Introduction & Chapter One

from my upcoming book

Hey Run to Write Community,

I’m excited to share excerpts of my upcoming memoir: MILES of MEANING: from Doubter to JFK 50 Mile Finisher. Publication date is set for October 14, 2025.

Thank you so much to

Alford Wayman

,

Mary B

,

Shauna K. Hunt

and

Anna Kohler Smith

for the restack and to

Cindy Villanueva

Jenn Woltjen

, Miriam, and Jim for joining the M.O.M. (miles of meaning) Book Launch Team.

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Introduction

My uncle casually mentioned encountering runners with bib numbers on the Appalachian Trail years ago. There must be a race, I thought. A quick Google search revealed the JFK 50 Mile—one of America's oldest and most prestigious ultramarathons. Though intrigued, I filed it away as a future goal race. My heart was set on Boston, and I vowed not to consider ultra distances until I had crossed that iconic marathon finish line in 2021.

Then, in 2023, my phone buzzed with a text from my nephew. A photo filled my screen: him grinning at the finish line of the JFK 50 Mile footrace in Maryland, bib number pinned to his chest. His first ultra.

“I finished!” he'd written.

I stared at the photo—his joy and triumph radiated through the screen. My finger hovered over the keypad. I wondered if I could do it next year, then quickly deleted my half-typed reply. For the next six hours, I researched trail running sneakers online, read race reports from strangers, and studied elevation maps of the Appalachian Trail section. Before bed, I'd bookmarked the JFK 50 Mile registration page.

There was something else—did a train really cross the race route? How long did runners have to wait if it did? I had to find out. Ed Ayres' book, The Longest Race, offered some insights and confirmed that the train did make an appearance on race day, yet my questions remained only partially answered.

This book, Miles of Meaning, grew from my curiosity when my uncle described JFK 50 Mile runners streaming past him on the Appalachian Trail years ago, and my commitment to dedicate each mile to those touched by cancer. This mission took on personal significance as my husband, Jeff, was in remission and on his recovery journey. I began mentally assigning each of the 50 miles to specific people—Jeff, his aunt, friends who'd fought their own battles—turning the race into a moving memorial of hope.

You belong here if you're a road runner looking at this race with both desire and doubt. If your training happens on asphalt instead of trails, you belong here. You've got what it takes!

Let's Go!

Chapter 1: Willing Feet

I stood at the JFK 50 Mile starting line among 1,120 other runners, trail sneakers laced tight, heart hammering with possibility. In just a few minutes, I would run the legendary Appalachian Trail, run alongside the Potomac River, and find myself at mile 47, recalling each name I was carrying in my running vest, those touched by cancer. I would picture my children, Brindsley and Delaney, and my husband, Jeff, watching the livestream, hearing their cheers: "Go, Mama, go!" "Go, Jules, go!"

But this story began months earlier, on the rolling country roads that had become my training ground.

4:30 a.m. In six hours, I'd finish my longest training run or discover I had no business dreaming about 50 miles. My feet hit the cold floor as I felt around for the running clothes I'd laid out the night before, another pre-dawn ritual chasing an answer I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

I tiptoed to the kitchen and laced up my sneakers by the glow of my phone. The headlamp's beam cut through the darkness as I stepped outside into another morning on these familiar roads. No stunning trail network waited outside my front door, just asphalt stretching into silence.

The nearest trails required planning, driving, and careful negotiation with our family calendar. With Jeff working every other weekend and our two children, 11-year-old Brindsley and 10-year-old Delaney, to coordinate, my training had to fit into the gaps of our lives. That's how I found myself here, headlamp shining, grateful to the moon and stars for company on another early morning run.

Yet these weren't just random early morning miles anymore. I was training for something that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure—my first ultramarathon. Fifty miles. The JFK 50 Mile.

Weeks before that first training run, I had sat at my desk, coffee growing cold, reading through the race description on my computer. The JFK 50 Mile wasn't just an ultramarathon but a hybrid beast, with rocks and roots along the Appalachian Trail, canal towpaths, and country roads. My shoulders relaxed as I read. For a road runner contemplating her first ultra, this felt manageable. Yes, I'd have to survive the technical Appalachian Trail section, but then I'd be back on familiar ground, the paths and roads that had been my allies for years. I wouldn't need to transform into a full-time trail runner to tackle this distance. Then I saw a 13 hour time limit. With proper training, I believed I could accomplish this.

So I signed up. About 95% of my training would happen on asphalt. The precious few trail runs would be gold, hard-earned, and strategically placed in my training plan. These dark morning miles were building something I couldn't yet name, not just endurance but faith—faith that my willing feet could carry me further than I'd ever imagined.

But that finish line story began here—in the quiet darkness of the country roads, where I learned that willing feet start with a willing heart.

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Next Monday, I will share another excerpt. Thank you so much for being here with me. Please feel free to share with someone you love,

Julie

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