October 11-14th 2024

144 miles +19,551ft/ -17,379ft

“We can’t always see what’s coming. But our best growth moments come from embracing the unknown and riding the waves of uncertainty. Being afraid and doing it anyway is like courting myth and magic; courage appears once you surrender certainty and embrace the ride.” ~Angi Sullins

It’s very hot already at the start line, I have melting ice in my arm sleeves, cool water drips down, falling off my fingertips creating streaks down my legs. I wear a sun hat with light fabric draped around my neck, it covers my face to protect from dust.

My pack is snugly attached to my back, I have a few liters of water and the requisite equipment: emergency bivy, wag bag, long pants, base layer top, jacket with a hood, gloves, hat, headlamp with a back up battery charger, cell phone, whistle, 500 emergency calories. I also have extra snacks, gels, electrolyte powder and my Garmin InReach so I can communicate with my crew.

The pack feels good, if not a tad heavy, though this surely is not as heavy as it’s going to be. I plan to “go light” for the first 16 miles until I can meet my crew at Amasa Back Aid Station, then I will add gear to support me through the night. This will be my first time ever going all through the night running and I’d say the greatest source of angst stepping foot on this race course is how I will deal with the sleep deprivation. I have zero experience in this matter and I’ve always been a person who needs sleep.

Yesterday was race check in, my crew Christy and Dan, my partner Brad and I piled into their Van (Anne) and made our way down to race HQ at Sun Outdoors on the North end of town. Walking along the bike path leading to the venue I couldn’t help but imagine what it will feel like to plant my feet one in front of the other right here in five days time about to cross the finish line. In what state will I find myself in? How will my body hold up? My mind? Who will be with me? What time of day or night will it be?

As we approach the entrance to race check in I snap back to the present moment so I can take in what is actually happening. It’s surreal that I am back here after having come as a spectator last year, cheering on Sally McRae for her epic win. Now I am the one picking up a bib. It feels surreal. We wait in several lines to make our way through all the obligatory checks: bib pick up for runners and pacers, crew parking pass, navigation device check, medical check, swag pick up, mandatory gear check. Christy and Dan buy red and white Moab 240 hats that have the sloagan “200 is the new 100” printed under the bill.

So many people are asking each other “have you ever run a 200 before?” so much so that Christy and I giggle, imitating the buzz of this crowd. I have never run more than 50 miles before and somehow I believe (and so does my crew) that I can make the leap up to 240 miles. It seems like a huge jump, though what many folks don’t realize is that we do a lot of walking and power hiking in these 200+ mile events. The elite athletes are basically running the most, but everyone else walks a lot. Nevertheless, that’s not to say it’s easy at all, there will be plenty of unforseen challenges that arise, there are cut off times to heed for every aid station, and we have 117 hours to make it all the way, so efficiency is the name of the game.

October 11th 2024, 11:55am. The space between runners at the start line shrinks. Water drips off my fingertips and I shove ice up my arm sleeves one last time. Brad kisses me long and sweet before we part ways for the next several hours. Nate and Andrea are nearby, the only two other runners I am friends with, while Candace (race director) makes her announcements that I cannot hear. Most importantly, there is the line that we are all waiting to hear and repeat after, she says “If I get lost, hurt, or die…it is my own damn fault.” And with that the final countdown from 10 begins. Before I know it I am trotting down the highway packed between runners, toggling back and forth from sidewalk to asphault.

The pace feels fast to start out, I notice the first mile is 11’45” but since we are all full of piss and vinegar and it’s flat town running, I keep pace and find Andrea to chat with. The vibe is high and I learn she is running her 5th 200+ mile race of 2024. I am in awe at her grit and determination and super glad we get to spend a little time together.

Once on dirt we begin to climb. I am relieved to be off the pavement, and climbing is my strength so a well of excitement stirs within. The trail stays up above town and generally follows a contour line that weaves in and out of small canyons and drainages. The track is pretty runnable and soon I find myself in a line of runners. I want to pass and have no place to do so and decide to just “go with the flow” as there will be plenty of opportunity to get ahead later on.

I decide to test my Inreach to make sure we have communication established between me and my crew. It takes longer than I feel comfortable with and have to stop a couple times to make sure it works. As I do this, people pass me up and I get further back in the line. Eventually we have a text exchange happening and I feel relieved to know our communication works. Okay, onward!

