During the pandemic, I set a goal for myself of finally checking off a ultra running bucket list run. For a few months, I trained by myself to run the entire stretch of the Appalachian Trail in Maryland. What an absolute adventure this run was. There were highs and extreme lows. I thought about quitting more than once, but my mental training carried me through to the finish line. I dedicated this run to the City Kids Wilderness Project, and raised over $700 to give kids from DC get rad outdoor wilderness experiences while learning leadership skills.
Read on for the whole experience!
My alarm went off at 4:15am. I rolled over, and waited for my next alarm to go off, at 4:20am. I sighed, stretched, and made my way to the kitchen. Water first, then coffee. While the coffee brewed, I took a bit of peanut butter and honey sandwich I had made the night before. I wasn’t hungry yet, and set the sandwich down.
My aid station box included a lot of my favorite things: pretzels, tailwind, animal crackers, red bull, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I packed hand sanitizer (pandemic was still a thing), bandaids, tylenol, and more.
I sat with my coffee at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the dim light of our microwave oven light. It was too early for real lights. I peered at the box next to me, going through the mental checklist of supplies I knew I needed. Tailwind – check. Honeystinger waffles – check. Tylenol – check. Bandaids – check. I finished my coffee, drank another glass of water, and headed back upstairs to get dressed.
We pulled out of our driveway at 5:30am. I was driving, as my husband is nocturnal, but only in the late at night, not early in the morning sense. No one was on the roads at this time of day, which made our hour and a half drive to Thurmont, Maryland a breeze. Our first stop was the local Sheetz gas station. I would use the bathroom. Chris would buy a breakfast burrito and coffee. Then we’d turn up the mountain road headed towards Penmar and the Mason Dixon Line.
At just about 7:20 we pulled into the gravel parking lot. A few other cars were already there, including what appeared to be another trail runner, about ready to take off on his own adventure. I took my slippers off and traded them for trail shoes. I assessed the weather, second guessing my gear, but going with my gut of not having too many layers, despite the chilly air. I put my pack on, turned my watch on, and guided Chris and our dog Sam towards the start line, half a mile down the trail.
After a few quick pictures, a kiss (for the husband) and a pat on the head (for the dog), I turned south and began to run. It was 7:40am, and I had just about 12 hours of sunlight and 42 miles ahead of me to make it from Pennsylvania border to the West Virginia border.
Start to Aid 1 – 8ish miles
The first two or three miles of this section are deceptively nice. The trail is smooth, there are not major climbs. It tricks you into a false sense of security, until you stumble upon the boulder field. Having run this section a few weeks prior, in conditions considerably worse, I was mentally prepared for the descent and ascent of the boulder field. The downhill portion isn’t all that bad when it’s not covered in snow and ice, and once you know how long the uphill climb on the bolder section is, that too is manageable. I had an added boost in this early section – I came upon an older guy who was hiking at quite a fast clip right as I dropped into the boulders, and his pace kept me accountable (if not pushed me a little too fast) through this section.
I emerged at the top of the boulder climb excited because I knew this next section was relatively flat, and, missing the ice I experienced on my training run, likely a lovely experience. And so it turned out. I glided along this section, keeping my pace steady and working to conserve my energy. I had a long day to go, and many tough sections ahead of me.
I arrived at Raven Rock and began the descent to the river, making sure to watch my footing so I didn’t bust my ankle too early. At the base, I crossed the road, crossed the river (much more confident than the last time I was there), and kept moving. I eventually caught up with the runner I saw at the Penmar parking lot – he was clearly out for a long day too, as we were already probably 5 or so miles out from the parking lot and he showed no signs of stopping. I passed cordially, and continued running.
I chose aid station 1 where I did because there was a small car pull off section and a big open field. Perfect for my parents and husband to set up my aid box and water jug. I emerged from the tree line feeling really confident and happy, and made my way down the field to where they were waiting. Sam, our german shepherd, was with them and he was quite excited to see me.
I grabbed some water, had some pretzels, said hello to my parents and prepared to leave. I only spent about 5 minutes at this aid station, just enough to say some hellos and take a quick rest. While I was there, the runner from the morning passed by us. My parents offered him some water, but he declined and kept moving. I pulled out about 3 or so minutes behind him.
Aid 1 to Aid 2 – 12ish miles
Ahead of me was a section I wasn’t looking too forward to. I was heading towards Washington Monument State Park, but in order to get there, I knew there was a section ahead of me that was absolutely full of rocks. I also knew there generally was going to be a big climb within the first few miles of this section. I wasn’t 100 percent certain on how big the climb would be or how long the rock section would be, because I hadn’t actually run a good portion of this stretch.
