When I was a sophomore in high school, I wanted nothing more than to win a state championship in cross country. As someone who’s always enjoyed writing, I decided to document my process from a disappointing freshman outdoor track state meet to the fall, where I’d eventually meet my goal and win the title. Unfortunately, when I looked back over the hastily written journal entries I’d logged every day that season, I couldn’t bring myself to edit them into some coherent narrative. They were so corny, so obsessive and self-focused, that I was embarrassed to even have to see how much focus I put into winning a silly race.
2018 – Sophomore year of cross country
But now, nearly six years later, I’ve decided again to document my process of working towards a big goal. This goal is just a little bit bigger. In the fall, I hope to qualify for the 2025 24-Hour World Championships in Albi, France. To do this, I will have to run at least 125 miles in a day, though this number represents only the minimum standard to be considered for the team. The race where I will attempt this is the New Jersey One-Day Festival on October 5th, an event consisting of one-mile loops around some fairgrounds in a rural, unincorporated community called Augusta.
Obviously, a lot has changed in six years. I’m no longer the 16-year-old cross country runner who thought she’d compete in the NCAA after high school and chase PRs on the track and roads. The short version of my story is that I quit cross country after my junior year, fell in love with ultramarathons and trail running, and didn’t look back. Now, going into my final two semesters of nursing school, I’ve never competed at a collegiate level but have instead found joy and purpose through forging my own path in the sport. I’ve done decently well in a handful of races, all in the Northeast, but now want to pursue my crazy but possibly realistic dream of ultrarunning at a professional level.
Fall 2022 – First 50-miler
I dreamed of running professionally, but there was always a part of my brain that knew it was unrealistic. Every year in middle and high school after Beach to Beacon (a 10k in my hometown that attracts some of the world’s top runners), I would watch the elites stride by me on their cooldown and think to myself, “I will never be like them.” And I won’t be. There is a level of speed and power needed to compete at that level that I just don’t have, no matter how hard I train. But I have other strengths–the ability to run for hours and hours on end and only feel stronger as time passes, the durability to log week after week of high mileage without fatigue or injury, and the stubbornness (or perhaps obsessiveness) to finish whatever I set out to do.
This is a very long way of saying that I want to record my progress towards my first big, tangible goal in this sport. While I already keep a training log to track my workouts and how I feel each day, I hope that this monthly (ish) blog will provide greater insight into my thoughts, feelings, and various trends or patterns I notice. Maybe, like my last attempt at writing my way to a goal, it will work.
Last Tuesday, I traveled to the Sussex County Fairgrounds, the site of October’s race, to run the Three Days at the Fair 12-Hour. Essentially, this race has the same course, same race directors, same aid station, etc–a perfect way to get an idea of what to expect. And to compete, of course. Three Days at the Fair is, despite the name, a race that goes on for six days. Runners can choose between a 6-day, 72-hour, 48, 24, 12, or 6-hour, as well as a marathon and 50k, all on that same 1-mile loop around the fairgrounds. The 6-day race started on Monday. With my 12-hour on Tuesday, I arrived the afternoon before to find a few dozen athletes already running (ok walking, they were walking) around the loop. I’d done one 12-hour race before, which was my longest run to date at just under 73 miles. With a flat, paved course this time around (the previous race had included some hills and trails), I hoped to cover much more distance. This race also had an aid station every mile and I would pass my car “base camp” each loop as well. So I felt very set up for success!
Driving to the fairgrounds involved crossing 6 states in just under 6 hours. I grew up going to the Cumberland County Fair, less than 30 minutes from my house. Couldn’t they find a 1-mile loop there? In all honesty though, I realize how weird this whole thing is. Who takes three days off work, drives across New England, and gets way too excited about the idea of running around some tiny, repetitive loop for 12 hours (or more?!) I have plenty of friends in the sport and work at a specialty running store, but feel like most of the people I surround myself with—whether family, classmates, or coworkers (at one of my other jobs)—don’t really “get it.” And I don’t expect them to—this sport is truly weird. But it certainly makes me feel better when I arrive at a place like the Sussex County Fairgrounds and am immediately embraced as “normal” for wanting to do something that sounds so strange in almost any other context. People who “get it,” you know?
