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Riverlands 100 Miler – 2021 Race Report

Typically, ultra race reports are written within 1-2 weeks of the event and are full of fresh descriptions of the course, aid stations, etc. This particular one I’m writing over 7 months post-race, so there’s not many useful details if you’re here for reconnaissance. This is much more of a personal reflection about how I survived and even thrived during the pandemic by having the Riverlands 100 to train for and eventually finish.

The Signup

I signed up for the Riverlands 100 on August 30, 2020, after the long, horrible Covid spring and a nightmare summer. Life bottomed out in mid-August. Then, we went on a vacation: Vermont State Park camping, followed by a week in a Cape Cod shack. The thorough bleakness of that vacation cannot be overstated, yet the respite from the drudgery of my early pandemic life forced a sudden mental clarity about what I needed to do:

100 miles in Maine.  

After I signed up, the concreteness of those words — 100 miles in Maine — became the foundation on which I structured my dissolving life. To run 100 miles in Maine required more than pure running. I needed my professional life to be balanced. I needed my son to thrive so it didn’t feel like abandonment every time I disappeared for a long run. I needed to quit drinking alone in my house as a way of coping with pandemic isolation. I needed to foam roll, do yoga, meditate, write in my journal, and read books. The pandemic sapped all of my intrinsic motivation to attend to these priorities; 100 miles in Maine became my extrinsic motivation.

Yes, I keep mentioning the fact that it’s in Maine. The location was every bit as a milestone as the distance. Travel to Maine was uncertain until about a month out from the race. The vaccines had arrived, the world was opening up, and being able to leave my local area to run with others gave me incredible joy.

Training

With eight months to train, my plan was simple: Every morning, run 90 minutes of Zone 2 effort on the gnarliest trails on my local conservation lands. Add weekend long runs (5-8 hours) in the last three months. About every ten days, I took 2-3 rest days in a row.

The “peak” of training was the TARC Don’t Run Boston 50K in April, perfectly timed 3 weeks before Riverlands. In any other year, finishing the DRB 50K would be a headlining achievement. But 2021 was all about 100 miles in Maine. 

The Course

Here’s a brief summary of the course taken from the Ultrasignup page. (I think the description underplays the rocks, but mud wasn’t an issue. Nor were loons for that matter.)

Solo runners will do 4 laps of a beautiful 25-mile out-and-back trail at the Androscoggin Riverlands State Park in Turner, ME. The course is a little over half ATV trail that has a little of everything: river views of the Androscoggin (listen for loons!), dense forest, ups and downs, rocks and roots and hopefully some good mud. The rest is sweet single track, the best Maine offers.

https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=78584

I stayed at a chain hotel in nearby Lewiston, Maine, a town that had a surprisingly urban feel amid the vast rural landscape. There was an option to camp, but since I was crew-less I opted for the ease and comfort of a hotel. I booked for the Friday night before and the Sunday night after the race, to ensure solid sleep before attempting the 3-hour drive home. (This Sunday night hotel reservation turned out to be an excellent motivator during the race to stay on the course and finish.)

Starting Line

Race morning was cool and cloudy. As I stood on my mark at the socially-distanced starting area, some women relay runners chatted nearby. “This is the best I’m going to feel all day!” one of them said, as the others reacted with commiseration and encouragement.

In my head, I disagreed. I will feel better… the more miles I finish. That’s my zen of ultrarunning. The best I will feel… is when it is over.

Loop 1, Miles 1-25 (6 hours, 15 minutes)

My race strategy was to maintain a conservative yet consistent pace that left a small buffer for finishing before the 32-hour cutoff. I wanted to do the first 50 in 14 hours, leaving 18 hours for the last 50. This meant I spent the first loop at the back of the pack. Actually, I went faster than I would have liked, but this was the most social loop and the miles passed easily with other energized runners. However, the faster-than-comfortable pacing may have caused digestive issues that started on Loop 2…

Loop 2, Miles 25-50 (About 7 hours)

I have no distinct memories of this loop, except tripping and falling around mile 42 on the ATV trail. I can see from my heart rate data that I paced myself a little better than the first loop. When I ran with people, the light-hearted banter turned fatigued. By the end of the loop, I had major nausea that increased the more I tried to eat (this was the first and only serious impediment I had the whole race).

