If You Knew Caballo Blanco You Won

My friend Micah True (aka Caballo Blanco) passed away while on a run in the wilds of New Mexico last week. After an exhaustive search he was found by one of his closest friends with no injury, plenty of water, and no sign of struggle. Apparently he died peacefully doing what he lived for: running free.

Why an obit would make the Friday Psyche isn’t a question if you knew him. His infectious enthusiasm will live on. The common sentiment among the Mas Locos (a group of his closest running friends) was how fitting it was that he died doing what he loved. But amongst the tributes one person sorted out our true feelings when he said “what’s most impressive is that he lived doing what he loved.” That’s why he will always be an inspiration.

Caballo Blanco was the protagonist in Christopher McDougall’s (El Oso – Micah liked referring to everyone by a totem) book Born to Run. Portrayed as a mythical hero, who ran like a ghost through the remote Copper Canyons of Mexico aiding the Tarahumara’s (or Raramuri – “the running people”) fight against extinction, it was the stuff of legend. It was also true.



The Caballo Blanco I knew, however, wasn’t the reticent character in the book. He was gregarious and full of passion, which didn’t take me long to find out. After finishing Born to Run I decided to use the interweb to see just how hard the guy really was to track down. Turned out he had a web site. Seemingly only a few seconds after hitting send on an email I had a chat request from one Micah True. Ironically, the ghost-like character that El Oso had spent a couple hundred pages trying to find was contacting me less than five minutes after I’d begun searching. In the years since I probably haven’t gone more than a few weeks without hearing what he’s up to.

Oddly I never met him. We often seemed to be in the same places at different times. I made it down to the Barrancas (local’s reference to Barrancas del Cobre—Copper Canyon) a few years back but had to leave the day before we were to rendevous for one of the pre-race hikes. My dog had a stroke and I headed north. On the bus leaving Creel I received a simple note from El Caballo supporting my choice, “Dog is great.”

Like many of the Mas Locos, as soon as I heard he was missing I offered to help. I was in LA and had to get back to Utah, by which time many Mas Locos were already en route. I put myself on call with the SAR team, packed my van with rescue gear, and drove south to get closer should I be needed. My wife and I spoke about the possibilities. Once hopeful scenario I’s concocted was that he’d decided to disappear, like the character in the book, and that we’d never find him by his own design. And even though Romney only knew him through me and the book she rejected it. “He liked people too much,” she said. “And he’d never put his friends through this on purpose.” This busted my utopian bubble because I knew it was correct. If there was one thing Micah was about it was then name he’d bestowed himself, being true.

Caballo Blanco was about truth. He was quick to point out any hyperbole, be it about helping the Tarahumara, barefoot running, or even the book that lionized him. He understood why Born to Run was written in such a popular format but his tellings were more straightforward. For example, in BTR the scene where he encounters the Tarahumara plays out like Western (and is a GREAT read). But Caballo’s actual account is different. Not Hollywood at all but with its own style that those who knew him will appreciate even more. When I asked if I could use it on my blog he replied “stories are for sharing.” Click the passage below for some fine reading:

"Well, shucks; I really want to run this race, and am an old time, loyal friend of this event; won't you let me enter?" I had pleaded with the race director, who did not even remember my name, or who I was, even though I had run the "family'' like race four times. No chance; the race had grown big now, and entry was at a premium. The "New York Times" and many publications had written the story of the 55 year old Mexican winning the race. Leadville was now a huge spot on the ultra-running map! The race and their corporate sponsor, a shoe company, had benefited considerably from all of the publicity, the feel good story of the impoverished Indians running for their communities; and not JUST running, but winning; and a 55 year old in sandals at that! A deal was made with the 'gringo' promoter who had driven the Tarahumara north, to bring another team of seven Raramuri to the '94 race. I think that part of the deal was to wear the race-sponsor's shoes for a photo op.

I received a phone call from the gringo sponsor/promoter of the team of Raramuri. He was looking for help, someone who could run and knew the course, to pace some of "his" runners. "Sure, I'll do it, providing I can run the whole 50 mile return with the runner of my choice." "They tend to run faster as they go; you think you can keep up?" he challenged. "If I can't keep up, then they don't need me," I confirmed...

What happens to the Tarahumara in his wake is hard to say. Elections that could change things are about to take place and Micah, though he’d never run for office, was a serendipitous politician. As goes the bloody history of the Americas all indigenous peoples are under constant threat. Strange as it may seem, Micah’s race, The Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon and books like Born to Run are very effective ways to thwart these would-be vanquishers of history. The more popular a culture is the harder it becomes for it to disappear. I’m guessing if last wishes were reality Caballo Blanco’s would have been for everyone to appreciate this region enough to protect its land and people.

