Many readers of this blog may remember my epic trip to the running mecca of Flagstaff with my good friend and former runner Elizabeth McGurk. While us mere mortals jogged five miles into the Grand Canyon, stopped in the shade of the trees at Indian Springs, rehydrated and wogged back to the rim, the “Beast” ran what’s known as R2R2R. R2R means running rim to rim, generally down the South Kaibab Trail for almost a mile into the Earth’s crust, across the Colorado River, then ascending over a mile to the North Rim via the North Kaibab trail, somewhere in the realm of 27 miles one way. But for those that one way is not enough, you can always turn around and retrace your steps.
Elizabeth did just so, (that account can be read here) and we were in such awe of her that I refrained from giving her a hard time for falling asleep in her alfredo that evening. I remember back to her freshman year, coming out for indoor track, having avoided cross country due to how long the races were. She was an awkward, geeky, quite frankly unremarkable athlete in those early days, with not much changing in the awkward and geeky realm. However, she has become, quite frankly, the most bad@$$ ultra-remarkable person I now know.
It’s for exactly this reason I’ll be traveling back to Salt Lake City in a few weeks to crew her in the Wasatch 100. The race starts in Kaysville, at 5am on Friday, September 6th, quickly ascending to the ridgeline of the Wasatch range north of Salt Lake City. Racers traverse southeast around the city to finish 100+ miles away in Midway, no later than 5pm on Saturday. Not only does the course account for some huge elevation gain, the race takes place between 5000 and 10,480 feet of altitude, which for me is equivalent to the death zone. I’ve already told her my crewing revolves around moving from aid station to aid station, by car.
But as far as me accompanying her for some miles, she’s on her own.
But that wasn’t always the case. After coming on board as a freshman during indoor, we moved her up to distance in the spring. She showed promise in those early days, running track times that resembled times a recent graduate had run, and they had finished tenth at the Division 3 Cross Country Championships.
However cross country did not come easy to Elizabeth. While good on the flat, the inconsistent contours of the cross country course made it hard to maintain momentum. Not to say she didn’t run well, but just not where either of our expectations were.
But I was beginning to get some insight into the depth of character of this girl. Our team was real small, two top-of-the-division boys and Elizabeth. While they would run some of their easy runs together, there were many times it would be just she and I. During these runs we’d talk about nothing in particular, stuff like her classes, her interests, and the difficulties you can have fitting in when you’re a determined and driven high school female in a community where women often take the back seat. There’s nothing like long runs together to really begin to know the makeup of a person.
On one particularly wet and rainy day, probably in early April, we decided it was a Beaver Pond Day, a ritual that had developed out of weather too rainy to get in anything other than just a run in. The Beaver Pond tradition got its start when one year we came upon a large puddle on a trail we had run pretty regularly. Knee deep and 30 meters across, we raced across the puddle countless times before turning for home, completely soaked. Not necessarily looking for a short cut, we hopped up on the banking, looked across what was becoming a small beaver pond, and decided to tromp on straight through. Reaching waist deep, we vowed to return on our next too rainy day.
And we did. However the reason the original puddle came into existence was made clear as the size and the depth of the beaver pond had both increased. This time it was perhaps 50 feet more across and the water came up to our chests. As our visits continued so did the advancing size of the pond, until the depth was greater than we were and one would have to resort to swimming. I can recollect more than one beaver pond run where we had either snow on the ground or ice forming in the sheltered coves in the pond.
On a less hearty day in Elizabeth’s sophomore year, well before I knew her parents very well, she and I crossed the Beaver Pond and headed back towards the school so she could be picked up. Reaching into her non traditional shorts pocket, realizing she was without her glasses that she started the run with, we went about retracing our steps for the day, recrossing the pond while we reversed direction. We did not find the glasses. I was pretty sure I was looking at my last day coaching.
I often cringe at the thought of the new athletes’ baptism into the Beaver Pond, not so much for them but for their parents. It can be tough to try to explain to a parent that this is a ritual that the kids love, and that I’m not either crazy or cavalier with the kids’ safety. While I’ve never had any complaints, I often wonder when the athletes walk out of the classroom, barefoot and soaking wet on a 40 degree day, what their parents are thinking.
