



It’s still weird to me that people run ultra races. These events are so punishing, you can’t convince me they’re healthy—for the body or for the mind. I’ve been horizontal all day, I can’t move my shoulder, and it takes me about three minutes to determine the easiest way to stand up before I can muster the grit to bear the pain in my quads.





But I’m lying here a day after finishing a 100-mile race, technically “injured,” which is the case for everyone who completes this distance, and I’m looking up the odds of spiking a lottery entry for Western States or Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) in 2020. My name is Mike and I’m an ultraholic.





A 100-mile run really is an attention grabber. How could any runner not get swept up in the wave of relief (it’s most definitely not euphoria) upon hitting the finish line, the congratulatory attention you receive from family and friends, the awe with which non-runners regard you, at least for a moment when they first hear what you did? No wonder the sport is growing so quickly.





I ran Midstate Massive 100 this weekend and peeped my yearly share of New England fall foliage in 24 hours. The race started in New Hampshire and snaked south through Massachusetts mountains, farms, nature preserves, backyards and suburban streets all the way to Connecticut and Rhode Island.

Like usual, I had over prepared, and thank goodness I did. I had bought a brand-new Insignia portable charger and Black Diamond Carbon-Z trekking poles , and my dad and stepmom got me a Petzl NAO+ headlamp with an extra battery. Most importantly, I downloaded the GaiaGPS map of the course. All of this would prove crucial to finishing.





As a UMass grad, I was running through the towns where my former college cross country teammates are now raising their kids. One old teammate Jon signed up to pace me for 7.5 midnight miles, and I heard last minute that another teammate Paul could join up Sunday morning. To add to that, my crew member Olivia decided she could take on a few miles from there, depending on how fast I was going. My other crew member Mark is a 2:26 (or so) marathoner (he doesn’t like to brag about it, so it's probably even faster), but was still recovering from a recent injury and was on 100% crew duty only.

Mark and Olivia met at my apartment in Brooklyn, where I had a tub packed with all my supplies, clothes, gear, electronics and Tailwind . Mark is a goofball, cynical lawyer with a sense of humor that ranges from accent impersonations and cultural references to pointing out Exit 69 signs. As an accomplished distance runner with a logically leaning brain, Mark had two super important traits in a crew member.

Olivia's first road trip

Olivia is a doer. Do we need a hotel room? Booked. Waiter forgot to bring plates for the table? Oh no he didn’t. Need to drive 100 miles in 80 minutes? No problem. She’s a Texan, quick with words of support and an offer to help. At some points leading up to this race, I was feeding off of her stoke for the race, and not the other way around. Mark and Olivia make a perfect pair, especially for a crew. Mark wore a hat Friday with a Papa Bear logo, so they determined that Papa and Mama Bear were going to make sure they saw their cub through to the finish line.

We drove up Friday night for the 11:00 am start on Saturday. We jammed out to Katy Perry’s “ Never Really Over ” a bunch and decided it was a theme song for the race. Connecticut is full of Chipotles so we had the traditional pre-race burrito in that rest stop on Route 95 that looks like all the others. When we finally got to the Super 8, an old favorite of Jon’s in his hometown of Gardner, MA, we immediately crashed.





We had a meandering morning and a Dunkin Donuts breakfast. (You have to love New England.) If you’re curious, the croissant sandwich in Gardner is much better than their counterpart’s in Grand Central Station.

Jokes welcome before the start.

It was cloudy at the start, cool and wet, but the leaves were near peak foliage and people were ready to get rolling. After a speech from the one of the race directors, we were off. Now, bear in mind that this was the inaugural Midstate Massive 100. I’ve got to give respect where it’s due. They created a brand new point-to-point 100-mile race, going through at least 12 municipalities, on state and private lands where strangers would run through people’s backyards at midnight just a few feet from their homes. They set up 16 aid stations staffed with volunteers, at least four busy intersections staffed by police, and a bag drop system and shuttles to allow runners to race unsupported. Some of those volunteers staffed multiple aid stations and one gave me his personal vanilla coke, so overall, it was an incredible event. But there may have been a few oversights – that’s understandable, right? Welp, one of those oversights was neglecting to mark the course.





The Midstate Trail is mostly blazed with yellow triangles. But, while some are plastic, others are just old faded paint on trees, and none have nighttime reflectors. Within 3/4 of a mile, I had to yell at the leader that he was going the wrong way.





Another weird part was a staggered wave start, ostensibly so everyone could finish closer together, and so that the volunteers wouldn’t have to be present at the aid stations for an unnecessarily long time. I started with only 10 people at 11:00 am, and I found myself up towards the front of our small pack.

Nice views though.

I wasn’t pushing too hard, but I knew I could pick up extra time early. My goal was to break 24 hours, so if my first 10 miles were solid, I would be in good shape. That plan went south almost immediately (pun intended) when I went a half mile in the wrong direction and had to double back. I followed the yellow blazes of the Midstate Trail down the path when instead, we were supposed to veer off of the trail. There was no sign to warn us and I wasn’t yet aware that the entire course would be like this. I was furious already, but Greg, who went the wrong way with me and had been at a Wilco concert the night before said, “it’s all good – we’ll get it back.”





