The Dartmouth 50: A Day full of Gratitude, Reflection, and Suffering.

I'm finding it difficult where to even begin with writing this post. I have already postponed writing this story a couple of days in order to digest my thoughts, however, there is only so much digesting I can do so I figured I would pull the trigger and start typing.

This past Tuesday, June 2nd I was lucky enough to take a stab at the Dartmouth 50 FKT (fastest known time), a roughly 50 mile route from Hanover, NH to the Mt. Moosilauke Ravine Lodge at the base of Mt. Moosilauke. The route is run entirely north on the Appalachian Trail with the exception of the final descent from the summit of Mt. Moosilauke to the Ravine Lodge and stouts roughly 15,000 feet of vertical ascent along the way, with climbs over Moose Mountain, Smarts Mountain, Mt. Cube, and Mt. Moosilauke. As I understand, the history of this route comes from an old and still contested tradition of the Dartmouth Outing Club, where members of the club hike the same route from campus in a 24 hour period (although I believe nowadays members of the club hike the route in the reverse, north to south direction).

My motivation behind making an attempt on the FKT for this route presented itself in a number of different forms. For any other runners reading this post, I'm sure your spring/summer racing schedule has been affected by the Covid-19 pandemic. I was originally planning on running a 50 mile race in early May which was canceled due to the pandemic. I was still itching to put some fitness to the test and with races being canceled for the foreseeable future, I figured it would be as good a time as any to go after an FKT. But why the Dartmouth 50? While living and training in the upper valley of New Hampshire, this route is right in my backyard and I have spent many a mile training on the route as well. I feel an almost spiritual connection to this section of the AT stretching from Hanover to Mt. Moosilauke and it seemed like the perfect route to test my fitness and mental fortitude. Aside from the aesthetic and spiritual appeal of this route, I must confess that this wasn't my only motivation. Anyone that knows me well knows that I have a fairly competitive side, especially when it comes to running. The FKT was held by my good companion and training partner Saúl Ramirez in a time of 11 hours and 47 minutes. Saúl offered up a plethora of inspiration to make an attempt on the route and I knew chasing his time would get the absolute best out of myself. This is how I found myself standing on the edge of the Dartmouth Green this past Tuesday at 5 AM with 50 miles of rough and rugged trail ahead of me.

In the early miles I was blessed to have the company of both Saúl as well as Joffrey Peters (who currently holds the unsupported record on the Dartmouth 50), both of whom had plenty of insight into what I would be experiencing later in the day. It was in these early miles amidst our conversations, that I began to feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to even be out on the trail undertaking this audacious goal. As Joffrey and myself were climbing to the south Peak of Moose Mountain, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of privilege. Regardless of what the day would bring, I felt lucky to be placing one foot in front of the other and doing what I love, especially with the current state of the world. These feelings were only intensified as we crested the peak and found ourselves above the clouds and fog covering Goose Pond down below and a breathtaking view of Mt. Cardigan in the distance. In this brief pause I got the sense that it was going to be a special day. As good as it felt to stand there and appreciate what we were doing, I knew we couldn’t waste too much time and before I knew it we were off and running again.

Soon enough we were up and over the north peak of Moose Mountain and crossed Goose Pond Road where I was met by my crew of my Dad and my Aunt. I refilled my water bottle, said goodbye and a much needed thank you to Joffrey who was retrieving his stashed bike from the woods to ride back to Hanover, and took off up and over Holt’s Ledge (the only section I ran solo all day). On the descent off Holt’s Ledge (one of my favorite stretches of trail in the UV) I finally felt like I was awake and hitting my rhythm. I let the legs open up, cruised down the trail, scared the shit out of a hiker, and let out a few “whoops!” as I saw one of my next pacers, Peter Howe, at the bottom of the trail just before the road. It was here that I was also met by fellow nurse and trail runner Ben Jones who was bright eyed and ready to go. I took another brief water bottle fill up from my crew before Ben, Peter, and myself took off to crush the brief section of trail between the Dartmouth Skiway and the Smarts Mountain trail head with the stoke meter approaching high. The sun was up, the legs were feeling fresh 18 miles in, and with some rad company, things were starting to come together. At the Smarts Mountain trailhead we took a couple of minutes to gear up with some fluids and calories and put our heads on straight for the first “real” section of trail of the day.