Within a few miles we reach the South end of town and I spot the Silver Sage Inn, the little motel we’ve been staying in the past couple nights. I momentarily linger in the thoughts of being in bed with Brad, cuddled up and everything so soft, the world so still, a world I am leaving behind for one of struggle and discomfort. There will be no crawling into bed with a cup of tea tonight, nor the next, or the next. How many nights will I be out here, I wonder?

At 2:07pm I make it to the first Aid Station, Hidden Valley. The time is very close to my “A” goal time so I feel like I am on track so far. It is hot, hot, hot and there are a lot of people here, it feels chaotic. Suddenly there is a woman right on top of me asking what I need. She is one of the 300 volunteers needed to run this event. She wears a red medic t-shirt and a trucker hat with blonde braids loosely touching her shoulders. I hear her voice but it takes me a moment to register she is speaking to me.

“Hey hun, what do you need?”

“Water” I reply “I need my bladder filled up please.”

She moves efficiently. She asks me to take my pack off and hand it over to her as she fills up my bladder while I mess with throwing away my trash, add more G1M to my soft flask and grab some snacks from the table. I eat watermelon first, then two little turkey-cheese wraps that are very dry so I wash it down with coke. The medic offers to dump a pitcher of ice water over my head and neck which is nothing less than a slice of heaven.

“Thank you” I say to her “What’s your name?”

“Thor” she replied with a glowing smile

“Nice to meet you Thor, you are awesome!”

I would find out weeks later that Thor is a legit badass of a human. She is a retired US Navy Aviation Ordinance Chief Petty Officer who served from 2001-2021, an Ultra Runner, NREMT, WEMT and Trail Race Medic. Needless to say, she set the bar real high for what to expect at my first Destination Trail Aid Station.

I have to pee and there are some pit toilets across the parking lot. It takes me a lot longer than is necessary to put my pack in the shade, take off my gloves, go pee and get everything back on my body. Once that is said and done I slide back under the tents for one last bit of shade then call out “78 heading out, thank you everyone” and “thank you Thor!” and with that I’m back in the blazing sun, climbing.

Honestly I am impressed. Thor was amazing and she made me feel important even though there were so many people there. I hadn’t known what to expect from this race organization and my first aid station experience was great. I set off feeling exuberant and excited to climb, delving further into the Utah landscape, turning away from civilization, carving deeper into the red slick rock.

I pass several people now as we climb. I feel strong, I am having fun and I feel like the runners are spread out enough now that there is space to settle into my own personal rhythm. The following several miles fly by and the scenery becomes more complex and interesting through the afternoon. Passing runners and being passed we exchange few words though what we do offer is verbal encouragement saying “nice work” or “great job, keep it up!” and lots of smiles.

By mile 10.4 I am cruising along into an ever expanding space around me. I still feel pretty good and when I check my watch I learn I’ve been out for exactly three hours. I am not moving very fast at all, but with the 230 miles ahead of me, I know I have to keep it this way and my average pace isn’t terrible. I am reminded of the saying “Slow is steady, steady is fast” that Brad often reminds me of.

The trail here is a mix of sandy wash at times along with stark red rock formations and spartan vegetation in the range of sage green and mustard yellow. It takes me a little over an hour to make the next four miles where the path levels out at a high point and shifts into slickrock under my feet. The views open up to a ridgeline of undulating escarpments and suddenly the deep swamp green of the meandering Colorado River comes into view.

We have a long descent now, the scene reminds me so much of Sedona and I feel grateful to have had so many days of running in that environment. There is a comfort in that familiarity and while the Colorado River does not run thorough Sedona, it does run through the Grand Canyon and with many miles under my belt in the Canyon, the River feels like an old friend greeting me.

We drop, drop, drop until we hit a dirt road, there are some 4WD vehicles kicking up dust and I shimmy off to the side to get out of the cloud. Along the road I stop to pee at a public restroom and shortly I am cruising on some comfortable pavement under the shade of cottonwoods alongside the lazy river. Suddenly I see Christy up ahead, she is doing a little dance, then I see Brad and Dan holding up signs and everyone is hooping and hollering.

“My Crew!!” I am so stoked so see them, yet confused because my mileage is lower than I expected for that aid station. They high five me and say “the aid station is further down the road, keep going” and I realize they had merely found a pull out to standby for a little while and cheer on the runners.

