Night Train 50K 2021 Race Report! 🌌🚂✨🏃‍♀️

Sometimes you run from your demons. And sometimes it's fun to turn the tables and chase those demons for a while 😈 From night running to fireflies to the stories we tell, the Night Train 50K was a memorable adventure!

Warning: This post includes details regarding a racially-charged confrontation. To go straight to the race report and avoid the details of the confrontation, skip the Pre-Race section. Also, I would like to humbly remind everyone that racial justice and basic human decency is not a political issue — it is a HUMAN issue. Please and thank you.

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Pre-Race

I had a little too much excitement on the drive up to Farmville. I'd spent the last few days camping at the Outer Banks and was more than a bit parched from all that beach time, so I was actively chugging water before the race. I had just popped off I-85 onto 15 north through Granville County when first I saw a horse hitched to a gas station! What?! 🐴⛽ What's that horse doing hitched to a gas station?! But I didn't react fast enough to stop, even though I kinda needed a pit stop. I figured it would be fine, I'd just stop at the next gas station (preferably in VA since gas tends to be cheaper in that state).

Forty-five minutes later I finally saw a gas station again and, well. It was a rundown brick convenience store with a couple pumps and no canopy. There were neon signs for cigarettes and lottery tickets in the windows, and bars over those same windows. I debated about trying to get all the way to Farmville but I was absolutely desperate so I stopped. The bathroom itself was grimy but serviceable, but when I got out of the bathroom, I realized a heated argument was going on. A white man in a Confederate flag t-shirt was...is there even a word for the tone and decibels he was using? It wasn't quite shouting but it wasn't an indoor voice. It was angry, derisive, defensive, ugly. It rang hot and red in the small convenience store. And at the same time a Black woman's voice rose to meet his. Well, attempted to, because the man talked over her. He used the usual catchphrases of fear and anger: "thugs," "I have to protect my daughter," and "if you're not like that, then I don't have a problem with you individually, just stay out of my way." I debated leaving. But I also debated doing...something, I don't know what. I picked up a bag of gummy bears for the race. The man and woman were right in front of the register, the woman’s carton of cigarettes lying on the counter. The cashier, who might have had family origins in the Indian subcontinent, was perched behind the plexiglass and barred counter, wide-eyed and bewildered. And I realized that if this argument escalated, who was this clerk going to call? How would that situation turn out? And besides, I'm sorry, but this was just wrong.

I cleared my throat. "Hi." The white man kept articulating his loud opinions. "Uhm, hi. Hello. Excuse me?" The man kept talking. "Excuse me. Hi. Just popping in here." The white man finally stopped and looked at me. I waved and smiled charmingly.

"Are you a liberal?" He demanded, and then in the same breath, "You look like a liberal. I've got nothing to say to you." And he turned on his heels and stormed out of the store. Well then. I have lots of complex thoughts and feelings about that, but it wasn’t the time or place to make things about me. I turned to the woman. I wasn’t sure what to say, but she started chatting right away as she continued the transaction to purchase her carton of cigarettes. I'm not even sure what exactly we talked about, but she seemed grateful that I spoke up, she asked the Lord to bless me a few times, and we both agreed that people should always approach other people from a perspective of love. She asked me how old I was, how I had learned to speak up for someone “so young.” I squirmed, feeling neither young or particularly worthy of any attention.

“I didn’t always think this way. I used to think very differently. But over the years I’ve met people, heard their stories, learned from them. It’s on-going work, a journey, I know I have to keep working at it. But I know how important it is to listen, to keep meeting people and learning from their perspective.”

Another man came into the store while we chatted — a younger guy with a patchy beard and a bright yellow Harley Davidson t-shirt. I wondered if he knew the man who had just stormed out, because the woman made some comment in passing to him — something about him and the other fellas taking up the whole road like they owned it.

"Hell yes ma'am, we do," the man said in reply.