One of my favorite things about this race was how compressed everything was. So often ultras involve running alone in the woods for hours on end and constant feelings of solitude and self-sufficiency. Not this one. And while I love being ‘out there’ on my own, it was also nice to be with people all day, have an incredibly stocked aid station every mile, and, the coolest part, watch the race from my car, where I slept on Monday, even in the middle of the night. It was comforting in a way to look out my window hours before the start of my own race and see others already running. If they could shuffle around the loop, so could I.
The evening before the race was not very exciting. I arrived at the fair in the late afternoon and basically spent the remainder of the day in my car, scrolling through Zillow and new-grad nursing jobs on my computer (that’s the thing – I have to do something to get my mind completely off running before a race. Not only that, I also basically have to come up with some great idea or project so that I can convince myself that I don’t care about running. It’s a defense mechanism, I know. This time involved choosing an apartment to rent and a DHHS job to apply for) and eating a peanut butter bagel. Then I laid down in the back of my car before 7pm because there was nothing better to do. I slept soundly, as I usually do before a race. In all honesty, I don’t ever get very nervous. At the risk of sounding corny, it’s really cool just to be there and have the opportunity to run. Plus, I trust myself. I put in the training, and I’ve never totally blown up in an ultra. I know what I can do, and I’m consistent. Some days are better than others, but in the end, I know I’ll be happy just to cross the finish line.
Ultras usually start pretty early, but this one had the luxurious gun time of 9am. Actually, I kind of hated this. I’m out the door well before 5am most mornings, and basically refuse to run at any other time of day. There is nothing worse than spending hours simmering in the nerves (yeah, yeah, I don’t get nervous, but I’m sorry, it’s hard to be calm knowing the countdown to running 12 hours is on!) I woke up around 5am, scrolled on my phone, spent more time on Zillow, ate more peanut butter, and finally emerged from my car just before 8am. It was the worst feeling. Usually, by 8am, I’ve run a dozen or more miles, driven to school or work, and crossed at least one item off of my to-do list. All I’d done that day was sit, and that made me anxious.
When I stepped outside, my feet felt numb and my legs stiff. I put together my pack (yes, I carried a pack, figuring it would save time on water stops) and jogged around a little. My loosely cobbled-together plan was to go out fast–50 mile PR pace–and hold on for as long as I could. Either way, I reasoned, I would slow down as the day wore on, so I might as well have some extra miles banked.
The race started at the base of Mount Augusta, the only tiny incline of the loop. It wasn’t even an incline, really, but rumor had it that it would certainly become one as the miles added up. Myself and a couple of guys were the only ones on the line, as there was the option to start the shorter events any day of the week, and clearly Tuesday wasn’t too popular. I felt slightly stupid darting off the line at a 7:30 pace when everyone else opted to jog or walk, but reminded myself of my plan. Actually, 7:30 pace is under world record pace for a road 12-hour. Don’t worry though, it didn’t last.
With a 9am start, the temperature was already relatively high, and would approach 80 degrees throughout the day. The sun was out, and I realized quickly that, if nothing else, I would come away from the race with a wicked sunburn. I hovered around 7:30-7:45 miles for the first hour and a half but it didn’t feel good. I tried to relax, stay hydrated, and remain composed, but could already tell it was going to be a long day. I thought about my apartment waiting for me on Zillow, and felt a flash of hope.