Loop 3, Miles 50-75 (About 9 hours)

I started Loop 3 around Saturday 11pm, still wreaked with nausea. If I had a logistical “easy out,” I probably would have quit. But my hotel room was for Sunday night, so DNF-ing now meant sleeping in my car, driving home in shame in the morning and forfeiting the hotel room.

I texted Mr. P. that I wanted to stop, and he sagely reminded me how much better everything would be at daybreak. I walked nearly all of the trail sections on this nighttime loop. Having my trekking poles was a huge boast, and I still managed 20-minute miles despite the nausea. Unfortunately, I lost a ton of time in the aid stations trying in vain to either eat and/or vomit.

When I was finishing the loop, the male leaders passed me on their way to the finish, apparently having quite a bro-mance, according to post-race interviews.

Loop 4, Miles 75-100 (About 7 and a Half Hours)

Pancakes. Pancakes saved my race. The minute I saw those flat saucers of flour — individually wrapped for sanitation — my stomach assented. My mouth watered. On my way out at Mile 75, I cleaned the start/finish aid station out of pancakes. I would have taken more if I could.

Loop 4 was the most memorable loop of the day. The pancakes quickly hit my pancreas and I moved much better on the rocky trail in the full light of the morning. I started drinking large amounts of Mountain Dew at every aid station stop. It was the purest sugar buzz I’ve ever felt.

At aid stations and with other runners, I was either completely silent and focused, or babbling with emotion. Luckily ultra aid station volunteers are pretty legendary for putting up with a lot from runners. When I shared to one volunteer how much this race meant to me, he seemed touched and suggested I share this with the Race Directors.

The Finish and the Reckoning  

Nearing the finish line, I broke into a sprint to the cheers of the small crowd of 15-20 people gathered around the timing table and the aid station in the parking lot. Maybe it’s showing off to sprint at the end of a 100-miler, but I was proud of how strong I felt at that moment, a tribute to the eight months of training that had improved my entire life.

After I crossed the finish line and the polite applause subsided, I stood there awkwardly, smiling, maskless. One of the Race Directors asked me if I was going to the after-party to get my buckle, and I asked about a few details about the party, and got answers. 

Before I turned away to get myself together, it seemed like a good opportunity to thank the RDs, like the aid station volunteer had earnestly advised me at mile 95. Only, I didn’t plan out my words and gave a short, jumbled statement, something like, “I just wanted to let you know how much this race had meant to me, it really got me through the pandemic, it was so great to run this race, blah blah…”

One of the RDs, masked, kind of nodded politely at the cheesy way I expressed myself, seconds after finishing a 100 mile run. Most of the other people at the finish line appeared not to be listening.

But then, a woman who was sitting with the RDs chimed in. She obviously honed in on my awkwardness and couldn’t resist. She said loudly in a super bitch voice, “Hey everyone, listen up! It’s another person talking again about how great it to be at a race again!” She smirked at me and the entire finish line went silent and stared.

There’s this ‘out of body’ feeling that I get when I am being publicly humiliated. In middle school, I had this feeling everyday for three years due to ridicule and bullying about my acne. It’s as if my mind is so acutely aware of how I’ve been insulted, it must escape my body, which then can’t speak or move. I remember multiple kids bullying me about how I reacted when I was being bullied – my jaw went slack, my eyes vacant. I’m pretty sure that’s how I looked at the finish line, as the stares and silence around me stiffened. I just stood there like a giant exhausted idiot.

Every part of me wanted to drive away from the race, but I couldn’t leave without the damned buckle. I forced myself to nap in my car, to wake up 40 minutes later, to drive to the after-party location, to park, to walk 5 painful minutes to the pavilion, and to wait to have my buckle presented to me by the RDs. My spirits were high — I finished, and I was happy to see some familiar runners get their buckles. But, having the RD hand me the buckle stirred a vivid memory of what happened at the finish line — and my powerless, humiliated response.

As soon as the buckle presentation ended, I left the party and started the long walk back to my car so I could go eat a burger, shower, and sleep deeply in my hotel room. My 100 miles in Maine was complete.

