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The 2024 Cocodona 250 - Once More into the Fray

Writer's picture: Steven EpifanoSteven Epifano

The two weeks of pre-race nauseous anxiety was heightened at about 4:00 AM as I stood in line to get my tracker for the week.  This little piece of electronic equipment atop my right shoulder attached to my pack, was my tether to the real world for the week.  It allowed family, friends, and strangers to know where I was on the course at any point during my 250 mile journey.  It also allowed the Crew Chief, AKA my wife Katie, to estimate my time of arrival at each of the crew stops along the way.  Once this is affixed, it is go time.  I kissed the Crew Chief good bye and headed to the starting line.  Months of prep and it still seemed like I was rushing, rushing to make sure I had all of my equipment, rushing to the start of what would be an epic adventure.  Even though this was my third time getting to the start line of the Cocodona 250, it never is easier.  I had to mentally prepare myself for what was to come.  This race can’t be gutted out, it can’t be faked, it obviously tests you physically, but it tests you mentally, REPEATEDLY.  As the crowd of runners started to huddle closer as we closed in on the countdown, my imposter syndrome hit and it hit hard.  This year I had a film crew with me.  Who was I to have a film crew?  For this race, I am a back of the middle, to back of the back type runner, what story do I have to tell, let alone bring a film crew to capture me stumbling into aid stations, get my feet taken care of by The Crew Chief, eat and take a nap.  Who is going to watch that?  As the countdown began, the nerves started to dissipate and my mind began to lock into the task at hand.  Boom and we are off.  Now there is no turning back, it was step one of what was going to be probably 600,000 steps.

The morning was cooler than expected, thankfully.  It was about 15 degrees cooler than 2023’s start and it was welcomed.  I was able to push during the morning while it was cool and put some miles under my feet before the heat of the day hit, and the climbing got tough.  The infamous first section of the race is 36 miles and over 10,000 ft of technical climbing.  There are also very few spots for aid stations so you are required to have the capacity to carry 4L of hydration.  Most people need more, I carried a 3L bladder, three 24 oz soft flasks (one frozen overnight), and a backup 20 oz flask.  I filled up one of my 24 oz flasks at each of the water stops where it was available.  With all of the hydration, fuel, and gear my pack weighed between 15 and 18 lbs.  As the day progressed, I slowed my pace to account for the incoming heat and additional climbing.  I felt in control and never stressed during the first portion of the trail.  I think knowing what to expect helped, since I already experienced it in 2023.  I didn’t remember every climb, your mind tends to block out the difficult portions and only remembers the good things.  If the trail got hard, I looked up and took in some of the rugged beauty, took a beat and then got back to it.  Ten miles passed, twenty miles ticked by, and I kept pushing to get to the Crown King Saloon aid station under my goal of 12 hours.  I kept comparing myself to my 2023 race during the morning, and that had since passed.  It was a new race with new challenges.  A short technical downhill, to the last water stop before Lane Mountain was bittersweet.  I dunked my hat in the trickling creek, splashed water in my face trying to cool down.  We were only allowed ½ liter of water instead of the full liter, some thieves stole 4 jugs of water after the crew placed them there the night before.  Thankfully, with my extra and with rationing I would be good for the 8 mile climb to Lane Mountain.  All I could think about was getting to Lane Mountain, a quick break and then seeing The Crew Chief at Crown King.  The past two years I would go about 24 hours without seeing The Crew Chief, but this year with the film crew Katie would be able to get to Crown King.  The climb up Lane Mountain seemed like forever. I kept thinking about the words my brother, Dom, texted me the day before: “Stay the Course,” which became my mantra for the day.  Stay the course one step in front of the other, just climb and push on.  I conversed with a few runners as we made our way up, but everyone was locked in for the day, so not much can be remembered about what was discussed. 


Single tract during first day of Cocodona 250

View from a peak during the Cocodona 250


I experienced a change in terrain as I climbed throughout the day.  Desert canyons gave way to tree lined ridges.  As I pushed on through the pine trees, which were evident of the elevation, the Lane Mountain aid station came into view.  Two small tents huddled together with welcoming volunteers.  This was not the final stop for the day, but it was a welcomed respite.  I took the pack off for the first time of the day, had a volunteer squeeze a cold sponge on the back of my head, and I felt like I woke from the daze of the last climb.  I sat down, had a few cups of coke, watermelon, and a pb and j sandwich.  Howie Stern was taking photos of the runners soaking in the first bit of rest of the long day. 


