Pre-Race
Seven years ago, we attended the Jay Peak Trail Series in northern Vermont. We went with our neighbors, another family of runners juggling small children and race bibs. Mr. P tackled the 25K (see photographic evidence below), while the rest of us—including the kids—opted for at least one 5K. Nobody dared to entertain the notion of running the 50K. How could we? Living at sea level in the Boston suburbs, training for a mountain ultra seemed as realistic as winning the lottery. We were far more prepared for the indoor water park at Jay Peak, climbing stairs for the slides instead of ski slopes.
My takeaway impression about the Jay Peak ultra had been that it was a brutal race, best suited for elite-level ultrarunners or masochists. In my mental filing cabinet of races, I filed it under “Nope Nope Nope”.
Then, 10 days before this year’s race, I received an Ultrasignup.com reminder email about a different race I was watching. At the bottom of the email, in the temptation gallery of upcoming races, the Jay Peak 51.3K was listed and I noticed it was the Sunday over Labor Day weekend, which is about when I was timing my big training prep for the Kilkenny 50-miler in September. 10,000 feet of elevation gain was a little more than I wanted to do two weeks out from a 50-miler, but logistically it worked and suddenly I was registered.
Race Morning: The Start
The Jay Peak trail series has a series of 5Ks on Saturday, and then on Sunday, the race distances are 11 miles, 22 miles, or 33 miles — how ever many times you want to complete the 11-mile loop (which used to be a 25K loop, 7 years ago). All runners line up for a 6:30am start time, shortly after sunrise (which was gorgeous this year and I should have taken a picture but I’m a bit burnt out on sunrise pics after 2020).
I arrived in the resort parking lot at 6am, having driven about 2 hours from our NH cabin, and picked up my bib in the tram cafeteria. I was the only one wearing a mask — surprising, because the last time I was in Vermont in Summer 2020, people were fanatical about masks. Frankly I was just trying to fit in as I didn’t feel at any point that there were any Covid risks with this race.
A mellow-sounding guy with dreadlocks made some pre-race announcements on a microphone right in front of the hotel, and then we lined up at the start and were off at 6:30am sharp. There were about maybe 100 runners so it felt low-key and relaxed.
Loop 1 (1-11 miles) (3 hours, 8 minutes)
The 11-mile loop starts with a 3 mile, roughly 2000ft climb to the top of Jay Peak. Most of the climb is in the woods, with rocks, roots, and stream crossings. We did venture out onto the ski trail mid-way and at first it’s nice to have a break from the technical terrain, but suddenly it’s a true nightmare of >30% grade calf-burning climbing up a ski trail.
At this point I was hiking easily and lurking behind a couple I actually knew from some other races. They are very sociable runners and bring a party everywhere they go, but I waited until that >30% grade climb to catch up to them and say hi. The couple remembered me and we chatted breathlessly the whole way up the rest of the mountain about races and our shared hatred of descending trail ladders in the White Mountains.
After we finally reached the aid station at the top of Jay Peak (where teenaged Jay Peak employees awaited with Gatorade and candy), the couple plus nearly everyone else around me bombed down the ski trail descent while I trotted daintily along, trying to preserve my quads.
At mile 4, another teenaged Jay Peak employee was directing runners under a hanging snow-making pipe onto another technical forest trail — the famed Long Trail of Vermont. This was the out-and-back section of the race (ie, the tail of the stingray). We descended about 1 mile and 700 ft to an aid station manned by middle-aged Jay Peak employees, and then turned around and climbed back up. There’s big rocks, little rocks, staircases, trees in the middle of the trail. Out and back Long Trail.
People around me were fading a bit but I kept moving, pushing as hard as I could while keeping my heart rate low. I spent the summer doing big hikes interspersed with many miles of Zone 2 running, so I knew finishing was certain if I kept in control.
