50 Miles Closer
Rainy Adkins ’23
My alarm goes off at 1:30 AM. I roll around, out from under my unzipped sleeping bag. It’s way warmer than I thought it would be. Some clouds blew in since nightfall, obscuring the stars and the full moon.
I loosely tie my sneakers, pull my running vest over my shoulders, and head towards the starting line. I am aware that I should be nervous– this is my first 50 mile race and the course is famed for its technicality and unrelenting climbs. Despite that, I feel at ease. Maybe it’s the early start, or my support crew cheering me on, or the friendly and colorful assortment of runners, or maybe it's my excitement to test myself doing my favorite thing in a new mountain range.
Mountains and running are so much the perfect pairing, it feels spiritual. I have been a firm believer that some landscapes deserve certain paces for adventure. Moving through mountain ranges requires time enough to recognize wildflowers, get feet wet in creek crossings, and have images of stunning peaks and valleys burned into memory. Running is the ideal pace for this. At a decent stride one can move up a drainage, over a pass, and down the other side of the basin in a day, waving at elk in alpine meadows, stopping to smell honeysuckle, all while outrunning mosquitoes. I found myself working up a mellow incline at this ideal pace, as the darkness of night began to soften.
Morning sun on the trail. Photo: Rainy Adkins
My headlamp illuminates the trail in front of my feet. As the sky brightens the shape of the canyon gains firmness, and the creek that's been bubbling beside me for the past four miles gains body. I see a headlamp through the trees across the creek and know that the mile 15 aid station is around the corner. Sure enough, I come around a bend to a glowing tent nestled in tall, deep-green undergrowth.
It’s 5:45 AM and I’m hungry for breakfast. I refill my water, grab bacon and cheese quesadilla pieces, a Belvita breakfast biscuit, an orange, and some Stinger packets. Directly ahead, I’ve got five miles of climbing up 4,000 vertical feet.
As I come out of the heavy forest by the creek, I breathlessly climb, pushing aside waist tall wildflowers, to the left of a cascading waterfall. The brightness before sunrise creeps up the sky, too fast for my liking. Soon the clouds are velvety pink, casting warm light onto the contoured field of flowers and dramatic peaks. At the top left of the basin, a creek falls off a face, glimmering in morning light.
In January 2022, I began training for this race. Over 6 months I ran nearly 1000 miles in the Front Range of Colorado and the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. Brutal quad-destroying climbs and rocky hamstring-strengthening descents prepared me for the 11,000 feet of climbing that the Palisades Grizzly 50 Mile race has in store. Running in snow, rain, ice and extreme heat toughened me up. I found the most supportive relationships in my life by running with badass people that pushed me to go faster and longer. Remembering all the work I put in before this race, allowed me to float over the mountains and glide along the creeks.
After 49 miles, I push through the last mile, willing my legs to keep running. I emerge from a wooded trailhead into a gravel parking lot with the finish 100 yards away. My pace quickens to a sprint up the final stairs.
I finished 50 miles in 13 hours and one minute, earning me second place on the women’s side and 8th overall in the Palisades Ultra 50 miler.
The aftermath. Photo courtesy of Rainy Adkins
After crossing the finish I stood around for a second. I didn’t feel done. Even after sitting down, unlacing my sneakers, and drinking cold water the glory of this race was not yet over. My recovery consisted of cooling my muscles in a river, eating chips, and drinking chocolate milk. All of which I did brimming with excitement and love for this sport and what it has to offer; the places it brings me, the people it connects me too, and what it teaches me.