View approaching Lane Mountain

View from the top

I didn’t want to stay long, regained some composure and made my way towards Crown King.  There were 4 miles between me, The Crew Chief, some mushroom risotto and the first real checkpoint. I felt like I moved well those 4 miles, and was on a high hitting the aid station.  Seeing Katie was amazing.  I was also able to see a good friend Michelle who was crewing her runner.  Thirty six miles, 10,000 plus ft of climbing in under twelve hours first goal checked off of my list.  I ate a Spring Energy or Huma gel every hour on the hour, and took two SaltChew tabs every hour on the half hour.  Sticking to my nutrition and hydration plan, another goal ticked off of the list.  The Crew Chief expertly addressed my feet, which were still in a good spot. I ate to my fill, grabbed my nighttime gear and as much as I wanted to stay, I had to head out and make my way to Whiskey Row.  I headed out with high spirits, tackling my goals for the first portion of the day, somehow forgetting what laid ahead of me.

I was moving effectively and efficiently on my way towards the next aid station, Arrastra Creek, I veered off course while I was admiring the sunset.  Luckily it wasn’t by much, I just missed a sharp left and continued about a half mile up before realizing I hadn’t seen a marker in a bit.  I checked the map on my phone, and confirmed I was off course.  I texted The Crew Chief and let her know that I was heading back the correct way.  A slight wave of panic/anger washed over me as I turned around.  I had been moving really well and although it was about a mile in total, it was a mistake that I shouldn’t have made.  I started to run a bit and my light fell off the front of my pack.  I stood, reattached my light strip, took a deep breath, told myself to “not rush it,” and made my way back to the turn.  The night was cool and uneventful down to Arrastra Creek.  The trail wound around the mountain at a slight downhill slope, with some technical portions. 


Sunset over trees

During the night portions I use my headphones and listen to music or podcasts to stay awake.  I don’t use pacers and my headphones are my strategy to hopefully stay awake.  I wanted to hit Whiskey Row within twenty four hours of the start, and that goal began to slip away.  This started to grind on my mind as I continued.  An aid station volunteer met me about a quarter mile from Arrastra Creek and let me know the menu items as we walked into camp.  I decided on potato soup, which was salty and warm, both needed.  I had a cupful, drank a coke, and warmed by the heater.  I never want to stay long at the camp type aid stations, I don’t want to get too warm and then leave and be hit with the cold.  I overheard another volunteer tell a group of runners that the next section was 9 miles and 2000 ft of climbing.  I don’t usually memorize the sections, so this sounded about right and I headed out.  The next section wore on me as much mentally as it did physically.  I don’t know if it was a tired mind and body from the first section of the day, but the climb into Kamp Kipa took its toll.  The gentle fire road made way to a single track with a proclivity for sliding rock and steep climbs.   Seeing the other headlamps dotting the ridgeline ahead of me was a discouraging site giving me a glimpse of how much higher I needed to climb.  I continued, my stomach starting to turn a bit from the amount of gels I took in earlier in the day, so I didn’t feel like eating anything else.  It was cooler, but not cold and I started to sweat in my down jacket. This was a much larger climb than the 2000 ft that was expected, or at least it seemed.  Finally, Kamp Kipa was in sight and I made my way down the winding driveway and entered the aid station.  The aid station volunteers are always so kind and generous with their time.  I ate two chocolate chip pancakes, set up a dusty camp mattress on the floor and set my alarm for 20 minutes.  I conked out and in no time heard my alarm ringing.  Up and at ‘em, there is no snooze on the Cocodona trail.  If you don’t get up when it goes off you’re not going to get up.  I gathered my gear and headed out.

