Six days out from the Escarpment Trail Run, Alex, my physical therapist, told me that it was important to run it. All month I had been debating skipping it yet again; I’ve attempted to run this race a few times, but it never lined up for one reason or another. This year, I developed a partial hamstring tendon tear in March and only began running again at the end of May. You’ll find some videos regarding that on my YouTube Channel.
Physically, I was nowhere close to the fitness level where I would normally be for an event like this.
Mentally, I was paranoid about my tendon.
Emotionally, I was filled with excitement, half fueled by fear, half fueled by the opportunity that I was finally getting to run this event.
There I was, the morning of Sunday, July 30th, toeing the line at the Windham Trailhead in the Catskills. I was unsure if I was going to make it to the finish line comfortably on two legs or if I was going to be crawling my way in.
If you’re a mountain runner in the Northeast, you’ve likely heard of the Escarpment Trail Run. Traversing the Windham-Blackhead Range on its namesake trail, it’s a 30km race with 10k feet of vertical change, slightly erring on the vert side.
Dick Vincent created this race in 1977. There are strict qualifications to apply for entry - “FOR MOUNTAIN GOATS ONLY” as the website states. It’s not for the beginner trail runner and there’s no easy way to extract a runner in trouble. Nobody summarizes it better than the man behind the madness:
“There won't be people telling you where the trail goes, doctors to wipe your blisters, or a bus to give you a ride to the finish if you decide you can't continue.”
Contrary to the difficulty of extraction, it’s a well aided race, with seven aid stations along the route, supported by volunteers who hike hours into the wilderness, carrying all of the hydration and nutrition for close to 200 runners. The trail is classic Northeast singletrack; it’s rugged, roots and rocks generously dispersed, as well as full-body scrambles, both up and down.
I arrived at 7:15 at the finish line/southern terminus parking lot, so I could be on the first bus to the start line. Due to the nature of the trail, the race is broken into waves starting every 5 minutes. The first male and female to finish line wins. (Dick assigns the waves based upon your application and you have the ability to move up if you are a contender.) The moment I stepped onto the bus, I reunited with many familiar faces. A sigh of relief, as our conversation would distract me from the mountain of fear I was already standing upon. It also gave me an opportunity to ask any questions, as I never ran this trail before. Michelle Merlis, the current women’s champion (four-peater!), had graciously sent me a detailed summary days prior upon request, so Alex and I (translation: Alex) would be able to gauge if it was smart for me to run. The most important detail I obtained on the bus was if there was a chance I could get lost. Thankfully that was a no - the blue trail markers were in abundance and any intersections or rocky areas where blazes faded were clearly marked for the race with long pieces of blue flagging tape.
Pre-race group shot looking half awake.
Upon arrival, I picked up my number, 49, completed my mini band warm up, and went out for a short slog. My tendon softly nagged me like a mosquito buzzing around my head; it was slightly inflamed from an increase in strength training the past weeks, and though I never found myself altering my gait, it was on my mind more often than not. During those 1.5 miles, I continually reminded myself that Alex wanted me to run this, and to run it for fun. I was allowed to push myself when possible, but back off when needed and was told not to get caught up in the race.
At 9:12, I toed the line for the 9:15 wave a step behind Michelle, along with six others; I knew she was going to fly off the start line and that energy is tempting to keep up with. It was a beautiful morning; we’ve had a brutally hot and humid summer in NY and luckily for us, a heat wave broke that day. At the very least, I didn’t have to worry about overheating. It was a perfect day for a proper mountain run.
pc: Steve Aaron
We meandered through the trees off a meadow and slowly started to climb. Within five minutes I lost sight of Michelle, which I was relieving. I was able to run in my own world, at my own pace for this “fun run”. The climb up to the Windham Mountain summit is 3.4 miles and gains around 1400ft. It’s runnable. Very runnable. This was possibly going to be a problem for my tendon, as it was the exact terrain and grade that lights it up over time. I didn’t feel like I was pushing hard, though I glanced down at my watch a few times and saw my heartrate in the red. Zone 5. Eh, I expected that for the amount of training I did leading up to it. I was breathing heavily, but it wasn’t excessive, especially for being an asthmatic, and I’m sure that it also spiked thanks to my nerves. I decided to power hike a few short, steep, rocky climbs with the focus of settling in.