The Video

There’s a cool video on YouTube that someone took of the race. I saw this person on the course filming and thought they were taking pictures, which is one of several reasons why I didn’t take any photos. I did make it into the video at minute 6:27.

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Jay Peak 51.3K – 2021 Race report

Pre-Race

7 years ago, we attended the Jay Peak Trail series in northern Vermont with our neighbors, another family of runners with young children. Mr. P did the 25K (see finish line pic below), the rest of us including the kids did at least one 5K, but no one entertained the notion of doing the 50K, because how does one train for a mountain ultra as a working parent living in sea-level Boston metro? Let’s just say we were well-trained to climb up stairs for the slides in Jay Peak’s famed indoor water park.

September 2014 – Mr. P finishing the Jay Peak 25K

My takeaway impression about the Jay Peak ultra had been that it was a brutal race, best suited for elite-level ultrarunners or masochists. In my mental filing cabinet of races, I filed it under “Nope Nope Nope”. 

Then, 10 days before this year’s race, I received an Ultrasignup.com reminder email about a different race I was watching. At the bottom of the email, in the temptation gallery of upcoming races, the Jay Peak 51.3K was listed and I noticed it was the Sunday over Labor Day weekend, which is about when I was timing my big training prep for the Kilkenny 50-miler in September. 10,000 feet of elevation gain was a little more than I wanted to do two weeks out from a 50-miler, but logistically it worked and suddenly I was registered.

Race Morning: The Start

The Jay Peak trail series has a series of 5Ks on Saturday, and then on Sunday, the race distances are 11 miles, 22 miles, or 33 miles — how ever many times you want to complete the 11-mile loop (which used to be a 25K loop, 7 years ago). All runners line up for a 6:30am start time, shortly after sunrise (which was gorgeous this year and I should have taken a picture but I’m a bit burnt out on sunrise pics after 2020).

I arrived in the resort parking lot at 6am, having driven about 2 hours from our NH cabin, and picked up my bib in the tram cafeteria. I was the only one wearing a mask — surprising, because the last time I was in Vermont in Summer 2020, people were fanatical about masks. Frankly I was just trying to fit in as I didn’t feel at any point that there were any Covid risks with this race.

A mellow-sounding guy with dreadlocks made some pre-race announcements on a microphone right in front of the hotel, and then we lined up at the start and were off at 6:30am sharp. There were about maybe 100 runners so it felt low-key and relaxed.

Satellite pic of the 11 mile loop, which goes roughly counter-clockwise around the stingray shape

Loop 1 (1-11 miles) (3 hours, 8 minutes)

The 11-mile loop starts with a 3 mile, roughly 2000ft climb to the top of Jay Peak. Most of the climb is in the woods, with rocks, roots, and stream crossings. We did venture out onto the ski trail mid-way and at first it’s nice to have a break from the technical terrain, but suddenly it’s a true nightmare of >30% grade calf-burning climbing up a ski trail.

At this point I was hiking easily and lurking behind a couple I actually knew from some other races. They are very sociable runners and bring a party everywhere they go, but I waited until that >30% grade climb to catch up to them and say hi. The couple remembered me and we chatted breathlessly the whole way up the rest of the mountain about races and our shared hatred of descending trail ladders in the White Mountains.

After we finally reached the aid station at the top of Jay Peak (where teenaged Jay Peak employees awaited with Gatorade and candy), the couple plus nearly everyone else around me bombed down the ski trail descent while I trotted daintily along, trying to preserve my quads.

At mile 4, another teenaged Jay Peak employee was directing runners under a hanging snow-making pipe onto another technical forest trail — the famed Long Trail of Vermont. This was the out-and-back section of the race (ie, the tail of the stingray). We descended about 1 mile and 700 ft to an aid station manned by middle-aged Jay Peak employees, and then turned around and climbed back up. There’s big rocks, little rocks, staircases, trees in the middle of the trail. Out and back Long Trail.

People around me were fading a bit but I kept moving, pushing as hard as I could while keeping my heart rate low. I spent the summer doing big hikes interspersed with many miles of Zone 2 running, so I knew finishing was certain if I kept in control.