As the sun rose on the second day, my goal of hitting the Whiskey Row aid station within 24 hours slipped away and seemed incredibly aggressive after the previous night.  The next stop was Camp Wamatochick, a new aid station from the previous two years.  The trek to Wamatochick went smoothly, but felt like forever.  I was going to sleep at Wamatochick again but after arriving, there were bunks but they were away from the main aid station, so I decided on pancakes and a 10 min rest with my head down.  I then headed back out on the trail.  Another low hit me as I made my way towards Whiskey Row.  It just seemed like it was taking forever to get to the second big aid station, and I guess since I wasn’t going to hit my goal, the trail seemed to go on forever and I wasn’t feeling it.  There was over one hundred and seventy miles left and my head started to drift out of it.  Either way the only way out was to trudge forward, you can’t just sit down on the trail and pull the plug, so I continued on.  I knew I didn’t want to pull the plug, I was just dealing with the fact that the second goal wasn’t going to be met and there was still a lot of race to go.  Prescott was a great site to see as I came off of the trail, and I knew I would finally arrive at Whiskey Row, which seemed to be so far out of reach from the start.  I felt like a weary cowboy that had been out on the range a bit too long as I wandered into the aid station.  No whiskey for me, but a healthy dose of ramen and mashed potatoes.  Seeing The Crew Chief always lifts my spirits and I was wondering why I was so out of it previously.  Perhaps I was just being a baby.  I quickly ate my meals, hydrated and took a nap in the crew van.  Katie skillfully attended to my feet, which were still in decent shape, thanks to her tireless efforts.  If she wasn’t at Crown King to address the issues from the first section, they would have been way worse.  I completely understand how spoiled I am having my feet attended to while I am napping.  I just have to wake up and I am ready to go.  

I felt re-energized after making it through Whiskey Row.  After some road section, I was going to make my way to one of the coolest parts of the course.  The Granite Dells section of the course is an otherworldly experience.  Watson lake sits on the outside of the dells, and I traveled along its banks after about 5 miles of winding through the outskirts of Prescott.  As you enter the dells sounds start to fade away and you are surrounded by large granite rocks that look like they were placed there.  They seem oddly out of place given the terrain that surrounds them.  It is a highly technical portion of the course as you weave your way in, out, up and down and scramble through the trail. 


Granite Dells Watson Lake

Watson lake among the granite dells

Lake inside the Granite Dells

Just as soon as you start your journey through the dells it’s over and the trail spits you out on a long boring fire road to the next aid station.  I hit Fain Ranch Road during the hottest portion of the day and instead of exerting too much energy trying to run this section, I decided to power hike and maintain a steady pace.  Mt. Mingus still loomed in my near future and I wanted to have energy reserves. 


Granite Pillars

Fain Ranch Road

It was a short stop at the Iron King aid station, Fain Ranch was next up and there was a short distance between the two, so I planned on a better rest and fueling at that aid station.  I cooled down and headed back out.

I was starting to climb out of my low spot during the morning.  I think the fact that I got to see the Crew Chief a few times throughout the day and here on out helped me pull myself up and get back to the task at hand.  There were a few miles through Fain Ranch before the stop at the aid station.  The hike through the ranch included climbing up and over a few A-Frame ladders over barbed wire fences.


A Frame Ladder over a fence

It also had a herd of cattle out in the field.  Apparently they also like to eat the course markings, so I had to make my way across the ranch with my phone out to make sure that I was on the correct heading.  As I made my way through the field, the Race Director’s words rang in my head “they are friendly, they have big horns, but they are friendly and they will come right up to you”.  I really didn’t feel like dealing with petting any steers so I made my way cautiously through the herd.  Most of which paid no attention to me.  There was a younger steer off by itself that seemed to be wary of my approach.  I gave him a wide berth but we made eye contact, which I suppose was not a good thing.  He snorted and pounded the ground in front of him with his front hooves, and began charging.  The young steer had short horns, but I didn’t want to deal with any of them.  It would have been a valid excuse to stop the race, but I was out of my funk and wanted to continue on.  As he charged I just yelled and told him to “GET OUT OF HERE.”  He stopped for a second and I kept making my way through the field.  He made his way behind me and made one final attempt to assert his dominance as a young steer.  I again yelled and kept slowly walking away from him.  That worked and he went back to the herd.  I was hoping that the steer would be the worst animal encounter I would have for the rest  of the race.  I made my way to the Fain Ranch aid station just as the sun was setting over the Bradshaw Mountains on the other side of Prescott.  It was time to fuel and rest before the big climb up Mt. Mingus.

