A JOURNEY OF 125,072 STEPS
In June of 2017, I ran my first 50 mile race: Mohican 50. With a course set up within Mohican State Park in Ohio, the trails led runners through a forest filled with roots and rocks and streams and bridges and several thousand feet of elevation gain. It was the hardest race I had ever done. I called my husband late that night and told him to never let me sign up for another 50 miler again.
By the next morning, I had changed my mind. I wanted more. The next two years were filled with trail 50k races, road marathons, and everything in between. But every year, I kept the Saturday of Father's Day Weekend free. That day was reserved for Mohican 50. I went back in 2018 and had so much more fun. And then in 2019 I returned again. There is just something magical that happens at Mohican. I can't put it into words, but once you know, you know.
2020 arrived, and as always, I was registered to run Mohican 50 that third weekend in June. But the new year quickly greeted us with a global pandemic. Other races were folding left and right, offering everything from deferment to next year, to refunds, to rescheduling. Mohican held on, and we held our breaths. With just a few weeks to go, runners were informed that the race would not in fact be held in June. No permits were allowed for events within the state park, and there was no time to make alternate plans. Whomp, whomp.
A new date of October 31, Halloween, was scheduled. Surely by October life would be back to normal, right? So, I kept running. With so much not happening, there was plenty of time for long runs, and my friends and I took full advantage. I had a great summer of training, and when my friend, Josh, suggested we go for the 100 mile race instead of the 50, I said, "Let me sleep on it."
Of course, I didn't actually sleep on it. From the moment I started tossing around the idea in my head, I couldn't imagine not doing it. I told him the next day that I was in. In six weeks I'd be making another 100 mile attempt. After my disappointing DNF at Chattanooga 100 in 2018, I felt I was ready to tackle this distance.
As the race date neared, we were still unsure that it was really going to happen. Word came that, once again, no permits would be given to hold the race in Mohican State Park. The race director assured registrants that the race would go on and that his crew was hard at work creating a new course. Finally, the details were released. I was pretty bummed that the race wouldn't be in the park, but we were assured the course would be as challenging and beautiful as the original. From the course maps, there appeared to be a good amount of road, both paved and unpaved, but there was also lots of trail and lots of vert. Game on.
The plan was this: Josh and I would run the 100 mile distance, staying together as long as possible, but fully understanding that if we needed to go our own way, we would. My husband, Jason, would crew, along with Tim, who had just run his first 100 the month prior and offered to defer his own 50 mile Mohican entry to help us out. Our plan for pacers, which we could pick up at mile 61, was for Tim to run 42 miles with Josh, Jeff to run 21 miles with me, and Jason to run 21 miles with me. Our friend, Ed, would be running his first 50, crewed by his wife, Misty.
Finally, race weekend was here. After a week of packing gear and food and coordinating the kids' schedules and enduring the dreaded taper crazies, it was Friday. Josh and I picked up our race packets and talked the group into dinner at a castle. I mean, if you have the opportunity to have dinner at a castle, how could you resist?
After dinner, we all went our own ways, with final race preparations on our minds. Back at our hotel, I laid out my clothes and gear and went over my plans one last time with Jason. And then? Then it was time to try to sleep. I will say, I got about four hours of sleep before the tossing and turning started and man, that alarm was early.
Race day was here. Today, and part of tomorrow, I would run 100 miles. I was ready. No doubts. I chugged my coffee and ate breakfast while Jason drove us to the start. The 100 mile race started at 5am, in the dark. The parking lot was a small sea of headlamps, and with temps hovering around 32 degrees, we waited in the warmth of the car as long as possible. Runners were being sent off in groups of 8 or so, and our start time was 5:15am. With a few minutes to go, we headed toward the starting line. Our adventure would soon begin.
And then, with very little fanfare, we were on our way. The first few miles would be on roads, and that was fine with me. The sky was clear and the moon was so full and bright, that many of us turned our headlamps off and just enjoyed being in the moment. Josh and I kept the pace easy, taking walk breaks every so often to conserve energy. The first aid station at Mile 6, came quickly. We grabbed a few bites of food and continued on.
