One of a few thoughts from pacing a friend at the C&O 100-miler this weekend...
With all of the hoopla going on in the world, our nation, and even in my "town" of Columbia, MD, no wonder why people are so sad, angry, and depressed.
There was no escape better than that of being on the towpath in the middle of the night with 200+ determined ultra-endurance athletes, and their crew, pacers, volunteers, EMT, aid station teams (other running groups), their families, friends. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!! And the world needs more of them.
There is hope. There are people who genuinely care for the health, wellness, safety and happiness of others. They just don't get mainstream attention. I know this is just one micro-community of thousands, maybe millions, of GOOD folks doing selfless acts for others. Let's get the lights and camera on THESE!
Congratulations to all the C&O runners, pacers, crew, staff, VOLUNTEERS for building a community and keeping it thriving, welcoming ALL to participate in some way, because it's "the good" that this world needs now more than ever!!!
.... And now for the longer version ....
This event was not about me at all. It was about helping my amazing friend Dylan accomplish what he has been training for months, for over a year for. The experience was so memorable; however, I had to get it out.
I've paced a couple friends at their attempts of 100-milers at Devil Dog in 2022 and 2023. Unfortunately, neither of them finished and I took it to heart, I really did. The cutoff at DD is strict, and the weather is cold. I've never seen that course in daylight, and I don't ever want to. That is not the race I want to die on.
The C&O 100 has been on my radar because it's the closest 100-miler to home. Before it was even a WSER qualifier, I have considered it. It's also the flattest, which is what made me so hesitant. I like elevation. After running the last 30 miles of it this year, I have changed my mind.
Driving to Knoxville, MD from home at 9pm on a Saturday night seemed odd. I was up all day and tried to take it easy. I walked in the morning, went shoe shopping, ate a lot of food, drank a ton of water, and watched 2 movies with Nick. It seems like I stayed pretty occupied, but I was really just counting down the hours until I could get the party started along the Potomac River, against the Appalachian Mountains, in the dark.
At 9pm, I packed up my car and headed to Camp Manidokan. I knew it sounded familiar and when I pulled off the highway onto a narrow road alongside the train tracks, I recognized it from the Last One Standing Backyard Ultra. You could see the towpath from the road and there were runners with headlamps, one might have been Dylan. His Garmin Live Tracking had no signal there, so I wasn't sure what his pace was once the rain started that evening. Fortunately, I drove through the rainstorm on the way there, but it stopped about 15 minutes before arriving. Good for me, but uncertain how Dylan was feeling after running that distance and then in the cold pouring rain. His pace had slowed down since earlier in the day.
That's what makes this race so deceptive. It's flat which usually means it "can" be fast. It shouldn't be, but it can be. If you get swept up into the flat=fast mentality, it could be detrimental to the long game ahead.
By the time I parked, the signal was better and I could see that he still had quite a few miles to go and that his pace was about 3 mph. If he kept at that pace, he'd be at camp around 12:15am.
I decided to try and nap for about 30-45 minutes. At 11:13pm, I heard police sirens. They weren't real police sirens; it was the sound of the first finisher. Holy smokes. The excitement around the camp exploded, people jumped out of their cars, music got loud, and the shadows around the campfire reminded me of a music festival. My dad prepared me well for these endurance events.
At midnight, I bundled up. The temp was about 42degrees and breezy up on that mountain. I threw my Uncrustables in my pack, decided against bringing my poles, and put on my Mount to Coast H1s. I walked over to the check-in tent and chatted with a few other pacers that were lingering around. We laughed that sleeping once we got there was next to impossible - too many nerves about missing our runners.
Dylan climbed up around 1am. He gave me a hug and I could tell he was exhausted. The volunteers grabbed him his drop bag, which I didn't realize was there. He grabbed Squirrel Nut Butter, I took his flasks and filled them with water and Tailwind, grabbed him a cheeseburger with ketchup & mustard, pickle juice, coffee, took out his poles, and then turned around as he lubed up his junk. He asked me to get an EMT to look at his blisters on his feet. She came over and took off his shoe and sock and confirmed he did need to have it attended to. She popped it, drained it, bandaged it, and then wrapped it in duct tape. That's something I had never witnessed before. The things you do...