My favorite climb was ahead of me, after another trail along a fence line by the I-89A highway.  I moved along the fence headlamp illuminating a small circle of ground in front of me.  I would turn it off from time to time so I could look up and see the star filled night sky.  My spirits were high and I was moving accordingly.  The field gave way to a country road with a gentle downslope, which gave way to a single track.  The single track was lined on one side with forest and then houses dotted the beginning of the other side.  I thought about the people in the houses and how weird it must be to wake up in the middle of the night, look out the window and see a train of headlamps bobbing in the night snaking its way up the mountain side.   The houses soon were behind me and I started to climb the switchbacks to the top of the mountain.  The climb up Mt. Mingus is a shortish climb, slightly technical, and I was able to make it to the top quickly.  One of my favorite parts of the course was over, and I was on the other side of 100 miles.  Things were starting to move now.  It would be the first time in the 3 years of this race, I would be able to see Katie at Mt. Mingus.  She was able to make it to the top of the mountain with the film crew, even though it was the middle of the night.  Normally we wouldn’t want her to hit any of the aid stations that were too late in the night, and we didn’t trust the van climbing the road up Mingus.  By now we were used to the routine of eating, napping, and Katie would care for my feet.  We found a loft in the bunkhouse that had a couch and I took a great nap.  I was slightly confused when I woke up and Katie had to remind me where I was and what I was doing.  This continued every time I woke from a nap for the rest of the race.  I wanted to take a good nap for this portion, since the next section was a good distance between aid stations.  Full, somewhat less tired, and sore but manageable feet, I headed out just before day break for Jerome.


Sunrise over mountains

The back side of Mingus (or front side, I guess it depends on how you are looking at it), is switchback after switchback of loose rock.  This made coming off of the mountain a little tedious, but I managed to get down off of Mingus and begin the rest of the way to Jerome.  Another tough section of the course, the trail goes through pine tree covered shade to open and exposed single track.  As I reached the bottom I took off a few layers and fueled up and continued on.  Throughout the race I attempted to maintain a consistent pace where I wouldn’t be pushing but I was still moving.  This is a more efficient way than moving quickly and pushing through a section and then having to slow down on the next. I would rather move at a consistent maintainable pace throughout the entire race.  It was starting to heat up as I reached the winding fire road that led to Jerome.  Jerome is a small town perched on the side of a cliff, surrounded by mines.  I feel an energy as soon as I pass the first copper and gold mine heading into town, that carries until I am out of its reach.  The town is very touristy and I am sure that we all looked a bit weird moving through the town looking weary and tired after a few long days.  Some asked what I was doing and then gasped with disbelief when I told them where I had come from. The worst part of the trail is getting to the aid station.  It is at the end of a steep winding road that took even more out of my already taxed quads.  Since it was coming up on the hottest part of the day I wanted to put a few more miles in before it got really hot, so I decided on a quick aid station stop, with no sleep.  I fueled up, Katie always texts and asks what I am in the mood for when I am a few miles out and always has it ready for me when I arrive.  That way I can just shovel it in and nap or move on.  This aid station was the latter.  Change of clothes, socks, and head out.  There would be time for a nap at the Dead Horse aid station.

Heading out of Jerome there is a road and then a sliding rock single track that turns ankles of even the most experienced hikers.  Thankfully I kept my poles through every portion and stopped myself from falling multiple times.  I hopped off the rocky downslope and made my way through Clarkdale.  The people who live in the towns along the route, have started to embrace the event and there were friendly people along the way, shouting encouraging words as I made my way through.  Moving through Clarkdale I began to heat up so hopping on the Verde River Trail and the upcoming Verde River crossing was a welcomed cool down.  A few other runners and I got off course as we approached a bridge crossing the Verde River, but we backtracked and found the appropriate trail and weaved in and out, going from exposed trail to tree line trails.  The sounds of children playing in the river signaled that a cool down was around the corner.  Plunging my feet into the cool river sent shock waves through my legs, but I crouched down to get my calves wet as well.  The cool river felt great and left my feet burning around the popped blisters with a cooling sensation.  It was only a few miles to the aid station, so I didn’t remove my shoes.  I had planned on changing shoes at the Dead Horse aid station anyway, so wet socks and shoes over a few miles wouldn’t be too much of an issue.  Anytime I saw the tops of vans and tents, a wave of happiness came over me as I knew it was minutes before I could see Katie and rest.  I cooled down at the aid station with a Liquid Death, ate 2 ramen cups, and some chips.  The next section was looming in my head as I drifted off to sleep for a good nap.  There was a decent distance between Dead Horse and Deer Pass and then there was a portion of the course that removed my soul from my body and placed it elsewhere for a good portion after that.  I kept that section in the back of my mind, making note that it wouldn’t happen again this year.

