Running an Ultramarathon Less than 10 Miles from Home
Katelyn Kommer
Have you ever crossed a ‘finish line’, let out a small “whoop”, and then driven yourself home a few minutes later? Trust me, it’s much more glamorous than it sounds. At the beginning of May, I had the opportunity to run a local ultramarathon. The inaugural Salt Lake Foothills 50k started and ended at a trailhead roughly 10 minutes from my house, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to run an official race on the trails I train on year round. My running career started with big city half and full marathons, where there were hundreds if not thousands of runners. Since I moved to Salt Lake City and fallen in love with trail running, I’ve begun to prefer smaller events with fewer runners and less pressure.
This race was without a doubt the smallest I’ve run, with only 80 runners finishing. After the first couple of miles, it was rare to see any other racer outside of the aid stations. With larger road events in major cities, it’s easier to feed off the crowds of spectators and other runners. However, for this particular event, the route finding and motivation was left up to each individual participant. I was expecting to run the race solo and do my best to enjoy the day cruising around my local trails, but I had a few friends ask to join for sections and the day turned into what felt like a nonstop party.
After a few solo miles to start, my friend Rikki joined for a 7 mile point to point section. We took it easy in the cool morning air, admiring the sun slowly making its way around the rolling hillsides. There was a bit of climb to begin, and then we enjoyed about an hour of flat, flowy trails and a gradual descent into the City Creek aid station. Contrary to many popular road races, these beginning miles felt incredibly mellow. There was no pressure to fight for a position in the pack of runners, and Rikki and I simply marveled at the green hills, bright sunflowers, and streaks of sunlight warming our bodies.
Those 7 miles with Rikki absolutely flew by, and after 10 total I arrived at the second aid station. This spot was the start of a 10 mile loop, meeting back around at the same aid station. My best friend/roommate Alex and good friend Collin both met me here to do the 10 mile loop with me. I actually hadn’t run on these sections of trails before, and none of us had any idea what to expect. After somewhat of a sloggy climb up to Meridian Peak, we spun around on top and danced on what was a new summit for all three of us. We flew back down the mountain to an aid station in the middle of the loop, and spent over 20 minutes just chatting with other runners, volunteers, and each other. Though this middle section was certainly the most challenging on paper, the three of us had an absolute blast and I was nervous to take off solo. I typically thrive as a solo runner, but having my friends there that day really gave me a sustained boost of positivity. After another aid station stop that was probably too long, I said goodbye and headed out for the last 11 miles by myself.
As I climbed back and up through the foothill trails, I kept waiting for a big crash. The course flattened out, and my pace picked up. Again, I felt slightly undertrained for this race and was waiting for the slog to set in. As the finish line got closer mile by mile, I felt better and better. The last half mile I hit a dead sprint, and crossed the finish line with a massive smile on my face. There was no official marking for the end besides a gaggle of runners eating donuts and congratulating one another. I soaked in the moment and enjoyed a post-run beer, then simply drove myself home and took a nap before meeting up with friends for an evening of socializing.
I’m notorious for breaking down at finish lines and summits with tears of joy. Though this was certainly a special moment, the lack of pomp and circumstance of the race seemed to mellow out my emotions. In reflecting, I feel that it made the whole experience more special. There was no particular reason for any of us runners to be out there that day, besides the simple desire to spend most of a day running around on local trails. I didn’t try to rally a crew or get anyone to officially pace me, but I inadvertently ran with people almost the whole time simply because my friends wanted to get a workout that day too. It felt so simple and understated, yet the accomplishment of a 50k is still massive.
My mom also flew in for the race, which she’s done for most of my races since I was 18 years old and ran my first half marathon. She absolutely loved the small race experience as a spectator, and felt a sense of community amongst volunteers and supporters. She was able to chat with the race director and hear a little more about his mission and the purpose behind the event, which would be very unlikely to happen during an event like the LA marathon. I can’t deny that there is palpable excitement in the air when you toe a start line with thousands of other runners. However, this small and local ultramarathon made me dig a little harder to find the motivation and reasoning behind my desire to do these races. Over the last few miles, I settled on the simple notion that I truly have fun on the trails, especially when I have friends to join me and family there supporting.
