The Ultrarunning Village

I called my dad a few days before The Ring. He’s not a runner, but plays tennis competitively and has a parenting style similar to his coaching - even-keeled, thoughtful, and (annoyingly) right most of the time.

I was in full taper mode at this point. My left foot ached in the morning and I debated whether it needed to be amputated. I coughed and convinced myself I had COVID. I made two trips to REI in one week for new shoes and gels I didn’t need.

I told my dad how nervous I was for this race, more so than anything I’d run this year. I’d done my first 100M distance at Tracy Cooley’s Furbutt’s Backyard in July and a technical 70M once before. But this was different. This was The Ring. I had seen runners come through Crisman Hollow during the Reverse Ring that February, having 35+ miles to go in the midst of an unexpected blizzard. I’d heard the stories of people getting lost, running out of water or fuel before Camp Roosevelt, contemplating their life choices climbing Short Mountain. Do I need poles? Why would I need a bug net for Duncan Hollow? Does anyone have a waist lamp I can borrow? Oh god, taper brain is back.

My dad advised that I try not to over-analyze (too late, Dad) and take The Ring as one race in what will be, hopefully, a long list of events during the course of my life. This is just part of a larger tapestry of races - some good, some bad, all ugly and beautiful in their own ways. Have a plan. Be prepared to adapt. Remember this is just part of the journey.

Thursday before the race, I moved into Barry’s Hauptman’s house, who offered to crew me for the race after he finished captaining the Camp Roosevelt aid station 25M in. We went over the course, my goals, and my nutrition plan while he and his wife fed and housed me the next two days. Morning of, he drove me to Signal Knob for the 7:00 AM start. Ivory, Dani, Zach, Nora, Jana, Adam, Drew and 40-some other runners were there at the start; along with Heather, Bob and other crew and volunteers; and the two amazing RD’s, Lauren and Daisy.

I had Barry, Ivory and Zach’s advice on repeat in my head for those first 13M. Don’t go out too hot for that first climb; remember to stay hydrated; eat consistently.

This would not be the first time that Ivory and Zach saved me from myself. Ivory spent an hour on the phone with me the week prior going over my nutrition and hydration plan for the race. Her advice got me through Furbutt’s (try a caffeine pill) and ultimately The Ring (no, don’t take a caffeine pill every hour).

I met Zach at my first Happy Trails event the previous October, Potomac Heritage 50K, where he showed me his race calendar building to his first 100M in May, Massanutten Mountain Trails. At the time I couldn’t imagine, nor had any intentions of, going over the 50K distance. We ran 24M along Buck Hollow in Shenandoah National Park the month after PH50K, and slowly but surely I started picking his brain for insight and advice on running longer distances. He was the only person I told before I ran my first unsupported 50M in Richmond along the Buttermilk Northbank trail in December. In 2024 he’s gotten me to the finish line of most races, whether by being there, running with me, or through his advice and support.

Carl, Jose, Jamie, Larry, and a host of other volunteers greeted us at Milford after they’d hiked in water and provisions so runners could make it to Camp Roosevelt in 11.6M. Shortly after Nora and I left Milford, she fell along the ridge and her wrist immediately swelled up. She continued running another 50M on what she discovered Sunday was a broken wrist that’s now in a cast to heal.

Coming off the ridge was a 3M descent into Camp Roosevelt. I was greeted by Barry, Heather, Bob, Jeff, Ted, and the world’s best egg and cheese sandwich on the planet (no, I’m not exaggerating) that Barry had picked up for me from Bretzel’s Pretzel Bakery inside the Strasburg Antique Emporium. The homemade bread, melty cheese, and egg fried to perfection with a faint scent of dusty oak that is nostalgically reminiscent of my grandma’s house catapulted (yes, I am exaggerating) me to Crisman Hollow.

Seeing Heather at Camp Roo lifted my mood. She radiates excitement and positivity as a volunteer, and is someone I look up to as a trail runner and person. She’s one of the smartest runners I’ve encountered, knowing when to turn it on and when to listen to your body. I left Camp Roo with a bug net Jeff dropped off for me, not knowing exactly what I’d use it for.

Enter Duncan Hollow - a version of hell I would not wish on my worst enemy. The gradual climb dares you to run, while bugs swarm your face and you’re exposed in the heat of the day.

After Duncan Hollow, the descent down Big Run did little to temper my bad mood knowing Waterfall was coming. If I start a GoFundMe now, could we raise enough to install an escalator before WTF50K in January? Knowing Ted would be at Crisman, along with Elaina and Christian Staunton, Wayne, and Jose, was my only motivation up that climb.

