Jemez Mountain Trail 50K 2024

 Last weekend I ran the Jemez Mountain Trail 50K in Los Alamos, NM, where scenes from the movie Oppenheimer were filmed. Sadly, I have not seen the flick yet, but have read a lot about the Manhattan Project and am intrigued by physics and nuclear energy. I’m amazed by the fact that within 2-3 years scientists and others working in Los Alamos, were able to create and detonate “The Gadget”, “Little Boy” and “Fat Man”, the first three nuclear bombs. Although I’m no fan of nuclear weapons, war or other human atrocities, I find the ingenuity, determination and spirit of the men and women who worked on this project to be very inspiring. 

The National Park Service recently established the Manhattan Project National Historical Park.

Established in 2015, the Manhattan Project National Historical Park preserves and interprets the nationally significant historic sites, stories, and legacies associated with the top-secret race to develop atomic weapons during World War II. —USNPS

Many of the sites in the park aren’t open to the public yet, but I believe there are guided tours for some of them. 

The real gem of this area though, and reason it was chosen, is the surrounding mountains, canyons and mesas of this remote area of northern New Mexico. The abundant scenery and peace and quiet in the Santa Fe National Forest creates a serene atmosphere, perfect for hiking and running.  

Jemez Mountains as seen from town

This was my 10th time running this race with an equal amount of varied experiences to include altitude sickness, weather related adventures and much pain and suffering resulting in five 50 mile finishes, three 50K finishes and a couple DNFs. Ten years ago when I was here, a freak snow storm closed the course midway through the race. Some runners were caught off guard, especially near the 10,400’ summit, leading to hypothermia so race officials are very strict about requiring runners to carry mandatory rain gear, hat and gloves. The Jemez mountains are remote and threatening weather can pop up at any time of the year.

Read my post: Running Adventure Gone Wrong

Text alert system

I had planned on carrying my lightweight rain shell and an extra thermal layer in my hydration vest, however the weather was calling for rain showers and afternoon thunderstorms with a high (in town) of around mid 50s. At the last minute, I opted to wear a heavier lined rain jacket that I would tie around my waist since it was too big to fit into my pack. 

Well, we started the race from the Los Alamos Sheriff’s Posse Shack, on a cool foggy morning with no precipitation. However, within the first mile it started to spit rain mixed with sleet so I put on my rain jacket and zipped up. I had a lot of energy and kept up a good pace with a train of runners in front and behind me. The beginning of the course descends into a canyon between several mesas as Los Alamos was built on the slope of a super volcano with alluvial fans flanking the east side. The accordion-like folds of the fan create flat-top mesas with steep rocky cliffs into narrow canyons below; perfect terrain for hiding a top secret project.

Valle Caldera, alluvial fans and Los Alamos

We ran on smooth packed dirt trails lined with tall pine trees and passed by high pock marked cliffs before picking up the Guaje Ridge. The temperature dropped the higher I climbed and a mix of rain, sleet and snow fell, off and on. I pulled out my trekking poles and kept a steady fast hike up the mountain where half burned trees were shrouded in a misty fog. The trail took many short twists and turns switch-backing up the ridge. 

After about 10 miles or so, my energy began to wane so I ate a small part of a sandwich and a few mandarins. Soon I became very drowsy and negative thoughts about completing the race entered my mind. The weather was very poor at this point and my hands were cold and numb from taking my gloves off to eat. The altitude was affecting me as well, because I was climbing up to around 9700’. I tried my best to simply focus on the present moment instead of worrying about the misery that may come later in the day. 

I reached the high point of the trail where I turned right onto a mostly descending forest road. Thick fog hindered my visibility and snow and ice were accumulating on the ground. I folded up my poles and attached them to my vest, and I started running down trying not to slip on an icy rock or patch if snow. I arrived at the Pipeline aid station where volunteers had a small wood stove burning to keep warm. I forced myself to eat an oatmeal bar even though I had difficulty opening the wrapper for my freezing fingers. Once my water bottles were filled, I took off down the road. The next stretch was mostly downhill or flat so I tried to run as fast as I could to make up lost time from the morning’s climb. My mood picked up somewhat on this part. 