Finally, we headed onto the trail. I had seen glimpses of the trail while scouting out a crew spot the day before, and I was excited to be on it. In the dark, it was easy to see the other runners, and we were all seeming to keep up a slow and steady pace. The single-track trail was littered with loose rocks and roots, making running in the dark quite treacherous. Soon, though, glimpses of the sunrise began to appear.
The trail continued on, winding through the forest. Despite the cold temperature, we were quite warm and we kept commenting on how much fun we were having and what a great day it was. With the sunrise came thick fog. It had settled everywhere, making everything seem spooky. Quite appropriate since it was Halloween, after all.
We arrived at the next aid station with more than a half marathon under our belts. The miles were flying by! Our watches told us we were closer to 14.5 miles, rather than the 13.5 mile mark this aid station was supposed to be at. I figured it would all work out in the end. This stop was in Mohican Wilderness Campground. Again, we grabbed a few bites of food and continued on.
Soon we'd be at our first crew stop. Because of Covid restrictions, no crew was allowed at aid stations, and separate spots were assigned for runners to meet up with them. Josh and I ran through the campground as we watched the fog ever-so-slowly lift from the highest points around us.
And then Jason spotted us!
But first, a quick stop at the Bridge to Yesteryear...
And then it was time for our first crew stop! We arrived at the truck at 8:40am, and Jason had warm broth waiting for us. Man, that hit the spot!
We refilled our packs, snacked on various things, shed a layer of clothing, stashed the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Jason had made us, and we were on our way.
With a long, slow climb taking us up and up, Jason watched us leave for a looooong time.
At the top of that hill, the trail turned into the woods and we were back in our happy place. Both of us were feeling great and enjoying every single thing about this bright and beautiful day.
We were headed towards the Mohaven Aid Station, but still had a few miles to go. The trail was wide and fairly flat and as we ran a man came up next to us and started chatting away. He had completed a few 100 milers, and offered us advice and guidance. He also happened to be good friends with Bob Hunter, a fellow runner who had so graciously offered 21 miles of his private land to be used for the race. That portion would begin at Mile 41, and he warned that many people would struggle there, due to the huge climbs and descents, and to expect 26+ minute miles. We continued chatting and it was very uplifting to share some miles with such an experienced runner. I made note of his number so I could find out his name later. (Little did I know that I was in the presence of greatness! I would like to send a huge congratulations to THE Mr. Les Troyer on his Mohican 100 finish this year.)
We arrived at Mohaven Aid Station a little before Mile 23. Here we were greeted with homemade soups, fresh cookies, salty snacks, and indoor bathrooms, if needed. It was 10:21am and we had been running for five hours.
Josh started to notice a little something rubbing on his foot, so he took the time to clean his feet and change his socks. I admit, it did feel nice to take a break for just a quick minute.
We left the aid station and continued down the trail. Up to this point, the trail had been dry, but this section was muddy. Like big pits of thick mud that would cake your shoes and add pounds to each step muddy. We avoided them as much as possible and were thankful when we made it through that area. We thought we'd be seeing our crew around Mile 25 or so, but apparently that was not the case. Josh and I had no choice but to keep moving, and when a row of port-a-potties appeared in the middle of nowhere, we accepted them with open arms.
Down the trail we went. And went. Aaaaand went. I started noticing Josh was favoring his left knee a little. I had never seen him do that before, and a tiny red flag went up. When he brought it up a couple miles later, I said I had noticed. He said it was only mildly sore and he was sure that adding in a few more walk breaks would help things out.
By now, we were fully IN Amish Country. I'm talking horses and buggies and Amish furniture stores, and amazing homesteads and does that sign say "Deli and Baked Goods"? I WANT THAT. ALL OF THAT.
By Mile 29, our crew was still nowhere in sight. Where, exactly, were they? Where, exactly, were we?! I made a call to Jason, and he assured me that he was just around the corner and across the road. Thank the LORD! And then he could see us coming!
