Run Thought

I first heard about the Fingerlakes 50s about a year ago when a lot of people on my team were gearing up to head up to Hector, NY for either the 25k, 50k, or 50 miler. It’s a small race of about 250 people total across all three distances, but North Brooklyn Runners would constitute a pretty big chunk of runners on the trail. This year, about 15 of us went up. 4 cars worth of NBR members met up in Brooklyn early on the 4th of July and took the journey upstate towards the Fingerlakes.

There were people running the 25k, 50k, and 50 mile races, as well as pacers, and people friends looking to camp and support the team. We had all been training for this race and knew we’d be expected there after last year. This would be my first ultramarathon and even my first trail race. I’d been training hard for about 5 months straight, and I was ready to conquer the trail.

Early in the afternoon, we arrived at the campgrounds, got signed in, and set up camp. We struggled putting up tents, cooked hot dogs and veggie dogs over a tiny flame, and it was lights out by 9:30pm. The 50k and 50 miler runners were set to start at 6:30 AM the next day, with the 25k racers starting at 8:00 AM. I was worried about waking up in time in case my phone died overnight, but it ended up staying on all night and the alarm went off in the morning, although I regret not setting it earlier. I rushed to get ready and was one of the last people running to the start line just as they announced the beginning of the race. It was on.

The race began on a gravel road with a downhill section before you turned into the forest to enter the trails. I tried to pace myself, but the adrenaline combined with the downhill made it tough to slow down. Once we got onto the trail, it was single file. I wanted to take it nice and easy, but since I was almost late to the start, I was stuck at the front of the pack with people right behind me and it would have been difficult to step aside to let a bunch of them pass. I kept on and figured I’d slow down soon. One of the guys behind me noticed my singlet and yelled out “HEY! A North Brooklyn Runner! Were you here last year? You guys were great!” I started chatting with him for a while and learned his name was Guillermo. I told him this was my first time at the race, and he began telling me about how much fun NBR was the previous year and even started asking about some of my teammates who weren’t there this year. Around mile two, I ran into my first patch of mud and my shoe got sucked off my foot with a loud pop. I stepped aside and yelled goodbye to Guillermo as he passed me by. Once I cinched my shoes back on to make sure they wouldn’t come off again, I started back on the trail. I could finally slow down a bit now that I didn’t I was in a better pace group.

The trail was a little muddy, but not nearly as bad as I had heard it was the year before. It was also fairly cool out in the mid 70s, so I was pretty happy with the conditions. Then someone yelled out “Up here is where we’ll be able to tell how muddy the rest of the race will be. If it’s muddy up here, the rest of the course will be REALLY muddy.” Great. I hoped it would be bone dry around the next turn. I rounded the corner of the single track trail and stepped right into a giant mud puddle that engulfed my entire foot. ‘There goes my idea of staying dry as long as possible’, I thought. I shrugged and figured it’s a trail race. I have to be prepared for anything. If this was easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing. The trail alternated between fairly dry single tracks, wider, muddier trail, wet, rocky sections, and open cow pastures. The race is known for having a few cow pastures that you have to run through where you have to open and close a gate behind you to prevent cows from getting out. When I came out of the woods and saw the first cow pasture, I opened the gate, locked it behind me, and turned back around to see a line of 20 or 30 runners stretched out across the entire pasture. We were all running on the same path that had been worn into the hay field and it was the first time I thought, “wow, I’m really doing this. I’m running an ultra!” It was such an iconic image of ultrarunners all lined up across the wide open field. Part of me wishes I had a photo of it, but part of me knows that it’s the fact that not everyone gets to experience this that makes it special. Even if I had a photo of it, it’d never be able to portray what I felt at that moment or what that view meant to me. It instantly gave me a burst of energy and I tried to let myself take the moment in and not rush to get back into the next trail section. I had no idea when I’d be back out in the open again.

The course ended up being pretty good as far as conditions. It was beautiful and the mud was part of it. I crossed streams, ran up and down valleys, chatted with some awesome people, and had amazing views of the surrounding area from the cow pastures. One of them in particular was on a hillside and looked down into the surrounding towns. It had a lone tree in the middle of the field, and was one of a ton of breathtaking views throughout the ultra. The aid stations were pretty great too. I used them as an opportunity to check my pace, rest for a few seconds, and refuel. The volunteers were way more prepared than I could have possibly imagined, and were all extremely helpful and sweet during the entire race. I don’t know how they stood out there all day filling bowls with M&M’s and handing out cups of soda, but they were a huge part of why this race was such a success.

