This event was a success!!! It was freezing and fun and the trail was feathered with fall foliage.
The course was a nice out and back uphill then downhill setup.
We had a female winner, a birthday, a recovering marathoner, and more!
Miles of smiles indeed.
Looking forward to the event next year!
Next up......SERIOUS WINTER MILES
and a half marathon in May/June at Coopers Rock!!!!!
Stay tuned.
See you on the trail!
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Five and Dime FIFTEEN miler (&10k fun run)- a trail run coming November 12, 2016
November 12, 2016. Saturday. MORGANTOWN, WV
FIVE AND DIME 15 miler & 10k. (15.2 & 6.2 miles to be exact) A laid-back fall fun run.
WINNERS (one male, one female) each get a gold mason jar!AWARD: everyone gets the race's custom MASON JAR
Volunteers: You also get a mason jar. To volunteer, or for other questions, email whatultra@yahoo.com by Nov 6.($10 for 10k) $15 if registered by Oct 14, then $20. No race day registration. The fee is to hold your spot in the race. On the registration site, you can opt to GET THE $10/$15 BACK after completing the race! :) Or you can choose not to get it back, and it will be a donation to cover snacks and awards. Thanks! (We want to keep it simple and cheap, but have witnessed that many people don't show up for free events they signed up for if it rains, etc. And that leaves no room for those who still want to run.) No refunds for no shows.
START: 8:00 am at Mellon Chapel Parking Area CUTOFF: 12:00 pm
DIRECTIONS: from 3708 Earl L Core Rd, turn right onto Beulah Rd. Turn left into the parking area when you see Mellon Chapel (of Grace Bible Church) on the left.
NOTE: There are no restrooms at the start or aid station. Hit the gas station before you arrive. (Sorry for the inconvenience. This may be a deal breaker...I understand.) Then again, you could always use your mason jar...
The trail is fine, crushed stone. It will be an open course and may have pedestrians and bikers. The course is uphill to the turnaround and then downhill all the way back!!!
TURNAROUND: The start is at mile 5.9 and the turnaround is at the Masontown parking lot (MILE 13.5).
Water and light snacks will be at the halfway point (the only aid station/timing checkpoint). No drop bags, so carry what you need or have a friend meet you at the turnaround.
There will be volunteers making sure that you made it to the turnaround point. After all, no one runs 15 miles in 40 minutes. :)
10k TURNAROUND: We (RD included) will run out 3.1 and back 3.1. The turnaround is the permanent wooden 9 mile marker. Afterwards, we will wait for the 15 miler-ers and cheer them on!
Keep track of your own time & record it at the finish (for 10k)!
Low-key, no frills, no complaints event. Water, light snacks and fruit provided at the FINISH. Feel free to bring food and drinks for yourself or the group (no alcoholic beverages permitted).
Parking may be limited, so come early. Old school timing with humans and clipboards-no chips or computers needed!
LIMIT- 50 runners only. Sign up quickly. The goal ain't money or fame. We are keeping it little and local. Come ready to make friends!
Registration is on ULTRASIGNUP.com starting September 13!
CLICK HERE TO REGISTER: https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?eid=6022
Trail Running - Morgantown
Trail running in Morgantown, WV!!!!! The land of the Mountaineers and a true gem of the east!! The options are as plentiful as the hills.
Training:
A local favorite, of course, is Cooper's Rock State Park. It has over 30 miles of trails, a bunch of awesome views, technical terrain, and options for either rolling hills or serious climbs. This is the best place for a trailrunner to find an epic and freeing run.
For an urban adventure, run the Mon River trail, Caperton Trail, or Decker's Creek trail. Hop on one of those suckers and enjoy a waterside out-and-back. Run to Pennsylvania and back, enjoy a flat stroll, or do an uphill-downhill run on Decker's. These trails are always bustling with people, bikes, canines, and downtown smiles. But they are over 15 miles long, so it's easy to find some peace and quiet on the far side of the trails.
