Lake San Cristóbal, as seen from high atop the Continental Divide, somewhere around mile 30 of the 2021 San Juan Solstice.

• Race: 2021 San Juan Solstice 50 Mile Run
• Distance: 50.22 Miles (According to Strava)
• Vertical Gain: 12,856′
• Runners: Zambo & Ben
• Times: 13:35:52 for Zambo; 11:00:01 for Ben
• Place: 96/214 for Zambo; 33/214 for Ben
• Summits: Coney Benchmark (13,334′)
• Date: Saturday, June 26, 2021
• Zambo’s Route Track: https://www.strava.com/activities/5535023345/overview

A Long Expected Race – The 2021 San Juan Solstice 50 Mile Run

I have tried, and failed, to run the San Juan Solstice ever since I got into trail running. Ben always talked about what a great race it is, and I certainly knew it went through some of the state’s best areas, so I was keen to try it for myself. But year after year, it just kept not happening.

Three years ago I didn’t make it into the lottery, ending near the bottom of a long wait list instead. Two years ago the race was cancelled due to record snows, record flooding, and avy debris on the course. And one year ago in 2020 the race was cancelled because, well, we all know why.

Suffice it to say, this was a long-awaited race that I was very excited to finally run. Last year we actually still made it down to Lake City on the days of the cancelled race. We had our reservation in an Airbnb saved, so we figured why not make the best of it? This worked out great as I got to run some of the course, adding in the unranked bi-centennials right along the way, as well as a lap up and down nearby Half Peak with Josh a few days later. Solid outings all around, but still, it’s not the same as the real event. I was really excited to do the Solstice itself.

All the waiting finally came together perfectly this year. I earmarked the Solstice to be the cap to the training season before our 2021 Euro Trip. After plenty of good long runs this spring, an absolutely stunning early season effort in the Grand Canyon, and then (what may very well be the final) Golden Gate Dirty 30 just two weeks prior to the Solstice, I felt ready to go.

I escaped to our cabin in Silverthorne a few days before the race to prep. This was partly for a bit of acclimatization, partly to get a few days of uninterrupted work in before taking a week and a half off, and partly just because there’s few more relaxing things for a dad than 48 hours without children.

I had (almost) no idea what to do with all my free time though. Between mostly just working and sleeping, I snuck in a final shakeout run along Lake Dillon. It was even cool and cloudy the whole way, which seems to be a virtual impossibility in Colorado summers anymore.

With all my work eventually complete, I rendezvoused with the rest of the family on Friday afternoon and we made our way down to Lake City.

I have always had this established notion that Lake City is nothing but a super quirky, odd town that is basically the middle of nowhere. A cute, novel place to visit, but ultimately just too weird and too full of Texans to be taken seriously. Best avoided except for the sake of the surrounding terrain. I held this view for years and years. And to some degree, all those things are true. But, I am happy to report that our experience in Lake City this year changed my perception entirely. One of the themes of this race (and this subsequent trip report) is a newfound appreciation and respect for just what an awesome place it is. I’ll do my best to explain why in this report.

My re-education started with a check-in at the excellent Elkhorn RV Resort & Cabins on the edge of town. We were warmly welcomed by the one and only Linda, who reminded me of a female version of Barliman Butterbur. Unfailingly kind and helpful, but unceasingly hurried and semi-disheveled at the same time. We had booked the Treehouse Cabin, which was good for a queen bed, a set of bunks, a kitchenette, and all the space we would need to make it race HQ for the weekend. A big fire pit, friendly dogs, lawn games, other kids, and ample deer sightings were more than enough to keep our two young boys happy for days on end. The only real complications for the boys all weekend were, A) Not falling into the firepit, B) Not getting run over by a pot-bellied Texan in an OHV, and C) Protecting their pizza slices from a voracious dog named Jax. (Spoiler alert, only 2/3 of these things were successful)

Anyway, after we were checked into the resort it was over to packet pick up and the pre-race briefing.

Runners listening in on the race briefing. I always love that unmistakable buzz and energy before a big event like this.

After the race was cancelled two years in a row, I could feel the extra excitement and anticipation for this year’s version. When we visited Lake City on this weekend in 2020, it was fairly depressing and empty. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to be back this year.

The San Juan Solstice course mapped out in full. (Click to enlarge)

Never change, Lake City. Never Change.

