The Hardest Race I've Ever Run - Manitou's Revenge 54-miler
A 'Must Do' for the ultimate trail running enthusiast
Perhaps I could begin this whirlwind of a race recap with revealing the surprise by stating this may just be the most perfectly executed ultramarathon I’ve ever run; or take the opposite approach and foreshadow the insane difficulty with never have I raced a slower mile than number 37 on this course; or maybe combine the two approaches to allure my readers into the secrets of the mighty Catskill Mountains of NY and let you piece the puzzle together as my story unfolds. This is how I tackled the brutal Manitou’s Revenge 54-mile race:
After an unfortunate yet exciting trip up here to NY (click here for details) and a short shakeout run two days prior, I was feeling strong and ready to take on the course. My training was fueled by the mishaps of my last big event: In short, the Shadows of the South 50-mile race this past April (official recap to be posted later) was not at all the day I had hoped for. Plagued by compounding problems, I was happy to walk away with just a finish. I used Shadows, instead, as a learning lesson and was determined to not have those same issues ahead of this next big goal: Manitou’s.
By numbers, this race boasts ~17,000 feet of climbing over it’s 54 miles. It is on-par with half of the Ultra Trail du Mount Blanc (UTMB) course - 106 miles and 32,000’ ascent - arguably the most reputable ultra trail event out there, attracting the most talented trail runners from around the world. But let me not compare myself to those elites, for I will (likely) never be at the level to race alongside them at that venue.
My race weekend began with a rude plot twist with less than 12hrs before the start threatening to derail all my preparations with a dreadful DNS status - “did not start.” After grabbing my race kit, on my way to the bathrooms at packet pickup I stepped on what felt like a 3” cactus spike followed immediately by a sustained red-hot ember pressing straight into the thin, unprotected flesh of my right arch. Sure enough I had been stung by one of those giant murder hornets we all heard about amidst the peak of COVID last year - OK, it was actually just a yellow jacket but still the pain was immense. Fortunately, I was able to quickly apply Cortisone cream and take some Benadryl, special thanks to Charlie, the Race Director, which brought the at-the-time 8/10 pain level down to a 3-4. But I still was forced to limp around the rest of that evening either entirely on my toes or my heel trying not to apply pressure to my rapidly-swelling arch.
I awoke race morning at 4am after a nervous and restless night spooked by flashbacks and low points of other preceding races. The alarm was almost welcoming; it signified no more thinking. It was finally GO time. I scurried around the hotel room gathering all my stuff, throwing on my shoes and running down the stairs to hop in our carpool van like I was running late to catch the bus for my final college exam - all the while without even remembering that dreadful sting from earlier. I began the race promptly at 5:25am in wave six, 15 minutes after all the friends I was with took off in wave three. It would have been fun all starting together, but I also enjoyed watching them run off before me.
The first 3 miles of Manitou’s are slightly uphill on a paved road. Two other guys and myself took off hot at an 8:30/mi pace as if we were racing a road marathon to be concluded in 4 hours or less. This was not that. Shortly after we turned into the trails I let them go ahead to relax my heart rate and address a weird tingling sensation on my foot. While sitting on a rock no more than 40 minutes into the race someone passed by asking if I was OK - I respond comically yet concerned “Yeah I’m just trying to figure out why my foot feels asleep.” Well it honestly wasn’t until he questioned “Oh was it you that happen to be stung by the bee yesterday” that I even remembered the occurrence altogether. I chuckled and understood that this may or may not resolve itself, and hopped right back in the conga line storming up the mountain trying to just ‘shake it off’ and forget the tingly sensation even existed. I’d eventually run the entire race feeling like a pebble was stuck in my shoe using mind tricks and trail conversations to keep the sensation from stealing too much of my attention.
Manitou’s is a race with a much tougher back half then beginning, as told by the locals, so I was mentally preparing for that and not going too hard in the first 30 miles. Around mile 7 and climbing to the highest point of the course we reached this term I’ve dubbed as “Quest Grade” which refers to a trail similarly as steep as on the infamous Quest for the Crest 50k course (recap found here) - one of the toughest 50k’s on the east coast (and country). Quest boasts one of the hardest climbs I’ve ever done: 3100’ of difference in the first 2.5 miles of the race, or a sustained pitch of nearly 26%. Included within that climb there is a 0.3-mile section with 923’ of gain equating to almost a 50% grade for over a quarter-mile - Quest Grade. I’m no stranger to STEEP, and was actually almost ‘proud’ of the Catskills so far for qualifying to earn that description. The surrounding runners joked with me “oh this is nothing yet” and “just wait till you hit Devil’s Path”, “you’ve never been on a trail steeper than that” similarly to how I would tantalize virgin runners at Quest who didn’t exactly know what they were getting into. It was equally as ‘fun’ being on the opposite side of this friendly banter.
