Old Dominion 100 (2023)

Photo: Karsten Brown

My alarm went off at 2:40 AM, but it wasn’t necessary. I had been tossing and turning in my tent for over an hour before the alarm. Maybe it was a combination of anxiety and excitement, or maybe it was due to the intense focus on the goal ahead. This wasn’t my first time here, but this time, I was ready to do whatever I needed to ensure a different outcome.

At 4 AM, the gun was fired, and we all ran into the pre-dawn darkness, making our way around the track, out of the fairgrounds, and into downtown Woodstock. We cut through the streets, made our way out of town, and before long, we were climbing up to Woodstock Gap.

On this specific climb, I ran into John, a very friendly guy who reached out to me weeks before the race to give me tips and suggestions on how to run this race better. He came across my blogs/videos, saw that I DNF’d at Old Dominion back in 2021, and wanted to help me see this one through. I thought it was awesome of a complete stranger to go out of their way to try and help another runner, and I was hoping that we would get a chance to connect once out of the course. We shared a few miles, chatting about how we felt, our strategy for the day ahead, and offering suggestions to some of the other runners within earshot.

After we reached Woodstock Gap, I started to pick up the pace on the descent, and soon I was running by myself. I continued to run strong all the way through Boyer-In, and until I reached the first section of singletrack. Shortly after getting onto the trail, you encounter a steep climb, and I chose to power hike this one with purpose. I passed a few runners as I made my way up to the ridge. I ran down the other side, taking it easy on the descent to ensure I didn’t roll an ankle early on.

As I emerged from the forest and back onto the gravel road, I was confused to see Olivier Leblond up ahead. Olivier is an elite runner who has finished Old Dominion 9 times, often winning the race or placing in the top 3. Was I pacing too fast? Was Olivier having a terrible start? Why were we this close to each other on the course, 14 miles into the race? I tried not to overthink it and continued focusing on how I felt and sticking to my strategy.

I reached Boyer-Out, refilled my bottles, and grabbed a few snacks. I wasted no time, and I continued on.

I eventually caught up to Olivier and decided to strike up a conversation. I learned that Olivier was set on earning his 10th Old Dominion finish, and if successful, he’d be given a special 1000-mile silver buckle at the awards ceremony. I also learned that Olivier had no intentions of pushing himself too hard—he just wanted to finish sub-24 hours and enjoy his race. Me too, Olivier, me too…

We got to 770/758, and they were cooking up bacon, among other things. I crushed a handful of bacon, drank some electrolytes and a little soda, and refilled my water bottles. It was starting to warm up.

As we winded through the countryside, I was pacing close to another runner, Red, who I started chatting with. Red was in the middle of through-hiking the Appalachian Trail but left the trail to run the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning—which begins with the Old Dominion 100. I was amazed and inspired by his ambitious goals.

The miles continued to roll by, and the sun rose in the sky. We made it to 803/678, I took a wrong turn, but the volunteers quickly got me back on course (thank you!). We made it to St. David’s Church, and it was getting even warmer. By the time we reached Creekside (28.5 miles), I realized that we were pacing well ahead of where I was at this point back in 2021. One objective for the day was to run the first 50 miles more aggressively to avoid the 75-mile cutoff and give me more time on the second half. So far, so good.

I was going to Four Points #1 when I saw a familiar figure in the road up ahead. “Is that my Mom?” I asked out loud. “Is that my son?” she asked me. My Mom had made a surprise trip from New Jersey to find me during my race, see me in my element, and crew me at some of the accessible aid stations. I couldn’t believe it, and I was grateful for it.

I didn’t waste too much time at Four Points #1, but I did have a delicious cheese quesadilla, among other things. I drank a bunch of electrolytes and applied ice to some key areas (my wrists, neck, and in my hat) as the heat was beginning to become a factor. I told my Mom where I’d be next and how long it should take, and then I set out to conquer the next section of steep climbs and singletrack.

I caught back up to Olivier and began mimicking his strategy during this section. If he was hiking, I was hiking. If he was running, I was running. If he dodged a timber rattlesnake, I dodged a timber rattlesnake. We got to Peach Orchard, a limited aid station because it’s supplied by volunteers on horseback, but the water and Gatorade were more than welcome—I was thirsty!

