Back in 2006 I ran a bunch of marathons and one ultra, the Vermont 50 Mile Endurance Run. The experience completely changed my perception of what I was capable of. Sure, I finished at the back of the pack, and sure, a lot of my friends run much tougher, longer races, but I was proud of the accomplishment none the less. A few months before I ran this race I was smoking a pack a day and selling fish in a crappy South Carolina town. You never know how close you are to the adventure of a lifetime!

2006 VT 50 Race Report:

It's 4:00am. I'm warm inside my sleeping bag but I can tell the air outside is freezing. I hear my friend Jamie's cell phone alarm ring from his tent. It plays The Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner. I jump out of my tent just as I hear Jamie yell "Let's get it on!" from his. While the rest of the campers are snug in their RV's resting up for a big day of whatever it is people do at roadside campgrounds, we're preparing for the longest run of our lives… so far.

As we drive to the base of Ascutney Mountain all I can think to say, over and over, is "Dude, were going to run 50 miles today." To which Jamie replies "I know. We're crazy." I'm not sure if it's nerves or lack of sleep that keep my conversation so restricted. Maybe my brain is too busy wrestling with the idea of what I'm about to do - second guessing its own sanity - to be bothered with formulating sentences.

Upon arrival we go through the standard race check in procedures: pin on your number, stand in line for the port-a-pottie, drink coffee, eat a bagel, get back in line for the port-a-pottie, wonder what you got yourself into, get back in line for the port-a-pottie etc. This is the first time I've prepared for a race while it was still dark. Something about it definitely adds to the excitement of the whole thing. It also adds to the intimidation factor. Everyone around me seems a little more hardcore in the darkness. I can't help but feel like I'm way out of my league.

Eventually the sun peaks over the horizon and the runners take to the starting line. I find my place in the middle of the pack and the spectators (all eight of them) find theirs on a grassy slope nearby. I survey the misfit pack of ex-druggies, exercise addicts, crazy musicians, Thelma and Louises, and shirtless, bearded, over sixties. Not exactly the same crowd you see at your local 5k fun run.

We're off. Oh s*@t. What am I getting myself into?

A few minutes after the start, a long haired intense looking runner pulls up alongside me.

"Are you Chris?" He asks.

"Yeah." I say, more than a little startled. Until now I was an anonymous beginner in a crowd of seasoned ultra runners. How the hell does this guy know me?

"You must be Jamie." My new buddy says to Jamie, who is running beside me.

Holy crap? How did he know that?

"I'm John Holt." The up 'til now stranger informs us.

Ahh, myspace. It's a whole new world now. This was John Holt of John Holt & Generous Thief fame. We're myspace buddies.

Catching up with John is nice, but also a little scary. He is much more established in the sport of ultra running than me, so I have no business keeping pace with him. I know if I try to keep up I'll never make the distance. It gets even scarier about three miles into the run when John informs us we are running at "suicide pace". Yikes. Still, I'm having too much fun chatting with the myspace crew to drop back just yet.

I lose track of John and Jamie shortly after the four mile aid station. By now I've come to my senses and decide to run my own race. I'll see them at the finish line... if I make it.

Miles five through ten are pretty uneventful. Walk the steep up hills, run everything else. Somewhere around mile ten I start getting tired. More tired than I've ever been at the ten mile mark of a standard marathon. This is very unnerving considering the distance I still have ahead. At the mile 12 aid station I'm still feeling bad. This is where the battle between mind and body begin. A battle that's probably going to last all day.

This is also the beginning of the longest stretch between aid stations. From miles 12 to 20 there is no support. I ran a marathon in New York last month that was on a nice, level, paved trail around a lake with water and food stations every mile. Now I'm running alone in the woods on muddy single track with 8 miles to go before my next opportunity to fill my water bottles, and 38 miles to go before the finish line. The furthest I've ever run in my life is 26.2 miles. My legs are already killing me. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

For several miles I try to convince myself I'm not going to call it a day at the next aid station. I'm having all I can do to keep the negative thoughts at bay.

I'm under-trained.

I'm tired and sore and nowhere near the halfway point.

I'm not a real athlete.

I'm slow.

I'll never make it.

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