Night Train 50K DNF - June 20, 2026

Gathering the Pride

Arriving at Camp Paradise State Park, we spot Markus and Sonia and their two children.  They have driven over from where they are vacationing at Lake Anna to tale part in the Night Train events.  Sonia is running the half marathon and Markus is joining Emaad and I for the 50K.

Markus and Emaad confer at the start.

Markus had originally thought he would target a six hour finish, but has now revised that down to a five hour target.  That means that once the race begins we won't see him until we see him returning on the out-and-back course while we are still headed outbound.

Runners mill about waiting for the 6 p.m. start.

The race starts promptly at 6 p.m. We leave Camp Paradise and head west, crossing High Bridge in less than a half mile. The 2400 foot long former railroad bridge provides excellent views of the Appomatox River valley 125 feet below.

Crossing High Bridge.

In a bit my right hip begins to hurt.  I didn't know why.  My back had bothered me in the weeks before, but that had gone away.  When I walk, the hip is pain-free.  Running for more than a few strides brings pain.

Entering Farmville.

I take a pair of 200 mg ibuprofen tablets and go on, while waiting the usual twenty minutes for the pain reliever to kick in.  Meanwhile, we approach Farmville, I use a trialside toilent, we pass an herb garden alongside the trail, pass Three Roads Brewing and reach the first aid station (mile 5.7) at the old train station.

Trailside herb garden.

My condition is improving but I'm uncertain how far I can go.  I turn down a shot of Fireball ("I'll get it on the return," I say) grab a slice of pepperoni pizza and go on.  I tell Emaad to go on.  The race allows 50K runners to drop to the half-marathon during the race, so that is an option.  I also figure that even if I go beyond the half-marathon turn around, I can still turn around and finish a long half marathon.

The half marathon turnaround
(later in the evening).

By now I'm pretty much at the tail-end of the runners.  In fact, I'm not certain that I'm not DFL.  But I get the the turnaround and feel well enough to continue.  The Tuggle aid station is about another 3.5 miles. I now feel good enough to try to get there. The hip pain is gone.

Emaad early on.

The Lion of  the Serengeti

The trail is flat and frequently straight, befitting of its ancestry as a railroad line.  Far ahead I see two women whom Emaad and I had spoken with earlier.  Seeing them provides an opportunity to engage in a mind game to provide an incentive to keep up the pace.

I am now the lion of the Serengeti and they are antelopes who are my prey.  I am a patient lion as the distance is great and they may be fast and bolt if startled.  But they are unaware of the stealthy beast stalking from behind.

I occasionally look behind me to see if there is anyone else.  It's hard to tell.  Maybe there is a figure or maybe not. No matter.

Then I see that they have stopped and one is helping get something out of her friend's pack.  One is in\jured! The lion is now confident that he can run down the weakened prey.

Over a couple of miles I gradually eliminate the distance between us.  Finally, within striking disance, the lion pounces.

"How y'all doing," I say.

The one explains that her knee is bothering her.  I sympathize, offer ibuprofen (declined) and return to walking.  They run off, but the lion is not troubled; he knows that he can catch the prey again.

Tuggle Aid Station

I catch up with the antelopes at the Tuggle aid station (mile 11) and decide to go on, knowing that I can always turn around if need be.  I'm in and out of the aid station pretty quickly.

It's about 8:30 p.m. leaving the aid station and now it is getting dark.  In another mile or two night has fallen and the headlamp is necessary.

But I've now caught up to a runner or two.  We chat and move forward.

Feral Feline

Suddenly my compnion jumps to the side and gives out a yell.  Out of the corner of my eye I spy a black shape dash past his leg, but cannot tell what it is.

"It's a cat," he says 

Before reaching the Prospect aid station I see Markus coming toward me and we exchange greetings.

Prospect Aid Station

The Prospect aid station (mile 15) is an opportunity to sit for three minutes and evaluate.  My hip is fine but my back is starting to talk to me.  The turnaround is only a mile further, and once there, the course will give back the sneaky hundreds of feet of gradual climb since Farmville, so there is no reason to turn around now (Oh? Google "summit fever.").  On the way out to the turnaround I meet Emaad who is inbound. 

The 50K turnaround.

Reaching the turn around I take care to count how many runners are still outbound.  I count four, including the antelopes.

Back at the Prospect aid station (mile 17) I see another runner outbound.  He is so far behind everyone else that I wonder if he will be pulled from the course as it is unlikely that he will make the eight and a half hour cut-off.

Feral Felines

Appoaching the spot where the black cat spooked the runner outbound, I see a pair of yellow eyes looking at me low from the other side of the trail.  Approaching, my light illuminates a young cat watching me, but not the one from earlier.  A few more yards down the trail another pair of yellow eyes appear, and these belong to the earlier cat.

