The pull-up to New Paltz was instant nostalgia. Spring greenery in upstate New York has a distinct vibrance. The downtown of the college town was opening up after a long winter. Restaurants had flung open their doors. I was reminded of college trips with The Red Rogue to Troy and Albany to play small gigs. Sipping free gallery wine and hitting the guitar as hard as I could do project out into those awakened streets. We even had rented a cabin in nearby Phoenicia to record our (for now) last album.
But I was only passing through the small town to the gate at Mohonk Preserve. There I would get my race packet and check into a nearby campground for a quick sleep before a 4am wake-up for the 6am start. It was going to be warm. There was going to be some mean elevation. It was going to be an interesting 50 miles.
I needed 12 hours to qualify for the Vermont 100 and everything was going swimmingly. A sunrise departure from the gate led us straight toward the preserve in an elongating snake. I stuck to the plan. Didn’t push it. Kept a steady pace with built in walking breaks and took time at the aid stations to consider nutrition. The first half of the race was told to be the most scenic and I couldn’t disagree. The panoramic ridges gave view to verdant hills. A mountain lake house appeared in the distance that felt like a fairytale mirage. The heat was getting to me a little, but 12 hours was well within reach. I chatted with a Brooklyn runner for a bit to kill a few miles before peeling off.
Then the stick in the bicycle spokes: around the 34 mile mark a storm cut through the sunny day. We had to shelter in place. Shivering under a tent during a wild and windy thunderstorm didn’t do my legs any good. Alarm bells started to go off as rangers distributed emergency blankets and the clock kept ticking. The storm died down but I had lost over thirty minutes and they were still holding us. Some runners had chosen to go anyway, but the occasional peal of thunder was still echoing through.
Out of the rain, a surly older man with Gene Hackman energy appeared with his t-shirt tucked behind his head to make a belly-shirt. They told him about the strongly suggested shelter in place order. He stared in prickly disbelief and walked to grab a snack from the aid station table before promptly loping off down the trail. I took this as my cue and followed him. He turned back, gave me a grin and said, “fuck that shit!” I felt an instant boost.
I knew it was going to be close at the 40 mile mark and the pressure only increased as I ticked off the miles and did the math. With 3 miles to go I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it but pushed through jogging a few more miles. Legs slowed and I found myself walking with 8 minutes left and my will crumbling a bit. The body wasn’t responding to my pleas to keep running. I had to remind myself of all the training, preparation, money, highway driving and support that it took to get me to that point. The finish line came into view with 3 minutes to go. I kicked and crossed that beautiful stone arch at 11:59:07.
I found a platform to sit on. The Brooklyn runner yelled across from the massage tent a congratulations on getting my time. They had cheese burgers and chocolate milk at the finish line which took an hour to become appetizing, but boy did they hit when the time was right. I bought a race trucker hat for Midori and made my way to the bus to be shuttled back to the parking lot. With the bus in view, I felt a strong hand on my arm and turned to see runner Gene Hackman proudly displaying a 3rd-in-his-age-group medal. Hell yah brother.
Vermont here I come! The race had incredible organization and supportive volunteers. You won’t find many races with ample aid stations and such runnable trail. The donation takes some doing, but it’s all for a good cause. Will be back some day, Mohonk.
When I Get Home 