JFK 50 Mile Memorial Run
Nov. 22, 2008
45th Anniversary Run, Hagerstown, Maryland
by Lou Esposito
I trained for my first, maybe only, Ultra Marathon this year. The JFK 50 Miler is one of the largest Ultras, with close to 1000 participants. It takes place in Maryland, and a major portion of the course is on the Appalachian Trail. Not a lot of mountain trails in Florida, but I figured I'd be okay.
The race can really be divided into three parts: The Appalachian Trail, the C&O Towpath, and the "Country Roads" sections.
Part I - The Appalachian Trail
After a pre-race meeting in the Boonsboro High gymnasium, where we are given the rules of the road, safety tips and encouragement, we walk about a mile to the start on Main Street. The gun goes off at 7 a.m., cuing hooting and hollering as we start the 500 ft. climb to the AT. The temperature is 19 degrees with an 8 degree wind chill, colder than anything I'd ever run in, but I'd layered and expect to warm up once I get moving. Amazingly, some runners are wearing shorts! After walk/running the steep road, we get to the Trail. It is a narrow path through a heavily wooded area, covered with many rocks and roots, and I have to constantly look down to see where to step. I follow some runners and try to match their rhythm and foot placement to keep pace. We all move pretty quickly for awhile. We come to very steep uphill and downhill areas which slow our pace. Where it is flatter, I try to move faster but don't want to take a spill like many others have already done.
The trail is getting more and more rocky, making the footing very tough. At times it seems that going faster, while sort of hopping from rock to rock, is easier than slowing. There are even runners who, on the wider areas, yell, "on your left." and actually pass you in full stride. I catch up to some of those "passers" who are now either walking or are in an uncomfortable prone position on the Trail.
My quads and hamstrings are really feeling all of the work. I keep going, hoping for an end to the gymnastics required for this part of the race. I ask a runner next to me how he's doing, and he replies, "Not good. I think I have to drop out". Surprised because he appears fine, I ask why. He just holds up his hand, displaying a finger pointed in a direction that fingers can't point. He had broken it in a fall. I see other injuries here and there. Bloody chins, foreheads and knees, and hobbled ankles. I pray that I'm not next.
As I continue, I can hear runners talking about past experiences. Some on their 10th or 12th JFK are giving advice to first-timers. After a short break from the Trail, on a paved path of about 100 yards, a woman runner says, "Now comes the really rocky part". I think that she's just messing with me. She isn't.
Unbelievably, the Trail becomes steeper and rockier. In fact, the Trail is now all rock - No dirt patches at all. I try to keep some kind of pace, but there are places where you have to stop and climb up or down to get where you are going. My quads and knees are loving this! Finally, we come to a flatter area where I am able to pick it up. It's still tough footing, so I try to continue to avoid falling as I've managed so far. That's when I fall. Being careful makes me think too much about foot placement. My foot catches under a sharp rock, and I go down hard on my left hip. I roll a bit but fortunately don't hit a large rock or another runner, which could have led to a nasty domino effect. I get to my feet and take inventory. I seem okay. Hip isn't bad. In fact, my ankle is a little worse off but not bad either. On I go, feeling a little relieved that I've gotten my spill out of the way. One runner had said that you're not an official JFK'er until you eat it at least once. Hoorah, I'm official!
Finally, I reach the Weaverton Cliffs, a series of switchbacks that gets you back down the mountain and off the Trail. This part is described as "treacherous". Once again, they weren't kidding. It's such a steep drop in parts that I have to hang onto trees to keep from falling. When I get to the bottom, there is an aid station and cheering spectators. I warm a gel under my arm to unfreeze it, wash it down with icy Gatorade from the tables and move onto the next part of the race, feeling like I have already accomplished a lot. I am at about Mile 18 +. Only 32 to go.
Part II - The Chesapeake & Ohio Towpath
The towpath is mostly a flat gravel road along the Potomac River. The scenery, which I can actually look up at for the first time, is beautiful. Once I get my legs under me and find a rhythm, it feels really good to run. I hope to make up for time lost on the AT. The towpath is nice to run on but is very long, almost marathon distance. A few miles in, the hip that I had fallen on begins to complain, but I am able to hold my pace. Around Mile 25 I come to an aid station. Almost halfway sounds good yet daunting. I need to finish in under 12 hours to beat the cut-off, so I can't back off of my pace.
When I reach the tables, I see Jan, my co-worker and friend who had opted for the earleir start. She says she can't believe how tough the trail is and that she's a little beat up but okay. We exchange encouragement and a hug and keep going.
My hip is tightening to the point of pain, affecting my form. The pain worsens, and by Mile 30 I wonder if I can continue for another 20 miles. I decide it's make-or-break time. I hold onto a tree, pulling my left knee as far as I can toward my right shoulder. This could make things better or make them worse, and I actually consider having to quit if this doesn't work, knowing that, if hobbled, I will be pulled from the course for missing the cutoffs anyway. I shake my leg out and give it a try. I feel okay!! Looks like I'll finish if my luck holds out. I continue past a sign that reads, "If this were a marathon, you'd be home by now". Nice. Then snow begins to fall. Nicer still. But the light dusting ends quickly.
I reach the end of the towpath at about Mile 42. There are race volunteers there to place reflective vests on the runners. We are headed onto trafficked roads as the sun is setting. I step onto pavement.
Pat III - Country Roads (Take Me Home)
I am immediately challenged by a very steep turn, and I remember thinking how unfair that is. It eventually flattens out somewhat and becomes a series of rolling hills. This is where Coach Terri's hill workouts save me. I slog the uphills and practically sprint the downhills in order to keep my pace fast enough to be sure to finish in time. No way have I gone this far to be denied the title of Official Finisher. I try to do the math in my head, and it seems I should have no problem unless something happens, but I'm taking no chances. As it gets dark, it grows colder and windier. My hands and feet are getting numb. I reach an aid station that reads "44.2". A young volunteer hands me hot chicken broth, which felt fantastic going down. He calls out, "Only 5.8 miles to go". He says that 6 miles isn't much after doing 44. I suggest that he try it sometime. He doesn't think he will.
On the last stretch, I pass many people who are walking. Some have even stopped, and I yell to them not to give up now. At Mile 3 to the finish, I start to get really excited. I am going to do this with some time to spare! It takes forever to get to the Mile 2 marker. I think I must have missed it, but then there it is. I catch up to a runner and ask if the marker is right. He tells me we are closer than 1.5 miles away. I like that a lot. I feel like I am really picking it up now, although I'm probably not. I reach an intersection where a police officer is directing the runners to the finish at Williamsport Middle School. When he says that there is only half a mile to go, I could kiss him.
As I approach the finish, which is marked by bright lights, I begin to sprint (in my mind anyway). I hear my wife Debi cheering for me as I cross. The medal is placed around my neck, and I receive the most sincere congratulations from a race official ever. I pump my fist, hug my wife, and head indoors to consume pizza, hot chocolate and whatever else I could get my hands on. I am sore, chilled and exhausted but happy.
Thanks to the support of my family, my friends and my other family, my running group. I have done what I wasn't sure I could. The race director had said that it would be a transforming, exhilarating experience. Once again, he wasn't kidding. Thanks to everyone for your support, love and friendship. What do I do next?