50 miles by foot: Time for a run

For reasons of safety and efficiency, I usually do my speed workouts on flat non-technical terrain. There’s no sense in catching a toe and landing flush on my wrists just to get in some strides.

Yet, deep into this training cycle I was starting to feel adventurous. My training had been on point, and every run seemed to come alive with new possibilities. Rugged trails that used to be daunting now seemed routine, and my speed (long dormant) was returning to levels I hadn’t experienced since my days as a road runner.

One morning in March, I headed off for a speed workout feeling strong with one thought in mind: it was time to put it all together and run fast on a tough trail.

There are some runs that take a mile or so to get into the flow and there are some that just start that way from the very first footsteps. This was one of the latter days. These runs are magical experiences, not to be taken lightly or for granted.

Gradually, I began to increase my pace from a nine-minute per mile warmup to eight minutes to seven and finally down around 6:15 where I lived in that ethereal bubble of pure, unconscious speed for as long as I could sustain the pace. Then, after a short cooldown jog, I did it again and again until I had knocked out a half-dozen intervals over rolling hills and unforgiving rock.

A feeling of pure bliss washed over me, my mind and body locked in synchronicity. As I jogged back to the car, I felt the warming glow of the first real sunshine of the impending spring. Everything was just exactly perfect. Later that day, my son’s school closed down amid the initial stirrings of the Covid-19 crisis.

Every training cycle carries with it the implicit need to overcome adversity. Runners are training not just their bodies, but also their minds for race day. Being able to roll with the punches is as much a part of training as racking up miles and vertical counts.

During the last four months, I trained through snow, ice and freezing cold rain, all the while managing injuries and illness, fatigue and burnout. There was nothing I could do, however, to prepare for a pandemic.

Along with everything else in life, my training was thrown into upheaval as I struggled to make sense of our new reality. With my wife working from home and my new duties as a part-time kindergarten teacher, I no longer had the luxury of time for two-hour morning runs. The trails, which used to be open and inviting for solitary exploration, were now clogged with people and ever-accumulating piles of trash.

At first, the act of running was seen as a justifiable and necessary diversion during the pandemic. Then it felt almost like an act of defiance simply to leave home and expose myself to the danger of an invisible menace. Lately, I’ve begun to feel like a pariah as unproven theories float about like so many infectious droplets, poisoning any hope of enjoying a peaceful morning run without the harsh glare of judgment.

Like everyone else, I’ve been irritated by joggers huffing and puffing past me with no warning. I have also become angered by clueless walkers unaware of their surroundings and bikers speeding past like they’re training for the Tour de France. It’s hard to feel like we’re all in this together when every encounter brings anxiety and fear.

I have tried to set a good example by calling out my presence ahead of time and stepping off the trail to let others pass. I’m in no rush, I remind myself, even though I am trying desperately to finish my run safely and get home in time for work and the school day to begin.

Occasionally, those gestures are acknowledged and reciprocated. More often, it seems, they are ignored.

Early in the morning of Easter Sunday, I set out for a 10-mile out-and-back on the Battle Trail in Lexington. It’s non-technical and wide open, one of the few places I run where I can completely zone out and simply flow with whatever the day brings.

I saw a white-tailed rabbit and a red squirrel along with blue jays, cardinals, turkeys and more rabbits. There were also dozens and dozens of people at a time when I typically might see three or four, total. I tried to stay in the moment, but left feeling stressed and wrung out.

Running Battle the Sunday before my race has been my final training run for as long as I’ve been competing in endurance races. It’s normally a chance to reflect on the miles and months of work while beginning the process of building my mental approach for race day.

Over 16 weeks beginning in mid December, I put down 650 miles and over 75,000 feet of climbing and descent. My GPS watch tells me that I spent more than 100 hours running on trails. All those numbers are career highs, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more physically prepared for a race than I am right now. Mentally, I’m still trying to get to a place of peace.

My April 50K was canceled, but I’m going to run it anyway. I’ve been doing weekly long runs on the course since January, so I have a good feel for the logistics and terrain. It will have to be self-supported, but all my long runs are solo, so that shouldn’t be an issue. The trunk of my car makes for a fine aid station.

I’m going to pick a weekday when the weather is conducive to a long day on the trails, but not too nice to minimize crowding. I’ll start early in the morning before the sun comes up and put my headlamp to use. In the absence of other runners or supportive volunteers, I’ll have to keep my own pace and provide my own motivation. My family may or may not be there to greet me at the end.

All of this feels a little bit selfish, but it also feels necessary. The trails remain open for the moment, yet I don’t expect that to last much longer. I don’t have anything to prove to myself, or to anyone else with this run. This is just something I need to do, and in the spirit of community, I’m making a donation to a local food bank and homeless shelter in honor of my run.

Thank you for reading this diary. Like running, it’s been a necessary indulgence. Your support will sustain me as I set out alone to finish this journey.