The Jed Smith Ultra: My First 50 Mile Race

 I was done. Finished. Kaput. 

After running nearly 40 miles, round and round a five-mile loop around the American River, my feet felt like they could carry me no longer. My calves spasmed in protest as I slogged along slowly. 

This wasn’t how I pictured my first 50-miler—the Jed Smith Ultra—panning out. Nine hours ago, around 7:30 a.m., things were so different. As I left the Watt Avenue Access parking lot behind, my legs felt strong; my breath smooth. The day was mine. 

I felt comfortable. 

Confident. 

Optimistic.

Boy was I naive. I should’ve been more suspicious by how smoothly the miles seemingly slipped by. I should’ve exercised more restraint when it came to my pace. 

But hindsight is 2020.  

Forty miles later, the tide had shifted. Drastically. 

Though the early evening skies were peachy clear, gray clouds had crowded my mind. My spirits were low, and I was convinced I could go no further. I hadn’t seen another runner for miles. And I was no longer optimistic about my chances of finishing the race. 

My pace had slowed substantially. Every attempt at running ended in debilitating spasms in my calves. So instead of running, I walked. And with each hobble, my chances of reaching the finish line before the cutoff time dwindled. I still had one more full loop to go before reaching 50 miles. If I wanted to reach the finish line before the cutoff time, I needed to run, but I didn’t have the juice in me. 

And then I heard a voice. 

“I thought I was the only one still out here,” the voice said. 

Paired with the sound of shuffling feet, the voice came from behind me. 

The blue-shirted man smiled as he passed by. I asked if he was on his final loop. He smiled and shook his head. “I still got one more to go, and I’m in pain, man.” Despite this, there was joy in his voice.  

And with that, he chugged along, beating his feet against the ground despite the pain, continuing towards the goal. 

I was amazed by this individual. Things felt so low from my perspective that to see someone so upbeat, so relentless was inspiring. 

I quickened my pace and soon, I was shuffling along. My only goal was to keep the blue-shirted man in my sights. So long as I could see him, I could keep running. I followed him up around the bike path to a bridge that led to the start/finish line. The final loop was within our sights. We caught up at the start/finish line. 

The blue-shirted man’s name was Tim, and it turned out the same thing was on both our minds when we arrived at the start/finish line. Would we be allowed to continue the race? 

As we sucked down ginger ales at the aid station, the race directors informed us we’d be allowed to continue and complete the final loop. Tim asked if I was up for us to do it together. Though tired, he seemed in much better shape than me. I nodded, my breath heavy.

“You’ll be back by six, right?” A race volunteer asked.

“By six, or a few minutes after,” Tim replied, sounding resolute. 

I wasn’t so certain. “I’ll try,” I mustered. 

And so we were off, racing against the sunset.

“Where you from, Greg?” Tim asked as we broke into a jog. 

And so a conversation began. 

I’ll be forever grateful to Tim. When I started that final loop with him, I felt emboldened. I learned that he’d been a runner for years before starting a business and falling into a sedentary lifestyle. He then sold that business, started running again, and lost 50 lbs. 

Eventually, Tim and I separated. As we neared the Guy West Bridge, my calves started seizing again. The only thing that made them stop was walking. I told Tim to go on. Like a true comrade, he offered to stay, to help motivate me to run on. I told him again to go on without me. 

Tim said that when he crossed the finish line he’d tell the race organizers I was right behind him. 

And with that, he shuffled away. Soon after,  I felt the tug I felt when I first saw Tim pass me just a couple of miles earlier. His tenacity was inspiring. It carried me along. It dragged me along actually. I was just a little slow on the uptake. 

Like before, I kept Tim in my sights. I'd run for a while until my calves seized up again and then I'd walk. Once they felt better, I'd start the process over. I did that for as long as I could. 

Eventually, Tim slipped around a corner and disappeared.

Still, his tenacity beckoned me on. About a mile from the finish line, I started running as fast as my protesting legs could carry me. 

‘

The parking lot where the start/finish line was set up was emptying when I arrived. The race clock had been taken down. 

I focused on a person waving at me. My girlfriend, Christina, smiled and cheered as I passed her. I told her that I thought I didn’t make the cutoff time. She said, “It’s okay. You’re doing it.” 

And she was right. Even if I didn’t make the cutoff time, I did do it. I was close to running 50 miles. I had achieved my goal. Official or not, I had achieved my goal. 

As I neared the start/finish line, I saw the chip timing mat. It was still set across the asphalt. And volunteers from the Buffalo Chips Running Club still staffed the area. 

They cheered me on as I crossed mile 50, their voices kindling to the flame of motivation burning within me.  

I was dead last, but I finished. 10 hours, 30 minutes, and 57 seconds later, I  finished running my first 50-mile race.