By Michael Moran
The air is sticky, humid, almost tangible on account of the clouds of pollen in the early morning light. Breathing will be heavy today. I arrive at the trailhead alone, park my car, and review my plan for the day. I will run four loops of the Pine Hill trails to Rocky Narrows and back, 7.75 miles per loop for a total of 31 miles. It's a perfect 50K course, complete with a DIY Honda CR-V aid station. Today, there will be no crowds cheering, no volunteers to boost my morale, no participants to share the journey. Yet, today's experience will still change and challenge me. My girlfriend's handmade beer can belt buckle sat on my dashboard, waiting for me to earn it. I dreamed about this run for years but tucked it away for a "someday" adventure. Currently, it's a today adventure, and I'm going to earn that buckle.
I hadn't woken up before 6:00 A.M. in months. Quarantine exchanged all of my daily routines with late nights and late mornings to match. I miss my early morning group runs, filled with the urgency of training before work in order to meet my training goals. I miss the sense of adventure and a race to train for. I miss my community and the people who have pulled me through so many miles. The cancellation of races for the foreseeable future has shut down the competitive aspect of running. Having someone neatly organize a race through the woods, with signs and aid stations, fire pits and dance parties, has gone away. It will return, but for now, we need to be safe. So, while races may be out of the question in the traditional sense, maybe adventure doesn't have to take a back seat.
My friend Ben parks and is barely out of the car before the quips start rolling out of his wisecracking mouth. His dark and sarcastic commentary has pulled me through hundreds of training runs as well as a 50 miler last year at Pineland Farms. His pacing comes with antagonizing encouragement: "when are you going to start running?" or "damn, you're slow!" It's a good reminder from him that this is supposed to be fun and not to take myself so seriously. Today, he will pace me for one loop.
The start
We slap the gate at the head of the trail, and the run begins. My pacer starts harassing me about how many times I'm going to fall in the woods and if I'm going to shit my pants. His jabs cut the "race day jitters" I feel, despite the fact that this is not actually a race. This is one of the first runs with another human being since March, and it feels good to be next to a running buddy again. Despite having run a handful of marathons, 50Ks, and a 50 miler, it's always worth taking a long effort like this seriously, but not too seriously. I want to finish today, and with a scant 16 mile final training run prior to today's "race," I feel a little undertrained.
The course
The course is perfectly varied, with buttery singletrack, impressive pines, and views of the Charles River. The most exciting part of the loop is a view of the Charles from a high, rocky cliff, the King Philip's Overlook. In The American Monthly Review of Reviews, published in 1901, there's a piece written by Sylvester Baxter, in which he describes the area, stating: "at this point, the river flows in a narrow channel between a bank of woods and a high hemlock knoll: a sunny meadow spreads behind the latter, bordered by more high woods. This gorge is named Rocky Narrows." The land was given to the Trustees of Reservations in order for it to be preserved for recreation and enjoyment, and since then it has been home to many trail adventures, picnics, and wandering thinkers. Every day, I am grateful that I have this close by.
Michael and Ben at their parking lot aid station
So, I didn't shit my pants on the first lap, and Ben has done his job well. He entertains me, makes me laugh, makes me forget about the humidity and choking pollen. I joke about how tired he looks and tell him to go home and nap while I finish up. I am ¼ of the way toward my goal, and now I'm on my own. I slug some cold electrolyte drink and stuff it back into the icy cooler, tuck a banana into the side of my hydration pack, and head out onto the trail for lap two.
I'm mentally reviewing the books I have been reading over the past few months during quarantine. A passage from Mark Manson's The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck stands out: "To be happy, we need something to solve. Happiness is therefore a form of action." The idea of this DIY ultra has been brewing in my mind for years. I've said I would try it, but I have always been a little daunted by the idea of a self supported ultra. It's easy to overthink something like this and save it for another day. It's easy to say I'll wait until it is safer to run with others, and I can have the help of more pacers. DNS, which means "Did Not Start," is a label given when you don't show up to a race you have committed to. For many of us, we haven't had the chance to start a race since March. This doesn't mean we have to take a DNS, but it feels like we owe ourselves a chance to take action and step up to a starting line, even if we are alone, and the line isn't really there at all. We can start and finish on our own. We just need our heart to be in it and our bodies to take the challenge. The problem I'm solving right now is turning my dream into a reality. I get to take action and solve the problem, and in that action, I find happiness.
This land is my favorite of all the local trails, and I have found myself here at some poignant moments of my life. It was the first place I went to when my grandfather recently passed away. He was a remarkably good man, and the miles of hard-charging up to the rocky ledge allowed me to process it all. I lost the chance to see him in his final days because of the early stages of the quarantine. He suffered from multiple underlying conditions, but COVID-19 swept through his nursing home and took him with it. The loss and complications of a funeral in the midst of a pandemic, grieving and needing family, but unable to touch them, were all a heavy burden. Running has been my way of working through problems and noticing the patterns in my thoughts. It has led to many clarifying moments of realization. Something about moving forward sets my mind to problem-solving and being in the present moment. Rather than a reflection of grief, I'm present with gratitude for what I've learned from my grandfather.
This trail was also where I went when my father died a few weeks ago. That run was an opposite kind of grief, a lost opportunity to connect with a father who had been absent most of my life. I ran to make sense of the anger and resentment toward him as well as the handful of wonderful memories of a boy and his dad on solo adventures. That run helped me think about the father I want to be for my own child.
On both occasions, I stood at the overlook by the high woods and took in the sky and the knoll and the winding river heading off into the forests to the west. As many of us already know and can attest to, nature reminds us of our place in time. We are fleeting moments compared to the vastness of geologic time. Nothing gives us this appreciation more than when we see nature's glory spread out in front of us for miles. Our problems can be put into perspective, and we become present to the moment available to us right now. Nature seems to illuminate this truth for us with ease. Add to that, the delirium of 31 challenging miles, with a slightly depleted body, fueled by caffeinated chocolate GU, and you have a perfect recipe for awakening awe for the world around us.
“You only need to start and let momentum do the rest.”
Shuffling out of the woods in the final moments of the run, I feel energized and proud. I take an awkward, sweaty, and breathy video of my hand slapping the gate for the final time, my own ceremonial gesture of completion. I have been happy all day long because I chose to start, and in that starting, I found momentum. No DNS for me. Today is an accomplishment of action, which is an embodiment of happiness. You only need to start and let momentum do the rest. Today is another chance to be fully present in a place I love, and a little bit stripped down through the effort of running long distances. It's a day of reflection and getting down to my bare self. The quest for happiness doesn't come from destinations, objects, online rankings, or swag. I'm finding joy in putting in hard miles because I love the miles, remembering who made me who I am but being fiercely myself; in creating my own challenges and achieving them. I miss that feeling of group runs and race finish lines, but there are so many more reasons why we do this sport. We do it to heal and grow, for challenge and release, for the pure joy of moving freely in the present moment. I grab the buckle I've now earned off of the dash and stand on a tree stump podium. I won the race, after all.
Beer can belt buckle
About the Author
Michael Moran is a writer, ultrarunner, and special education teacher living in Natick, Massachusetts. He studied English Literature at UMass Amherst and has a master's in education. He coaches track and field and cross country for middle schoolers and co-founded the Natick Runners, his local running club. He loves to travel and spends his time with family and friends in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Rockies of Colorado and the desert trails of Arizona. You'll often find him with a burrito in hand and a trucker hat on his head, at the top of a mountain trail.