Speaking of aid stations: it’s amazing how huge a difference there is in the general attitude and outlook before, during, and after an ultra compared to any other race distance. Before a normal race, I carboload for 2 or 3 days, carry all my gels, and pretty much only drink water and maybe gatorade. The night before the ultra, people were drinking beers, eating hot dogs and chips, cupcakes, and pretty much any other “junk” food you’d probably stay away from before a normal race. Not to mention the fact that we were camping out before the race. How often do you think “I need to get home early before tomorrow’s race and get a good night’s sleep in my bed”? Camping in a tent in July would normally be the last place I’d spend a night before an important race, but here it was perfect. Then, during the race at the aid stations, I found myself trying new things. Everyone knows you never try new things on race day. Never wear new shoes or gear to a race, don’t drink anything different than you’re used to, and never even try a different brand of gel during a race. During the ultra? I ate twizzlers and drank ginger ale at aid stations. I still had my gu’s in my waist pack, a nuun in my water bottle, and refilled it with water at every station, but I figured I’d go with the ultra spirit and try something new. If I wanted to call myself an ultrarunner by the end of the day, I was going to race like one.

The end of the first loop of the course (25 km per loop) ended in 3 or 4 miles of extremely muddy trail, and one cow pasture that you could almost consider a pond. I was within 15 feet of a herd of cows, and it was clear that they had walked all over the section I was running through. It was riddled with holes from their hooves, and each divot in the mud was filled with water. I tried to avoid it, but eventually I figured it’d be easier to slow down and just make sure I didn’t twist an ankle in one of the holes. I have notoriously weak ankles and didn’t want to get taken down in my first loop. I ended up walking most of that last pasture along with the other runners since it was the only way to get through it. Once I got past that and back onto the trail, I only had a few miles left before I crossed through camp again where anyone on my team that wasn’t racing would be waiting to cheer me on. I passed a few small lakes when I got to a clearing in the trail, dove back into the woods, and then heard music from far away. My heart started racing as I knew I was nearing the campground again where I’d see all my friends and where I’d officially be half way through the 50k. When I thought I must have another quarter mile to go, I popped out of the woods and into a clearing where I could see the race flags 10 feet ahead of me and hear my friends shouting my name. I’m sure they announced me coming through on the microphone, but I didn’t hear it. I ran over to my friends and started talking to them. They asked how I felt and I said I was feeling great, but I was getting tired. I told them about the end of the loop and how it was pure mud. Two of them were planning on pacing people in the final loop of the 50 miler, so I wanted to warn them to stay as dry as they could until that point, but that they’d get soaked eventually. I asked them if people were changing their socks when they came through, because I wanted to put on a fresh pair. I was worried that by drying my feet off, they’d still be a little damp and it would cause blisters. Maybe having them sliding around in my muddy shoes was a better alternative to slightly damp feet that would chaffe for the next 25 kilometers. They told me people had been changing to clean socks, so this was my chance. Two of them immediately started untying my shoes so I didn’t have to bend down or sit down. I felt like I was at the 24 hour Le Mans at a pit stop. They got my shoes off, I changed my socks and laced my shoes on tight again, said goodbye, and ran back into the trail.

By the time I had started my second loop, the trail had had about 3 hours to dry out. I was definitely noticing that there wasn’t as much mud or water in the first parts of the trail. It was beginning to get hotter out, but it wasn’t nearly as hot as I had expected. I had slowed down a lot since the first loop and made sure I was eating enough and walking up any steep hills. I knew my ankles were weak and prone to rolling, so that would only get worse as my body became fatigued. 3 / 4 of the way through the race, I could tell that it would be extremely easy for me to trip over a rock or root at this point, and because of how tired I was, I probably wouldn’t be able to stop myself from falling. I took it easy and tried to keep my mind focusing on my footing and paying attention to where the course was. Runners were spaced out at this point, so I wasn’t just following the person in front of me any more. I was on my own. Looking out for the pink flags marking the course became something I’d focus on every few minutes, and it always seemed to be much further between flags than I remembered. There was one particular spot where I turned onto a gravel road and couldn’t remember if I had seen flags pointing me onto the road, or if I had just turned on my own. I had already run about a mile on the road and kept thinking I’d see the aid station around the next turn, but I was becoming concerned that I had gone the wrong way. I knew I’d been running over a lot of hills since the last turn, so if I had to go back I’d have to run them all over again. I stopped to fix my shoe and asked another runner if we were going the right way when he caught up to me. He said we were, but I wasn’t so sure he knew. After what felt like another mile, we came up on the aid station and all I could think was how relieved I was that I had gone the right way and didn’t have to double back to get on the course again.

