"Extremely Admirable and Confusing."
A Cocodona 250 recap
Well, holy shit guys.
I would’ve much preferred finishing this up last week; however, in a strange turn of events, my week has mostly consisted of going viral, becoming a bewildered figurehead for women’s athletics, and talking to the freaking New York Times and ESPN (twice) instead of like, relaxing.
Talk about a weird recovery timeline.
But we will get to that – first I do want to actually talk about how the race went, my thoughts around it, and my complete shock around what has happened since.
So, buckle up.
Note: All photos property of Somer Kreisman unless otherwise stated. Shoutout to Somer – so good getting to spend a week chillin’ in the desert with you.
Before the Race
After traveling back home from Chianti/Europe, I spent the next 6-8 weeks “training,” aka doing hairball adventures with my friends that had, at best, questionable ties to the types of terrain I’d be experiencing on the runnable Cocodona course. One of these adventures included scrambling up the near-14,000-ft Mt Ouray a mere week out from the race, and finding ourselves atop the summit during gale-force winds with an impending snowstorm heading right for us, with my buddies Will and Robbie – the latter of whom was also set to do Cocodona and wound up busting his ass going down a screefield. (My bad. Please don’t ask me what I’m doing for tapering, because I am busy making stupid decisions.) Sometime during the days leading up towards the race, I was thrown a curveball by Indie Campers, with whom I’d rented my campervans the last couple years, and they “upgraded” me to an RV I literally couldn’t use at the aid stations, so that was fun. After a lot of back-and-forth, we were able to snag an RV that fit within the aid station length requirements, and I decided that instead of panicking, I would fully lean in – naming the vehicle “Big Sexy” and deciding to decorate it with whatever ridiculous items I could find: a lava lamp, mushroom string lights, and a flag that became our banner that proudly stated “NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING.”
As it seemed half of the Arkansas Valley was set to be traveling down to Arizona to either race, pace, or crew, and since the week before the race my car’s back windshield shattered and was rendered un-drivable, I was fortunate to snag a ride from my buddy and training partner Will and caravan alongside my other buddy/training partner Austin (SHOUTOUT TO BURRITO LEAGUE, where I met BOTH of these pillars in my life). As is my tradition, I eagerly requested to stop by the Petrified Forest NP, as well as eat at the culinary masterpiece that is an Indian Restaurant within a Gallup truck stop. We stayed in a haunted ??? pseudo-yurt that Will found within the middle of the New Mexico desert for the night and popped over to the “Forest” for a shakeout run before shooing Austin over to complete his daily miles on Mt Elden, with Will and I meeting one of my many trail-moms for brunch in Flagstaff at Sosta. The three of us finally arrived in Phoenix Friday evening, with aforementioned slip-and-bust-ass Robbie graciously allowing me a spot to crash before checking into my own airbnb the following day. I mostly was a fly on the wall while Will and Austin discussed crew/pacing duties with Robbie, alongside other Ark Valley friends Liv and Chrissy – though I did aggressively enforce mandatory rounds of both mini-golf and cornhole between meetings.
My own crew more or less started to arrive Saturday morning/mid-afternoon, so after chatting with Jake Kilgore and special guest host Kilian Korth (!!) on a pre-race pod, I checked into the airbnb and started slowly corralling my crew together. When enough folks had arrived, we trekked over to the grocery store to purchase supplies not just for the race, but also for my mandatory anyone’s-invited pre-pre-race dinner – a tradition I picked up while running Mammoth last September. With crew extraordinaire Jake Vail as the sous-chef, we made pasta and salad for the 20-25 people who found their way there, featuring surprise guest appearances by none other than Jamil Coury and the Great Statistician AidStation Fireball/Liam Tryon.
Sunday – after Jake and I did our brief-shakeout-run-turned-side-quest-climb-up-a-mountain, we all headed towards packet pickup. I was asked to do Mountain Outpost’s Shakeout Show alongside fellow homie Cam Hanes, but instead of getting to listen to their conversation I found myself meeting and greeting fellow runners and fans, taking selfies, and trying to find Sally McRae. After the show, I was eventually dragged away from the pickup staging area by my crew, who insisted that I shut up and start making my way back towards Phoenix to pick up Big Sexy the RV.