There are many short run options, too: White Park, Prickett's Fort, Dorsey's Knob for a special climb and 360 degree view, or Friendship Hill across the border in PA.
Ohiopyle State park is not far either.
And of course, for those unafraid to travel the unique paths, there are gnarly fire roads just about everywhere. Just don't trespass too much and don't forget to wear bright colors so you don't look like a juicy hunk of venison to a hungry hunter.
WV Mountain Trail Runners Website:
wvmtr.org
Recommended Trail Races and Ultras in the Area:
January: Frozen Sasquatch 50k/25k & Run to Read 13.1 (Fairmont)
February: Holiday Lake 50k in VA
March: Haulin' in the Holler 50 K/25K & Terrapin Mtn 13.1/50k in VA
April: Coopers Rock 50k/13.1 (Morgantown) & Race for the Birds 10 K & Babcock Gristmill Grinder 13.1
May: Harpers Ferry 13.1 & Dirty Dog 15 K. & Cheat Fest 5k (road)
June: Deckers Creek 13.1 (downhill). & Highlands Sky 40 miler
July: Kanawha 50 K/25K/10K
August: Watoga 13.1 & New River Gorgeous 13 mi. & Allegheny highlands 20 miler
September: Helvetia 10 K & Morgantown Marathon (road) & Barnum 26.2/13.1
October: West Virginia trilogy 50 K/50 mile /13.1 & Babcock 15 K &. Run the ranch 6K ( Morgantown) &. Run around the gorge 26, 18, 15 miles
November: Five and Dime 15 Miler. &. Canary in the cave 25K
December : Green Beret 13.1
Be looking for more races by yours truly coming in 2017 to promote the challenging and beautiful trails of northern West Virginia and to show the world a dose of good sportsmanship!!!!!
Training:
A local favorite, of course, is Cooper's Rock State Park. It has over 30 miles of trails, a bunch of awesome views, technical terrain, and options for either rolling hills or serious climbs. This is the best place for a trailrunner to find an epic and freeing run.
For an urban adventure, run the Mon River trail, Caperton Trail, or Decker's Creek trail. Hop on one of those suckers and enjoy a waterside out-and-back. Run to Pennsylvania and back, enjoy a flat stroll, or do an uphill-downhill run on Decker's. These trails are always bustling with people, bikes, canines, and downtown smiles. But they are over 15 miles long, so it's easy to find some peace and quiet on the far side of the trails.
There are many short run options, too: White Park, Prickett's Fort, Dorsey's Knob for a special climb and 360 degree view, or Friendship Hill across the border in PA.
Ohiopyle State park is not far either.
And of course, for those unafraid to travel the unique paths, there are gnarly fire roads just about everywhere. Just don't trespass too much and don't forget to wear bright colors so you don't look like a juicy hunk of venison to a hungry hunter.
WV Mountain Trail Runners Website:
wvmtr.org
Recommended Trail Races and Ultras in the Area:
January: Frozen Sasquatch 50k/25k & Run to Read 13.1 (Fairmont)
February: Holiday Lake 50k in VA
March: Haulin' in the Holler 50 K/25K & Terrapin Mtn 13.1/50k in VA
April: Coopers Rock 50k/13.1 (Morgantown) & Race for the Birds 10 K & Babcock Gristmill Grinder 13.1
May: Harpers Ferry 13.1 & Dirty Dog 15 K. & Cheat Fest 5k (road)
June: Deckers Creek 13.1 (downhill). & Highlands Sky 40 miler
July: Kanawha 50 K/25K/10K
August: Watoga 13.1 & New River Gorgeous 13 mi. & Allegheny highlands 20 miler
September: Helvetia 10 K & Morgantown Marathon (road) & Barnum 26.2/13.1
October: West Virginia trilogy 50 K/50 mile /13.1 & Babcock 15 K &. Run the ranch 6K ( Morgantown) &. Run around the gorge 26, 18, 15 miles
November: Five and Dime 15 Miler. &. Canary in the cave 25K
December : Green Beret 13.1
Be looking for more races by yours truly coming in 2017 to promote the challenging and beautiful trails of northern West Virginia and to show the world a dose of good sportsmanship!!!!!