After about 15 minutes of prepping for the night section, we headed down a very steep 0.5-mile hill to the C&O to begin our final 30-mile adventure.
The descent was brutal, but I kept thinking about how we'd have to come back up that climb after 99.5 miles and was already worried about the state Dylan would be in by then. I had to get over it and stop worrying.
Be in the mile you're in.
That's exactly what we did. Since Dylan had already covered these "laps" once, he was acutely aware of how long each of the out-and-backs were and the distance between each aid station. What I loved most about this course, is that there were runners out there - either ahead of you, behind you, or coming towards you. It was rare to be out there fully alone.
The Dargan Bend aid station was the first one and we didn't stop since we had only gone about a mile and didn't need anything just yet. It was nice to see how lively it was and that we'd get to "experience it" in 10 miles.
The darkness, peace & quiet were so welcomed along this stretch, at least for me. There's something really incredible that happens when your headlamp is on and all you're focused on is right ahead of you. The vastness of everything around you just fades into the background. The Potomac River had its own sounds. There were some rapids and then silence. Dylan told me about some of the people he met throughout the day, some we saw.
I will say that by the time I met Dylan, he admitted he wasn't really running. He was shuffling, speed hiking, walking. He was hoping to save some energy for when I joined him so we could run. I told him that I am happy to move at any pace as long as it was forwards. Our pace was about an 18-19:00 minute mile. He banked a lot of time in the first 50 miles, so I was still confident we'd get to the finish line by 28 hours (just under 10 hours from the time I met him).
As we approached the aid station at mile 5, it looked like Disney World. The path had lights on both sides, and the tent was lit up like the Magic Kingdom castle. There was so much food, so while Dylan sat down, I called out what was on the menu. I filled up his flasks and grabbed him pickle juice and espresso. I drank some Coke and a few pierogies. Getting him out of the chair wasn't easy. We said thank you to the aid station crew. As we got moving, I noticed that it took him a while to get back to the necessary pace after sitting. I took note that we may need to avoid the chair.
As we headed back, the runners spread out a bit more. We had a few turns on the path where you didn't see any headlamps behind you. It was peaceful and so quiet. Although the train tracks were across the river, none came by through the night. It's too bad it was so cloudy, because it was so dark that the stargazing would have been lovely out here.
Every now and then I'd look out into the trees to our left and see green eyes peering, likely those of deer. Suddenly we heard a couple of shrieking barn owls. If you haven't heard their sound, I suggest looking it up. It startled me at first. Luckily Dylan knew right away what they were. So neat to hear nature in its element.
I wish I could remember what Dylan and I talked about. I know that we both were getting tired and keeping conversation going does consume energy, so there were stretches of silence. As we headed back to Dargan Bend, we weren't passing many runners as they were all behind us. Shortly, we saw glow sticks lining the path, heard music in the distance, and some light chatter. This time we would stop, I would use the bathroom (that had feminine hygiene products - way to go, RD!), and Dylan would again sit down. He ate an egg burrito, some ramen, and I filled up his flasks. He wanted another cup of instant coffee, so I had the crew make him one. We grabbed Uncrustables, pickle juice, and I had a little bit of Coke and a handful of M&Ms. This time, a volunteer had to help Dylan out of his chair.
The next stretch was long. We had about 6.9 miles to go before the next aid station at Keep Tryst Road. At this point, our pace had slowed down and with all of the stopping (and sitting) at aid stations we were losing the time that Dylan had gained earlier in the day. I was adamant that we keep at a steady pace of 18-19mm. I know it was tough. His feet were sore, he was tired (so was I but I dare not speak of my measly exhaustion), and we kept passing Ilene who had a very smart interval plan of shuffling, speed hiking, and NAPPING. Yes, napping. Every now and then she'd pass us, then we'd see her sleeping on a bench or the ground, or an aid station. We leapfrogged with her for quite a while.
Sometime between these aid stations, my headlamp died. It would be getting light out soon so I wasn't worried, but I knew the next time I saw a trash can, I was going throw it away. It may have been an irrational move due to my sleepiness, but also the light was pretty old. We were now relying solely on Dylan's light.