I take off down the road and they soon pass me in Anne, hollering and cheering through open windows as they head for Amasa Back. Seeing them gives me energy, energy I need to push that last mile which despite my effort still takes me about 14 minutes.

Amasa Back is situated in a beautiful area above a creek that feeds into the Colorado River. There is a large parking area surrounded by tall redrock walls that glow this time of day, the golden hour is upon us!

It is a welcome scene here, with volunteers cheering and the bustle of runners under the tents. Some volunteers are decked out in sequins which sparkle in the golden light. There is levity and laughter all around. This feels great! I veer away from the aid station tents and Brad guides me over to my crew. Finally, I get to sit down for the first time in 16.8 miles. It’s 4:12pm and I am actually ahead of my “A” time by 20 minutes. Still, we need to be swift as daylight is finite and we have a lot to do.

I am treated like royalty by my crew, I am honestly astonished at how amazing they are. They get my feet into a soaking tub of ice, then wash my feet with hot soapy water, clean my socks, and feed me Coffee-chocolate Talenti ice cream. This goes down really well. I have a very dry mouth already and notice it’s challenging to get much real food in since my salivary glands seem to not be working too well. I eat a lot of ice cream and drink cold coconut water as they tend to my bottles, charge my electronics and pack my gear for the night.

The way this race is set up is you don’t get to an official sleep station until Indian Creek at mile 67.8 where you can then also pick up your first pacer. This will be, what I believe, the most challenging part of the race: getting through the entire night alone as once I leave here, I won’t see my crew again for 51 miles. I do have a plan to sleep sometime in the night, however, so we pack warm things like my puffy pants, puffy jacket, sleep socks, a warm hat and my 1/8 inch Gossamer Gear foam pad which we cut down small just for the race.

Dan asks me if I want to put on fresh socks, I decline. He did a really good job cleaning my first pair for me and I feel I want to save my clean socks for when I really need them. All my equipment including a headlamp and Kogalla with a battery and a full water carry renders my pack in the 20lb vicinity. It does not feel heavy compared to what I am used to as a backpacker, but 20 lbs is still alot when you are trying to run 240 miles.

Nevertheless, this was always the plan and I have 12.3 miles to make it to the next aid station. It’s 5:07pm when I check out, in and out in just under an hour. I feel fueled up and ready to tackle the night with my “A” time goal to be at Base Camp by 7:45pm. I don’t realize it at the time, but that is a bit ambitious. At any rate, I’m having so much fun it doesn’t matter.

I feel excitement swelling inside me setting off into the night, crossing back through the imaginary veil from the aid station with all the resources to the stark trail with nothing but space and time. It’s not unlike that feeling of stepping foot back on the trail after a resupply on a long distance backpacking trip. It’s one of my favorite feelings ever, returning to the feral life, that feeling of being back on the trail is like the embrace of returning home.

I dance downhill on a single track that switches back and forth before crossing the creek. I keep my feet dry thankfully, then start to climb back up the other side. There is thicker green vegetation here reminiscent of a willow tree of some sort, they sway peacefully making a gentle swishing sound and I find my new rhythm in my steps and breath.

I hear Brad cheering across the way and when I look up I see my crew members waving and smiling. I turn the corner of a switchback and offer one last howl back at them “ohwhooooooo.” I then turn my face to the sunset, casting my gaze over the river. I see ripples on the surface of the water, she quietly slinks down below and as I climb above her snaking body the views expand.

The view looking down river is remarkably similar to views I’ve had in the Canyon, except there is a road paralleling the river here, with occasional headlights from vehicles reminding me I am still in the front country. Not for long, as the route is about to take me into a more remote area, one that the runner’s manual describes as “classic Moab slickrock and red rock, where the trail can be rocky and several sections in the first seven miles require you to follow paint dashes”. I had studied the route and maps for this segment extensively, marking key turns and trail junctions on Gaia, as the last thing I need is to get lost in the dark on my first night.

When I reach mile 19 the sun has set, pale pink dusky clouds are painted with a soft brush across the sky. I turn to look back from where I came, taking in the coral rock layers in the foreground. In the far distance I see the skyline of the La Sal’s, noting that I will be there in a few days time. Mind blowing.