Once we summited and descended off the other side of this peak the course became tamer and easier to navigate - but it did leave me perplexed about what was to come later. I moved well through the next ~10 miles over rolling terrain focusing on output exertion. My mantra was still very much in the “protect and preserve” stage; no need to pull any strings or attempt anything stupid yet with still so much race left. I entered North Lake’s Aid station (mile ~17.5) feeling great and excited for the long downhill to the next checkpoint, which would ultimately be the fastest three (trail) miles of my entire race, dropping about 500’ per mile for each of them. I chatted briefly with Antel, who helped shuttle us to the start, and who was volunteering at some aid station’s along the course. He snagged this photo just before I ran off:
Following this incredible downhill to the lowest point on the course at Palenville Aid (mile 21.5) was now the longest single ascent of the day. A brief road section through a small neighborhood took us to the base of an old fire road and from then it was up, up and up. Complete with a false summit or two thrown in, this entire climb was about 6 miles and 2300’. It would take a full 2-hours out of my day, but it was shared alongside some other runners and went by fairly quickly. A rocky, technical descent from this summit brought us into Platte Cove at mile 31 which served as everyone’s drop bag location and half way point. Yes, only about 23 miles remained, but the time requirement to navigate these upcoming toughest miles is actually MORE than the entire first 50k!
Arriving into the aid I was welcomed, yet slightly surprised to see Chris and Marek, some of my friends from the area still there. They both started in wave three, 15 minutes ahead of me. Chris was just leaving as I had arrived, but unfortunately Marek had already dropped out. I took my time here, applying more lube, rehydrating, stretching, eating, repacking my pack, and preparing for the next stage - the hardest stage - of this event. The Devil’s Path. 7 miles with nearly 5000’ of elevation change was ahead, and all the hype about this section was about to unfold.
The Devil’s Path is like a trail from hell, if ‘trail’ can even be used as the adjective describing it - rock climbing route seems more appropriate. With some parts first ‘built’ over 100 years ago, there are NO switchbacks and no unnecessary deviants; it takes you up and over this mountain range in the shortest possible path thrusting you straight into the Earth’s contour lines in a complete perpendicular fashion that OSHA would probably veto if such an idea was proposed today. I can’t properly detail how steep and precipitous some of these sections were, and photos unequivocally fail to convey the first-hand imagery, cause in the absence of tree roots clinging to the shear rock faces we’d have nothing to crawl up ourselves.
Arriving to the top of the first mountain along this beast of a path, the actuality of our assignment became more apparent: even more formitable than I had expected. For every mountain we summited the next one emerged in view like a children’s pop-up book slowly and teasingly flipping page by page. As quickly - just a term used to try and convince myself I was moving faster than I was - as we climbed up a mountain we were climbing back down, because YES, that is most definitely the correct verb usage for each direction of travel, only to do it all over again.
Here I was left questioning the feasibility of traversing a high-line strung across the peaks, or why personal hang glider wasn’t a gear requirement for this race because surely either of those two alternatives would have been easier - and much quicker - than climbing down the one side and going straight back up the other. At times the descent was so steep that I was struck dumfounded and left trying to jolt my tired brain into agreeing that it actually was the correct way to go. I ultimately reverted to the ‘backwards’ approach to get myself safely down - imagine coming down a ladder, cause nobody, except the elite field that I’m fully convinced carry parachutes with them, would think forwards is the best way to descend. While on the way back up, I dug into the various rock climbing techniques in my arsenal to navigate the tricky terrain; crimp the bark, throw a heel, mantle off the face, press into the reach, pull myself up, take a breath. Where was a race photographer when you need one, cause in my mind “I looked like such a badass.”