After filming some last-minute content with Precision and doing our final crew meeting, I lumbered upstairs to try to get some sleep, hilariously getting a “u up?” text from Stringbean around 9:30PM and mostly anxiously scrolling through instagram until I finally passed out. Despite the 3:15 wakeup alarm, I awoke feeling surprisingly rested and ready for whatever the fuck I was about to get myself into. I downed a bit of breakfast – and a white Monster, as is my custom – and we hit the road.
The show was about to start.
Start Line to Prescott
I arrived at the start, feeling shockingly relaxed as I collected my tracker. I had about 40 minutes til showtime, and someone in my crew found a chair for me to sit in while we waited. Eventually nature called, and I found myself standing in line with none other than Jeff Browning and Courtney Dauwalter (plus Kevin Schmidt!). We all exchanged some funny observations about the event and chatted briefly, laughing at the number of folks who took the chance to photograph such star power within the portapotty queue. (“Everybody poops!”) At about 5min til start, I started hugging my crew, telling them each that I loved them and would see them soon, thanking them for embarking on this journey with me. I meandered up to the front of the line, saying hello to my friends along the length of the pack, eventually settling near Heather Jackson, Max Joliffe, and Sally McRae. As a self-professed MAJOR fan of Sally’s, we shared a very special moment right before the start line, tearfully telling each other that we were breaking our rule of “no crying til the finish line.” I got the chance to thank Jamil for changing my life (insert dramatic irony here) before the gun went off, and so did we.
I expected the race to start quickly, much as it had the previous year, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that, two random ballers aside, we all fell into what felt like a much more reasonable pace. I hung with the front pack for the first 7 miles until we hit the water stop, chatting mostly with Max, Edher Ramirez, and Kilian along the way. I wasted no time with filling up my pack, getting into and out of the stop within about a minute. Edher had started up the hill a bit before me, and joked that he had “no idea what he was doing” – you’re not fooling anyone anymore with that rhetoric, Edher! I did eventually pass him, feeling really good on the climbing and remembering just how jog-able the first sections are, but still about 5ish minutes behind the front pack of men. I took my time, catching peeks of them on longer straightaways but reminding myself that the day was long and there was no need to burn a match within the first quarter of the race.
I eventually caught Kilian (taking a bathroom break – props endlessly for pulling off the trail to pee, oh my GOD) around mile 12, and we both slowly made our way up toward the other guys – Stringbean, a guy named George, and …one other guy whose name escapes me. It was super fun getting to have some company during this first section, as historically I’ve run it solo. The other two guys fell behind around mile 20, and eventually the dynamic trio of Joe, Kilian and I emerged, taking turns leading our small pack towards the water drop and up the Lane Mountain climb. I truly cannot stress enough how much freaking fun this was. Kilian posing deep, philosophical questions such as “Do you ever think about how you already know exactly what something will feel on your tongue before you lick it?” and somehow managing to get Stringbean to agree to give me blanket consent for anything the rest of the race, it was a freaking hoot. We quickly got into and out of Lane, keeping our trio relatively intact on the quick descent into Crown King, a horde of camera people in tow behind us and eagerly encouraging lookers on to “join our cult!”
Though Kilian and Joe left slightly before me out of the aid, I was able to catch up to both of them during the uphill singletrack. We hit a forest service road, and Kilian stayed back a little as Joe and I pressed on. I was a little sad that it seemed the trio was breaking up, but obviously it is a race, and I trusted Kilian was running it intelligently and figured I’d see him again. Joe and I continued on the forest service road towards Arrastra aid, eventually spotting the early-race frontrunner in the distance and wondering at what point we’d catch him, as he seemed to be slowing down from the initial hero pace. Joe and I chatted about race strategy, his mom, and salt, then finally rolled into Arrastra – running into Kevin, the now-named frontrunner. We all left the aid together, narrowly avoiding getting murdered by a giant rattlesnake, and beginning the forest service road climb out of aid and towards Kipa, our next aid station.