We caught up to the pack that had been behind us. Greg tried to push ahead. Three times I had to yell at him that he missed a turn. Somewhere around mile 10 we were on a suburban road and, I looked right and saw two people running towards us yelling and waving their arms like there was a zombie outbreak behind them. It was Mama and Papa Bear, in the middle of a field where there was absolutely no discernable trail, yelling that we needed to head in their direction.

The moment your trail angel friends save you from going the wrong way.

We weren’t near an aid station – they just happened to choose that spot to cheer on the course out of sheer luck. If Greg were in that zombie outbreak movie, he’d be dead. But my crew would have saved me.





Seeing Moma and Papa Bear at the first aid station was a precious opportunity to complain about the lack of course markers and stuff my mouth with a spoonful of peanut butter—at the same time. With a quick refill, I headed back out with Greg and another runner Steve. These dudes are 50-year old men who have each done a bunch of these races. Greg told a story of running in Nepal where the volunteers abandoned the course during a monsoon and left their directional signs behind on the ground. We determined that those markers were better than the ones we were currently following. We joked about how this was as hard as Barkley Marathons, a notoriously impossible roughly 125-mile orienteering course. Steve said, “trust me, at least at Barkley they give you a compass.”

I got lost no less than 10 more times after that, following markers that weren’t “on course,” or missing them when they were. I estimate I ran between two and three miles out of the way, having to double back again and again.

Quick stops for supplies and moral support

At night, it became hard to follow the leaf-covered single track that blended into the dense forest. It was a little spooky and misty out there alone. The headlamp investment was worth it to spot those faded yellow triangles up ahead, but even with that I would lose the trail frequently.





The saving grace was that the race directors had prepared the GaiaGPS map two nights before the start. I started to rely heavily on the app, which everyone should have on their phone. It locates you even when you have no service. It’s like the map in Grand Theft Auto that shows what direction you’re moving in, where you’re supposed to be, and where you are. I only fell once while walking and looking at my phone! Without Papa Bear taking my portable charger to charge up at every other aid station, my phone would have died, and I would have gotten lost, which is exactly what caused some other runners to drop out.

Moma and Papa Bear

In the nighttime, the common aid station greeting became, “you’re not lost, so you’re doing great!” When other runners passed, they asked, “how many times have you gotten lost?” Everyone had their stories.

I only run under full moons.

At aid station seven, mile 46, you come to a dam, and you can see the lights of the crew and hear their cheers across a body of water, but you don’t know how to get to them. Eventually I realized I had to go all the way around a lake. When I made the trek there, Mama and Papa Bear were there continuing to crush the aid station stops, greeting me with hugs, bearing with my complaints, and turning me around with dry clothes, charged electronics, packed goos and a full bag of tailwind in just a few minutes and getting me some warm broth and a half avocado to take the chill off. They updated me that some people had already dropped and I was a little behind on my 24-hour goal. I had also heard that one runner, who had started an hour before me had come in really angry at that aid station yelling about the lack of course markers. I would later learn that she was not the only person to do that.

Jon loving the midriff look.





At that point, I was set on finishing, so I just put my head down. I needed these points for UTMB, and I could place well, maybe top five, if I could get moving. Jon was waiting at the next aid station. If you don’t know Jon, he’s a special person. He just got back from officiating his 23rd wedding! He doesn’t do it professionally; those are just 46 of his close friends. He has a 2-year old son Chase with his wife Beth, and all three are runners. Running 7.5 miles in woods at midnight is a fun and intense way to catch up with a friend and learn about dad-life. He was a huge jolt of energy in the cold night and needled me in just the right way to keep my spirits high and keep me laughing.





Jon completed his duties at aid station nine and I had 41 miles still to go—not too bad, but it was cold, and leaving Aid Station eight, I could bearly walk. I took it slow for a mile, got lost twice at forks in the road with no signage or trail blazes, and then I finally got cranking again, jamming to John Richard’s four-hour KEXP Runcast to keep the blood flowing. I might have been running through a moose preserve at some point, if that’s such a thing—either that or I was delirious. I wouldn’t see Mark or Olivia for a long stretch, which was great because they could briefly hibernate in my Corolla.

There was a lot of dirt and paved road in the back half of the race, which gave me hope that I could move quickly and close the gap on my 24-hour goal. I ticked the miles away, passing some 50-milers now and then, and eventually passing a 100-miler from my wave at an aid station. He caught back up to me and asked if I was a road runner.





What!? I mean, yes definitely, I am, but that seemed offensive in the middle of the night during this trail race, right? Is this dude trying to play head games? Because I’m too tired, and my short-term memory is way too shot for him to have any effect.





He and his pacer asked why I was using trekking poles and how I had gotten used to them. When west coasters use the terms “technical” or “flowy” I just think they have no idea how rough a proper Northeast trail can be.





