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Testimonials
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Paatuwaqatsi Run race report by Alene Nitzky - September
12, 2009
My friend Katy and I went to the Hopi Reservation in Arizona for a weekend in September
to do this 50K run that my friend Woofie told me about. The weekend, it was an ultra
event in itself.
We drove nearly 15 hours each way. Katy and I have both been tired lately, and I
can't even count the number of times we looked at each other during the weekend
and didn't have to say the thing that was running through both of our minds: "Are
we insane?"
If we had been in our twenties, maybe it wouldn't have been hard to drive so far
on either side of such a long, tough run. But we had no regrets. The only thing
we both agreed we'd do differently if we came back to run it again, was that we'd
take the time to split the driving up into at least 2 days each before and after
the race.
Neither of us slept much the night before we left. Katy drove down to my house in
Fort Collins from Cheyenne Friday morning and we left my house at 5:30 am. We kept
each other awake, switched off driving, and eventually made it through the horrible
roads in New Mexico and through the traffic jammed town of St. Michaels, Arizona,
where we didn't realize that the 63rd annual Navajo Nation Fair was going on. The
main highway through town was a parking lot with the streets lined with trucks and
people setting up tents, selling mutton stew and Navajo tacos, and general chaos.
Eventually we reached the Hopi Cultural Center in Second Mesa where we stayed the
night and did get a good night's sleep before the race.
To describe this run like a standard running report would diminish the uniqueness
of this event. To say that it was a difficult, challenging course, one that took
us nearly 9 hours to complete, that it was hot, that there were aid stations nearly
every two miles, that there were people along the course not just in the villages
but out in remote places, cheering us on, in their native language, that it was
well marked to the point where we never once got lost or even questioned the route
in 30 miles of remote, mostly single track trails or across the tops of mesas on
slickrock, all that is not enough to describe the beauty and spirit of this run.
Most of the run was on soft, deep sand, on trails across high desert, pinon juniper
forests, and over cliffs and mesas with rocky, narrow ledges and stone steps that
have been around longer than any of our White ancestors have been on this continent.
Ruins of old stone buildings were on the edge of every cliff.
Thanks to the Hopi people for allowing us to run through these remote and sacred
places, to see their ancient villages and springs.
"It is not a race," Bucky Preston reminded us as we stood at the unmarked starting
line. There were a handful of runners doing the ultra, no more than 50, I'm guesing.
Most people were running the relays of 5-10 mile legs, which made about 150 total
runners.
Bucky has been a long distance runner for many years. He told us to remember that
water is life, for all living things depend on it, and to pray for rain. He told
us the meaning of what the Hopi men and women would say to us, which I cannot remember
now. The men would say something that sounded like "Kwa Kway" and the women would
say something that sounded like "Asquali", that means thank you and many other things
in Hopi, according to my friend Woofie, who told me about this race.
Before we started his father came to the starting line and said a prayer. The sunrise
was pink and purple and we were in the shadow of the ancient village of Walpai,
atop the cliffs, overlooking the village of Tewa, closest to where we started.
And we were off.
Katy and I had the unusual distinction of having runner numbers One and Two. How
we got those, we have no idea. Maybe we were the first two to sign up? I pointed
this out early in the run, as we stumbled across the first mile of deep sand and
mud-caked stream crossings. I said, "Remember Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat?" I
told her we look like Thing One and Thing Two, in our goofy running hats with our
bulky packs, navigating our soon to be sunburned, tired bodies up and down the thousands
of little sandy hills over the course.
We arrived at the first aid station at 4 miles in about 50 minutes and we knew it
would be a long day, but we came for the scenery and the experience, and we didn't
care how long it took. We figured at first that it shouldn't take us more than 7
hours.
We both had nearly a gallon of water and plenty to food, and rain jackets, we were
told to carry everything we needed, and we had no idea what to expect out there
on the course. It was 83 degrees when we arrived at 6 pm the previous day, so we
knew it could get hot, and it was. There were no clouds in the sky until late in
the day, we saw approaching thunderheads in the east, but they never got close.