I had a hard time writing this because so many knew him better and I’m privy, even as a fringe Mas Loco, to all of their more beautiful and personal tributes. They were his family. It seems like theirs are the words should be heard. Then again, if you want personal feelings you should probably make a personal endeavor. Caballo Blanco’s stories will always be shared in las Barrrancas. Visit and you’ll be welcomed with open arms; along all the lore you’re willing to listen to.

This year, on race weekend, the Mas Locos thread was bustling with inquiries about results. And while the race itself is always competitive that wasn’t in any way Micah’s reason for staging it. He had little interested over who finished where. If you were out there, running free as he liked to say, he could not care less about how far or how fast you went. I don’t know if anyone was disappointed when he finally posted but it made my day and reminded me to get back down there next year.

He began by summarizing the race numbers (I think it was over 500 locals and 70 visitors from around the world, both records) and how much money and corn was raised for the locals. He thanked everyone for coming and posted the results. “Everybody won.” And that’s how it was with Micah. Life was simple: be true and you win. I laughed out loud, and then went for a run.

Meeting the Tarahumara

This week’s psyche post is from Micah True (aka Caballo Blanco), who was made famous by the book Born to Run. This is the true story—as opposed to the hyperbole-ized book version—of how he met the Raramuri people of Mexico who he’s been intricately linked with ever since. It’s a great read that will motivate you to get out on the trails even if you aren’t a runner. Click on the excerpt to read the rest:

"Well, shucks; I really want to run this race, and am an old time, loyal friend of this event; won't you let me enter?" I had pleaded with the race director, who did not even remember my name, or who I was, even though I had run the "family'' like race four times. No chance; the race had grown big now, and entry was at a premium. The "New York Times" and many publications had written the story of the 55 year old Mexican winning the race. Leadville was now a huge spot on the ultra-running map! The race and their corporate sponsor, a shoe company, had benefited considerably from all of the publicity, the feel good story of the impoverished Indians running for their communities; and not JUST running, but winning; and a 55 year old in sandals at that! A deal was made with the 'gringo' promoter who had driven the Tarahumara north, to bring another team of seven Raramuri to the '94 race. I think that part of the deal was to wear the race-sponsor's shoes for a photo op.

I received a phone call from the gringo sponsor/promoter of the team of Raramuri. He was looking for help, someone who could run and knew the course, to pace some of "his" runners. "Sure, I'll do it, providing I can run the whole 50 mile return with the runner of my choice." "They tend to run faster as they go; you think you can keep up?" he challenged. "If I can't keep up, then they don't need me," I confirmed...

CB and his dog, Guadajuko, and at the start of the race he organizes each year, The Copper Canyon Ultramarathon.

Run Free, But Not Necessarily Barefoot

Before you throw out all of your modern running shoes and go prancing around barefoot like a Tarahumara, consider this: the winner of this year’s Copper Canyon Ultra—a Raramuri—credits his victory to wearing running shoes instead of their traditional sandals.

As reported by El Diario de Chihuahua, Yo he participado 3 veces, en la primera no llegué a finalista, en la segunda quedé en el lugar 14, las dos primeras veces usaba huaraches, pero están mejor los tenis, ya me acostumbré los uso desde hace dos años porque no lastiman”, reveló con cierta timidez el rarámuri triunfador.

Which roughly translated means that the race winner came in 14th the first two times he participated wearing sandals but won this time because his feet were more comfortable in running shoes. A Nike representative must be en route with a contract.

With all the recent data showing how running shoes can hurt your feet (more accurately weaken), and of course that tome of beautifully-crafted hyperbole, Born to Run, what to wear was a huge topic down in Mexico. I don’t think anyone questions the logic that as a culture we’ve become dependant upon shoes which has weakened our feet, but the jury is still out on whether barefoot running is a paradigm shift (did I use this phrase on two consecutive days?) or something that should be reserved for training only. If we’re keeping score, my group of runners were all wearing running shoes, albeit many were favoring racing flats over the more modern “system support” trainers.

Personally, I haven’t given up any of my shoes. For now, instead of wearing one style, I switch back and forth between support, no support, barefoot, five-fingers, and different styles with a theory that this will force my feet to adapt to the many different stresses and get stronger than they would be if I just went barefoot. I, however, have absolutely no evidence that my theory bears any merit yet. I’m beginning to think that a combination of racing flats, barefoot training, and foot strengthening exercise is going to be the protocol for almost all serious runners in the future.

