Anton Krupicka - R2R2R

Anton Running the Grand Canyon

This past winter, La Sportiva athlete Anton Krupicka ran R2R2R in the Grand Canyon. Here's his story...

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First, An Anecdote

In the summer of 1993, just a couple weeks short of my 10th birthday, my family took a car-camping road trip tour of the Desert Southwest’s preeminent national parks---Arches, Bryce, Zion, and finally, the Grand Canyon. I have two formative memories from that trip: 

1) Getting to geographically contextualize Edward Abbey’s eco-terrorism novel The Monkey Wrench Gang that my mom read aloud to the family to pass the hours in the car; 

2) Hiking a portion of the Bright Angel Trail on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim.

Both have had long-lasting effects on my life.

Being July (read: hot), my family only did a relatively short hike, dropping the one and a half miles and 1100’ down to the “Mile and a Half Rest House” on the Bright Angel Trail before turning around and trudging back out. Even at my young age, I recall wanting badly to continue descending through the canyon’s wild strata. I’d caught a glimpse of the Colorado Riverway down at the bottom, and I couldn’t believe how far away it looked---it felt like peering into the center of the Earth. On the march back to the South Rim---a conga line of middle America misery---a sprightly, comically polite (“excuse me, pardon me, excuse me”) figure came bounding down the trail, memorably clad in a shockingly brief pair of Union Jack split runner’s shorts, enthusiastically threading his way through the sweaty masses, not necessarily in a hurry but certainly moving quickly. 

I was about 18 months away from becoming a daily runner, but this man’s benevolent intensity and unfettered velocity instantly captured my imagination. There was something at once elevated and eccentric about his energy. Everyone else around me seemed to be in pure drudgery---gravity and heat imparting their taxes for the initial carefree downhill---but this guy seemed to have tapped into an existence where he was operating on a different, more ecstatic plane. I wanted what he was having.

For all I knew, this runner could’ve merely been out for a quick hour jog. But his force of intention had me convinced that he was headed to the bottom---the river, the mythical Phantom Ranch---and that he wouldn’t have any problem getting himself back to the rim. It was a momentary encounter, but one that stuck with me for years.

Anton running the Grand Canyon

The Magic of the Grand Canyon 

I wouldn’t return to the Grand Canyon until a decade later, during a summer spent as a research assistant in Flagstaff, but I would eventually become an ultra-distance mountain runner and complete the venerable Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim journey---42 miles and 11,000’ of vertical gain---three times from 2008 to 2013. Each time that I had the privilege of running in the Grand Canyon, during a Double Crossing or otherwise, I was always bowled over by the sheer magnitude and majesty of the place. As humans, it seems like we’re all innately drawn to precipices and sweeping vistas. The Grand Canyon is arguably the archetypal location for this kind of natural theater. 

Importantly, however, the Grand Canyon is essentially an inverted mountain range. As such, the equivalent of the usual foot of the mountain---the canyon’s rim---is imbued with all of the scenic, and, dare I say, spiritual payoffs that typically come with reaching a mountain’s summit. I find that this accessibility helps to accord the Grand Canyon a kind of universal emotional experience---one of wonder and irrepressible awe. 

Everyone knows, at least conceptually, that love is the point, right? Everyone knows that love is a higher ideal than hate. This concept is so universal, so well-accepted, that only the most hardened cynics will deny it, even though it should be easy to write off as a hackneyed trope. I find that the Grand Canyon has the same effect. Despite its grandeur being so on-the-nose obvious, so self-evident, experiencing that grandeur---and expressing wonder at it---somehow manages to transcend the cliché, every single time. It’s a truly unique place.

Anton running

A Worthy Goal

I believe the Double Crossing to be one of the greatest trail runs in the world. It’s plenty hard---the aforementioned stats can’t be negotiated---but the trail itself is both impeccable and delightfully improbable. The scenery is unparalleled. The water spigots, juuuust enough. After six years since my last ultra---the Transgrancanaria 128K in March 2015---this was one of the few adventures runs in the world that I could think of that was both indisputably ultra in magnitude and still universally recognized as worthy, even with no racing context to validate it. And after six years away, being physically unable to undertake such an effort, it was exactly the kind of adventure run that more than once I’d forlornly contemplated never being able to comfortably complete again. However, when the consistency and health of my running settled into another sustained upswing this past fall, I put the Grand Canyon Double Crossing on my wish list of goals to complete should my body continue to cooperate. January rolled around, my body was still cooperating, I had other obligations in Arizona, let’s do this!

 

South Rim to the River

My previous Double Crossings had been in either the spring or fall. This January trip delivered the most ideal conditions I’ve ever experienced down there. The pre-dawn temps were in the low teens, but as is the magic of the Canyon, as I ran down to the River in the morning, the rising sun in the east illuminated the ridge that much of the South Kaibab Trail descends and my bare arms and hands were quickly warmed. I took it easy on this first descent---running smoothly with a buddy who was planning on turning around at the River---and mostly just basked in the potential energy inherent in daybreak. What a magnificent place.

Sometime in the last eight years---the amount of time since I’d last been to the bottom of the Canyon---a new water spigot had been placed just on the north side of the river, so I paused here to fill the two empty bottles I’d started with, bid Brendan adieu, and got to work on the North Kaibab Trail.

Anton Krupicka running

Phantom Ranch to the North Rim

Striding through Phantom Ranch it was suddenly Fall, not Winter. The trees had yellow leaves and the air held that special autumnal crispness that you can tell will soon be whisked away by the rising sun. The north side of the Canyon is by far my favorite. The number of humans drops off sharply---this time of year, there was almost no one---and the trail becomes much smoother and more narrow. The initial nine miles of gradual uphill running from Phantom Ranch to the Roaring Springs pumphouse continues to be one of my favorite stretches of a double-crossing. The uphill grade is nearly imperceptible (2400’ gained over those nine miles), temps are cool, and energy is still sky-high. I always enter a kind of flow state through here, balancing my giddiness for the doing of an old-fashioned big adventure with the knowledge that no matter how good I feel here it’s going to be a long day and I need to pace myself.

