The view from the summit of Mount Ascutney.
Everyone is wrong. Hell is not an inferno below but a fiery hike up a mountain auto road.
It really should not have been a surprise. I knew what I had signed up for with the Ascutney Mountain Run. I had read the course description. I stood in line waiting for the port-o-potty and listened to other runners talk about how tough this race was. I saw the grimaces on their face as they explained why they would subject themselves to this kind of punishment today. Many of them were preparing for Mount Washington. After all, this was a good comparison, they said: half the distance, half the elevation gain.
So how is it then that I was, indeed, surprised? You could say the surprise knocked the wind out of me; or maybe it was the march up the mountain in the heat and humidity that did that. I say “march” because what I did most of the time—hands on hips, one slow foot in front of the other—cannot really be called a run. I did not go for a “run” on Sunday so much as a “trudge.”
Mount Ascutney comes into view from the road.
After hours of highway miles the car wound its way into Windsor, Vt., under blue skies with towering mountains rising up on all sides. It was beautiful and intimidating. I arrived at the base of Ascutney feeling small in more ways than one. Though it could not be described as sweltering, it was definitely getting hot. Heat is hard for me. Anything over 70, especially if the sun is beating down, is out of my comfort zone. Give me rain any day. It is like God’s air conditioning.
I had made it to the race in time to mill around and gather some “intel” about what was ahead of us. It did not sound promising. The only morsel of promise I heard and held onto was the fact that it was supposedly less steep further along into the course. Holding tight to my little morsel, as well as the hope that people were just exaggerating about the rest of the course, I lined up at the start.
At this point, I am sure you have figured out that it was no exaggeration and that this was going to be a rough one. Usually I can handle a good mile of uphill before resorting to a walk, particularly when it is paved. This time I did not even come close. I have no idea how far I made it, but it was not far before the fact that my heart was beating out of my chest and my lungs were ready to explode made me have to walk; and walk is what I did for most of the next two miles or so. With my hands on my hips to save energy and help me remember to keep my shoulders back, I trudged up the mountain.
My legs were tired but were by no means burning, so I kept trying to run, but my heart would not let me. Even just walking it wanted to jump out of my chest by way of my throat. There was no way around it—what lay ahead was a hot and lonely slog.
Knowing this run was going to be all uphill and talking was not going to be much of an option, I had brought along some music. Usually when I have a hard climb ahead music really helps me to focus on the task at hand and grind it out until I get to the top. Apparently when the climb is never ending and your heart wants to explode music is just annoying. Seriously, Kelly Clarkson kept insisting that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” and I just wanted to tell her where she could shove it. The only song I could stand even a little was Maroon 5’s “Misery.” It was just so fitting. In fact, as one runner came up beside me he asked if I was okay and all I could say was, “Yes. I’m miserable, but I’m okay.”
Though my body may have been barely moving forward my mind was racing. Will I finish, and if not how does that even work? Do I just sit down and wait for someone to come get me? If I cannot do this how am I supposed to do the Loon Mountain Race? Loon is five miles up and includes something called “the Upper Walking Boss, which has sections at a 40 percent grade, and what is currently kicking my butt is at its worst only a 19 percent grade. What the heck is 40 percent then, upside down? Should I skip Loon? I can still be a Mountain Goat as long as I complete the two races that follow Loon. Why the heck do I want to be a Mountain Goat anyway? So that I can do Mount Washington next year? Um, this is only half of Mount Washington and I am in hell—no way that is happening.
Clearly none of these thoughts were helpful or productive.
Somewhere around mile two my arms started to feel cool. It was a hot, sunny day and I had been power hiking up a mountain road for quite a while; I should not have felt cold. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was starting to get dehydrated. I was carrying water, but I did not have an electrolyte drink or salt pills with me, so all I could do was drink my water and keep going. In addition to feeling cool when I should not have, I was feeling a little light-headed.
Emily Meehan at the Ascutney Mountain Run. Photo by SNAPacidotic.
To this point I had been keeping pace with a group of about five other runners that I had named in my head my “Band of Warriors.” We were silent warriors with heads down and eyes forward, but a band nonetheless, linked together by determination to keep moving forward. However, as I started to feel dehydrated I also started to fall a little behind the group. Now instead of thinking about DNFs and future races I had one thought: do not lose this group. I was nervous about my situation and I did not want to be alone. I do not remember the scenery or what songs were on my iPod or if I even had my earbuds in at all at that point. All I remember is focusing on staying close so that I could call out if things got too bad.
As we approached mile three the course became gradual enough that, though I still had to walk, I was able to talk a little bit. I met a man that continues to do these races despite some pretty serious medical diagnoses. He pushes through pain and what has to be frustration, and though he has fallen from a back-of-the-front/front-of-the-middle runner to keeping time with me at the back of the pack, he perseveres with a smile. He was so kind to talk to me. Those few moments with him helped me to feel less lonely. His strength of character inspired me to shake off my doubts and complaints and just move forward with a good attitude.
When we finally hit mile three, the little promise I had basically given up on—that the course would eventually be less steep—was fulfilled. My breathing and heart rate were under control and my legs were nicely warmed up. I wanted to take some time to run while I could and so I took off at a reasonable pace and was even able to pass a couple people that I had been trying so hard for so long just to keep up with. I was still feeling the effects of being a little dehydrated, but I was less worried since I knew I was very close to the finish.
It was not too long before the way turned steep again and I was back to walking, but as I looked ahead I saw my husband and two of my babies waiting for me and I knew I had to run for them. Taking baby steps I ran toward them and smiled. My husband, who had driven the car up to the summit, gave me a sympathetic smile. I looked at him and said, “Cannot describe the amount of suck.”
My friend Kim, who had finished a couple minutes earlier, was cheering me on and telling me the finish was just up around the corner. I am pretty sure I threatened to punch her in the face since that meant I had to keep running. It’s okay. We have been friends for a long time.
Slowly but surely I kept running and turned the corner to see the finish line just ahead of me. I was moving along but was taking my time. Suddenly in my left ear I heard footsteps behind me. I was too close to the finish to be passed. That was not happening. I shifted gears and gave it all I had those last few steps and finished one second before those footsteps at 1:09:10.
Ascutney (or as I shall forevermore affectionately refer to it: Asuckney) was a challenge. It was as described—“all uphill.” There is not a lot to see; there are no real great views until you get to the summit, and it was a road race, which is never as fun as a trail. Something for which I am grateful is that, despite being a paved auto road, there was more shade than I was anticipating.
The atmosphere at the top was very friendly with food and fun awards. As the person that came in last turned the corner toward the finish everyone at the summit clapped and cheered her across the finish, which was great.
Once you reach the top you need to make your own way down, and despite the fact that I usually like downhill, I was so glad that my husband had purchased the parking pass and was waiting at the top for me and able to drive me down.
Sunday was a hard day, and to be honest it was the first race so far that I can say was never at any point “fun.” However, it did teach me some things. One, if I am going to be out in the heat for more than a half hour I need to bring some salt pills and electrolytes and I need to be proactive in using them. Two, I need to work really hard over the next month getting ready for Loon—both the heat and the climb. Three, I can finish a race even when it isn’t fun.