I wasn’t originally going to run the Sun Marathon this year. Months ago, I signed up early for the Washington City Half Marathon, planning to do their “Double Dare” 26.2-mile challenge as I’ve done in the past. But when I saw that OnHill Events had received permission to hold the Sun Marathon, I decided it was worth the wear and tear on my legs to help support live, in-person racing in Utah.
So yeah, I’ll run another marathon distance next weekend (in the form of two half marathons), because dumb that way.
Get Ready, Get Set…
I knew I’d be staying with friends the night before the race, so I packed my stuff on Friday afternoon. As I was was tossing my gear into bags, it was actively snowing outside my home. Now, the starting line for the Sun Marathon is about 60 miles away from my house, and maybe 1,500 feet lower in elevation. Still, on a random impulse I threw in a pair of cheap, stretch-on cleats that I use on icy days in Cedar.
Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them, right?
Right.
Holy Crap!
On the morning of the Sun Marathon, I got up at 4:45 a.m. to get ready. Even in deserty Ivins, Utah, everything was frosty from the overnight rain. Everyone wore masks on the bus, and it was fun to meet so many people who had come from out of state to run the race. I met runners from Texas, Georgia, California, Arizona, North Carolina, and more.
Imagine everyone’s surprise (after travelling to Southern Utah to run a “warm race”) when we all stepped off the bus in Veyo and onto a skating rink. It had apparently snowed several inches the day before, just barely melting before freezing hard overnight. All of Veyo was a slippy, slidy mess. Also, the temperatures were in the mid-20s.
So I sat down and slipped on my cleats. A huddle of Texas runners watched, curious. “What are those?” one of them asked me. “Ice cleats,” I told him. “They make those?” was his response.
Go!
We started in waves, grouped by anticipated pace. This was one of the concessions to having an in-person race during the COVID-19 pandemic. Everyone else set off cautiously, taking baby steps on the slippery roads—everyone except me. I charged forward with abandon, passing people left and right, because I’d somehow outwitted Mother Nature.
It wasn’t until Mile 3 or 4, descending the big switchback by Moody Wash, when I stopped just long enough to slip the cleats off my shoes and into my pockets.
The Race
That’s also when my feet warmed up to the point where I didn’t feel like I was running on chunks on ice. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the temperature was no longer below freezing. With the road more or less clear and the sun starting to warm things up, we could finally begin to appreciate the beauty of the course.
This is drop-dead beautiful country, and the fresh snow gave everything a sparkle that was missing in past years. It was fun to watch the light creep across the landscape as we made our way southwest toward the tiny town of Gunlock.
The snow now showed up in patches and drifts, and the road was mostly dry and clear. As the sky faded from orange to blue, the hills to the northwest lit up in sharp contrast.
And beyond those hills, the snow-capped tips of Square Top Mountain and Jackson Peak stood out in blinding white.
We passed through Gunlock, saying hi to the black-and-white dog who paced with me for seven or eight miles last year. Then we covered the few miles to the Gunlock Reservoir. Southern Utah has been in a drought for the past couple of years, but there was still enough water in the lake to be beautiful. If we’d started just half an hour later, the lake would’ve been glittering like crazy.
The don’t close the roads for the Sun Marathon. Luckily, this is a backroad, and traffic is sparse. We mostly saw the same sheriff’s vehicles patrolling back and forth, making sure motorists kept their speed down. At one point, we rounded a corner and got one of the most beautiful vistas you could ask for in a January marathon. I think that’s Jarvis Peak straight ahead: elevation 6,529 feet.
The further we ran, the warmer it got. We climbed down into the red rocks, which almost seem to be blushing in the early-morning sun.
After a brief warm-up, though, the climbing sun went back behind the ridge on the right-hand side of the road. The road got icy again, though not nearly as bad as it was in Veyo. Even at this point, though—almost halfway along—the pavement could be treacherous.
As always, the further I ran, the less inclined I was to pull out my phone to snap photos. The last 8 miles of the race have three significant climbs. I did manage to get a shot as we left the Shivwits reservation and cruised down into Kayenta.
The Finish Line
Mile 23 of this course is the worst. You leave the highway and make a long slog up into Ivins, all of it slightly uphill. Once you hit Center Street, though, the road shifts back to a slight downhill. You feel the wind at your back. The finish line is in Gubler Park, where people stood around and tried to social distance as best as they could. Nobody was cold anymore.
It wasn’t my best marathon performance, but it also wasn’t my worst. My official time was 3:23:09, which is technically a BQ, though by less than 2 minutes. I came in 42nd out of 190 finishers, first in my age group (50-59). Not bad for a chilly Saturday morning in January.
As you can see below, the Sun Marathan drops from about 4,500 to around 3,000 feet in elevation along its 26.2 miles. According to my Garmin, there was roughly 720 feet of climb along the way.
Sun Marathon Review
I love running the Sun Marathon—mostly because it’s a beautiful course and a full marathon in January (and an in-person race during a pandemic). It’s even prettier than the St. George Marathon course, and though the two courses cross, they don’t share any actual mileage. The scenery along the way is stunning. The uphills are a challenge, and the downhills give you a little gravity boost along the way.
Unfortunately, this year’s race felt a little more chaotic than usual. To maximize participation, the race director stages a full marathon, half marathon, 10K and 5K at the same time—and the results were all mixed up. I was originally in third place in my age group, behind runners who supposedly ran the same race in 36 minutes and 2:10 respectively. The messed-up results, compounded with the pandemic, meant that no age group medals were awarded on race day. The race director has promised to send them once everything has been straightened out. We’ll see how long that takes.