The Punisher - 50-mile race to the finish

"Runners tackle a 16.2 mile loop that’s a gauntlet of great Maine singletrack, journeying through Bradbury Mountain State Park, over Tryon Mountain, Chandler Brook, and back into Bradbury Mountain State Park. The course has tough hills, rocks, roots, and very little flat including a 1/2 mile of paved road and 1/4 mile of dirt road. Punisher [50-mile] runners start with a little mile loop up the mountain before running three laps of the 16 mile course… Cut-off: 12.5 hours.” - From Big Brad Ultras’ website

I have a very high capacity for worrying. I come from a long line of great women worriers. So it’s no surprise that leading up to the race, I had been worrying (some might even call it obsessing) over the 12.5 hours cut-off time. I’m not a fast runner, and I knew from my past experience running the course that I could complete one 16.5-mile loop in 4 hours. The tentative plan was to run the first lap (which is actually about 18 miles) in 4 hours, the second lap in 3.5 hours (what was I thinking?!), and the third in 4.5 hours. I expected my last lap to be my slowest, never having run that far before. Brian, who would be my pacer for the last lap, had created several intricate charts with detailed variations of paces we’d need to maintain depending on how quickly or slowly we would be starting the final 16.5-mile lap. 

I also knew that I needed not to be obsessing about all the math, the pace, the cut-off, and just focus on the challenge of running 50 miles on tough terrain, while enjoying every moment of this awesome adventure. 

We started at 6am in the dark, going up Switchback on the side of Bradbury Mountain. It didn’t take me long to realize that my headlamp wasn’t living up to its reviews. I could barely see two feet in front of me, and by the time we were running down Terrace, the strap had come completely loose and was sliding down in front of my eyes. But by the time I made it to the East Side, I had settled into a nice pace, and felt all the worry melt away. Yeah, the headlamp sucked, and I could barely see, but I could see first light between the trees, and the air was becoming slightly warmer. It felt amazing to be running in the early morning hours on these familiar trails. When daylight was in full swing, I put my headlamp in my jacket pocket, which I would later leave in my drop bag, which would turn out to be a really, really bad idea. 

2021 Punisher start

Everything felt great on the first lap. I ran alone for most of it, except for Barbara D., who was behind me for all the miles. We only spoke a few times. I can’t hear people all that well when I’m running, and I didn’t want to engage Barbara in conversation I wouldn’t be able to hear. Having only met Barbara at the start line, I had liked her right away. Her presence was great company regardless of our silence. 

Around mile 22, while running on the East Side, I had a bit of an Alice in Wonderful moment. The gold and red reflection of leaves felt dizzying, as though I was running through a slow-moving carousel. When I arrived at the PT Cruiser aid station, I mentioned to Brian and Karen E. that I was feeling weirdly dizzy, which seemed strange because I had been eating and fueling regularly. Gordon C., who was within earshot, said that even though it was overcast and cool, runners were sweating more than they realized, and I probably wasn’t getting enough salt. Gordon suggested I take some salt caps. I took one at the aid station and packed some for the road. I felt an almost immediate improvement. So grateful for Gordon and people who know their stuff! 

But I did not run the second lap in the planned 3.5 hours. I walked more than I should have, and I was struggling mentally. I have been told that you will want to quit many times during the course of an ultra. And ain't that the truth! I spent miles 25-34 fighting myself. I tried not to think about the miles I still had to run. When I passed the Snowman aid station, I told Ryan T. that I just kept wanting to quit and I was only on my second lap. “That’s going to wane,” he said, which was such a good reminder that everything that comes also passes, and to be patient, and to just to keep moving. My body moved between feeling strong and fluid, to feeling like, well, I was a middle-aged woman running a lot of miles on trails. 

Powerlines - Lap 2

I was so jazzed to meet Brian for the third, and final, lap we’d be running together. As we started heading out to the East Side, I mentioned that I had left my headlamp in my jacket and we would probably need it at the end of the race. Brian said that he had put my headlamp along with his in the car, but that he could go get them. We knew we were pressed for time, and decided to just keep going without our headlamps (not the best idea?). 

