(not your typical race report)
Hummingbirds remember every flower they have visited and how long it takes each to refill with nectar. They are basically nature’s GPS with a built-in timer.
Many young hummingbirds do not survive the first year as they are vulnerable to all sorts of things. But once they do, they can live up to 3-5 years, or even 9-10 years as the case with some ruby-throated hummingbirds.
I started the 300 mile foot race in Superior AZ. But as the sunsets and sunrises ticked by, I had a feeling that the running was not the reason why I had come to this land. It seemed to be only the catalyst for something else.
About a third of the field did not finish the race. But the majority of those who made it past the 6,000ft climb at Apache Peak and Mt Lemmon made it to the finish line. Like the hummingbirds who survived past the first year, their survival rate increased exponentially after Mt Lemmon.
6 sunrises. 6 sunsets. 300 miles. 700,000 steps. 50,000 calories burnt. When it comes to running, even ultra running, these are all big numbers. Clearly this group of runners is on the fringe of a sport that is already on the fringe of mainstream. In the eyes of mainstream, most of us are considered weird.
A hummingbird in its typical lifespan visits about 2 million flowers. Yet it remembers everything about each flower.
I wish I could remember every runner, every volunteer, every local who came out to say hello, every rock, every cactus, every change in local weather pattern as the AZT path took us southward to Mexico.
The running got harder each day, with the compound effects of sleep deprivation, extreme sun heat, extreme desert chill, nutritional challenges, dehydration, and the general discomfort of being out there in unforgiving nature for so long.
But I knew that the only way out of this was to charge straight through it. I played a patient game, taking each aid station at a time, like a hummingbird who is oblivious to how long it will live for, but knows that it needs to visit 2,000 flowers a day.
After three days, time started to blur. I often had to think and work backwards to know which day of the week it was. The only moment that mattered was the present moment. The only movement that mattered was that next step forward. Everything else was unnecessary. When by myself, I often stayed in this state of flow for many hours.
I had sighted two pairs of golden eagles on the way to Gila River and Grand Enchantment. Apparently such sightings are rare. They are majestic birds with 2-metre wingspan. To see them soar in relaxed freedom over the Sonoran desert was the reason I had come here! It was a breathtaking sight, an outward manifestation of what I was feeling inside. This world, and how it works, is truly amazing.
The theme of freedom recurred a few more times over the Monster event. Freeman aid station. Casa Blanca aid station. Conversations and musings about what it means to know instead of believing. Encounter with a rattlesnake contentedly coiled up inside a hole, away from the harsh desert sun.
Through all this time, the moon was getting fuller each night.
The ultimate moments of peace and calm emerged when I found myself on top of a summit or a ridge at night – alone – with nothing but the moon on my shoulder, and a sagging running vest as a constant reminder that there was still work to be done.
No rest for the wicked. I burst into dry laughter mixed with trail coughs, the throat and nose filled with dust from the Sonoran desert. Even water tasted like dust. I had become one with the desert. The heat was piercing but I no longer feared the heat. The night cold was unbearable but even this unbearable-ness was acceptable. It reminded me of that Kundera novel The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I had lost all desire to fight discomfort. Discomfort had become the new norm.
I had developed a throat infection in the first half of the race, probably due to the constant switch between hot and cold. But once I got to Tucson, it seemed that the desert sun had burned the infection away. This sun would burn everything on its path, yet giving way to new life for things that survived its wrath. I felt new life in me with each sunrise.
Once I got past 200 miles, the physical body was in new territory. Every step started to hurt. I was observing the body closely to make sure it had enough to last the distance. Amazingly, it managed to adapt as it always does. 3 aid stations away from the finish line, I plugged away at each mile with a fellow runner, the journey getting tedious, but the body was feeling stronger and stronger. I knew this body had much more than 300 miles in it.
Before I knew it, the finish line loomed and it came time to rest. Interestingly, I did not feel wrecked, just sleepy and thirsty over subsequent two days. The very next morning, the legs felt like they wanted a parkrun.
The finish line is in Patagonia AZ, a quirky little town named after its namesake in Argentina. To my surprise, it turned out to be a wonderful spot for birding, cuisine and the arts. I kicked myself for having left camera gear in San Francisco. Jane would have loved the restaurants and the local craft scene.
I spent my remaining time here doing the laundry, sleeping, drinking, reading a wonderfully eclectic local collection of books. I was happy to have found a fellow runner who had read Gurdjieff. That was a first, as nobody I know has read Gurdjieff.
On the last day, I spent time watching the hummingbirds and other wonderful birds and squirrels at the Paton Center for Hummingbirds. Then I went around to say goodbye to new local friends at restaurants and craft shops. Andy even let me use his beautiful Porsche. Thank you Andy!
They call finishers of this race Monsters. No, I don’t want to be known as something so grandiose. As ever, I feel small being amongst these wonderfully talented and resilient athletes. For me, being small is enough; there is no need to be larger. Just like being a hummingbird. It knows that it is enough.
I finished 119/283, a deadset midpacker.
I am sure a hummingbird is a grateful creature. That is why it remembers every flower it has visited.
For this adventure to eventuate, I would like to thank in particular Jane, Alfie, Hunter, my uni friend Ha Hoang, my running friends back home in Australia, France and the USA, fellow runners and race volunteers, local Americans along the course, and everyone else who has joined me on this wonderful journey.
Hasta la próxima.