Time for a mini tangent…
Training:
My last run pre-diagnosis was March 31st.
My first run post-diagnosis (2 miles total) was May 31st.
My first week over 40 miles occurred June 26th to July 2nd.
I ran four weeks between 40-47 miles and then semi tapered the week of the Escarpment.
My longest run was 15 miles with a little over 2k feet of vert.
The most vert I tackled in one session was 3600ft over about 9 miles.
Ideally I would have been building up for more weeks, as well as more miles and vert.
Gear:
Shoes - Arc’teryx Norvan LD3. Yes, they were brand new, but were seasoned by the finish line. I’ve been running in this shoe for years and I’ve never had an issue running in a new pair.
HR monitor on my arm - Polar. IMO they make the best on the market. I don’t suffer from chafing like I do if I were to wear a chest strap while running. (I wear the chest strap when cycling.) Watch is the Polar Grit X.
Clothing - Arc’teryx, current trail running season. Ultra light & comfortable.
Visor - Ciele. I was going to wear a hat, but I wanted extra ventilation. Glad I went with the visor.
Back to the action…
About 40/41 minutes in, I heard voices. I knew I was close to the first aid station. I carried an extra 500mL soft flask and had about 800 calories in my vest, so I was able to jog through the aid station without stopping. I thanked everybody for their time and effort as I ran through. I find that their effort to provide aid was more difficult than running the race.
Given the frequency of the aid stations, I knew beforehand that I didn’t need to carry as much as I did, but I purposely carried enough nutrition to self-fuel as a way to anchor myself. Some may call it a form of self-sabotage, I call it a form of self-care. Even if I was racing, I would have still carried a few emergency calories.
Much of the course blended together after passing over Windham. I blame that on being focused on the trail in front of me to avoid tripping. Since I ran this blind, I carried a small hand-drawn elevation graph, marking each aid station. It’s comforting to have a reminder of what’s ahead and if I found myself with tendon issues, I would be able to mentally prepare how long it would take me to crawl to the finish.
Somewhere on the Windham descent, I stepped on a steep slabby rock, skidded out, and landed on my backside. Relieved it didn’t stir up any electric tendon feelings, it was a reminder that though I love technical terrain, that today was not the day to jump back into it.
The next five[ish] miles after Windham peak were nothing out of the ordinary for me. In fact, I was somewhat thrown off by the runnability of the trail. I envisioned it to be more like the Devil’s Path, another legendary Catskill trail, which is much more technical. I found that the runnability made the Escarpment more difficult for my skill set. Besides my love for a good scramble, I again felt strongest on them and my tendon didn’t bother me. It was a 180 from my final run before my diagnosis, where I couldn’t push out of my right leg on a scramble without stabbing pain at the top of my hamstring. (Hence why I ended up getting a MRI.)
The hills rolled along and I found myself in a near state of flow, something I had yet to achieve during this short training block. There were sections where the trail was engulfed in vibrant green moss on either side, the underfoot emulating that softness, yet a touch firmer, making it feel like the trail equivalent of a freshly built track. I ran most of the trail solo and occasionally with other runners I ran up on from earlier waves. I passed through a second aid station in these miles and knew, thanks to my mini map, that at the following aid station I’d have my second big, and arguably the most difficult climb in front of me.
I took advantage of aid stations two through seven, mainly filling up a soft flask with Infinit and water, sometimes grabbing a few Clif blocks or a piece of banana. The volunteers were hyper organized; I felt like I was racing World’s Toughest Mudder with my usual crew. Everybody was assigned to something, and every one of them eagerly cheered me on.
