The Golden Hour

 “I’m an absolute nervous wreck. But she thinks she’s close to the pavement. She has to make it.”

I’m sure this has been written about, potentially on a rotating basis considering the industry growth and amount of 100 mile races sprinkled across North America right now. That’s OK, I think everyone can and should get to experience what my team and I did this past weekend at the Coldwater Rumble 100 mile race. The final hour before the race officially ends, or as we so aptly call it, the Golden hour, is a 60 minute window where we see hours of determination and grit make its final push to the finish line in hopes of beating every cutoff in order to collect the elusive 100 mile buckle.  

Coldwater Rumble is planted at the foothills of the underrated, yet ever-impressive, Sierra Estrella Mountains in Goodyear, Arizona. Our runners grind out five 20 mile loops, switching directions every 20 miles. 

Runners continuously state the terrain is more technical than expected, the night lasts 13 never-ending hours, and while we rarely have to deal with 80+ degrees, temperatures will swing 35-40 degrees from day to night, dipping into the high 30’s or low 40’s of brisk desert air. Looking at the elevation profile, countless runners have said this’ll be an “easy” or “fast” hundred. It includes zero climbs of 1,000+ feet. Its total elevation gain doesn’t crack 10,000 feet. Our course records are 15:07 (Catlow Shipek) and 20:05:43 (Gina Dhaliwal Schneider) and we see about a dozen sub-24 finishers each January. On paper, it’s an easy hundred. 

But this course has a way of eating you up and grinding you down with constant rolling hills, rocks and washes. Enduring the Corgett Wash on the south end of this loop five different times is essentially 2+ miles of 3-5 inch sand each passing; equating to more than 10 miles of spinning your tires. It just wears on you. Everyone talks about it, never very fondly. But it’s part of what makes Coldwater its own race. 

Aravaipa has considered this a sister race to the infamous Javelina Jundred in October since it joined our circuit in 2014. Held three months later, Coldwater is similarly setup with five washing machine loops, as is Javelina, giving runners a unique opportunity to fulfill the Sonoran 200 if they so boldly finish both races in one season. But, truthfully, Coldwater is more like the quiet little sister still carving out her own unique path while watching the cooler older sister who’s got a bunch of friends and throws the best parties.

But everything’s right so just hold tight. I’m not here to compare these two great hundreds. I’m here to shed light on the golden hour which once again did not disappoint. 

We, as race directors, spend countless hours planning and executing these events so you can come in on race day and only have to worry about yourselves. The course is marked, aid stations stocked, and we’re out there with you every step of the way. 

So, hearing the above quote, and glancing at my watch to see just under 15 minutes remain on our 32 hour race, it’s hard not to become attached to this persons journey. I knew exactly who was left out there, Seana Green, the runner who offered up the “21 bubble Salute” to each aid station and our Rumble headquarters after each loop. “25 in!” after each lap made it easier to remember but seeing her entourage of family and friends out at the park for hours awaiting her finish was also something I love about this sport. I can’t say with 100% certainty, but most if not all of her friends and family are not runners. Hell, they probably think it’s crazy and think we are crazy for trying. But they’re there for her without question at this time. 

They’re there glancing up at each cowbell sounding off, hoping this time it’s their runner coming around the corner, past the sagebrush and palo verdes, and making the final push through the turf area and finish line. 

We’re there yelling and cheering, the smattering of remaining crews on their feet doing the same. When asked if this was their runner, one neighboring crew member replied, “they’re all our runners at this point!” It’s such an impressive moment of selfless love that I wish I could have more people experience it. 

The journey that takes a runner to these final steps can be nothing short of inspiring. They’ve likely fallen on their faces (literally), had moments of nausea or puked, diarrhea, gone hopelessly off course and considered quitting at multiple points thinking, if I’m this tired at 40, how the hell can I pull off 60 more miles- and run through the night? They’ve been out on their feet for 31+ hours and certainly had the stress of missing a cutoff looming over them for hours on end. 

Another runner, Kaitlin, who joined us for an emotional 2018 running of 52 mile distance, brought about all the feels as she made this turn onto the turf area. She had flown from Cincinnati back to Arizona, determined to complete what she had started as the sun poked its colorful head out from the mountains a day prior. Her friend, who raced on Saturday and crewed all night long, was there to greet her as Kaitlin made her dream a reality. She wiped the sweet emotions streaming down her face with this intense sense of relief. She had made it.

Something deep down keeps a runner moving forward. Something draws them to the next ribbon, aid station, and next loop. Something happens to a person when they go through these moments of self doubt that, when faced with the final 250 yards of cheering people waiting your arrival, you naturally reflect. You did it. You pushed through the pain, the hurt, the euphoria, and you’re here. Multiple runners on Sunday who undoubtedly thought they may not get this moment, finished their race, wiping tears from their swelled eyes in this raw and vulnerable example of pure joy and a sense of pride. Seana made the turn onto our turf area and crossed the finish line with just over eight minutes remaining on her 32 hour cap. In all, this golden hour saw five runners complete their hundred mile journey, each one carrying with it their own special memory. 

You kept pushing. You kept going. YOU ran 100 miles.

Thank you all for letting us be a small part of that journey. And in the words of the affable Andi…I’ll see you at the next stupid thing we do!”

Noah Dougherty 
R.D.