Race Report: The RAF 50k
The overlook at Coopers Rock State Park, West Virginia.
Saturday, October 7, 2023 — Coopers Rock State Park, West Virginia
It’s a dark and chilly morning when I pull into the parking lot at 6 a.m., but already the good folks and volunteers representing the Robin Ames Foundation are bustling about in preparation for the day’s events.
The 2nd annual RAF Trail Series features a 1-mile Fun Run, 5k, 10k, 25k, 50k, 50k Relay, and virtual options for most events. It’s an impressive lineup. But the draw, for me, is the fact that the races loop through the beautiful Coopers Rock State Park. The trails boast everything from single track to wide and well-maintained paths. It’s a runner’s delight, and I’m itching to get started.
I signed up for the 50k a few weeks back. I have an ambitious 2024 planned, so I need to start hitting the trails more often. I recently moved from the mostly-flat North Dakota to West Virginia, so I could start graduate school at West Virginia University. I was a bit foolhardy when I got here, thinking I could handle the trails just fine. I was humbled during my first trail race last weekend, the Run Wild 20 Miler. I got pretty beat up during the race. But along with the cuts and bruises, I discovered a newfound love for the rocks and roots and dirt of the Appalachians.
Before last weekend, I would tell anyone willing to listen that I loved running because I could checkout and process my thoughts and frustrations. Now that I’ve begun hitting the trails—an activity that requires intense focus on the path ahead of you, so you don’t trip and fall and get injured—I’ve realized I love the dirt more than the road because, instead of checking out, I have to be completely in the moment. It’s a nice change of pace, a meditation. And I’m addicted.
The 50k kicks off at 6:45 a.m., just before the sun comes up. The runners are encouraged to start the race with headlamps. I don’t need to be told twice. The trail can trip you up and eat you alive in broad daylight. So running in the dark without a light isn’t an option. We line up, click “start” on our watches, and sprint off into the night.
I keep to the front right away. My plan is to keep a quick pace, below 7:30 ppm, for the first half loop. I know I’m capable of settling into a steady pace and enduring for hours. So I figure I’ll get some miles between me and the group, settle back, and ride the pain to the end. I’ve never tried this approach before. We’ll see how it goes.
The 50k trail follows the 10k path, repeating it 5 times. Each loop is something like 6.2 miles and has about 687 feet of elevation. The main climb, the last few miles before you reach the start/finish line, has an average grade of 3.4 percent and 429 feet of gain.
Said another way, it’ll have you wondering why you didn’t just stick with the 10k by the time you finish the first loop.
The first few miles follow a well-maintained path that runs alongside the main road into the park. There’s rocks and roots and a slight incline, to be sure, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming. I step on the gas and keep my head down, shining my light on the ground ahead of me. In the first 2-3 miles I pass a couple aid stations where friendly volunteers offer high fives and water and snacks, like bananas and oranges. Eventually the course hangs a hard left and starts a slight decline deeper into the park.
It’s a well-marked path, and I only have to backtrack once. Notably, the trail seems to never let you fully embrace a long incline or decline. It wavers back and forth mile after mile. Not a big deal now, but I’m sure I’ll be cursing to myself come mile 20.
Many sections of the path are overrun with slippery rocks and roots that seem to reach up to grab the tips of your shoes. More than once I’m dancing and bounding down declines more than running, trying to land on safe ground that won’t roll an ankle. It’s technical, challenging, and absolutely destroying the bottom of my feet. The well-earned and disgusting callouses on my feet soften as the fog and sweat dampen my socks. Before I even finish the first loop, hot spots are biting me and reminding me I should have doused them in Gold Bond before taking off. I love everything about this.
The last third of the first loop is a blow to the ego. The incline is brutal and seems to be brimming with even more rocks and roots and slippery logs covering the path. I take the jumps over the logs carefully. The last thing I need is to land on a slippery log and do a face-dive into the ground. Eventually I reach what will become my favorite section of the race, Rock City.
Out of nowhere, a sign points downward from the dirt path to a narrow passage that can best be described as a crevasse, with steep rock walls on either side. It drops 30-40 feet, widening out to 3 yards at most. It’s an entirely different world down here.
A thick layer of autumn-colored leaves blanket the ground. A few trees have managed to sprout and reach skyward, and massive rocks pile up along the path. I pass little stone hallways to my right and left and find myself wishing I wasn’t in the middle of a race, so I could explore the area. The sun slips into the depths through the tree branches, creating little slices of orange light across the ground, and the fog is still hanging in the air. It’s like I slipped off the path into a fantasy novel, and now I’m on a quest to toss a ring into the fiery depths of Mordor. It’s no more than 80 yards long, but it’s enough to distract me from the pain in my legs and keep me going.
The last one hundred yards of the first loop jacks up the intensity even more. A stone and log staircase, with a sign that says “Stairway to (Almost) Heaven” at the beginning, is the last obstacle before the start/finish line comes into view. I’m not ashamed to admit I walk up these stairs, trying to widen my stride and give the muscles in my calves a break. When I hit the top of the stairs, I bend over, take in a huge breath, and push on through the line to complete the first loop.
The area is filled with kids playing and racers stretching and volunteers cheering and all other forms of joy you might imagine at a well-organized race. It’s a heck of an event, filled with great people and in support of a good cause. Part of me wishes I had signed up for the 10k. Not just because the idea of running this loop another 4 times is daunting, but because the atmosphere is so inviting.
But, no time for that. I’ve got another 4 hours or so to go. Maybe next year I’ll take it easy and enjoy the festivities. But for now, onward and upward into the pain cave.
If you’d like to learn more about the mission of the Robin Ames Foundation, or sign up for the next race, click this link: https://www.ramesfoundation.org
Final Strava Stats:
Distance: 32.15 miles
Elevation gain: 4,728 feet
Moving time: 4:56:31
Calories burned: 4,472