The Tawny Scrawny Lion

My lower back is starting to hurt. When I get to the Tuggle aid station (mile 21) I sit down.  Another runner comes in and also sits.  The aid station volunteers are starting to pack up. but they still provide us with all that we ask for.  I tell David that I'll wait for him before heading down the trail.  In a bit he is ready and we go on.

We chat, but after a bit he tells me he has to sit again.  He takes a seat on one of the old concrete footings from what had been a base for railroad signals.  I go on, mostly walking.

After a bit two headlights come down the trial toward me.  I step off the trail. A Park Ranger pickup pulls abreast and asks if I need assistance, as they have had a report of a runner in distress.  I assure them I'm OK, inform them that I left David sitting and we both go on in opposite directions.

Now my back is really barking at me.  I'm reduced to walking, and after awhile David overtakes me.  Then Alex overtakes us.  We three go on and I start to talk about dropping at the Farmville aid station.  Alex reminds me of adivce I had given him hours earlier - if you think you are going to quit, slow down time and sit for at least five minutes before dropping. 

Finally we can see the lights of the Farmvile aid station.  But my back is agonizing.  I follow what David had done earlier - I sit on a concrete footing to relieve it. He sits with me.  It isn't more than a couple of hundred yards to to aid station but I sit for three minutes before getting up and going on.

The End

At the Farmville aid station (mile 26.3) I drop into a chair and note the time.  The Fireball is long gone.  I drink some Coke.  David and Alex have some aid station food and beverages.  The encourage me to go on.  The antelopes arrive. Sooon they are all gone.  I sit.  Five minutes passes.  My back still hurts.  I weigh the pros of finishing versus the cons of nearly two hours of pain trudging along  the rails-to-trails path in the dark, on a path that I have run twice in years gone by. Once last thing to check.

I call Emaad.  He is about a mile from the finish.  Before the sttart I gave him the extra car key in case he finished before and wanted to chill before I arrived.  I tell him I'm going to drop and ask him to pick me up.

I tell the aid station workers that I'm dropping so they can call it in.  I'm getting cool and they let me sit in their car to stay warm.  

Mismatch

Sunday morning, as I pack up my clothes and shoes, I take a second look at my shoes. They are different - I wore my old Altra trail shoe on the left foot and my current Topo trail shoe on my right.  Further, the right shoe had a heel pad, making it slightly higher than the left.  That may have caused the hip issue. As to my back, it had been bothering several weeks before but seemed cured by race day.  But the shoes and the early hip problem likely didn't help.

Altra on left; Topo on right.

Results

I went 26.4 miles in 7:02 in my DNF.  Markus finished in 5:35 good for third place in his age group.  Emaad finishes in 7:29, ten minutes faster than in 2022.  Sonia runs the half in 2:08, good for fitth female overall. and first in her age group (by 21 minutes!).  

And that runner who I saw outbound at Prospect?  She continued on and finished in 10:06 - or past 4 a.m.

Swag: bib and sticker.

Rocky Raccoon 50K - February 14, 2026

 Anxiety I - Weather

The weather for Rocky Racoon 50K is troubling.  Showers and rain are predicted, but with percentages in the 40 - 70 percent range.  And some are predicted to be heavy.  How will this affect the footing? The temperatures look OK, so hypothermia isn't an issue. But I don't want to be wet.  Since the course is basically two loops I figure to leave a change of clothes in my bag at the start/finish and run with a disposable poncho.

Anxiety II - Training

Since pacing for 26 miles at Rio del Lago on November 1, have have exactly two runs that could charitably considered longish - the 10 mile Turkey Burnoff on November 29 and 7.6 miles on January 18.  And it isn't like I have logged many miles at all - 68 miles each in December and January. With the generous 14 hour cutoff I figure I can do the race on muscle memory.  And anyway. as I frequently say (perhaps as an excuse), training is bunk.

Anxiety III - Alligators

The usual pre-race email brief is routine until at the very bottom, when the reader is directed to a note from the Texas Parks Department about Huntsville State Park being the home of alligators.  Is this Florida? Or Louisiana? Who knew Texas had gators? Apparently many people, but not me.  Can an untrained runner outrun a gator in the rain? It is not reassuring that the Alligator Safety page states gators "can outrun or out swim the fastest person for the first 30 feet." I'm not the fastest person in any case.

Race Day

Emaad gets ready to run.

Anxious?

Emaad and I arrive reasonably early and are directed to a parking spot convenient to the start/finish.  We complete our race preparations, find a place under a picnic table to protect our bags from any rain and join the crowd at the start line.  After getting last minute instructions from the race director and his gorilla assistant, we are off.

The course is well marked.  It rolls a bit but is is mostly two-wide and reasonably smooth dirt, with occasional rocks and roots. For Eastern trail runners like Emaad and I it is a less technical course than we have at home.

In addition to the 50K there is are 50-mile and half marathon races. With staggered starting times and slightly different variations of the course's loop, runners from all three races are soon intermingled.

