60-year-old Veteran Celebrates Birthday with a Psychedelic Fueled 125-mile Ultra-Endurance Run
A Trip Report
The day of reckoning had finally arrived with the dawn of a clear, crisp morning. I found myself high above the desert amid the remnants of a centuries-old copper mine - a uniquely fitting start to a 125-mile ultra endurance race. A land haunted by miner’s ghosts who once toiled deep under the mountain to extract their pound of copper at the cost of their weight in blood, sweat, and tears. What would my price be for this adventure? My investment in training time, equipment, and the other necessary preparations had been made. Would it be worth it? But an even bigger question: how had I even gotten here?
Several years ago, my oldest son, Frank, excitedly told me about an ultra-endurance event called the Cocodona 250 that he thought I should do. I laughed at his suggestion. Given my experiences in ultra endurance athletics, it was not a completely absurd proposition, but I had not attempted such an ambitious undertaking in years. Regardless, I was moved by his enthusiasm and belief that I should attempt such an adventure.
With the approach of my 60th birthday, I revisited his suggestion as I was considering how to celebrate this milestone entry into my 7th decade of life. My desire was to challenge myself and see where I was mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually and so, this would be the test. As fate would have it, the 250-mile race was already filled, and I was buried on the waitlist so my chance of getting into the 125-mile distance was far more likely. After several months of anticipation, I received word that I was in - game on!
I’m not overly meticulous as far as preparation goes. Since this wasn’t my first rodeo, I had a pretty good idea of what I needed to do. At the heart of my approach is the application of “the minimum effective dose - ” train just enough so that I am confident in my ability to complete the task within my estimated goals. And so, with that guiding me, I was able to show up at the start line confident in my ability to finish the race Friday morning (the race started Wednesday morning.) The official cut-off was Saturday at 10 am.
Gear loaded and checked, watch set to record the event, feeling excited, and the energy of the crowd and the other 300-plus runners, the countdown complete…3, 2, 1 go! And off I went amidst the horde of other runners crazy enough to attempt such an adventure.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I had psychedelics on board. I know that sounds a bit crazy - ”60-year-old Veteran celebrates birthday with a psychedelic-fueled 125-mile ultra-endurance run.” I’ve never claimed to be sane. I had taken a half gram of mushrooms 30 minutes before the start and would continue taking doses of said psychedelic every 3 to 6 hours until I had enough. In total, I consumed around 5 grams over the course of the adventure.
To be fair, I am a professional psychedelic guide with nearly a decade of experience in that world, so it’s not like I was being reckless. I have experimented extensively with consciousness-expanding compounds and have found that “flow dose” levels enhance and deepen life’s experiences. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to further my experiments in an extreme setting under a challenged mindset.
So, there I was off and running, under the influence of consciousness-expanding substances, keenly attuned to the fact that while my whole life had prepared me for such an adventure, this outing would test me in unimagined ways.
The race started off fast as I knew it would. I have a saying when I guide wilderness adventures “Take what the trail gives you.” At this point it gave me smooth fast downhill and I consciously had to ease off the throttle, so I didn’t go out too fast - 10 minutes in - 1 mile down, 124 to go! Shit! Don’t think like that. Let’s just get to the first aid station 9 more miles away and then the next and the next until after all 11 aid stations the finish line would be about a half-marathon away.
When you are attempting to eat something that is entirely too big, it’s best to take it in bite size pieces, which was my approach to this situation. The mind can quickly become overwhelmed but approach it in smaller segments and it starts to become more digestible.
For me, moving through nature is a powerfully meditative experience and this long meditation was underway. The mushrooms served to deepen this moving meditation, and they quickly came out to play. At first, it was enhanced focus on pace and rhythm. Move smoothly, breath steadily and take in my surroundings - a chat with a runner from Brazil, glimpses of the Verde valley opening before me, punctuated with the exclamation point of Mt. Humphrey’s on the infinite horizon with many grueling miles separating the gap.