Throughout those early miles, I found it amazing how many times I fluctuated between high and low moments. One minute I could feel exhausted and overheated, the next, excited and light. In each long race and training run, I try to identify certain thoughts that make me happy on that day. It varies every run. During one long session last winter, for example, I was ecstatic about the idea of moving to this town in Downeast Maine that I was slightly obsessed with. Today, for some reason, the thoughts that lifted me up included the fact that I was wearing sunglasses and the job posting I had seen on Indeed. Don’t ask me why. Every time I felt rough, I would try to think about how cool I probably looked (not!) and my future career. It worked to some extent.
I hit a major low point at mile 22, still very early in the race. My legs felt so heavy and tired. It was hot. I slowed to a jog, then a fast walk. This was unheard of for me. I’ve never walked in a race before at least 55 miles or more. But, after a moment of panic, I felt surprisingly calm. I power walked with purpose, and, after a minute or two, was ready to run again. One factor that I dealt with all day was simultaneously having a very dry mouth and a water-logged stomach. As the temperature climbed, I couldn’t drink enough to stop feeling thirsty but felt weighed down and nauseous from too much fluid (I say fluid because I probably drank more soda than water throughout the day.) Yet I felt decent enough that the next 15 miles or so passed easily. I ate half of a ham and cheese sandwich, then half a PB&J, then a grilled cheese. I’m proud of my ability to eat during long races. While I do get nauseous easily, I can usually identify at least a handful of foods that I can get down. I’ve never been scientific about calories per hour, and it’s likely less than optimal, but it’s improving without a doubt.
During some of my better moments, I found myself laughing at the silliness of the whole event. At certain parts of the course much of the loop was visible, and it was pretty hilarious to see the outlines of people ahead, walking around and around. There was one old man who walked slowly but purposefully. I passed him nearly every other loop, but he moved consistently and I never saw him take a break. That night, when I awoke with spasming quads at 2am, there he was, right outside of my window, still walking.
What else can I say about the daytime hours? They were long. The periods of highs and lows continued. I ate cookies, rice crispy treats, and eventually graduated to dinner foods like mac & cheese (the BEST.) I got to know the backsides of every runner on the course. There was one older lady wearing a skirt who cheered for me every time I passed her, which was quite frequently. I thought less and less about the apartment on Zillow and more about just moving forward. My focus was completely on the task at hand. The sun went in but the temperature remained high. Eventually, the tough moments far outweighed the effortless ones. It got very, very hard. I was reduced to a shuffle. At one point I pulled out my phone and looked up the course record. It was relatively close, but I was slowing down and refusing to look at my watch for fear it would zap my last remaining ounce of confidence.
As I shuffled with a bowl of mac & cheese in one hand, I told myself that, after this loop, I was going to stop shuffling and run gosh darn it. It was mile 53, and if I didn’t pick it up the course record would be out of reach. I finished the snack, gave myself a minute of speed walking to “digest,” and picked up the pace. And, amazingly, I realized that running felt good! I managed to speed up by 4 minutes per mile and it somehow felt easier than the death-shuffle I’d been maintaining. What?! Looking back, this might have been the most important lesson of the day. You have to just run. Even if you’ve been out there for 9 hours and it feels like a jog is all that’s humanly possible. My favorite mantra in situations like this is, “it never always gets worse.” Sometimes, as I found, it can get better.
After a few effortless 8:40 miles, I hit another low. But this time, I realized that I could maintain a decent overall pace when I combined “sprinting” (aka 8 minute pace) with racewalking. And I mean racewalking. Can’t they do like 7-minute miles? That was what I was aiming for. Walking felt comfortable, so I sprinted until my legs and stomach felt ready to explode, then race-walked like it was the Olympics. Looking back at my walking pace, it actually wasn’t half bad.
My pace throughout the race. I love the spike at the end!
