Last November, I tried to run one of the offered distances in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, by UTMB, and failed quite miserably. I was caught by surprise because of the difficulty of the course: I missed a turn (totally my fault), fell three times (definitely my carbon-plated trail shoe’s fault), broke a pole and missed a cut-off by 6 minutes after 14 hours and 30 minutes of racing and only 17 more miles to go. Was it disappointing? Not really. As a destination, Puerto Vallarta is a place of unparalleled beauty. It boasts legit art galleries and a remarkable labyrinth of cinematic streets. This event—its trails, towns, the people and their spirit (and their food)—is my new favorite ultra trail running refuge. No wonder I lost my legs and stretched my stomach before the race as I spent three days wandering through that picturesque old town and its steepest areas.
While Mexico is not India, I felt similarities as I ran this event in Puerto Vallarta. A large tarantula crossed my path late at night, past the Sierra Madre Mountains and deep into the jungle. Then, a bat suddenly grazed my chest as it u-turned in the beam of my headlamp. These captivating creatures reminded me of the wild langur monkeys I often saw in the forest of India. They were like medium-sized dogs with black faces and intense, angry stares.
Since Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) had just passed, downtown Puerto Vallarta still showcased its giant Catrinas. These impressive skeleton figures symbolize the celebration of Día de los Muertos, representing our cycle of life that inevitably ends with death and the belief that our loved ones who have passed are never truly gone. Rather than being a somber and devastating celebration of death, Día de los Muertos is a joyful reunion between the living and the dead.
One of the Catrinas stands high above the streets of Puerto Vallarta after a Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration. Photo courtesy UTMB
Before the race, the organizers gifted me a small statue of a dog adorned with colorful beads—a typical form of Huichol art from the Huichol Native American people of the Sierra Madre mountains, where the race takes place. Initially, I didn’t think much of it, but as I reflected on it further, I realized this little dog may represent a Xoloitzcuintli. This ancient breed was often buried with the dead, believed to guide their spirits through the passage to the underworld. Looking back, since I was indeed heading to such complicated times, I would have benefited from a little Huichol dog guidance.
This 100k race proved much more demanding than I had anticipated, and runners from Central and South America were faster and more skilled than I had ever imagined. While my fellow runners were a German and a French Canadian, both struggling with me at the back of the pack, there were elite Mexicans, Peruvians and Colombians battling Americans, Canadians and a few Europeans for podium spots on all the distances: 100 miles, 100k and 50k. The night before the race in Mascota, the mountain town where the race starts, I shared a hotel room with a runner named Jupiter Carera Casas. He is a sponsored athlete who finished second in the Hikuri 100k race. On the bus to Mascota, I sat beside Remigio Huaman Quispe. Remigio is a renowned professional Peruvian runner I met in 2018 at the Marathon Des Sables where he finished sixth. The next day, he easily won the 100-mile event of this Puerto Vallarta ultrarunning festival called Wixárika.
The author traverses the 100k course in Puerto Vallarta. Photo courtesy UTMB
Later, after the race and on the day of my departure from Mexico, I was taking a recovery walk through the old downtown area of Puerto Vallarta when I passed a shop called, Casa de Brujas or, “House of Witches.” I had seen it before the race but felt too shy to go inside. What if it brought me bad luck?
I stepped inside where two old men sat in the middle, quietly chatting and sipping coffee. As the only customer, I introduced myself and explained that I only wanted to look around their unique shop, where death is celebrated as a transition rather than an ending.
I was drawn to an impressive collection of the long candles typically found in Mexican grocery stores and supermarkets on our American side of the border. However, these were different. The labels did not feature the Virgin Mary or saints in heaven. Instead, the tags claimed the candles would protect you from hostile spirits, while others promised to ward off creatures of the night—coyotes, snakes, bears, werewolves, you name it.
One of the old men interrupted my reverie and said this was his daughter’s shop—AKA the witch. I was also quite intrigued and a little frightened by a human-size statue of Santa Muerte. I asked the old man if Santa Muerte could bless me for a safe return to California and if the candle I now had in my hand that said “Arrasa todo coyote,” meaning “kill all the coyotes”, would really help us. I have two rescued chihuahuas at home, and coyotes often hunt small dogs like ours and with a high success rate.
“Of course, why not?” he said. I held on to my candle and walked toward Santa Muerte.
For the next 20 minutes, I listened as the old man respectfully asked Santa Muerte to bless me and my dogs with a safe return and a coyote-free experience for the rest of their little American-Mexican lives. The more his incantations went on, the more I looked into the eyes of that statue, both petrified and in full confidence. Weeks later, I remembered that ultrarunning in Puerto Vallarta was all about a good fiesta. If I return next year, I’ll begin my trip with a visit to the Casa de Brujas. I’ll ask Santa Muerte and her faithful old man to bless my race, hoping her tarantulas and bats light my way at night so I don’t get lost again.
I’ve been lighting that candle at home every night, ensuring it’s visible from the street. Our local pack of coyotes is gone.