This is the part that has, I suppose, become somewhat of an inflection point: with Kevin lagging behind, and Joe taking pointed walk breaks during certain climbing sections, I found myself running at paces that I didn’t feel were my own. I was still feeling good, and didn’t feel like I needed to take any walking breaks when Joe was. So, I didn’t walk the next time Joe did. I just kept plodding, eventually hitting the singletrack around the 100k mark as the race leader.
Obviously, making “the move” a mere 61 miles into a 250 mile race felt insane. I was leaving the comfort of company and opening wide the risky door of being the interim race leader. I panicked for about five minutes before suddenly it hit me: why couldn’t I be the race leader? Why shouldn’t I be the one leading this race? I have plenty of experience in racing and pacing myself. I have plenty of success at the multi-day scene. I’ve been running for fifteen freaking years. Why not me?
Brain-noise silenced, I thoroughly enjoyed the singletrack climb up towards Camp Kipa, high-fiving the aid station workers, race onlookers, and MO crews; chatting briefly with Luke Laga as I exited the aid. I was surprised not to see Joe coming into the aid, as it was about a .5 mile out-and-back, meaning I was about a mile ahead of everyone. I soldiered on towards Camp W, my final aid station before the chaos of Whiskey Row, relatively uneventfully. It was between Camp W and Whiskey Row that I first realized that, if I stuck the landing, something truly wild could happen as a result. I shed some grateful tears while I ran along, making sure to follow the flags/signage (many of which had fallen over and wouldn’t be righted no matter how hard I tried to shove them into the ground) so as to not get lost like I did last year. I popped out on the road into Prescott, sharing hoots and fist pumps with the locals as I made my way towards downtown, into the waiting arms of my crew and, apparently, half the state of Arizona.
Prescott to Sedona
Pure, unbridled chaos awaited as I made my way onto the sidewalk outside Whiskey Row. While I brushed my teeth and tried to figure out my watch situation, my crew changed out my pack, stuffing bottles, headlamps, and snacks into my pockets as they hurtled me towards the exit – already getting kicked out! Steven, my next pacer, was ready and excited. After he and I left, he admitted to me how anxious he was while waiting for me to come in, but now that we were on trail, it just felt like old times – he and I just out on another adventure. I shared with him my “why not me?” mantra, which led to both of us sharing happy tears and stories while we made our way towards Watson Lake. We cruised through the granite, Steven leading the way along the white-dotted LED maze of rocks, the sunset gorgeous over the lake surface. We could both tell we were in for a beautiful night.
We picked our way through Fain Ranch, both good-naturedly grumbling as we avoided (or didn’t avoid) cacti and cow patties, both trying to find the way through a scarcely-marked field before more-or-less resigning to a slow plod. We made it to Fain Ranch, where I demolished some incredible mashed potatoes while Steven performed minor surgery on his foot, trying and eventually failing to remove a cactus spine from his toe. I left slightly before him, but immediately got lost – waiting at a fence helplessly until Steven arrived to assure me that, yes, I was actually on route. We continued through the field until we at last made it onto the singletrack going up Mingus, where we passed the time laughing about how excited we were to participate in the Mingus Basketball Association that was happening up there this year. We made it into the aid station and Steven ruefully passed me off to my next pacer, Dom, but not before I athletically bricked both free throws, starting off the MBA with a sad trombone noise after securing only one point.
Dom and I stumbled down the descent from Mingus – him blessedly rattling on the whole way, keeping my spirits high and thoughts removed somewhat from the rocky path we found ourselves on. Despite the lengthier 17-mile section, we quickly found ourselves descending the smooth fire road into town, tiptoeing quietly past the shuttered shops and into the barely-set-up aid station. I bid Dom a “see ya later” before picking up my next pacer, Addie. She informed me that, due to a mistake on my spreadsheet (whoops), she would be pacing me for a large chunk of mileage – nearly 35 miles, all the way to Sedona Posse. As the sections between Jerome and Sedona were more-or-less quite runnable, I was happy to have runner-extraordinare Addie as a pacer. I knew she wouldn’t let me slack off on my pacing, especially if the terrain didn’t dictate any reason to do so.
