From the Fires of Mount Doom to the Rocks of Signal Knob

[Editor’s Note: The Lord Of The Rings race report that this event has been missing for way too long … ]

51 warriors toed the line for battle, a battle of the elements, of grit, of temerity, of which, each were about to embark on their own quest; their own journey. They would face countless obstacles, near death experiences, stubbed toes, lost ways through the haunted trail, and even starvation (thank heavens for aid stations). It was 71 miles; 71 miles to journey to the ends of the world, to suffer the elements, face down demons, overcome insurmountable obstacles, hallucinations, the changing trees, and the enchanted roots of the hellfire forest. It was 71 miles to defeat them all; 71 miles to join the ranks of The Fellowship of The Ring.

One does not simply walk into The Fellowship for its trail is a treacherous one; its black gates are guarded by more than just the elements, there is evil there that does not sleep. The barren wasteland is riddled with fire and ash, rocks like daggers, roots that come alive like snakes jumping from the depths of hell to snatch you and leave you in a pile of poisoned defeat, climbs that question your will to live and the sanity in which you once prided yourself on, and above all, the mental challenge of what lay ahead. The lonesome miles unravel before you of the epic tale yet to be told. They beckon you, call to you, warn you, and dissuade you. From the fires of Mount Doom to the rocks of Signal Knob, a quest was formed to cast the chasm of defeat from whence it came. It was there on the convergence of this day of 31 August 2024, that the ironclad bonds were struck, the ring apprehended, and the fate of the world rested on these warriors.

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I gathered round with my merry crew of bandits feeling optimistic and elated at seeing my fellow brethren. What a joyous occasion, everyone was in jovial spirits as the daunting task ahead was but a far remnant in our minds. We joked and adjusted packs, chatted excitedly about tomorrow as though today was a nonexistent entity of space time continuum that we would merely skip over like a pebble on a still lake. I had not prepared apart from the few pockets of battle training - This was a telling moment - was I prepared or even capable of the climbing or the distance? There was no option of failure — I had to succeed; not win, just succeed, or my final days of battle would be met with failure (IMTUF). I couldn’t let the demons win; I couldn’t let the cancer or the chemo win. But this, the Ring, was a training run, a test of wills and wits, of gumption and determination. This fateful day, and the triumph yet to come, would serve as the first battle of the war ahead.

I went into battle much like my last, unprepared and undertrained having suffered a few setbacks, yet armed with knowledge, experience, and the companionship and support of my amazing crew (Ellen, PJ, Bob and Janice), I was determined and resolved to succeed.

My journey was wrought with pain and torment and the constant changing of socks and shoes. From cursing the gut wrenching pain in my feet to the howling at the blades of the night and the stones underfoot. My fight bore on. David Goggins echoed in my head, “there’s no such thing as pain.” and yet, my fight bore on. One step at a time. Each aid station brought with it a change of socks and shoes, amazing volunteers and a crew that can’t be beat. When decisions were beyond my grasp of reality, Ellen, my ever diligent leader stepped in like Elrond to charge forward to battle.
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Saruman and the treacherous trail catapulted their worst at me. “I don’t remember last year being this painful” echoed on repeat in my head. Climb after climb, I bore on. Not my best but not my worst. I climbed to the wall of Mordor (WTF) and entered the tomb of the dwarves. WTF held older and darker things than the orcs of the forest or the snakes of the ground. It was climbing this pit of doom and rustling the ground beneath that awoken the beast. A fierce dragon that had slayed many far greater men. A battle besieged by the orcs and the twists of the steep climb bellowed at me from above. One arrow after another, one step after another, victory seemed more and more likely.

The cataclysm of my battle stretched out before me as unmanageable pain reverberated through my soles that no overdose of ibuprofen or changing of shoes could silence. “Run” I took off into the night. “Run.” The pain bore on. Just walk, take a break, go pee, anything to stop. “Run.” All through the night. I battled the orcs, leapt over the snakes trying to best me and danced with the stones of doom.

Coming into Woodstock marked the success of my journey. I knew I would make it, no matter how long it took, I would make it. Looking down at my waist lamp and turning off my headlamp I descended ever-so-gracefully into Woodstock. I fought the gate of hell that dared to keep me locked out as it jumped out at me from nowhere. Struck to the ground as I sacrificed my whole body to defeat the gate for others, I laid there on the gravel and dirt and caught my breath. Convinced this was to be my final resting place, I was resolved to live there and I cursed like a well-groomed sailor as a new pain set in. My blood dripped from the gate of hell and landed on me where I lay thunderstruck. Like Galadriel guiding Frodo onward, Scott peeled me off the ground (Thank you, Scott) and marched with me to the Aid Station.

Armed with a grilled cheese, caffeine, water and fresh socks I marched forward to Powells. The epilogue of my journey came to fruition. Pain. Over the fire road for the next 5.5 miles I could do nothing but walk. Slowly, my time goals slipped away. Pain. Little did I know that the last 3 miles would prove the most difficult of my journey. 2.5 miles away, descending the treacherous technical downhill of Signal Knob - daggers pierced my feet all the way to my sole. A few wrong turns, and a downed tree tested my will most of all. I cursed the trees, the rocks, the missing blazes, and the lost way of the haunted trail. Fuck you rocks. Go die. Fuck you monsters, you demons with brazen fiery breath and the vengeance of a scorned mother.

I cried out, cursed the forest, questioned my sanity and contemplated ways to get a ride off the mountain. Zach was surely at the bottom - I imagined him hearing my battle cry for help and coming to my aid, to my rescue, with a cart on wheels and toting me down the rest of the mountain as my feet were done. Get up. Walk.

My path blazed forward; my journey carried on. Onwards into the night, towards the lights, towards my sanctuary. Awaiting me at the end of the descent into Signal Knob (or the Misty Mountains) was my reprieve - a chair and the promise to not be on my feet anymore. I trudged across the bridge where my journey came to fruition, at least for now.

To be continued…

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Note: not thanked enough were the amazing volunteers, crew, and the entire running community. Also a huge callout to just how inspiring and amazing all the runners out there are.