Monday, June 29, 2015
The Bad Marsh Army, Circa June 2015
The war began with tipped-over-portajohns and an ominous forecast for lightning with all the accompanying rain and torturous thunder. The volunteers were the warriors to prop the still-functional-for-survival johns back up, set up canopy tents as evening barracks, and got the inevitable battle rolling. The race bag issued an epic helmet of glory to all of the runners: a trucker hat with the Bad Marsh logo of the sunset that the runners would soon be adamantly chasing.
The troops were warned of the road crossings, dreaded hill, and impending doom that was heat exhaustion. They had come prepared, gathered, volunteered, and drafted from all over the South and beyond.
The orange course markings would become quite the hard find in the night vision that the running soldiers would soon possess. But that was only a small shred of their worries. Four o'clock sharp (aka 1600), and they were off to battle, like a pack of wild dogs chasing down a meal of highly satisfying Swedish Fish. Their fangs would drip red from their newly found plunder.
The first lap brought a cluster of runners and race numbers, like the front lines armed in Kevlar, blurry in passing. Hydration packs storming with salty sea waters bobbed down the trail like destroyers taking over the oceans of the navigable world.
The element of sweat had not yet peaked, but there was still clearly a brutal heat and humidity present. It was to be expected, of course. But thank the (only) 90 degree heavens that the longest heat streak in the history of Georgia had ended a few days ago. The rain was a welcome ration to feed and fuel the spirits of this infantry.
Laps continued. Runners dropped. The remaining troops busted out the MREs like swamp lions rising from an afternoon nap. Chips and salsa, cookies, Coke, PBJs, watermelon, and chocolate cake washed down with Gatorade greener than lime-tinted watercolor paint in a 4th grade art class kept them moving and surviving.
Half marathoners began to finish. More of them finished than had started. The above 100% finish rate had arisen out of the difficulty of the 27 and 31 mile distances. People were dropping distances like sandflies.
There were heat cases. And vomit. And chills. And peak season for aforementioned quantities of sweat. And dehydration. And casualties. We sent out the medics and handled things with the encouragement typical of anyone with a red cross on their shoulder. The troops were finding out their limits.
A few hours in, and concerned runners raced to the aid station checkpoint yelling, "Man Down!" Apparently one runner was laying facedown on the trail telling his fellow warriors to continue without him. We sent a tank in his direction. Over a mile is no cake walk when you are zapped of energy, endurance, electrolytes, and emotion. He called it quits and agreeably headed back to rest on the camp chair stretcher.
Later, a mighty woman warrior came to take the overall win, and the first place man of victory was minutes behind her. He was not taking the aftereffects of battle with total relief and physical triumph. He was feeling sick and the cramps had set in like bullet wounds. And you will never guess what happened next. The man who had been eating dirt rose from the trail grave, got out of his chair, and marched over to him, coaching him through his bouts of heat-induced nausea and misery. It was brotherhood in the shirtless flesh.
Hours passed, darkness fell, and the peaceful moon planted itself like a monumental white flag in the night sky. Troops were on the mend, and battles were being concluded and won. They cheered on their comrades and threw a welcome home celebration of 'Merican Mountain Dew and Jelly Beans of Justice.
Sixty-eight pairs of human feet had taken off like a blazing cavalry that day, and only thirty pairs had completed the full journey, but everyone had played a valiant part in winning the war. One man had conquered his 315th ultra-battle. And many fought their first. They had tested their astounding limits of strength...a test which would prove to be great training for the next battle.
The troops were warned of the road crossings, dreaded hill, and impending doom that was heat exhaustion. They had come prepared, gathered, volunteered, and drafted from all over the South and beyond.
The orange course markings would become quite the hard find in the night vision that the running soldiers would soon possess. But that was only a small shred of their worries. Four o'clock sharp (aka 1600), and they were off to battle, like a pack of wild dogs chasing down a meal of highly satisfying Swedish Fish. Their fangs would drip red from their newly found plunder.