We stumbled down the broken-glass-covered hill out of Jerome, through the town of Cottonwood, and along the cruisy trail towards the Verde River while the sun rose on my second day. Addie and I are both relatively slight people, and I laughed at the thought of us getting swept away in the Verde while trying to cross, but the river ran smooth and calm, so I only almost fell in once. Those rocks are slippery!
We made it into Dead Horse, and after a shoe change and some oatmeal, started our big chunk of 23 crew-less miles together. I knew that the next two sections could get pretty tedious, but fortunately Addie and I just chattered away nearly the entire time. She updated me on what was happening behind me, how Kilian was looking and doing. We talked about how things were going with the crew and how I was feeling about the way the race was going so far. We bonded over each of us wondering where the hell Deer Pass was, laughing about how a relatively short section can feel interminable when it all looks the same and the sun is beating down on you. Eventually, we ran into the culvert and up towards the aid station, where Howie Stern was waiting to get me on camera bricking a watermelon rind into a garbage can — clearly, basketball is not going to be my strong suit. We loaded up and set out for, unbeknownst to me, what was to be my lowest physical and mental point of the entire race.
I feel like the Sedona section has changed every year that I’ve done it, and I’ve also hit it at just about every time of day imaginable. As a result, I had no clue where I was and no relative distance ideas on how far I was to the water drop or subsequent aid station. This hurt me a bit mentally, as my mental course map unraveled and I kept incorrectly guessing what was around each corner. I was also finally beginning to feel the toll of the effort that running nearly 150 miles brings, and when also realizing I still had one hundred miles remaining while also trying to stave off Kilian – a fiercely tough competitor – I had a bit of a private breakdown behind Addie. She seemed to pick up on my lowered vibrations, and logically began to piece together a plan for addressing some of the physical concerns that were affecting my generally strong mental game. Our plan in place, all I could do was simply get to the Sedona aid station, where I forced myself into believing that things would only improve. Eventually, we made it. Mad, mad props to Addie for her incredible pacing – she is a true professional, in every sense of the word. I was with it enough, even in my bonk-y state, to recognize how rare and lucky it is to have such a wonderful group of people behind me, helping me through the highs and lows that this race brings. I said hi to mine and Jake’s parents, as well as the PFH fam working the Rachel-themed ??? aid station; threw a thank you to Addie; bid a reluctant adieu to Steven, who sadly had to catch his flight back to Colorado; picked up Robyn; and we were off to the Hangover trail.
Sedona to Elden
I was really looking forward to running with Robyn, who is definitely Cocodona-curious, please God let her into this race whenever she signs up for it, she will destroy it, and amen, particularly through such a legendary section. As I’d never run with her before and was hoping to make a good impression, I am thankful that the plan Addie and I hatched to improve my physical-then-mental ailments worked! We had a ball climbing over the slick rock, with Robyn joking that I didn’t even need a pacer since I was telling her where to make turns and navigating essentially on my own. We had Sean Haworth along for some of the ride, and he got some sick video shots of us girl powering our way to the Hangover saddle (or so I hear – I’ve been swamped on IG and still haven’t uncovered everything on there). Robyn was an absolute treat of a pacer. We chatted up the hill towards Schnebly, with the growing dark clouds overhead reminding me just how glad I was that the mud wasn’t yet on this section, but looking like it was promising to rear its ugly head soon. We made it to the aid and I was rudely kicked out after two freaking seconds by my crew, fulfilling their promise to keep aid stops efficient and making me eat oatmeal while I walked through the aid and onto my first pacer-less section. Within about a mile, hail forced me into my rain jacket, but the microburst storm ended after about 5 minutes. I grumpily put my rain jacket back into my bag, but not twenty minutes later another 5 minute hail-session erupted on me, this time wetting the ground just enough that the peanut-butter-mud memories of Cocodona 2025 became a stark reality. A third hailstorm descended, and I chose not to get my jacket out, incorrectly assuming another 5 minute storm and being rewarded for my stupidity by getting extremely damp. A ridiculous wipeout in a cow grate while trying to shear off half a foot of mud from my shoes made me realize I needed to slow down and just make it into the aid station in one piece. Coming into the Munds Park (more like Muds Park, amirite) aid, I was very cold, and the mud/grit was wreaking havoc on my feet. I needed some serious time in this aid to address some small issues before they became very large issues, Kilian creeping up on me be damned.