"Well that's a silly thing to do," I said, and then I asked him if he was from around here. Yes. I replied that I'm not, that I'm heading to Farmville tonight to run a race, 31 miles. I figured I'd stop and get some gummy bears. What do you do? "Mostly I drive a rig, but I'm also a technician from here all the way to the North Carolina line." "Oh that's great! Very cool. I guess that's hard with long hours on the road?" And back and forth banter as I engaged simultaneously with the Harley Davidson man and the woman. It felt a little ineffective, a little posturing, a little like temporary peace-making, and that I should somehow magically be able to do more, but I didn't know what, or how. All I could do was be friendly. The woman hugged me, and I told her to take care and God bless her too as she left with her cigarettes. I smiled and shrugged at the cashier who looked like he was about to fall over while he rang up my gummy bears. I smiled at the Harley Davidson guy and wished him safe travels on the road and he wished me luck with my race.

And I got in my car, my heart beating wildly against my chest, a fluttering, caged thing.

Packet Pick-up

I arrived at Camp Paradise just as packet pickup started. There were about twenty other people who I knew were coming to this race from the Triangle, but I was the first to get there. While I waited, I sat at a picnic table and ate a pastry I'd picked up from the farmer's market that morning, still struggling to get my adrenaline from the gas station confrontation under control. But my friends soon arrived, and even though I was being a little solitary with a challenging schedule that necessitated that I drive separately, it was still so comforting to fold into a safe welcoming community. We picked up our gear, got a raffle ticket with a cash donation to the Farmville food pantry FACES, snapped some group pics, and then headed to downtown Farmville to check into the hotel.

I was sharing a room with Angela and Susan, and we didn't have long to change into our race outfits (no flat Liz pic this time! lol) The race director is a military vet, and he has this race every year on the weekend before 4th of July, so besides the usual age group awards, he hosts a competition for most patriotic runners. And somehow, for the first time, this seemed to appeal to me. I'd ordered a red, white, and blue tutu on Amazon Prime that barely arrived in time, plus some silly light-up gear, and my Oiselle blue pocket joggers and red flyout tank, plus white (well, they were bright white when they were new, I promise!) Altras. Yup, achievement unlocked! I ran a race in a tutu. Heck, bonus points, I ran an *ultra* race in a tutu 🤣🤣🤣 The race director gave out some beer tokens to a guy in our group who was also rocking a tutu, and a woman who was bedecked in red, white, and blue with a running skirt, patriotic shirt, hair ribbons, necklaces, and suspenders packed with flair — she apparently was part of an Ainsley’s Angels team, which is awesome! But after he handed out tokens, he paused, and then gave me honorable mention: five beer tokens to 3 Roads Brewing in Farmville. (I distributed the tokens to my friends — particularly those in the half marathon — since I don’t drink much and it was very unlikely I’d be done with the 50K in time to enjoy any pints.)

So yeah! Take that, mean ol’ white guy in a Confederate flag t-shirt! Honorable mention most patriotic! 🇺🇸❤️🤍💙Because America looks like love and goofy ultrarunners in tutus and not whatever version of a secessionist state you’ve got in mind. ✌️

Race Start and Course Overview

Anyways, we lined up for the race start in waves to spread the field (#socialdistancing). I was assigned wave 3, along with pretty much all my friends, so we were a cheerful gang. We took off, and after half a mile we hit the bridge.

High Bridge Trail is a rail trail that spans over 30 miles. It was originally the Southside Railroad line and was part of other rail lines, and was last operated by Norfolk Southern. The highlight of the trail is High Bridge, a 21-span bridge that was built in the 1850s and is 2,400 feet (730 m — or about half a mile) long, and 125 feet (38 m) high above the Appomattox River Valley. The bridge was originally built with twenty piers made of almost four million bricks. It was engineered with an upper level for rail and pedestrian traffic, and a lower level for wagons. While there were longer bridges, and there were higher bridges, it was speculated that at the time of construction there were not any bridges longer AND higher.

In the final days of the Civil War, on April 7, 1865, Confederate troops set the bridge on fire to cut the advance of Union soldiers. However, the Union engineers cut the bridge at the fourth span to prevent the fire from spreading, charged across the lower wagon level, and forced the Confederate army to retreat. It was a decisive victory: the failed burning of the bridge hastened the end of the war and the surrender of Robert E. Lee at Appomattox Court House on April 9, 1865.

The bridge was repaired after the war, and then was completely rebuilt in 1914, though several of the original brick masonry piers were left standing. The bridge and this rail line was used from 1854 to 2005, when Norfolk Southern donated the abandoned rail line for Virginia State Park use. The High Bridge Trail State Park opened in 2008 and offers 31 miles of crushed limestone gravel trail for bicyclists, pedestrians, and equestrians.

