The Connecticut
Ultra Traverse is 112 miles across Connecticut via highly technical trails. It
starts on the Massachusetts border and ends in the Long Island Sound. There is
about 17,000 feet of elevation gain, with some stunning scenery and views along
the way. The dreamchild of CULTRA host Art Byram, this race has been highly
touted on, well, almost each and every CULTRA episode. I didn't really start to
even think about it until last year's post CUT episode featuring "The Woman of
the CUT" where Cherie Bilbie and Jillian Ellefson told their finish story. They
had done some pretty stellar preparation and had fabulous crew, and theirs was a
story of relentless, determined forward progress. They finished together.
Fast
forward a few months where I got a chance to meet all of the CULTRA host crew
I'd not yet met in person (I already knew Fred Murolo) at the Badger 100 in
Wisconsin. I started the race running with Art Byram, Jimmy McCaffrey and Becky
Burke, 3 out of the 4 hosts of the podcast, and ended up running 85 of the
hundred miles with Becky before we split up and she ran ahead. Whenever you
spend 85 miles with someone, it is a pretty special thing, and Becky and I
talked about running something else together in the future. I think it was
probably January when I messaged Becky and said "I'll do the CUT if you'll do
it". And just like that, I was signed up.
Now... when I say I had no business
signing up, I mean that I am no trail runner. Yes I run long races on road.
Sometimes very long. But trail running is, plain and simple, a different sport.
Early on in my running career after a few successful road ultras I tried my hand
at some trail running. I did a lot of falling. There are some trail runners who
just seem to skim over all of those pesky rocks and roots, hopping from pointy
rock to pointy rock. I was not one of those. I did complete a few trail ultras -
the Vegan Power 50K and the Born to Run trail marathon, but really didn't feel
comfortable on the more technical trails, and stuck to roads for years after
that, finding success in long short-looped courses that were pretty much always
on pavement.
I signed up for Javelina Jundred in 2021 and completed only my
second trail hundred. Javelina is in the desert and I'd describe those trails as
highly runnable. There is a short moderately rocky section, but nothing
(NOTHING) like the rock fields of the Northeast, so after Javelina I tried my
hand at some trail running in Marin County in the Headlands. Now those trails?
Marin? Like butter. Also nothing (NOTHING!!) like the trails of New England.
Although there is significant elevation gain, those trails are wide and mostly
hard packed dirt.
So, up until this race, the furthest I've gone on trails with significant
elevation gain was 50 miles in the Headlands with 10K of gain. I was signed up
for the 100, but we were all pulled off the course mid-way due to a coyote
incident. Long story. So - it is safe to say that despite putting in 100 mile
weeks on roads, I really was not remotely trained for the terrain.
After my 6
day race in France in April, I realized I had a mere 2 months to start getting
in any sort of preparation. I got in a 10 miler at Tiger Mountain in Washington State with my friend Jill, and then
another run with her at Cougar Mountain a few weeks later. I did a bit of hiking on rocky trails
with my daughter, and, well, that was about it.
 |
| Hiking with Patty |
 |
| Cramming for the CUT with Becky |
After arriving in Connecticut
last week, Becky took me out on 2 separate trail runs on the course itself. On
our 10 miler day 2, I fell twice, bloodying my hand, and knew I was in for
trouble at this race. I knew the chances of my finishing the race were slim.
Becky and I were planning to run together, and my biggest fear after the couple
of test runs we did was either slowing her race down, with my rookie trail
running, or else hurting myself by running where I wasn't comfortable running,
trying to keep up with her. I was terrified.
But Becky had assembled a rock
start crew from the Cultra patreons, and this thing was going to happen. Race
day dawned with a weather forecast in the 90's for Friday. This was some cause for concern. My friend Ed Rudman,
who signed up for crew for as long as I needed him, picked us up at 5:45 at
Becky's house to bring us to the start. We stopped at Neil's donuts (OMG) for
breakfast, and arrived at the start at about 7:15 - just long enough to get
everything ready and head out. Art gave a nice pre-race briefing, we lined up,
and off we went.
 |
| DONUTS! |
 |
| Ed and I pre-race |
 |
| Art's pre-race briefing |
Very quickly, (and according to plan), Becky and I were in the
rear. Our plan was to go out conservatively, knowing there was rough terrain
ahead. The early parts of the course were highly runnable on the flat and
downhill sections, and we walked all of the ups. Our first couple miles were about a 16
minute mile pace, dipping into the 15's.
Our pace sheet had us at 18's for the
first few sections, so anything below that was gravy. I was starting to get
comfortable with the terrain and into something like a groove when I hit a rock
the wrong way and rolled my ankle pretty badly - just at mile 4. It hurt. A lot.
Enough that I thought my race very well might be over before even getting to the
first aid station. We tried some tentative walking and I could tell I hadn't broken anything,
and so I eased back into jogging. Although it was pretty angry, it started
feeling a bit better.
OK. Onward.