Race director and gorilla assistant.

For awhile we run and chat with a trio of 50-mile runners.  I tell one of my well-worn stories of special beverages at an aid station in a different race and one of the trio tells me he couldn't do that as he has been eight years clean. He tells how he stopped after stealing his son's Adderall to support his habit.

A half marathoner tells how she had to beg off from a bike ride so she could run, but was still going to go walk with a friend later in the day.

We come across a runner prone on the ground on a dirt road section of the course surrounded by others trying to help him.  In a bit an ATV comes speeding to help him, followed by a pick-up truck.  Later, I go along with a runner who is also a firefighter.  He and a fellow firefighter had stopped to help the runner who was down and had possibly had a seizure and fallen, or fell on his head and had a seizure.  Later, we could see an ambulance, with lights on, waiting for the injured runner.

Lake Raven looking toward the Lodge.

The initial part of the trail along the shore of Lake Raven provides a good view of the Lodge (built by African-American crews of the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1937) at the start finish.  We run a bit with Spirit of Running who is making a YouTube video of his effort after DNF'ing last year.

Once we get to the other side of the lake we are close to its edge and I am hyper-alert for gators.  I see none. I repeat the paranoia passing this section on the second loop.  Perhaps even more so then, because being mauled, killed or eaten by an alligator so close to the finish would be - disappointing.

Signs

In addition to well marked trails the folks at Tejas Trails provided a large number of inspirational and humorous signs in a number of languages:

Early in the second loop a few drops of rain start to fall. I get out my disposable poncho, which is really nothing more than a very thin, transparent yellow trash bag with holes for the arms and a hood and struggle to put it on. My head goes in an arm hole and I weave along the single track trying to get things sorted out.  A woman runner comes along and rather than give the usual "on your left" warning she tells me to get out of the way.  I do, but I'm peeved at her lack of the usual trail manners. (Revenge comes a few miles later when I pass her.)  After about five or ten minutes the rain stops and I remove the poncho, never to put it back on.

Emaad crosses a wooden causeway.

With six or seven miles to go Emaad takes off. I run on with a woman who tells me that her husband is picking her up at the finish. "It's Valentine's Day," I note, "He should be there with flowers for you." I see them at the finish.  He does not have flowers, but she is happy to see him nonetheless.

Emaad cheers me as I finish. He finished in 7:47.

I finish in 8;18:32, good for 135 of 171 overall, 94 of 112 males and 2 of 2 in my age group. There are 16 DNFs (91 percent finishing rate). I'm the oldest finisher, by two years.

As we leave the park it starts to rain.  Twenty minutes later there is a deluge and driving is nearly impossible.  Our timing is good, but we think of the 50-mile runners still on the course caught in the storm.

But none of my anxieties came to be, so it was a good day. 

Swag: shirt, medal, parking sticker, bib, socks (purchased)

Pacing at Rio del Lago 100M - November 1, 2025

 Prelude

At 615 a.m. I'm standing on the sidewalk across from the Lake Natoma Inn waiting for Emaad to run by. For him it is about mile 6.5 of the Rio del Lago 100 Mile Endurance Run (RDL) which began at 5 a.m.  I could have been running the associated 50K with him, but decided that $200 was too much to pay for a race that would be mostly on bike trails.  Instead I've volunteered to pace him the last 31 miles of his race, which means I'll get to run 50K for free, and mostly on trails.  It's a win-win for me, and a win for him, as he will have a pacer when he is most in need of encouragement.

Right on schedule, he comes by at 6:18. I run a couple of hundred yards with him, bid him good luck and go back to bed.

A few hours later, about 9 a.m. his wife Saira and I drive to meet him at Beals Point (mile 21.7) which is also the start/finish of the race. The first part of the race is a loop on mostly flat, wide trails, paved and dirt, that go south and then back north to Beals Point before heading north to the Sierra foothills.

He arrives about 9:30 a.m. and changes from road shoes to trail shoes, drops his light that was necessary for the 5 a.m. start, and drinks a coffee beverage.  He's in good shape and is about 18 minutes ahead of his ultrapacer,com 29- hour pace card.  That is his target and a full hour ahead of the 30-hour cutoff. He has started to develop blisters, but that is not unusual for him.  He makes a couple of other adjustments and bids us good-bye.

Saira and I head off for a day of sight-seeing in Sacramento, visiting Old Town Sacramento (a surprising number of candy stores, even for a tourist area), looking at the Delta King riverboat, now a restaurant and hotel, and spending a couple of hours visiting the California State Railroad Museum. We return to Folsom, and after having dinner, I try to get some rest and sleep, as my pacing duties are coming up.

Slowing Down

RDL provides real-time tracking at many of the aid stations and we can see Emaad's progress is steady. At Granite Beach (mile 26.6) and about a mile short of where the hills begin, he is 15 minutes ahead of his 29-hour schedule. He keeps the 15 minute cushion through Rattlesnake Bar (mile 36). By Overlook (mile 45.5) he has given some back, but is still 8 minutes ahead of the pace card.