This day was no different, and I cruised up the trail, settling into a comfortable, efficient rhythm and dusting off all of the old ultrarunning skills that I’d honed over the last decade and a half. Don’t waste any energy stepping over that rock, drink before you’re thirsty, remember to eat, don’t rip the tab all the way off the gel packet (easier to avoid dropping micro-trash), etc, etc. These are things that are ingrained in my being, but there was a certain almost nostalgic joy in actually doing them again.

At Roaring Springs, I was relieved to find the water spigot turned on (the water at Cottonwood Campground had been turned off), so in anticipation of a hot, sunny climb up the final steep five miles (3700’ vert) to the North Rim, I chugged a couple of bottles, refilled and continued on. I wasn’t in a hurry---this was certainly no FKT attempt---but it was also a long day and I wanted to stay efficient.

The climb to the North Rim was a joy in that I haven’t done a sustained running climb like that in years. My left Achilles tendon simply hasn’t allowed it. Running long uphills---especially with intensity---is the number one most stressful thing on my achilles. They’re also one of the most fundamental things to racing a mountain ultramarathon, unfortunately. As such, I ended up hiking more of this climb than I ever have in the past, yet my split from the pumphouse was no slower and the effort seemed much more reasonable.

Aging is a funny thing. Over the years, the ego gradually erodes. The mild arrogance of my youth---needing to feel special, unique from anyone else---is no longer so necessary. As I’ve gained a more sure understanding of myself and my identity, the need to stand out isn’t nearly as strong. But, it’s still there. For instance, on this run, I packed for it the same exact way I have my entire ultra running life---a dozen energy gels, one water bottle tucked in my waistband, the other strapped to my hand. I know running vests have been all the rage for the past decade, but part of my old stubbornness couldn’t come up with a reason for carrying any more than I ever had. And, I’m pleased to report, it worked out just like it always has, better even.

Once on the North Rim, I actually stopped to take my shoes off for a few minutes---some old neuromas were acting up a bit with the sustained uphill running---and allowed the pure privilege of standing on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to sink in a bit. Eight years is a long time. 

Anton Krupicka and the R2R2R

North Rim to Phantom Ranch

The run back down those five miles to Roaring Springs is the second section of a double 

crossing that has always been pure joy for me. Something about the engaging-but-not-too-technical nature of the path, its improbable position carved precipitously into the canyon wall, and the extra push of gravity always conspire to produce another segment of flow state. Intellectually, the knowledge that I still have a long way to go exists somewhere in the back of my mind, but I can’t help but have a blast flowing down that shelf-cut track. This time, I consciously noted repeatedly to be grateful, take it all in--you never know if you’ll ever be back here again, on a day of perfect weather like this, with your body working so well like this. 

Another quick refill of the bottles at Roaring Springs and it was off into what are always the doldrums for me. I had already run a marathon, but there was still a lot of running to be done and almost a vertical mile to be climbed. Mercifully, it wasn’t hot. The canyon is so narrow the last few miles into Phantom Ranch that much of it was even shaded.

 

River to South Rim

Back at the riverside water spigot, I mentally girded myself for what was sure to be a grueling final ascent. On each of my previous Double Crossings, the nearly 5000’ climb back up South Kaibab has always resulted in some sort of spectacular blow-up. On my first R2R2R I even begged a candy bar off an unsuspecting hiker to fuel the last couple feeble miles to the top. In 2013, I was sure I was on pace to better Dakota Jones’ then-FKT of 6:53 (oh, how times have changed!), but ultimately barely squeaked a sub-7hr finish as my efforts withered in April’s blazing afternoon sun. It’s funny how quickly your weaknesses can be exploited under the twin tyrants of gravity and dehydration.

Happily, this time was different. Surely, the relatively cool temps were in my favor but more importantly, I think my less aggressive pacing and attitude over the course of the day simply left me with a lot more gas in the tank. I steadily power-hiked the endless water bars and easily jogged the intermittent flat sections, never pushing too hard in fear of what I thought of as certain implosion. Instead, I felt great the whole way and returned to the South Rim with a couple of extra gels and a full extra bottle of water, seven and a half hours after I’d embarked.

So, what did I learn? I guess I feel like I’ve still got it, to a certain degree. My day-to-day training looks a lot different now than it did, say, 10 years ago. My recovery abilities are definitely diminished, so I only run 3-5 days a week and back-to-back big efforts are no longer on the program. While my overall volume has necessarily decreased I’m seemingly just about as fast as I ever was. This Double Crossing was right in line with what I did on my first three, and with less effort. This past summer I was matching my best-ever times on various test piece climbs in Colorado that I’ve tracked over the years. I’m excited at the possibility of getting back to some occasional racing.

Mostly, though, I’m just incredibly grateful for the opportunity to still be out there, moving under my own power, through such majestic landscapes. Running is so elemental and pure. Maybe most importantly, however, I’m so glad to be back to experience the promise that that random runner on the Bright Angel Trail in 1993 represented---out there striding along, catching fleeting yet totally palpable moments of feeling like I’m operating on some different, more ecstatic plane.

Photos by ®Brendan Davis

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

La Sportiva athlete Anton Krupicka ANTON KRUPICKA is a member of the La Sportiva Mountain Running® Team.

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Feb 3, 2021, 10:42:00 AM
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