Or you can just distill it all down to corn mash, drink it, and just go out and run for as long as you can. As race director and folk hero Caballo Blanco puts it, “The point: None of that crap really matters, what or not one wears on their feet. Run Happy...Run Free.”

pic: race winner josé madero, by brooke cantor

Family First

I would be on my way back from the Copper Canyon Ultramarathon right now if life had not interfered. As it was, I had a little road trip adventure and got enough of a taste that it’s definitely on the schedule again next year.

I flew down to Phoenix where I was to rendezvous with a group of runners for a road trip. Our crew turned out to be an interesting cross section of ultra running. On one side we had Mark and Alexa. Young, fairly new to the sport, and very competitive; they had just returned from a six-day race in Costa Rica where they’d both finished in the money. On the other side was Chris, who's been running ultras since long before they were called ultras and finished more than most of us had heard of. In between were the Coury brothers. Grizzled veterans but still only in their early 20’s, they embody the future of a sport once dominated by retirees. Not only were they highly competitive, both having won races and run a hundred miles in less than 18 hours, but they also organize races and their lives revolve around promoting ultra running “for as long as we can pull it off.” I was the outsider, having only competed in one official ultra, my longest runs were mainly done alone in the mountains.

I was planning on getting a hotel, as crashing at the Coury’s undergrad pad with six dudes seemed pretty hectic. Their house, however, was slightly different then the places that I hung out in college. It was more like the Real World of ultra running. I ended up staying up late talking training and nutrition theory with the brothers, who were like test pilots for the nutrient limits of the human body. Nick did his ultras sans “race food”, instead relying on things like gummy candies. This made sense, sports foods being mainly sugar, but he also eschewed salt. Salt is a coveted by endurance athletes like diamonds are to socialites. It’s the stuff dreams are made of. Yet, somehow, Nick is not only finishing, but winning races using hardly any salt. His theory is that if you don’t have salt in your daily diet you don’t need it during sports. This bucks most experts’ opinions but it’s hard to argue with his results. Jamil’s diet consists of mainly raw fruit and a little beer. It’s a recent change and he plans to put it to the test down in the canyon. In short, they are my kind of people.

In the morning our group piled into the Coury’s parents Suburban and we headed south. We took comfort in the fact that with our tinted windows we looked like drug cartel henchman. Of course, this could work against us should we look like rival henchman. It seemed that everyone we know was worried about the border except for us. Indeed, it’s been the scene of some craziness lately but I wasn’t worried. I love Mexico; the people, the food, the culture. Nothing bad can happen to me down there. Sure enough, we breezed through the border towns without a hiccup and a few hours later were tickling the northern Sierra Madre.

The next afternoon we arrived in Creel, the town where El Oso, author of Born To Run, finally tracked down Caballo Blanco. We checked in to the actual hotel/hostel where this meeting took place and went out to explore one of the trails in the book. We were now officially in Tarahumara land. Indeed, there were Raramuri everywhere.

Creel is a highland village. Situated at the top of the canyon, at nearly 3,000 meters, it’s a mountain town. The ensuing days would see us make our way down into the Barrancas del Cobre to Urique. At only a few hundred meters above sea level the scene is as different as the weather. “It’s tropical,” is how one resident of Creel put it.

We didn’t see any runners but, apparently, Creel with its hotels and El Chepe (the train) is a tourist town. The true Raramuri lived in places no roads penetrated. According to Caballo Blanco the highland Raramuri were training hard to unseat those from the deep canyon, who’d been made somewhat famous by the book and had more-or-less dominated the race. While some of us had race ambitions we were mainly there to experience the rivalry first hand, and all else that goes with it.

Unfortunately, while nothing bad happens to me in Mexico it doesn’t mean they don’t happen elsewhere. Back at home Romney was dealing with Tuco not moving, eating, or drinking. The vet wasn’t sure if he’d had a stroke or not but the day I left he’d been hiking and running like normal and now he couldn’t get up and refused to eat or drink. Since he’s very old this was inevitable but his rapid deterioration took us by surprise. There was nothing I could do but he was breathing well and wasn’t going very quickly. If he wanted to die being “the fittest animal on the planet” most of his life wasn’t doing him any favors.

Bob, who provides Tuc’s summer home, flew out to see him. I decided that if he improved at all I’d come home, too. The first note I got wasn’t too encouraging. “I think he’s over it,” it read. But a short while later he drank, and soon after that he ate some bacon, by which time I’d already plotted a course to get back. The race will be here next year. Tuc probably won’t. And even though, as my friend Binky put it, “he left it all on the floor,” I felt I should say good-bye.

