Sitting on the side of the road, dry and heaving, barely able to stay upright, was not how I wanted to find out that Paige, Arizona, did not have Uber. 

Let’s backtrack. I didn’t share with many people that I signed up for my first ultra marathon in March 2024 (yes, I am very behind on posting). It was a 55K out in Page, Arizona, called Antelope Canyon Ultra. The course looked amazing, and I thought it would be perfect for my first as it had a 12-hour time limit. Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to need those 12 hours. Oh, I was so stupid. 

I spent some time in Nevada a couple of days before the race. I went to Valley of Fire State Park and spent a little time in Vegas before heading for Page. I picked up my bib on Friday, excited for Saturday’s race. I even bought a hat and a pin, joking at the booth that buying a 55K pin was jinxing it because what if I didn’t finish?

Race morning dawned dark and cold but that’s a good thing when you’re planning on running 34 miles over the course of the day. I went to the McDonald’s drive-through for a sausage biscuit and my go-to trail breakfast. Used the bathroom at the race before the start and then headed to the start line. We were only half a mile into the race when I realized I might have a problem that I didn’t anticipate.

The race had advertised itself as a slightly sandy course which if you’re a trail runner sounds just fine. I had spent numerous weeks in Arizona running in Sedona, as well as the Grand Canyon, so I thought I wouldn’t have a problem. Half a mile in and we were all crawling because we were going through literal dune sand.

I’m talking inches upon inches of sand filling up your shoes and getting in your socks. We were half a mile in, and I felt like my shoes weighed 2 pounds more than when I started. But I told myself, how much more of this could we have? We hit the first aid station, which got us a very small break from the sand, but it was by no means over. I was admiring all the views, but couldn’t wait till I got to the Rocky section that had to be coming. Right? Mile four brought us to another aid station where my mother sat down, shook out her shoes, got some snacks, and used the bathroom. I just sat there wondering how much longer we were going to be in the sand.

The rocky section covered a couple of miles or ran right along the edge of Horsehoe Canyon. Honestly, this was my favorite part. Also, not gonna lie if this was probably the sketchiest part as we were right up on the edge of those cliffs, and there was not a damn thing keeping us from going over the side.   We are running above Horseshoe Canyon, and it was awesome. I was also getting a little warmer, so the water down below looked pretty sweet, except for the fact that it was like 500 feet below us at that moment. There were a couple of extra sketchy portions which daredevil me loved but other people were kind of freaking out a little bit. Coming up off the canyon’s edge and we were headed back towards where we came from across the highway, and once again, into the sand.

We then spent 3 miles running along a sandy dirt road. Honestly, this dirt road didn’t bother me; the sand was not as deep here. If this had been the level of Sandy dunes for the entire race, it would have been tolerable; however, this was not the case. We looped back to the same aid station we hit at mile four, and my mother asked if we were thinking about quitting.  We knew at this point we could hitch a ride back to the start and get the half-marathon medal since we had at least finished 15 miles. I refused- I said I had come here to run 34 miles, so I was going to run 34 miles. Although let’s be real, there wasn’t a whole lot of running happening. It was a whole lot of slogging.

We slogged back through the sand the way we came when we started to hit that very first aid station again, which was now a full aid station. At this point, we were informed that our watches were reading incorrectly and we were actually a little farther ahead than we thought, but this wasn’t the emotional boost I had hoped for. We then had to slog back towards the start close enough to hear it, not close enough to see it through some of the heaviest sand of the day.

I knew we had a 10-mile runnable loop coming up, so I was looking forward to it. However, we crossed the street to slog through some more sand, and suddenly, runners were coming back our way. Realizing that I had to run this 10-mile loop and then come back through this heavy sand to the finish and I think it might’ve broken me. And it wasn’t just me- people who were Hella fit were equally slogging it out with me, saying that this was bullshit.

By now, I was about 20 miles in, and the steepest climb of the day was ahead of me and I was so over it. We made it up to the top of the 10-mile loop, which was hard-packed trail. Hallelujah. That part was amazing. At least it started out that way. My mother pulled ahead of me again, saying she had stomach issues and I was just slogging it out. Honestly, I was kind of in a dark place for this 10-mile loop. It’s about 100 feet in the air, right on the edge above Lake Powell and dark place me was thinking about how easy it would be to fall over the side and just be done. Not good. At this point, we were almost three hours over when we thought we were gonna finish, and only around mile 25. I had been in the sun for longer than I had planned, and I was mentally going down. I continued my way around the upper loop, just struggling it out. I realized I had stopped sweating and was turning clammy and becoming super shaky. I was having serious issues.e

We got to an aid station at mile 27, and I used the restroom and had a full can of Coke to see if it helped. I had been fueling throughout the day, but I don’t know if I wasn’t fueling enough or if it was so much time in the sun but something was off.

At this point, the loop made us cross a busy street of traffic, and then it continued to go around the golf course. My brain was beginning to put together that we were going to have to go down and then go back up a hill to get back to the trail leading us back to horrible sand, which would then be a 2-3 mile slog to the finish. At least that’s what my brain was telling me. I was having trouble staying upright at this point, and I kept pausing to dry heave. Runners coming past me kept stopping to check on me at that point. We came down from a trail to cross another busy street, and I went down on the sidewalk and didn’t get back up. I felt so weird and just overwhelmed that I just couldn’t continue on. I was just past mile 30 at this point.

This was also the point at which I realized the race wasn’t prepared to actually bail you out if you needed to be bailed out. I went down and I was sitting on the sidewalk, just done, I wasn’t moving. And when it comes to running and races, I don’t quit. I’ve run numerous stupid races where I should’ve quit because of injuries or illness. The fact that I was sitting on the ground, unwilling to take another step, was not like me. Runners were passing me, asking me if I was OK, and I was barely just waving them on.

I told my mother to run on without me and I would just sit there. Oh, should I mention we’ve been out there long enough that it was now pitch black, and we didn’t bring our headlamps? A runner passing us contacted a friend at an aid station and told them to tell the volunteers that a runner needed help; however, no one came. I got enough energy to pick up my phone to see if I could find an Uber. Guess what? Page, Arizona, doesn’t do Uber or Lyft. Or it didn’t then.

My mother, at this point, decided that she wasn’t going to finish without me, so she was trying to figure out what to do. We ended up getting her a running route back to the parking lot where the car was, which was shorter than getting to the finish. She ran back to the car and came back to get me. We then drove back to the race finish because this race is very explicit that if you bail on the race, you need to tell them, or you will be fined.  So once back to the start line base, I was checked out in the med tent and a little pissed off at myself because I came this far and failed. We then were able to get a half-marathon medal because at least we completed the half-marathon. Well, sort of, you know, 30 miles, but whatever. The race representative at the med tent said that he would take care of dropping me, and we ended up leaving.

I knew I needed to eat food and hydrate, but honestly, I still felt like I was gonna throw up. I was able to eat some French fries from McDonald’s. I don’t even like McDonald’s French fries. After a hot shower, I felt a little bit more human.   There must’ve been a breakdown in communication with the representative who said he would tell them that we dropped because we then proceeded to get text messages and phone calls from the race saying we had been on the course for a long time and hadn’t finished, were we OK? I appreciate those calls and confirmed that we weren’t out on the course.

So yeah, went all that way to not go all the way.

My first DNF also. If I had picked a regular 50K, I might’ve been able to finish, but I’m dumb and chose a 55k and ended up having to bail. Also, I fucking hate sand.