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Antelope Canyon 100k

Writer's picture: Rosie Nanette GagnonRosie Nanette Gagnon

The best laid plans & all that.


In 2020 I failed this course miserably, barely squeaking in a 50 miler from severe dehydration. Having more experience now, this year was going to be my redemption race. With some solid experience behind me and good elevation training I figured I had it in the bag. Jason was gonna stay home for this, but my daughter Hannah and her family, my sisters and some extended family were going to come to Page, Arizona with me for a mini vacation & to help pace and crew. A few weeks before my travel date, Jason decided he couldn't live without me (haha) and arranged a flight and vacation time off work. As we were preparing for our trip, plans came tumbling down when my daughter Hannah, my sweetie, crew and cheerleader, had a complex mental health emergency arise. On Jason's birthday, March 5th, her husband Ben took her to the ER where she was soon diagnosed with a Thyroid Storm, a severe and very rare form of hyperthyroidism that causes psychosis. We were so so worried and couldn't fly out fast enough. After our experiences with Dexter and other siblings, I suspected the thyroid storm may have caused a psychotic break, an onset of bipolar disorder. We sat with her in the hospital upon arrival, giving her loving husband Ben, who had hardly left her side in 3 days, a much-needed break.


It was heartbreaking. I knew what to expect having experienced psychosis twice now in her siblings, it wrenched my heart to see my daughter's incredibly intelligent brain, put into a proverbial blender with delusions & paranoia and broken pieces of memory leaving her agitated and confused. We learned how close she came to death, untreated it has a 75% death rate, and she was nearly at the point of a heart attack or self-harm. I truly believe if Ben hadn't gotten her to the emergency room she likely would have died. Jason and I spent a little time with her girls when we arrived and I got to see my sisters for a quick dinner, but we knew Hannah needed us, so we stayed at her bedside all week.





Every waking moment with Hannah we were repeatedly and constantly trying to reexplain what was happening to her, comfort her, try and help her make sense of jumbled memories that she puzzled together into disturbing images, and convince her she needed to stay in the hospital. The most difficult part for me was her crying, missing her babies, or forgetting Dexter had died. She kept asking for him to visit, then in lucid moments re-remembered that he had died. It was emotional agony watching her struggle. Still in the midst of all this confusion, I was so inspired by her goodness. Through this nightmare storm she tried to smile and laugh, learn everyone's name, say hello, thanking everyone who helped her. We saw even the floor sweepers and kitchen staff light up at her smile, kindness and compliments and interest in them. The beauty of her kind, loving, beautiful soul left me in tears many times. Some of the time felt like a fun sleepover because she loves to laugh so we talked and laughed about many things, too, and sang silly songs with youtube videos. "Its alright to cry"



I struggled with what you do about my race. If Hannah was released, I needed to help her settle in at home and help with the girls, but as the days dragged on with little improvement in her mental health as the thyroid medication began to work, we realized this was going to be an extensive hospital stay. Jason understanding all the training and cost that had gone into the race and the importance of the cause of veteran suicide awareness, and also hitting so close to home again, mental illness awareness, told me he would stay with Hannah Friday thru Sunday evening so she would feel safe, so I could go ahead and run. I struggled with mom vs mission but knowing Hannah was in good hands and knowing she would want me to run, I made the 5hr drive alone from Provo to Page AZ.

Early morning walmart trip for race supplies

My sweet girl. Her smile lights up every room.


Other circumstances took most of my family support, crew and pacers out of the picture, but my amazing, wonderful, kindhearted sister Susan, still planned to come with her loving new husband Steven to support me. I figured with experience and knowing the course that I could execute it well and meet the tight 30-hour cutoff. I drove through several snowstorms but the expected weather in Page was sunny, mid 60s, high 40s overnight and dry, perfect race conditions! Knowing weather is unpredictable I had a rain jacket, subzero coat, 2 pairs of hats & gloves, hot hands and a rain poncho + extra batteries just in case and felt well prepared.