The first lap brought a cluster of runners and race numbers, like the front lines armed in Kevlar, blurry in passing. Hydration packs storming with salty sea waters bobbed down the trail like destroyers taking over the oceans of the navigable world.
The element of sweat had not yet peaked, but there was still clearly a brutal heat and humidity present. It was to be expected, of course. But thank the (only) 90 degree heavens that the longest heat streak in the history of Georgia had ended a few days ago. The rain was a welcome ration to feed and fuel the spirits of this infantry.
Laps continued. Runners dropped. The remaining troops busted out the MREs like swamp lions rising from an afternoon nap. Chips and salsa, cookies, Coke, PBJs, watermelon, and chocolate cake washed down with Gatorade greener than lime-tinted watercolor paint in a 4th grade art class kept them moving and surviving.
Half marathoners began to finish. More of them finished than had started. The above 100% finish rate had arisen out of the difficulty of the 27 and 31 mile distances. People were dropping distances like sandflies.
There were heat cases. And vomit. And chills. And peak season for aforementioned quantities of sweat. And dehydration. And casualties. We sent out the medics and handled things with the encouragement typical of anyone with a red cross on their shoulder. The troops were finding out their limits.
A few hours in, and concerned runners raced to the aid station checkpoint yelling, "Man Down!" Apparently one runner was laying facedown on the trail telling his fellow warriors to continue without him. We sent a tank in his direction. Over a mile is no cake walk when you are zapped of energy, endurance, electrolytes, and emotion. He called it quits and agreeably headed back to rest on the camp chair stretcher.
Later, a mighty woman warrior came to take the overall win, and the first place man of victory was minutes behind her. He was not taking the aftereffects of battle with total relief and physical triumph. He was feeling sick and the cramps had set in like bullet wounds. And you will never guess what happened next. The man who had been eating dirt rose from the trail grave, got out of his chair, and marched over to him, coaching him through his bouts of heat-induced nausea and misery. It was brotherhood in the shirtless flesh.
Hours passed, darkness fell, and the peaceful moon planted itself like a monumental white flag in the night sky. Troops were on the mend, and battles were being concluded and won. They cheered on their comrades and threw a welcome home celebration of 'Merican Mountain Dew and Jelly Beans of Justice.
Sixty-eight pairs of human feet had taken off like a blazing cavalry that day, and only thirty pairs had completed the full journey, but everyone had played a valiant part in winning the war. One man had conquered his 315th ultra-battle. And many fought their first. They had tested their astounding limits of strength...a test which would prove to be great training for the next battle.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Bad Marsh 2015-Sold Out!
Bad Marsh is sold out!!!!! Sad but true.
But also, it is very exciting!
I expect we will have some great moments, first timers, and a whole lot of sweat!!!
Can't wait to hang out with you all!!
See you at the starting line!
But also, it is very exciting!
I expect we will have some great moments, first timers, and a whole lot of sweat!!!
Can't wait to hang out with you all!!
See you at the starting line!
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Grit or Quit: A Recap of the Fantastic Savannah Grit 175k Stage Race
It was an honor to be able to co-direct the Savannah Grit 175k stage race. I had never tackled a multiday trail event, but was ready to jump right into preparing for it. The first thing I had to do was familiarize myself with the courses.
Day 1 would be held at Whitemarsh Preserve and runners would run a bunch of laps on a beautiful, flat course, spotted with mildly menacing roots and meandering lizards.
Day 2 was at one of my favorite trails (dreaded by most). Tom Triplett Trail. It was a 6.2 mile, winding, rooty, copperhead-housing, spider-hosting trail weaving around the sea level swamps and trekking through a bright, coastal forest.
Day 2 Part 2 was an old dairy farm trail that entered a marsh, coasted past ancient live oak trees showered with Spanish moss, and traveled through a patch of reedy grass 7 feet tall that threatened to decapitate runners with its green, thick, razorlike blades blocking all horizontal view.
