The JFK 50 Miler Ultra Race // Guest Article

Along my Appalachian Trail thru hike I met a ton of really interesting and motivating people; thru hikers and not. There is such a strong sense of community and belonging among hikers that we can instantly bond and get to know each other without judgement. I had the great pleasure of hiking with Finn “Politician” Melanson for probably half of my time on the AT. This kid was an absolute beast at hiking. Finn now lives in Alta, UT and is exploring the abundant beauty, adventures and lifestyle that Alta has to offer. The article below chronicles his experience from running the JFK 50 Miler, his first ultra-running race, and also touches on some future ultra races he has lined up. Enjoy!

The JFK 50 Miler: An Introduction to the American Ultra-Running Scene

Introduction:

It’s wild to reflect on a time when Americans were optimistic about the expanding role of government. But that is how this report begins.

Early in it’s presidency, the JFK administration was developing a plan to move the country towards peak fitness. They were particularly inspired by proposals that would push Americans to the limits of physical and mental performance. By 1963, hundreds of runners were converging on the mid-November scene of Boonsboro, Maryland–a famous relic of the Civil War era–and lining up to run the first 50 mile race in the country. It’s a fascinating, if little known, fact of the government’s creation. In retrospect, who could have imagined that when Kennedy famously proclaimed: “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country”, at least part of that order included running far on trails?

While the 1960s might have represented the height of quixotic idealism in this country, the “JFK 50 Miler” has managed to remain a permanent fixture on the American running scene. More importantly, it spawned its own version of athletic counter-culture: the sport of ultra-marathoning.

The JFK 50 Miler race logo. For all you political junkies, how cool is that?

Raceday

6:00 AM:

It was a melodramatic walk through the early morning darkness to the starting line on Boonsboro’s Main Street. Race prestige has that kind of effect–a heightened sense of awareness and appreciation for the history of it all. The electricity of the surrounding runners was palpable. And while I thrive on competition, I had to remind myself that this was my first foray into ultras. There would be contentment with just finishing the distance. Running a final check on all the gear–GPS Watch, Hand-Held, and Shoe Laces–was the meditative escape in those final moments. Months of training were about to be tested.

The JFK 50 Miler starting line.

10:00 AM:

Despite having a grand vision for what the race will look like, you learn the hard way that ultras rarely go as planned. The story of this report really begins around mile 26–when I was only halfway through and already feeling sorry for myself. Early in the run, while maneuvering down the rocky, treacherous descent off the Appalachian Trail section of the course, I had tripped on a rock hidden by fallen leaves and suffered a nasty spill that left me with a bum right knee.

Weverton Cliffs–the descent off the AT section of the course.

Over the following 18 miles, I was reduced to alternating periods of running and walking. Things were grinding to a halt and getting pretty bleak. I was physically hobbled and spiritually depleted–negotiating a losing battle with myself over whether to end my race.

When I finally staggered in to the “Mile 34 Aid Station”, I motioned to the race official on site that my day was over. In a blasé tone, he said “fine”. Evidently, countless other runners had shared my fate for him to have much empathy. He reminded me that shuttles were busy dealing with similar runners at other points on the course. I could be waiting a while.

There was time to stretch, drink soup broth from the aid station table, and collect my thoughts as half an hour passed. One of the volunteers even tossed me a couple Ibuprofen. They worked like magic. My mind was freed from pain and able to recall the reasons why I wanted to run this race in the first place. I quickly informed the official that I couldn’t wait any longer for the shuttle. At this rate, I could walk to the finish line faster. Just like that, my race was back on.

12:00 PM:

The course for JFK 50 Miler is deceptively brutal–the hallmark being the flat, “tow-path” section that parallels the Potomac River for 26 mind-numbing, torturous miles.

11 miles of this purgatory were left when I hit that wall at the “Mile 34 Aid Station”. If I had quit there, the repetition and monotony of this section would have been the true death-knell. It’s difficult to appreciate until it’s experienced. You lose track of the miles, the time, and more importantly–any notion of progress. A couple of aid stations are mercifully interspersed along the way to maintain your sanity and confirm your place in space and time.

Bizarre thoughts often carry you through the darker periods of these races. As a broke ski bum, I fixated on the tech shirts they handed out at the beginning of the race–complete with the iconic photo of JFK emblazoned on the front–and convinced myself that I’d lose the right to wear the shirt if I didn’t finish. That would suffice.

2:00 PM:

The tow path section mercifully spills out onto 8 miles of bucolic country roads that could pass the test for the imagery in any John Mellencamp ballad. As I ran by the few farmland homes that dotted the landscape, locals stood at the ends of their driveways to watch the spectacle. Some were cheering, many were bewildered, a few were solemnly convinced this was yet another bizarre science experiment being conducted on behalf of liberal America.

As you can imagine, there is very little glory in the sport of ultra-running. Roughly 10 spectators were there to watch me cross the finish line after 9 grueling hours. The announcer made it even more anti-climatic when he misinformed the thinning crowd that I had come all the way from Cape Elizabeth, Nebraska to run the thing. After all that positive reinforcement, I was pretty hungry and intent on immersing myself in the local culture the best way I knew how: patronizing a fast-food establishment that we didn’t have in the northeast. I discovered a “Roy Rogers” and ordered just about everything off the menu to enjoy back in my hotel room. That’s why we run.

In case you are interested in reviewing the mile-by-mile data on my run, I captured everything through my Strava account. Miles 1 through 34 are logged here: Data Link I. I had to restart my watch after nearly quitting, so miles 35 through 50 are logged here: Data Link II.

As I sit down to write, the realization sinks in that JFK 50 Miler was the final note to my 2016 running season. I won’t be competing again until next April–when I toe the line for the vaunted “Georgia Death Race”, which covers 68 miles over 40,000 feet of total elevation gain and loss between Vogel and Amicalola Falls State Park. GDR will be my “A” race for the year–meaning that I plan to be religiously dedicated from all angles (training, diet, lifestyle) before I lay everything out on the course after the gun goes off. Living at the Rustler Lodge in Alta, UT for the winter season and having the opportunity to train alongside some of the most talented and inspiring athletes in Little Cottonwood Canyon is a blessing that I intend to appreciate and channel into every single day of preparation. From time to time, I will post training updates in the lead-up to the race. You can also expect a race report to follow.

Before I sign off, I want to reflect on why I do this and where I want this blog to go.

I started entertaining the idea of ultra-running in the fall of 2015–roughly a year after I completed a northbound thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. What I missed about the AT was the endurance challenge. Everyday I had the opportunity to battle with myself to see how far I could go. From an existential standpoint, that was incredibly satisfying.