After the Long Trail madness, miles 6-11 pretty much stick to ski trails and are relatively rolling. Some of the climbs feel somewhat gratituous but you’re on the ski trails, so there’s great views and easy footing. Somewhere along the way, there’s an aid station where inter-generational Jay Peak employees were frying up bacon, and I had a bacon/cookie sandwich, and then more climbing, more descending until I finally made it back to the start/finish. There were a ton of spectators that first loop — a lot of 11-miler finishers hanging out — and I felt pretty fabulous as they applauded and cheered. I grabbed some food from my drop-bag, ate pretzels, filled my bottles with Gatorade (a ton of Gatorade was drank that day), and headed out for Loop 2.

Loop 2 – Miles 11-22 (3 hours, 17 minutes)

I headed out of Loop 2 — the second 2000ft climb. I started out with another 33-miler, and we chatted for a bit until I gradually pulled away from him. On the nightmare ski trail climb, I passed 4 other runners and caught up to a very fit young woman, who I followed back into the woods for the continued push to the summit. She didn’t acknowledge me being behind her, and at first I was a little put off that she didn’t offer to let me pass since I was clearly moving better than her, but she actually started to move much better and we hiked together in silence for about ten minutes until we reached the final ski trail to the summit, and then she thanked me for giving her that push and we chatted as we power walked to the summit, then she simply bombed the downhill and looked great every time I saw her after (she was a 22-miler).

Aside from her, I seemed to be surrounded by carnage. I was towards the back of the pack, in terms of where a 33-miler should be in order to finish in the 11-hour cutoff. The Long Trail section definitely took a toll.

The second half of the second loop, the sun started to peek out from the clouds, and it got quite warm. I cursed myself for not carrying a hat or sunglasses because the ski trails are very exposed to sun. Fortunately it stayed mostly cloudy and there were cool wind blasts to remind me that I was in MF Vermont and I was running 33 miles so better have fun. I smiled and thanked spectators, bantered with volunteers and indentured Jay Peak employees, and finished the second loop with such a big smile that people assumed I was finished-finished.

Loop 3 – Miles 22-33 (3 hours, 34 minutes)

I admit being briefly tempted to stop, but I had about 4 and a half hours to complete the 3rd loop, which was more than doable given how okay I felt. Before I headed out, I changed my shirt and tried eating pretzels, but the Gatorade and cola was a lot more appealing.

I don’t think I encountered a single person on the third climb until the nightmare ski trail climb, where I passed another 3rd-looper. I got to the Jay Park Summit for the third and final time, and forced myself to masticate stale PB &J squares. “I have no business being out here!” I told the teenaged boy volunteers, and we all laughed together. It was only funny because I said it during the third loop…

It was around here I took the first and only picture of the race.

View near Jay Peak Summit – I think that’s Canada

As I made the third and last descent of the Long Trail section, I encountered a younger woman hiker with a regal dog who gave me encouragement. She spoke with a Northern European accent.  “Whatever you do, don’t quit! Don’t give up!” she implored me, which was part amusing, part annoying that she assumed I was on the brink of collapse. But I loved seeing all of the hikers and especially an older couple who smiled at me and said I was amazing, because I felt pretty amazing. 

The giddy “ultra tipsy” feeling was in full effect for the entirety of the third loop, probably due to the lack of substantive food. I really could have used a turkey and cheese sandwich. I kept moving, less and less aware of my body, more involved in what my brain had to say about it. Ultra is very mental and the only way to prepare for it is to be in it. Something bordering on transcendent began to happen past mile 29. Keep moving, keep sipping the Gatorade.

As the miles ticked away, I felt pretty confident that I’d finish in around 10 hours. I flew through the aid stations, stopping only to get more Gatorade. I wasn’t moving as fast at the second loop and could definitely feel soreness creeping into my quads, which made me more cautious on the downhills.

But eventually I made it. By then, the finish line area was pretty deserted and there was barely anyone to kindly clap for me as I crossed in exactly 10 hours. I didn’t care though, just happy to be finished. The race director gave me a finisher’s visor and a windbreaker.