It was lonely arriving at the hotel. I heard an owl hooting every time I came or left the hotel and it felt like a little messenger from Nate and his sister Sally's prayers, to comfort me. I had a big room and soon had everything scattered about trying to unpack race gear from the suitcase and assemble drop bags. I tried to think clearly and plan well for each bag, but my brain was a bit zapped-out after 3 nights sleeping in Hannah's hospital room and trying to talk her through the constant mania, memory scramble and paranoia episodes. Since I'm training low carb at the present, picked up a roast chicken and ate half before finalizing my race plans, laying out my clothes, & taking some Tylenol pm for a deep night's sleep. Funniest part of the preparation was not wanting to forget to prevent upper thigh chafing with leukotape, I laid it out strategically for my quick morning dressing.






At packet pickup I watched and participated in a Navajo dance which was really neat. It felt like chanting a prayer, so I prayed for Hannah in my heart while singing with them. Part of me felt a little ashamed preparing to run on sacred Navajo lands for my own entertainment. I'm sure the event brings financial help to the Navajo people in Page, but I felt wistful for their beautiful culture, now a tourist place. I'm not particularly fond of the race itself. With an "expo" selling all kinds of junk, and runners from half marathon to 100, it doesn't have that special community feel of a local 100 miler. That being said I was excited for the opportunity to again see Antelope Canyon, slot canyons, horseshoe bend and the beautiful desert from my feet, and carry Dexter and my Marine Corps heroes through the epic scenery. I met my friend Rhonda there and we hugged and chatted and wished each other luck.



Morning temps were cool and comfortable and dry. Rhonda and I hung out together at the start but we were there for our own races, so we planned to run by individual pace. The race has a somewhat absurd, tight, early cutoff at 6.2 miles. Unless you're a solid mid-pack runner there was a good chance you'd be cut and miss seeing the canyons you were hoping to. Going out too fast for the half marathon might not be a big deal, but it can be a nail in the coffin for a 100 mile ultra. We'll Que-Sera-Sera, I dug deep and pushed hard through first a steep slippery hill of slick rock that required hand over hand climbing to keep from slipping off, then sprinting hard with a racing heart through soft ankle-deep sand. I would have enjoyed those miles at a comfortable place, but trying to make the cutoff was stressful and I couldn't enjoy the scenery much.





Someone captured this pic of our early morning climb.



Rhonda was about 5 minutes behind me. I almost thought my race was over at mile 5 when I couldn't get a grip on another steep slick rock- sand covered climb. After slipping down a few attempts I detoured a few yards away and finally found a less sandy hand hold. The lost time had me sprinting downhill into the aid station. I made it by 10 minutes, and teared up with happiness that Rhonda made it by 5. Later cutoffs were looser after that, so I relaxed a bit and Rhonda overtook me for a while.



The sprinting in sand didn't agree with my knee and it started swelling a bit with a clunk. My surgeon let me know back in December that I just happens sometimes, so I tried not to worry, it came and went through the race. The next stretch was through a sandy wash that you could walk/ jog but it was hard to get solid footing to make good time.




I met a guy named Andrew who chatted with me about my pictures and running for mental health & suicide awareness. He thanked me kissed me on the cheek and gave me a quick hug and said, " I love you Rosie!" It made my day. I had to text Jason and confess I'd gotten a kiss, lol.


I walked through Antelope Canyon itself reverently, trying to respect the Navajo sacred grounds like I'd want someone to treat my church and temples. Walking the narrow dark path looking up at the colorful, twisted, winding labyrinth of towering rock walls, with occasional glimpses of light, it seemed to me like a physical representation of Hannah's wandering through her own mind trying to find her path, light and get out safely. Really, anyone whose mental health has been compromised. I dunno. That just stuck with me.





Went through some neat slot canyons, one we had to descend by slipping on our butts because it was too slippery and steep, up and down winding and rolling desert hills with deep sand, we made our way back across the desert we'd just traversed and headed towards horseshoe bend. Spectacular and the heights are dizzying. The scenery at this point was so amazing that no matter how the day went, I figured I'd gotten my money's worth.