Talking about the Midstate Massive course, I turned into Bubba from Forest Gump ruminating on shrimp. You’ve got your loose rock, the scree, and your pebbles; you’ve got sharp rocks and boulders, rocks that take both hands to climb and those that are wet; some reach for your ankles and there are those you have no choice but to step up on; there are flat, inviting, fast rocks; there are large rock gardens with patches of rocks jutting out of the soil like bushes; and there are solo kamikaze rocks covered in pine needles, ankle twisters and toe snipers; and then there’s the rock I smashed my phone on when I fell. The race directors found a way to route the course over every rock in Massachusetts.





That’s why I had poles. “They kept me upright the whole time minus that one time,” I responded. It was worth carrying them on the roads. That guy would be the last 100-miler I passed, and I gapped him by pounding miles and miles of road with zero rocks, thank you very much.

Anyway, as the sun started to rise, I knew Paul was waiting for me. Paul is a cop who takes his job with life and death seriousness but has a laid-back ski bum vibe. He’s the type of guy that can talk to anyone, anytime, about anything. And he is always looking forward to his next adventure. He had just gotten back from camping in Switzerland with his girlfriend Rachel, his sister Jackie had a baby the day before, and he was racing his bike later that afternoon, so he was fitting me into his already packed schedule for the weekend. We took off after a short aid station stop where he kept insisting he carry things for me. (That’s illegal “muling,” Paul. You’re a cop. Come on.) We ran through some farmland hills, mostly on the roads and planned future runs and ski trips and watched the sunrise clear away the dew on cow fields. The bright colors were back, and so were my spirits with only 13 miles to go.

He kept asking if I had enough doughnuts.

He pulled me through to aid station 14 at Whittier Farms, where they had pie waiting for us, and to my surprise, Olivia was ready to do the whole final 11 miles with me. Awesome! Our first five went really quickly and only once did we almost miss a turn, saved by an eagle-eyed runner from the separate 50-mile race.

Whittier Farms

But then we were six miles out and the feeling of being very close, but not that close, was disheartening. My 24-hour goal had slipped away by that point, but I was still on track for a personal record at sub 25 hours, and figured I’d place in the top six. We came around a corner after aid station 15 and Mark was sitting there blasting Never Really Over from his phone, so we stopped for a quick dance break. Papa Bear was really hamming it up after not sleeping all night long.





Olivia and I chatted about Mark and his fun family, love languages, dancing on the trail, and the ravages of Lyme Disease, which we for sure contracted running through the brush in southern Massachusetts. Eventually, we’d come to a long, flat cinder path. This is so great, I thought, even if I was walking some parts. The rocky sections are over.

Just kidding – BAM! Three miles to go and there’s a big rocky climb to the CT/RI/MA tristate border. The entire last three miles would be like this, but that didn’t seem to matter because we were so close.

Bumps in the road

Eventually, with about 800 meters to go, Olivia told me to take off, and I was happily still able to run fairly well. On the inside, I was flying. On the outside, less so.

Bringing it home

Crossing the finish line, I was practically sobbing—gasping might be more precise—and holding my knees. With my neck bowed down the volunteer placed a 50-miler finisher medal around my neck. It felt like it belonged, but she took it away and replaced it with the biggest belt buckle I’ve ever held. Sorry to whoever ended up with that gross medal. The buckle has a yellow triangle on it and I have no idea whether that’s on course, or off.

Papa Bear gave me a hug and took me to get cleaned up. Then Mama Bear rolled in just behind me to celebrate. We picnicked on a lake for a bit and chatted with other runners. The crazy part about a wave start is you don’t know what place you’ve come in until long after you finish, because someone who started after you could beat your time overall. Others who started before me finished within minutes. Fortunately, only one person had beaten me from the later wave, and he had already passed me on the course so I knew that. I was pretty surprised to get second place and was awarded a brand new Arc’teryx Incendo jacket ! I guess some combination of my GPS/Grand Theft Auto skills and road racing capacity got me to the finish just a few minutes ahead of the others.

The finish might have been the prettiest part.

All in all, I think this Midstate Massive has so much potential and the race directors could create something really special. It’s such a pretty area at this time of year and in a heavily populated region where it can draw a large crowd. It has all types of trail running: single and double track, country and suburban roads, rocky and pine needle trails. And the views are killer. It simply needs to be well marked with reflective ribboning and consistent signage. I would recommend it to those who are competent in the rockiest terrain, provided there is a guarantee that the course will be marked well next year. Regardless, don’t forget your GaiaGPS maps.

As for Mark, Olivia and me, we got a hotel room somewhere near Hartford and napped and woke up for a pizza party. Mark demanded a tiramisu dessert, and it was the type of delicious that you can only taste after 24 hours of work. After dinner they brought me home and ended their Papa Bear and Mama Bear duties by finding a spot for my car and tucking me in to a bed that was just right.





Running can be a selfish sport. I spend a lot of time working on my fitness instead of doing other important things. That said, with the support I got from Mark and Olivia and Jon and Paul, along with the help I got from Mike and Grace in races earlier this year, I realize ultra-running really is a family sport. Maybe that’s the real reason it’s growing. I can’t wait to crew their races and continue sharing these experiences. In the end Katy Perry is right – it’s never really over.

Huge thanks to Moma and Popa Bear, Jon and Paul, all the volunteers and the race creators, without whom I never would have been able to do this. And congrats to all the other finishers!

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