Then a Jay Peak employee brought me two slices of pizza. He was wearing a Wawa t-shirt, so of course I struck up a conversation about Pennsylvania, and we chatted about how our respective lives took us from growing up outside of Philadelphia to the base of Jay Peak. It actually wasn’t the first time that day I had considered this life journey.

So in sum, I no longer think the Jay Peak 33-miler with 11,000 ft elevation gain (according to my watch) is only for elite ultra-marathoners or masochists, because I am not either of those things. But you better be either well-trained or young & athletically gifted because the climbs never stop…

Jay Peak 33-miler elevation chart from my Strava

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A Night in Asbestos

10 years ago, we spent a night in Asbestos, Quebec, en route from Boston to Quebec City during a holiday weekend. I faithfully blogged about the entire weekend, as back then, I faithfully blogged about everything and anything.

Recently I was reminded of our night in Asbestos — and my subsequent blog post — when nearly all of the news outlets I follow began running stories about the town’s vote to change their name to Val-des-Sources.

Reading my blog posts from 10 years ago can be a little cringey. I detect shades of glib snideness in how I describe the world. This was my attempt at injecting brashness and wit into my writing, but now I feel like it can come off as mocking.

I think this is slightly evident in what I wrote about Asbestos 10 years ago — see text pasted below. Why did I take such cynical delight in the town’s plight? What did I know of the town’s “waning fortunes”, and who am I to be so judgey? But I’m glad I have this memory written down, as I can more vividly recall the visit and conjure images of the town. And the fact that the town did eventually change their name sort of validates my cynicism.

July 2010 – from this post:

We were in search of a hotel that would keep us en route to QC yet afford a little more amusement than the typical highway lodging, so I scanned the map looking for bold-faced towns with likely services. One town caught my eye.

“Let’s go to the lovely town of Asbestos!” I chuckled, half-joking. But then we began to follow signs for a hotel from the main road, and it became obvious that we would end up smack in the town center of Asbestos, Quebec. I was beside myself. Every sign that we passed (the Asbestos Golf Club, the Asbestos Baptist Church) left me in sardonic glee.

Asbestos was outwardly a nice town, with well-cared for homes and no obvious social ills spilling out into the streets. But beneath its lower-middle class crust, there were tell-tale signs of a city’s waning fortunes: Employment centers, bands of roaming youth, hotels and restaurants that hadn’t been redecorated since the early 1970s, and oh yeah — that monster asbestos mine within sight of the downtown.

After dinner in the golf club’s dining room (Mr. P’s fish was served with sides of rice, pasta, and potatoes) we walked through the town center, where we became intrepid spectators to an adult softball game between two teams of roughneck laborers. When that was over, we attempted to go to a karaoke nightclub but balked at the $10 cover charge, so we returned to our hotel room. Laugh as we did at the unfortunate hubris of a town named Asbestos, I will say that I had one of my best nights of sleep ever in a hotel… or maybe I was semi-conscious from the native air particles…

Cringey Old Photo

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Ragged Mountain 75 Stage Race, Final Mile, August 2020 [VIDEO]

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La Plagne Skiing, February 2020 [VIDEO]

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Skiing in France, February Vacation 2020 [VIDEO]

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TARCtic Frozen Yeti 30 Hour: 2020 Race Report

TARCtic Frozen Yeti 30 Hour, February 1-2, 2020. I did a total of 45 miles, putting me in the middle of the pack of about 115 runners. Last year, I ran this race during its inaugural year and only managed 30 miles before the raw weather and general fatigue caused me to pull the plug. 

As I told a race director after finishing, the 2020 TARCtic was the first race that — during the race — I went home, took a long bath, went to a basketball game, had dinner, slept in my own bed, and then returned to the race to log 15 more miles. The race organizers and volunteers were so awesome to give me an opportunity to go for more miles while not wreaking myself physically and with sleep deprivation. This course is a grind and the time of year can be a real wild card, but the organization, course markings, swag and aid station fare is world class and I will probably sign up for next year.

