WINDSOR, Mass. – The range of emotions I’ve experienced during nearly 12 years of running trail ultramarathons runs the gamut from elation to extreme exhaustion, optimism to dread, confident and determined, to concerned and a bit scared, to almost always ending with a sense of fulfillment.

If you’ve been in this sport long enough then you’ve likely had your own run-ins with all of these and more. Heck, you may have experienced them all if you’ve run a single ultra, depending on the course, the conditions, the distance and countless other factors.

Still, as I lay on a mattress in the back of the Subaru on Saturday afternoon, July 8, knowing my run at the Notchview Ultra was likely finished, I felt something that I’ve never felt before at an ultra: I felt empty.

Not in the sense of “emptying the tank” and leaving it all out on the course – I’ve done that several times, including once to the point that it landed me in the emergency room (but that’s another story). No, the emptiness I felt was because I had so much more to give – and so much time left to give it – yet the right decision at the moment was to stop. That decision wasn’t entirely mine to make; my right hamstring made it for me and then waited a couple hours for me to come to an agreement.

The result was a DNF, though the feeling of emptiness didn’t have anything to do with calling it a DNF itself. I’ve DNF’d a few times before, and I’m sure I will again. I certainly knew that was a possible outcome at Notchview. The event provides many time-based options (72-, 48-, 24-, 12- and 6-hour races) where you earn credit for whatever distance you complete. The lone offering where DNF is in play is the 100.7-mile race – complete 53 trips around the 1.9-mile loop course and achieve the distance, or it’s a DNF. That’s what I signed up for because I wanted to go the distance, 100 miles or bust. It’s something I’ve never done before and I didn’t want to give myself any offramps. The 100.7-mile race at Notchview also gives you 72 hours to finish; I wanted to do it in less than 30 hours which meant no sleeping, just efficient aid station breaks and relentless forward progress.

I hadn’t always wanted to run 100 miles. When I first started running trails in Kansas City in the summer of 2010, I thought the ultra folks around me were crazy. Then I became one of them in 2012, first running the Psycho Wyco Run Toto Run 50K in single-digit temperatures in February, and then the Silver Rush 50-miler in Colorado that summer. Still, running 100 miles really didn’t interest me or seem like something I wanted to do until a long bout with chondromalacia from 2018 through most of 2019 sidelined me from running for nearly a year. I spent most of that time going to physical therapy and rebuilding myself from the ground up. It was during that time that I signed up for the 48-hour race at the 2019 Notchview Ultra, using the event as a carrot to dangle in front of me to feel like I was training for something so I would be a good PT patient. During that year’s race I slept each night, didn’t run a single step, but hiked 43 loops for 81.7 miles – the most mileage my legs have ever given me at any event. It was during my long hikes preparing for Notchview that year, and ultimately my participation in the event, that I started feeling the desire to run 100 miles. I couldn’t run, yet I was dreaming about running farther than ever.

I wanted Notchview 2023 to be a full-circle moment where that dream became reality. I arrived at Notchview with plenty of doubts in my mind. Training had not gone according to plan. My old knee issues flared up twice and forced me to back off for a few weeks each time, including during what was supposed to be my final build-up. Still, I’d run more miles up to that point in the year than I had since 2017 and already finished two ultras this year, so I was optimistic that if I was patient and managed my nutrition effectively then I could achieve my goal.

Everything went according to plan for the first 19 hours. I ate and took salt every other loop; I kept a buff full of ice on my neck to keep me from overheating in the 80+-degree temperatures; I hit 30.4 miles in a little over 7 hours; 49.4 miles in 13 hours; and 62.7 miles in 17:35, just in time for sunrise. I’d avoided my most common pitfalls – dehydration and poor nutrition. I’d had zero cramps and my stomach was consistently calm. The next two loops went as smooth as those prior, putting me at 66.5 miles in 19 hours. Shortly after that, the right hamstring hijacked everything. There wasn’t a specific moment – some bad step or stumble that I can pin-point – but it was definitely strained. It was manageable for a few more loops at a slow hike, but it continued to deteriorate, alternating between a dull ache and a sharp pain until weight-bearing became difficult. After 76 miles, 40 loops and 23:36 expired, the writing was on the wall.

It took about an hour sitting in a chair and another hour laying in the back of the car for reality to sink in. That’s when the emptiness crept in. All the things I thought might set me back never happened. My knee was sore from the mileage but generally fine; my stomach was good; my energy level was better than expected, and my mind was set on finishing. The hamstring was an unexpected plot twist, but it was a showstopper.

My wife and I headed to a hotel so I could give the hamstring an Epsom salt soak and some rest in hopes that it would quiet down enough for me to return the next day and finish. The next morning, I couldn’t fully extend the leg and weight-bearing was still too painful to attempt to continue.

Rather than heading back to Notchview, we headed home.

My mind was in full pity party mode when the drive began, but during the course of the next two hours my thoughts drifted back to Notchview and all that I’d experienced pre-hamstring calamity. Soon, the emptiness I felt began to fade.