I arrived at the third aid station at the base of Blackhead (mile 8.4), making sure that I drank all of my Infinit before refilling my soft flask. If I recall correctly (somebody message me if I’m wrong), this was the party aid station. A few hundred feet out, colorful balloons adorned the trees along the trail leading up to it. A simple, yet effective way to boost morale, even if you’re already in a good place.
A volunteer notified me that Michelle was only about 10 minutes in front of me. “I’m just out here for a fun run!” I smiled when replying. I genuinely appreciated the updates, and I received them often. These volunteers were thorough! Nobody knew I was out for a fun run until I informed them. Being in second place, it was safe for anybody to assume that I was racing to win. Even if I was racing, that would have been a difficult gap to close, as I would have had to run a minute per mile faster than her to catch up. Full transparency, I briefly considered if I had enough in me to do that before waking up to the fact that my competitiveness may very well set my recovery back weeks.
If you love grinding climbs, then Blackhead would be your favorite, as it was mine. It gave me a break from the near non-stop running I had done up to this point, thanks to steep grades where power-hiking and scrambling were your best options. The climb is short, only a mile long, but ascends about 1100ft, getting steeper towards the top. There are sections that are runnable for only a few strides, which I found myself easily falling back into. I was happy that my body was agreeing with my desire to increase my pace when it made sense. My HR was again in zone 5, sweat slowly dripping off the end of my visor, but it felt good; I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to push, knowing that I was going to have to pull back in the second half to protect my tendon. I passed one or two runners on the climb, one mentioning that I looked strong. I laughed because my asthmatic wheeze made me wonder if he was joking, but I guess my speed dictated that he wasn’t using my breathing to determine my strength. Soon enough I heard voices tucked away on the compact summit. I refilled fluids before weaving off into the trees.
Turns out I was 13th fastest out of 179 runners on that climb. Time: 18:33. That made me happy, especially knowing that I have a runway of improvement to make.
Laser focused on the terrain so I wouldn’t eat trail on camera.
pc: Jamie Kennard, Instagram: catskilltracks
The next few miles down to Dutcher’s Notch were steep and technical, but I found it manageable. Again, being able to move my body in positions other than when running benefitted my tendon. It was still buzzing from the morning, letting up only during the Blackhead climb. I felt stronger on the descents the more I ran, building my confidence, but forced myself to hold back a little. My plan was to be cautious the second half of the race. I was unsure how my body was going to manage the volume of mileage and vert on that terrain, so best I approached it with caution rather than blow up.
Aid station five marked the final climb, Stoppel Point. I was about 12 miles in and a little over 6 to go. Like clockwork, I had my 500mL flask refilled, and sipped it as I began the final two sections of the climb. I felt a little faint shortly after leaving Blackhead. It was cool, but it was a little humid. I’ve run hard in this weather before, a FKT attempt gone wrong because of similar conditions. You may feel cool but you may be overworking. Dehydration sneaks up on you. I was still sweating and putting down appropriate fluid volumes based on my experience, so I semi-shrugged it off, telling myself that I was ok and that I wasn’t used to this level of effort just yet. As a distraction, I kept watch for a plane crash; it would signal that I was near the summit (~13.5 miles).
Shortly before the plane crash a hazy moment physically hit me with a wake up call. Roots weaved under the moss along the trail; it was what I’d consider to be ordinary terrain for the area. It always happens so quickly. Maybe I took my attention off my footing for a moment… I’m not sure, but my body audibly slammed into the ground before I was fully able to process that I tripped. I got up, and 30 feet later, I went down again, flopping harder than before. Slowly stumbling as I stood up while warding off an asthma attack from the shock and frustration, I realized that it was likely a calorie deficiency. Not having the opportunity to run anything like this in the months prior had me out of routine. I was hydrated and consuming calories on a consistent basis, but I didn’t take into account the spikes in my heart rate translated to a need for extra calories to support that.
