Chris Wristen

WINDSOR, Mass. – The mistake was obvious in hindsight, and that made it all the more difficult to accept the outcome.

In 2023, I was committed to running 100 miles at the Notchview Ultra; more than that, I was committed to completing the distance in less than 30 hours. It was an overly ambitious goal for having not put in sufficient training to run that fast, not to mention having never completed the distance previously. It also wasn’t necessary. Notchview offers a 72-hour cutoff for its 100.7-mile race – the same allotment runners in the event’s longest time-based race receive. If I’d been patient, I most likely would have finished with plenty of time to spare, albeit not within 30 hours. 

I should have taken advantage of the generous time limit and enjoyed some rest along the way, but I didn’t do that. Instead, I took short breaks, snacked quickly and pushed onward with my eyes constantly on the clock. The goal should have been just to finish, not this foolishness.

I ran strong, and I ran well … until I didn’t. I strained my right hamstring about 67 miles and 19 hours in. Rather than taking a lengthy break to let it quiet down, I continued to push for a few more loops as the hamstring deteriorated. I hobbled to the 76-mile mark in 23:36; by then, the hamstring could barely bear weight. Notchview 2023 ended in disappointment with a DNF and more than 48 hours left on the clock.

The outcome quietly tormented me for most of the past year. Failure is part of the deal in this sport. You can do everything right and come up short, and sometimes you can do everything wrong and still succeed. But this outcome was most likely avoidable if I’d simply been smart. Instead, I’d been greedy and undisciplined, and I had 370 days to think about it, learn from it, and prepare to try again.

I returned to Notchview Reservation on July 12, 2024, for another crack at the 100.7-miler. I was determined to be disciplined and patient this time. I was resolved to finishing 53 loops of the 1.9-mile course no matter how long it took.

Still, within just a few hours of starting Notchview 2024, the ghosts of 2023 resurfaced and threatened to derail me once again.

Clear-Headed and Committed

I was under no illusions that I’d run a fast time at Notchview 2024. The plans for more structured training and a few hundred more miles of preparation went out the window when we brought home a puppy in January. Though her needs and health issues upended my training plans, I still finished four 50Ks prior to race day. In fact, I was on track to be in a pretty good place until early June. I ran one of my best 50Ks ever at the Chesterfield Gorge Ultra on June 1, but within a week was hobbled by what appeared to be a case of Pes Anserine Bursitis in my right knee. That forced me to scrap plans for a final big long run, or even another double-digit mileage run prior to Notchview. Then, I strained my back 12 days before the race. It took nine days to resolve the back pain, so I ran just 6 miles during the final dozen days before Notchview.

When I arrived at Notchview on Friday morning, July 12, I cautiously unloaded the Subaru, careful not to make a move that might aggravate my back. I made several trips from the car to my camp to avoid carrying too much weight or lifting something in an awkward way. I reconnected with friends who knew what had happened the year before; all of them offered words of encouragement and expressed optimism that I’d finish this time. It felt good to know they believed in me at a time when my body gave me reasons to doubt.

Applying Lessons Learned

At the conclusion of the pre-race briefing, I followed the crowd to the starting line and promptly put my first lesson learned into action. A year ago, I stood at the front, led the field off the line, and set the pace on the immediate climb after entering the woods. This time, I found a spot near the middle of the pack, walked off the line and up the hill, waiting to run until reaching the first flat about six tenths of a mile into the loop. I picked three stretches to run each loop, figuring the hiking breaks in between – including the two main climbs – would keep me honest with pacing and help me avoid overexerting myself. After knocking out 6.2 miles in the first hour a year ago, I completed 4.6 miles in the first hour this time. My aim had been 4.5, so I felt good about that. Sticking with that approach, I was right at 4.5 miles for the second hour. I was relaxed, my legs felt good, and I was on top of my nutrition. Everything was going as planned.

I continued the routine apace for most of the third hour, until midway through the seventh loop – about 12.5 miles in – I felt a dull pain behind my left knee. It was my lower hamstring, and it was cranky… with 88 miles still to go.

