.

[*] Times are in early start race time. We started at 6:03, so
    2:17 was at 8:20 AM.

The course record is a mind-boggling 4:00:27, set in 1996 by
Scotsman fell runner Dermot McGonigle, a 7:44 per mile pace. To
me it is unimaginable how such a performance is even humanly
possible. Most of the terrain in the latter half of the race is
so steep I can do nothing but powerwalk at a pace that took me a
calculated 20:00 per horizontal mile. It took me 4:40 of
relentless effort to get from the aid station at mile 15 to mile
29.

To put this achievement into even sharper perspective: If I
sharpened a couple of weeks for it, had three days rest
beforehand, warmed up carefully, and did it in the morning on a
cool day, I *probably* could run *one* mile on a flat track in my
present condition in about 8:15, maybe less. I *once* ran an 8:00
flat, and nearly needed a paramedic with a defibulator afterward.

The next runner to come by, at 2:36, was elite ultrarunner
extraordinaire Eric Clifton, recognizable by his trademark
bizarre homemade tights, this set with one leg of red and white
stripes, and the other pink polka dots on a purple background.
Eric has a reputation for going full blast in every race until he
bonks. If he happens to get to the end before that happens, he
sometimes wins by spectacular margins. From what I saw, it
appeared unlikely he would ever catch Karl Meltzer, unless Karl
crashed. But Eric was a strong candidate for second.

At 2:42 I heard a friendly, "Hi!" over my right shoulder, and
turned around to see my young buddy 14-year-old James
Bonnett-Castillo come charging by. James told me at the Arizona
Road Racers club meeting on Thursday that he was aiming to go
sub-5:00, and that if he did, his father would buy him a
didjeridoo, an aboriginal Australian instrument, sort of their
version of the Jew's harp. I hope he learns to play it well,
because he finished in 4:52:58, seventh overall, only one second
behind 29-year-old Josh McLaughlin from Albuquerque, and to my
amusement, 34 seconds ahead of Eric Clifton.

Love it. Way to go James!! I have nothing but respect for Eric
Clifton, who is a legend. But I'm a big James fan, having been
able to watch him often at close range since I first saw him tear
by at least four miles ahead of me on the return leg of a half
marathon in 1997, when he was ten years old. James is Arizona's
Wunderkind running prodigy. At least he will be until he
discovers girls.

And So Forth
------------

So on the race went. At the club meeting we were advised to take
it easy the first 15 miles, and to save strength for the rugged,
rocky, mostly uphill 14-mile stretch to follow. Having been
through this before, I determined this would *not* be *my*
strategy.

I knew I was good for a respectable 15-mile run, and that I can
always keep walking almost no matter what. Therefore, I decided
that I would go out as hard as I could tolerate, knowing there
was no way I would be running most of the second half, just
powerwalking.

The rules state officially that runners would have to make cutoff
times at the aid stations, and that they would account for the
hour difference with early starters. Though I really doubted that
they would pick early starting runners off when the aid station
had to remain open for at least another hour anyhow, I ran under
the assumption that being pulled was a real possibility. All I
needed to do was get to the last cutoff in time, and I would be
allowed to finish.

In this respect I did well. My times at the various aid stations
were:

  Mile: Time:
    7   47 minutes ahead of cutoff
   15   31 minutes ahead of cutoff
   22   15 minutes ahead of cutoff
   27    6 minutes ahead of cutoff

The aid station at 22, nicknamed Fort Misery, is special, being
ensconced in a beautiful, flat clearing, and well-supported by
enthusiastic Hash House Harriers (famous as "drinkers with a
running problem"), where those crazy enough to indulge could
fortify their courage to continue with a beer or margarita. That
number would not include me, however.

In 1999 I spent too much time at the aid stations, particularly
at 22, where I took a short vacation. This year I spent almost
none at all at any of them. Though I sent a drop bag to Fort
Misery, I stopped for nothing except to fill my water bottle,
grab two pieces of salted boiled potato, and head on out.

Immediately past the clearing is where the stream crossings
begin. I saw runners trying to hippety-hop across on rocks, or
pass over at narrow places. I've heard many times from
experienced trail runners that running straight through the water
is refreshing. Indeed it is. At the first stream, I simply
splashed through the middle of it, while others struggling to do
a delicate dance across the rocks upstream watched in surprise.

The first stream was well up above my ankles. It felt wonderful
on my tired feet. I counted eight streams that had to be crossed
that way. In 1999 it was drier, and I managed to skirt them all.
I'll never again be squeamish about wading through streams on a
trail. It's fun.