As I made my way out of Dead Horse across the desert plateau, I met up with  Alex Prizzi.  This was his first race of anything over 50 miles, but he was from what I gathered during our discussion, an accomplished thru hiker.  A race like Cocodona is an awesome intersection of Ultrarunners, backpackers, and thru hikers each with their own strengths.  I snapped a sun set picture as the sun set over Jerome and Mt. Mingus and sent it to my mom, like I had been doing with every sunset.  It seemed like forever ago that I had just climbed down from Mingus and had Ramen in Jerome, but it was that morning.  We continued our way to Dead Horse and I found out that Alex was running the race to raise money for his teenage neighbor that had a rare genetic disorder, which made him prone to infections, colds, and broken bones.  I love hearing people’s “why” as we all race towards the same end.  Each with something in the back of our minds, in our hearts, or the pit of our stomach that pushes or pulls us forward even when we think there is no way to continue.  I was moving extremely well and Alex told me to move ahead as he fixed his shoes, but by then we had covered a lot of ground and Deer Pass was coming up.  I wasn’t able to see Katie at Deer Pass last year and I think that was the middle of my spiral into the next section.  This year I made it to Deer Pass with high spirits being able to see her.  I still had the next section looming over me like a dark cloud.  Usual routine at the aid station and head out.

My old football coach always said, and I'm sure he stole it from somewhere, “Attitude determines Altitude.”  If it was good enough for high school football, why not a section of the course, one that absolutely drained me and left me a shell of a human last year.  I made it a point to keep my spirits high and my head clear for this section.  I knew it was going to suck, but that’s why I'm here so why focus on that.  I set my focus on the gorgeous night sky, headlamps dotting the landscape in front of me, and making it to Sedona unscathed.  The trails from Deer Pass to Sedona undulate as they approach the red rock monoliths surrounding Sedona.  At some points I felt like I crested the same peak repeatedly and I had to be going in a giant circle, but I was on the correct heading.  I moved forward, telling myself again to not “rush it,” just keep moving in the right direction and I'll get there.  I made it to the water stop, filled up a flask, had a flask, rested on a bucket to gather myself and headed out on the final push to Sedona.  Last year I laid down in the middle of the night, head on a rock for a trail nap at this same aid station.  This year it was not needed.  The water stop went to road and kicked over to technical trails that descended and then ascended the giant pillars of rock.  I always pass through this section at night so I really don’t get to enjoy the scenery but the stars are spectacular.  I moved through the cool night air clearing my head and trying not to think of anything in particular.  I tried to let thoughts flow in and out regardless of their random nature.  The trails soon flowed like my thoughts and I started to see the faint light of dawn as I made my way onto one of the last peaks.  Close to the road I thought as I wound my way along the ridge and down the trail behind houses.  There must have been a kennel nearby, there was constant barking which seemed to come from a hundred dogs.  I wondered how people lived anywhere near there as I continued.  Just as I thought I was finally on the road to the Sedona Aid station, I routed back up and around a small peak and finally to the road. 


Road into Sedona

The road felt like the end, but there was still a few miles to go.  I made my way from the trailhead to the main street in Sedona headed a few blocks and hung a left to Posse Grounds park weaved my way in and out of a few trails they decided to route us through for good measure and checked in at the aid station after giving The Crew Chief a bug kiss and hug.  This section didn’t defeat me last year but it certainly took my toll and I did what I could to survive.  This year I was in control the entire section and it felt good.  A well deserved breakfast of a fruit cup, pancake, ramen and mashed potatoes was in order.  I followed that up with a nap, preparing myself for the upcoming water crossing and technical uphill.  Sedona is the halfway point, all I needed to do was run another one hundred and twenty five miles, and it was all over.  Again, I told myself, don’t rush it.  

It was getting hot as I left the Sedona aid station.  I could finally enjoy the views of the giant red rocks that the city is known for.  It looked like a postcard at every bend in the trail.  I passed hikers along the way and I was greeted with good mornings and awesome jobs, and where did you start, and then mouths agape when I told them the start line.  Shaded trails moved to some exposed roadway, then along the ridge of the Oak Creek Canyon scenic overlook.



