Jackie Milzman joins The Fellowship

I’m very honored to get to write about running The Ring. I feel very honored to have gotten to finish it. I have been enamored with the Massanuttens since December 2022. A friend had convinced me to sign up for the Waterfall 50k in January, and I’d been warned that it was a bitch, so at the end of December I went to the 211 parking lot where that event starts to check it out myself. In my first foray on orange, I climbed Waterfall and made my way across Kerns, entirely bewildered. When I finally got back to my car and cellphone service, I texted my running buddies asking, “how the f*ck do you run on that”, to which they replied by just laughing. But while I was entirely bewildered by it, I was also totally enamored with it. The idea of The Ring has been a bit of a pipe dream since that first running of Waterfall, but it took a bit of time to get enough training, strength, and confidence to feel like I might have a shot. Many months and miles later, here we were.

I’m not a particularly fast runner- I am usually solidly mid- to back-of-the-pack. I’d done many training runs on orange and they all put me around the 25 hour pace. I didn’t aim to be fast, the goal was just to finish. With that in mind, a friend advised me on a strategy: that was to take it easy in the first half; to walk all the uphills, even the PUDs; and to save my legs for the second half. I was warned that it would be a hot day as well, which it turned out to be, so doubly to take it easy and make sure I stay hydrated and salted.

I started out from Signal Knob and up Shawl on race morning at a solid pace. I got to chat with some friends as we climbed. I ran out of water about 11.5 miles in. My watch can be generous with mileage, and so it told me I had cleared where the Milford Gap aid should have been, but I checked the gpx file a couple of times out of an abundance of caution (paranoia?) and eventually arrived. Many, many thanks to the volunteers who hiked up all that water, Gatorade, pickle juice, and Oreos. I got refilled and delightfully doused with water, and was on my way.

I got to spend pretty much the entire next leg, to Camp Roosevelt, with Jim Harris. Running with people makes all the difference (“run” being generous- my run never ended up being faster than his steady hike- but still, the company). We talked about everything from running, to pickleball, to embroidery, to Alaska trips. As I got a bit more hot and a bit more tired I became less an active participant in the conversation and more of a listener, so I felt bad for him having to keep up more than his half of the chat, but his stories were so fun and the miles flew by.

It was so lovely to see folks at Camp Roosevelt. Thanks to all the aid station folks there. I was really trying to minimize my stopped time, so in just under 7 minutes, with a refill and some watermelon, I headed back out for the infamous steady climb up Duncan Hollow (aren’t they all infamous?). I’d been advised that these next 9 miles would feel like 15, but I was very excited - when I got to Crisman Hollow Road I’d be at the bottom tip of the loop, and all I’d have to do was make it up the western ridge. “Livin on a Prayer” played in my head a lot, getting to halfway there. A steady climb up orange to the gap at Stricklers Knob, and then thankfully, as I crested the top and started back down the other side, RAIN! I heard the thunder, and I don’t know if it was worse for folks who were up on a ridge, but coming downhill for those ~3 steady miles and under tree coverage, it was just the perfect amount to cool me down. It broke the humidity, it was so refreshing. Next came the schlepp up Waterfall - I think the context of it only being ~0.6 miles of actual climb helped. Waterfall is still a hike, but I’m better at it than I was two years ago. It can be hard to quantify progress sometimes, so it’s always reassuring to have a section feel easier than it was the last time you did it, to feel like we’re moving in the right direction, we’re getting somewhere. I broke it down into sections and breadcrumbed myself up it with jelly beans and before you know it, we made it! Up at the top, across some runnable flat and to the aid station at Crisman Hollow Road.

The aid station had friends, it had dogs, it had more lovely friendly volunteers. I joked that the dogs were like emotional support animals for the runners. Another quick stop to get refilled and for some food and I was off across Kerns.

This may sound weird, but I’d actually kind of been looking forward to Kerns. It is slow going and it is technical, but it’s also a brief reprieve from any big elevation changes. I did end up cursing the rocks by about halfway across it, but still, I was grateful for the bit of break. I had my first mild hallucination of the evening, seeing the turn left and down into Moreland Gap about a mile or so before I actually got there, but otherwise passed an uneventful glide across the top. The sun set at some point while I was coming across it, and the misting rain stopped.