As it turned out there were aid stations all over the course, some only a mile apart.
They all had bottled water and snacks, and a few had cold water. I still drank everything
I carried with me. It was hot in the afternoon, it might have hit 90, but there
was usually a breeze when we were up on the mesas and it never felt bad to me, but
then I feel better when it gets hot.
Don Meyer was there, volunteering at this event. We saw him at 6 miles and then
several times later in the run. He was cheering for us as we approached the second
aid station, and it was so great to see him. Every time I see Don, he is helping
someone.
We climbed up the mesa to the village of Walpai, on narrow stone steps with some
exposed places, that had been there for hundreds of years, the village was built
in the 1600s, and the old stone buildings are still there. The view from the top
is amazing, over the buttes and mesas and toward the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff.
After we came down from Walpai, we hit the 8.5 mile aid station, and 2 hours and
35 minutes had gone by since the start. Katy and I looked at each other. It was
going to be a LONG day.
We descended into the village of Wepo, and the course took an interesting little
loop near there to Coyote Spring, the first of a half dozen or more sacred springs.
I didn't include pictures of the springs or the village of Walpai because these
are sacred places and generally White people do not go there, and photographs are
discouraged.
We climbed a long, hot, sandy ascent to the next mesa and descending the other side
was scary and exposed. There was a narrow crack in the rocks and then a narrow ledge
with a long drop-off below. We took off our packs to make it across the scary part.
When we dropped down there was a White woman with an aid station, near a spring
under the rocks. There was 8 foot tall grass, and people coming through. This was
the start of a 9 mile loop on the course. The fastest runners were already coming
through at 22 miles as we were getting there at 13 miles.
It was amazing to us how slow the pace was, because we were running. We found early
in the run that it was much easier and faster to run through the sand instead of
walking. But it was slow, and we were taking our time and taking pictures, too.
We stopped four or five times to dump sand out of our shoes, too. I had lumps of
sand underneath my toes and under the ball of my foot.
We got water at 13 miles, but it was only 2 miles until another major aid station,
above an arroyo with old stone buildings. Don was there again, cheering for us.
They had ice-cold water, pretzels, trail mix, gels, gatorade, potatoes, oranges,
bananas, pretty much everything you could ever want at an aid station.
We climbed another mesa and saw an amazing spring up there, descended stone steps
into it, and there were stone walls built around it. Many of the springs were like
this, and a few were dry with only the steps and walls remaining. The water dripped
from the ceiling of rock, like a cave. The water was deep and full of green algae
and plants.
Being out on the course, on those sandy trails, there was a feeling about the place,
a calm and peace that I don't experieince too often any more when I'm running, mostly
because there is too much going on. There are other people, sounds of cars, airplanes,
traffic, city noises, hunters, whatever it is. Out here at Hopi there was none of
that. Except for the aid stations and the people greeting us along the way, we were
out there and there was nothing else. It felt sacred. The Hopi people were thanking
us along the way, but I was thanking them, for giving us the opportunity to be there.
We passed through the 20 mile aid station and got our last cold water, and then
at 22 miles we met the woman at the loop again. This time we stopped to dump out
our shoes and talked with her. Turns out she's a nurse at the Hopi Health Center
and I talked with her about it. She loves it up there. I asked her what services
they offer there, and what the Hopi people's greatest needs were, and she told me
they were hiring. I have done my share of time living in remote places, and I don't
want to live like that anymore, but I can understand the appeal of living there
and doing that. The volunteers were amazing people, I asked the ones who were not
Hopi what they did and they all had interesting occupations that drew them there
and they stayed for the love of what they are doing.
We climbed up the mesa again and crossed the top for about 3 miles on slickrock.
The views went forever. We could see a huge thunderhead with lightning off in the
distance over the Navajo Reservation. But it was clear and dry and hot on the course.
When we reached the last aid station, they told us it was 5 miles to the end. We
went by two more springs and up more sandy hills, but the last few miles we more
sand hills. We laughed at the last mile. Someone designed this course to be unrelenting.