Day 3 would be a gorgeous straight shot mile under a fairytale canopy of overhanging trees along a historical packed dirt road.
We explored the dairy farm first in preparation for the event. The reeds had overtaken the trail completely. We were running straight into the mouth of the marsh, its grassy teeth gnashing our arms and legs to bits. It was nearly impossible to run or even to see where you were headed. The cuts began to sting. Small streaks of blood showed themselves in seemingly random locations all over our exposed skin. I realized why they called these things "blades" of grass, although they would be more appropriately deemed "samurai swords" of grass. We arrived at the turn around with about 80 cuts and continued back through the devilish patch once more. The route continued along a canal then a neighborhood road and ended in the open field of the lovely farm. I was thankful not to have to run that 3 more times, and Dan felt compelled to take his machete out a clear the trail for the runners so that they could avoid at least a little bit of pain from the ominous overgrowth.
The next step was to mark the Tom Triplett Trail. I got the honors of this duty since I frequent the nearby trail on runs and somehow manage to get lost back there 87% less often than most other trail runners in town. It was a good thing to have this forested trail near me. I love the coastal feel of many of the trails in Savannah, but for some reason, this one just makes me feel like a kid on an epic adventure; I can run it freely and get a chance to play in the woods and take all of those paths less traveled.
I marked the trail and came up a bit short. That's never good for an event. They can run over. Extra credit is acceptable. But no shortcuts for the beloved Grit. I used the nerdy directional sector of my brain to retrace my route and compare it to the map, coming across the section I had missed. Clearly, I had missed it because no one ever runs it. Ever. I tasted each spiderweb along this portion of the trail, and came to the turnaround point. It was still short, overgrown with branches everywhere, had potential for poisonous snakes, possessed terrible navigational qualities, and concluded with a dead end. I decided to find another out and back section of trail and avoid this headache of a path. I crossed a few mini trail connectors, but the confusion level would be at an all time high if these intersected the original path. So I headed for the tracks. The train tracks provided a gateway out of the woods and into the open. This should work.
But it would still be an interesting race. Tough. Long. Seemingly unending. I wondered how many people would drop. And how many would earn the buckle.
It was then time for runners to set up camp. There were tents along the tree line of the farm and even one perched on top of a Jeep with an accompanying ladder. In the down time, we chatted like most people do when they don't really know each other. It wasn't awkward. Just new. Little did we anticipate how well we would become acquainted by mile 70.
Packets were distributed and the courses were discussed. Everyone was excited but needed to channel that energy into finding a way to get some sleep.
At the start, we organized ourselves and gave a quick reminder about course markings. The runners would have 33 laps to complete-a huge mental challenge. The volunteers prepared to hand out a variety of foods, and the timers made themselves ready to count 1,000 laps for the group and take down splits-also a huge mental challenge.
We said a quick prayer, thankful for the freedom to run. For having the health to run. And for all of those who had fought and gave their lives for us.
Then they were off. Everyone was excited to watch the group unravel into distinct paces that would fight for the lead.
The first lap brought a cluster of runners, and we rushed to get times and aid for them. And they were off again...with fresh legs and excited spirits.
Fast forward to lap 17. Halfway is a good feeling. But despite the freak cool front that started the day with a balmy 61 degrees, it was getting toasty now. Many people were already losing count of their laps, thinking they had run further than they had. Good old running brain. It's hard to break the news to a tired ultrarunner, but it's better if it breaks at lap 17 and not lap 30. The only runner who actually was a lap further ahead than he originally had thought was Dan. He didn't mind the additional good news.
Spirits stayed high among volunteers and runners. The positive energy was contagious. Some running warriors were fueled by hope, some by sarcasm, and others by salted watermelon. Dread wasn't an issue. Even the runners who dropped made the call out of a sound mind. Their strength was not to be doubted. They tried and certainly did not fail.
Still some pressed forward. The day was hot and many trips were made for more water and ice. With them came the miracle of pizza, the glory of subs, and the realized fantasy of precooked bacon. New foods became an interestingly effective fuel for success and endurance.