Traveling out of the Copper Canyons is not simple. I tried to catch El Chepe but missed the final train of the day. Two bus rides, a taxi, and three flights later (that included a 40 minutes transfer where I had to clear customs and run across LAX through three terminals, at least putting all this race training to some use) and 25 hours later I was back with my buddy.

Postscript: Though he couldn’t get up when I got here Tuc’s been doing better each day. At first he was so uncomfortable he could only sleep a couple of hours at a time (meaning so could I), but now he’s getting up on his own and sleeping through the night. Yesterday he even ran about 50 meters. The big adios is currently on the back burner.

More than 50 gringos made the trip south, a record by far, to compete with hundreds of Raramuri. The highland Raramuri dominated the race, getting 7 of the top 10 spots. "They could compete with anyone, anywhere" - CB. Juan Quimare, relative of Arnulfo who was made famous in the book, was the top deep canyon finisher in 4th. Nick was the highest placed gringo, coming in 6th. By all accounts it was an amazing experience for everyone.

pics: thanks to brooke cantor for the pics of the canyons and the race. the other shots are our crew in creel. you can see more pics and read more about the raramuri and the canyons at his web site, http://www.norawas.org/

Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon

Right now I'm packing to head south and join Caballo Blanco and the Raramuri in the Barrancas de Cobre. This video explains the event pretty well. Enjoy.

Born To Run

I recently had one of the more pleasurable reading experiences of my life. I read a lot. As you might imagine, much of this is fairly technical in its nature so it’s probably not too hard to knock my socks off. But I’m fairly well versed in the classics as well. And while I’m not saying this guy is Shakespeare, or even Hemingway, he certainly spins a good yarn. I admit that the four books I’d read previous were dreadful, so maybe it’s a right place right time experience. But from the time I picked up Christopher McDougall's Born to Run I was captivated to the point that if my flight had been longer I would have finished it in one sitting.

The book is about a bunch of things, but mainly running. I’ve recorded my disdain for such literature in the past but this is different. It’s written by a writer, not a runner. More and more the writings of “experts” are filling up our bookstores. What our publishers have seemed to overlook is that a good writer is an expert, who can write on any subject. I think it’s a disservice to the public to assume that just because someone has credentials in a subject they should be allowed to write about it. After all, would you choose the person who wrote ER as your emergency room doctor?

The main characters are a native Mexican people called the Tarahumara, or Raramuri (running people) and a gringo called Caballo Blanco. The story of Tarahumara is fascinating.

In Tarahumara Land, there was no crime, war, or theft. There was no corruption, obesity, drug addiction, greed, wife-beating, child abuse, heart disease, high blood pressure, or carbon emissions. They didn’t get diabetes, or depressed, or even old: fifty-year-olds could outrun teenagers, and eighty-year-old great grand-dads could hike marathon distances up mountainsides. Their cancer rates were barely detectable. The Tarahumara geniuses had even branched in economics, creating a one-of-a-kind financial system based on booze and random acts of kindness: instead of money, they traded favors and big tubs of corn beer.

You’d expect an economic engine fueled by alcohol and freebies to spiral into a drunken grab-fest, everyone double-fisting for themselves like bankrupt gamblers at a casino buffet, but in Tarahumara Land, it works.

It’s also a story of the history of ultra-running, biomechanics, the shoe industry, and the evolution of human beings.

For example, you probably didn’t know that “runners wearing top-of-the-line shoes are 123 percent more likely to get injured than runners in cheap shoes...” and this is because we do things like build arch supports:

Dr. Hartman explained, “Blueprint your feet, and you’ll find a marvel that engineers have been trying to match for centuries. Your foot’s centerpiece is the arch, the greatest weight-bearing design ever created. They beauty of the arch is the way it gets stronger under stress; the harder you push down, the tighter its parts mesh. No stonemason worth his trowel would ever stick a support under and arch; push up from underneath, and you weaken the whole structure...”

And if I told you that humans evolved as the most-efficient endurance runners on the planet you’d probably think I was a looney, but read Born To Run and then come argue with me.

The book is not above a bit of hyperbole and often borderlines the Largo-ian “never let the truth get in the way of a good story” mantra for writers. But it never strays so far as to lose credibility. But do keep in mind that for anything to land on the best seller list it’s got to take a spin through the hype machine. For an example, watch the news piece below. While it does lay a nice hook for the story, Caballo Blanco himself states “I was NOT happy with that information...did me, the Raramuri, nor the canyons any favors...take it with a grain of salt.”


I was inspired enough to get in contact with Caballo Blanco himself, and will be running with the running people come March. You’ll get the straight dope then but, for now, I recommend finding a copy of Born To Run.

pic: scott jurek y arnulfo quimare en las barrancas de cobre, por luis escobar.