On paper, the Dartmouth 50 surely does not seem like an easy task. Of course anyone crazy enough to undertake this route surely understands that. However, when you really analyze the route (as if doing this is really going to make it any easier) things become a little more real, especially when you consider that 10,000 feet of the vertical climbing on the route comes in roughly the last 30 miles. This became all too clear to me as the three of us began the ascent up Smarts Mountain. As we climbed, my legs gradually went from feeling fresh to feeling like they were filled with lead. The big picture of the day began to come into view and voices in my head started to chatter. Suddenly I found myself doubting my ability and even questioning why I was out here trying to run up a mountain in the middle of a 50 mile voyage. As the voices talked their talk I intermittently came to and realized there were material voices speaking as well, I had nearly forgotten that Ben and Peter were beside me this whole time pushing me up the mountain. I decided to ignore the voices in my head (for now) and focus on the sounds of Ben and Peter’s voices and suddenly things were becoming bright again. We spent much of the climb up Smarts Mountain in a reflective discussion of where we were from and how we all found ourselves in this struggle between gravity and shuffling our feet up the slope. In our discussion I found the answer to those voices in my head. As I took the time to reflect on why I was truly doing this, the answer jumped into view, simply because I love it. I love the feeling of pushing my body to its limits and every ounce of suffering that ensues in the process. Although, I would later learn that the suffering was only just beginning. As we hit the peak of Smarts Mountain, I let my mind and body relax and followed Peter’s rhythmic flow down the long gradual descent on the north ridge of the mountain. The three of us galloped down the trail and entered that almost zen state of the “runner’s high.” Things began to feel easy again and our conversations turned a little less serious as we discussed Peter’s recently acquainted goats while Ben and myself tried to convince Peter to move to the UV (seriously Peter think about it!).

The miles breezed by, I blinked, and just like that we were up and over Mt. Cube and blazing some trail descending back down to the road while shouting out our best wild animal impersonations. We hit the road at a sprint where we met my crew for some more food and fluids, and just like that we had 13 miles and two peaks behind us. Peter and I said goodbye to Ben and trotted up the next section of trail with the stoke meter still riding high. However, it was in this next stretch where my mind would take a turn for the worst.

Things got hard, like really hard. On paper, the next five mile stretch to where I would see my crew again, seemed like a short jog through the woods. However, after descending from Mt. Cube, every uphill, even the slightest incline, seemed nearly impossible to run as I was forced to a fast hike. To make things worse, this was one of the very few sections of trail that I had never seen prior to setting foot on it during the Dartmouth 50. Because of this, I had no concept of how far we had gone since the last road crossing nor how far it was to the next. Meanwhile, the voices came back: “Why are you still trying? Why don’t you just sit on the side of the trail and give up? Why don’t you just stop?!” My mind was running amuck, looking for even the smallest excuse to throw in the towel and call it a day. In that moment I was feeling beyond lucky to have Peter with me who was keeping my nerves as calm as possible and kept me moving forward relentlessly, even though it seemed like we were moving agonizingly slow. But with every climb comes a descent and again before I knew it we were at the top of the oh-so-slight climb and descending back down to the next road crossing. By some act of grace my downhill legs were still there and we were yet again moving at a fast pace and in a smooth rhythm. Shortly before the next road crossing we ran into my next set of pacers Jordan Fields and his roommate Eli, who apparently had just guzzled at least seven cups of coffee because these two were bouncing off the walls and had all the energy needed to dig me out of the grave. We ran the last half mile of trail before the road, met up with my crew to refuel, said so long to Peter and kept moving north on the approach to the base of Mt. Moosilauke. I made the smart move of grabbing my trekking poles before heading out which made every inch of uphill a little bit easier and kept the seizing of my hamstrings and lower back at bay. From this road crossing we had approximately six miles to the bottom of the Mt. Moosilauke climb and it was clear right off the bat that Jordan and Eli had the intent of keeping the pace up before we got there. Even with their boundless energy and quick pace, every step felt like a marathon. The effort was as hard as anything but I kept my eyes focused on Jordan and Eli’s backs and accepted that I was plunging deep into the pain cave. Each step continued to feel like an eternity, yet the miles were clicking by. Eventually I heard some more voices up ahead and I gazed my eyes off the trail for a brief moment to find my good friend and adventure extraordinaire Ben Maines as well as my former high school cross country coach Mike Veilleux running up the trail to meet us. It felt so uplifting to see them barreling towards us and to know I had a solid group of four dudes to help get me up and over Mt. Moosilauke and to the finish. We kept moving north on the AT, crossed route 25, I nearly fell into a river (only witnessed by Ben who was ready to jump in after me!), and just like that we popped out on High Street in Benton, NH to see my crew waiting for me one last time before we began the grueling ascent up Mt. Moosilauke.