The day's results were amazing: fast-as-lightning runners flew to the win, cheerful midpackers shared their enthusiasm for the race, and inspirational runners brought in the rear despite a common theme of suffering. Faithful volunteers stayed well past the aid cutoffs to ensure the success and safety of every last runner.
Nighttime experiences varied among the crews and runners. Some enjoyed a restful slumber, others only grabbed a taste of sleep. Morning came, and we were all back at it again. Tired eyes. Tired legs. But living hearts. Today would be a challenge. But challenges lead to victory.
The trail was technical. The few roots of Saturday were forgotten, and in their place rose numerous monuments of distress. This dynasty of roots posed threats of disheartening injuries and infuriating frustrations. Snakes lurked, plotting their trail-front appearances like disfigured monsters in a horror film. Soreness made distorted shadows in the hard-pressed spirits of the exhausted runners. The sun rose with a burning heat that replaced the air's energy with humidity. The only option was to overcome. To overcome all of this.
The markings had remained in place, but the switchbacks were nothing but mentally troublesome. The forest ate people's fast, upbeat times and regurgitated a sluggish pace that resembled an out-of-tune chorus blasted eerily from a dusty organ.
Day 2 was taking a lot out of people. The longer laps required more planning, hydration, and nutrition. A few more runners dropped.
The lap timing process proved to be easier than the day before. And as the heat rested its weight in the day, the runners became more and more spread out. The smiles were fading. Negativity attempted to take the fire road in, stick out its bony foot, and trip the spirits of the runners. Only grit would allow them to overcome the journey that today had for them.
Trail runners began to trickle in to the finish, and another stage of the day awaited them.
As quickly as they could, they would drive to the dairy farm and wind down from one stage while mentally preparing for the next. And then they were off. Again.
The vertical forgiveness of the packed sandy trail was a curse to the calves. The reeds sliced through their flesh providing an external sting to legs that already possessed great internal pain a soreness. Extremely creepy masks served as signs for the turnaround points in the night.
And as they continued the loops, their tents beckoned them to enter and rest. But they had to persist. Quick times were barely a thought in these tired minds. Finishing was the new essence of the goal.
The night grew dark. Headlamps lit the fields, mirroring the stars that were waking in the nocturnal sky. The moon whispered its amends to eyes that no longer wanted to be open.
And the runners didn't falter. They chose the former of "grit or quit."
Helping hands were becoming tired. But the aid knew that there were still needs and so it fulfilled them. Timers sat on the edge of their seats to see who might have the next burst of strength. And who was hiding behind the beam of the next headlamp. And there were many champions. There was great victory.
One stage left.
The third morning led to more excitement as the race was coming to a close. Runners would sprint a mile. The distance seemed laughable compared to the more than 100 miles they had already covered in two days. But it would be a display of joy and of a realization of the strength they had had on their adventure.
Some flew. Some trotted. Some walked. Some limped. But they had done it.
Pictures were taken under the ancient arch. Smiles had returned. Everyone applauded. It would soon be time to return home. What did this mean? The end of a triumph? Or the start of a new one?
Certainly running is not the meaning of life for everyone. But the unseen character and love and personality that is molded into true life can be displayed in the endurance of a runner.
The grit can shout louder than the grime, making the visible wounds, sweat, and dirt pale in comparison to the abstract, invisible quality that brings humans through a physical trial. The smiling disposition yells above the noise of each painful footstep. And the completion of the journey overpowers the sound of the voice that told you that you would never make it. You are marked as a finisher. You have beaten the odds. You have won before yourself and onlookers and creation. You became an example to nature by passing through it. And you conquered.
Day 1 would be held at Whitemarsh Preserve and runners would run a bunch of laps on a beautiful, flat course, spotted with mildly menacing roots and meandering lizards.
Day 2 was at one of my favorite trails (dreaded by most). Tom Triplett Trail. It was a 6.2 mile, winding, rooty, copperhead-housing, spider-hosting trail weaving around the sea level swamps and trekking through a bright, coastal forest.