It was still a little chilly out and we had some spitting rain with periods of warm sun. Not wanting to deal with a jacket I took an improvisation lesson from my mamma and cut an old pair of thermal tights into arm sleeves. They were quite thick and worked perfectly to keep me warm or cool by just pulling them up or down my arms. I had regular compression arm sleeves but didn't think they'd be warm enough for chilly desert morning air. I was glad I made that choice! 6 miles of remote, difficult, exposed slick rock was coming up. Running in 2020 this had been my undoing, so I was prepared and well hydrated. As I stood looking at horseshoe bend, I had a clear prompting to put on my rain poncho. The sun was shining, and I was warm, so I brushed it off, but about 10 minutes later I felt the nudge again, so I did what I normally don't do, stopped & took off my pack, and dug in for my emergency poncho. As we went through what I call the Mars section, because you feel like you're on another planet, I lost track of Rhonda and concentrated on not tripping or slipping on the slick-rock.






It wasn't long before a steady drizzle began and wind, and wow, was I happy I'd taken time to put on my poncho or I would have gotten chilled. The scenery was breathtaking, but my main focus was moving forward and not slipping on the wet terrain. At one point our trail came within what felt like 4 feet of the cliff drop-off. That felt sooo dangerous on the slanted wet rock. I detoured about 10 feet further up the trail to less precarious ground. Went through an aid station drop bag and refueled. Had no extra supplies there just some apple juice and meal drink, and a gel. We descended down some distance away from the very busy aid station when there was suddenly a large backup number of runners.


The rain had turned a 30+ foot ladder into a slippery dangerous descent into a slot canyon and some people were afraid of the height & slippery conditions, and poor foot placement on several of the rungs. In line we made the best of it, talking and griping. We stood in pouring rain for 45 minutes waiting our turn. After a marathon distance, standing still, wet in the rain and shivering, I felt this was somewhat dangerous and creating perfect conditions for hypothermia. I was very grateful and said a silent thanks for the message to wear my poncho. It made me think of like, the lines up Everest where mountain climbers die standing in line, lol. I was cold but the thin plastic and my makeshift arm sleeves held in enough warmth that I stayed safe. Somewhat. Standing in line in the rain, I had a wonderful and sad conversation with a Marine, 100%disabled by PTSD. He was so kind and so appreciative for my efforts. It felt like a *meant to be* conversation.




I found out later because of flash flooding in the slot canyons that there was an alternate route we could have chosen, but this wasn't communicated to most runners. Afterwards, I was told several people died in slot canyons from the flooding over the weekend.


I was the tail end of the ladder descent, after me and a few other folks they closed the slot canyon and rerouted everyone. So, I'm running thru this beautiful slot canyon, the waves in the walls sparkling from the rain and quick growing waterfalls. After a few minutes I realized this was not a good situation. We had some 10 other ladders to climb working our way through the canyon and noticed there were pockets of water starting to rise. At some points we were putting shoes and hands on each wall and climbing over the water like my son climbed doorways as a kid. It was crazy. We all agreed if we died, at least we'd go out in glory. As I climbed up the final ladder out of the canyon a shallow but swift river of water came at us, pouring into the canyon.


(photos are another runners pic of the flooding water from above and the canyon when dry, earlier in the day. Just imagine running in that as it starts to slowly fill with water. Also some of the 10 ladders we climbed.)





