Chris Wristen

It’s been nearly six years since I went for my first trail run, and it’s amazing to think back on what the sport has done to improve my overall health and happiness, as well as to help me feel younger as the years have gone by.

Of course, there are times where the sport makes me feel considerably older, too. That’s a temporary side effect that comes with running trail ultramarathons that deliver a prolonged beating to the body during a period of numerous hours on varying terrain. Sore muscles, a stiff back and achy knees all come with the territory.

I experienced both sides of that equation on Sunday when I celebrated my 36^th birthday by running the Trail Animals Running Club’s “Don’t Run Boston” 50K at the Blue Hills Reservation in Milton, Mass. I began the day with my legs feeling youthful, fresh and strong, bolstered by a few 20-mile runs during the past month and consistent weekly mileage in the 40s. I ended the day with sore calves and hamstrings, cranky knees, a stiff body, and a depleted system after almost 33 miles and nearly nine hours on the trail.

Young and old at the same time.

DRB was the perfect way to spend my birthday. I’m often at my happiest when playing on the trails in the woods, and DRB allowed for a full day of such activity. Alex and I ran the full race together, made wrong turns together, compared the map and course directions together, and crossed the finish line side-by-side. We got to experience most of the trails in the Blue Hills Reservation, some that we’d run before, but most which we had not. We got a feel for all the Blue Hills has to offer, from the wide, gravelly, rolling sections that accommodate running at a steady clip, to the steep, rocky climbs and descents along the rugged Skyline Trail that force you to hike and sometimes scramble.

Miles in the Blue Hills are hard-earned and rewarding, and there were plenty of them on Sunday. By going off-course a few times, we ended up running 32.85 miles and amassing 6,024 feet of vertical gain, according to my Garmin 910XT.

DRB marked my 13^th ultramarathon finish, eighth 50K, and first ultra in Massachusetts. It also served as what will be my longest training day in preparation for the Worlds End 100K on May 21 in Forksville, Penn. That race, measuring 63.8 miles with 12,000 feet of vertical gain, will be the longest and toughest that I’ve ever taken on, and DRB proved to be a worthy test run.

DRB also served as ignition for my appetite. I felt ravenous by the end of the run, so Alex and I cleaned up and headed to one of my favorite restaurants, Mike’s in Davis Square, for a birthday dinner. I had a large calzone, she had a few slices of pizza, and we each enjoyed a large mug of Sam Adams’ special-edition 26.2 Brew – a light ale brewed annually in celebration of the Boston Marathon.

Perhaps it was an ironic choice, drinking the marathon’s signature brew after running “Don’t Run Boston,” but it hit the spot. Besides, a day later it would be the Boston Marathoners’ time to shine. My slightly-older legs needed a day off.

The saying “you get what you pay for” oftentimes rings true, be it for a race entry fee, hotel room, or purchase from a store.

The Merrimack River Trail Race 10-miler proved to be an exception.

At just $10, the entry fee was enough to entice me to sign up back in February. The event experience Saturday in Andover, Mass., was worth so much more than the bargain price.

Ten bucks bought entry into the race, aid station support, post-race grub, and a fun run. On top of all of that, the ten bucks bought a whole lot of joy.

From the moment we arrived at the Wyndham Hotel’s back parking lot (site of the start/finish), to the drive home, the day was filled with nearly constant laughter. That’s a tribute to Race Director Steve Peterson, a man whose combination of volume, humor, and enthusiasm had myself—and just about everybody else—laughing throughout packet pick-up, the pre-race briefing, and the post-race awards, followed by a truly epic raffle.

Steve provided a constant pre-race countdown by shouting updates at obscure timing moments (THIRTY-TWO MINUTES!!! TWENTY-NINE MINUTES!!! People on the highway, you have FIVE MINUTES!!!). He had everyone chuckling with his instructions, including “do NOT get hurt!” and “if you don’t see the flags marking the course, then you are NOT on the course.” There also was the ceremonial raising of the T-shirts (the starting line is marked by a clothesline displaying 25 years worth of race shirts), the centerpiece being this year’s 25^th anniversary “Silvah Rivah” shirt.