Race Start > Williams Aid Station (#2/6)

We were up at atom early on race day. A 5:00 start is pretty dang early, but memories of the miserable heat at the Dirty 30 a few weeks prior made us more than happy to get ahead of it. Also, the weather forecast along the divide was less than optimal. In classic NOAA fashion, they were calling for an almost apocalyptic, “80% Chance of rain, with large thunderstorms, high winds, and snow possible.” All of that was predicted to start as early as 8:00am, ramping up more in the afternoon. Ben started doing the math as he realized, “So, there’s gonna be like 200 people along the divide from 11:00-3:00 directly in the middle of all this?” Lol, yup. I was anxious to see how Jerry – the Race Director – would handle it.

At the pre-race briefing, he read from a printed script of all the instructions. He then briefly mentioned the forecast and urged everyone to carry more gear (i.e. remember the tragedy in China), be prepped for bad weather, and get off the Divide if things went electric. His cool, calm, and direct message (or at least, my interpretation of it) was basically some version of, “Hey, it could get dangerous. But that’s always been true. Prepare accordingly and take responsibility for yourselves.” His attitude was neither alarmist nor chastising. He was much more just like the wise old man offering sound advice. Take it or leave it.

In today’s climate, I found the whole approach to be unbelievably refreshing. It was also reflective of that of the whole race and town itself. Personal accountability is a big appeal of any ultramarathon, I suppose, but something about the way the Solstice did it felt even more authentic. People in Lake City still understand the need for self-reliance and the capacity to make wise decisions yourself. It was nice to be treated like an adult.

Anyway, after walking to the start together, checking in at the pavilion, gaping just a wee bit at Courtney Dauwalter, and then nervously milling about in the chilly morning air, Ben and I were finally off and running through town on the 2021 version of the San Juan Solstice.

40 degrees, a full moon, and sunset creeping up on one of the longest days of the year. A fine day to run through the mountains!

Good luck, buddy!

The opening miles of the course were on the familiar dirt road up to Engineer pass. A gentle start is always a welcomed way to begin a race, and this was no exception. With nearly 13,000′ to gain throughout the miles to come, I was content to get warmed up on the dirt with the throng of other runners. It was cool to actually be running with everyone in a group after so many races the past few years being wave starts.

Soon enough the turn up into Alpine Gulch came. This began the first climb of the day: ~6 miles, 7 creek crossings, and ~5,000 feet to gain en-route to hopping over an entire range of those beautiful San Juan mountains.

Ben and I ran together for most of this first segment. We enjoyed awesome conversation and camaraderie that made the first few hours go sailing by. I always love those early moments in a race. It felt great to charge up the hill together and talk long before the sufferings of an ultra come into play.

Wet creek crossings are standard operating procedure for Alpine Gulch. The water was only knee-high this year, but it still soaked everything. My feet were destroyed for weeks after the race. I had thought about swapping shoes and socks at the first big aid station, but ultimately I didn’t. I’m not sure if that was the right move or not, but I know my toes certainly have an opinion on the matter…

High up in Alpine Gulch, with all the debris from the the 2019 avalanches clearly visible.

All smiles on the ascent.

Speaking of avy debris, the first aid station (Alpine) was not offering water this year thanks to too many downed trees. Normally, a crew hauls gallons of water all the way up to treeline to service this first aid station, but this year they couldn’t make it with the water due to all the debris on the route. Given it was at 11,000′, there were no complaints from us runners. The small group of volunteers relaxing around the fire didn’t seem to mind one bit that they got out of camel-duties this year. I can’t blame ’em.

It was at this point I said goodbye to Ben. I could tell he was itching to push a bit. I was too. I had hoped to do the first 15 miles with him, but the ol’ intestinal track had other plans. Running uphill is hard enough. Running uphill with Ben is even harder. Running uphill with Ben and a whole extra set of muscles needing to stay tightly clinched the entire time is something else entirely.

So, when we got to the first aid station, we parted ways as I dashed off into the forest to leave my mark. “You’re going off course.” A few of the volunteers jokingly called over. “Ya, and trust me, you do NOT want to follow.” I shot back. It wasn’t pretty.

Anyway, a few minutes later I felt marginally better. It wasn’t the prime blow-out that sets you free for days on end (sorry), but it was nice to be able to relax a bit more. Just in time to enjoy one of my favorite parts of the course too: the alpine crossing beneath the unnamed bicentennial 13ers. Low clouds and the summer sun made this morning a special hour above the clouds.

Runners stretched out for miles high up in the Colorado alpine. Doesn’t get much better than this.

Runners in profile along the ridge.

Some lingering clouds beneath Unnamed 13,811 made it all the sweeter. Just follow those orange markers. (Photo by Ben)

One cool aspect of this section was that the full afternoon segment along the Colorado Divide was clearly visible across the way.