By 7:15pm it is headlamp time so I stop to gear up. This will be only my second time using both a Kogalla and an UltraAspire headlamp together, one on my waist, one on my head. The first time was a week ago when Brad and I did a night run up Mt. Elden in Flagstaff. We got our evening/overnight gear set up and climbed to the top, set up our sleep gear, re-packed it and headed down. It was actually super fun! I am also sporting a pair of pink low light shades to keep the dust at bay which I am happy with so far.

Up ahead there is a feature called Jackson’s Ladder which would be the most tehnical part of this segment. I reach it at 8:05pm wishing I could have done it in daylight, as it would have been interesting to see. Right now, it is wicked dark out here. The trail ribbons have reflectors on them but they are small and spaced out just enough that we are all spending time bobbing our headlamps around searching for a clue. There is a guy who ran the course before claiming he knows the way so takes the lead down the ladder with a whole train of people following him. I immediately regret falling in step behind everyone.

It is no more steep or technical than many things I’ve done with 40lbs on my back so suddenly I feel like I am in my element and able to move quite well while the train of runners in front of me are picking their way down quite gingerly. I feel frustration with the slow pace, yet there is clearly zero room to pass here and I want to be respectful of everyone’s safety. I find myself several times during that 0.4 mile descent standing and waiting. I know even if I could pass people now, they would probably all pass me again once the trail opens up and flattens out. Flat is not my strength, so with a humble mind, I practice patience and stick it out with the group.

Once at the bottom, we resume on a wide gravel road, sometimes smooth enough to jog and other times rocky or sandy. My “A” goal was to move at 4 mph average in this section from Amasa to Base Camp, my “B” goal 3mph. The “A” goal was 7:45pm arrival and clearly that didn’t happen, I need to pick up the pace to make up some time.

I fall into a leapfrog pattern with this bubble of runners, it is mostly a wordless night save for the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. My water bottles are leaking on me everytime I bend down to pick up a piece of trash (which there are a lot of) and eventually I am covered in sticky G1M water. I reach for my hydration tube to clean up with plain water and realize the valve is missing.

I immediately swivel around and begin to backtrack feverishly swinging the beam of my headlamp across the dirt. Surely it must be closeby, right? Within a quarter of a mile I am still empty handed, runners do not seem to question why I am moving backwards either, which strikes me as odd. I ask them if they have seen a bite valve on the ground. One woman says “yes” though she can’t recall how far back. We are all getting tired mentally and physically and we have a long night ahead yet. I continue looking, continue asking and finally give up. I’ve gone about a half mile backwards, I can’t risk getting that far behind.

Now I really need to push to catch up so I start jogging up the hill. I finish one bottle of electrolytes so I can take off that bite valve and switch it to my bladder tube. Crisis averted, I will have to switch things back and forth, a nuiscance but do-able.

By 10:15pm I make it to Base Camp. I am not aware of it at the time, but I have arrived beyond my “B” goal time of 10:00pm by 15 minutes. The vibe at Base Camp feels spacey. I realize it could be me, but the more I walk around, the more I get the picture that this aid station has been decimated. Compared to my experience with Thor back at Hidden Valley, this is like being on the moon. Nobody seems to notice my existence here.

I ask around for the restroom and learn it’s in “the house”. Once inside I realize this is someone’s private property. There are a few people, I presume they are the owners, sitting around a small table in the kitchen, quietly chatting. These folks have given Destination Trail special permission for over 200 runners to use their bathroom, which is just amazing. I greet and thank them before I duck inside the magical tiny room with running water.

I go pee and wash my hands and I can’t resist washing my face too. This water is magic and so enlivening! I thank them again on my way out with my mind shifting to my next order of operations, which is to eat real food. I make my way over to the kitchen and immediately feel overwhelmed, almost panicky. There doesn’t seem to be much food available and nobody in the kitchen approaches me. People seem wiped out and unavailable here.

I decide to first drop my pack, set up my sit pad and take off my shoes to examine my blisters. There is a nice fellow named JD sitting next to me who gives me a body wipe for my feet. At first I decline his offer but he insists and soon realize saying “yes” was a good idea. My feet are trashed and now I am wishing I had taken that extra pair of clean socks. I could really use some clean socks as I seem to have developed several toe blisters around the perimeter of my leukotape.

