We start at the finish line of the JFK50 in Williamsport at 7pm on Friday night, 12 hours before the start of the race. Kevin Sayers and I have this insane plan to run to the start line in time to join the race and then run back to the finish, for a JFK double. Kevin has done this same thing last year, and he lives nearby, so he knows the course well enough to run it backwards, in the dark, and without course markers. I’m just along for the ride. Partner in lunacy by default of a weak mind and the willingness to try crazy ideas. And, I thought it would be fun to do.

It’s cold. We both wear long tights, long sleeved coolmax shirts, jackets, gloves, and a camelback. Unfortunately, all our clothes are dark, and we look like a couple of cat burglars sneaking about in the dark. Kevin at least has the foresight to wear a reflective vest, so we aren’t completely invisible to the oncoming traffic. I certainly question this plan for the first 8 miles while we bounce along the busy roads. We’re on constant alert for cars, hopping off the road, and running blind past high-speed high beams. It just isn’t much fun until we finally make it to the C&O (Chesapeake & Ohio) Canal towpath. It has taken is about an hour and a half to get here.

The moon’s bright and it’s directly overhead and a little to our left, so we can see the path clearly without our lights. The canal’s on our left, long abandoned, free of water, and full of deep topsoil and a bed of leaves. The Potomac River’s on our right, wide and pretty, with the moonlight reflecting off the water. West Virginia lies on the other side, a few lights twinkling through the trees. The towpath’s wide enough to drive a train on it, relatively flat, and obviously used quite frequently, as it’s clear and free of debris. Our sojourn on this 185-mile long path begins near mile marker 84 and will exit near mile marker 58, roughly 26 miles later, just a small piece of it.

The moonlight creates some real unusual effects. The shadows from the trees, the pale coloring of the leaves on the trail, the reflection of light from the Potomac, the sparkling glitter from ripples on the water, and the very dark shadows from areas completely hidden from the moonlight. It feels as if I’m dreaming. It’s surreal, relaxing, and sublime. The Potomac has very long slow sweeping curves, that appear to go strait endlessly, and the only giveaway is the moon drifting to the left and right of us as we run. The towpath’s usually very close to the river, but occasionally drifts away and allows some amount of forest to intervene. Sometimes the land’s open to our left and we find a road with homes just off it, and other times we’re surrounded by steep cliff walls with a large drop to the river below. The trail’s well lit, but it lacks any color, like a black & white photograph. It has the appearance of a snow-covered trail, and although I know there isn’t any snow, I stop once just to touch the ground and verify to my twisted senses. My vision is not all that great and my sense of reality needs the help from another of my senses.

We click off the miles in workmanlike fashion, consistently moving at an easy gait. We’re beginning to work up a sweat despite the chill air and have to remove our jackets and gloves. Earlier in the day, we hid some water and sandwiches at Snyder’s Landing. We take a break when we reach our stash to eat and refill our camelbacks. It’s only for a few minutes, but the decreased activity causes our bodies to loose some heat and we’re getting a chill. We have to cut our break short and start moving again just to stay warm. For the remainder of the towpath, we will remove and put back on our jackets many times.

The trail is so well lit from the moon that we don’t need to use our flashlights. We’re not talking much, running smoothly, not dragging our feet or thumping rocks, running rather quietly, listening to the river and the night sounds. We startle quite a few deer, trapping them between the towpath and the river. They run along the shore for a distance before turning to leap across our path to enter the canal and sprint past us. The miles and the river slide by, passing abandoned water locks and ancient buildings, not seeing another soul until we pass a troop of boy scouts camped along the shore near Antietam. The stone aqueduct over Antietam Creek is quite impressive. We carefully walk across it and check out the 150-year-old architecture. Soon after, approaching Harper’s Ferry, a train appears like a ghost across the river, caught in the glow of the moonlight off the water. It twists and turns along the shoreline, lights making it visible even when it disappears behind the trees. The sound of the train and the river is so relaxing. I ask Kevin to stop for a moment while I watch. And then we continue again as we run parallel to the train across the river. It disappears into the lights of Harper’s Ferry at the mouth of the Shenandoah River. The wind’s much stronger here as we pass under the B&O railroad bridge. The river’s much wider here where the two rivers join, but you can still see quite a few large trucks travelling the highway on the other side of the river in Virginia. The railroad tracks lead directly from Harper’s Ferry over the river and into the mouth of a tunnel above our heads. Looks like we’re back into civilization again. Bridges, trains, trucks, city lights, yuk!