The last miles before 27 are the toughest of the course. There
are steep switchbacks from which you can look up and see the aid
station high above, with runners ahead looking like ants. It was
here, with the station in sight, that I put in some of my hardest
effort, in order to make it in time. The consequence of that
effort was staggering and stumbling on rocks for the next two
miles, in the thinnest air on the course (near 7000 feet in
elevation), where there were still occasional patches of snow on
the ground.

Most of the time I breathed deeper and my heart pounded harder
and faster when I was walking than it ever does while running,
unless I'm doing speedwork. On perhaps a half dozen occasions,
when it got to be too much, I stopped suddenly, dead in my
tracks, and breathed deeply to a count of five, then continued.
The effect was like slapping an oxygen mask over my face, and was
all I needed to keep going.

I followed a strict schedule of drinking and electrolyte
replacement, which seemed to be sufficient. Despite this, for at
least two hours I felt mildly nauseated, and for a while wished I
would just hurl, because I'd probably feel better. But I've never
done this while running.

Near the highest elevation one runner passed me by and asked how
I was doing. I replied, "*Everything* hurts. Even my *fat*
hurts!" This was true. Whenever I was able to run, it seemed that
even the bouncing roll around my stomach ached.

Another runner commented as he whizzed on by: "What a bargain --
all this for only fifty bucks!"

At about mile 29 they supply water only. It's there that the
terrain changes dramatically, descending steeply the last two and
a half miles into town. For those who have the legs left, it's a
sweet way to end it. I managed to run most of it, including all
of the last mile, at a blazing 12:00 pace, which was
substantially slower than I ran that segment in 1999.

And In The End
--------------

At the edge of town people sit by campsites by the road, cheering
the zombies on their way to the finish. The PA system can be
heard from several hundred yards away. Then it was across a
little bridge, down the main street, around a turn, and I was
done. My time was 8:26:41.

It was not until a few minutes later, when I was standing at the
table to pick up my sweatshirt, meal ticket, and van ride return
ticket, that I learned that I finished just ahead of Ultra List
subscriber Sue Norwood from Montana, with whom I've recently
gotten acquainted. Her husband, Jim O'Neil, ran the 50-mile race.
We had come into the 7-mile aid station at the same time, and ran
close together for a while. But the last I saw of Sue was when
she came into the 15-mile aid station just as I was taking off
from it. I looked back a few times during the race, often to see
no one in sight, and wondered where Sue disappeared to, since I
know she is a better runner than I am, and kept expecting her to
pass me.

The festivities area is small enough to find anyone you know
within two minutes. In fact, you can search the whole town in
five. It didn't take long for me to check in with all parties and
find all hands accounted for, and everyone still alive and well,
with the exception of one friend who had experienced a surprising
bonk and dropped at mile 22. Then I got my post-race meal and
joined Jim and Sue. Somehow, I didn't have much of an appetite.

The Meaning of It All
---------------------

The hard numbers show me as coming in 168th out of 185 50K
finishers, in the 90th percentile. It's true that this is not
exactly impressive by most standards.

However, I'm not at all embarrassed by my performance. I did
*not* have a bad day. I ran hard as I could until 15 miles. I did
*not* fall apart, and did *not* give up, even for a minute. I
gave it everything I had the entire race without letup.

There are several ways of looking at the numbers that put a
slightly different spin on it. For instance:

  o Given the traditional 2 seconds per mile per pound rule of
    thumb, all other things being equal, I should expect to add
    9:20 to my 1999 time on the basis of being nine pounds
    heavier this year.

  o Place in 2001: 168/185 = 90.8%
    Place in 1999: 176/194 = 90.7%

  o Number who finished after me in 2001: 17
    Number who finished after me in 1999: 18

  o Number of those finishing after, older than me in 2001: 2
    Number of those finishing after, older than me in 1999: 2

  o Age percentile in 2001: 169/185 = 91.4%
    Age percentile in 1999: 180/194 = 92.7%

  o Place in 50-59 age group: 30/35 = 85.7%

Do those numbers sharpen the picture any? Perhaps I didn't do
especially well even within my age group, but I have a theory
about that. I believe that most of the runners who have stuck
with distance running until my age have been doing it for quite a
while, and were probably a lot better when they were younger. I
doubt that many of them are like me, having run seriously for
only seven years or less.

On the other hand would it be realistic to compare what I do with
a bunch of 30-year-olds?

As always, I come out of this race with plans in motion for the
next one. I'm now officially into the first days of my big
buildup for the year. Next on my schedule will be the Whiskey Row
marathon on May 5, which is merely a pit stop on my way to my
main target for 2001: The USAT&F national championship 24-hour
race at Olander Park in Sylvania, Ohio on September 15-16, where
I hope to accomplish some good things.

Full speed ahead!

--
Lynn David Newton
Phoenix, AZ