After accidentally completely ignoring Tara Dower oh my god I am so sorry I didn’t see you at all and doing a full clothing change in the oddly-dark aid station tent, I apparently dramatically left through the backdoor of the aid station with Dom in tow, immediately running straight into four inches of mud. We picked our way along, mostly clicking off 10 minute miles but occasionally struggling through 30 minute mud-filled ones. After hearing from my crew that Kilian, despite an obvious limp, was still trucking along right behind me, I tried to make the most of this section by running it efficiently, but sleepiness began creeping in. I found myself, for the first time ever, falling asleep while running. I’d jolt awake after either running into Dom or tripping over my own feet. I told Dom I’d need to snag a catnap at Kelly Canyon aid, and upon arrival I sat next to the fire, curled up in a blanket against Dom’s shoulder, and passed out. Five minutes later, Dom gently woke me up, and we began moving again, with me markedly more awake and alert – seems like the nap was a necessary and good idea!
The trek into Fort Tuthill was relatively easy, and we made it with good time. I made it to the aid, peed in an actual toilet, and left quickly with Robyn to scurry towards Walnut Canyon. I love this section, and was able to run it when I was temporarily living in Flag last November, so getting to once again share some beautiful miles with Robyn was a treat. I did get a little sleepy, and without even caring where Kilian was, decided that about 3 miles from the aid station I needed my second, seven-minute dirt nap. After waking up, the going was a little slow, and at one point during the winding singletrack Robyn thought she saw two headlamps dancing behind us – sheer panic. I did not come all this way to lollygag my way into second place. If Kilian was going to pass me, he was going to have to earn it. We picked up the pace, clicking off 10-11 minute miles despite the uphill terrain. Upon arriving at Walnut Canyon, we were informed that Kilian was, in fact, two hours behind me. Whatever, the ass-kicking realization that I wanted to give this race hell was all I needed to keep that forward momentum going. I was not going to let my place go without a fight.
I picked up Jake, my final pacer, and Angus followed belong, shooting some absolutely deranged Precision content the audio to which I hope never sees the light of day. I teared up a few times behind Jake as I looked at the first views of Mt Elden – gratitude that he was here with me again, for the third year in a row, as well as sadness that we wouldn’t get to experience Mt Elden together this year. We cruised along, the seven mile section feeling far too short, worlds of emotions passing between us despite how regrettably little time we had together. Jake Vail – you are a fucking gemstone of a human being. I can never repay you for selflessly pouring so much of your time and energy into my success. The world is a luckier place because you are in it, and I am the luckiest person of all.
Elden to the Finish
I celebrated briefly with the crew at Wildcat aid, quickly grabbing my cold weather gear I knew I wouldn’t need in the warming daylight, and set off for the final climb up Mt Elden. I made quick work of the Little Elden climb, but after hitting the junction between the two mountains I noticed a woman holding something while standing in the middle of the trail. I slowed down as she began speaking to me.
While I can never fully recount the intricate details of our conversation, what I can recall is this: she is a Hopi native, not a runner, and had been watching my race with extreme interest as I took the lead and held onto it tightly. She told me, both of us crying, that the implications of what I was doing would be monstrous, and that I was demonstrating to women everywhere how powerful and strong we are, and that she was proud of me. She handed me some ground cornmeal, told me that in Hopi culture it represents life, strength, community, and harmony. It was mine to do with what I saw fit, and after thanking her profusely and stashing it away in my pocket, I rubbed the residue from my palms on my exhausted quads. I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt stronger by doing so. I decided then and there that I would be running the entire way up Elden. Just like that.
And run up it I did, dropping my poor camera follow about halfway to the summit. Right before I failed to see her again, she told me she was getting positively worked, and was absolutely astounded at how well I was moving.