And, apparently, pedestrians of a sort of quick and ultra variety.

And that’s how I found myself on the trail, a little before 6pm at the end of June in the midst of a hot and humid Southern summer, surrounded by friends and friends-I-hadn’t-met-yet.

The race started at 5:30pm and we started off fast and joyous. Several of my friends are much faster runners than me, but I was able to push a little bit, and they were casually enjoying the race start, so we covered that first mile (half a mile to the bridge, half a mile on the bridge) together. It was hotter than Hades, especially on the bridge with no shade and the wooden planks radiating the sun under our feet, so while the views were impressive, all our pictures were messily taken mid-stride. But gosh was that jaunt together fun!

After the bridge, the speedier runners started to pull away, and I settled in with some mid-packers. The pace was still a little spicy for me, but I wasn’t redlining, so I figured I’d hold with them until my heart rate spiked too much. I was treating this as a training run leading up to my target race in the fall: the Yeti 100 Mile Endurance Run. The Yeti 100 was also going to be on a rail trail — the Virginia Creeper Trail that runs through Damascus, VA from Whitetop to Abingdon. That 100 mile race loomed large on my mind: I knew that in a few months, I’d essentially have to do this Night Train run two more times and then some. My goal was to experiment with nutrition, and to finish the race feeling like I could keep running. No time goals, purely effort-driven. And while yes, the conventional wisdom is not to experiment with anything new on race day, I figured training for 100 miles is an experiment in and of itself, so I might as well seize the opportunity to train my stomach and my mind.

As more and more of my friends pulled away, I consigned myself to enjoying the race at my own pace — alone, if that’s what it took. But first, two guys fell into a similar pace as me. One of them was wearing a shirt that said, “Trottin’ Oxen” — a slogan I’d seen written on a passenger van at the race start parking lot. So, being the curious cat that I am, I asked them about it. They’re a social run club based out of Ashburn (northern Virginia, right by Dulles airport near DC). Specifically, they often meet up around Old Ox Brewery, hence the name “Trottin’ Oxen.” The two guys — Chris and Thong — had been running for a while, doing a variety of races and organized run-ventures. 50 mile taco trail? Check. Ragnars? Check. Maybe planning an ultrarunning tour of all the NC Duck Donut locations? Heck yes, these were my type of runners! We fell in step together for a while, along with Angela (who had made a somewhat last-minute decision to upgrade from the half marathon to the 50K because, well, #FOMO) and another guy with a red, white, and blue cooling bandana tied around his head who had a few stories fueled by beer and/or tequila. Angela could relate to some of the Trottin’ Oxen races since she’d lived in the DC area for a while, and while I really enjoyed their company and appreciated that they paced in such a way that I could hang with them for a long while, at around mile 8 I saw and felt that I was redlining too much, so I dropped back a bit and started incorporating some walks into my run.

I ended up leap-frogging some guys, as I tend to do when I switch to effort-based run-walk intervals. One guy was also doing timed run-walk intervals — I think he was doing 4:1 maybe? In any case, we fell in together for one of his intervals. He was from New York — upstate around the Adirondacks, not the city (we exchanged locations but not names, so if you ever happen to read this, hi Adirondacks!!). I exclaimed how beautiful that area was, having driven through it on my way to Montreal in 2015 for one of the Women’s World Cup games in Canada. He said it was his first 50K (CONGRATS!!), he had one grown kid in NC, another in Tennessee who had two kids, and he was going to do some sightseeing around Farmville after the race and then see his family. And we just chatted a bit, but you know what? I think that’s part of why I love doing races so much. I love the scenery, I love the adventure, but meeting people — getting to hear their voices, their stories — that’s a wonderful gift that all races from 5Ks to ultras keep giving me.