Running into Pipeline aid station:

 

I made it into the ski lodge aid station which is almost half way, but sits at 9200’. Again, I forced myself to eat a few mandarins to fuel my system for the big climb ahead. In no time, I was out of there and followed orange flagging across the ski slopes picking up a trail that went straight up a black diamond ski slope. The climb was tough, but my adrenaline was high and I got a second wind. It was still slow going though, and a few faster folks passed me. The route was a mixture of tufts of grass, mud, rocks and small snow fields. I slowly counted my steps as I climbed, stopping after about 10 counts to rest for 5-10 depending on the steepness of the moment. 

The mounds of snow and muddy spots were slippery and difficult to negotiate without sliding partway back down the slope. My lungs were working overtime in the thin air and my heart was pounding quickly. I took my time, not focusing on anything except each foot moving higher up the mountain. I reached a dirt road and followed the flagging right for a short distance and then turned left continuing up another steep and treacherous trail. Finally I made it to the top and walked for a while to let my heart and lungs recover from the taxing effort. In all, it took me one full hour to cover one mile from the ski lodge to the Pajarito Summit at 10,400’! There wasn’t much of a view, but the sun was trying its best to filter through the fog. The snow covered trail weaved through tall ponderosa pines, then over tufts of tall grass protruding through large rocks.

Pajarito summit

Before long I was heading down towards town on a narrow trail through Pajarito Canyon. It felt good to finally run again, but I had a hard time restraining my speed because of the steepness of the path. Plenty of rocks were underfoot to keep me alert and there were many sharp turns and switchbacks to negotiate. I stumbled several times on the way down, but managed to stay upright. The weather seemed to be clearing up and I considered taking off my jacket, but then the sky would turn dark again. I caught a couple of runners that had passed me earlier on the climb. I seem to be faster on the downhills; that’s where I usually pass other runners.

50K Course Flyover:

 

It was a long trek down, but I made it to the Camp May Rd aid station at around mile 21.5 to fill up my water bottles. As soon as I left, I heard loud cracks of thunder overhead; large drops of rain began to fall and the temperature dropped quickly. Nothing to do, but keep running, so I pulled on my hood. Soon I came to one of my least favorites parts of this course. Just before entering Los Alamos National Lab land (NO PHOTOGRAPHY!), there is a short but very steep slippery sandstone descent. I usually pull out my poles for this section, but was feeling too lazy. Instead, I opted to butt scooting down parts of this treacherous trail. 

Yep!

I crossed a road and then all hell broke loose, or should I say hail! “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!” The heavens opened up, dumping pea sized ice that bounced loudly off my rain hood. Did you know hail hurts!  On each flash of lighting I covered my ears with my gloves before the claps of thunder came. This storm was right on top of us!

I ran a narrow deep path full of water and ice which soaked my shoes. I crossed another road and ran under power lines while flashes of lightning were quickly followed by thunderous booms. I ran down an eroded hill, that was more like a muddy stream, anticipating the moment when the power lines might come crashing down on top of me. I was not in a good place, but just kept running.

Pretty soon I reached another dreaded cliff-like descent to the city ice rink where the next aid station was located. Narrow steep switchbacks are risky enough, but now they were covered in an inch or more of ice. If you slip off the trail here, you’re going down in a very bad way. I approached cautiously letting another runner go in front of me. I thought to myself, let him test out the waters first; see if he goes ass-over-teakettle! He seemed to have made it OK and he didn’t have poles but nevertheless, I took my sweet time going down.

I made it to the Ice Rink aid (mi 25) where some volunteers were sheltering in the back of a box trailer. I tried to pull one of my collapsible water bottles out of my vest pocket, but my fingers were numb and practically useless. A kind volunteer offered to grab it for me and filled it up so I could be on my way. I thought about dropping out of the race at this point, but realized that I would have to stand around in cold wet clothes waiting for a ride, which is a recipe for hypothermia. 