After the Long Trail madness, miles 6-11 pretty much stick to ski trails and are relatively rolling. Some of the climbs feel somewhat gratituous but you’re on the ski trails, so there’s great views and easy footing. Somewhere along the way, there’s an aid station where inter-generational Jay Peak employees were frying up bacon, and I had a bacon/cookie sandwich, and then more climbing, more descending until I finally made it back to the start/finish. There were a ton of spectators that first loop — a lot of 11-miler finishers hanging out — and I felt pretty fabulous as they applauded and cheered. I grabbed some food from my drop-bag, ate pretzels, filled my bottles with Gatorade (a ton of Gatorade was drank that day), and headed out for Loop 2.
Loop 2 – Miles 11-22 (3 hours, 17 minutes)
The second loop started with the same monster climb, and this time, I passed a few runners on the steep ski trail. Near the summit, I caught up to a young woman who seemed to be struggling, only to see her perk up and push harder as we hiked together. She later thanked me for the motivation and then absolutely destroyed the downhill section like she had been conserving energy the entire time. (She was a 22-miler, and I envied her finish line proximity.)
Meanwhile, I started noticing the carnage. Runners around me were feeling the toll of the Long Trail climbs and the relentless terrain. The sun peeked out, and while the warmth wasn’t oppressive, the exposed ski trails made me regret skipping my hat and sunglasses. I kept things light, smiling at spectators, joking with volunteers, and powering through aid stations like a Gatorade enthusiast.
Loop 3 – Miles 22-33 (3 hours, 34 minutes)
The final loop was less about racing and more about mental grit. I had four and a half hours to finish, so I knew I could make it. Before I headed out, I changed my shirt and tried eating pretzels, but the Gatorade and cola was a lot more appealing.
I don’t think I encountered a single person on the third climb until the nightmare ski trail climb, where I passed another 3rd-looper. I got to the Jay Park Summit for the third and final time, and forced myself to masticate stale PB &J squares. Trying to be amusing, I announced to the teenaged volunteers, “I have no business being out here!” They laughed because it was funny only during the third loop.
It was around here I took the first and only picture of the race.
As I made the third and last descent of the Long Trail section, I encountered a younger woman hiker with a regal dog who gave me encouragement. She spoke with a Northern European accent. “Whatever you do, don’t quit! Don’t give up!” she implored me passionately, which was part amusing, part annoying that she assumed I was on the brink of collapse. But I loved seeing all of the hikers and especially an older couple who smiled at me and said I was amazing, because I felt pretty amazing.
By mile 29, I was in that “ultra tipsy” state where everything feels surreal and oddly euphoric. My body wasn’t thrilled, but my brain was in full-on “just keep going” mode. Something bordering on transcendent began to happen.
As the miles ticked away, I felt pretty confident that I’d finish in around 10 hours. I flew through the aid stations, stopping only to get more Gatorade. I wasn’t moving as fast at the second loop and could definitely feel soreness creeping into my quads, which made me more cautious on the downhills. I really could have used a turkey and cheese sandwich.
But eventually I made it. By then, the finish line area was pretty deserted and there was barely anyone to kindly clap for me as I crossed in exactly 10 hours. I didn’t care though, just happy to be finished. The race director gave me a finisher’s visor and a windbreaker.
Then a Jay Peak employee brought me two slices of pizza. He was wearing a Wawa t-shirt, so of course I struck up a conversation about Pennsylvania, and we chatted about how our respective lives took us from growing up outside of Philadelphia to the base of Jay Peak. It actually wasn’t the first time that day I had considered this life journey.
So, is the Jay Peak 33-miler still reserved for elite ultrarunners and masochists? Not anymore. I’m neither, and I finished. But make no mistake—this race is no joke. With over 11,000 feet of elevation gain (according to my watch), you need to be either well-trained or young and athletically gifted. Preferably both. The climbs never stop, and the descents aren’t much kinder. But if you’re up for a challenge, it’s one you won’t forget. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll get some pizza at the end.