I needed another walk break before Adirondacks’ next interval, but it was good chatting with him briefly! We leapfrogged each other a few times again until he stopped to chat with his crew at the Tuggle aid station, but he was looking strong and steady on the back half when I ran across him once more (and I loved when he saw me and shouted, “Hey North Carolina!”) ❤️

I ran by myself for a little while as the hot afternoon light faded to gold and then twilight. I started seeing runners coming back from the turnaround and cheered them all, and I stopped to snap pics of the runners I knew. Most of the trail was green tunnel, with fireflies twinkling along the path, but occasionally it opened to views of some farmlands. At Prospect, the final aid station before the turnaround point, I knew I’d have just enough time to do the one mile out and back (two miles total) before dark, so I didn’t dawdle. I came across a black snake that was grumpy about all the runners on the trail, and then soon after that I found the turnaround. The turnaround point was two folding chairs marked with signs and reflective tape; I took a quick selfie just to prove that I hadn’t missed it!

I spent some time at the Prospect aid station at mile 17. My drop bag was available here, and I pulled out the extra nutrition (mostly gels) that I’d packed, plus my waist light and I dropped a few items like my hat and cooling bandana. The feet felt fine so I didn’t bother with any sock changes, and surprisingly the tutu was fine to run in, so I decided to go for the full 50K distance in the tutu. As far as I could tell there was no chafing going on, and occasionally my arms would brush against the tulle (especially on my walk breaks), but that didn’t seem to irritate me. So yeah, I’d say running an ultra in a tutu is surprisingly comfortable! I may even consider doing it again 😂

Back Half of the Race (and some thoughts on oral traditions)

After I passed through the Prospect aid station for the second time at mile 17, it was getting dark so I switched on my waist light (I used my One80 waist light* rather than a headlamp, though I carried a headlamp and spare batteries with me). (Quick reminder if you do this race to charge up your batteries and bring spares! I know a lot of lighting options typically give you about 4 hours, which may or may not be enough time for you to complete the race in the dark.) I ran alone for a little while, still leap-frogging some other runners, but eventually my friend Jorge came cruising down the trail. I was totally surprised to see him; I must have passed him at the last aid station without realizing it. Jorge is quicker than I am, but he had been running with Shawn who was doing intervals and at some point they decided to split up. I feel confident that Jorge could have gone for a faster finishing time if he wanted to, but he said he’d prefer to run with me, so we got to chatting and having fun. (But seriously, Jorge, if you’re reading this — if you want to challenge yourself I think you can totally knock out a speedy 50K soon! You were so strong out there, and every time we went for a run interval you were quick and had plenty of pep! 💪)

We passed my friend Angela, who was gritting it out on the back half. She’s a much faster runner than I am, but she was originally signed up for the half marathon (and had trained for the half marathon distance), but she switched to the 50K a few days before the race (#FOMO). (I might have very much enabled this decision, lol) Seriously y’all, everyone give Angela a big shout-out and three cheers right now! Because she powered through the second half of that 50K on pure grit, heck yeah!

At some point as we were running together, Jorge said, “Liz, tell me a story.” And I lost my words! It’s strange — I can easily lead a large group presentation, or write for an infinitely large (but realistically very tiny, lol hi and thank you for reading this!) audience, but honestly? I struggle with conversations and telling stories on a whim. Maybe it’s social anxiety. Maybe it’s a lack of imagination. Who knows? All I know is my mind went blank. But Jorge filled the void. He recounted this lovely story of “El hijo de los pantalones” (the son of the pants) that he described as a Colombian Paul Bunyan story. He said his mother tells it beautifully, but personally I think Jorge did a spectacular job telling it in English translation via miles 20 to 26. There is so much beauty in stories told in oral tradition, from the cadence and repetition, to the tone and delivery, to the morals and themes of identity. And in our social media-driven society, we have started to lose some of those oral traditions. I grew up listening to cassette tapes of oral tradition stories — Aesop’s fables and Greek mythology and Native American legends and Tall Tales and Rudyard Kipling’s Just So stories — and I still find them enchanting. In middle school when we read Lois Lowry’s The Giver, we had a class assignment where we had to make up a role in society that we were assigned, and what the daily tasks looked like. And honestly, I very much wanted to be the Giver myself — the person who collects all the banned memories and holds them for perpetuity away from society. But since I was supposed to make up a new role, I invented The Storyteller — a corollary to The Giver, but instead of someone who collected all the banned memories and kept them hidden, I collected all the shared memories and made sure they were part of the collective conscious. I wanted to be the person who helped craft meaning and a narrative out of all those disjointed memories — to give purpose and place to all the uncensored experiences, and to make space for all the pleasure and pain that shouldn’t have been censored in the first place. And when I presented my idea to the class I just remember my teacher Mr. Elmore looking at me kinda hard, and then saying, “And I’m sure you can.” I was never quite sure what he meant by that, whether his tone was sarcastic (he often was sarcastic) or if he really meant it, but out of all the things I learned in seventh grade, I carried that memory with me.