Day 2 Part 2 was an old dairy farm trail that entered a marsh, coasted past ancient live oak trees showered with Spanish moss, and traveled through a patch of reedy grass 7 feet tall that threatened to decapitate runners with its green, thick, razorlike blades blocking all horizontal view.
Day 3 would be a gorgeous straight shot mile under a fairytale canopy of overhanging trees along a historical packed dirt road.
We explored the dairy farm first in preparation for the event. The reeds had overtaken the trail completely. We were running straight into the mouth of the marsh, its grassy teeth gnashing our arms and legs to bits. It was nearly impossible to run or even to see where you were headed. The cuts began to sting. Small streaks of blood showed themselves in seemingly random locations all over our exposed skin. I realized why they called these things "blades" of grass, although they would be more appropriately deemed "samurai swords" of grass. We arrived at the turn around with about 80 cuts and continued back through the devilish patch once more. The route continued along a canal then a neighborhood road and ended in the open field of the lovely farm. I was thankful not to have to run that 3 more times, and Dan felt compelled to take his machete out a clear the trail for the runners so that they could avoid at least a little bit of pain from the ominous overgrowth.
The next step was to mark the Tom Triplett Trail. I got the honors of this duty since I frequent the nearby trail on runs and somehow manage to get lost back there 87% less often than most other trail runners in town. It was a good thing to have this forested trail near me. I love the coastal feel of many of the trails in Savannah, but for some reason, this one just makes me feel like a kid on an epic adventure; I can run it freely and get a chance to play in the woods and take all of those paths less traveled.
I marked the trail and came up a bit short. That's never good for an event. They can run over. Extra credit is acceptable. But no shortcuts for the beloved Grit. I used the nerdy directional sector of my brain to retrace my route and compare it to the map, coming across the section I had missed. Clearly, I had missed it because no one ever runs it. Ever. I tasted each spiderweb along this portion of the trail, and came to the turnaround point. It was still short, overgrown with branches everywhere, had potential for poisonous snakes, possessed terrible navigational qualities, and concluded with a dead end. I decided to find another out and back section of trail and avoid this headache of a path. I crossed a few mini trail connectors, but the confusion level would be at an all time high if these intersected the original path. So I headed for the tracks. The train tracks provided a gateway out of the woods and into the open. This should work.
But it would still be an interesting race. Tough. Long. Seemingly unending. I wondered how many people would drop. And how many would earn the buckle.
It was then time for runners to set up camp. There were tents along the tree line of the farm and even one perched on top of a Jeep with an accompanying ladder. In the down time, we chatted like most people do when they don't really know each other. It wasn't awkward. Just new. Little did we anticipate how well we would become acquainted by mile 70.
Packets were distributed and the courses were discussed. Everyone was excited but needed to channel that energy into finding a way to get some sleep.
At the start, we organized ourselves and gave a quick reminder about course markings. The runners would have 33 laps to complete-a huge mental challenge. The volunteers prepared to hand out a variety of foods, and the timers made themselves ready to count 1,000 laps for the group and take down splits-also a huge mental challenge.
We said a quick prayer, thankful for the freedom to run. For having the health to run. And for all of those who had fought and gave their lives for us.
Then they were off. Everyone was excited to watch the group unravel into distinct paces that would fight for the lead.
The first lap brought a cluster of runners, and we rushed to get times and aid for them. And they were off again...with fresh legs and excited spirits.
Fast forward to lap 17. Halfway is a good feeling. But despite the freak cool front that started the day with a balmy 61 degrees, it was getting toasty now. Many people were already losing count of their laps, thinking they had run further than they had. Good old running brain. It's hard to break the news to a tired ultrarunner, but it's better if it breaks at lap 17 and not lap 30. The only runner who actually was a lap further ahead than he originally had thought was Dan. He didn't mind the additional good news.