Oak Creek Canyon Vista

I stopped to snap a few pictures as I started down towards the Oak Creek water crossing.  I could hear the river from the overlook and as I made my way into the winding trail the sound faded until I was almost on top of the river bank.  The Crew Chief is an avid thru hiker and backpacker, and has always instructed me to make sure that I take my shoes off at all the river crossings no matter how much of a pain in the butt it may seem.  I sat down, a welcomed break, removed my shoes, and tied them together and wore them around my neck.  The water was cold and refreshing for my aching feet as I started across.  The river crossing has a rope connecting both sides, and I held onto it to steady myself.  I gingerly made it to the middle of the crossing where I lost my balance falling backwards.  Grabbing the rope and holding tightly I regained my balance while renowned photographer Howie Stern was snapping away with his camera.  I completed the crossing, my feet cold and numbing from the water and took my pack off on the other side.  I was sitting with a few other runners and we were talking as we dried our feet.  I made sure that my feet were dry, tape secure and blisters still wrapped.  I did not want to climb the next section with raw wet feet.  Grabbing a snack, some hydration I put my hat and neck gaiter into the cold water and placed them back in their proper places.  A cold shiver went down my spine in the shade, but I knew it would fade as I made my way up to Schnebly Hill.  There are many technical sections during the race, and this one will sneak up on you if you are not ready for it.  Sharp boulders, on an exposed face dot the trail as I made my way up to the summit.  I took my time not pushing and not dragging, just moving with a stern consistency.  I took a few looks up from the trail to admire where I had come from as the views increased in their beauty as I climbed.  The top of Schnebly hill is just as rock covered as the climb.  The trail is marked by stacked rocks inside a column of chicken wire, and the occasional orange reflective flag indicating that this trail is part of the race.  There was an incredible overlander Mercedes that was occupying a dispersed campsite.  It looked like the occupants would have been prepared for the zombie apocalypse.  The water station was well stocked and must have just been replaced with cold water.  I took a sip and then filled my flask.  I was so excited to go to the viewpoint I forgot my pole and had to backtrack to get them from the water drop.  The vista is amazing and I could look back at Sedona and its red rocks and I snapped a few more pictures. 


Red Rock monoliths from Schnebly Hill Vista


Schnebly Hill Vista View

The fire road, in the later part of a hot day is not how I like to spend my time, but it was what was laid out before me for the rest of the afternoon.  I trudged and I mean trudged along from the top of the plateau to the aid station.  It was not an efficient descent, and it was not a pleasant time.  I was having myself a little pity party as the guest of honor.  I sat in my self pity as I continued in the heat through the exposed fire road lined with tall pine trees. 


Pine Tree lined road

I could see the road in front of me which only added to my misery.  It seemed like forever but I managed to make it to the aid station still in my self pity.  I let Katie know about my doldrums but I figured a quick rest and some fuel would help.

Rested and fueled the next section to Munds Park was a relatively short one compared to the rest.  I pushed the pace a bit during the short open trail section with gentle hills, and less technical portions.  I may have “Rushed” it a bit, but I wanted to get to the aid station in time for a big nap.  I passed a lot of dispersed campers having fun as the sun set. 


Sunset between pine trees

I made it to the main road in Munds Park in the evening just after Katie made her way from the hotel.  I ate again and I thought I kept hearing a sprinkler hit the side of the van and soaking my pack that was outside.   My sleep deprivation even with the amount of naps was starting to take a hold of my brain.  Katie assured me everything was fine with my pack.  This year I never found myself stumbling around like I had last year, thanks to my strategic naps.  I wanted a good rest before heading off through part of the Coconino National Forest to Kelly Canyon to one of the best aid stations, Fort Tuthill.  

Jolted back to my current reality by the alarm, Katie again reassured me, “you are ok and you have not overslept, you are good to go”.  I put on my night time gear, turned on my headlamp and made my way through the main street of Munds Park, swung right and climbed a short street to the trail head.  A ton of trails intersect in the Coconino National Forest and I found myself straining to see the one square inch reflective squares that were on the orange flags marking the course.  As I made my way up the gentle slopes along the fire road I noticed large logging equipment and heavy machinery reflected in the light from my headlamp.  As I pressed on, smoke from a prescribed fire on a nearby ridge started to fill up the trail.  It was almost to the point where I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me.  I leap frogged and yo-yoed with a few other runners and made it through the smoke to Kelly Canyon.  The Kelly Canyon aid station was a small tent with heat lamps and a nearby fire.  I asked for two chicken tacos and gathered myself by the fire.  Housing my tacos, I didn’t want to stay long or get too comfortable.

