November 2021 Newsletter

I didn’t know what to expect going into the race. Everyone kept asking me how I felt and I just shrugged. I had a great half marathon in Charlotte VT in September, and successfully upped my mileage a bit from previous training cycles. But I had struggled to hit splits in my workouts, and long runs had been slower .I joined a local group run for my shakeout. I felt fine, dialed in and ready to go, and finished on Boylston street, staring down the finish line with a smile. Boston was back. 

Monday morning I took the T to the Boston Common to meet some friends and take the bus to Hopkinton. We arrived at the start, fiddled around for a few, and off we went with a shrug. Boston 2021 was a rolling start; it felt odd to just go, without the standard standing around in a crowd of thousands of our closest friends.

The first 10 miles flew by. It was a nice steady but fast pace that felt comfortable in a way unique to a marathon you’ve built up to over many months. I told my friend Matt I was going to dial it back a touch. He agreed that was probably prudent, and asked me to lead. Of course a few minutes later he took the lead again and I sat on his heels, unwilling to let him get away, even if it was a little faster than I wanted. Around this time I had my first Upper Valley sighting, as we passed my training buddy Kyle who was going at a smarter, slightly steadier pace. Shortly thereafter I veered across the road to high five my wife Cindy, who had made her way to Natick to cheer for me. This was pretty fun!

Around mile 11 we caught and passed Shalane Flanagan, who was having a quick chat with her pacer, immune to the cheers of support from the crowds. A little before the halfway point we went through the Wellesley Scream Tunnel.  I had ignored this feature the first time I ran Boston in 2019, sticking to the middle of the road, but this year I caved to the peer pressure of a friend in front of me and high fived as many of the screaming ladies as I could. Up another hill, and as things were starting to get uncomfortable I had my second Upper Valley sighting, Kyle and Sara cheering on the right side of the road.  I veered across for more high fives and a little boost of speed. As we went through the half the big sign said something like 1:20, which meant the pace was looking pretty good.

The Newton Hills were next, and as my pace slowed I feared this could be a breaking point. Over the highway, and a right on Comm Ave past the firehouse. Just get to the Somerville Road Runners cheer zone at 30K and look decent when you pass all your friends there, I told myself. We kept cruising, my friend Matt and I arriving together. The noise of the cheers gave me another boost of speed, high fives all around as I took a feed. Not particularly hungry, but I gulped down the maple syrup, hoping for a boost. Heartbreak Hill was hard, but I felt steadier than in 2019. Maybe all those Upper Valley hills are good for something! A giant cheer from my physical therapist, small child on her shoulders, gave me the boost I needed to get up and over. All downhill from here, sort of.

I was really hurting, but the noise was getting louder, almost deafening. I heard cheers for Shalane and understood. I held her off for a minute or two, feeding off the noise, until she passed me never to be seen again. Down into the city, things really hurt, but I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, not looking at my watch. It turns out my pace wasn’t quite as slow as it felt; a testament to all the base miles over the summer. Before I knew it I was taking a right onto Hereford, gritting out the last stretch. Cindy was somewhere in the deafening crowd and later remarked that I looked worse than I ever had at the end of the race. Left onto Boylston. I knew this stretch was deceptively long and I was ready for it. I emptied the tank to finish strong, knowing I could collapse after the finish and be done. Before I knew it I was crossing the line.

My time of 2:40 was a touch slower than the last time I ran the race, but close enough to be happy with, and my overall placing a little higher. But I had forgotten just how amazing of a race Boston is. What feels like the whole state is out there cheering for you, and it was great to be back. 

This is not about a sanctioned Dartmouth 100-mile event, and indeed it has nothing really to do with the school. This is about my own journey to run the Dartmouth 50 route out and back, beginning and ending at the DOC on campus, following the Appalachian Trail, and turning around at the Ravine lodge.

When I moved to the Upper Valley 5 years ago, I wasn’t really a runner. I had done some big runs in the mountains - mostly hiking - but I didn’t run regularly or identify as a runner. When I began running more regularly, moving quickly through the mountains was still my inspiration, and running served as a means to that end. It is perhaps a surprise then that it was things like UVRC’s Tuesday Night Track that drew me in and helped shape me as a regular runner. A “real runner” - or at least, someone who identifies as a runner. But the community kept me coming back, and as I learned, speed builds efficiency, and that’s what I would need to travel long distances in the mountains.

The 100 mile distance is daunting, and the more experience I got going long in the mountains, the more respect I gained for it. It is a very long way. When I finally committed to trying it, I wanted the experience to be mine and to learn from it and grow from it as much as possible. So I selected something rather difficult: The Dartmouth 50 course as an out-and-back… but all by myself, without support or stashed food or supplies, filtering water and bringing everything else I might need from start to finish. The route is 102 miles with 30,000 ft of elevation gain. That’s a lot, even by big mountain ultramarathon standards. This was a Big Scary Goal, but it excited me!

In all, things went about as well as one can hope for. During a 36-hour run, a lot can go wrong! After the first few miles, I settled into a maintainable effort, and was moving and eating fairly well. The terrain is steep and footing seldom smooth. Even those sections which are “runnable”, I took quite easy, seldom surging past a trot, knowing I had a long way to go. This is the great part about ultra-distance runs: There often really isn’t that much running! I hiked mostly, and trotted or jogged the downhills and precious few flats. Stopping for water and clothing shifts, etc, basically ate up any speed advantage from running and my net pace was that of a hike.

There is probably a better time of year to do this kind of thing, but as it worked out, I finished on my birthday, and the day before my son’s birthday. Perhaps not particularly poetic, but it added to the meaning of the trip for me, and gave a good excuse to eat a lot of birthday cake!

Earlier in the year, I ran hard half-marathon, 5k, and track mile races and time trials. Very little about running 100 miles in the mountains feels like those events. At no point did I ever push hard during the Dartmouth 100. There was never the burn of legs and lungs. Any wind was the weather, not my own pace. The slow grind of it certainly wore on me, but I tried to smile at least once each mile. Smiling makes me feel better, even when I’m hurting, and it improves running economy. 

Going out on trails to travel 100 miles under my own power is a preposterous and privileged thing to do, and I tried to appreciate it. At one point, in the rain about 40 miles in, I was sulking and thinking about quitting. Two south-bound AT through-hikers passed me, smiling with cheery greetings. These folks have to put up with this stuff for weeks. Getting wet might mean a wet sleeping bag for days, or at least wet shoes and clothes for a while. And they are smiling! There was nothing to do but put on my rain jacket, try to smile, and keep going.

Some highlights of the trip include: seeing nobody on the summit of Mt. Moosilauke twice (really, in the clouds, I saw almost nothing at all up there), some really gorgeous leaves both on trees and on the ground, ridiculous hills covered in acorn ball bearings, an apple tree leaning over the trail, from which I snagged two delicious apples, and the encouraging words I occasionally received via text message on peaks with cell service. Several times on route, I thought about how I often don’t hike Mt. Moosilauke because it feels far away, yet here I was running there and back!

It was a great adventure, and I had huge support from my wife letting me get out for two days while she was a solo parent, and from the trail running community who keep me company training, and help inspire me to silly, big ideas like this. Running has as many meanings and purposes as participants. Each of us can define our own goals and dreams. But make some of them big, and a little scary. 

A trip report with gear lists and too many details is on fastestknowntime.