The playful side of mushrooms emerged on the journey’s next leg. As I settled back into a comfortable pace, I found myself running behind Sara, whose ass (unbeknownst to her) I found particularly motivating. Then after several miles becoming enchanted with the tattoo on the back of Taylor’s calf. He had the inked image of an older man’s bespeckled face on his right calf and he was my sage for several miles.
It was then that as if through a bullhorn I heard “IT DOESN’T MATTER!” To which I responded, “WHAT DOESN’T MATTER?” Then the embodied answer of “Whether or not you reach the finish.” As that answer landed, my body immediately relaxed, letting go of the pressure of an expected outcome that was apparently weighing me down. My running became more fluid, and I connected deeply with my desert surroundings. The earth pulsated; the trees glowed with distinctly more vibrant hews of green and the majestic red rocks stoically anchored the landscape. Through this the messages flowed - take what the trail gives you… gave way to…. take what your body gives you to… accept what each moment gives you. And then the landing of the ah ha moment - in accepting what each moment gives you the future takes care of itself.
On a practical level it was immediately clear. If you’re thirsty - drink, hungry - eat, energized - speed up, tired - slow down. At a deeper level the distinction between allowance and acceptance emerged. Allowance can still contain subtle resistance - I’m allowing this, though maybe I wish it were different. Acceptance on the other hand has contact in it - an unclenched intimacy with reality. Not passive resignation; more like - this is what exists now. “Given this reality, what is called for?” Each moment becomes informational rather than adversarial. In allowance one witnesses the flow; in acceptance one is in the flow; and when one loves, one merges with the flow.
So, my experience unfolded with playful oscillation. The mushrooms revealed that consciousness is part oracle, part coyote. Deep insight and ridiculous fixation coexist naturally. The psyche doesn’t separate transcendence from humor as cleanly as our mind wants it to.
I was also being protected. I was running low on water and would probably run out before the next aid station. Within minutes of this awareness, I came upon a lone van in the middle of nowhere beside the trail with an upbeat spectator inside. I asked him if he had some water he could spare and he gladly filled my empty bottles. Accepting each moment was blessing me with more than I ever imagined and I have a very active imagination!
By the time I reached the first crew assisted aid station at the 40-mile mark, I was feeling a bit worked. Sonja, my angel of a crew member, greeted me enthusiastically and immediately gave me what I needed. At this point, solid food did not sound appetizing, so all calories were going to be liquid. I also brought another psychedelic on board—some flow dose 5MeO DMT. At a 1/6 th strength vape dose it served as if a precision tuning fork, allowing my body to relax, my perception to widen, and fatigue to lift.
The next leg of the race was critical. I wanted to get through a particularly challenging section of the course before the impending nightfall. This was also the most scenic part of the course—winding through the majestic red rocks of Sedona.
Upon leaving the aid station, I was soon alarmed though as my stomach was feeling unsettled. All the fluids and the toll of 40 miles in less than 10 hours was a formula for intestinal distress. I had to accept that throwing up might be what the moment called for. A bit of dry heaving and dialing back the intensity seemed to settle things a bit, but the real test would be if I could keep food down. I ate a gel and had about 20 minutes of uncertainty to see if it was going to digest. It did and I was back in the flow.
Sunset amidst the red rocks is a particularly magical time and I was awe struck as I wound my way up, over and through the towering cathedrals of sandstone. For everything else, there’s Mastercard - this was priceless. As twilight gave way to nightfall, I was blanketed in darkness with my world reduced to a cone of light illuminating the way. Single track trails climbed up to the Colorado Plateau, giving way to gravel forest service roads as I settled into a steady pace.
At mile 55 I was greeted at the aid station by my entire crew - Sonja providing the feminine support, Tim as a physical therapist to “put Humpty Dumpty back together again” and Jaime, a fellow Veteran to pace me the last marathon of the adventure to the finish line.
When night fell, I changed my listening companion. The first 40 miles of the race was a rock and roll and country music sing-along. For the hours of darkness, I would be listening to an audio book titled “Perfect Brilliant Stillness” by David Carse. As it is a deep dive into the nature of reality and the illusion of this world, it struck the proper philosophical cord to keep my mind attuned to the ridiculous reality of my current undertaking.