After the initial 5,000 feet of gain, it was finally time to go back down. At some point early in this descent I felt a sharp jab in my knee. It wasn’t really all that painful, but it was distinct. I was still able to move downhill just fine. So, I essentially ignored it and pushed the long downhill into the second aid station at the Williams Campground. On any other day, the knee episode wouldn’t matter much, but another 40 miles of running tends to compound things a bit…

Cruising through one of the many lovely meadows going down to the Williams Aid Station. I appreciate that the course takes you directly up 5,000 feet to start, then right back down almost all of it. All in the span of 15 quick miles.

The Williams Aid station was as busy and raucous as any I have ever been too. It it located just a short drive from Lake City with A+ access, so it’s a fun spot for people to come and cheer runners on. (It also had a bathroom, thankfully, which was needed yet again) Ben saw Katie and the boys a few minutes before I arrived. I followed shortly thereafter.

Ben looking good at the Williams Aid Station, 16 miles into the day. Apparently he told Oscar about my bowel issues (i.e. why I was behind), which O found to be endlessly hilarious (as ever 5 year old boy should).

Anxiously waiting for me now. The energy at this aid station was really pretty awesome to experience. Lots of spectators, lots of cheering, and just really positive vibes all around. It was a very welcomed stop after the big effort of the morning.

Made it. After getting refueled at the aid station, the boys jogged along with me for 25 yards or so. Easily some of the best paces of the whole day!

Williams Aid Station (#2/6) > Slumgullion Aid Station (#5/6)

Leaving the Williams Aid station I was feeling pretty good overall. Just like the morning, this next segment of the course ran along a dirt road for a mile or so before starting the second big climb of the day. A 4,600′ effort over 8 miles led all the way up to the high point course – ranked 13er Coney Benchmark (13,334′).

Mentally I was well prepared for all of this. I knew this was coming and I was actually pretty happy that I would have 75% of the elevation complete before even half the miles had been run.  There was nothing to do but put my head down and steadily work my way up the Wagner Gulch 4wd road.

Starting the second ~4,500′ + climb. The course certainly made you earn it.

It was 5.5 miles from the second aid station (Williams) to the third (Carson). Just after beginning this segment I got my next dose of Lake City kindness. A lone man was standing outside his front driveway with a table full of water bottles and bananas. He was with no one but himself, offering these to runners for no other reason than kindness and support. Who could say no? I gave him a sincere “thank you” as I grabbed a banana and kept charging up the hill.

Great moments like this can be a real lifesaver for these races. I was thankful for it.

What I was not thankful for, however, was the conga line of 20+ OHV’s slowly crawling up the road. Based on my experience, there are a number of prerequisites to drive one of these: A) Be a beer-bellied, 300lb boomer, B) Have a wife of similar proportions in the seat next to you, C) Be from Texas, D) Obnoxiously fly Texas + American flags off of your OHV, E) Quizzically stare at ultra runners as you pass by like they are the dumbest S.O.B.’s to ever set foot in Lake City.

The ghost town of Carson, high up in the San Juans. The Texans have landed.

I pulled into the Carson Aid Station just in time to enjoy some Oliva Rodrigo pumping out of the loudspeakers. As I started looking for my drop bag, I experienced my next round of Lake City kindness.

This wonderful woman Jen decided (apparently) that is was her job to take care of me fully at this aid station. Before I even knew what was going on, she has taken charge of the situation. In the kindest way possible, she started doing EVERYTHING for me: She got me a chair. She found my drop bag and opened it for me. She took off my pack and held clothing items as I repacked for the alpine miles to come. She refilled all my bottles. She wouldn’t let me go to the food tables, forcing me to give her an order so she could grab things for me instead. And then she even chastised me when I “wasted my energy” trying to pick up trash that had fallen out of my pack.

“You don’t worry about that at all. Just focus on the next step. We’ll get it after you’ve gone.”

It was a wonderful moment and one that really caught me off guard. Normally at these aid stations it’s a whirlwind of movement: scarf down some food, scramble to refill waters, maybe lather on some sunscreen, and then blitz out of there as fast as possible. But Jen made this one different. She did all the work for me. This allowed me to relax and simply let myself be taken care of for the briefest of moments. The feeling of falling completely into someone else’s care is not one I’m very good at, but Jen really showed me how special that can be. I made sure to ask her name and say a profuse thanks to all the volunteers. From what I could tell they were treating almost every runner this way.

Feeling pretty dang good leaving the Carson aid station, some ~23 miles into the day.