The way down from Kelly Canyon on the way to Fort Tuthill was just as smoky as the way up.  Some runners put their neck buffs up around their mouths.  It was a cold smoke filled morning, but I cruised for the most part joining up with another runner.  We chatted about previous races, and our plan for the rest of the year.  When I told people that this was my third Cocodona, most people asked what kept me coming back.  For the most part it is the challenge and no matter how many times you do it, even if the course is the same, the race isn’t.  Each year has its own challenges with its own highs and lows.  The race also has changed me with each step that I had taken regardless of the year.  I continued to move through the trail and the smoke started to clear up.  I hit Fort Tuthill shortly after sunrise.  There are only two aid stations between Fort Tuthill and the finish line.  The energy at the aid station is usually high.  I have hit it right as the Elden Crest 38 was about to start for the past two years.  I love seeing the faces of the fresh runners in contrast to the zombies from the Sedona Canyons 125 and Cocodona 250.  After the usual, eat, nap, and fixed feet, I headed into the aid station to get a mental wellness evaluation and check out.  I passed with flying colors, and by flying colors I mean barely.  The questions were: Where are we, what year is it, and how old am I?  All very difficult in my current state.  The EMT signed off and I was out.  I knew the trek to Walnut Canyon was a tough one, it always feels like forever but I was ready for it.

I left Fort Tuthill with a renewed energy and started moving through fallen pine needles along the backs of houses and eventually to an up and down trail that took me through the bottom of the canyon as the day began to heat up.  Along the way I started up a conversation with Terry, who would later become the oldest finisher of the race.  His life story was incredible and listening to him helped pass the time through the heat.  We made our way through the bottom of the canyon, up a single tract to the ridgeline.  As we got to the top of the ridgeline I could feel myself getting to my pity party stage, so I decided on a quick dirt nap.  A quick dirt nap in the shade can do wonders for your mood.  A key to a good dirt nap is to find shade, make sure you’re not going to lay on a fire ant hill or rattlesnake, and use your pack as a pillow.  I moved far enough off of the trail so as to not be disturbed by other runners.  A race like this is so funny, I could be walking along a trail and look to your right or left at any time of the day and see a body (covered in their space blanket if it is at night), off the trail, passed out.  I set my alarm for ten minutes, put my hat over my eyes, and fell asleep.  It’s not a great sleep but it is a good enough sleep to sustain you for a few more miles and hours.  The nap worked and as I sat up I realized I still had a spare full flask in the back of my pack.  I took it out, soaked my hat and shirt.  With the breeze and a shady nap I cooled down and was able to continue on with a somewhat efficient pace.


Walnut Canyon View


Heading into Walnut Canyon I felt the finish line and my energy kept growing the closer I got.  I may have come in too hot into the aid station, from Katie’s reaction.  I refused footcare, and told The Crew Chief that the next time these shoes were coming off was going to be at the finish line. Seth captured a quick video of a bobcat or mountain lion, right by the crowded aid station.  Quick bite to eat and then closed my eyes for ten more minutes and headed out.  I had a job to do.  I was able to talk to one of my good friends Michelle.  She was crewing and pacing another runner, Kumi.  We had been yo-yoing the entire race, and I was able to see Michelle pretty much at every aid station.  It was good for both me and Katie.  We were able to see a familiar face throughout the race.  A quick goodbye I headed out to tackle Mt. Elden and cruise to the finish line.

Suddenly my stomach started turning shortly after the aid station.  It may have been a recovery drink that I had while it was still a bit hot out.  I kept moving forward keeping a tab on my newly found stomach issue.  After a few more miles, I had to move off of the trail and take care of some business, and then I was back on the move, lighter and fresher.  As I made my way over Route 66, I snapped a picture of what I hoped would be the final sunset and sent it off to my Mom. 


train tracks leading to sunset over mt eleden

The sun was setting behind Mt. Elden which still looked so far off.  I passed through the pines as darkness fell around me.  I switched on my headlamp and saw others dotting the trails around where I was.  The two other races going on moved around Elden and not over like Cocodona.  The trail continued to snake towards the base of Elden and I put on my cold gear as the temperature started to drop.