We descended the last mesa below Walpai and a woman yelled "Asqual-EEE" to us several
times, at the top of her lungs.
When we finished, it was about 8 hours and 45 mintues after we started. We sat down
with Don, and we ate the delicious blue corn tamales and watermelon at the post-race
meal. They gave us prizes, too, which we did not expect at all. Katy got a mug with
a Hopi design on it. I got a glass box with another Hopi design.
We got in the car afterwards and headed to Gallup where we spent the night, and
finished the final 10 hour drive on Sunday.
Will I do the run again? It was certainly more than worth the experience. Even with
the long torturous drive, it was well worth it. It was probably the toughest 50K
run I'll ever do. Mile for mile it was a difficult as Badwater, for different reasons-
because of the sand, climbs, heat, and carrying so much in the pack to be self-sufficient.
I might find myself wanting to go back by a year from now. But I'll decide then.
I do know that this run was exactly what I needed, and it should be a "must-do"
on every ultrarunner's list.
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From Anthony "Woofi" Humpage, Phoenix.
"If I had not seen a posting about the Paatuwaquatsi run, I would have missed it.
That would have been my great loss. We ran in the Long Run Paatuwaquatsi celebration.
This ranks as one of the more memorable runs of my life. Not the longest, in itself
quite hard, especially for the distance, but the scenery was absolutely first class.
I went because I remember Dennis Poolheco, who I consider one of the classiest guys
in ultrarunning, telling me about his runs on the Hopi nation, and how it was part
of their history.
I am sorry to say those of us who were not Native American numbered only five. Me,
Larry, Don Meyer, Frozen Ed Furtaw and another gentleman from Flagstaff. When you
miss this run you are cheating yourself, pure and simple. It's hard. Hand over hand
climbing in places, but really runnable in others. Dennis won in 3:01. I was at
5 or something. There is so much history in this run if you want to be open to it,
it is amazing.
What I was not prepared for was the genuine welcome, humility and kindness shown
to us by the Hopi people. One example sticks in my mind: after the initial climb
onto the village of Walpi on top of the First Mesa, we were met by an older lady
and her husband who offered water from a saucepan. I drank some but did not understand
what she was saying in Hopi. It was only later when I was talking to Dennis about
the Hopi language that I understood she was saying 'Thank you' over and over.
Running the trails and visiting the springs is important. This made a tremendous
impression on me. If you can get to it, you are robbing yourself if you do not do
this run next year. Tradiotional hopi food and singing after, a great experience
which I will not forget. Or the message of not running to win, but for life "
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From Robyn Slayton-Martin, Flagstaff:
"I just wanted to say thank you again for the Water Is Life event. That was the best
race event I've ever participated in. I felt as though I had been welcomed into
a wonderful family. Ferrell gave a wonderful eloquent speech. Please tell the folks
who cooked the food was wonderful. My 10th place prize for the 5K was great--it's
the first time I've ever won anything for running and I'm glad I won it at the WFL
race!"
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From Don Meyer, Phoenix:
"The course this year went over [the] mesa three times and at 5,500' plus was a good
work out in a beautiful place!!!! The Hopi are wonderful hosts - awards for all
finishers - vast amounts of food at finish line - great tee shirt...the post race
speakers offered interesting insights into the Hopi culture that one would never
learn on a sightseeing trip."
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From Manny Pino, Scottsdale, AZ
"The Paatuwaquatsi Run was one of the most scenic and competitive courses I have
ever run. Your whole crew did a great job, especially the COOKS! I hope to recruit
more runners to come to the beautiful mesas at Hopi."
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From David Jaussi, Flagstaff, AZ
"The Paatuwaqatsi Run for me was deeply moving experience that approached the sublime
on many different levels. Although I found it a difficult experience, over time
it became a most beautiful endeavor. In the end, I believe that the success of the
run cannot be measured in terms of its numbers, but only in the quality of the hearts
behind it. And in this manner the message deeply touched all of us in most profound
and spiritual way. I thank you for putting on a wonderful event. "
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WaterIsLifeRun.Org (2003-2009)
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