Spirits stayed high among volunteers and runners. The positive energy was contagious. Some running warriors were fueled by hope, some by sarcasm, and others by salted watermelon. Dread wasn't an issue. Even the runners who dropped made the call out of a sound mind. Their strength was not to be doubted. They tried and certainly did not fail.
Still some pressed forward. The day was hot and many trips were made for more water and ice. With them came the miracle of pizza, the glory of subs, and the realized fantasy of precooked bacon. New foods became an interestingly effective fuel for success and endurance.
The day's results were amazing: fast-as-lightning runners flew to the win, cheerful midpackers shared their enthusiasm for the race, and inspirational runners brought in the rear despite a common theme of suffering. Faithful volunteers stayed well past the aid cutoffs to ensure the success and safety of every last runner.
Nighttime experiences varied among the crews and runners. Some enjoyed a restful slumber, others only grabbed a taste of sleep. Morning came, and we were all back at it again. Tired eyes. Tired legs. But living hearts. Today would be a challenge. But challenges lead to victory.
The trail was technical. The few roots of Saturday were forgotten, and in their place rose numerous monuments of distress. This dynasty of roots posed threats of disheartening injuries and infuriating frustrations. Snakes lurked, plotting their trail-front appearances like disfigured monsters in a horror film. Soreness made distorted shadows in the hard-pressed spirits of the exhausted runners. The sun rose with a burning heat that replaced the air's energy with humidity. The only option was to overcome. To overcome all of this.
The markings had remained in place, but the switchbacks were nothing but mentally troublesome. The forest ate people's fast, upbeat times and regurgitated a sluggish pace that resembled an out-of-tune chorus blasted eerily from a dusty organ.
Day 2 was taking a lot out of people. The longer laps required more planning, hydration, and nutrition. A few more runners dropped.
The lap timing process proved to be easier than the day before. And as the heat rested its weight in the day, the runners became more and more spread out. The smiles were fading. Negativity attempted to take the fire road in, stick out its bony foot, and trip the spirits of the runners. Only grit would allow them to overcome the journey that today had for them.
Trail runners began to trickle in to the finish, and another stage of the day awaited them.
As quickly as they could, they would drive to the dairy farm and wind down from one stage while mentally preparing for the next. And then they were off. Again.
The vertical forgiveness of the packed sandy trail was a curse to the calves. The reeds sliced through their flesh providing an external sting to legs that already possessed great internal pain a soreness. Extremely creepy masks served as signs for the turnaround points in the night.
And as they continued the loops, their tents beckoned them to enter and rest. But they had to persist. Quick times were barely a thought in these tired minds. Finishing was the new essence of the goal.
The night grew dark. Headlamps lit the fields, mirroring the stars that were waking in the nocturnal sky. The moon whispered its amends to eyes that no longer wanted to be open.
And the runners didn't falter. They chose the former of "grit or quit."
Helping hands were becoming tired. But the aid knew that there were still needs and so it fulfilled them. Timers sat on the edge of their seats to see who might have the next burst of strength. And who was hiding behind the beam of the next headlamp. And there were many champions. There was great victory.
One stage left.
The third morning led to more excitement as the race was coming to a close. Runners would sprint a mile. The distance seemed laughable compared to the more than 100 miles they had already covered in two days. But it would be a display of joy and of a realization of the strength they had had on their adventure.
Some flew. Some trotted. Some walked. Some limped. But they had done it.
Pictures were taken under the ancient arch. Smiles had returned. Everyone applauded. It would soon be time to return home. What did this mean? The end of a triumph? Or the start of a new one?
Certainly running is not the meaning of life for everyone. But the unseen character and love and personality that is molded into true life can be displayed in the endurance of a runner.
The grit can shout louder than the grime, making the visible wounds, sweat, and dirt pale in comparison to the abstract, invisible quality that brings humans through a physical trial. The smiling disposition yells above the noise of each painful footstep. And the completion of the journey overpowers the sound of the voice that told you that you would never make it. You are marked as a finisher. You have beaten the odds. You have won before yourself and onlookers and creation. You became an example to nature by passing through it. And you conquered.
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