I walked the remainder of the loop, and then walked the next one 5 minutes slower to see if it would loosen out. It didn’t, so after closing out loop eight (15.2 miles) just 3:26:17 into the race, I put my second lesson learned into action. I headed to my nearby camp, sat in my recliner chair and elevated my legs. After 30 minutes in the chair, I headed out to hike my ninth loop and see how the hamstring felt. The pain was gone, and that particular area wouldn’t bother me for the remainder of the race.

I settled back into my run/hike routine and clicked away a half-dozen loops in 27- to 30-minute splits, save for a few slightly longer loops when I paused to snack or refill my soft flask. After 15 loops (28.5 miles) and 7:44:05, I returned to my chair for a 30-minute break to elevate my legs and eat dinner, and then returned to the trail for six more loops, completing each one in 27- to 32-minute increments. During the final two – loops 20 and 21 – I began feeling a hot spot develop on my left Achilles. The socks I’d worn all day (Territory Run Co. socks) were thin, and though they’d held up fine for most of the day, eventually the heel collar on my Salomon Sense Ride 5s must have rubbed enough that the thin material no longer provided enough buffer. Additionally, both hamstrings started to ache. It was the upper hamstrings; they weren’t injured, just extremely fatigued but tender to the touch. I returned to my chair, elevated my legs, put some Body Glide on my Achilles and changed into some Balega Quarter Socks after 11+ hours and 39.9 miles on the loop. After about 20 minutes, I stood up and headed back out. Rain was approaching, but I hoped to bag a couple more loops before it arrived in case the trail turned sloppy.

It began to sprinkle as I left camp. The rain picked up as I neared the top of the first climb. The loop has a fair amount of tree cover, so I stayed mostly dry and maintained my run/hike plan while knocking out a 29-minute loop. The rain subsided as I neared the start/finish so I headed out once again. After a few minutes, the rain resumed with heavier intensity. Thunder began to rumble and there were a few flashes of lightning. Water began to pool on the trail and several spots quickly turned slick. I hustled through the rest of the loop and headed straight to my tent. For the third time, I put a lesson learned into action. I didn’t need to mess around on a slick, wet trail during a thunderstorm in the dark, especially with cranky hamstrings. Good judgment called for taking a longer break to elevate the legs while the storm passed.

It was 12:36 a.m. when I changed into dry clothes and climbed back into my chair. Twenty-three loops (43.7 miles) were done, 30 remained (57 miles), and around 59 1/2 hours were left on the clock. I still had a long way to go, but plenty of time to get there as long as I continued to be disciplined and patient.

Patience, Patience, Patience

I spent about 2 1/2 hours in the chair waiting for the storm to pass. I rested my eyes but never slept; the music at the start/finish, and occasional chatter of other runners coming and going kept my brain locked on the task at hand though it was nice to give my eyes a break. I swapped out my warm rain gear for dry shorts, a dry shirt and another fresh set of socks (Smartwool Trail Run Crew Socks), ate a cup of Mac and Cheese, and hiked out of camp and began loop 24.

Unlike my earlier escape from an upset hamstring, the extended rest did nothing to quiet the aches and pains in my hamstrings this time. 

The trail drained surprisingly well, so there were only a few slick spots following the storm and conditions weren’t an issue for me. It took around 40 minutes for me to complete loop 24. I hiked all of it, and I would only hike the rest of the way until the final minutes of my race. I spent the next 16 hours slowly chipping away at the miles, hiking a loop or two, maybe three or four tops, before the hamstrings began screaming at me so much that I’d return to the chair once more. It was a delicate balance, knowing I needed to keep moving forward so I could finish while still stopping to baby the hamstrings when needed so I could stay in the race.

I completed loops 24, 25, 26 and 27, all within 35 to 42 minutes, and then headed back to the chair. I was just beyond the halfway point with 51.7 miles on my legs in 17:55:33, around 5 hours behind my 2023 pace. I finished loops 28 and 29, took a short break, then knocked out loops 30 and 31 before returning to the chair. After another break, I hiked loop 32 with very unhappy hamstrings and promptly plopped back into my chair for an 80-minute break. Alex had arrived with a fresh bag of ice and a burger and fries from Friendly’s. My stomach had been fine so far, but it had reached the point where nothing seemed appetizing. A greasy burger was just what I needed for a little reset so fueling would be easier the rest of the way.