But things start to slow down after that as the day, and the course, start to erode the cushion. At No Hands Bridge (mile 49.3 and essentially the halfway point), Emaad is 12 minutes over his 29 hour pace. The ten mile stretch to the next aid station at Auburn Lakes Trail (mile 59.8) puts him 18 minutes behind his pace card, but he is still 42 minutes ahead of the 30-hour cut-off.

I'll be meeting him at the next aid station at Cool Fire Station (mile 69.5).

Game face.

Showtime

About 11:30 p.m. Saira and I leave the inn for the aid station.  The road is a two-lane winding mountain road into the foothills. Saira is driving and is clearly not enjoying the task.  At one point we spot a pair of deer standing of the opposite side of the road, which does nothing to make the drive more enjoyable.

Arriving at the aid station about midnight, we park and Saira get out to await Emaad.   Runners come and go into the aid station. She has various things on the list of things he wanted her to bring: a coffee drink, Ensure, socks and shoes. The temperature is in the 50s, so I stay in the car to stay warm - and to stay off my feet.

He arrives at 12:38 a.m. He is 29 minutes behind the 29 hour pace card, but still 31 minutes ahead of the 30 hour cut-off. He is a bit tired and his blisters are bothering him.

No Hands Bridge

We head out and run, or mostly walk in the company of several other runners and their pacers.  This portion of the course is mostly a long downhill.  About mile 71 the trail parallels CA49 and we can occasionally see headlights of cars on the winding two-lane road below. It isn't seeing the cars that starts working on my mind; it is the steep slope between the trail and the road.  I begin to fret that a misstep and I'm rolling down that incline. And since it is night, the only thing one sees is the circle of trail in front of oneself illuminated by one's headlamp. In the dark, a foot or two to the right, is the unseen abyss - at least to my imagination.

In about a mile we reach No Hands Bridge, a former railroad bridge over the North Fork of the American River. The trail is wide, smooth and, since it is on an old railroad right of way, straight with a gentle grade. 

In less than a mile we reach the No Hands Bride aid station (mile 72.6).  Emaad has been going for 21:03 and is now 56 minutes behind his 29 hour goal pace.  In other words, he only has a 4 minute cushion to make the 30 hour cutoff. It is going to be hard, but the closer we get, the better off we are.

Ticks. I hate ticks.

Overlook

Now we start the section with the last major climb of the course.  It is just over 4 miles to the next aid station, but it involves a mostly steady 700 feet of climb. Initially it is a gentle uphill.  I spot a pair of women ahead.  One is standing on the trail. The other is squatting at the side.  I get ready to ask if she is okay but realize that isn't why she is there.  My eyes and light promptly swing back to the trail.  We will see her in the same pose a bit later. That's trail runners for you.

At one point I'm ahead of Emaad.  I stop and wait.  Then I become concerned that he is ahead of me. A quandary - wait or go on?  Another runner and his pacer come along.  I ask them if they had seen him and they assure me that he is still behind and coming.  He had stopped to make an equipment adjustment. I resolve that as his pacer, I need to keep him in sight at all times.

Before we get to the aid station I manage to trip and fall, scraping my right knee.  We were walking, so it wasn't a hard fall, but I'm wearing shorts and draw blood.

When we reach the Overlook AS (mile 76.8) one of the aid station workers gets out the first aid kit and wipes down the knee with some alcohol wipes.  

Time keeps slipping away. Emaad has been going for 22:42, which is 62 minutes behind the 29 hour pace, or more critically, two minutes behind the 30 hour cutoff.  He is going to have to make up that time over the next 24 miles.

Trail gully.

Rattlesnake Bar

The next aid station Rattlesnake Bar, is almost ten miles further on.  Fortunately, it is going to be downhill, and according to the course map, once we get there we are finished with both long climbs and descents.

The first part is on a not-very-steep downhill paved park road.  I urge him to run as this is a section on which we have a good change to make up some of those two minutes, and he responds favorably.  We don't need to sprint, only move quickly. And we do. At one point we come to an intersection with another park road. We see no ribbons indicating which way to go. We look and then wait for other runners to come along to indicate the proper direction. 

After three miles of downhill on the paved road we come to the Cardiac water station (mile 80). It is unmanned, but there are large water coolers.  I fill my hydration pack while Emaad goes on.  I quickly catch up to him and in about a half mile the pavement ends and we are back on single track.

The trail is near the river and generally without any significant up and down. But it is dark and there are rocks and roots that require one's attention to stay upright.  Around mile 84 we pass over the Newcastle Powerhouse, a small hydroelectric generating plant.