The last short ladder had that wrecked car wedged as a warning to the dangers of flooding slot canyons. It was quite epic. Up to this point I'd been an hour and a half in front of cutoffs. This hypodermic delay lost me a full hour. I was shivering by this point and ran the miles quickly to the 50k aid station to make up time and to get warm. I called Jason with an update; I asked him to tell Susan I needed my warm coat and mittens if they could get there. They almost missed me by like 2 minutes!! I later learned Rhonda had to drop there from hypothermia. They had to get all her wet clothes off in front of a heater, she couldn't even walk. Made me pause to appreciate just what a vital role crews play to the success of a 100 milers, and I was so grateful to have my Susan and Steven team! Also, the dangerous conditions we were in. My poncho was in tatters from the slot canyon scramble so they located a big white trash bag for me for a poncho. They protected me from the rain with umbrellas to keep me dry while I got my coat on. I turned off my tracker, with the pouring rain I knew it'd be complicated trying to keep my watch charged. I felt warm and toasty and hopeful I could make up time once I reached the flat vista at mile 38. After that was a smooth, lightly technical trail with very minimal elevation. 6 -10 mile loops of that and ahead of cutoff still, I felt I could step it up and make up time. I trudged through the remaining desert sand in the rain, hopeful for relief.




Mile 38 had a steep slippery, muddy climb, and coming into the aid station was an 'oh crap' moment. Our drop bags were sitting in giant puddles and all around the aid station and the trail had become a big field of heavy, wet, clay mud. I dug through my drop bag & grabbed essentials. Cold, muddy and wet, I just grabbed a juice and meal drink. The next 2-3 miles stole my hope of making up any time. I realized the day might be finished as the trail now having been trod by shorter distance runners, was no better. To add insult to injury, the heavy rain kept coming down and the muddy boggy trail was broken up by various swift rain runoff flash flooding that I had to jump or wade across. Luckily, I'd picked up my poles from Susan and Steve at 50k. so they kept me from falling, though I was slipping all over. It was slow tedious work pushing through mud. Some of the trail did drain so there were stretches to pick the pace up a little bit, but it was hard to dig up the energy after all the sand, now mud.

(mud pics not mine)




Susan and Steve met me at mile 43 with some nice hot delicious cheap taco bell tacos. I wolfed one down and saved the other in my pocket for later. The mud at this aid station was insane, and you'd have to wade through a massive puddle to get any supplies from the aid station... which Susan did for me. Later they laid down pallets, but it was still a disaster. The volunteers out in that mess are just the most outstanding individuals. I was still ahead of cutoffs but not by much, so I had to hurry along. The next stretch was muddier than the first for a good long section before it cleared up a little. Still raining, It was soon dark and I called Jason at 48, running behind, letting him know I was starting my 2nd loop. I can't tell ya how much willpower it took to go out for the second loop. I couldn't not go though, ahead of cutoffs and stomach feeling okay, you just push through it.


This was a miserable section. It was hard to see from the rain, and the trail which would be obvious on a dry day, became difficult in some places to find in the dark. On the course it was like they had marked with old tattered pink ribbons from previous races so they were harder to see, and not every reflector was visible from the last. I ran what felt like miles from the aid station, got turned around and ended running backwards to the last aid station. I lost at least an hour of time from that. I went back out and got turned around AGAIN at the same place where no flags were visible. I had no idea what direction to go and went probably half a mile before I saw a runner far below me, so I was at least able to get back on track. At that point having lost so much time, the mud getting worse as runners continued to churn up the trail on each loop, I started to accept this was not going to be my race. I was discouraged, in tears and feeling nauseous. Suddenly right next to the trail I found an unopened can of mountain dew in the dark. In my mind it felt angel sent, though some other runner probably gave up on carrying it, lol. I drank the entire thing in one shot, and it gave me a caffeine and sugar boost to push through the mud and drowsiness setting in, to get to the next AS.