Anyway, Elizabeth assured me it would be OK, she needed new ones anyway. So I asked if she was sure her mom would be OK with it. She assured me the opposite, but that she would deal with it and I was off the hook. I learned that day that Elizabeth could handle a licking or two when it came down to it.
And she could dish them out as well.
Probably the best example of that came after she finished 7th in the 3200 her junior year. Elizabeth has never been a slight girl and because of that, she suffers when it gets hot out, more so than smaller runners. At that particular championships the temperature popped up into the high 80’s, not ideal for distance running. Because of that, the entire field elected to try to run the race as easy as possible meaning the early pace was slow. Knowing she wouldn’t outkick the entire field, Elizabeth went to the front and pushed the pace. Everyone was more than happy to fall in behind her without the burden of leading. In the front for all seven of the early laps, Elizabeth was passed by six other girls in the field to finish seventh in 12:41.
As I was officiating, I wasn’t available until after all the events were concluded, and when I returned to the team area there was no Elizabeth. Forty five minutes after her event, she was nowhere to be found, still out on cool down even though her season was over.
Turns out she was pissed, not so much because of her performance but she felt she was taken advantage of, and the fight was not fair. She knew it was to the advantage of the field to let her lead, and she knew it was to her disadvantage to step to the front, but she also knew the only possible chance she had to win was to take her shot. She was mad she simply wasn’t good enough to pull it off.
Fast forward one year. She’s now the top seed coming in, with just herself and Derryfield’s Casey Hecox under the 12 minute mark. With three of the girls from the year before that beat her returning, Elizabeth knew everyone was expecting her to lead, and the plan was to kick by on the last lap.
When the gun sounded she went right to the front as expected, ripping off 90 second laps, right at 12 minute pace like clockwork. After lap one with the field pretty much single file, she led with Hecox’s right on her shoulder and the rest strung out behind. By lap two, there was only Hecox, plus three others trying to remain connected. By lap three it was only Hecox, and by the mile, run right at six minutes, Hecox was about seven meters back, about to lose connection. Elizabeth upped the ante, turning the screws and on a windy cool, almost cold, spring day she ran a big negative split to finish 21 one second up on Hecox, and another ten seconds up on the field.
While the bodies started to pile up after the finish line, Elizabeth refused to take a seat, standing near the finish line, basking in the satisfaction rather than the glory of this victory that was one year in the making. While having been a bad@$$ for longer than this, she had exposed it to the rest of us.
She continued her running in college, electing to pursue a Chemistry degree at Keene State as she felt they had a strong program like cross country. While she continued with the Chemistry, the running and athletic programs were going through a rough patch with allegations of sexual misconduct floating out there. In the heightened atmosphere of the day, the coach she had joined the program for retired and she was at odds with the replacements and their philosophy. Not the reason she had decided to go to Keene for. Disheartened, she turned inward, reassessing where she wanted to see her efforts go, and increasingly it led her into the woods.
Well beyond college now, she continues to pursue her running interests in the White Mountains and across the country. I remember her first foray onto the trail, as we went out to run a section of the Wapack, from the Sharon Ledges to Temple Mountain. About a mile in, she tripped and cut up her knee pretty good. There was more blood than there was damage, but we shortened our trip, getting back to the car with a nice crusty bloody scab most of the way down her shin. She wanted to hurry back to the school so she could wash off the blood, nervous if her mom saw it, she’d forbid her out running trails with me. That was a long time ago.
Which brings us to Utah. She’s getting out there a couple days early to survey the terrain. I come in two days before the race and will willingly play coordinator and sherpa. I’ve studied the maps and have a pretty good handle on the course. I’ll drive from aid station to aid station and help with transitions, fuel, hydration and moral support. I’m not sure how uplifting our conversations will be, as that’s not the kind of speaking relationship we have. I’m sure I’ll give her encouragement through goading, and she’ll return my words with the usual, pissed off – I’m going to punch you in the head gazes we are accustomed to exchanging. One should know, it’s not always rosy when hanging with Elizabeth, but it is always rewarding.
And I can’t wait. See you out there.
