50 Miles and 10,000 Feet
and a beginner.
On the morning of the Cayuga Trail 50, I navigated the narrow service road toward the start line. Relief washed over me when I spotted a volunteer directing runners into the entrance from the main road. At 5 am, visibility was poor, and I worried I might miss the turn.
I turned in cautiously and proceeded down the dirt road, with trees towering over me on each side. A single figure caught my eye—a runner walking down the path to my left.
Should I offer her a ride? Why am I even hesitating? It's fascinating how my brain sometimes pauses before simple acts of kindness.
I rolled down my window and stopped the car.
“Hey, would you like a ride? I'm heading to the start too—you can hop in the back.”
“That would be great, thank you! My husband just dropped me off. He and my son are running the 50K.”
“Oh, cool! Have you run this race before?”
“No, I'm from New Jersey. All my training has been on flat terrain, so this should be interesting.”
We chatted like old friends until another volunteer appeared ahead, directing us where to park.
“Please get over as far as you can,” she said with a smile.
A line of vehicles hugged the right side of the path. I steered onto the grass, adding my car to the makeshift parking lot. We gathered our gear and walked toward the mysterious start line.
The race headquarters sat tucked away at Y Camp—a secluded campground so far off the beaten path that without the unmistakable row of porta-potties, you'd never guess hundreds of runners were about to embark on an epic journey through the woods.
We made our way over to the picnic tables to set down our gear. Many runners were headed in the same direction. Straight ahead was the inflatable arch, signifying the start and finish line. Instead of saying ‘start,’ it read Giddyup and It’s Done, instead of finish. I laughed to myself.
I found an empty picnic table to set my drop bag. I had extra nutrition, fluids, wet wipes, and a small towel. I would be able to access this bag at miles 10, 25, 35, and at the finish. I checked my watch: 45 minutes until the start. I examined my running vest to ensure I had enough gels to begin. Then, I took one gel and some fluids before hitting the porta-potty.
As I stood in line, the weight of what I was about to attempt settled in. 50 miles. Over 10,000 feet of elevation gain. I recognized how different this 50 mile run was from the JFK 50 mile.
Could I do it?
This was why I was here: to find out.
(TBC… to be continued)
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Sorry for the confusion this morning. My Haiku was a bit off syllable wise. "This" refers to that special question that propels every runner forward and may be different for each runner....
Waiting for a race to begin is such a palpable thing! You described it so well, Julie, and having been in that situation a few times, I thought as I read it, "Yes! I know EXACTLY what that feels like!"