Post-race, he presented winners with baked goods, commemorative “Silvah Rivah” gloves, and allowed them to choose a prize from a table full of leftover shirts from other races. The grand finale was the raffle, which consisted of about 25 items where each lucky participant whose number was drawn had to choose between two options (for example, pickles vs. toilet paper, or Rice-a-Roni variety pack vs. Twizzlers and Yoohoo).

The comedy show lasted all morning, save for during the actual running – which was plenty enjoyable in its own right.

The out-and-back course offered a nice variety of terrain with fast, non-technical running during the first and last three miles and some steep, challenging climbs and descents during the middle four miles. It was also fun to see the front-runners battling for position while crossing paths as they headed inbound, as well as being able to offer encouragement to other outbound runners once I hit the turnaround.

My race went well. I hadn’t planned to push the pace, but I got a little carried away during the first three miles and negative-split each one before the hills kicked in and I was slowed by the climbs and the two-way traffic. After clearing the hills on the way back, I again was able to push the pace and averaged about a 7:30 mile over the final two miles through to the finish line.

My official time was 1:21:41, good for a personal-best time at the distance.

After taking a few minutes to catch my breath, it was great to relax with friends and enjoy a solid half-hour of laughs courtesy of Steve’s awards ceremony and raffle before heading home with a smile on my face.

I’ve been running trails for almost six years and have raced in seven other states as well as in Canada. The Merrimack River Trail Race was my first trail race in Massachusetts, and it was a joyful event in all aspects. For just $10, I got my money’s worth and a whole lot more.

Temptation got the best of me on January 19. I was one week into a three-week running hiatus – the longest I’ve gone without running a single mile in years – when I pulled the trigger and registered for the Worlds End 100K, a race that had been beckoning me for months.

Two more sedentary weeks awaited me before my physical therapist cleared me to run again, but there I was signing up for the longest race of my life. I had four months to go from a standstill to toeing the starting line of a 63.3-mile mountain race in the rugged Pennsylvania wilderness. I wasn’t sure if it was a smart decision to sign up, but I couldn’t resist.

This race kept calling out to me, keeping me awake at night and tantalizing my mind with wonder. Could I handle this course? Could I go the distance? Am I tough enough?

I’m all-in on finding out.

Ten weeks have passed since registering, and the mileage has changed considerably. Zero-mileage weeks in January became 40-plus-mile weeks in April. In fact, last week’s result was a yearly-best 49 total miles with more than 7,300 feet of vertical gain and a 20.5-mile long run. Month-over-month, the numbers have climbed, too. A 43-mile total for January increased to 129 in February before sprouting to 173 in March – the second-biggest mileage month of my life (182 in June 2012).

At the same time, I’ve been a good PT patient, working hard in the rehab room and diligently doing my homework to heal my left posterior tibial ligament. The rigors of race preparation have kept the ligament from fully healing, but it has made tremendous progress and continues to get stronger as the inflammation fades away. In addition to treating the posterior tibial ligament, my physical therapist identified other areas of weakness, such as my right hip, which I’m now working to strengthen in advance of race day. He also has me doing balance work – lots and lots of balance work – to overcome a stability deficiency on my right side.

I haven’t had a training program for this race, opting instead to do what has worked best for me during the past two years and figure it out week by week, doing what I think I need to accomplish to be best prepared both physically and mentally when I get to the starting line while not being married to a rigid plan. So far, that seems to be working.

Tomorrow is the first day of April, 50 days before race day and the start of the final push. I have three races in the next five weeks, all of which are training runs for Worlds End. The first is the Merrimack River 10-Mile Trail Race on April 9, followed by TARC’s “DRB” Don’t Run Boston 50K on April 17 at the Blue Hills Reservation, and then (depending on how I’m feeling this close to race day) the Seven Sisters Trail Run – a rugged 12-mile trail race with 3,500 feet of vertical gain on May 8. After that, it will be time to taper for two weeks and then step to the starting line at 5 a.m. on May 21 – hopefully in good health and with a motivated mind – and find out what Worlds End is all about.

