Reflections on Masochist

In 2003 after completing the inaugural Highland Sky 40 miler, it is rumored that David Horton described the race as “Mile for mile the toughest ultra marathon on the East Coast”. Fast forward three years and I find myself lying on the tailgate of a pick-up truck somewhere near the finish of Highland Sky. As the truck pulls away, I lift my eyes and quickly catch a glimpse of Dr. Horton finishing the last mile of a brutally hot and punishing race. With his forehead drenched in sweat and his face grimaced, I was reminded of something he said during his PCT attempt; “it is more painful to quit than to suffer and endure to the finish”. If Masochist were to live up to its reputation, there would be a great deal of suffering in my life before November, 2006.

Summer turned to fall and the weeks fell by quickly. I felt like a condemned man and November 4^th was my execution date. I knelt at the foot of the Priest and counted more than Three Ridges. I arose before the sun and spent too many Saturday mornings away from my wife and dog. The anticipation grew, but doubts about my first 50 mile attempt remained.

 The big name runners from the four corners of North America were there for the Montrail Ultra Cup. Participants paced back and forth, tying and untying there shoes, adjusting their packs and basically fidgeting away the nervous energy. The anxiety surrounding the event was lessened for the riders of Bus Number Three. Our driver carefully chauffeured his passengers to the start as if it was our first day of school. He adjusted the thermostat to keep his pupils warm and quickly opened and closed the door as not to allow any unnecessary loss of precious heat. There were many discussions on the science and art of layering, but soon the clock was a quarter past five and the door swung open and all pupils exited the bus. The driver of Bus Number Three had delivered the first part of his promise.

The start was a blur and an approaching tractor trailer slowed to avoid the onslaught of runners. We approached the James River and the top of the Blue Ridge was starting to glow. I was anxious to ascend the ridge and have the sun on my back. We made it to the top of the first climb and I came to a stop and the runner behind me slowed. The view of the outstretched Blue Ridge was picture perfect. The mountains seemed to overlap and I had difficult comprehending the road ahead.

Aid Station 14.9 and I reached for a peanut butter sandwich. He said to me, “my mother made those.” I embraced him and said, “Extend my love to your mother.” As I ran away, he replied, “What are you putting in your bottle?”

Mile 20 and an endless decent that takes its toll on my quads. The suffering would begin at mile 22, but there was hope at mile 26. One more aid station to go.

Marathon one was complete and as promised Bus Number Three was there. Our drop bags were aligned with the accuracy of a Swiss time piece. It was comforting to dive into my drop bag and see familiar things. I was half way home.

The legend of Buck Mountain lives up to its name. The theme from Rocky echoed through the valley below. I could barely hear the attentive volunteer, but he handed me a cup of warm vegetable soup. “I put a pinch of salt in it for you”. At that very moment, it was the best cup of vegetable soup on the face of the Earth.

I arrived at the infamous Loop and it was alive with people, sounds, smells and excitement. Into the Loop and this was the best trail I’ve ever run on, through the loop and the trail becomes a bit rocky, around the loop and the suffering returned, out of the loop and she asked me if there was anything she could get me. The ensuing hug almost broke three thoracic vertebrae, but I became energized and the suffering, for that moment, subsided.

Annette Bednosky is a rock star with her groupies providing handfuls of gummy bears. She and many others volunteers traveled miles, at their own expense, to spend the day in the freezing wilderness providing runners with a safe and enjoyable event.  I took a wrong turn and they yelled for me to come back. In jest, I peppered them with a handful of gummy bears and they screamed with excitement. I received a pat on the back and was ready to race to the finish.

In years past runners have attempted to run the entire 2,175 miles of the Appalachian Trail in as few days as possible. I wondered if they had thought about the Montebello Country Store and chili that lies below. If so, did they dare allow themselves this luxury?

“It’s only 2.9 miles to the finish and it’s mostly downhill”, he promised. The last mile marker has become a defining trademark of any Horton race. The last mile signifies the end of suffering or the disappointment in the day drawing to an end. This day, I was disappointed.

If Highland Sky is considered “Mile for mile the toughest ultra on the East Coast” then Masochist is “Mile for mile, the most Altruistic Ultra on the East Coast”. To the throngs of generous aid station volunteers, to the persons who attentively flagged all 53 miles of the course, to Mrs. Horton for her patience with the lamentings of her husband, to the driver of Bus # 3, to the young man who’s mother made the PBnJ’s, to the young lady giving out free hugs, to the gentleman who put an extra pinch of salt in my soup, to the young lady with the bag of gummy bears, to the runners who sacrificed their finish to carry an injured runner to safety, to the persons who picked up trash at the aid stations, to my wife for her generosity, to all involved,  thank you for making me a Masochist.

William Potts