We passed some pretty old Lock buildings that were kind of creepy. Dylan said you could rent out some of them. I think I'd prefer to hike through the night and be in an utter state of delirium without a headlamp, then sleep in any of the buildings I saw.
Speaking of sleeping, every now and then I'd find myself dozing off and then would twitch awake. I was still moving, though I don't know how. I was really hoping we'd hear more animals, or at least more owls before the sky lit up. 
As we approached the Harpers Ferry train and pedestrian bridge, Dylan was really slowing down. He said he really needed to lay down for 5-10 minutes. I was stressed about the thought of how it might be impossible for me to wake him up. People, regular people were starting to join us on the path. If worse came to worse, I'd have to ask someone, preferably not a runner, to help me get him up. He laid down on the foundation of the building just next to the bridge, underneath the rock wall of Maryland Heights.
I walked around and looked out over the Potomac. I spotted a beautiful heron right there, like he was telling me, "Yes, it was time for you to pause, also."
A few runners passed by, in both directions - on their way out towards Brunswick and others making their final leg to the finish. After about 8 minutes, I walked over to Dylan and told him it was time to get up. I don't know how he slept on stone, but I sensed by how quickly he sat up that he really needed that.
We were constantly recalculating the remaining distance and pace. I can't lie, my brain was getting foggy and it wasn't easy doing math after being awake for 24 hours. We had about 4 miles to go to the next "party" and then another 3.4 miles to the turnaround at Brunswick. As we shuffled away from the train tunnel, we began to hear birds.
"Baby falcons," Dylan said. He really could have said any animal and I would have believed him. It was fascinating and that's all I really cared about.
The next few miles to Keep Tryst/Weverton Cliffs weren't too exciting. The path was a bit more narrow, walkers and cyclists were out, but the greenery was stunning. Spring was in bloom. I tried to distract us by pointing out little white dandelions, purple rocket flowers, tree vines, and a twisted hollow tree with multiple colors of bark.
We saw lots of runners, some catching up to us, passing us, and a few times we tried to shuffle to catch up to them. For hours now, we fed off the energy of each other and shared the (little bit of) energy we had with other runners.
"Way to go!"
"Great work!"
"You're doing it!"
"You look great!"
"One foot in front of the other!"
"Forward is a pace!"
This mutual exchange of positivity certainly, without any doubt, was what was fueling us all to keep going. As soon as we passed, our shoulders slumped, we'd curse (no longer a mumble under our breath) LOUDLY. We talked about our favorite curse words earlier in the ... errr, morning. Dylan said he rarely says "damn" or "bitch" or "shit."
Guess what? We said them all. I even screamed "FUCKKKKK!" to break the ice so he knew that I knew that he knew it was ok to use all of the expletives. There aren't any kids out here and if there were and we couldn't see them because we were basically sleepwalkers at this point, too fuckin' bad.
We rolled into the aid station, "He's bib 2-3-1!" Before I could even turn around, Dylan was already sitting down.
Nooooooooo.
The volunteers and I filled up his flasks, grabbed "something sweet" = an Apple Cinnamon Danish, some Gu, an energy waffle, a bag of peanut M&Ms, pickle juice, and some other crap that I can't remember. His shoes were feeling too snug, so I loosened his laces and re-tied them. I used the bathroom. In the sternest voice I could muster, "Dylan, we have to go. You can't sit down anymore."
He looked mad, like really mad. Then he smiled and said, "fine. Let's fucking get it done."
At just over 87 miles, we set off towards Brunswick and talked about how we can't sit down from here on out. Even though the last time that Dylan was out here was hours ago, he had slept 8 minutes in the last 2 days, he knew the route so well - the mileage, turns, hills, landmarks, etc.
This was further east along the towpath than I had ever traveled before, so this was new to me. We were with a pack of runners that were similar in pace. Everyone looked tired, some were limping, mostly everyone had a pacer or two with them, but we all cheered each other on, continuing to feed off the little bouts of energy we could muster from deep down. It was a gathering of collective energy that we just bounced off one another. We all caught some of it and it kept us moving.