Mental Math

I crunched some numbers in my head while chewing on my burger. To be fair, I’d done this mental math exercise frequently as Notchview 2024 unfolded, but it took on greater importance to me the longer I was on the course. I was moving quite a bit slower than in 2023 – deliberately so – to try to avoid having my race upended by injury again. By being aware of how far I was behind 2023 pace, I reminded myself that I was being smart and disciplined. Still, I didn’t want to be out there that much longer, so for a while this numerical exercise was a bit demoralizing. The more my hamstrings hurt and the hot spot on my left Achilles burned, the longer I knew it would take to finish. I began the race believing I would be done Saturday night; now I knew I wouldn’t finish until sometime Sunday. It was frustrating and disheartening, but I wasn’t about to quit.

Fortunately, I was now at the point where the mental math became interesting and motivating. As I sat there eating my burger, I was at the 60.8-mile mark with 24:02:48 expired. It was close enough to when I DNF’d the year before (23:36), that I was essentially 15.2 miles (eight laps) behind where I was in 2023. Up until this point, I’d fallen farther and farther behind my 2023 self with each passing loop. I still had a ways to go, but from this point forward I would begin catching that version of me with each step.

I finished my burger, knocked out loop 33 (62.7 miles), and continued right into loops 34 (36:04) and 35 (40:35) before heading back to my chair. My stomach was satiated, and 66.5 miles were behind me, but my hamstrings remained unhappy. I spent the next 45 minutes in the chair with my legs elevated. I used the time to eat and drink a bit more, reapply sunscreen, and put IcyHot on the hamstrings. They still weren’t happy when I returned to my feet, but they seemed to be trending in a better direction. This time, I marched through five consecutive loops, all between 37:54 and 41 minutes apiece. I was steady and consistent, but resisted any temptation to push too hard. Alex placed a pizza order and went to pick it up while I hiked.The hamstring agitation reared its head again during loop 39, but Alex wasn’t yet back at the end of that loop so I went out for one more. She returned as I closed out loop 40, and I headed straight for the tent to elevate the legs and enjoy a few slices of pepperoni pizza.

A quick check of the math was revelatory. I was now at the 76-mile mark – exactly where I DNF’d the year before. I was 30:49:30 into the race, 7:13 behind the 2023 me. The time gap was sizable, but I’d caught myself on distance and this year’s me wasn’t done. The 2024 me was about to take the lead and pull away. After just 13 more loops, the 2024 me would be a finisher.

I took about 20 minutes to chow down on some pizza, and then returned to the loop. I had 24.7 miles to go – less than a marathon – and oodles of hours to spare. This no longer felt like a question of “if” I’d finish; it was only a matter of “when?”

Time to Push

As I rose from my chair to begin the 41st loop, something stunning happened: my hamstrings stopped hurting. They still ached and were tender to the touch, but they no longer screamed at me with each step. I wanted to trust that they were fine, but it was difficult when memories of 2023 still haunted me. I’d waited a year for another shot at this race; I’d reached my end point of a year ago and was now surpassing it. I wanted this finish desperately, and I didn’t want to screw it up now.

I pondered what had worked for me during the previous 31 hours. I resolved to stick to the plan. If the hamstrings began to bark again, then I was prepared to put myself back in the chair. My legs seemed willing to let me move for now, so it was time to push.

It was a few minutes after 7 p.m. on Saturday when I departed on loop 41. For the next 8 1/2 hours, the only pauses I’d make were to refill my soft flask, eat a few Cape Cod chips, or scarf down another slice of pizza. I never returned to the chair.