Race & Course Overview

The TARCTic Frozen Yeti gives runners 30 hours to complete as many miles as possible or desired on a series of three 5-mile loops (called Red, White, and Blue) that are 15 miles total. Runners get a buckle if they complete 100 miles within the 30 hours, so that’s ostensibly the goal. But it’s a miserable and difficult time of year to train in New England, and the majority of runners I talk to use the TARCtic as an off-season “tune up” race and do not aim beyond 60 miles.

All loops start and end at the Powisett Lodge at Hale Reservation, which means runners get access to the aid station, drop bags, bathrooms, and crew every 5 miles — which is an ideal frequency for hot ramen and friendly volunteers as the race wears on. In 2019, runners had to finish an entire 15-mile circuit to make it “count” towards their mileage, but this year every 5-mile loop above 30 miles counted.

The Red Loop (left of green dot), White Loop (middle/top), and Blue Loop (right) from my Strava

Hale’s trails are considered by local runners to be deceptively difficult. The longest climbs are no more than 150 feet, and the majority are less than 50 feet — pish, easy right?  And except for some technical spots on the Red Loop, it’s relatively runnable terrain.  But… those little climbs, they don’t relent; the 15 mile circuit has about 2000ft of elevation gain. And… that easy terrain, it switches constantly: all in the same loop, you can get rocky leafy trails, rooty single track, a sandy beach, a mossy pond path, and crumbly pavement. Our minds might enjoy the variety, but our bodies must constantly switch gears. I have heard more than one person describe this course as a “grind” and I do think it’s because you are constantly switching gears.

Elevation profile of the 15-mile Red, White, Blue loops from my Strava

Race Prep

For the TARCtic, I didn’t have any mileage goals in mind. It’s early February in Massachusetts, so obviously the weather can be a huge factor in this race. Why train for 60+ miles when one poorly-timed winter storm or cold spell could erase all motivation to do that?

My training in December and January had been mostly long hikes with elevation gain, short road runs with hill repeats, indoor cycling, and snow sports — very little straight-up trail running. But I still had some running fitness from last Fall, when I trained for the TARC Winter Fells Ultra 32-miler in early December — a notoriously technical and difficult trail race that would be a real challenge for me to finish in the time limit. I went to the Middlesex Fells almost weekly to train on the course for hours; I had a glimmer of hope that I could finish. Unfortunately, the week before the race it snowed about six inches, dashing any hope I had of finishing. So I skipped the race. (Side note: That Saturday when I should have been at the Fells Ultra, I got in a minor car accident when a 17-year old kid pulled out in front of me. The next day I wound up in the emergency room when I banged my head on a street sign while talking a walk. Neither event would have happened had I gone to the Fells Ultra. The moral of the story was… don’t skip TARC races.)

Race Morning

The weather and overall conditions for the 2020 race were pretty stellar: 30-40 degree temps, overcast, with no precipitation and little wind. More importantly, the trail was dry and devoid of snow or ice. Last year’s race had rawer weather plus a cover of snow/ice; I remember the rocky sections of the Red Loop felt particularly treacherous.

Normally I don’t like later start times for ultras, but in February, 8am feels about right. The Hale Reservation is roughly 25 minutes from my house, and I arrived and parked at Noanet Pond with more than enough to walk about a quarter mile to the lodge to get situated (there are shuttles as well).

At checkin I got my number and some swag (a race-branded dry-bag and buff, plus I had ordered sweatpants, what have turned out to be my new favorite thing). I found a place for my drop bag in the crowded main room of the lodge, ate a mini Cliff bar with some coffee, went to the restroom, and fussed with my gear. I chatted with a few people and asked how long they were planning to run (responses ranged from 30 to 75 miles); when they asked me, I said “45” but I still wasn’t really committed to anything beyond 30 miles.

Miles 0-15

The race started outside the lodge on the Red Loop, which climbs rather steeply on a pavement road before eventually turning onto a trail. This quickly sorts the runners into their proper or preferred place. I tucked in with a bunch of sensibly-paced women. The first Red Loop is essentially a conga line and a fine time to chat with others and loosen up. Still, it’s the most technical loop, and having runners at your heels does add a feeling of pressure. It’s also the longest loop (5.5 miles), so by the time we came into the lodge for the first time, I was ready for some fig newtons and a sports drink refill.