Maybe it’s the mountains, the remoteness of the course, or the ruggedness of the trail that caused the race to linger in the back of my mind for so long.

Or maybe it’s simply the name – the Worlds End Ultramarathon – that I found so alluring.

I was intrigued by the race last year, and then it returned to my consciousness in August while running hill repeats in Erie, PA, during a stop along my move from Kansas City to Boston.

Since then, I thought about it almost daily. The temptation grew stronger by the week. Registration for the 2016 Worlds End Ultra 100K opened in November, and I found myself browsing the race website and list of entrants every few days. The race was filling quickly, and by early January I knew I had a decision to make: commit, or wait until next year.

I think I knew my answer all the way back in August, but on January 19 I finally made it official. The 100K race—with a capacity of 150 runners—had reached 141 entrants. I claimed spot 142. Within 48 hours, it was sold out.

I’m in. A gnarly course awaits with 12,000 feet of vertical gain and 12,000 feet of quad-busting descent. Now the work begins.

The first step of race preparation is to get healthy. I haven’t run in two weeks while going through physical therapy to address a posterior tibial ligament injury in the right ankle/foot that has been lingering since July. In some ways, I’ll be asking for more out of my body during the next four months than ever before, so it’s critical that I take care of the little things early to increase my chances for success in the long-term. My physical therapist, Adam Paggi of Paggi PT, has worked wonders on me so far. The ligament is getting stronger, and I’ll return to running in the coming week.

Once I’m running again, I know I may have to deal with the harsh New England winter. We haven’t had much snow yet, but that could change in an instant with snowfall so deep that the trails aren’t runnable. I’ll log as much mileage as I can on the trails, but I’m prepared to go inside if necessary. In fact, even though mileage will be important, the greater focus of my training will be climbing. There’s enough rocky, technical climbing and steep vertical on the course that I need to be ready for numerous long, grueling climbs, followed by fast downhills that transition right back to more vertical gain. I’m developing some stairclimber/treadmill brick workouts at the gym to get my legs accustomed to the frequent shifts of pace and terrain.

I have 17 weeks until race day, and 15 weeks to actually train before taper time arrives. I’m nowhere near where I need to be to take on my longest distance run ever on what I expect will be the most grueling course I’ve seen. But I’m confident that I’ll be ready by 5 a.m. on May 21.

Worlds End has been tempting me for months. I’m committed. Now it’s time to get to work.

Excitement comes in many forms for me as the 2016 racing season approaches.

As a new Massachusetts resident, a wealth of new-to-me races in the region are tempting. There are so many tough trails throughout the northeast that will challenge my physical and mental limits, and it’s hard to choose between the options.

I’m also excited to be back running with the Honey Stinger Hive for the second year in a row, and to also have Nuun Hydration sponsoring my running. I’ve used their products to help me reach the finish line at numerous races, and look forward to doing so again this year.

I also am eager to attempt to earn four more UTMB points to pair with the three earned from 2015 Vermont 50 in order to qualify for the 2017 CCC 100K in Europe.

Before signing up for too many races however, first things first: I need to get healthy. I tolerated a nagging left foot injury for the last six months of 2015, and the foot has taken a turn for the worse during the past three weeks. I am working with physical therapist Adam Paggi of Paggi Physical Therapy & Sports Rehabilitation to return my foot to full strength and health.

While I’m sidelined from running for the moment, I am using the down time to lay the foundation for an exciting new project, the details of which I’ll share soon. It’s a project that I considered doing during the last three years that I lived in Kansas, but simply wasn’t willing to commit the time. It may succeed; it may fail; time will tell. Either way, I’m excited to see how it goes.

So here’s to a 2016 filled with good health, exciting challenges, and lots of fun along the way. Let’s make it a great year!