Some supplementary online imagery helps to enhance my descriptors:
Just ahead of summiting the last mountain peak before our next aid station, I realized I was pretty dehydrated. I wasn’t yet feeling the effects of dehydration, but determined NOT to replay the dreadful Shadow’s of the South ending, I chose to sit on a rock for two minutes to rest for a bit and drink. Two sips in and my steady stream of refreshing fluids abruptly ended as if I began trying to drink through a pencil instead of a straw.
Not good
Over a mile was left to the aid, and although most of it was downhill, if my writing thus far has done its job, you’ll understand this is no 10-minute task. These past few, uphill AND downhill miles have ranged from 23 to 45 minutes over terrain barely considered ‘safe’ for rope-less travel, let alone ‘runnable’.
Just like the phone-a-friend lifeline in Who Wants to be a Millionaire’s gameshow when a contestant is at risk of loosing a large sum of money, I made a quick call to a good friend with much more trail wisdom and experience than I in hopes to receive crash course guidance on dehydration in what little signal I had through the trees. Except I wasn’t sitting in an air conditioned, technologically sophisticated urban arena in front of the iconic Regis Philbin questioning “is that my final answer.” I was 37 miles and nearly 12-hours into the hardest race I’ve ever run, painfully aware of my dehydrated state and without any fluids to remedy the situation. I only made out a few words on my call before it got disconnected, but in that brief time I just so happen to be crossing two hikers who fortunately overheard my plea over the phone: “I’m dehydrated and I’m out of water.” They ran back uphill towards me offering up an entire liter of crisp cold water that I guzzled all of in a matter of what felt like less than a minute. I thanked them, who I frustratingly forgot to ask their names, for providing me with the best “trail magic” I’ve ever been given. I continued on feeling like I had just won the million bucks making history on the gameshow for the first ever to do so trail-side. I soon started sweating again - a good sign - and began planning my in/out procedure when I got to the aid stop.
I’m normally pretty self-sufficient at aid stations - I’ve never had a ‘crew’. Perhaps that’s why I think I take so long - but typically I just grab the stuff I need myself, eat some food, replenish water and go off on my way. This time was different. There were a lot of To-Do’s with several volunteers and only one of me. Simply put, if I were to attribute the ultimate success of this race to one thing in specific, it’d be the amount of personalized care I received at Mink Hollow (AS6) after 38.5 miles. The volunteers here were AMAZING, fulfilling my requests no matter how obscure:
“Just noodles no broth. Wait the broth was good. A full cup of that next. Now another one also with noodles - please. I’m out of water in the bladder. Tailwind goes in the front bottles. I need salt. Bad. There’s a watch charger in my pack underneath my blister kit. Oh and I’ll need my headlamp in there too. My armpit is chaffed. Can someone put on more lube? I need more food, what can you pack? More potatoes please…”
All the while, despite being offered ‘here sit down’ I was doing air squats, jumping jacks and dancing around in circles like a bizarre game of Duck, Duck, Goose. I felt amazing and READY to knock out these last 15 miles. Frankly, I surprised the volunteers with my exuberant bursts of energy cause by that point in the race they were more accustomed to reviving the walking dead then trying to contain an unleashed and excited trail runner. Leaving the aid I stormed up the final 800’ ascent on the Devil’s Path to Plateau Point like a well-rehearsed choreographed dance with the rocks. I was one with the mountain and having the best day ever. Finally turning off the Devil’s Path I knew the hardest parts were behind, and that only fueled my desire to push harder. So I did.
At this stage of writing, I don’t actually recall anything from Aid Station 7, Silver Hollow Notch (mile 43.5) which is strange to me. Normally these are such iconic points in the race that I can typically recall, even several weeks after, the exact minute-makeup of the time spent at them. I know for certain, was that I was in full RACE MODE and running harder than I had at any other point in the race so far.
Author’s Note: Insert ‘goals’ paragraph here:
I had no idea what to expect for this race, but from analyzing my poor experience at Shadow’s (finish time of 17:15 for 56 miles) and comparing the nature of this much more difficult course, my ‘A’ goal was 16-18 hours; essentially match the finish time of that last race. My ‘B’ goal was a much more reasonable: finish before midnight (19 total hours). Though I must add, this goal was decided based off the 5am start time advertised on the website, not my 5:25am actual wave start. I still thought it’d be cool to finish within that day, so I stuck with it, even if it meant almost a full half-hour faster. Summary: A goal, 16-18h, B goal, 18h 35m.