Moreland Gap was lovely too. I wish I got names of aid station folks - they were so nice, and had yummy food! It was around 8:30p.m. My very sweet boyfriend, Aaron Rubin, had been bouncing from aid station to aid station throughout the day, meeting me at them for five minutes of moral support before I’d disappear into the woods again, and he said he would meet me at Edinburg Gap to say goodnight, then he’d have to go back to where we were staying and get some sleep. With that in mind, I really tried to book it across the next section as much as possible. Somehow, Short Mountain was harder in the dark than it had been during my reconnaissance run. I’d come out about a month prior to run that section from Moreland Gap through Edinburg Gap and up Waonaze, having never been on that part of the trail before, and in that training run really felt like Short Mountain wasn’t as bad as it had been hyped to be. In the nighttime, it was quite a bit harder. Every section was somehow unrelenting. But I felt so bad for my poor sleepy boo, and just kept going. A benefit also to not being particularly fast is that there’s time to see things I might otherwise miss if I were speeding along. In this section I got to see a tiny frog on the trail, and three wood mice.

An unfortunate thing had happened along the way to Crisman Hollow and beyond, which was the development of the worst chafing I’ve ever experienced. Blisters also had been forming on the feet, but holding steady, but one wrong step coming down from Short Mountain down to the fire road felt the one on the bottom of my foot pop, and from there it was downhill.

Edinburg Gap had some delicious soup, I believe a butternut squash? A pumpkin? I came in at 00:00:01, one second after midnight, which I was told was good luck. I changed shoes, exchanged tales of woodland creatures we’d seen, re-lubed, and took off. However, mistakes were made. I don’t know if it was swollen feet, or just tighter/newer shoes, but climbing up Waonaze, the heel blisters ripped open. I had packed some tape and bandages with me, given that the roving drop bag wouldn’t travel any further, so I got to sit myself down on a log halfway up that climb and try to fix them as best I could, but then had to take a wide bow-legged duck waddle stance to get up the rest of it because my heels were raw. Then came a largely runnable section that I’d been looking forward to, except I couldn’t get my legs to go. I tried to run, and they looked like they were just doing the motion of running. I repeated ‘robot robot robot’ in my head like a mantra, to remind my legs they’d done this before. We didn’t need to think about it, we knew how to do this, we just needed to keep the forward motion. They seemingly refused to go faster, but we plugged along. I knew that if we got to Woodstock Tower it would be downhill to Powell’s Fort, and then only 9 miles up and over to finish. The breakdown of the course and the aid stations in the second half was really mentally helpful for me to power myself through and talk myself into the next one. I will also say, it was a gorgeous night for running. The rain had long since stopped. The weather was cool and crisp. The clouds parted enough to see some stars. I could catch glimpses over either side of the mountains to see lights of the towns twinkling below. Even >50 miles in, in the middle of the night, there were these moments of awe, just getting to revel in how beautiful it was, and how lucky I am that I get to be here doing this. I got to experience alternating “ow this hurts why did I do this” with heart-filling “wow, this is amazing, I can’t believe I get to do this.” I made it into Woodstock Tower.

God bless the Woodstock Tower folks up at 4am, waiting for the tail end of the pack (it was me, I was the tail end). A good friend who’d been volunteering at an earlier aid station had set an alarm and come with another running friend and they were waiting for me there, just to cheer me on. The aid station had vegetarian miso soup, and donuts, and a fire and a chair. I hadn’t wanted to sit, I wanted to keep going and not lose the momentum, but it was so inviting. I think I spent the longest time at any aid station there, but still kept it around 12 minutes. I asked the aid station captain, this next section isn’t rocky, is it? Laughs. It’s all rocks. They told me to let Q know when I came through Powell’s Fort that I was the last runner, unless of course I passed someone on the way, in which case I should pass that along to them. I appreciated the vote of confidence. I asked about cutoffs but he reassured me that at ~4am I was a couple hours ahead of the cutoff and would have plenty of time to finish. Reassured, I took off.