I took these in town the day after.

Anyway, with no time to lose, I took off and reached a hail covered highway that passes through a narrow canyon. An SUV drove past creating deep ruts in the slush. I plodded through to the other side and climbed a series of switchbacks leading up another steep cliff-like face. Surprisingly, the trail wasn’t too slippery because the ice was very wet and slushy, but the steepness took it out of me. I was really ready for this race to be over, but I still had another seven miles to cover.

The rain and hail stopped, but I became chilled whenever the sky darkened and the wind picked up. I had a dry expedition weight thermal shirt in my pack just in case, but I didn’t want to stop to put it on. I figured as long as I kept running, the effort would keep me warm enough. The route was hard to follow now, because it traverses snow covered slabs of rock; I mostly followed runners’ footprints while watching for course markings. Several times my foot sunk down into ankle deep puddles re-soaking my socks and shoes. It didn’t matter at this point, I was drenched to the bone.

My progress was slow, but I eventually made to the last aid station that looked like a tornado had struck. The shelters were blown down and a volunteer was on the phone tracking the location of runners who may have dropped out of the race. He asked if I was going to continue on and I said, “yes, all I want to do now is blast home!” He filled up my water bottles and sent me on my way. The last four miles weren't too bad; there was quite a bit of downhill and flats to run, but the mud and slush made the footing dicey in spots. I was really beat after a rough day in the mountains and longed for a hot shower and dry clothes. 

Mitchell Aid before and after (photo: JMTR)

Race text alert system

Eventually, I rolled into the finish line looking like a drowned sewer rat in just under 11 hours; 30 minutes slower than last year, but happy all the same. It was one heck of a tough day, but they can’t all be blissful. “No mud, no lotus.” You cannot have one without the other; you have to take the bad with the good. It all evens out in the end. Sadly, I didn’t take many pictures because my hands were numb. As I write these words a week later, the feeling has returned to my left hand, but the tips of my fingers on my right are still a a bit numb.

Jemez finishers' award

The race officials did a great job tracking runners and ensuring everyone’s safety. Some 50 mile runners were diverted from their longer course because of the storm and many runners dropped out to prevent hypothermia. Others were driven by volunteers to a nearby house to shelter, recover and warm up. 

“What an adventure, but amazing support from kind people, volunteers, friends in the wilderness medicine community and complete strangers, who opened their homes to a dozen shivering runners.” —Adam Delu

Read more here: Runner Describes How Severe Weather Affected 2024 Jemez Mountain Trail Run Events Saturday

Indian paintbrush

It was another wild running adventure that I’ll never forget. Thanks to all the volunteers and race staff who sacrificed their comfort; enduring the cold and icy weather to support the runners.

See you on the trail. 

Franklin Mountains 55K Trail Run

I ran the Franklin Mountains 55K Trail Run this past weekend in the state park in El Paso, TX put on by Human Potential Running Series. It had been several years since I ran this course which circumambulates the Franklin Mountain Range with a climb to the highest point —N. Franklin Peak (elev. 7192’). The trail is rugged and gnarly with plenty of rocks to keep you on your toes (literally). The route is lined with jagged, prickly and pointy vegetation, but at least the rattlesnakes are mostly dormant this time of year…MOSTLY. The course winds up and down many steep hills, with some narrow trails with precipitous drop-offs. In other words, my main goal in attempting this race is simply to, NOT DIE!

I took this pic of a mostly dormant rattlesnake by the wildlife underpass a few years ago

I have an advantage running here, in one of the largest urban wilderness parks in the US, because I train here in the Franklins almost everyday and have finished the 100K three times which is two laps around this ridiculously difficult course!  This run should have felt like a stroll in the park, but it was far from it. I studied the course map since the direction and order of trails was a bit different than I had done in the past and I didn’t want to screw up and get lost.