S&S met me again at 53. It was dark, cold, wet and getting late. I knew it'd be the last crewing for the night because I wouldn't ask them to deal with these conditions in the middle of the night. I dunno, maybe I was kind of making excuses because it was wet and miserable, but after I left them, it was more a matter of seeing how far I could go before I missed the cutoff. I was grumbling to myself that if this was a local race and not a big production, they'd realize their mistake at the ladders and do away with the “grim reaper” cutoffs, and let people finish even if they kept the final 30 hr cutoff. But it was what it was. My zero-degree coat by mile 53 was soaking wet and heavy. I thought I had an extra pair of dry mittens, but we couldn't find them. Susan gave me her coat with a heat retention silver lining inside, and Steven gave me a dry pair of his work gloves. Out of the gear I thought I had over-prepared with; I'd run out of warm dry things. :( I slipped and slid into mile 58, wasn't cold yet but the bottoms of my feet were in a lot of pain. I felt like the skin was rubbing raw. I finally took time at that aid station to sit down and try to address the problem. There wasn't much I could do. The girls there were absolute angels. They helped me get my heavy shoes and gaiters off. My gaiters had a thick 1-inch layer of mud covering them up to my ankles and my shoes felt like they weighed 5 pounds each, the mud was so sticky. We pulled off my socks and I rubbed Vaseline all over my feet. I was developing trench foot. One of the girls gave me a pair of her own clean dry socks which felt warm and heavenly, and we put my heavy wet muddy shoes back on. My stomach was a little off. My knee was swelling from all the slip sliding but braces were causing blisters, so I took them off. I needed the support in the mud but at that point they were irritating me too much. I sloshed back through the mud lake to my drowning drop bag and fished for batteries for my headlamp but didn't have any. The extras were in Susans car. I had a few backups in my pack but the long time it was taking was quickly draining them, running on high power so I could see in the rain and mud. The stop had been helpful but my core temp dropped from being still for 15-20 minutes so going back out, by this time 2 am sometime. I started to get really cold.

Pics with my 'clean' socks on



Susan's coat had been warm, but a stiff wind seemed to blow right through my trash bag poncho and coat to my wet clothes and skin. Stevens work gloves were soaking wet and the hot hands I'd stuffed inside had fallen out someplace along the trail. The mud slosh to mile 66, past 100k was some of the most discouraging grounds I have covered. Was actually mile 63 on the course but I went by my watch counting the stupid lost miles. I knew I could have made the next cutoff easily in good weather, but I was going to miss it. By now in the mud, I was lucky to be doing 24-minute miles, and started shivering, and hands were ice cold. The rain finally let up, but it brought in a stiff wind that chilled to the bone. By 100k on my watch, I could feel I was having mild hypothermia set in. I was taking turns sticking each hand under my coat to try and warm my icy fingers. I had stopped drinking because it was too much effort to dig through my layers to find my water bottle so even in the cold was dehydrated, having to stop every mile to pee. No place to take shelter from the wind, just low-lying sagebrush, every stop I got colder by exposing skin to the wind :-P

About 2 miles out from the aid station was the final straw, I was shivering and slow and then got lost again. For 10-20 minutes I wandered around this particular trail marker trying to find the next one. Because I'd stopped, I got colder, finally a runner with a lamp came around the corner so I was back on track, but my will was broken. I just wanted to get out of the mud. I sloshed through the aid station swamp and one of the volunteers helped me lay down on a bench in front of a heater to warm up. Being a stupid person who doesn't know when to stop, I did consider continuing until morning when I would get officially cut, there was no making up time anymore. In the end the fact my lamps were out of batteries, I didn't want to call and ask Susan and Steven at 2am to dig through their car and find more and bring them to me, made my final decision to call it a night. I felt pretty okay that I'd make it past running 100k under these conditions and with Hannah back in Provo in the hospital, decided the wise course of action was to not risk getting hospitalized myself with hypothermia, to get back to the hotel, get warm, sleep, and be able to drive and not be completely trashed so I could continue to focus on her. I had a few days left of the trip to be in the hospital with her and that took priority. That was my mental wrestle but in the end decided to live to die another day. :P


Effort wise through nearly 12 hours of wet sand and the slosh through mud, I'd say that course was the most extreme I've faced. While I didn't finish, I learned a lot that will prepare me for more difficult races and bad weather conditions. I also learned that my backup plan which I had in place, needs a backup plan. I thought maybe I needed 3 sets of coats and gloves when packing but with the moderate dry temps in the forecast I just didn't have room in my suitcase and carry-ons for extras. I won't make that mistake again. The race ended up having only like a 25% finish rate.