30 Miles down and we had made it to our second crew stop. Jason had a table set up, several chairs ready and a buffet of food waiting for us. His setup was so good, in fact, that several runners thought HE was the aid station!
Tim also greeted Josh and me at this stop and it was so good to see his smiling face. We spent some extra time stretching and enjoying warm grilled cheese sandwiches, and readied ourselves for the next section of the race.
The next ten miles are where things changed a bit for us. The entire next ten miles were on a paved bike trail, and Josh's knee pain became a bit more severe. Up until this point, we had done a combo of running and walking. By Mile 33, we were only walking. I probably could've gone a bit faster, but what fun would it be to go alone, and I really thought sticking together was in both of our best interests'. Even with all the walking, we kept a pretty good pace. We were both still having one of the best days ever, and made a few stops to check out bridges...
and tunnels...
and benches.
I was so anxious to be finished with this section. My trail shoes had never run on pavement and I could feel the start of a blister on my right heel. I tried to enjoy the "easiness" of these paved miles, knowing that the 21 mile loop that was up next would be very challenging. Finally, there in distance, was the Glenmont Crew and Aid Station.
Glenmont was bustling with activity, as 100 mile runners would stop here three times before heading back to Loudonville after Mile 82. I think you could say we were quite excited to be here!
We plopped ourselves down into chairs, stripped off our shoes and socks, and OH, did the cool grass feel good on our bare feet! Jason and Tim refilled our packs and fed us while I did a little blister recon. I had a very minor spot of a blister and I was sure I could nip it in the bud right then. We both packed an extra layer, headlamps and extra batteries, stashed sandwiches, and made the choice to not take our trekking poles this time around. We wanted to save our upper body strength for later in the race.
We were ready to go. It was time to tackle Bob Hunter's 21 Mile loop. We estimated we'd be back in 6-7 hours, ready to pick up our pacers.
Les had warned us that there was a doozie of a hill leaving Glenmont, and he wasn't lying. The good part, we decided, was that it was a paved hill, lined with houses. Heck, if cars could drive up it, surely we could power hike up it, right? This picture totally doesn't do it justice.
I'd like to tell you that after we got to the top of that hill the course leveled out, but it did not. There was a steep section of downhill trail where the leader of the 100 and his pacer flew past us at their Mile 63. Get it! We were on roads for a while that became more and more remote, and that were very up and down. Eventually, a little white Mohican sign pointed us onto a trail and into the woods.
Because these trails were created just for this race, they were not well-traveled. In fact, in some places, if I didn't know I was on the trail, I wouldn't have known I was actually ON a trail. Also, these trail sections wound back and forth through the woods and often we could see runners through the trees going in all different directions. It was very disorienting. The trail led us down and across rocky streams, and then straight back up once across them. As we neared the aid station at Mile 48, we got a little confused when we saw signs pointing two different directions. We waited for a moment until another runner came through and he pointed us in the right direction. We were moving slightly slower by this point, but we were both still in great spirits, and were sticking with our plan to keep moving.
When we arrived at the aid station at Mile 48, we were disheartened when we realized it was not an aid station, but a water stop only. Just a sad table in the woods with some jugs of water and heed atop it. We topped off our packs, not wanting to run out of water before we reached Annie's Aid Station around Mile 52.
Over several streams and through the woods Josh and I went. The downhills were starting to really take a toll on his knee, but he did not complain. Many of the downhills were slick mud with loose leaves covering them, leading us to nearly skate down the hills precariously. By this point, something had been going on with my right calf for quite a while. What had been a slight annoyance was growing stronger, and it was getting harder to put the pain out of my mind. Josh and I have run so many miles of trails and had never experienced so many severe ups and downs. There were no switchbacks here. Even the flat trail portions were so difficult because they were filled with loose rocks and mud. I wondered more than once how much more difficult this terrain would be in the darkness. We still continued with positive attitudes, pausing slightly after Mile 50 to celebrate a new distance record for me. Yay! The longest I had ever gone! The daylight was fading quickly and we were hustling to try to make it to Annie's before we needed our headlamps.