At around 100k, I ducked into the bathroom just off course and peed rust-colored fluid mixed with blood. On I went. I felt so awful at this point. My stomach was sick, and the only way to relieve it slightly was to hold my spandex waistband away from my body with one hand. Rick, one of the race directors, yelled at me with just over an hour to go that I was 7 miles away from the course record. No way. I would tie the record (only full laps counted) of 73 and be satisfied with that. After busting my ass for 11 hours, there was absolutely just no way I would take the effort up another notch. I ate some rice and beans and “ran” a 12-minute lap.
But with under an hour to go, my mindset shifted. Screw it, I’m running again. I started to run, and found, again, it felt amazingly good. My pace dropped under 9 minutes. When I had 4 miles to get the course record, I told Rick and Jenn, “I have it in me.” It was all rather dramatic. By this time, it was dark and had started raining. Everyone I passed said something encouraging, and I responded. I held my waistband away from my stomach to keep the nausea away. These are truly the moments why I run. The magic of approaching your limits and relying on sheer motivation and stubbornness to continue on.
I clicked off 8:45 miles for the final half hour. When I came around the bend to tie the course record, everyone had come out of the kitchen and was cheering. Rick told me I had 10 and a half minutes to run the final mile. I ran an 8:42, finishing 74 miles in 11:58:08 (although of course I have to include that my watch got 75.92 miles haha.)
The atmosphere after finishing a race like this is electric. On one hand, you’re exhausted, probably nauseous, definitely a little out of it. But you’re also orbiting in a little cloud of endorphins, elated, and relieved. This time was no different. The people at 3 Days are absolutely amazing–from the race directors and volunteers who are literally there all week to support the runners, to the athletes themselves who were nothing but encouraging and kind throughout the day. I spent the post-race hours with them, slumped in a camp chair eating pepperoni pizza and mini Milky Ways, chatting and soaking in the energy of the event. Eventually, I shuffled back to my car, grabbed a change of clothes, and took a very long shower. By the time I fell asleep in the trunk of the car, it was almost midnight (I’m rarely up past 8pm.) I woke up within 2 hours, my legs throbbing and my stomach growling. I sat up and ate a granola bar while watching runners pass by. What they were doing was far more impressive than me. Will I ever do a 6-day? Maybe. Probably not any time soon though.
I woke up again at 3:45am and decided to pack up and head out, hoping to make it through Hartford before rush hour traffic. Before leaving, I took some mashed potatoes and a pack of Fig Newtons from the aid station, thanking the volunteer who’d been there all night and chatting with a few others who probably also hadn’t slept a wink. I didn’t want to leave, but had to get home to get a few things done before work the next day. My legs cramped in the car and I could barely shuffle into the Panera Bread somewhere in Connecticut, where I ate bad oatmeal and yogurt parfait. But I was so happy.
So there’s the race recap. I don’t usually write in such detail, so maybe it was boring. However, the moral of the story is that I came away from 3DATF with countless lessons to take into the One-Day Festival this fall. As much as I hate tacky sayings like, ‘you’re capable of more than you know,’ it turns out there’s a lot of truth to them. The moment when you feel like everything is falling apart and you can barely move is the moment when you need to pick up the pace, because, believe it or not, you’ll actually feel better when you do. These timed events are so tough because you can’t use the old trick of making it to the finish line faster if you run faster. Everyone’s out there for the same number of hours, and it’s gonna hurt either way. And while I ultimately ran fewer miles than expected at this race, I’m proud of the effort.
Looking ahead (because I’m terrible at celebrating accomplishments and always just want to move on to the next thing), I’ll be racing a lot in the next month. By a lot I mean a few races with many miles in them. I also want to get out on the trails and in the mountains as much as possible. Running is a major focus this summer, but so is work (I love my jobs!) and keeping up with studying. It’s a balance, but I need that. If I put all of the eggs into the running basket, they would crack. But that doesn’t mean the scale has to be totally evened out. It’s ok to care a lot about something and put a lot of focus into one goal. I never want my running to come at the expense of other important areas of life, but I also don’t want to leave too many stones unturned when it comes to this process. After all, October is fast approaching!