This was also my decision point about the weather. Theoretically (at least according to NOAA) it should have been thunderstorming right now. It was 10:30 and the clouds looked pretty dark, but ok enough, I felt. No thunder and not nearly as bad as has been forecast. Still, I knew that the next stretch was essentially 10-12 miles of max exposure along the Continental Divide. I had promised myself that Carson would be my go, no-go point, but things were looking pretty good. So, I kept on rolling up the next 2,000’+ towards ranked 13er, Coney Benchmark.

This stretch of the course was a long, long go along the Continental Divide. Every bit as challenging and exposed as it was thrilling and beautiful.

Weather was a big threat all day, but as I neared the high point of the race, I quickly realized it was SNOW that was about to be the primary concern. No electricity to speak of.

Runners disappear into the summer squall above 13,000 feet.

By the time I reached the high point of the course, we were in the middle of a proper summer snow storm. It actually felt pretty good. Taking Jerry’s advice, I had packed extra layers for this stretch, so I felt nice and cozy as I trudged along through the whipping graupel. It seemed like most of the runners shared in my preparedness. We were all making the best of it.

Summertime in Colorado.

Most of the miles from Coney Benchmark to the Slumgullion Aid Station (#5/6) are a bit of a blur. I just remember conflicting feelings of loving the scenery, while also becoming increasingly frustrated at how far this stretch was. It was a long, long way to be that high in the alpine.

Also my knee started to hurt more. All the miles were exacerbating the problem, mainly making it hurt to run any of the downhills. I was hobbling along ok, but I definitely noticed myself slowing down considerably on each descent. All I could do was just remind myself to try to enjoy it.

Which, given the surroundings, wasn’t all that difficult to do.

Miles and miles of high alpine fun on this course. What a place to run! (Photo by Ben)

The segment from Coney Benchmark to the next aid station had a bit of everything: single track, rocks, steeps, and even a few lingering snowfields. Bit by bit, Lake San Cristóbal eventually came closer into view. I chuckled to myself as I reflected that we had to go all the way past the lake and then up 2,000 beyond that later in the day. (Photo by Ben)

Finally made it to the 4th aid station – Divide – after a long haul above the trees. One good thing about this aid station was it marked the vast majority of the exposure being behind us. It was also the only section of the course that repeated itself all day, and that was for a mere 100 yards.

Working my way up the final ascent out of the Divide Aid Station before the long, long descent back down towards Slumgullion.

There were some delightfully runnable jeep roads through here, and the open tundra really set a cool scene. Unfortunately, I wasn’t really able to move like I wanted to thanks to the knee, but still, a very cool place to be on the course.

Slumgullion Aid Station (#5/6) > Finish

By the time I got to the fifth aid station – Slumgullion – I was starting to really feel it. It was frustrating to not be moving like I knew I could, and I was just generally feeling tired. Makes sense for 40 miles in, I suppose. The light rainfall helped as I knew the upcoming section could get really hot on most years.

Knowing these fellas were waiting ahead made it all the easier to press on though.

But knowing how much suck was about to come, I decided not to spend too much time with the fam at Slumgullion. I figured stopping to enjoy too many comforts here would only add to the misery ahead. So, it was a quick kiss goodbye to The Walls after just a few minutes spent to recharge.

Every ultra has sections which are unavoidably hellacious. No matter how much you prepare for them, it’s just inevitable that they are going to suck. The last 10 miles of the San Juan Solstice is that section for this race. It was comprised of a 2,000′ climb, and then a steep, semi-techy descent into town.

The wheels really feel off for me here. My knee was now hurting on the uphills too now, and I was just feeling toasted in general. Add in some rain, a swampy/buggy single track through Vickers Ranch, and the demoralizing feeling of getting passed every few minutes by other runners, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I tried my best to focus on some distractions (like following ‘fake Ben’ up the climb, or chatting with the interesting professional sports bettor I met who was equally struggling, or fantasizing about ways to murder the fellow runner who told me there was 2 more miles further to go than I though there was), but they only helped so much. This was no longer fun.

Same shirt, same pack, same shorts, same shoes. Meet fake Ben, everybody. The real Ben was finishing right about now, crushing as usual.

I’ve done enough of these to know that no matter how much it hurts, you gotta stop and get some pics of the amazing scenes. Vickers Ranch really is somethin else. This photo was taken right near the spot where I almost Alfred-Packered that mile quoting dude into non-existence.

By the time I reached the final aid station at mile 45 – Vickers Ranch – I was beyond toasted. Running was a goal long since abandoned as I hobbled up to the tents. But then, as if right on queue, the good people of Lake City came to the rescue.

A local EMT named John (the whole race is a benefit for Lake City EMTs) walked straight for me. “So, what’s going on with your leg?” He asked before I even had a chance to say hi. I told him about my knee issues as he nodded along empathetically. He asked if I wanted to continue, which I certainly did. He then asked if he could give me a wrap to help.