In about a mile and a half we try to figure out how we are going to cross a moderate stream of water. Emaad doesn't seem to recall this area on his outbound journey earlier, and as we search around a runner on the trail above yells at us that we have gone off the trail.  We bushwack a bit uphill are regain the Pioneer Express Trail. I now have checked both boxes of my "it isn't a trail run unless you get lost or fall down" adage.

When we get to Rattlesnake Bar aid station (mile 86.2), Emaad heads to the medical tent to have his feed attended to, and I go to get his drop bag so he can change socks and have a coffee drink.  The medics put moleskin on the blister on the bottom of a foot but refuse to lance the blister, citing the risk of infection.  They urge him not to linger as the cutoff is approaching. 

We hustle out, but things are beginning to get ominous. His time is 25:29 for Rattlesnake Bar, which is only six minutes ahead of the 30-hour pace. And that pace does not take into account any time spent at aid stations.

Dawn is coming.

Horseshoe Bar

But we are still moving and the next aid station is only 2.6 miles ahead.

In places the trail is deeply eroded with straight, ditch-like gullies.  At one point I straddle one, then start to slip and try to jump to the other side.  I stumble and stay upright, but my hydration bladder flies out of my pack, as I had not looped it in when I refilled it. I have to stop, remove my pack, and reinsert the bladder.  Perhaps while doing this I drop my reusable cup (RDL is a cupless race) as later in the day I no longer have it.

Gradually the sky starts to lighten. Rosy fingered dawn is with us.  Folsom Lake is no wine-dark sea but Emaad's journey, like that of all the RDL entrants is on an Odyssey of his own.  Saira plays the part of Penelope, awaiting the return of the hero, not to Ithaca, but to the finish line. I am Polites, true friend and crew member.

Rosy fingered dawn over not so wine dark Folsom Lake.

Homeric thoughts stowed away, we continue. Approaching the Horseshoe Bar AS, (mile 88.8) we overtake a runner limping badly.  It is likely that his journey is coming to an end.  At the aid station, I use the portapotty, then take off my long sleeved shirt and tie it around my waist.

And we move on.

Granite Beach

All through the night we shared the trail with other runners and their pacers.  But gradually we see fewer and fewer, as some go ahead, and some disappear behind, likely dropping out. Now, it is just the two of us.

On the Meat Grinder.

Emaad asks how are we doing. I equivocate, knowing that we are falling further and further behind pace, but on the other hand, recognizing that we are still moving. Every step now is one less later.

The race does not allow poles. He picks up a rather thick branch to use.  After a mile or two he discards it as too heavy.  I find a thinner one and give it to him.  It serves for awhile and then breaks.

While there is not much in the way of elevation change the course has roll to it, and rocks and roots.  This is the Meat Grinder section (there is a sign that identifies it) and given his blistered feet, aching quads and general tiredness, running is out of the question.

At a couple of places I have to offer him a hand so that he can step down. In other places he uses rocks of the side of the trail for support. 

Finally he sits on a rock for a bit of a break.  When he says that the crevasse on the other side of the trail looks like a good place to nap, I tell him we need to go on.

He didn't refill his flasks at the aid station and has run out of water.  I refill one with water from my pack.

I text Saira, "He beat." She asks what is is estimate finishing time. I respond that "there's a 40% chance he quits at Granite Beach." I'm being optimistic, but keep it to myself.  Like Penelope, she retains hope that her Odesseus will make it. "He's stubboran and wants to finish," she replies.  She asks his likely finishing time.  I reply with "between 11 and 12."  I don't say that the cutoff is 11.

Out of the Meat Grinder the course get flatter, the trail wider and the surface smoother.  No matter.  He can no longer run.

Two women wearing red shirts catch up with us.  They are the Safety Sweepers.  Their presence confirms that Emaad is the last runner on the course.  We chat with them, but because they are the sweepers, they never step in front of us.

Approaching Granite Beach
accompanied by the Safety Sweepers.
(Photo by S. Burki)

Emaad finally announces that he will drop at Granite Beach. I let Saira know so that she can meet us there.  Based on the pace card I'm carrying and the mileage measured by my Garmin I keep texting her a countdown of our distance to the aid station.  I'm off and it begins to annoy me that we are not there yet.  Finally the sweepers point out a lifeguard station in the distance and tell us that is where the aid station is.

When we get there, Saira awaits. The volunteers have started to close down the aid station. But they still offer us solid refreshments as well as things to drink. Emaad walks to the timing mat, crosses it and announces he is officially dropping. His time is 29:40.

By the Numbers

There are 197 official finishers and four unofficial (over 30 hour) finishers. There were 88 DNFs, but only two others besides Emaad made it to Granite Beach. Only about 61 percent of those who started finished.  Later, he recognizes that he had underestimated the difficulty of the course with its 12,000 feet of climb and descent. And the deceptively easy, flat and fast (he ran a 50K PR) at the beginning.