Just like that, the light slipped away. We stopped and put our headlamps on. I also put on my jacket because when the sun left, so did the warmth.
We had about a mile to go to reach Annie's, and I was really hungry. We had heard there was hot food there, and that motivated us. After a ridiculous straight up climb that seemed to last forever, we came to more level ground, and finally the lights of Annie's appeared. There was a flurry of activity here in the darkness and so much food! I opted for a slice of pizza and Josh went with a quesadilla. We didn't want to waste time here, so we took our food to go. Ahead of us, we had a five mile loop on these trails before coming back to Annie's a second time.
Leaving the aid station, the trail went through tall tunnels of pine trees, and nearby a dog howled at all of the unusual activity in the woods. Under a full moon, with a howling dog? This is what Halloween night should be like.
We were moving slower now in the darkness, and like I'm not supposed to do, I started thinking about cutoff times and doing math in my head. We had 3.5 hours to make it back to Glenmont, pick up our pacers and head out on the next loop, and we had nearly ten miles to go. Our pace that had been hovering around 20 minutes per mile started stretching into 22 minutes per mile, and 23 minutes per mile. In the darkness, we could see so many different headlamps in different directions, and we seemed to be somehow doing circles very near that howling dog. MAKE IT STOP. We had no idea where we were or which direction we were going. All we could do was find the next pink reflector in the dark. And then the next. And then the next. Sometimes we'd have to stop and search for a few moments before we'd catch a glimpse of pink waving in the light breeze.
Our pace became slower and slower. 24 minute mile, 25 minute mile, 29 minute mile. The downhills were killing Josh and he was visibly cringing on every descent, from not just his knee but also now his ankle, too. I, on the other hand, was really struggling on the uphills. My calf was now a tight ball which was not allowing me to straighten my leg and take a normal step forward. I'm sure we were quite a sight. My hopes of making it back to Glenmont before cutoff were diminishing, but we kept moving.
By the time we got to Annie's the second time, we weren't having fun anymore. We knew we could probably make it back to Glenmont in time to head out for the second loop, but there's no way we'd be able to make the following cutoff, leaving us stranded on this nightmarish loop.
The aid station workers told us it was five miles back to Glenmont and it was all road and downhill. I could battle through that. I was 57 miles in and I really didn't want my race to be over. Walking at our fastest pace, we headed for Glenmont. After a short road section, we were once again in the woods, climbing up and down. So much for flat roads! After I texted Jason letting him know I wouldn't be continuing, Josh decided he wanted to get out on that second loop with Tim and see what he could do. I told him he better get a move on, and he went on ahead of me, able to move at a slightly faster pace.
I watched the tiny beam of his headlamp slowly become smaller and smaller as he went on ahead. Soon, I was alone. Now and then a runner finishing their second loop would pass by me, but I knew I was at the very back of the pack. I wasn't moving very fast at all, and knowing I wasn't going to be continuing made me even slower. I started to get really cold. I had on my warmest shirt, a vest and my jacket. I pulled my hat way down low, pulled my buff up over my nose and balled up my hands inside my mittens. My leg pain was causing me to turn my whole foot and body sideways to take a step forward and my muscles started to ache from the unnatural gait. The only way out of this was to get back to Glenmont.
I was three miles from my crew when I realized that would take me over an hour at my current pace. Have I mentioned doing math in your head in an ultra is bad? It's bad. Don't do it. Every tenth of a mile seemed like an eternity. I kept moving. I was sure if I stopped, even for a moment, I wouldn't be able to make myself start again. The good news was, my leg hurt so badly, that I couldn't even feel my foot pain after 60 miles! Also, by my calculations, Josh should be reaching Tim about now, and they'd be heading off into the night together. Good luck, guys!