I think it was right after the second crew
point that Becky and I hit an impromptu trail angel gift. It was starting to get
really hot and just as we entered the woods, we encountered a cooler full of ice
along with a baggie full of peanut butter cup cookies. We were overjoyed. I
filled my ice bandana with ice, which I ended up keeping on all throughout that
hot day, where it hit 92 at its peak, and we ate one of the yummy treats. Feeling
rejuvenated, we moved forward.
We picked up George,
our first pacer, at about mile 18. He ran with Becky and I for a number of miles, but pretty quickly it was clear that Becky needed to run faster than I was running. I told Becky
she needed to go at her own pace and I was pleased to see that she ran on ahead.
I was, in all honesty, much more comfortable running on my own, knowing that I
wasn't slowing anyone down if I chose to walk a particular section that might,
for a seasoned trail runner, be very runnable. Anywhere I had to power hike, I
did so, and I was feeling good.
Until the next ankle roll.
This one was worse,
and I went down, crying out and holding my ankle and rubbing it. George was with
me at the time, and he helped me up. I gingerly took a few steps, and was
limping pretty badly. To say I was not optimistic is an understatement, but we
started moving forward again and my gait once again become moderately normal. At
this point, however, I became extremely conservative in my estimate of what was
"runnable".
At one aid station, Ross Bielak assured me that the crew had enough
pacers to pace Becky and I separately if need be... he even offered to jump in
right then if I needed him. I was profoundly grateful. Knowing I had the support
to go at my own pace was a game changer for my outlook, and I thought that
perhaps there was a chance I could finish. Ross actually did jump in with me at
the next aid station and just like that, I had my own pacer.
Ross focused on
ensuring we stayed on course, and making sure cars saw us on road sections,
allowing me to just focus on moving forward. He told some amazing stories - his
Leadville finish story was as good as it gets. There were a few sections in
there that had some runnable parts, and I was happy. When joined the Cultra crew on Wednesday to talk about the CUT, Art had said to embrace
every milestone. And right from the beginning, that is what
I did. This was not so much a race for me of looking to the finish, as just
getting to the next point and being grateful that I had successfully done so.
At
about mile 30, I had a section on my own again - it was about a 6 mile section
and the first 2 miles were easy enough, but then I encountered some rock
formations that were daunting, to say the least. These were towering cliffs and boulders - one with something like a tunnel through it, and in the early evening
light the entire section was both awe inspiring and a little bit spooky. It was
otherworldly. There were some very steep technical ups and downs, and I made my
way gingerly through this beautiful foreign terrain.
 |
| Big Rock! |
I was just coming down a
hilly scramble when I saw someone familiar running toward me. Sen!!! He had a
big smile on his face, and I was never as glad to see anyone as I was to see him,
when I had expected to be alone for the next several miles. Sen had paced me
during the last 25 miles of my first 100 miler, and is extremely special to me.
We made our way through the rugged terrain, chatting happily and just power
hiking forward.
 |
| Sen and I on top of a cliff |
I believe it was shortly before I picked up Jillian that the
thunderstorms started. The rain quickly became a true downpour, and we were
pretty wet coming into the aid station. At first I thought I'd use my rain
jacket, but after putting it on I quickly realized it would be way too hot, so I
removed it and continued on in my singlet and shorts. It was at this aid station
that Sen left me, and I picked up Jillian.
Jillian Ellefson had been featured in
last year's CULTRA episode with Cherie Bilbie, on their inspiring finish. It is
fair to say that she was one of the reasons I was there. She immediately started
what would become an amazing night of care taking, by holding my hiking poles
while we were on the road section, and ensuring that I, as the tired runner, was
furthest from the cars. We started talking, and talked all night.
The first
section with Jillian took us to Rogers Orchard, where we made the first cut-off
by about 30 minutes. This meant we had time to take it a bit easier on the
highly technical climbs to come. We picked up my buddy Ed at Rogers, who would
be joining for 2 stints. Those were some difficult but merry miles. They were
also... very wet. The rain, that had started hours earlier, ended up continuing
for a good chunk of the night, and at one point included thunder and lightening.
The terrain was some of the most challenging on the course - this was the
"Ragged Mountain" section, where in addition to extremely steep rocky highly
technical climbs, you actually had to scramble down through rock formations on
your ass. For these sections, Jillian would go first. She intentionally had not
brought poles, knowing she would have to hold ours while we scooted down the
steep rocks. I'd hand my poles to Jillian and I'd scoot; then Ed would hand his
to me, and he would come through. I'd never experienced anything like this
section. These were 40 minute miles.
There were stories. There were bad jokes.
What's said on the trail stays on the trail. 'Nuff said. It was an amazing
night.
