WHAT IT’S LIKE TO RUN 50 MILES – Trail running in the Topo Athletic Pursuit 2

Share

Ultrarunning is a steep, slippery slope (pun intended). The standard marathon distance might scratch the adventure itch one day, and then the next, running 100 consecutive miles seems like a sensible, reasonable goal. I liken ultrarunning to the red pill metaphor—once you discover what the human body can do and just how deep the rabbit hole goes, it’s difficult to turn back.

As a newcomer to the sport, I wanted to see what the ultrarunning craze was all about. With a plethora of endurance suffer-fests under my belt—including a handful of marathons, double-century bike rides and an Ironman—a 50-mile run through the woods of Mt. Hood, OR felt like an appropriate challenge in which to surrender a summer.

Laced up in my Topo Athletic Pursuit 2s, here’s how it all went down.

A NOTE ON RUNNING

Before I dig in, I want to highlight specifically what I like about trail running.

First and foremost, running is a flow state trigger. To quote Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s Flow: The Psychology of the Optimal Experience, flow is “the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter; the experience itself is so enjoyable that people will do it even at great cost, for the sheer sake of doing it.” In layman’s terms, you’re locked in, feel pretty darn good and nothing else matters. This is my preferred method of meditation—flow is a brain-cleanse, an escape from the stressors of everyday life, an opportunity to turn off my brain while simultaneously checking in. I often feel mentally refreshed after a long day on the trail, despite being physically wiped. Long distance running, in my experience, is a flow state cheat code.

The benefits of flow are compounded by spending time in nature. I’m lucky to live in an outdoor recreation mecca, where I have access to some of the most scenic terrain the nation has to offer. Trail running gave me the keys to venture farther than ever before, pushing the limits of a day trip far beyond that of a typical hike. Consistently exploring new territory, when coupled with flow, created a massive positive reinforcement loop that allowed me to look forward to my long runs.

Lastly, trail running is hard, and it’s supposed to be. I’ll spare you all the personal growth / self-improvement jargon, but I like running long distances for the sake of challenging myself. The more you do hard things, the easier it becomes to do hard things.

I mention these because running is notoriously easy to dismiss. Don’t listen to the non-believers, there’s plenty of Type 1 fun to be had.

photo credit: @fullsendmedia

GEARING UP

Any runner worth their salt knows that dialing in your footwear is paramount to any run, regardless of distance. The majority of my Ironman training was marred by a suite of overuse injuries, including but not limited to shin splints, runner’s knee, calf strains and significant back pain for a then 24-year-old. As a result, I transitioned to a minimal style shoe—denoted by a zero heel-to-toe drop, wide toe box and conservative padding, minimal-style footwear aims to produce a more natural running stride and strengthen the underutilized muscles in the feet, calves and legs. In theory, this barefoot running frenzy leads to a more sustainable style of running that reduces the likelihood of injury and keeps runners on their feet.

I haven’t looked back since. Barefoot running literally removed the blinders from my nervous system, allowing for enhanced proprioception and a rewired, more economical stride. Aside from a few tweaks and creaks, I’ve remained injury-free since 2022 while the miles continue to stack up *violently knocks on wood*.

The Topo Athletic Pursuit 2 conveniently checks every box I’m looking for: zero-drop, wide toe box, a Vibram outsole and enough stack height (28mm) to withstand the roots and rocks of long days on the trail. As I write this, I’ve logged nearly 500 miles in my Pursuits, and they don’t show for it—the upper remains intact, tread remains grippy, and miles remain on the docket. My only gripe is the arch-contoured insole, which required a minor break-in period and resulted in blisters along the arch of my foot. No biggie—my feet adapted after a couple long runs—but a flattened insole would be the biggest improvement in my experience.