Ted had seen me at my worst. My under-caffeinated, hangry, and hungover alter egos created a monster that Ted encountered (and smelled) twice before - once at the Viaduct rail trail 50M and again crewing me at Furbutt’s 24H Backyard. His crewing superpower is not dissimilar to the Midas Touch. He has this fountain of energy that is unparalleled, and an ability to replace negativity with a lift in spirits to keep you going a little while longer.

Next up was Moreland with Tom Simonds and crew. Knowing I would see Barry at every aid station from here to the finish was the burst of energy I needed for Short Mountain. He and Justin refilled my water, listened to my Duncan Hollow complaints, and introduced me to this magical substance called Tums.

Coming up Short Mountain, the sky darkened as thunder clouds rolled in. The downpour started along the ridge and down the descent into Edinburg, dropping the temperatures and elevating my mood. Barry, Justin and Homer were huddled under the Edinburg tent with Mike and his volunteer crew, who made the world’s best butternut squash soup and pierogies. Here, Barry and I discussed my primary goal for the day. Keavy, slow down on the descent into Woodstock so you’ll be able to eat. I knew what Michelin-grade food awaited me at 56M. I had been salivating over ribs, smash burgers and broth all week that Jeff Best was preparing. If they were anything like the chicken and shrimp tacos he made at the Martha Moats Baker finish line, I knew Barry was going to have trouble getting me to leave Woodstock.

My worst nightmare came to fruition as I came into Woodstock around 8:00PM. I would’ve given my left pinky toe for an appetite, but sadly I couldn’t stomach the food. Instead I pretended the Tums tasted like his smash burger and continued to Powell’s.

At this point, Barry and I were in a groove. He knew the course like the back of his hand, having completed The Ring, Reverse, MMT, Old Dominion that previous June, along with the likely thousands of miles he’d logged in the Massanuttens. Leaving every aid station he’d walk with me and tell me what I had coming up. Leaving Woodstock was music to my ears. You have a nice 5.5M descent into Powell’s, easiest section of the day.

At Powell’s I saw Barry, Justin, Quatro and Kim. Quatro gave me a slice of the world’s best berry cobbler while Barry and Justin coached me for this last section. I knew I had the signal knob climb coming that I’d descended on a training run a couple weeks prior. Barry and Justin had told me at least a dozen times to not miss the left turn on Orange off the gravel road. The reservoir will be on your RIGHT. What did I do? Miss the turn. I was ruminating on those smash burgers others were probably enjoying in this moment.

I back-tracked to the turn about a quarter mile and continued on orange.

Once I got to the Signal Knob tower, I knew we were in the home stretch until I saw Barry again. It was pitch black, silent, and misting. Respect by Aretha Franklin was playing from my phone as I started the technical descent.

I kept the prospect of finishing from my thoughts until this moment. Those last few miles, all I wanted was a hug from Barry (okay, and a smash burger). I’ve looked up to Barry since the first time I met him at Sundays in the Park last fall. He’s one of, if not The Most, experienced, humble, generous, and thoughtful people I’ve encountered in my life. I’ll never forget seeing him as I ran across the bridge. He smiled, hugged me, and gave me a chair.

Tracy, Jeni, Laura, and Addie were amazing volunteers at the Signal Knob Cafe. They kept breakfast burritos and garlic bread rolling in through the morning as 20 more runners completed The Ring. Dani finished with a smile on her face, having had excruciating foot pain for most of the race. Ivory finished despite blisters that Bob treated from Moreland on. Nora ran 50 miles with what eventually was found to be a broken wrist.

Sometimes on a trail, I’ll just say magic unprompted (usually right after food or a caffeine pill). The magic in this fellowship, in this community, is the people. We choose to spend our free time fighting through foot pain, nausea, blisters, broken bones. We are comfortable with discomfort, and on occasion seek out this discomfort intentionally. The why is something I’m still figuring out, run by run.

Part of it is perhaps that euphoric feeling of reaching the other side of that pain and crossing the bridge into Signal Knob.

The main reason though, I think, are the bonds you form. This is a sport where you can spend 6-26 hours of interrupted time by yourself, with friends, strangers, or some combination of the three. Ultrarunning is an individual endeavor that takes a village. I wouldn’t have peed on the electric fence without Barry, Justin, Zach, Ted, Dani, Ivory, Heather, Bob, and the countless others that volunteered.

To this Happy Trails family, thank you.