500

image from 2011 trail journal

It's August 2, 2011 on a rainy, crappy stretch of weather at 4000 feet, on the side of Garfield.
Barely leaving my tent for 2 days, I've almost drained my entire 10 day supply of coffee in just a couple days.
I'm writing in my journal. And thinking. And when a person has no computer and no tv and no radio and no other thing to focus on but trees and weather and rocks, one becomes a bit...obsessive.

During my Caretaker Summer I racked up nothing but mountain mileage daily, and became one with the woods. One of the best things about the job is coming off the mountain, and feeling how weird it is to walk on flat ground...kind of like when you jump on a trampoline, and then get off it and try jumping. That type of strange.

My routine was this: wake up and drink coffee. Chat with thru hikers and day hikers on their way out of the campsite.
Do radio check and weather postings.
Hike my face off and do any work necessary.
Come back to the site for afternoon coffee and journal before a new wave of trail-weary folks staggered in.

Something stirred in my head that summer. It rattled around, and continued to for years after. Before starting my job in the mountains, I had heard about a race in the mountains of Vermont.
It sounded so stupid.
500 miles of running up a mountain, then down a mountain, over and over again. 120,000 feet of gain. That is not a typo. That's Everest. 4 times.
But I couldn't get it out of my head. And as I honed my rock hopping skills and created an insatiable appetite for meditative, lonesome, long mileage, I decided that it needed to happen.

Here I sit 3 years later, less than a week away from the dumbest thing I have ever done: The Peak 500.
None of my multi day events come close to the difficulty of this, and I go in with absolutely zero bravado. A Deca Iron finish means nothing here. Nothing.

I am scared to death of the mileage and the unknowns, but also excited as hell about the mileage and the unknowns.
The short sleeps, the stomach problems, the downhills, the swollen feet and blisters.

What I cannot wait for is the silent evenings, seeing only what is in my headlight.
Watching the sun come up and feeling the energy of it lifting the spirits. Eating everything.

What will happen, will happen, but one thing is for sure, I will flow with the trail and battle myself and the human condition until the end.
Thank you all for your support and love. This has truly been a magical month.

kp