For these reasons, the Pursuit 2 became my top choice for training runs and race day.

photo credit: @fullsendmedia

TRAINING FOR A 50-MILE ULTRAMARATHON

Building upon the aerobic base I had built up for my April Orcas Island Trail Marathon (which required a training plan of its own), I wrote an 18-week training plan to officially kick off 50-mile training season. My training was broken into four primary blocks, with each block consisting of a three-week build followed by one deload week. My single longest outing was exactly three weeks from race day, signaling the start of a three-week taper. Here are some key stats from my training plan:

• Longest Run: 32 miles
• Highest Weekly Volume: 62 miles
• Total Miles Logged: 763 miles

Back-to-back long runs mark the primary difference between marathon and ultramarathon training. Running on tired legs is the most economical method of simulating end-of-race exhaustion while minimizing the chance of injury. This means every weekend is at the mercy of your running schedule, leaving little time and energy for extracurricular activities, like your real life. I still managed to squeeze in time for fun this summer, but generally speaking, your secondary hobbies take a backseat when training for ultra-distance races.

My biggest takeaway from ultramarathon training is to take things slowly. After a few weeks of consistent running, you might have the cardio endurance to run incredible distances, but it takes much longer for your body to build the adaptations to keep up with your ambition. It’s best practice to build mileage gradually, temper expectations, and make adjustments to your training as necessary to avoid injury and stay on your feet. This notion cannot be understated when running in minimal / barefoot footwear.

photo credit: @fullsendmedia

RACE DAY

With the hay in the barn, the only thing left to do was run the damn thing. I set a 3:45 a.m. alarm to give me enough time to scarf down a hearty breakfast and get to the start line in time for an emergency bathroom break. I had a good gut feeling—I put in the work, now I just had to prove it.

photo credit: Strava

The Wy’east Wonder is a point-to-point course with an added 20-mile loop near the mid-way point. There are six aid stations, one of which I passed through at mile 18 and again at mile 38. I was able to check in with family members at this aid station, which made for three distinct sections of this race. Compartmentalizing 50 miles into three digestible runs made a big day feel like a doable day.

Miles 1-18 went quick and easy. The route started with a gentle climb, and the energy of race day was palpable as the morning sun greeted us only a few miles into the race. I glided my way to the mile 18 aid station, wolfed down a quick snack, and continued along my way.

My first low point was around mile 25. With half the race in the books, I was beginning to feel the day wear on me in the form of tight hip flexors. Still early in the race, I knew this feeling would eventually give way to a second wind, but suffice to say the pre-race jitters were long gone. My running buddy that I started the race with was gone at mile 33, where I headed solo into the inevitable pain cave.

Miles 33-37 marked my second low point. This section of the course was either uphill or flat—just enough to leapfrog between trotting and power hiking for a solid four miles. I’m certainly one to joke about how much I love the grind and struggle, and I had to remind myself of this self-proclamation during this stretch of the course. Quite literally, I had to walk the walk. Again, I wasn’t thinking about mile 50 just yet, instead looking forward to the morale boost waiting for me at mile 38 where I’d see my fam again.

Upon reaching mile 38—and embarking on the final stretch of my three-part race—I began to face the reality that I’d still be racing after my watch clocked 50 miles. While watch GPS data is never going to be perfect, I had noticed that my watch’s mileage was out of sync with the official course markings by a significant margin. This came to a boil at the final aid station—I should have been at mile 45.3 with 4.9 miles to the finish. Instead, my watch marked 46.6. As comically difficult as it was to do mental math this late in the game, this meant I’d have to hit at least 51.5 miles before crossing the finish line. This was a soul-crushing realization in the moment.

To sweeten the deal, I reached a clearing at mile 50 that unveiled a series of steep, rocky switchbacks descending to the finish line. I’m not sure there would be any running down this stony labyrinth on fresh legs, let alone on mile 50 legs. The final 2.5 miles of the Wy’east Wonder included a 2,000ft descent, a proper slap in the face when, according to my watch, I should have already cracked a celebratory beer.

At mile 52.1, I crossed the finish line in 11 hours and 30 minutes, averaging a 13:16 mile pace. Through eight months of dedicated training, dozens of mountain excursions and over 1,300 miles logged for the year, I now have the credentials to claim the following: 52 miles is definitely more than 50.

Anybody have any 100-mile recommendations?