Run happy.

It sounds simple enough, although runners of all distances know it can be far more difficult to put into action than those two little words indicate.

My only running goal for 2015 was to run happy.

Monthly mileage chart from DailyMile.

It echoed the theme of 2014, when I sought to disconnect my brain from constantly being in training mode and taking my middle-of-the-pack abilities far too seriously. In 2013, I became far too wrapped up in the races I’d signed up for and overvalued the significance of each one from a racing perspective. I was constantly “training” for something, and that stole my focus away from simply valuing the day and the opportunity to let my legs take me on an adventure.

In 2014, I cut back the racing schedule to only a handful of events, and I refused to make a single training plan. The result was peace of mind on the trails, and fulfillment from most of my runs. Why not keep that mojo rolling in 2015?

What unfolded in 2015 was almost surreal. A combination of not having any goal races or training plans, an unusually wet spring and early summer in Kansas City (which caused most local trails to be closed for weeks), and a move to Massachusetts in August all contributed to me having fewer long runs this year than in any of the previous three years that I’ve been running ultras. I had just four runs of 20 miles or longer in all of 2015 – and three of them were races.

Even so, I started and finished three ultramarathons in 2015, posted personal records at both the 10-kilometer and 50-mile distances, and ran more miles this year (1,404 miles) than I ever have.

Ultimately, those successes come down to running happy, meaning that my goal for the year was fulfilled. Not once did I feel bad about not having a training plan. Not once did I feel guilty if I skipped a run or cut it short if my head wasn’t in it. It requires a lot of time to run 1,404 miles in a year. I enjoyed almost every one of those miles, meaning it was time well spent.

A few races have piqued my interest for 2016, and they will require a bit more focused preparation than what I’ve been willing to do during the past two years. More strength work and hill repeats will be necessary; perhaps even a training plan will need to be drafted. We’ll see. Whatever comes of those races, as well as any others that find their way onto my calendar next year, I’m going to stick with what’s working and only have one running goal again next year: Run happy.

When the plan was hatched a few weeks ago, nobody knew what to expect from the weather on Mount Greylock.

Sheri, Josh, Jonathan, Anna, Adrian, Su, Alex, me, and Fernando – dressed in orange to shield us from the hunters.

Su had organized groups to go to Mount Greylock State Reservation during the two previous Decembers, and each time they’d encountered varying depths of snow. Having lived in Massachusetts for barely four months, this was my first year joining the group. We were prepared for whatever the elements had in store for us, but as the weekend approached it became clear that snow would not be an issue.

The forecast was dry with temperatures in the 50s, making for a difficult decision between short sleeves and long sleeves.

Su mapped out a roughly 11-mile round-trip route for us, taking us along various interconnected trails on our way up to the summit of Mount Greylock, and then a brief stint on the Appalachian Trail on our way back down.

There were no time goals, other than to be back to the cars before dusk. We wanted to have fun, keep the group of nine together, and make it to the summit and back in one piece.

It took us a few hours to reach the top, thanks to multiple breaks to regroup, and a wrong turn that took us about a half-mile in the wrong direction. We crossed numerous wooden bridges, passed multiple waterfalls, and took in a few panoramic views before reaching the summit, which is the highest point in Massachusetts at 3,491 feet. A sign at the Visitor’s Center said views of 60-90 miles can be seen from the top, and it sure seemed like it on Saturday. We might have been able to see even farther if the Veterans War Memorial tower hadn’t been closed for renovations.

Alex and me, at the vista lookout, not far from the summit.

The trip back down included a 3/4-mile stretch on the Appalachian Trail, as well as some time on a rocky jeep road that wound back down to the parking lot.

In all, we covered about 11.2 miles and gained approximately 2,800 feet.

It was a fantastic day with friends, and a much-appreciated introduction to a reservation that has so many more trails in need of exploring.

Looking up at the Mount Greylock summit from the parking lot.

Dodging puddles along the way up Mount Greylock.