As I headed into my second sunset of the race, my most pressing challenge was the hot spot on my left Achilles. Every step became increasingly painful, in particular on each of the loop’s two climbs. During loop 44, the rubbing became so great that it severely impacted my pace. I loosened the laces on my left shoe to see if that would relieve the pressure on the Achilles. I knew I risked rolling an ankle with a loose sneaker, but it seemed to be a chance worth taking given the course’s minimal technicality. I had one close call when I stepped on a loose rock, but otherwise was unscathed and made considerably better time. After a 50-minute 44th loop, the final nine were remarkably consistent at 33:34, 46:11, 35:27, 42:10, 34:10, 41:42, 37:47, 37:31 and 34:51, with the three longest of those splits coming on loops where I stopped to eat slices of pizza.

With 50 loops behind me and just three to go, I felt tempted to run for stretches of my final laps. I was tired of hurting – and just plain tired. I wanted to be done, period. I resisted that urge on loops 51 and 52, telling myself not to do anything to screw this up now, that running at this stage might actually slow me down if I took a tumble in the dark or strained anything. I decided to save it for the last loop. I didn’t stop when I finished loop 52; I headed right back out. No need for a break at this point; the finish line awaited.

I marched up the first hill, briskly hiked the flats and gradual decline that took me to the final hill. I hiked up it with purpose, and upon cresting the top I broke out into a trot. I ran past the cross-country ski storage shed and around the bend to where the meadow and the lights of camp appeared in the distance under a clear, star-speckled sky. I picked up the pace with each stride and broke into what felt like a sprint as I entered the meadow with a tenth of a mile to go. My eyes watered as the glowing red numbers of the official clock drew closer. I’d waited an extra year for this moment, applied lessons learned from 2023, and forced myself to be patient and disciplined for so many hours to reach this moment. I was tired of waiting, and my legs brought me home strong.

With my left fist thrust into the air, I dashed across the finish line and coasted to a stop. I put my hands on my knees and gazed to the timer’s table to find my name on the screen. I liked what I saw:

Fifty three loops complete.

100.7 miles complete.

Official time: 39:38:23.

The Morning After

It was 3:38 a.m. Sunday when I crossed the finish line. Camp was quiet. Only a handful of runners were on the loop, and one lingered around the start/finish when I came in. He came over and congratulated me, as did an aid station volunteer, and official timer Mike Melton. Alex had booked us a hotel room about 30 minutes away, so I collected my buckle, snapped a quick picture at the finish line and headed to the hotel to sleep.

After a few hours of rest, we grabbed breakfast in downtown Pittsfield and then returned to Notchview. We’d left a car there for me to drive home, so we needed to pick it up. I also wanted to take some pictures and chat with a few folks before departing. 

I first caught up with Alex Cabrera, who had ended his 72-hour race early with 108.3 miles on his legs. After a few minutes of chatting, his wife, Amanda, raced through the meadow and finished her first ultra with a 51.3-mile effort. Alex’s brother also completed his first ultra at Notchview this year, putting up 83.6 miles in the 48-hour race. I also caught up with a few of the folks who’d offered me pre-race encouragement and support throughout, Tiffany Fischer, Rebecca Gonzalez-Kreisberg, Mark and Alex Bancroft, and George and Ann Alexion. I caught up with Christine Da Silva as she finished her race – she’d been on the loop for some late-night miles as I was finishing the night before. And I caught up with Race Director Benn Griffin–the mastermind of this event–who was pulling hard for me throughout.

While chatting with Benn, Mark, and Rebecca at the Race HQ tent, I saw one more person I’d hoped to encounter before heading home. Chris Cullen had been one of my campsite neighbors throughout the race, and he was one of my fellow 100.7-mile DNFers from 2023. Like me, Chris had returned for redemption this year. Like me, Chris had faced his share of demons and obstacles throughout the race. When I awoke Sunday morning, I checked the live tracking to see if he had finished. He hadn’t yet, but I was there when he did. The smile on his face was priceless; I knew exactly how he felt.

Shortly after Chris finished, I climbed into the car, pulled onto the highway and headed for home. Last year, I departed Notchview feeling heartbroken and empty. This time, I was fulfilled. I came back to Notchview seeking redemption, and I found it.