I was excited to get to the next aid station as not only had daylight returned, but for the remainder of the race I would have the companionship of a pacer to help share the growing burden of my discomfort. As the race lengthens, the wheels start to fall off, and steady support is needed to keep rolling forward. This is a critical threshold, and it helps to lean on others as it is being crossed.
Earlier in the race, acceptance was luminous and philosophical. The desert was alive, the colors vibrated, consciousness was playful, and insight arrived like transmissions through a canyon loudspeaker.
But at this threshold, acceptance stopped being an idea and became a furnace. This is when the experience “got real.” It was a particularly tedious section of the course, rocky single-track weaving through the forest like an endless maze. I had this recurring expectation that we should be on forest service roads. So, there was this tantalizing desire of “Oh, if I was only on a gravel road, I could move faster.” We would come to one and my hopes would be dashed as we would cross it. The challenge was to accept what the adventure was giving me. It created a tension between what is and what should be. Every road crossing sharpened my mind’s resistance - this trail is inefficient; I need to move faster because I’m running out of water. It wasn’t the pain, but the comparison - the fantasy road running parallel to the painful reality and my moment-to-moment acceptance being tested and found wanting.
Toward the end of that leg, I stepped up on a rock, and it felt like I’d torn my calf. It was a sharp pain, instantly hobbling me. This was near the mile 98 point and I had a marathon to the finish line. My first thought was that if this pain persists then my race will be over. With Sonja’s encouragement, I limped the last half mile into the aid station where Tim and Jaime were waiting. Tim was going to have to pull out all the stops to put this broken Humpty Dumpty back together. He expertly assessed no muscle tear, just a painful fascial “hernia.”
In that moment my mental process was supremely challenged. As I reflect, I’m staggered at how quickly my mind leapt from: “My calf hurts” to - my race is over, I’ll disappoint my sons, shame and failure. My entire body is aching, and my mind immediately spirals to catastrophe. My earlier insights were tested to see if they would collapse under pressure. This was the ultimate trial. It’s easy to have revelations in an expanded state, but can they survive suffering?
Under the darkness of a second night, I rallied - first at a hobble, and then gradually gaining momentum, as the pain subsided and flow returned, only to be tested yet again. As I was navigating with just a cone of light to guide my way, it felt like I was twisting to the right. Because I was on some strong though non-prescription painkillers, I wasn’t sure if I was imagining my imbalance. As the light of dawn reoriented me to the wider world, I realized that yes, I was in fact leaning over to the right and struggling to stay upright. With one more reconstruction from Tim, I was ready for the final half-marathon push to the finish. Of course, that only happened through periodic stretching stops with Jaime to keep me going. The test was relentless and my moment-to-moment acceptance of said test was continually challenged.
About 3 miles from the finish - like a mirage - was the sight of my sons Frank and Henry and the balance of my crew meeting me on the trail. The boost of energy was just the fuel I needed to power me to my imagined finish of crossing the line with my boys. Then came the flood of relief, pride, love and joy, that yes, we had done it together and we are stronger for it.
It wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t like some sage floating above the pain. I was no longer running smoothly but instead accepting breakdown as gracefully as possible. This was a deep and genuinely felt experience of fear, disappointment, attachment, uncertainty, hope, gratitude and dependence on others without completely collapsing into any one of them.
Early in the adventure acceptance was about harmony with the moment; later acceptance was brought to trial by grief, fear, pain, and imperfection. Life went from “Everything feels wonderful; therefore, I accept the moment.” To “This hurts. I’m scared. I may fail. And still… this is the moment.”
The finish line itself became secondary, because by the time I crossed it, the real achievement wasn’t merely 125 miles. It was that somewhere amidst the vast desert, the torn fascia, the crooked spine, the absurd calf tattoo oracle, the psychedelics, the fear of disappointing my sons, and the love waiting at the finish line. I discovered that acceptance is not softness, but an embodied practice forged in the furnace of a life fully lived; and the ultimate realization of what stabilized me through impossible terrain and relentless challenges was not solitary transcendence, but relationship.