For me, I went 26.7 miles in 9:55, an average pace of 22:15. My Garmin logged 4368 feet of total ascent and 5427 feet of total descent.  Of course, I hadn't run 69.5 miles previous.

Swag: Pacer bib.

Water Gap 50K - September 27, 2025

 Fear of Forest Animals

We are in the woods, on single track on a trail on the side of a hill, with some undergrowth on either side.  I hear, more that see, something rustle the leaves on the left.  I alert, stop and look intently. 

"What is it?," Beth asks.

A closer look and I exhale.

"Grey tree bear," I say.

It's a squirrel. But for a second it was something more, the result of an event hours earlier.

Pre-race brief. Note the bear-proof trash receptacles.

At the Start

"How come he gets an elite bib number?" I jokingly complain as Emaad and I check in at the start of the Water Gap 50K.  He gets 5, I get 24. There are two reasons. First, bibs are assigned in alphabetical order and he is a B and I am an S by surname. Second, there are only 21 entrants in the race, so everyone gets a low bib number. There is also a 25K with 33 entrants, but because of when the events start, and the out and back nature of the course,  I won't see any of them during the races.

The small size of the race and its location at Smithfield Beach in Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area, means we part about 50 feet from the start finish line.  A few minutes before the 8 a.m. start time the race director gives a briefing, telling us of the aid stations and facilities available of the course. He reminds us to get a race poker chip at the unmanned turn-around and notes that there may not be enough for everyone.

Emaad and Beth early on.

We walk over to the start line, he says go, and we are off.  In order to assure that we go a full 50K, we run a long loop around the parking lot before getting on the McDade Recreational Trail. (The trail is named for Rep. Joseph M. McDade, a Republican who represented the area and was instrumental in establishing the Recreation Area.)  A couple of hundred yards into the race Emaad and I are comfortably settled at the back of the pack, i.e., there is no one behind us.  But we are close to one runner and we settle in to running with her.

New Friend

Our paces match and we start chatting with her, because that's what trail runners, at least those of us at the back of the pack, do. Making new friends and making the miles pass easily.

Emaad and I about mile 4.

Beth tells us that this is her first 50K. She is a bit apprehensive about it, but we assure her that it won't be a problem for her. Only later does she reveal that she did a nine-day hike around Mont Blanc and a multi-day hike in the Dolomites.

The first four miles are on a fairly wide flat trail past corn fields and through woods. There are a couple of short bridges across some streams and shallow ravines. It's easy running without the necessity of scanning the trail in front for rocks and roots.

Then the trail bends left and heads uphill. we stop and Beth takes Emaad and my photo.  Emaad takes off and Beth and I are left to go on our own. 

For nearly the next seven hours Beth will be subjected to having to listen to my running anecdotes, including some of my greatest hits, including "then leave me alone to run in my own personal hell," "it's a Mojave rattler," "pursued by a stampede," "chocolate-covered bacon," and many more. Browse this blog for more memorable stories of mine! (Or not. There are so many cute cat videos (none from me) awaiting you.)

We arrive at the Jag Road aid station (mile 4.5, elapsed time, 0:49) and Beth gets to see one of the reasons that trial running is better than road running - the AS food.  All the usual ultra food is there, cookies, candy, fruit, soda and more.  I spot a portable grill on the side and ask if there will be grilled cheese on the return. I'm promised pierogies.

Small bridge to cross

Bear!

Up and over the ridge we go, thru woods. The course flattens out again and suddenly Beth stops.

"A bear just crossed the trail," she exclaims. 

I stop too. "Where?" I don't see anything.

"From the right to the left. It was a black bear. As long as there isn't a cub around we will be okay," she replies. "We have to make noise," she explains clapping her hands and raising her voice.

I follow her lead, clapping and yelling nonsense.

I tell the old joke about not having to outrun the bear, just the person you are with.

When we get to the Bushkill Access AS (mile 8.5, ET 1:40) we relate the bear encounter.  The volunteers are unsurprised.  The bears frequent the park for the corn and soybeans growing in the fields we pass. The reason for the bear-proof trash receptacles is now very clear.

Stretch!

Crossing Bushkill Creek. (mile 6.5/24)

At one point Beth stops and stretches her arms straight over her head. She takes a deep breathe, then exhales sharply.  I ask if everything is alright.  She says it is a way to force your diaphragm down to relieve side stiches.  This is a useful thing to learn.

Off Course?

Leaving the AS, we both detour to use the permanent facilities at the parking lot at the Bushkill Access, something that technically is off the official course.  The AS volunteers assure us that it is not any shorter than the course, as it runs parallel to the trail and is alright to do so. 

Although the course is well-flagged, Beth nearly goes astray a couple of times. Calling her back I tell her "It's not a trail race unless you get lost or fall down." On the way back she is more experienced and doesn't miss any flagging.

Sun burns thru the early fog.