Ed stayed for 2 sections, then Jillian paced me through until dawn, when
she had to leave to go get her daughter. There was a section of the nighttime running that was extremely difficult due to low visibility - we were essentially running through clouds, and it was hard to even see across the road. At one point we passed Becky, who was
being paced by Cherie. It was clear that Becky was hurting. I found out later
she was having a horrible issue of bladder pain that made it excruciating to
walk. When we arrived after the Castle Craig section, another brutal one, we
found out that Becky had dropped. We felt awful for Becky, and this also led to
a bit of a logistical challenge in that, instead of pacing me, Ross was now going to be driving Jillian
to her car, so I needed to get to the next section on my own. The sun was just
coming up, and the early terrain looked smooth, so I did not think this would be a problem.
I moved smoothly and happily through the early dawn hour, proud of myself every
time I successfully kept myself on trail. I was very optimistic about a possible
finish.
Until... I lost the trail.
I saw a blue blaze, then nothing.
I walked
forward.
Nothing.
I walked sideways.
Nothing.
Walked back to the blaze and went
to the side.
Nothing.
I just could not figure out where I was supposed to go. I
went out to the road and turned on my phone for the first time in the race,
texting the crew group that I was lost. I sent a picture of where I was on the
map, and Cherie told me that the trail continued on the other side of the road.
Somehow, I found the blue blaze on the other side, and let the group know I was
found again. I lost the blaze again shortly thereafter. I could see on the
navigation on my watch that the trail was to my right, but I just couldn't find
the blazes. I made my way up a hill that was steep and rocky and difficult,
fighting bushes and obstacles, and finally found the trail again. At this point
I was pretty exhausted - every climb made my legs feel like jelly and I had to
just stop and catch my breath and rest my legs to finish the climbs. I think I
probably lost a good 30 minutes in that section, and I knew I was already
fighting the 9pm cutoff at Bluff Head. It was, to say the least, discouraging.
I
was thrilled to pick up Ross again at the next aid station. At this point, even
though they were only 5-6 miles apart, it was hours between aid stations. Our
pace sheet had us doing 23 minute miles through all these sections, and assuming
I did that, I had a 40 minute buffer on the cut-off, but every mile longer than
that took minutes off the buffer.
We saw Fred who ran with us for about 1/2 mile
as we approached the next crew point; there was a Dunkin Donuts there and I put
in a request for a cream filled donut, coffee with lots of cream and an OJ. I
downed that in about 2 minutes, and we started moving again.
 |
| Catching up with Fred |
The next section
actually had some very runnable terrain, including a road section. Although the
first 2 miles were both 30 minute miles (14 minutes off the buffer), the last
couple were under 20 minutes. As we swept into the aid station I saw my cousin
Rebecca - I'd had no idea she would be there, and I started sobbing. I asked
Cherie if she thought I had any chance of making the cutoff and she said yes, if
I just kept moving forward the way I was moving. I picked up Carina as a pacer,
and off we went.
Unfortunately, the terrain got highly technical again, and it
appeared that the 23 minute miles were a thing of the past. The optimism at the
last aid station was pretty quickly replaced by the reality of the math. It
became clear that the cut-off was almost certainly unattainable. I thought very
hard about dropping at mile 73, and Carina said "this would be a really boring
place to tap out. If you wait until the next one, you get a great number, and
really good views". I decided to keep moving, and we left the aid station at 73
miles.
The first mile of the next section wasn't too bad, although it was
probably still a 30 minute miles. But then we hit the rock field again, and....
I was done.
Even the flat sections were taking me almost 30 minutes, and what
was in front of us was not flat. It was steep, with small jagged rocks just
everywhere. Every step hurt. Worse, I'd started to trip and stumble. Bothersome
and frustrating on the flat sections, but potentially extremely dangerous on the
sections that were essentially next to a cliff. I told Carina I was out at the
next aid station. Which was an agonizing 4 miles in front of us. We made our way
slowly and painfully through that section, which was probably the longest 4 miles of my life. At the top of the worst climb, we were, as Carina had
promised, rewarded by a staggering view. And another challenging down.
As I trudged into Guidas, I heard cheering. Cherie, Ross, George and Ed were all there to meet me. Cheering, even though I was dropping. Because every one of them knew just how hard won these miles were.
I had no business signing up for this race. And yet... terrified, tripping, limping, hiking and scrambling, I'd made my way 77.7 miles across what some believe is the toughest trail race in New England.
No - it wasn't 112 miles. I didn't get to ride the elevator or dip my feet into the sound.
That... is for next year.
After I've had a chance to do the training this race deserves.
For me, this is a DNF to celebrate. I am celebrating starting this race, and getting to where I got, and seeing just what a beautiful, beautiful sport I've been missing out on by just sticking to roads. There is a voice whispering in my ear that maybe... if I actually get out there and tell that timid voice to fuck off, maybe I too can spend a few miles skimming confidently over the rocks, eyeing a steep climb with something like anticipation by what I know will reward me at the top.
I can't end this without saying that it would have been literally impossible to get where I got without the incredible outpouring of support from Team Evil Power. Praying I don't miss anyone as I thank, in no particular order, Ed, Sen, Fred, Art, Becky and Brendan Burke, Becca Manion, Celeste Fong, Jillian, Cherie, Reagan, Ross, George, and Carina. I am humbled by your generosity.