The warm weather meant the waterfalls were flowing on Mount Greylock.

The fall leaves hid plenty of loose rocks on the trail.

The summit of Mount Greylock offers views for miles.

Intense planning went into those missions in 2006, 2007, 2008 and 2009. Early trips to scope out the route and determine precise strategies to maximize speed and efficiency were critical. Success hinged on following the plan to perfection.

Black Friday at the Middlesex Fells.

Yes, Black Friday was a beast, and I got caught up in the madness for a few years. I hate both traffic and massive crowds in general, and Black Friday is the worst of both worlds. The few bucks I’d save by battling the crowds and rapidly knocking out my Christmas shopping seemed worth it, though. I bought gifts for others, but the greater allure of Black Friday was plenty selfish. My mom believed in spending the exact same amount for Christmas gifts my sister, brother-in-law and me – down to the penny. Mom told me the dollar amount for the year, and asked me to pick out what I wanted, and then she would reimburse me for what I bought. That made Black Friday a golden opportunity, and my intricate planning would allow me to get discounts deeper than door-buster pricing on everything from new hiking boots, to sweaters and gloves.

I calculated when stores would open their doors and, as a result, what order I should visit them. I knew which stores allowed you to check out in the electronics section in the back to avoid the long lines at the front of the store. I knew there were repercussions for taking an extra minute to browse for deals on Black Friday, so I’d grab my item and dart to the checkout line to slip ahead of those who hadn’t done their homework.

Most years I executed my plan flawlessly, was done shopping and back home in bed by 7 a.m.

The Skyline Trail leads to Wright’s Tower.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been part of the Black Friday madness. The past few years I’ve spent the day on the trails instead, opting for the calm tranquility of the woods, the adrenaline rush of my heart beating harder while digging into a hill climb, and savoring the satisfaction of a job well done rather than more purchases made.

I was always happy to see so many friendly faces from my Kansas City and Lawrence trail-running friends who I’d encounter on Black Friday in the woods, usually at Shawnee Mission Park.

Today, now in my fourth month living just outside of Boston, I spent the morning on my neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells. It was 60 degrees and sunny – absolutely perfect conditions to cruise along the leaf-covered trails, hopping over rocks and charging up steep, technical climbs. Twice I made the climb up to my favorite spot in the Fells – the lookout near Wright’s Tower – to catch my breath and enjoy the panoramic view of downtown Boston in the distance. There were probably a dozen families at the top each time, and I encountered dozens more as I wound my way along the Skyline and Crossfells trails during the course of my run.

Wright’s Tower at the Middlesex Fells.

I assume there were thousands of people down in the city at their favorite shopping destinations, forking over large sums of cash and fighting for deals. I was happy to not be a part of the rush, instead spending the day in the woods and enjoying the fresh air.

I’m glad to see REI launched its #OptOutside campaign to encourage its employees, customers, and the rest of American society to prioritize outdoor enjoyment over commercial desires, and I was delighted to see so many parents who elected to introduce to their children to the magic of the trails today.

I’ve been a part of both worlds on Black Friday, and I understand the temptations that both present. For me, the reward of the trails always is far more fulfilling.

The view of the Boston skyline from the lookout point next to Wright’s Tower on the Skyline Trail at the Middlesex Fells.

BROWNSVILLE, VT – A maze of smooth, dirt singletrack wound through the northern hardwood forest with sugar maple and birch trees in the early stages of their fall transformation. It was a recipe for sensory overload, and my mind was in a state of absolute bliss – save for the distraction of searing pain in my quads and the occasional annoyance of a stumbled-upon rock or tree root.

“Just keep running for as long as you can,” I told myself. “Run until your legs won’t go anymore, and then you can hike it in. Until then, just keep running.”

The Vermont 50 finish chute, seen the day before the race. It’s a long drop down the mountain to the finish.