What's Said on the Trail Stays on the Trail

There is something about trail running that allows people to discuss with strangers topics that might otherwise be considered private. Not just trail-related medical or bodily-related matters, but personal matters.  But personal issues get revealed too.  

I recall trail running with a pair of friends who spent most of a couple of hours of running discussing (disparaging, in point of fact) their spouses.  Both marriages would end in divorce. Their vitriol was so strong that it was clear that the marriages were doomed.

Beth and I discuss many things (none as serious as that memorable run) that I doubt would have been talked about had we met at a cocktail party.  On the other hand, we are together for seven hours, not a half hour.

Turnaround with race poker chips.

Before we reach the Eshback Access aid station (mile 12.5, ET 2:37) we see her husband, Eric, coming toward us.  I sense a photo-op, and we stop and use Beth's phone to get a picture of the two of them together.  There may have been a kiss caught on camera too. 

To the Turnaround

After a bit we see Emaad coming toward us.  We exchange greetings, and proceed.

We discuss what to do if there are no chips left when we reach the turnaround, but there is no need - there are 6-8 chips still available. We each take one and head back.

We catch up to Eric R. who is walking.  His back is bothering him and he plans to drop at the Eshback AS.  When we get there on our return (mile 18.1, ET 4:01) we tell them about him and that we are the last runners on the course.

Corn field approaching Eshback Access AS

Onward

We go on past the corn fields and soybean fields on our way to the Bushkill Access AS (mile 22.4, ET 5:11). Beth uses the facilities while I sit and wait at the aid station.

Off we go, now mostly in the woods, and soon begin climbing. 

It isn't long before we encounter the gray tree bear. I hadn't realized just how much the primitive part of my brain fears meeting the bear. Perhaps I feared it even more not having seen it.

Welcome to the Dark Side

Since this is Beth's first ultra after four marathons, I feel a ceremony is in order.  I pick up a stick and we take turns carrying it.  When her watch says we have gone 26.2 miles I put it on the ground, borrow her phone and have her run over it while I get a picture. "Welcome to the Dark Side," I congratulate her.

Soybean field.

Last Push

Arriving at the final aid station (mile 26.5, ET 6:23) Beth is not feeling well. We both take seats while she regroups.  I eat a cheese pierogi and drink a cola.  An aid station worker offers to run in with us but Beth has revived and declines the offer.

We go off and soon Alex from the Bushkill Access AS catches up with us.  He's sweeping the course and picking up the pink trail flags.  More conversation ensues.

Beth's stomach is troubling her.  Alex and I suggest that vomiting might help (I've been down that road) but although she tries nothing comes up.

Soon we can see the finish, but must run around the parking lot. Beth perks up and takes off. She finishes a minute ahead of me and reunites with husband Eric and a friend who ran the 25K.

She finishes in an official 7:29.  Emaad kept up his pace all day and finishes in 6:20. I'm recorded as 7:30 (my watch said 7:29:05) and DFL. I'm 20 of 20, 15 of 15 males and 1 of 1 in my age group. I'm the oldest finisher by 12 years.

Swag: Shirt, token, bib, parking permit, mug.

Dirty German 50K - May 10, 2025

Emaad and Leigh Ann at the start

A non-linear collection of vignettes from Uberendurance Sports Dirty German 50K in Philadelphia. The course was dry and the weather pretty well perfect, albeit a bit warm.  I was able to keep up with Emaad and Leigh Ann for a few miles before their youth and enthusiasm took them away.

Dislocated Shoulder

About mile 19 (about 3 miles into the second of the two 16-mile loops) I come upon a pair of runners.  One is walking very slowly and is clearly in a lot of pain and holding one arm with the other.  I ask if there is anything I can do for him but he replies that he has dislocated his shoulder from a fall. I offer sympathy and ibuprofen. He accepts the former and declines the latter and I go on.

In a short while I spot someone heading in the opposite direction.  He says he is looking for a runner who was reported to be injured and I give him an estimate of how far he has to go. Next is a woman, also headed that way.  She is the runners wife and I provide an update of how far she has to go.  Finally, Race Director Stephan is spotted headed to render assistance.  Later I hear that an ambulance met the runner at where the course comes out at Krewstown Road to render first aid and transport him to a medical facility.

Gravity never takes a holiday.

View from the course.

How Fast Do You Run is the Wrong Question

Someplace around mile 22, on a flat stretch of trail parallel to Pennypack Creek, I overtake Rich, who is walking.  I slow down, greet him, and we begin to converse.  This is his second attempt at an ultra, and I assure him that he won't have any problem finishing this one.  We talk about the difference between trail and road running and I present my six reasons why trail running is better:

• 

  Enjoying the day.

  no mile markers
• softer surfaces
• no repetitive running motion
• better scenery
• better aid station food
• nicer people

He agrees and notes that people often ask him the wrong question: how fast does he run?  Running trails, or ultras, is not about speed.  Except for the elites or the very fast runners, speed is irrelevant. Most of us are out to enjoy the day. We are here to enjoy the journey, not to hurry to the destination.  One may have a finishing time goal in mind, but I don't know of anyone who translates that into a pace.