Sitting at the trailhead that led up Elden’s two thousand foot climb in about thirty eight switchbacks over two miles, I put my headphones in, blasted music and started my climb.  I try to stay consistent with climbs like this, not pushing too hard but not dilly dallying.  I only moved off course a few times, but managed to continue to find the correct trail.  I think it took me about forty five minutes to an hour to climb to the summit.  At the top there was a bit of snow to traverse before hitting the cell towers that line the top of the mountain.  As I climbed up I would look back here and there and take in the view from different angles and elevations.


City lights at night

If you are climbing a mountain why wouldn’t you take in the view.  At the top I still had a short trip to the final aid station.  Mt. Elden aid station is a pretty celebratory aid station.  Runners are only about 9 miles to the finish, so there is an air of levity even in the sleep deprivation.

I had about thirteen of the best vegetable spring rolls that I have ever had.  They were crispy with a salty exterior.  I couldn’t eat enough of them.  A few cokes to wake up I was full and ready to move on.  I thanked the aid station workers and headed towards Heritage Square in Flagstaff.  I started calculating my finish time in my head using runners math based on my current pace.  As I took each step my quads were on fire and my feet stung, the fire road was a gentle slope so walking was almost harder than running, since I was using my quads to break on my way down.  I told myself that there were two options, prolong the suffering with the current pain level and continue on at the pace, or ratchet up the pain and shorten the suffering.  I decided on the latter.  My gentle hike increased to a stroll, trott, and then a run.  Run is a relative term but to my legs I was flying.  I told myself I was going to run anything that was downhill.  I kept checking my phone to make sure that I didn’t miss a turn from the fire road back to a trail.  I slowed as I made the left onto another single track, the one where I kicked every rock and was miserable this time last year.  This year I was moving through the dark power hiking anything that looked like a hill and running the flats and downhills.  I kept this up until the flat Buffalo Park and moved my pace to a steady run.  I unzipped my down jacket, and kept sipping tailwind.  I could smell the copper belt buckle that was waiting for me a few miles away.  I moved through Buffalo Park and texted Katie that I was coming in earlier than expected.  She already knew this since she is always tracking me instead of sleeping.  Jogging into Flagstaff the night was cool and I made the left into town and pushed downhill to the famous Birch Street.  As I approached Birch Street, the Youtube live stream volunteer picked me up and I knew that the finish was so close.  I kept up my pace, loosened my pack, and turned into Heritage Square.  For being so late it was relatively crowded but all I could see was The Crew Chief.  Katie had gotten me through another Cocodona 250.  I threw my pack off, dropped my poles, and reached out for a huge embrace that could have gone on forever.  Howie Stern was again there to capture amazing images.  I was handed a buckle and had my after pictures taken.

The end of a race for Cocodona 250 is really confusing to your body.  You have pushed it to the limit for so long, and then it’s over.  My mind doesn’t know how to react and my body follows.  I can’t say thank you, hug, or feel enough.  It’s almost anticlimactic.  I sat for a few minutes under the heat lamp, while Seth, the Director of the documentary we were filming, went to get the car.  It takes days if not weeks for my brain to fully comprehend what just happened.  I was going one step at a time and just in my head for so long that a sudden stop and shock that I was part of the real world is a jarring realization.  It takes even longer for my body to recover.  This time my training prior to Cocodona made it so I wasn’t as wrecked as previous years, which would lead to a quicker physical recovery.  I completed Cocodona’s two hundred and fifty miles, its over forty thousand feet in elevation in one hundred and sixteen hours and some change.  I ran and finished my own race, even through the lows I was joyful for every minute I spent on the course.  It is a small price to pay for a lifetime of experience condensed into such a short timeframe.  

This year Katie and I decided to film a documentary around Cocodona 250.  I was grateful to have Seth Clarke and Kyle Gazzigli out for every aid station where the crew was available.  I am extremely grateful that they were able to help The Crew Chief get to all of the aid stations she hadn’t been able to get to previously, and gave her a tour of Sedona.  We were both able to really take in the race this year.  We are currently going through the hours of footage and I can’t wait to share it with everyone.  Sure it is about an incredible race, but it is also about someone controlling what they can, not getting caught up in the other things, and making positive changes for themselves.  I hope it connects with others and I’m excited to see Seth and Kyle’s vision come to life.  Cocodona does indeed change you.  I don’t know how you could do a 250 mile journey by foot, in under 125 hours without it changing you.  Change is good, this is where we grow, where we shed our old selves and emerge as a different person.


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