Standing at the starting line of the Vermont 50 nine hours earlier, I had no idea what to expect of the day. I wasn’t appropriately trained, I had two bum ankles, and the 12-hour time limit with strict cutoffs along the way gave me plenty of cause for concern. Then there was the 8,900 feet of vertical gain to deal with, plus the punishing downhills that naturally come along with all of that climbing. I planned to run and hike until the cutoffs caught up to me. Then, my race would be done, and I was ok with that.

But there I was at Mile 44, just six miles from the finish line. My legs were still churning at a steady trot, and I was on pace for a personal-best time.

This didn’t make any sense.

Actually, it made perfect sense.

CHECKING OUT

My last 50-mile race ended with a trip to the emergency room. In hindsight, it was appropriate given the way I’d mistreated my body during the 2013 racing season.

I overscheduled events that year and created a race calendar that I took way too seriously. I overthought my training schedule, treated each event as though it was an “A Race,” and didn’t allow myself much time for recovery.

Ultramarathons in Texas and Kansas and three-day stage races in Arkansas and Tennessee took a collective toll. Then I paced at the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado two weeks before heading to Whistler, British Columbia, for the appropriately named Meet Your Maker 50 on Sept. 1, 2013. By the time I arrived at the starting line, my brain was burned out and my system was run down due to months of fatigue.

I finished the race, but the aftermath was inevitable.

After my release from the hospital in Vancouver, I returned to the United States knowing that I needed to get my body right. I needed to give it some long-overdue rest. More than that, though, I needed to get my mind right. I was running for the wrong reasons, thinking too much about things that didn’t matter, and putting unnecessary pressure on myself.

I’d gotten away from what I loved most about trail running: the simple pleasure of being outside, out in the woods, trotting down the trail while forgetting about the trivialities of the day.

I needed to check out for a while.

A HEALTHY HIATUS

Hitting the reset button on my brain has been a two-year process, but it has been fulfilling in more ways than I could have imagined.

I’ve volunteered at quite a few races, helped build and repair trails, and done a bit of writing. I’ve barely raced, and none of it has been serious.

I’ve winged it at a few ultramarathons – Rock Bridge Revenge 50K (2014), the Night Hawk 50K (2015) and the Moosalamoo 36-Mile Ultra (2015) – as well as the Rockin’ K Trail Marathon (2014), and I’ve sprinkled in a few 5Ks and 10Ks just for fun. I haven’t developed a single training schedule during the two years since the Meet Your Maker 50, and I haven’t much cared how I did at the races that I’ve done. I’ve gone to starting lines with no plan, and haven’t been afraid to DNF. I truly have focused on just having fun, enjoying the trails and the camaraderie with my fellow runners, and trying to make the best of each day.

That said, I’ve run as much – if not more – during the past two years as I did prior to the Meet Your Maker 50; I’ve simply taken my brain out of the equation. There has been no plan. I run if I feel like it; if I don’t, I don’t; as long as it makes me happy.

The past two years have brought me back to my roots with trail running, and it has been refreshing. My mind is clear, my motivation is back, and I’m finally ready to actually train again – this time with my priorities straight.

CHECKING BACK IN

Alex and I at the starting line of the Vermont 50.

I planned to develop a short-term training schedule for the Vermont 50 after signing up for the race back in May. No such schedule ever came to fruition, however, as more pressing life matters took precedence including a job search, traveling, and a move to the Boston area. As a result, I headed to the starting line Sunday with just three runs of 20 miles or more total this year (a 21-miler in July, as well as the Night Hawk and Moosalamoo races).

Undertrained, and with a pair of gimpy ankles from a lingering sprain (left ankle) and a recent nasty twist (right ankle), I went to the starting line with no plan, no expectations, and felt no pressure. I was going to enjoy my time on the trails until I missed a cutoff and got pulled. I didn’t expect to finish, and that was strangely exciting.

My mind was completely at ease.