As I got going, the first two miles were great. But as soon as I passed Tumbling Run shelter, I crossed the road and immediately began to climb. And climb. And kept climbing. I’m not sure exactly how long the climb was or how steep it was, but it was definitely the real deal with switchbacks. About a quarter of the way up, I caught up with the runner I had been seeing on and off all morning. I ended up passing him, and as I passed, we struck up a conversation. I was surprised how far out he was, given I knew he was likely on an out and back, so I asked what his plan was for the day. He said he was aiming for 26 miles, which meant he had about 3 more miles to run from where we were before he would be turning down. I told him I was running to West Virginia and he was floored. I shuffled past him after a few more niceties.
At the top of the big climb, the trail was actually really nice. Smooth trail, few rocks, no elevation gain. That lasted for just a little while, and then I entered the rock section. To be fair, the rock section wasn’t as long as I thought it was. I had approached this section several times in the past from the opposite direction (running from Annapolis Rock) and usually given up after about five minutes of hop skipping over rocks and not actually running. After a handful of minutes on the rocks, I emerged, and was in very familiar territory at this point. I had trained for my first 50k on these trails, and memorized their quirks like the back of my hand. I wanted to go into autopilot, but my body had other plans for me.
Just after the rocks is a steady downhill section. The trail isn’t really technical, it’s just a lot of water bars and really consistent downhill, for maybe a mile. My knees at this point decided that they, specifically the right knee, really did not want to be doing what I was doing, and put up a huge fit. My right knee was cracking, and a sharp pain was setting in. NOT GOOD, considering I wasn’t even at the halfway point. ‘What was going on’, I thought to myself. I still don’t know what was happening, but I wasn’t pleased, and had to suffer through knee pain the rest of the run (an ill-advised suffering, I reflect on now).
Typically, steady downhills are my bread and butter. I cruise downhill, flying fast and gaining back any slowness I may have built up in the climbing phase of my runs. Unfortunately, I had to slow myself down here, nurse my knee, and take it easy. This got to my head, and starting planting seeds of doubt, which amplified over the course of the remaining 7 or so miles I had on this section.
I eventually passed Annapolis Rock, tenderly made my way down to the Route 70 overpass, and headed in to the last 3 or so miles to Washington Monument State Park. Half a mile in to this last section, I completely lost it. I was climbing a small little hill, nothing major, but my mind just said ‘NO’. I didn’t want to keep going. I found a stump to sit on, and had a good cry. I texted my husband one word: ‘struggling’, and then had another little cry. I sat there for a few minutes, just collecting my feelings, resting my body, and building up the motivation to at least finish this section.
Reflecting back on this moment, and the moments leading up to it, I think I can narrow down the mental and physical collapse to a lack of nutrition. I failed to onboard electrolytes at Aid 1, and hadn’t consumed any salt or electrolytes in the first 21 or so miles. My body just wasn’t having it. And I suffered the rest of the run because of it.
I eventually made it to Aid 2, after walking those long three miles from my stump. I told myself there was no reason to push myself at this point, especially if I wanted to finish. I just needed to get to Aid, get some salt in my body, take a rest with my family, and let everything else go.
Aid 2 to Aid 3 – 10ish miles
I sat at Aid 2, in the parking lot of Washington Monument State Park, for probably 25 minutes. I chugged Tailwind. I at half a peanut butter and jelly. I drank half a red bull. I used the rest room. And I just sat. My mom tried to talk to me and check in, but I wasn’t mentally available to have conversation. I just needed to rest. And reset. And figure out my plan.
I knew I hated the next section of trail. This section is the section I cried on during my training run a few weeks before. It’s not that the section is physically horrible, I just had a bad mental day when training on that section, and that set the tone for the trail for me.
I eventually sucked up my feelings and got going. I eased down the trail, and set myself on the path to making it to mile 30ish. I knew at the next aid, I’d have my husband joining me for the last section, and that alone was what helped movitvate me to keep going. I knew he was waiting.
I moved through the first few miles of this section, no problem. I got to the place where I had my meltdown before, and was feeling ok. I knew just shortly ahead of me was a flat and fast section, and I was excited to reach that spot. It felt like it took forever to eventually get there though, and my mind started playing tricks on me again. Placing seeds of doubt in my mind.
I started to tell myself that 30 miles was enough. It was my 30th birthday. I didn’t need to run 42 miles, I just needed to run my age. I could stop at the next aid, and claim victory by ‘running my age’. I nearly convinced myself that that was what I was going to do.
About a mile and a half from the end of this section however, my watch beeped at me. Battery was dying. I needed to make sure I finished this section before my watch died. I started running faster. And faster. I felt great all of a sudden. I was ripped out of my ‘woe is me’ mentality for a few minutes, and was purely racing against time at that point.
I made it to Gathland State Park and met my mom and dad at the picnic pavilion. They had my aid set up and told me my husband was at the car getting ready to run with me. I grab some tailwind, refresh on water, and just take a beat to check in. Would I tap out at this point? I really wanted to, but I had effectively convinced myself that I never wanted to run this section of trail ever again, and if I tapped out now, I’d have to come back and do the whole thing over again.