That, my friends, is the power of the Hopi cornmeal.
I reached the snow-covered trails right before the road climb to the official Elden summit, reached my hand into the cornmeal pocket, and tossed a handful out into the air – watching it fall and swirl and get carried by the wind. I cried, realizing then what I might be about to accomplish. After a moment, I continued on.
After high-fiving Jim !!! Walmsley !!!! and petting a dog on the Elden summit, I began my descent off the summit, trying to move as efficiently as I could without absolutely breaking my shit. The descent was difficult, but so was everything else, and I finally made it to the bottom. I made endless right turns until I finally reached Trinity Heights – the last aid station, and site of the Best Grilled Cheese on Earth. Though I didn’t want one this time, I promised to come back after the race and grab some of the hilarious stickers they’d made commemorating last year’s Grilled Cheese/Rachel’s Savior event. I took off, cursing the steep climbs towards and within Buffalo Park, picking up Addie and Robyn near the park entrance, then the rest of my crew near downtown Flagstaff, slowly realizing that we’d just managed to stick the landing. I was about to win the Cocodona 250. And I was about to win it outright.
What felt like thousands of people lined the streets of Flagstaff, handing out high-fives to me and my all-star squad, ushering us into the finish line chute. I saw the finish line, bisected by the ribbon that waited for me, and broke into a full sprint, laughing through tears as I crossed the finish line faster than anyone ever has. I celebrated briefly by myself, then turned towards my crew, beckoning Jake into my smelly embrace for what will likely be our final hug with me as the race finisher. The rest of the team followed suit – Robyn and Dom and Janina and Emily and Addie and everyone just collapsing into a giant puddle of happy cheers.
we did it.
Brief post-mortem
I still don’t entirely know what to make of all of this.
The headlines and interviews and internet chaos have been surreal, but when I think back on Cocodona, what I remember most clearly are the people: my crew shoving oatmeal into my hands while kicking me out of aid stations, pacers making me laugh when I was falling apart, people cheering alongside the trails as they hold signs with my name on them, and moments out there that felt so much bigger than splits or paces or records. Watching everyone from Sally to Courtney to Wayne to Kilian finish their races, knowing exactly what they’d been through out there, but also knowing their journeys were markedly different than my own. Somewhere out there, between the dirt naps, f-bombs, sock changes, and cornmeal, we all found a little magic in the Arizona wilderness.
More than anything, I just feel grateful. For the community, for the opportunity to do something this absurd and beautiful, and for the chance to find out – again – what’s possible when you stop selling yourself short and instead start asking “why not me?”
Congratulations to everyone who made it to that finish line before the cutoff, and to those who didn’t. I know for a fact every person gave it their all and is walking away a changed person, whether you got a buckle or not. I am so proud of you.
Thank you to Kilian for pushing me for, essentially, two entire days. I absolutely live for the fact that you smashed any doubts that anyone had surrounding how incredible of an athlete you are. I am positively beaming with pride for you, and I am your absolute biggest fan and cheerleader.
Thank you to my selfless crew: Janina, Emily, Jake, Addie, Steven, Robyn, and Dominic. This is a team sport, and though I might be the begrudging face behind this victory, it belongs to all of us. I could not have done it without you guys.
Thank you to Precision F&H for a) giving me Emily, and b) being on the ground at the race, making me laugh, and giving me a spot to crash afterwards. I love working with and for you guys, and look forward to many more years of doing so.
Thank you to Norda (the 055s are GOATED and I will NOT be convinced otherwise) for helping me make my dreams I didn’t even know I had come true. I feel so supported and seen by you guys, and I can’t wait to see what our future holds!
Special shoutouts to Coros, Bolle Eyewear, and Tantrums for helping outfit me so I look ridiculously cool (and don’t die or get lost).
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Your encounter with the Hopi woman gives me chills. So powerful. Congratulations Rachel! Enjoy the glow ✨
Really appreciate you taking the time amongst the circus to share this Rachel. Also, makes us mortals who ran Coco feel a little better that you had your own challenges and mental struggles during a generally superhuman performance.