We were about halfway through “El hijo de los pantalones” — the part where our hero is on his quest to find Lucifer 😈and bring him to the king — when we came across Gaetano. Gaetano had been looking so strong in the first half of the race, but we could tell he was in pain. We paused a moment to check on him, and passed around some chewable salt tabs that I carried. And then Jorge continued his story of “El hijo de los pantalones” and Gaetano and I were swept up in the tale, following Jorge’s voice into the darkness.

Jorge’s story brought us all the way to the downtown Farmville aid station, past the local brewery where several of our friends who had run the half marathon were sitting outside on the patio cheering us on. Angela arrived at the aid station shortly after us, fighting nausea and fatigue.

We pressed on, and this time Gaetano told a story of when he was a boy living in Haiti and he begged his nanny to take him to see one of the voodoo ceremonies next door to where he lived. After he told his story, we overtook a guy who joined our group, happy for some company, and we asked him for a story in exchange. He gave an account of a bachelor party for one of his best friends that was very reminiscent of scenes from The Hangover.* I still didn’t seem have my own story to share, but I was deeply grateful for the stories that everyone else shared with me. Something reminded me of the harpy from Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass (the third novel in Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy*). In this fantasy children’s book, Lyra (the girl protagonist) travels to the land of the dead to save her best friend. In the land of the dead, she meets the harpies, including a harpy named No-Name. Lyra, who is used to trickery and deceit to get her way, begins to weave a story to the ugly harpy, but she’s attacked. “Liar!” the harpy decries, and Lyra has to be rescued by her friends to get away from the harpies. But they’re trapped in the land of the dead, surrounded by infinite ghosts who long to get near the children and remember what it felt like to be alive. And so, in despair, Lyra sits with the ghosts, and begins to tell a story. A true story. Stories of the people she knew. Stories of the adventures she had. Stories of how the world tasted and smelled and felt. And when she finishes, she discovers it wasn’t just the ghosts who had been listening, but the cruel ugly harpies too.

Lyra and her friends demand answers of the harpies.

“When Lyra spoke to you outside the wall, you flew at her. Why did you do that?”

"Lies!" the harpies all cried. "Lies and fantasies!"

"Yet when she spoke just now, you all listened, every one of you, and you kept silent and still. Again, why was that?"

"Because it was true," said No-Name. "Because she spoke the truth. Because it was nourishing. Because it was feeding us. Because we couldn't help it. Because it was true. Because we had no idea that there was anything but wickedness. Because it brought us news of the world and the sun and the wind and the rain. Because it was true."

And the harpies lead the children through the land of the dead, to a place where the space between worlds is thin and the children and all the ghosts can escape. And in exchange, the harpies are tasked with keeping the land of the dead, and demanding stories from the ghosts that pass through the place. If the ghosts have lived and learned and can tell stories of their lives, then the harpies will guide them to the space where the ghosts can escape and become part of the collective goodness of the universe, atomizing and drifting apart, but “part of everything alive again.”

I suppose, then, it should come as no surprise that I deeply believe that stories can change lives. At least, I know very well how stories have changed mine.

As we approached the final couple miles, our conversation turned away from stories and toward random thoughts to get us to the finish line. A 5K left. A mile and a half. A mile. Look at the moon! It was nearly full and rose luminous and gold over the horizon. We passed Don who had paced others before us, and told him Angela was just behind us, and he said he’d wait for her and pace her to the finish. We got to the bridge and felt eager for the finish line. We ran into Susan, who had finished a while back and ventured back onto the course to admire the views and cheer on runners, and she reminded me to stop and look out over the edge of the bridge. By the light of the moon you could just make out the undulating hills, and here, there, all across the valley were fireflies winking in the dark. A whole river valley full of fireflies! Hundreds of golden lights flashing their own unique stories in their own cryptic code.