After a few more aid stations, a man and a woman caught up to me who were running the 50 miler. The woman was set on completing it, but the guy she was running with was thinking of stopping at the 50k. Her husband was at the aid station talking to her as I stood there filling my water bottle. She was saying that she was tired, but that the man running in front of her and I were keeping her going. I had no idea they were behind me, but apparently the fact that she had been chasing me for miles was one of the things keeping her going. She said goodbye to her husband and looked at me and the other runner and said “Ready? Brooklyn, want to lead?” I tossed my gel into the trash can, grabbed a twizzler, and said “sure!” and ran back into the woods with two strangers in tow. I’d barely talked to them and knew next to nothing about them, but we were running together and keeping each other going. Camaraderie on the trail is a pretty powerful thing, and it’s something you need to experience to appreciate. Especially as a New Yorker, it’s amazing feeling like you have something huge in common and share a common goal with a complete stranger. All that matters is that you’re together and pushing one another to achieve a personal goal.

Eventually, we arrived back at the final cow pasture. The one I knew would still be a total swamp. I let them go ahead and followed them up the path. Instead of improving, the cow pasture was either 6 inches of pure water, or had solidified into the consistency of pottery clay. Every step I took trapped my foot in the mud. There was no way I was going to be able to run through this. Even if I could get past a slow trot, if my foot got stuck, I’d twist my ankle for sure. Runners that had been spread apart during the 2nd loop were beginning to clump up again here since we all had to walk. I made it through, closed the gate behind me, and entered the trail again. It was pretty much stop and go for the rest of the trail. I’d hit a section where I could run for 20 feet, then have to walk for 100. I trudged through the mud and hit two ponds that I knew meant I was nearing the finish. I kept thinking that I’d hear music or cheering, but I didn’t hear anything yet. I had gotten clumped up with a new set of runners and pushed myself ahead along with them. The 3 of us were nearing the end of the second pond when I heard “GO JOHN RICCARDI!!! GO!!!” I could tell it was coming from up ahead, but I couldn’t see anyone. How did they know it was me? The man and woman ahead of me started smiling and the woman asked the man if his name was John. He said “No, but right now I wish it was! I wish I had people cheering like that for me!” Then they saw me smiling behind them and one of them said “It’s him! Go on, run ahead! You’ve got quite a group up there waiting for you!” They moved aside as I thanked them and sped up to get closer to my friends. My friends Polly and Anne were standing about 100 feet from the camp ground clearing where the finish line was. They were shouting my name and looked so happy to see me finish. I knew they’d been standing there for a while since my second loop was MUCH slower than my first. I didn’t realize how much slower though. I passed them and thanked them and ran through the clearing into the finish line where again, they announced my arrival on the microphone but I didn’t hear it. All I could hear was my friends cheering my name and getting up out of their chairs to come see me. I finally stopped and walked to the finish line volunteers as they recorded my bib number. Then I walked over to my friends, happier than ever, and said hello. They handed me a PBR which I promptly chugged and then joined them on the other side of the finish line to rest and watch everyone else come through.

The race was amazing. I pushed myself harder than I ever thought possible. I only started running about two years ago and I can honestly say it’s changed my life immensely. Joining my team, North Brooklyn Runners, was another thing that changed my life. I met the vast majority of my closest friends through the team, and took my body from not being able to run a half marathon when I first joined, to running an ultramarathon in about a year. It’s been quite a journey so far - one I’ll definitely continue.  This ultra was my first and it is a massive milestone in not only my running, but my life, and I’m so glad to have shared it with a bunch of people that I care about.

Several weeks ago, I tied my highest mileage week before the ultra. I’ve run two 50 mile weeks, one with back to back long runs Saturday and Sunday, and one with my highest mileage in a single run (just under 27 miles) and a recovery run the next day. After my peak weeks, I lowered my mileage a little bit, but in the last two weeks of my training, it dropped dramatically. I had hit my taper.

I tried to keep my training intensity the same, but my long run had dropped down to 16 miles two weeks out from the race, and just 10 miles one week out. I wasn’t getting anywhere near the amount of time on the road that I was used to or wanted to get. Mentally, I was nearing burn out with training, but I still wanted to go for a leisurely long run.

About a week into my taper, I started having a tough time. Normally, I hear people talk about how they get antsy, feel undertrained, or even start feeling like they have small injuries pop up during their taper. Some of that happens to me too, but the taper affects me much more in a very different way. It’s not stress or phantom pains or pre-race jitters. It’s much more emotional and mood-based for me. I’m guessing it’s the lack of endorphins and not having running as an outlet like I normally do that affects me so much. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back, I can see that I was depressed, lethargic, and insecure. I didn’t have my usual outlet for any stress I would encounter. I had started acting strange. I’d get really sad for no reason at all and never question why I felt that way. Emotionally, I was drained. Then I realized what had been bothering me. It was the taper. The same thing had happened to me the first time I tapered for a big race after a really long training season. This time was just much worse. Maybe it was because the training was a lot longer and tougher, and by now I had become used to having those endorphins consistently for a much longer time. I still felt depressed once I figured it out, but at least I knew what the cause was.