Ten miles were left of the race. A ‘short’ 600-ft climb lead us to another pretty long downhill (almost 1500’) which put us at the bottom of our final significant ascent up to the last aid station. It had since been dark for a few hours now and midnight was approaching fast - I had already calculated that sub-18 hours was impossible. I crossed a dry creek bed and turned up the mountain one final time. Pole/pole/step/step, pole/pole/step/step. The rhythmic pattern of ‘tinks’ as the carbide tips of my poles struck the rocks served as my own metronome to follow using the lights and reflectivity of runners up ahead as motivation to reel in.
I soon caught up to the next runner, realizing it was Chris, who I had last seen at mile 31. I had already earned over 15 minutes back. Wow. After a short conversation I passed and continued my way upwards. The beginning of this climb went well as I even passed two additional runners, but as I kept climbing my pace steadily slowed despite my power output remaining at full blast. Maybe I pushed too early? Maybe I had depleted my reserves still with 7 miles left? I finally arrived to the last aid station, mile 48.5, gassed. I was told “just a 10k left” which really sounded more like 100k after 17.5 hours on my feet. My ‘B’ goal math didn’t work out anymore: 10k in about an hour with 500 MORE feet left to climb - or so I thought.
THE FINAL 6:
I trudged up the mountain making audible complaints as the grade kept getting steeper and steeper. We’d top out, go down, and then get hit again with another incline over and over like a possessed yoyo refusing to return to the hand of it’s thrower. 500 vertical feet had never felt more challenging. When I eventually reached the fire tower signifying the last of the UP, I was prepared to BOMB (relatively speaking) the downhill making up time as if my pummeled quads weren’t under complete retaliation - but no.
This section was 2.5 miles long dropping 2000’ over loosely scattered rocks and boulders more resemblant of a riverbed than a hiking/running trail. The path was well defined and easy to navigate in the darkness, but with every foot placement the trail itself got displaced: my feet acted like mini grenades blasting the loose rocks into the air to then be struck down against my heels and ankles. Nothing was stable ground and every landing threatened to either catapult me superman-ing into the night or yank my feet out from under me in a hellacious slide. For over TWO miles, it was awful.
The trail terminus arrived just as my exhausted body and mind reached their final breaking points. 1.2 road miles at a ~2% incline were left to the finish and I glanced at my watch. 11:49pm. 11 minutes till midnight. They say the marathon doesn’t become a ‘race’ until mile 20 - that no matter the preparation those final 6.2 miles will always test you to the very max. At Manitou’s - for me at least - the race didn’t officially begin till I hit that road with 1.2 to go. 11 minutes.
11 minutes may seem like eternity when running late and stopped in traffic on your way to a special event - or when you’re nervously standing before a crowd pitching an idea to hopefully rank highest among your competitors. But actually, 11 minutes is a very very short amount of time, for it occurs nearly 131 times per day and is gone within seconds when you’re affixed to a screen of auto-playing YouTube videos or stuck mindlessly scrolling social media. I had 11 minutes to finish before midnight and in the grand scheme of an 18.5 hour race, I might as well been trapped in the wormhole of funny cat videos then sitting in front of that pesky traffic signal. I embraced the last 1.2 like rounding the final turn of a tough track workout, when your body is fried but you still keep pushing cause the end is ‘ just right there.’
I took off sprinting into the night focusing on not anything but the finish. I shocked my heart-rate into zone five - anaerobic threshold - like being hooked up to an electronic defibrillator. I never looked at my watch this entire last stretch to not get discouraged if the time wasn’t working out in my favor. I pushed harder and harder until the very last second. I crossed the line with probably the most spectacular race completion the group of finish line party-goers had witnessed in the last several hours…
18:36:03 | 12:01am
I missed my ‘B’ goal. But you know what? That actually doesn’t even matter. I finished the hardest race I’ve ever run FAR from the worst I’ve ever felt - meaning I was able to push and actually RACE up until the very end - and for that, I’m damn proud. Could I have shaved off 64 seconds over the entire course of the race if knowing that’s all it would have taken? Surely! But the point is that I didn’t know, and instead raced only in the moment since that’s all we can ever truly do. I avoided former race issues by being more proactive, I addressed the current problems to the best of my abilities, and I ran and finished the most successful race I’ve ever run by focusing on just one step at a time.
More information about the Manitou’s Revenge 54 mile trail race can be found here:
https://www.manitousrevengeultra.com/