So I kept my quitter’s attitude to myself, linked up with my husband, and forged ahead for the last section.
Aid 3 to Aid 4 – 12ish miles
As we started moving, I told him very explicitly that I was essentially glorified hiking at this point. The pace was crisp, but we were walking all uphills, most downhills, and when I had the motivation and my knee wasn’t hurting, shuffling on the flats. Our pace was slow, and deliberate. I had one motivation at this point: finish before the sun goes down.
The section between Gathland and Weaverton is actually not too bad. I hadn’t really trained on this section, except a few out and back miles a few weeks before. I didn’t really know what to expect here, but looking at maps, I didn’t think it would be all that bad. With my husband by my side, I was able to keep moving because I knew I had another human with me.
I did yell at a lot of rocks at this point in time now. I told my husband all about how angry I was at the rocks. How stupid they were. How I never wanted to see another rock in my lift. How they were the worst invention on earth. He probably thought I had lost my mind at that point, and I’m pretty sure I was on the verge of it, if not fully crazy. I was delirious, tired, and just wanted to be done.
We made it to Weaverton with no real issues, and wove our way down to the C&O canal for the last few flat miles. I could tell the sun was starting to get close to the horizon, and I knew we needed to pick up our pace. I started a fartlek effort – I chose a tree, and ran to it. And then we would walk to another tree in the distance. And then I said we would run to the bridge far off in the distance that crossed the Potomac, about half a mile or so away. And we made it, and then we walked to another tree. And so on and so forth. We did that all the way to Harpers Ferry, ultimately running probably half of this stretch of flat and fast trail. I was so excited to be done that I had actually found some strength buried deep in the reserves of my mind and body.
We climbed up the stairs to cross the railroad bridge to Harpers Ferry and I was elated. Running across the bridge, we saw my parents standing and waving at us. I was so close. I was almost done.
We finished crossing the bridge, shuffled over to my parents, and in that moment, I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of me.
I did it.
I did something I honestly didn’t think I could do. I ran from Pennsylvania to West Virginia on some of the hardest technical trail I have ever experienced. I did it essentially alone (no other runners around me like in a race, and I ran over 30 of the 42 miles absolutely solitary). I had no other runners with me. I had no medal waiting for me. I had not finish line feast waiting for me. I had my parents (and my biggest running supporters) and my husband. And a bunch of tourists who probably thought all four of us were crazy.
Reflections
When I initially set out to do this run, I had no goals at all. I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it besides my husband until about two weeks out. I didn’t have faith I would actually get it done. It was scary, daunting, and the biggest running challenge of my life.
Ultimately, I set an internal and an external goal for this run – timewise. Anyone who asked me how fast I planned to run it, I would tell them I wanted to finish in 12 hours or less. Internally, I told myself if I was a good runner, I’d get it done in 10 hours or less. Turns out, my external goal was way more on point than my internal goal.
I started at Penmar at 7:40AM and finished in Harpers Ferry at 7:30PM. 11 hours, 50 minutes. I succeeded.
As someone who suffers from a lot of self-doubt, negative selftalk, and general distrust in my own abilities to achieve anything of significance in my life, I’m really freaking proud that I was able to finish this run.
There were so many moments on trail where I could have simply called it quits. I could have dialed my parents up, dropped them my GPS location, and had them meet me at the nearest trail crossing. Demons were whispering in my ear the whole time, made worse by the fact that I had ended up telling LOTS of people about my run. But I didn’t listen to any of it, at least not for too long.
As a distance runner, 80 percent of the run, in my opinion, is all mental. It is telling your mind that your body is capable of what you’re trying to get it to do. It’s convincing your inner self that you can finish, and hushing away the negative self-talk that anyone rightfully would have after hours of trudging through the woods, destroying their body.
I struggled with negative emotions through the training process for this run, and throughout the entirety of the run. And I’m really freaking proud that I was able to recognize that negative self-doubt, check-in with myself, and find the motivation in some deep reserve of my soul to keep going. This run reminded me that I am strong, I am capable of anything I put my mind to, and I can do so much more than I really ever thought I could. I’m really proud of myself.
I also had A LOT of help along the way. My parents and my husband literally drove from location to location for 12 hours, all for me. They never complained once. They were exactly where I needed them to be each time I met up with them. They helped fill my water. They helped ease my mind. I could not have done this without them.
Running for Good
I decided to raise money for City Kids Wilderness Project as part of this running effort. I posted about my run idea on Facebook, noting that I wanted to raise money to help kids from DC gain their own life changing experiences in the outdoors. Growing up, the outdoors shaped who I am. My love for the outdoors was spurred by hiking and camping as a kid. I figured if my hobby now was shaped by those own personal outdoors experiences growing up, I should leverage the power of my hobby to help others potentially have their own life changing experiences.
I ended up raising over $700 for City Kids Wilderness Project, and that is what I’m the proudest of out of all.
Learn more about City Kids Wilderness Project: https://citykidsdc.org/