I reflected on the true beauty of the Notchview Ultra, which stems from its 1.9-mile loop course. Rather than a mind-numbing experience as some might expect from circling the same small loop over many hours, the course is inviting and allows runners to connect regardless of speed or ability. The front-runners, back-of-the-packers, and folks somewhere in between constantly cross paths and have endless opportunities to share a lap, some conversation or words of encouragement. I savored those connections in real-time, and now the memories cheered me up.

I thought about Alex Cabrera, the first person I spoke to upon arriving at Notchview. We first met at Ghost Train a few years ago when he was volunteering and crewing for friends while I was covering the race. In the years since, we’ve crossed paths many times and he’s always someone I look for and hope to see. We ran the first loop of Notchview together, which set the tone for an upbeat race.

I thought about Mike Caristi, who Alex introduced me to and who crewed for me until my wife arrived in the evening, and continued to check on me after. He was always positive, eager to help, and a friendly face each time I passed through the aid station.

I thought about Joseph Devino, who graciously let me stash my gear under his pop-up tent, shared some miles with me, and even had a cup of hot tea waiting for me at the aid station when I arrived around sunrise Saturday morning – all while on his way to a 108.3-mile performance in the 72-hour race. Joseph is just 14 years old, and he already embodies so much of what makes this sport appealing to so many people. He’s welcoming, generous, and kind. He just happens to also be a pretty darn good runner!

I thought about Yuki Chorney, who I’ve known for years through my reporting for MassUltra, but never formally met until Notchview. Few runners radiate positivity quite like Yuki, and I was thankful to finally get to know her, share some miles, some laughs, a bear sighting, and lots of words of encouragement.

I thought about Alex Bancroft, a longtime race director for the Berkshire Ultra Running Community for Service’s (BURCS) Vegan Power 50K and Free to Run Trail Races, who is one of the great “givers” in our community. We’ve shared many conversations during the past few years, but never any miles on the trail. That changed when our paces overlapped midway through one of the loops, and it made for some of my favorite mileage of the weekend.

I thought about Claire Robinson-White, whose name I’ve typed in results and recaps several times during the past few years, but who I’d never actually met until our paths crossed around 30 miles into the race. Our loop together was one of the most uplifting of my race as she told me about her journey from brain surgery to ultramarathons. She has surpassed the 100-mile mark more than a half-dozen times at ultras, and this year she pushed through the rain and mud to achieve a new personal record of 165.3 miles. I was thankful to share about 1.5 of those miles with her.

I thought about Judy Proteau, who I met a few minutes before the race began. Judy had 100 miles on her mind, which would be even more impressive barely a month after her sub-24-hour 100-mile victory at the Chesterfield Gorge Ultra. She suggested we connect on the trail for some overnight miles, and sure enough that’s just what we did. After a few lonely loops in the dark around midnight, I encountered Judy by headlamp and we kept each other company for a few miles along her way to another successful 100-mile effort.

I thought about Eugene Bruckert, a true legend of the sport and gentleman on the trail. At 88 years young, he completed 101.127 miles just three weeks earlier in the 72-hour race at Six Days in the Dome. Notchview was his recovery race. We shared words of encouragement throughout the weekend each time our paths crossed, but it was a moment around 2 a.m. that really stuck with me. As we neared the open field at the end of the loop, Gene gazed up at the clear, starlit sky and marveled, “Isn’t this spectacular?” Indeed it was. It’s worth savoring those simple–yet special–moments that most of the world misses while asleep while some of us are out running through the night.

Speaking of running through the night, I thought about seeing Lee Pellerin and Keith Bourassa zip past me time after time with seemingly fresh legs because they were moving so fast on their way to sub-24-hour 100-mile finishes. I thought about Taylor Verville and how swiftly she passed me several times on her way to an astounding 237.5 miles in the 72-hour race. As fast as they were going, Lee, Keith, and Taylor all took time to offer words of encouragement to myself and other runners as they passed, keeping the good vibes going.

I thought about the conversations I shared with several other folks in the night, whose names I didn’t catch and faces I couldn’t see in the dark but who nonetheless made my weekend more memorable.

I thought about Marie Gryszowka, who turned in yet another 100-mile performance at Notchview while also volunteering before and during the race. If a BURCS race is happening, Marie is sure to be there, sometimes piling up the miles but always doing behind-the-scenes work that makes these events happen.

Finally, I thought about Benn Griffin, the BURCS’ ringleader and RD for several of its races, including Notchview. I thought about the energy he brings to each event, the thought and care he puts into making sure each race is special and every runner feels welcome.

Benn has built an incredible community, and the quality of people he brings together is simply tremendous. I was fortunate to share moments and miles with several of those people during my race. I’m thankful for all of them because the time we shared on the trail – be it for a few minutes or a few miles – allowed me to reframe my disappointment and instead remember Notchview with a full heart.