As we got closer to the Brunswick aid station, this area came back to me. Nick, Fiona and I went here to relax after I tapped out of the Last One Standing Backyard Ultra to go fishing, wade in the water, and went to Smoketown Brewing for beer and food. I told Dylan the story with a little less focus on the relaxing, food and beer. So I really just told him: "I remember this spot from a couple years ago. So peaceful."
Once we climbed up a relatively small MOUNTAIN we could see the aid station crew. Dylan didn't sit down, thankfully. I filled up his flasks.
It was so impressive how on point Dylan was about hydration. He had a timer set on his watch for every 10 minutes to drink, every 30 minutes to eat. As the evening/morning went on, he stuck with his hydration and dropped back from eating a bit. That's why at every aid station he was catching up on solid food.
He grabbed some food, though I began losing track because I realized that I really hadn't done a good job eating myself. I was so focused on him, that I was doing myself a disservice by not hydrating or fueling. I ate a Nutella wrap, drank some pickle juice, Coke, and grabbed some more M&Ms. Dylan was actually ready to go before I was, so we turned around and were in the home stretch. We were officially counting down in THE.SINGLE.DIGITS.
"Guess what, runners? We are less than 10 miles away from fuckin' getting it done!"
A few of us set out together.
The next few miles were grueling. I know Dylan had really wanted to sit down back there at Brunswick. His feet were hurting and he was getting quiet. I finally told him it's ok to be quiet and disassociate if he needs to zone out.
A runner and his pacer sped past us. I think they heard Dylan mumbling, "let's fuckin' get it done!"
She said: "It's business time. This ain't no party, this ain't no disco..."
I said: "This ain't no foolin' around."
She shouted back: "No time for dancin' or lovey dovey."
I shouted: "We ain't got time for that now."
I really appreciated "Life During Wartime" by Talking Heads. (I wish my legs moved like David Byrne's in this video.)
That song stuck in my head for a while. Other runners and pacers passed us. Each time, Dylan would try to recalculate our pace and reassure that we have plenty of time. I wasn't sure about "plenty" of time, but we were doing alright. We couldn't slow down, and we certainly couldn't sit or nap. We had to keep moving from her on out to make the 30-hour cutoff.
By the time we made it back to the aid station at Keep Tryst Rd, I felt confident that we were going to make it. Dylan didn't dare sit down. We filled flasks, grabbed another Apple Cinnamon Danish, and set out for the final 7 miles.
We broke that last 7 miles up into 3 parts:
1. Make it to Harpers Ferry in 2 miles. Go under 2 bridges.
2. Make it to the detour curve, just before the cone.
3. Make it to the cone where we begin our 0.5-mile climb up to Camp Manidokan.
It all seemed doable and impossible at the same time. I didn't let Dylan know how much I was worried about our pace slowing down. Instead, I told him he needed to keep repeating his mantra ("let's fuckin' get it!") and follow my feet.
He stayed right on my heels for a mile or two. I rambled on about I don't even know what now that I'm trying to recall. The towpath was now filling up with normies aka people just enjoying themselves on a short Sunday coffee walk/hike/bike.
The group took off ahead of us, including a friend I have had the pleasure of running with at other crazy ultras. He looked super fresh, upbeat, and I channeled his energy to try and keep Dylan in a good headspace for this last section.
I was really worried about his ability to get up such a steep incline on raggedy steps with drop-offs. When we got to the climb, we just took it one step at a time. He moaned, groaned, cursed, cried (not his first time crying in the last 20 miles), and we inched our way to the cabins.
On the final incline, you can see the finish line, hear the cheers, and it was suddenly super emotional.
DYLAN WAS ABOUT TO COMPLETE A HUNDRED MILES!!! HOLY SHIT!!!
DYLAN WAS ABOUT TO COMPLETE A HUNDRED MILES!!! HOLY SHIT!!!
He crossed the finish line, took his belt buckle, and bent over in tears. We helped him sit down and I got him some ice-cold Ginger Ale. Pacer duties were nearly complete...
First, he needed food, a blanket, and I took off his shoes. His ankle was not happy. We watched our other friends cross the finish line. Everyone was cheering. I don't know how anyone had energy, but together there was plenty of energy to hoot & holler as these amazing people climbed up to reach their goal!
Congratulations, C&O Runners!! What a day! You all fuckin' got it done!!!!
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