The temperature was in the upper 30s as the race began, so the chill in the air put some extra spring in my legs for the early miles. I set out at a relaxed pace and coasted through the first mile of gradual downhill, using it as a warmup before beginning to climb. Most of the first 18 miles of the course were a mixture of dirt and gravel roads, with some sections of singletrack sprinkled in. It was a nice variety of terrain, and it afforded ample opportunity to look around and enjoy the scenery at sunrise without face-planting. The roads made for quick hiking on the uphill sections as well as swift descents. I took full advantage of those design benefits, hiking with purpose and blazing down the hills with no worry about stumbling.

I rolled through the second aid station (Mile 8.1) with a 32-minute cushion on the cutoff, and by Mile 18 I was 75 minutes ahead of being pulled. I’d been running for more than three hours and barely noticed. I’d spent most of that time gawking at the gorgeous Vermont scenery – the fog rising from the valleys, the sunrise peeking through the trees, and the leaves of the sugar maples beginning to change colors.

The trail wound through multiple maple syrup farms, easily identifiable by the dozens of trees being tapped with blue plastic tubing that carries syrup to a collection space. It was my first time seeing a maple syrup farm, and it was fascinating to see where my favorite oatmeal topping originates. Occasionally, the trail popped of the woods and through large clearings, opening up to panoramic scenes of the surrounding forest-covered mountains. These were hard-earned views that few people – save for the runners in the race and the property owners sharing their land for just this day – would ever experience.

What a treat.

Feeling good while arriving at Mile 31.3.

The temperature rose into the 60s by the time I reached Greenall’s Aid Station at Mile 31.3. I was 90 minutes ahead of the cutoff and in excellent shape to finish. The biggest climbs were behind me, and my legs felt surprisingly sturdy for having just knocked out a 6:10 50K. I hydrated well with my two handheld bottles – Gatorade in the left and water in the right – and I snacked on half a turkey and Swiss sandwich and some chips and pretzels at each aid station, so my stomach was in good shape, too.

Given my lack of training and minimal long mileage days this year, I expected my legs to crash at any moment. It had been a remarkable race so far, but I assumed the final 19 miles would be a long hike to the finish line.

Instead, my finest race day as a trail runner was unfolding.

I wasn’t overthinking anything. I was just running; just savoring; just – to quote the event’s slogan – “living the experience.”

My legs began to tighten up shortly after departing the aid station, and my instinct was to take a hiking break. I dismissed that option, however, recognizing that the gradual climbs and descents and winding switchbacks were a favorable opportunity to run if my legs would allow it. This race had gone beyond my wildest expectations so far, so why not push a little bit more and see what happens?

“Just keep running,” I told myself. “Just keep running.”

I forced my legs into a slow but steady trot, keeping my breathing and heart rate in check, and took hiking breaks only for the steepest climbs. Each time my legs grew weary and wanted to walk, a timely downhill appeared and allowed me to continue running. Soon, I shuffled down a shade-covered dirt road into the Mile 40 aid station, 8:09 expired – well ahead of my personal-best time for 40 miles (8:28 at the 2013 Free State 40).

My undertrained legs kept chugging along, and they still had more to give. The seven-mile stretch between aid stations at Mile 40 and Mile 47 consisted mostly of rolling singletrack through the woods, twisting and turning around trees and rocks. There were lots of quick ups and downs, usually requiring only three or four strides. This was the stuff that always shut me down late in races when fatigue was at its worst, but this time was different. The miles had passed so easily, so joyfully, up to this point. Now it was time to suffer, and I was mentally prepared to push through it. I’d done enough races, endured enough late-race discomfort, so I knew the pain in my ravaged quads and wasted calves was only temporary. Besides, I expected this stuff to hit much earlier in the race; for it to hold off until the final 10 miles was a gift.

“Accept the low points, and move on,” as Geoff Roes once said.

And so I did, pushing my legs to continue running through the winding singletrack and then out onto the road that led to the aid station at Mile 47. Brian Nephew, a fellow runner from Connecticut, credited me with pulling him along through a few miles of that section. As we departed the final aid station and headed for the finish line, however, it was Brian’s turn to do the pulling. My legs begged to walk, but Brian told me to stay with him. I did the best I could, hiking the uphills hard, shuffling along the flatter sections and opening my stride on the downhills. Brian eventually pulled away, but I kept plodding along, forcing my legs to run.