I overhear a kitchen volunteer saying they have pasta and meatballs so I get up and ask for a plate, then plop back down on the dirt, allowing my feet to air out. The sauce leaks all over me as I try to shovel the food in my mouth and the paper plate disintegrates in my lap. The pasta is mediocre at best, it was never hot to begin with, but I get it down. I set the soggy plate on the ground and commence putting more leukotape on my toes, on top of the new blisters, then put my gritty socks back on.

With my feet cleaned and doctored up, shoes back on, I wander back to the food table/kitchen. Fortunately I am able to procure a quesadilla “to-go” and request three meatballs “to-go” as well. The kitchen volunteer is surprised at my request saying “I’ve never had anyone ask for meatballs to go before” and smiles as she wraps them in a piece of foil “good idea!”

I want some coke but they are out, I ask for broth but they are out. I need to fill up my water bottles and the water jugs are nearly empty, necessitting a volunteer to tip them up for me to drain. When I take a sip of the water I’m disappointed it is not cold at all, in fact, it’s hot and tastes terrible.

I realize too that I did not pack any caffeine for the morning. That was a mistake. Fortunately the kitchen staff is able to give me a couple instant coffee packets which I gladly accept. It feels like insurance against my anticipated mental fatigue.

That coffee is a win, but honestly everything else is a disappointment and takes too much time to do stuff here. I am not moving all that swiftly either and while the break felt needed and justified, I’m bummed to see I’m leaving a full hour later than I arrived. Shoot! It’s 11:15pm now, only 2.5 hours ahead of cut-off . That feels a little too close this early on in the race, yet I remind myself I took care of important needs and I’m pleased my feet feel good, so there’s that.

From here it’s 4.4 miles to the Lockhart Water Station, then another 20.4 miles to The Oasis aid station. This next 24.8 miles is probably the “crux” of my first 24 hours in this event, and possibly more because I am entering what is truly the beginning of the longest waterless stretch, in the dark, with no crew or aid until tomorrow morning and I have to try and get some sleep at some point. It might sound daunting or even scary, but it’s truly not, it’s just enough that I have an intense sense of need to stay focused and oriented toward forward motion and good navigation.

Climbing out of Base Camp I seem to be suddenly in deep sand, like sand dunes deep sand, there are ribbons on the low vegetation guiding the way along a trailless area. When I finally reach a dirt track I feel relieved to be able to move a little faster.

All the while the nearly full moon casts an eerie glow over the desert with a thin veil of textured clouds covering her face. She is beautiful and it’s a warm, comfortable night. In fact, it’s crazy warm. I packed all these cold weather items expecting this desert to get quite chilly and here I am still in shorts and a t-shirt at midnight.  

Shortly I catch up with a runner whose name is Blake. We offer each other companionship for several miles, I am grateful for someone to chat with as this is the first conversation I’ve had since running with Andrea nearly 30 miles ago. We exhange some stories and hike together in silence for a spell.

We arrive at Lockhart water station together perhaps around 12:30am but I am not really sure what time it is. I don’t need much water, so I top off my soft flask and take a few minutes to chat with the volunteeers: two jolly men of retirement age who are happy to engage in conversation with us. Apparently they volunteer at this particular aid station every year and they love it.

It occurs to me to ask how many runners have gone before us. This might have been a psychological mistake, but I hadn’t thought much about it before the question came out of my mouth. The men perused over their log sheet and ascertained about 170 runners. That’s a lot. Wow, I am in the back of the pack for sure. This is the first time I have any sense of my progress compared to the other participants. I know I’ve been around people quite a bit so hadn’t thought I was doing too bad, but now this sheds some light.

The realization and reality of being in the back pack sinks in deeply, but instead of focusing on it in a negative way, I simply file away the information, knowing full well this could all change for the better with so much race to go. It is now that I really feel a sense of urgency to go. We thank the men and set off after having spent less than 10 minutes there. Here I go, into the toughest part of the night….

The Moab 240 endurance run was created in memory of ultra runner, father, husband and accomplished 200 mile pioneer Stephen Jones. Stephen was the inspiration for this run as well as the person who first dreamed of a 200 miler in Utah, specifically a single loop 200 miler beginning and ending in Moab. Stephen died tragically in an avalanche in early 2016. The Moab 240 strives to honor his memory and his vision and was created in 2017.

To learn more about this event and other like its, click the link here: https://www.destinationtrailrun.com/moab

Check out Christy’s Stories on Instagram from our Moab 240 2024 Adventures here!