Had a hot bath, a few hrs. sleep and a visit with Susan and Steve at Denny's with a big plate of hash-browns and strawberry shake for breakfast! Was still kind of nauseous but the food was too good to pass up, lol. Honestly, the time together with them this weekend was more than worth the price of admission.


Stage one trenchfoot


Clay turned cement, no wonder the Navajo make adobe houses out of it.


It was a long, sleepy, depressing drive back to Provo. We spent 2 more nights in Hannah's room with her. She had more lucid moments and we had hope our Hannah was getting better. So special to see her love on her babies in the hospital room. I recovered and helped with the girls. Lucys first taste of poptart, lol.






The doctors finally got her thyroid to a place where they could move her and start treating the psychosis which now appears, because of the extreme health emergency caused by the thyroid, to have sparked the onset of bipolar disorder. My poor sweet girl, terrified of the condition because Dexter died from it, did not want to accept it and was angry with me for even suggesting it and asked me to leave the room at one point. The psychiatrist on staff confirmed it as his professional opinion. There is no official diagnosis yet though. After 9 days, she was moved to another hospital, and we prepared to fly home. The hospital they moved her to has limited visitation, so we decided it was best to return to Virginia with some of our kids at home going through some mental health challenges as well. It is devastating to see another one of my children diagnosed with a mental illness. Hannah has a strong, brave, powerful voice already because of her brother, fighting against stigma and for awareness and I believe after this experience she will become an even more powerful voice.


Through this I was very grateful and blessed that unlike SO many people suffering from mental illness, she is getting the appropriate treatment, in time to save her life. Partially because of the very real and dangerous health risk her thyroid had created.


I'm pretty run down after returning home. Hannah still in the hospital, and I have a big fat DNF, but I'm feeling so grateful and blessed by my family. Jason's amazing support in caring for our daughter so I could run for her and Dexter and our other marines, for my sisters who showed me so much patience and compassion as I gave them daily updates on Hannah, buying groceries, sending babysitters, Susan and Steven supporting my race, also hugely grateful for Hannah's church congregation who have showered her family with meals and support. This race was a critical count towards what I hope is my 50th race in May. I've got to decide if I dare do a few back-to-back race weekends to make up for it or accept that it's just a setback. I'm feeling good though my knee has swollen a lot more than usual from the strain of running 30 miles in sand and 30 miles in the worst mud I've ever encountered, and having horses, let me tell you, I've seen some mud. Haha.


Throughout my miles I tried to take time to not think about the miserable conditions but to pray for Brenda who bravely lives life and openly loves her son, Sgt Jacob, Nina who is raising SSgt Taylors adorable teen son, who is beautiful and full of personality and funny and brave, but who will always carry the grief of the loss of her handsome- funny- hero husband, Jenn who is coming up on the 1 year anniversary of LCpl Jakes death...so raw, pain so excruciating you don't know how you can move forward another day, & my dear friend Sally whose brother Nate, while not a Marine, sits in my heart as a friend to Dexter who is part of my team. She is always a compassionate support to me on the hard days. Most of all for my dear sweet Hannah who loves her hero brother Dexter so very much, and now after this experience will know firsthand the confusion, pain, and struggle of trying to be the person you dream of while living with the onset of a dangerous and deadly mental illness. :(


This experience fuels my fire to continue to raise awareness about veterans who take their life, or who live with mental health challenges and don't get all the treatment they need, or who are afraid or ashamed to ask for help. If you or anyone you love suffers from suicidal thoughts, please call the suicide hotline # 988 or go to the emergency room for the quickest treatment. If Ben hadn't gotten Hannah to the ER when we did, she may not be alive today. Many little miracles happened to save her.

We are in this fight together.











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Jason G
Jason G
Mar 16, 2023

heart-rending. That's the only word I have for this past week. Thank you for telling other people about it. I love you, sweetheart!

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