In the final few hundred yards to the finish line, Jorge had gained some space ahead of me, and I worked up my speed to catch him, to spur him on to a sprint finish. “Let’s go, Jorge! Kick it, kick it!” And all of those stories, all those thirty-one miles, all those miles and moments leading up to this, propelled me, and him, and Gaetano shortly behind us, and Angela and the Trottin’ Oxen and Adirondacks hot on our heels and all the runners who had come before us and all the runners who would come after us — today and forever — onwards and over the finish line.

The Finish

There was a large group of friends at the finish line waiting and cheering for us — a dozen or so people from the Fleet Feet Carrboro/Durham training programs were sitting or standing or kneeling by the finisher arch. We congratulated each other, we cheered, we sifted together and apart, a different set of twinkling lights communicating in the dark.

The finisher award was a keychain; I still get a laugh out of shorter races with medals the size of dinner plates compared to the unassuming (if any) mementos given out at most ultra races. But in all honesty, what are you going to do with a medal? (No, serious question! Answer: my medals hang on a rack in the bedroom and the only time I touch them is when I toss clothes across the room and miss the hamper and have to go peel a dirty sock off a medal. Don’t lie, I know you treat your dirty clothes hamper like a basketball hoop too.)

In any case, I was much too excited to see my friends, hear how their races went, cheer others coming in, hunt down some food, and hopefully get a shower and some shut-eye. And that’s exactly what I did, in roughly that order (which is why I almost forgot to pick up my drop bag and had to go back to get it, whoops. Crisis averted.) But all in all, it was a good race among great friends.

Nutrition

I spent some extra time at the aid stations this race since my primary goal was to train my legs and stomach rather than hit any particular time. I had already made a point of trying some gels that I hadn’t used before, including some new Spring Energy gels* and trying Huma gels* again (I’ve tried one Huma gel in the past, but it didn’t sit well. I figured I’d give it another try). Plus I made a point of refilling one of my flasks with Tailwind* from the aid stations, because I know I need more electrolytes and I don’t want to only rely on Gatorade that I carry (I’ve always had trouble with electrolyte drinks — Tailwind*, Nuun*, etc. — with the exception of Gatorade; I suspect it’s because I grew up drinking Gatorade playing soccer, so it’s just what my stomach is used to). There were a couple times I had a mild burning sensation in the back of my mouth (just a little bit of reflux and/or puke, lol) but I was able to keep it down and keep going. I figure if I keep training with different fuels and drinks then my body will learn how to use them.

Aid Stations and Course Conditions

The aid stations were all staffed by cheery volunteers — many of whom were from local organizations such as the Friends of High Bridge State Park, Pamplin Area Legacy Supporters, Prospect Volunteer Fire Department and Prince Edward Volunteer Rescue Squad. There were three aid stations along the course for the 50K that we came across twice:

Aid stations offered water and Tailwind, (and ginger ale and Pepsi, while those supplies lasted) as well as ice, and plenty of pre-packaged foods and foods offered in ziplock bags to minimize handling in these pandemic times. On the one hand, it’s kinda nice knowing your handful of potato chips hasn’t already been pawed over by other sweaty runner hands, but on the other hand I’m looking forward to the days when we can minimize trash and waste and go back to communal bowls for some of the party snacks. That said, this is a cupless race, which I appreciated and happily brought along my little silicone race cup for a bit of soda, and we filled our water bottles from the giant coolers of water and Tailwind. Occasionally there was a bit of a line to fill up with water, especially in the first half of the race when it was crazy hot and runners were coming into aid stations in larger groups, but that was part of the reason why the race director started runners in waves — it spread out the runners a little more at the start of the race and eased the burden on aid stations. And honestly I think the wave starts for trail races make sense even in post-pandemic times; I just wish there were a more convenient way to request being assigned the same wave as your friends (hey Ultrasignup! Hint hint feature request!)

Drop Bags, Crew, & Pacers

Drop bags were available at Prospect, and there were generous cut-off times for the return trip (with overall pace at the end of the race needing to be around 18:23 per mile). Crew were allowed at any aid station, and it looked like the aid stations were set up at road crossings with pretty easy parking and access points. Pacers were allowed starting at Prospect return trip (mile 17), which was a nice surprise since I don’t think I’ve ever done a 50K which allowed pacers, but it’s a good option for anyone who’s anxious about doing a night run.

