The Ring: Finding Fellowship in the Massanuttens
"If you're afraid, you're on the right path. Lift your chin and smile at the monsters in the forest." ~ @WickedTrailRunning
"'Kithship' is intimacy with the landscape in which one dwells and is entangled." ~ Lyanda Lynn Haupt, Rooted
I was mildly curious about this 71 mile journey on the Massanutten trail when Johnny finished it in 2023, but it was kind of like watching dangerous wildlife in awe from a safe distance: fascinating but unapproachable. In 2024, I decided to see what all the fuss was about, and I made it through the first 25 miles before dropping and promising I would return. And so began a year-long obsession with a feat that seemed just beyond my reach.
As the end of August drew closer, so did a heavy sense of dread and depression, and I had to focus only on what was right in front of me; if my mind wandered to scrambling over rocks in the woods in the middle of the night while my body was sitting at my desk under fluorescent lights on a Wednesday afternoon, I became anxious and irritable and wanted to withdraw my name from the list. But fear and doubt can be great motivators. I had trained as appropriately as possible while living in the suburbs of Baltimore, where the trails are no match for the Massanuttens; I had upgraded and experimented with gear and nutrition; and most of all, I wanted it. I wanted the sticker and pin, I wanted the experience of being in the woods all day and night, and I wanted redemption. I was daunted but determined.
Race day: despite the low dew point and chilly morning, I still felt the familiar headache, bane of my summer running, creep in just before Camp Roosevelt. It became bad enough that I thought I might have to drop. But I knew if I couldn’t finish with weather this phenomenal, I might never have a shot again, and I could not accept that. I pushed through.
Why are we so often afraid of the dark? I recently read Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt (deliberately timed to put myself into a certain mindset ahead of The Ring), and her reflections on darkness had me heartily nodding along:
“Darkness possesses its own essential grace. It is darkness that bears liminal imaginings more difficult to access in the scattered daylight. Darkness brings the restorative sleep and dreaming our bodies and psyches require. Darkness takes the harried busyness of the day and transforms it to stillness, to quiet. Darkness brings us starlight. Darkness erases our view of the horizon, forcing our reliance upon a spacious inner vision that daylight cannot provide. Darkness offers a refuge for all beings and all aspects of being.” And apparently, darkness is the cure for headaches.
The breeze was cool and refreshing, and I could see other headlamps in the distance behind me. I was surprisingly less alone during the night hours than I expected, which was comforting, but I also relished those stretches of solitude when I was seemingly the only creature out there, other than the barred owls and katydids.
So far, my legs were feeling strong, and despite a few sections of relentless rock-kicking and clumsy steps on Short Mountain, I had remained mostly calm and accepting of the obstacles the terrain would bring. It was the descent into Powell’s Fort where I really started to deteriorate, and I grabbed a stick to help me down the mountain. Miraculously, I made it through the night without feeling sleepy or delirious, but the overall sense of fatigue and the constant braking on the downhills were taking their toll. It was time to finish this thing; it was time to join the Fellowship.
But first: Signal Knob.
I grabbed some treats, donned a long sleeve, and stood admiring the Neakrases’ light display in the trees at Powell’s Fort before heading out for the final section, which begins with the reprieve of gravel road. I was so worried about missing the turn to go around the reservoir that I couldn’t fully enjoy it, and I had a moment of panic when I thought I had gone too far, but I finally spotted the sign pointing me to the left to stay on orange.
The sky was starting to lighten, and I was treated to whippoorwills and the sun peeking over the horizon just as I reached the Signal Knob overlook. A new day! And so close!
Oh, but that final descent. I told myself over and over to take my time, but I don’t think I could’ve moved any slower. It was like my feet and legs belonged to someone else. Every single step was a gamble. Will I trip over this rock? Will I take this rock down the mountain with me? Will I launch myself over the edge and plummet into the rocky abyss? I’m being dramatic, but I really was more uncoordinated during the last three miles than during the entire 67 miles that came before.
At last, I smelled food and heard my people, among them the most welcome sound of all: my husband’s voice, beckoning me to the finish, where I had to pause and remind myself of what I just accomplished. Had I doubted I could do it? Yes, a little bit. Was I afraid? Yes. Afraid of the sun, afraid of the dark, afraid of rattlesnakes and bears, afraid of being too slow, afraid of the rocks, afraid of falling, and of failing. But mostly, I think, afraid of not trying.
Is it too soon to sign up for Reverse Ring?
Is it too soon to sign up for Reverse Ring?
Race highlights, culinary and otherwise:
- Hash browns and fried rice-type concoction at Moreland Gap
- Ginger broth and avocado-mashed potatoes at Woodstock
- Chocolate chip cookies and French toast sticks at Powell’s Fort
- Egg wrap thing at the finish
- Volunteers who listed the entire aid station menu until I found something my stomach could handle
- Volunteers offering chairs
- Volunteers filling all of my various water vessels
- Volunteers and runners pointing me in the right direction when I was about to go disastrously off-course (Jeff Best and Jimm Oullette, nice to meet you!)
- Larry Huffman making me take my long sleeve from my drop bag
- John Hord handing me Coke and holding my drop bag until I was ready for it
- Ravens, barred owls, whippoorwills
- Everyone, everyone, everyone
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