As we started on the East Side, Brian was running next to me. He seemed to be running so fast. I thought I was moving pretty fast too, and said: “You know, this is pretty much as fast as I can go right now!” He told me later that I was averaging 17min/mile on flat trails! Brian tried running in front of me to set a faster pace. We needed to complete this side by 4pm, or we wouldn’t be allowed to start the last 10 miles. But I wasn’t moving fast. I was fueling and I was drinking, and taking my salt, but I was just tired. At one point, I yelled: “Hey, this isn’t fun Brian! You, up ahead, just running. And I can see you looking at your watch! This sucks!” He slowed down and got behind me to try to push me while not getting on my nerves. That man is a freakin’ saint. 

I was clear-headed enough to know that for Brian to push me while knowing I was struggling meant that we were probably not going to make the 4pm cut off. This was a wake up call for me to suck it up. I wanted to get this done. And I wanted to finish this race by the 12.5 hour cut off, and I was going to have to stop being a baby about it. So I periodically started asking Brian our mileage and the time, and we started moving faster and faster. At one point, Brian even said: “Man, you are cruising,” which was so sweet of him, because I’m sure I was not. 

We made it back to the the PT Cruiser aid station at 3:57pm, three minutes before the cut-off to start the last ten miles. I saw our friend Peter T. look at Brian with a bit of a concerned look, but when he looked at me he just gave me a big smile and said: “Great job!” This is why I love the trail running community.  

Moving quickly through Snowman at mile 42.7 

I would run that last lap in the same time as I had the first lap, which had not been the plan, but became necessary. I knew I had to keep moving as fast as possible, walk as little as possible, run as many hills as I could. And by the time we passed Snowman at mile 42.7, we were making good time. Brian told me later that this was the first time he actually felt like we could make the cut-off.

We waved to our friends Rachel and Hayes at Snowman, and were really happy to see that Don D. and Barbara D. were running together. We ran down the road and even made a few jokes. My legs weren't thrilled running through the Powerlines, and they just hated the logging trail. I do too. My legs and I hate it. We came through Snowman again, now with 2.1 miles to go. I didn’t look at the time, but I remember yelling out to Ryan T. “I still believe!” and him yelling back something to the effect of “hell yeah.” 

2.1 miles to go.... we still believe!

As we crossed the road, I asked Brian if there was still hope, and he just said: “Of course there’s still hope.” But there was a massive freaking hill too. By this point, pretty much everything related to my body hurt. I could barely lift my legs and I felt like I had lost several toenails. But we kept running. I told Brian that I really wanted to stop to take an Advil. He told me that he didn’t think that was the best idea, and that anyway the Advil would probably not even kick in until we’d be at the finish. I knew he was right. I knew we couldn’t afford to stop. 

By now the woods were almost pitch black, and neither of us had a headlamp. Although this side of the mountain wasn’t as gnarly as the East Side, it was still a trail with rocks and roots. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I held it up as high as I could while we ran, so it could light a bit of the way for both of us. We had a mile to go, and it was 6:15pm. We had 15 minutes to run that last mile if I was to make the cut-off. So we did the only thing we could do, we ran as fast as we could in the dark.

I didn't know what time it was when we saw the light from the field, but there it was -- the finish! I heard people cheering when they saw us arrive. Whether I was going to make it or not, I was going to run as fast as I could through that finish line and give myself one last chance. As I crossed, I heard someone say that we had made it, and when I looked at my phone, it said 6:30pm. Then Kristen M. came over and told me that I was third woman, and I hugged Rachel and Hayes, and Val. And I was a little confused overall. I didn’t understand how I could be third woman. I even asked Kristen: “Third woman of all women?” It would turn out that only three women had finished by the cut-off, and I had finished with only 5 seconds to spare. I was last and I was third.

There is so much more to say about this day, this race, and this community who now make up my life. And there are so, so many people to thank, from my coach, Bailey, to S&S for putting on the best show in town, to every single volunteer, to Brian. These amazing, pivotal experiences make up who we are and who we become, regardless of age or ability. And, of course, there are lessons everywhere, so many. If I had to choose just one from this day it’s that I have more fight in me than I thought I did, which is a good thing, because I’m going to need it for my next race.