I knew this was coming all day. I knew at some point I was going to have to forfeit my body and accept the suffering as I made the 4 mile and 3,000+ foot climb to the summit of Mt. Moosilauke. However, as I approached my dad’s car I was not yet ready to make that acceptance, and just as I had almost fallen into that river, I fell into the lawn chair my dad had set up for me. I was in a complete daze and looked at my watch for the first time in hours, 9 hours and 20 minutes. It was going to be close. We had less than 2 and a half hours to make it up to the summit and back down to the Ravine Lodge. I knew I couldn’t sit for long. I stuffed my face with as much calories and fluid as my stomach would allow, took a caffeine pill from Jordan (thanks again dude!), and started moving...slowly. We ran through the open fields at the base of the climb but once the grade steepened, I accepted the fact that I would not be able to run any of the climb. Instead I put my head down and focused on hiking as fast and efficiently as I could, and somehow I found myself in a solid rhythm. All the guys around me kept the mood light and conversive, but I couldn’t participate. Even the thought of forming a sentence took me out of my rhythm and slowed my pace. Again, I kept my head down and continued to push. With my eyes locked on the one foot of trail in front of me, the only thing I could think about was suffering. Anyone who has ever run an ultra knows that at some point the suffering is inevitable. It doesn’t matter how fast or slow you have moved up to that point, once the suffering sets in, it’s always there. There seems to be this intrinsic link between ultra running and suffering which leaves many people to believe that ultra running is a form of masochism, and I guess in a way it is. Although in the grand scheme of things I am still relatively new to this whole ultra running thing, if there’s anything I’ve learned thus far, it’s that the way in which you deal with the suffering you experience ultimately has the largest influence on your performance. It’s not about your nutrition plan, what shoes you have on your feet, or how fast you ran that hill repeat in your workout last week, it’s all about whether you can accept the suffering and push through or if you succumb to the suffering and crumble to your own demise. For what felt like the first time in my short ultra running career, I accepted the suffering. I accepted that no matter what I did, nothing was going to fix the cramping in my quads or my swollen ankle. Slowing down was not going to make my feet ache less and it sure as hell would not make the finish come any sooner. The only thing that was going to get me through was to accept the suffering I was experiencing and ride it like a wave up and over the mountain, and that’s exactly what I did. I grinded up the climb as fast as I could. Suddenly I looked up to see my girlfriend Kara waiting for us at the top of the south peak. She welcomed us with a smile as I said hello. “He speaks!” all my friends yelled (I practically hadn’t spoken a word since we started the climb). I gave her a hug as she left me with some final words of encouragement before we took off up the ridge to the true summit, at what felt like a sprint. In just a few moments we were at the summit, I kissed the sign, and we started bombing downhill to the Ravine Lodge with 65 minutes to get the FKT.

Jordan took the lead and set an aggressive pace to get me home as fast as possible. We made it through the steep technical terrain below the summit and soon we were back in the tree cover. The trail became more gradual and smooth and, before I knew it, we were flying down the trail. At first I resisted, but soon I was back in that runner’s high and was following Jordan’s steps as we pounded down the trail screaming in incoherent joy. This was by far my favorite moment of the day, just five guys galloping down the trail doing what they love! I would have been ecstatic if we made it down the mountain in less than an hour, yet somehow we managed to make it down in just over 40 minutes. At the end of the trail the Ravine Lodge was finally in sight, a mere 100 yards away. I sprinted up the last short hill, tagged the lodge, and stopped my watch: 11 hour and 24 minutes, a new supported FKT by 23 minutes.

We celebrated with some wide eyed stares, big grins, and some social distancing hugs and high fives (aside from Kara of course, who made it to the lodge just moments after we did). I once again sunk into that lawn chair, but this time a little more permanently, as the haze of the day drowned me. I took a moment to sit in silence and appreciate the opportunity I had to tackle this goal and let all my emotions sink in. Wow…

Running, and especially ultra running, is an extremely selfish sport. I have always found it ironic that the people who volunteer their time to support myself and fellow runners to achieve our lofty goals are some of the most selfless people I have ever met. Anything that I have ever achieved in running has been the effort of a whole team, and the Dartmouth 50 was no different. There is no way I could have taken on this route without the help of everyone who came along, and because of that I have many people to thank.

To my dad and my aunt - thank you for crewing me and taking care of my broken mind and body throughout the day. You both provided words of encouragement that kept me moving all day long.

Kara - thank you for selflessly supporting my endeavors day in and day out. I seriously don’t know how you put up with me.

Joffrey, Peter, Ben J, Jordan, Eli, Ben M, and Mike - thank you guys for keeping me moving and keeping the stoke high all day! You guys pushed me beyond my limits, and for that I am grateful.

Saúl - thank you for inspiring me to get out and test my limits. A thank you is also in order for setting the bar high, it truly forced me to get the best out of myself. Looking forward to sharing some more miles soon and can’t wait to see you set the bar on the Dartmouth 50 even higher!

Lastly, a huge thank you to my coach Stephen LoBianco who has been behind the scenes getting me fit! I think I am in some of the best shape of my life right now and I think there are some more big things coming later this year!

I think it goes without saying that this was a RAD adventure! Anyone who is out there looking for a challenge and is up for it, I highly recommend the Dartmouth 50! Thank you for reading and following along. Stay tuned for more!