The White Loop is the most runnable loop that has a few memorable sections: power lines, dumpsters, pieces of rusting household metal fashioned into art. By then, the pack of runners had thinned out, though I started chatting with a man who’d I spend the next 7 miles leapfrogging with — I’d pass him on the climbs, and he’d pass me on the flats.

The Blue Loop goes around Noanet Pond and also has some hilly sections around the main reservation road and parking areas. there was one treacherous section on some boulders that featured slick frozen moss; like the runners around me, I had to inch down on my hands and knees. Evidently someone mentioned this section to the RDs because the next time I came around, they had routed the course to avoid the icy moss, which was a big relief.

I finished the first 15 mile circuit just before noon (~4 hours).

Beach Running during crowded Red Loop (photo from Mass Ultra)

Miles 15-30

Red, White, Blue. I ran and stopped for ramen after every loop. By then I was largely running solo. I’m pretty sure this contributed to what happened next: As I neared the end of Blue, it was 4pm and I realized that if I stopped, I could make Little Boy’s basketball game that night. I felt good enough that I didn’t want to settle for 30 miles, yet the lure of going home was so great.

So when I finished 30 miles, I asked the nice people at the timing table if I could leave and come back the next morning. They said sure, so I gave them my bib, gathered my belongings, and walked back to my car.

Race Purgatory

So, I left the race course: I drove home, took a long soak in a hot Epsom Salt bath, drank some wine and ate pretzels, then drove to a local elementary school for Little Boy’s basketball game. His team won (largely due to having an extremely tall kid who is about my height… as a 6th grader.) For dinner, we had a satisfying raclette (melted Swiss cheese with boiled potatoes and charcuterie) and then I went to bed around 9pm after readying my downsized drop bag.

I woke up at 3:45am. My legs didn’t exactly feel fresh, but they weren’t sore, and after a quick coffee and Nutella toast, I headed back to the race for another 15 miles.

Miles 30-45

Just after 5am, I entered the Powisett Lodge, which had undergone a great change since the previous morning. Instead of being packed with scores of ripe and ready runners, there were about a dozen sleepy-looking crew members and runners. I reclaimed my bib at the timing table; the volunteers were enthusiastic that I had come back, and I bantered with them as I prepared to resume running by pinning my bib, putting on my headlamp, and opening my trekking poles. (I didn’t carry trekking poles the previous day, but given the darkness I wanted them for the technical Red loop at the very least).

Since I am an early morning runner, the darkness didn’t phase me; I listened to podcasts and progressed through the now-familiar loop, following the impeccable course flagging without issue. I did pass another runner early on the loop, but otherwise didn’t see a soul. By the time I finished Red, it was light out and the lodge was a little more lively with fresh runners arriving for the 15-mile race that started at 8am .

After eating a bunch of delicious chocolate chip cookies, I continued onto White. My legs still felt good but I knew I was moving measurably slower than the previous day. I finished White around 9am, then moved onto my last Blue lap. I wondered if I’d be able to finish Blue before the 15-milers caught up to me.

My big surprise on the Blue loop was that Mr. P and Little Boy had come to Hale to fly their new Mavic mini drone over Noanet pond. I had an inkling that they might show up! I stopped to chat with them for about ten minutes, then continued onto the lodge to finish the loop and my race. The first 15-miler passed me just as I approached the lodge. I finished and got even more great swag (a race-branded backpack and cookie); I talked with 3-4 race volunteers and left with a great feeling.

Overall, I was happy with this race. It’s a great winter tune-up race and opportunity to do some miles in a supportive atmosphere. Splitting the mileage across 2 days meant that I wasn’t completely wreaked, and could return to work on Monday without feeling particularly stressed and worn out.

As my first ultra of 2020, this marks the 8th consecutive year that I’ve done at least one ultra and brings my ultra race total to 28 (not including several DNFs where I surpassed 26.2 miles but didn’t finish).

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New Year’s Eve 2019/20: Sunday River Skiing [VIDEO]

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Puzzle Mountain, Maine [VIDEO]

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Thanksgiving 2019: Hike and Ski [VIDEO]

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