Surface, Following the Course, & Night Running

As a rail trail, the course is pretty darn flat (I had 686 total feet of elevation gain across 31 miles according to my watch), and the compact gravel makes for a smooth surface (I ran in road shoes), so the 18:23 overall pace is a great option for any ultramarathoners who do more walking than running. And while you may do some or most of the course after sunset, it’s extremely easy to follow — there were only a few road crossings with the aid stations, and the only time we questioned where to go was at a road crossing in downtown Farmville on the return trip, but it only took us a couple seconds to get our bearings and spot where the trail continued on the other side of the road. (For future races, I might suggest a volunteer here for traffic control or just a sign pointing the way, since runners may not be thinking very clearly late at night after just completing marathon distance.) Since the trail is so flat and straight, it’s easy to see a bobbing headlight far ahead of you at night, which was both reassuring when running in the dark (you very rarely felt like you were out there alone) and kinda exciting on the back half chasing down competitors. Most people were friendly and happy to run together for a little while or a long while, and the added bonus of pacers makes this a great race for anyone who may be interested in overnight races but feels a little anxious about running in the dark.

Strollers, Dogs, & Accessibility

Strollers were allowed with prior communication with the race director and the caveat that it’s an ultra race in the South in the summer so it’s hotter than heck. But I did see a couple mother runners out there looking hella strong! For the same reason, dogs were NOT allowed (heat concerns) unless it’s a service animal with prior communication and extra considerations in place with the race director. I didn’t see anything about wheelchair options on the race website or registration page, but since it looked like there was an Ainsley’s Angels team on the course, and the compact gravel seems ADA accessible, then I imagine if anyone was interesting in pushrim (with appropriate setup for the gravel surface) that could be an option and would be worth reaching out to the race director.

Wildlife

This was a pretty tame jaunt through some rural areas of Virginia. Personally I saw what I think was a fox in the distance, a (non-venomous but not-impressed-by-all-the-runners) black rat snake, a couple raccoons (I think this was the first time I’ve actually seen raccoons out in the wild!), some deer, and LOTS of fireflies! Rumor has it though that someone saw a bear! As my friend Susan said, it was after nightfall and “I saw these 👀 in the middle of the trail and it was a large black animal on all 4 legs that really looked like a bear. It was quite a distance away. I blocked my light and it moved off the trail.” 🐻😍🐻 Needless to say, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t see it.

By the Numbers

Participation Stats

I pulled this info from the results page of Ultrasignup. There was no information on the DNS (did not start) or DNF (did not finish) numbers. However, I suspect the DNF numbers were very low (if any). Even though I still find the gender gap between males and females in ultra races shockingly large, this race has above average female participation (38% female participants in this 50K compared to the 23% female participant average for ultra races less than 50 miles).

Results Stats

I found it super interesting that across the board there were course records! Part of it may be due to better race weather than previous years — the high temps were only in the mid to high 80s, while in previous years it apparently can get into the low 90s for this race (I heard rumors that this was the coolest weather in the race’s history). The conditions were pretty dry (zero mud) and so all of this meant pretty fast times. Also can we just call out that the overall winner of the half marathon was a woman with a BLISTERING 6:47 pace?! I got to the half marathon turnaround point just as the top two half marathoners arrived, and the woman just blew past us! And the top guy arrived shortly afterwards, and as we cheered for them, the guy said, “oh my gosh! She’s SO FAST!” HELL YEAH, FAST WOMEN!

I finished in 6:22:53 which put me right around the average and median time overall.

Overall I had a lot of fun at this race! It wasn’t a very challenging course, but the summer night conditions were a fun twist, and it was such a thrill being around so many friends. (Friends! And races! In person! All together! It’s amazing!) It was well organized and I highly recommend this to anyone with some heat tolerance who wants to do their first 50K or get a taste for night running or just wants a memorable race!

Oh, and those gummy bears? I put them in my pack and carried them on the race, but they were in a pocket that’s awkward to get to so I never opened the packet until the next day when I was cleaning out my race vest. Turns out all the individual gummy bears had melted together into one big multi-colored gummy blob. Seems fitting, good chance I will still eat it. ✌️