Ultras are not time trials.

Training tips - stop it! We are trail runners.

Around mile 12, still on the first loop, there are several runners in a group.  One, more experienced than the others, is expounding about training for ultras.  It is painful to hear.  He is laying out elaborate training regimes involving long and short runs, fartleks, speed work, lactate thresholds and more from the dismal world of road runners.

Finally I've had enough of the kill-joy.

"For God's sake! Stop!," I say. "We are trail runners. Unless you seek a podium finish, take all that training bunk and go run on roads.  Train for trail running by running on trails. Run short or long, but keep enjoying the trails you run on.  And if you run enough trail races, each one is the training for the next one.  Enjoy the day!"

Follow the ribbons.

Follow Ribbons, not Runners

The course is very well marked, but it isn't a trail race unless you fall down or get lost. Fortunately, I select the latter.

About ten miles in the wooded, single-track trail has several runners in evident confusion.  They have come out onto a city street that paralells the park, but there are no ribbons on the street, only a traffic cone about 30 yards away. One of the runners reports having gone to the cone, but not seeing a ribbon or trail.  So we do what is recommended - find the last ribbon seen on the course.  It is only about five yards back and it hangs over a fallen log. Looking from there we see that the trail makes a sharp left and we are soon back on our way.

More Than Just an Aid Station Volunteer

At the aid station at mile 24, I linger to chat with one of the aid station workers, Jim Blandford. I saw him there the first loop taking pictures, but now we have time to chat.  He recognizes my Bull Run Run 50 shirt (he is wearing a BRR hat that I have) and we trade BRR stories. He notes that he is doing Massanutten Mountain 100 the following week and I tell my well-worn story of pacing cousin Peter there.  He tells me how the course has that portion of the course has changed since then.

Thoreau's Hut in Pennypack Park

I refill my hydration pack while we talk, grab some cookies, thank him for volunteering and wish him good luck the following week.

Jim is a prime example of what sets ultrarunners apart, for he is not just any ultrarunner.  He will be third at Massanutten the next week, nearly six hours faster than the next person in his age group. It's his third third place finish at MMT, to accompany a first place finish.  In the past 16 years he has never finished lower than seventh at BRR, including three firsts and three seconds.  He has twelve victories in the past 14 years in other ultras.  He is an elite runner, yet here he was dishing out aid to those of us at the far back of the pack. 

This is what makes ultrarunning different. (See bullet point six.)

Bacon and grilled cheese sandwiches

The four aid stations on the course (and the one at the start/finish) are well stocked with the usual ultrarun selections of cookies, potato chips, gels, water and electrolyte solutions.  But each of them is also equipped with a portable grill and are providing runners with grilled cheese sandwiches. But wait - there is more! Freshly grilled, hot bacon!  Many ultras will have grilled cheese, or quesadillas at an aid station, but at all of them?!? Oh, the joy.

This is what makes makes ultrarunning different. (See bullet point five.)

Trail next to Pennypack Creek

Trash Pick-up

As I run (In an ultra "run" means move forward, whatever the pace, including walking. It may also mean stopping to take pictures, admire the scenery or get food at an aid station.) I occasionally spot wrappers on the ground.  Some are clearly from runners who may have tried to put them in their pockets but missed, or had them fall out. (The latter has happened to me.)  I stop to pick one or two up, and it gradually becomes an obsession - not to pick up every bit of litter, as there are the random beer cans, carryout containers and other detritus, but only those that may have come from runners, like gel packs or the little tear-off tabs from gel packs.  It is a bit of OCD behavior, but I gradually can't stop, because it IS OCD behavior.  And I want to leave the park as clean as when the race began. 

Water splash at aid station

The temperatures are rising in the afternoon late in the second loop, and at the third aid station I cup my hands and have the volunteer pour water into the, which I splash on my face to cool off.  It feels good and refreshing.

At the final aid station I repeat the request but as I bring my hands upward the water flies out and more of it winds up splashing the unsuspecting volunteer than me. "If I knew what you were going to do, I would have jumped back," she says good naturedly. "I'll try again," I reply, "but try to have better aim."

First, Last and Only

Rich pulls away from me after we leave the aid station at mile 24 to finish in 8:15. Emaad hangs with Leigh Ann until about mile 22 and then tells her to go on, and she finishes in 7:37; he is 12 minutes behind.

Age group award

I finish in 8:27:14, good for 155 of 177 overall, 97 of 108 males, and first in my age group. Also last in my age group, as I'm the only one in it.  But it is good enough to win a Wetterhaus trophy for the finish.

Swag: Sweatshirt, hat, medal, bib, AG Wetterhaus