With about a mile to go, I saw a car's headlights coming down a road above me and to my left. Slowly. There was no one ahead of me. I looked behind me. No headlamps. I was alone. Crap. I kept walking, hoping they'd just cross the trail and carry on. But they stopped just short and stayed there. Double crap. There was nowhere for me to go. I kept walking. They pulled across the trail and stopped directly in my path. SERIOUSLY. I quickly took in the four rolled-down windows, the four teenage boys, the beer cans, the smoke. Crap. And then one of them yelled out, "Hey, are you OK?!" I then realized I was alone, in the dark, in the woods, barely creeping along, and I had probably scared the shit out of THEM. I assured them that I was fine and that I was in a race, although it didn't currently seem that way, and they left. I'm sure they were just out having a little Halloween fun, and I was thankful their stop for me was one of concern.
One. More. Mile. I can do this. One more mile. Get to Glenmont. Don't stop moving. Forward. Keep going. Keep. Going. After one of the longest miles of my life, I could see the Glenmont Aid Station in the distance. As I came up the trail and onto the road, a guy yelled out, "Where's your partner in crime?" What? Who is this guy? And then I saw him. It was Tim! Wait. Tim? What? Where's my partner? You mean Josh? Josh was ahead of me. He should be here now. I was so confused. And now Tim was confused, too. I told him I hadn't seen Josh in over four miles and he was way ahead of me. It was now 11:05pm, and there were just 10 minutes before the cutoff. Where was Josh? After getting me to the aid station where Jason and Jeff were waiting, they tried to get me going and ready for another loop. I had known this was coming and knew I'd need a very serious response to make my wishes of not continuing clear. I told them, "I could not make the next cutoff even if there was a cure for cancer waiting there." This completely stunned and silenced them and that was that. 62.3 miles and I was done. They wrapped me in a blanket, and the search began.
Cell service there at the school was very spotty and it took some time to get ahold of Josh. Apparently, he has missed a turn and gone two miles in the wrong direction. While the guys decided what to do, I began shaking violently from the cold. I climbed into the truck, turned the heat up all the way, and buried myself under blankets. The aid station workers told our guys if they could get Josh here and back out within 10 or 15 minutes of the cutoff, they'd let him go. While Josh made his way toward us, Tim headed up the trail in search of him. Time passed. No Josh. Soon it was apparent he'd be too late to head out for any more miles. Finally, at 11:52, Josh, along with Tim, arrived back at Glenmont, more than 30 minutes past the 11:15pm cutoff. Our Mohican 100 adventure was officially over.
I could tell you that it was soul-crushing to suffer another DNF, but that's not the case. While I did not reach my ultimate goal for the race, the day was one to remember. I had started and finished the day under the most amazing moonlit sky. I had spent nearly 18 hours sharing miles of trail with Josh and other runners from all walks of life. I had pushed my body, on that day, nearly to its limit. I had run farther than I had ever run before. Could I have done anything differently? Probably. Would it have changed the outcome? I'm not so sure. We learn by doing, and I learned a lot that day. I will take those lessons and move forward.
What's next? Actually, nothing. I have been hesitant to sign up for races that may or may not happen due to the current pandemic. And honestly, I've had so much fun and adventure running with friends this year, I'm not currently feeling the pull to have a race on my docket. For now, I'll let my leg heal, run some shorter runs, slow down and enjoy this great fall weather we're having. And Josh? Josh's knee and ankle will be just fine. I hear he's already eyeing his next big event.
I would like to say thank you, once again, to Tim and Jeff for making the trip to Loudonville to support Josh and me, even though they didn't get the chance to pace us. We really wanted to get them out on that second loop, (mostly to experience the true misery that it held.) I would also like to send a huge congratulations out to Ed for completely killing his first 50 mile race! I wasn't there at his finish but I heard he was strong until the very end. And thank you to Ryan O'Dell, Mohican Race Director, and all of the private landowners who made this race possible. I know every single runner at the race was so very grateful to have had this experience and you all worked tirelessly to make the race a great one.
And Jason? Well, he's amazing. He has supported me in my running immensely throughout this stressful year that we have endured. Running has truly kept me sane and he gets it. His pop-up aid stations are one of a kind, and I think anyone would be lucky to have him as a part of their crew.