My first thought, I’m somewhat ashamed to admit, was, “Why the F didn’t I think to ask for one before?!?” I could only shake my head at my own stupidity for not thinking to get one miles earlier. But there was nothing I could do about that now. So, I graciously accepted his offer.

John propped me up in a camp chair and got to work. In a few short minutes he had my leg wrapped up nice and snug. He even trained me on how to do it later after the race was over. All the while, volunteers refilled and restocked my gear. Yet again, I had encountered a moment where I just needed to sit back, relax, and let someone else take care of me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shed a tear or two crutching out of that aid station. When you’re that exhausted and spent, small acts of compassion like this can feel overwhelming.

And the wrap actually helped. It was still super slow going on the loose rocks down into town, and then I got passed by everybody and their mother once we hit the final mile and a half in Lake City itself, but I knew I would finish. Ben’s advice about the final segments feeling like they would take forever came in handy.

Cold, wet, tired, limping, and feeling like a bag-o-sh*t, but still running.

This finish was easily my most unpleasant at a race ever. Everything hurt and I was just done. I managed to rendezvous with Ben, Anna-Lisa, Katie and the boys and slump my way over to a camp chair in the middle of the park. Thankful to be finished but ready to collapse.

Lucky for me, Katie and Anna-Lisa watched me the whole time with a concerned look on their faces. They astutely noticed my uncontrolable shivering as I sat there in my soaking wet clothes. After a few slices of pizza and some warm drinks Anna-Lisa brought over did little to relax the situation, Katie attracted the attention of two amazing EMT volunteers at the finish. I was starting to feel much better, but the chills wouldn’t budge.

I was not prepared for the final wave of Lake City awesomeness that the EMT ladies would bestow on me to remedy the situation.

Before I even knew what was happening, I was once again at the mercy of some incredible folks who got me all taken care of. In a flash, clothing was removed, bathrobes were applied, blankets draped over, hats put on, hand warmers given, and a generous helping of teasing was doled out. The whole thing was a well-choreographed circus of recovery. By the time it was all finished, I felt every bit as ridiculous as I looked. But at least I was finally warm!

Leave it to the pros! These ladies knew what they were doin.

Feeling muuuch better now. I’m quite certain the greater crew found it all to be quite hilarious!

As I sat there in that chair, it gave me a chance to reflect on all the little moments of care and kindness I’d had throughout the day. Time and time again, the people of Lake City showed their passion for making this a successful event. In just about every aspect of the race, it was obvious just how much they appreciated the Solstice, rallied together as a town to support it, and took care of those who participated. I was humbled, grateful, and really moved by their genuine efforts. That spirit made this, without question, the best environment I’d ever been a part of at a race.

My assumptions about Lake City had turned out to be dead wrong. Far from ‘just’  a quirky town in the middle of nowhere, I now know it to be one of the most genuine, caring, and resolute places just about anywhere. In today’s day and age, everything about that was a welcomed treat.

And certainly somewhere worth coming back to to race another day! I didn’t get nearly the success I wanted to in terms of a finish time, but as it turned out, that wasn’t what this one was about. Looking back on it weeks later, I am reminded again of just how special the human side of this race was. This race taught me what it meant to let others support you when you’re at your worst. Those lessons, memories, and experiences are worth more than just about any finish time. I couldn’t be more thankful for all of it now that it’s over.

I feel no photo could better encapsulate the ridiculousness of our sport than this. Judging by his facial expression, it seems Ben would agree.

Thanks for reading if you did. Until next time, Lake City!

Post-Script: A Most Excellent Race Indeed!

Overall, despite my sufferings, this weekend was a huge success! I am so thankful to have been able to run this race (finally). To get to spend time with the Conners and my family whilst down in Lake City is just an even better bonus. We all had a fantastic time and couldn’t have really asked for better conditions, course, or overall experience. I feel very grateful to have gotten to do it at all.

And of course a big shout-out to Ben who, as usual, crushed the race. It wasn’t quite his PR, but he still had a very impressive effort overall. It sounds like only a small degree of heartbreak was endured from the 11:00:02 finish time (You shoulda swan-dived at the end, buddy!). I like to think a time like this though is really just further confirmation that he is meant to be with Anna-Lisa, whose half-marathon PR when our wives ran together was a 2:00:02.  It’s fate!

Great job team-Conners! Here’s to many more adventures with you guys in the future!

And lastly, of course, thanks to my amazing support crew of Katie and the boys. You guys continue to be one of the main motivators to run at all. What a joy to share in this awesome day with you!

What a crew!