“Just keep running,” I told myself. “The finish line is getting close.”

I finally saw a sign proclaiming there were only 2 miles to the finish, then 1.5 miles, then 1 mile, then … BAM. My toe caught a rock, and I sprawled through the air and crashed to the ground on my right hip and shoulder. I cursed myself, dusted myself off, and started running again. The final mile was downhill all the way. Grassy switchbacks provided an enticing view of the finish line that inspired me to go faster. My right hamstring wailed and my quads howled as I took the final strides downhill and into the finish chute.

Done.

10:17:33.

It was a 50-mile personal record by 96 minutes; the best race of my life.

In the minutes following the race, I couldn’t grasp what had just happened. I wasn’t properly trained; I had two cranky ankles; I had no real plan for the race; and I hadn’t expected to even finish.

Reflecting during the drive home and in the days that followed, however, what happened became much more clear. Sure, near-perfect race conditions had plenty to do with it, and the course layout was favorable for fast times, but this was about more than that.

The Vermont 50 was validation of the past two years. It was about racing with a clear mind, valuing the opportunity and the environment, and running for the right reasons. It all made sense.

I needed to check out for a while, and Sunday was the right time to check back in.

The truck shook as the engine clattered and roared to life.

Alex and I waved to my sister, brother-in-law and niece who stood in the driveway. Then, I shifted the gear into drive and the truck lurched forward.

We pulled onto the interstate a few minutes later. Soon, Kansas was in the rearview mirror.

Arriving at our new home!

It was August 16, and my 35 1/3 years of Kansas residency were over.

Two days earlier, I completed my final day of work at an engineering firm in Kansas City, wrapping up a whirlwind two weeks of long days and late nights to get a major proposal out the door. Now, behind the wheel of a 15-foot U-Haul box truck with my Honda Civic in tow on a trailer, a 3 1/2-day, 1,451-mile journey to Boston was under way.

Alex and I rolled into town on a Wednesday, Aug. 19. During the next few days we set up our home, visited Fenway Park to watch the Kansas City Royals play the Boston Red Sox, and explored the new neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells Reservation.

On Monday, Aug. 24 – just nine days after wrapping up work in Kansas City and packing up to move – the new daily grind commenced. I rolled out of bed and started my new routine with a one-mile walk to the Davis Square T Station, a 20-minute ride on the Red Line train, and then a short walk to my new job at my new office near Boston Harbor.

Life was crazy while packing up in Kansas City, and it hasn’t slowed down since arriving in Massachusetts. Each weekend has been packed with pre-scheduled activities, keeping us constantly on the run – both literally and figuratively.

Royals vs. Red Sox at Fenway Park!

We spent the final weekend of August in Vermont running on the Appalachian Trail for a friend’s bachelor party.

Labor Day weekend included doing mountain repeats on Mt. Watatic, celebrating two years together with dinner at Monotomy in Arlington, and then I took a trip to Lowell to visit old friends.

On Sept. 12, we supported our friend Dan at his first 50-mile trail race, and then drove to Rhode Island the following day for a baptism.

Finally, last weekend allowed us to have a bit of calm and quiet. We did a short trail run at the Blue Hills Reservation and met friends for dinner, but otherwise the weekend was spent resting and relaxing.

The Royals followed us from Kansas City to Boston for the weekend.

As Month #2 in town kicks off, the whirlwind begins anew. We are headed back to Vermont on Saturday morning to prepare for Sunday’s running of the Vermont 50. Then, we’ll roll into October with back-to-back wedding weekends, one in Medford and the other in Miami.

After that … a calm and quiet schedule, at least for a short while.

My new neighborhood trails at the Middlesex Fells Reservation.

Exploring the Appalachian Trail near Jamaica, Vermont.

Alex and I on the Appalachian Trail in Vermont!