The blisters and the chafing slowed me down so much. I kept trying to trudge along. So close to the end. I felt like, this is endurable for 8 more miles. This is endurable for 8 more miles. So I kept plugging along. I also kept almost catching up to the group in front of me. I’d see their headlamps up ahead, I’d get to within hollering distance, then I’d fall back. I just wanted to catch up so bad. It kept me moving. On the last downhill coming down to the fire road, my pace was unbearably slow. It felt like razor blades in my shorts and squishy from blisters when I stepped. I had slowed down so much that I’d started to convince myself that even with five hours, a finish wouldn’t be possible. Five hours to go 9 miles, but if I’m doing X pace going up and Y pace coming down, if I’ve slowed down that much, I won’t make it. There’s no point.

I came out of the woods and onto the fire road and headed down, starting to feel dejected and a little dumb about the thought of getting pulled at the very last aid station. I shuffled up to where I thought the aid station was supposed to be, and … no one was there. I couldn’t figure it out. I saw a parking lot, I saw a truck, but no people. I know I was the last runner - was there confusion? Did the other people think they were last? Did they pack up and leave me and now I had no choice but to go up and over, pace be damned? I got indignant. I sped up. Then I saw them - they were just further up the road. But the good news is my confusion and the temporary bit of indignation it had lit in me had spurred me forward. I came into Powell’s Fort Camp at 7am, just about on the dot.

I was a bit nauseous at this point too. Q was there offering almond butter and jelly sandwiches, which I declined, citing the nausea. He then offered some sour cream & wild blueberry strudel pie. It looked amazing - I took some. Holy shit. I don’t know if it was the being on my feet and moving for 24 hours at that point, or the taste of renewed hope and possibility, or maybe it was just a really good pie, but it was quite possibly the best damn pie I’ve ever eaten. I talked about my worry that I’d slowed down so much I wouldn’t make it, but was reassured that with five hours to go til the cutoff, I could more than do it. I’m again so grateful for people’s experience and confidence. I thought, if he said I could do it, then I can do it. I can do anything for 8.5 miles. So off I went. I was told that the second to last runner had just left too, so I could possibly catch her and her pacer.

I took off at a much faster pace than I had been clocking on the previous leg. I just set my jaw and trudged. I kept reminding myself that I can do anything for 8.5 miles. I powered through as fast as I could up Signal Knob. I could see the runner and pacer in front of me; I was getting close enough to hear their conversation. I saw them climb the last steep segment then disappear on the trail that branches off to the left for the overlook, and I just kept following. Finally, up, to the left, out to the overlook, and then it was just to go across the top past the signal tower and down the other side.

I know there’s no crying in baseball, or trail running, but at mile 67 I did. Tears of gratitude, relief, pride- all good feels. I don’t think I honestly thought I could finish this race until that point. But with the miles ticking away and the buffer of time/pace before the cutoff expanding, that was the point I knew I would make it. I still honestly can’t believe I did it.

The last 3 miles or so coming down Signal Knob to the finish, no one had warned me about - how my feet covered in blisters would feel stabbed with every step on those rocks, but I don’t care. Every step was doable at that point. I passed a couple groups of hikers in the last couple miles, and each of them said the same thing - “they’re waiting for you down at the bottom”. In addition to the growing joy of actually getting to finish it, it was heartening to keep hearing hey, there’s a group down there waiting for you. It filled my heart up so much, that not only would I get to finish this insanely difficult race, but also, that people are there waiting for you and the other runner left, to celebrate together. I so appreciate every single person who stayed til the end to welcome in the back of the pack. Coming in and getting cheers and hugs meant the entire world.

So many thanks to Lauren and Daisy for an amazing race. It was great seeing them and their smiles at the different aid stations coming through. So many thanks to the folks who manned the aid stations, including the delicious breakfast at the finish line. So many thanks to the other people I got to run with, for getting to pass the time together. So many thanks for my friends and boyfriend, meeting me at aid stations and cheering me on, telling me I could do it when I didn’t believe it, until I did. This is such an individual thing and at the same time I’m so grateful to be part of such an amazing community. I’m possibly even more enamored with these mountains today than I was before I started, so immensely mind-blown and proud of what my body and mind can do, and so very very grateful to get to be a member of The Fellowship.