We continued to climb, reaching the highest elevation point in the race, and then made our way back down the mountain, running strong most of the way until we reached Crisman Hollow Rd. (the first weigh-in). I hadn’t dropped much weight, but I was definitely feeling the effects of the heat. I covered myself in ice again and tried eating some fruit but struggled to find my appetite. I drank more calories and ran out of the aid station for the next few miles until I reached Four Points #2.

My Mom was waiting for me at Four Points #2, and she helped me gather everything I needed. I regained my appetite and crushed two more cheese quesadillas and some soda. I refilled my water bottles and considered taking my shoes off because I was becoming concerned that I was developing some blisters. I decided to wait until I reached my drop bag at Edinburg Gap because I knew I had socks and a first aid kit waiting there for me. I told my Mom to meet me at Edinburg Gap and gave her an estimate of when I’d be there. And then I took off.

I was 3 miles away from Mountain Top, which is just beyond 50 miles, and I was about 9:45 into the race. I was pacing so well.

I reached Mountain Top, soaked myself with the sponges they had in a big bucket of water, covered myself in ice, and took two ice pops to go. My body felt like it was cooking, but I was still moving well and feeling good.

As I was approaching Edinburg Gap, I got anxious. In 2021, this was the point where everything fell apart for me. This was when I got sick to my stomach, and the quitter within got a little too loud. But this year was different. I was taking the heat seriously, staying well hydrated, and managing the voice inside my head. I made it to Edinburg Gap, stomach contents contained, and took a quick seat for the first time in the race. I got my drop bag, took off my shoes, and was impressed by the size of the gnarly blisters on my toes. I took a safety pin from my bib, cleaned it with an alcohol swap, and poked a few blisters to relieve the pressure, pain, and fluid. I laughed it off as my Mom stood there disgusted, but in reality, this was going to be a painful factor for the remaining 44 miles.

I left Edinburg Gap, and Red had caught up to me, so we began the ATV trail section of the race together, which was great because this section sucks, and having company makes it better. We shared in each other’s misery and amazement with how well we were pacing. We made it to Peter’s Mill Pond, chugged some soda, ate some watermelon, and continued to Little Fort, occasionally stopping to let a Jeep or ATV pass by.

When we entered Little Fort, I fought back emotion. In 2021, I entered this aid station intending to drop, feeling completely defeated. But here I was, still moving strong and focused on the goal. I was so proud of how well I had been managing my race thus far and the improvements I had made. However, besides the blister problem, chaffing was becoming a growing distraction. I lathered my raw areas with a healthy handful of Vaseline, cleaned off my hands, and tried to eat something, but my appetite disappeared again.

I left Little Fort, and I started to cry. It was a mix of overwhelm with what still needed to be done, pride about what had already been accomplished, and a sense that I wasn’t alone at that moment, even though I was all by myself. Hard to explain, but the release felt so good and appropriate at that time, so I just let go.

I continued to run when I could, but I was beginning to slow down. I had banked a lot of time in the first 50 miles, so I wasn’t too concerned. But as I approached Mudhole Gap, I noticed I was entering my first true low of the race. I was nauseous, my blisters were getting worse, and my internal temperature was all over the place. I entered Mudhole Gap, took a seat, and took a few minutes to regain my composure. I took my shoes off and popped a few more blisters. I sat for another minute, and then I got up, grabbed a slice of pizza for the trail, and set off into the woods.

I did my best to stuff the pain and began running again on any flat or downhill section. I was hellbent on reaching Elizabeth Furnace (75 miles) before dark. In 2021, I missed the midnight cutoff at Elizabeth Furnace. This year, I reached Elizabeth Furnace at 8:30 PM—a marked improvement. The sun was setting, and dusk was upon us. I couldn’t eat, but I knew I needed caffeine to make it through the night, so I struggled to drink a Red Bull on ice but took the time to do so. My Mom was there, and she was getting a first-hand experience of the brutality of ultrarunning. I let her know that I’d be making it to the finish in 7 hours or less and told her I’d call her when I was back in Woodstock and a few miles from the finish so she could meet me there. I put my headlamp on and made my way up to Sherman’s Gap—the most challenging section of the race.