Cue my well-stocked hydration pack. I pulled out an Untapped Maple citrus “gel”, pure maple syrup with additional sodium. Maple syrup has become a nutrition staple since I started adventure racing with a French Canadian team. It’s easily digestible and instantaneously perks me up.
The maple syrup vanished into my stomach as fast as I took it out of my vest.
Rather than risk if that was enough, I also had a regular gel, cola flavored, figuring that a boost of caffeine would likely help clear the haze.
Both did their job; within a minute, I was fully alert, energized, and ready to finish the climb. It didn’t take long before I passed the eroding plane from 1983, a few feet off the trail on my left.
A turning point of relief. It was basically downhill from here. While many warned that the downhill is long, I knew that the relentless strength training in physical therapy was going to carry me comfortably there.
I enjoyed these miles, refueling at the sixth aid station, getting more updates, comfortably ticking off the miles, and immersing myself in my surroundings. Eventually the trail opened up and I was weaving along slabs of rock through more sporadic green coverage. Following more of the blue ribbons, I realized why Dick was so thorough; when flying through these areas, it’s easy to steer off trail.
Around Northpoint towards the finish.
pc: Steve Aaron
Aid station seven marked approximately mile 16. It was officially my longest and most difficult run in months. One of my friends, Steven, was volunteering, greeting me with enthusiasm as we shared a short chat, while another kind volunteer filled up my soft flask for the last time. Like the other aid stations, except Windham, I took my time, enjoying the moment before running off. Steven helped me navigate off the slab and towards the trail upon my departure; there was a sea of blue flags, but I was clearly distracted by the panoramic views.
The final <2 miles were smooth sailing. I hadn’t been pushing for miles and after the tripping incidents I felt good. There was a moment where the trail turned 90 degrees right. I thought I saw the lake at the parking lot in front of me… the finish?!... not really. As I approached the open sky, it was actually a massive lookout. Oops! I swear I was no longer lightheaded.
I crossed through the finish line all smiles, running right into some of those same friends I met on the bus that morning.
Official Time: 3:33:00
I was 8 minutes 2 seconds behind Michelle, and good enough for 2nd place woman and 25th overall.
I truly believed that I was going to run around 4 hours and was perfectly content with that. Anybody there who knew me laughed at that idea and said that I was going to run faster. They were right! I underestimated the strength of my abilities to have a solid fun run!
The finish line was quite the party. I’ve never seen such a well-stocked post-race buffet. An abundance of fresh fruit, bagels, chips, homemade baked goods, and an assortment of sparkling water and soda… I couldn’t have asked for anything better.
Below are a few shots from the finish line. L to R: Dick Vincent, Top 3 ladies (Kirby Mosenthal/3rd & Michelle Merlis/1st), enjoying one of many slices of watermelon
This was one of the most enjoyable races I’ve done. Backed by an established, supportive community, both running and volunteering, everybody spoke to you as if you had been there before. I’m sure that’s why people come back year after year. The announcer at the finish line made it clear when the oldest and most accomplished finisher, 74 years old, came through. He successfully ran his *43rd* Escarpment. Impressive. Astonishing. Inspiring. Pick an adjective, any adjective… WOW.
Let’s talk tendon… It buzzed the whole time except climbing Blackhead. Utilizing a traffic light system to train, I had a few “yellow light” moments, where I needed to be extra cautious, but no “red light” moments, where I would have been forced to hike it out. Everything else was a mid-high green, a 2-3 out of 10 on the pain scale. Perplexed, the following day it felt great, no discomfort. Day two the DOMS set in and it whispered to me again not-so-sweet nothings. I went back to PT on Wednesday, and Alex considered it a success, as did I. I needed to run this to build confidence to mentally, emotionally, and physically push myself into the next phase of training. It was the perfect event to blow off some of the dust that accumulated over the past few months and I’m optimistic about the success of my fall schedule.
A massive thank you to Dick Vincent and every single person out there and behind the scenes who make this special race happen. I said it at the finish line and I’ll say it again here, I cannot wait to give this race a proper run. Until then… rock on.