Heading up to Sherman’s Gap was brutal. My feet were battered, my stomach was unsettled, I felt dizzy, and I struggled to control my breathing. The climb got steeper, and the glowsticks marking the trail seemed to go up and on forever. I continued to put one foot in front of the other, each step harder than the last. I got passed by a couple of runners on this section, jealous of their trekking poles but still glad I chose not to use them. The wind was picking up, and it made for an eerie vibe. The rain began, and although refreshing, I didn’t want to slow down too much because my body felt cold. I reached the top of Sherman’s Gap and threw up shortly after. I was 80 miles in at this point, so I wasn’t too concerned, but I was hoping that the nausea would subside quickly so I wouldn’t have to suffer through that for 20 more miles.

I made it to 613T, the unmanned aid station, but no water was left—only soda and candy. The thought of soda or candy only worsened my nausea, but I could have used some water. I was fresh out but only had one choice: keep moving forward to Veach East.

I arrived at Veach East, and the volunteers could tell I was struggling. They offered me broth, burgers, and other food, but I couldn’t entertain the idea. I chugged water, drank more electrolytes, and drank some ginger ale. I thanked them for their support and ran out of the aid station as best as possible.

When you leave Veach East, you have to deal with another semi-technical climb, but in comparison to Sherman’s Gap, it doesn’t feel too difficult. So, I pushed on, completed the climb, and ran the descent all the way through until I got to Veach West.

My appetite returned at Veach West, so I ate some bacon and an avocado quesadilla and drank more electrolytes. Julia, a crewmember for a different runner, was there, and she offered to help me with whatever I needed. She recognized me from earlier, and apparently, she and my Mom became friendly at some of the previous aid stations. She filled my bottles and gave me some kind words of encouragement. Her runner, Patrick, entered the aid station, so she quickly shifted gears to help Patrick as I gathered myself. We were at mile 86.5, and it was approaching 1 AM. We had 3 hours to cover the final 13.5 miles.

I left Veach West and was running the country roads back to 770/758 by myself. I started crying again, mainly because I knew I could make the sub-24-hour finish, but it would require a lot of pain and effort in these last hours. I was so proud of how the day was unfolding for me, but I was so exhausted. I saw Patrick’s headlamp behind me as I entered 770/758, and I heard Julia’s voice cheering us both in. She helped me again before Patrick arrived, and I drank more ginger ale. I was done eating at this point. The volunteers told me it was 3 miles uphill and then 7 miles downhill to the finish—10 miles to go.

I hiked all 3 miles uphill as Patrick passed by me. We exchanged some encouraging words and ensured each other that we would make it. Then I watched his headlamp disappear up the hill. I kept looking at my watch, doing mental math about when I’d need to push and how lenient I could be with my walk-run strategy. I eventually reached Woodstock Gap #2, and the volunteers told me I needed to move if I wanted to make it. I took their advice seriously and began bombing the descent from Woodstock Gap back down into town. I was running 9-minute miles down the mountain, grunting and groaning the whole way down.

As I reached the bottom of the mountain, I caught up to Patrick, and we continued to encourage each other through our suffering. Another runner caught up to us, and now the three of us were entering town together, greeted by the cheers of volunteers and crew at Water St. We ran past the aid station and continued into town, only 3 miles from the finish. Patrick picked up the pace and called out directions back to us to help keep us on track, and I continued checking my watch to keep myself honest.

About a mile from the fairground, I saw the same familiar figure—my Mom standing on a hill with a sparkler in hand, cheering us on and following me along the way. As I entered the fairgrounds, I realized I had less than a mile to go and 20 minutes left for a sub-24-hour finish, so I decided to walk it in with my Mom. We walked the final lap around the track together, talking about what a crazy day it had been and joking about random things. We walked up to the finish line, my Mom stepped aside, and I crossed the line in 23:52.

I earned my buckle, and redemption never felt so good.