We still have a few miles left on the C&O Canal towpath, but I’m looking forward to getting off. I’m getting a little tired and forcing a few more walking breaks than Kevin wants to do. He humors me and stops when I do, but when we’re running, our pace is faster than it was earlier. Kevin wants to be on the Appalachian Trail by 2am, so we push it a bit to try and make it. We have to cross the train tracks when we leave the towpath for the Appalachian Trail, and Kevin’s worried that we might get caught by a long train, and have to wait for 10 to 15 minutes while it passes. We already know what standing still will do to us, so we move quicker now. A train passes us heading towards Harper’s Ferry, and then another just behind it. Then another comes and goes, and Kevin tells me we have less than a mile, so we really pick it up. We finally turn off the path and cross the train tracks, a paved road, and up a short section of trail to our next drop bag of water and sandwiches. Another train passes just after we cross. The break turns out much like the last one and we have to move quickly. The shakes get us both before we push on. It’s 2am when we finally enter the Appalachian Trail and we turn on our flashlights for the first time.

I have been looking forward in anticipation for this part of the run for hours. I so much loved the Appalachian Trail when I was a kid, and it feels like ‘coming home’ again, even at 2am in the dark of night. We climb for what seems like a long time, using the many large rocks that litter the trail as leverage points to push from one to the next as we go up. It is the fall season, so leaves are everywhere, and a multicolored blanket of leaves covers the ground. After the black & white world of the towpath, the colors startle me and steal my attention. I think I might be hallucinating again, so I focus my attention on a particularly colorful patch of leaves. If my brain is messing with me, the colors will disappear on my focused gaze, but they remain. I’m not imagining it this time. The colors really are there in the leaves. Spectacular! I thump a rock with my toe and quickly bring my attention back. We roll along the trail, climbing, descending, and winding about. Occasionally, we ride a ridge and you can see lights below us on both sides. Wonderful! The bed of leaves on the trail becomes even thicker and it’s now up above our ankles. We can no longer see the rocks below them and slow dramatically, ramming our feet into rocks and branches below the leaves. Stepping on uneven and pointed surfaces we can’t see, we get twisted sideways, and slide backwards, and fall over as we continue forward slowly. Dancing with rock trolls in the wee hours is exhausting work and I’m soaking wet with sweat. I still can’t help but notice how pretty it is up her in the Appalachians. It must be drop dead gorgeous during the day. We shall see. The deep leaves thin finally and we can run again, but all my energy has flown. I’m whipped!

Gathland finally, and almost home. It took us 2 hours to cover the last 6 miles and we’re losing the time advantage we had from the towpath quickly. We would like to be done in time to take a break before we turn around for the return trip, but our time is fleeing. The rocks have done some damage: my feet and toes are a mess. We continue as before, but I’m struggling now, having a problem hanging with Kevin as he continues to move quickly uphill. I hang back time and again. We stop for a breather and then both our lights go out simultaneously, plunging us into complete darkness. Kevin’s spare is on quickly. We stop, sit down, and change the batteries in precious little time. It’s a welcome rest for me but way too short. We make slow time to the Electric Tower and then the very steep 1-mile long road down to an intersection. I think we’re going to turn, but instead, Kevin crosses the road and we’re back in the trees again. He says we have 3+ miles left.

We come out of the trees soon enough and then onto a dirt road, up a short hill, and make a left onto a paved road and immediately get hit with high beams. I’m suddenly blind as a bat again. The car goes by, and then another, and another. Traffic sure is heavy for 5:30am. Only 3 miles left to go along this road to the start line and I’m dragging my butt badly. My toes and legs are killing me, I’m exhausted, and so sleepy that I’m ready for bed. I don’t think I’m going back out again. I just want to get this done. I slide off the road berm as I get hit with another blinding light. I try to get back on and slide off again. I kick a piece of cinder block and my toes scream, but I’m too tired to say a thing. Kevin asks how I’m doing, but I can only mumble. ‘You da man’ Kevin says to me. “Dead man crawling’, I say. I kick another brick as we cross the 2-mile marker. Mary, Kevin’s wife, pulls up and asks how we’re doing. We lie to her and keep moving. She says she’ll wait for us at the start line and rolls away in her van. We make slow time as we walk and run on into town. A car stops and a guy asks where the start line is. Another, a friend of Kevin’s, rolls next to us to visit with for a minute. We enter Boonsboro and because of the heavy traffic, we’re forced off the road and onto the sidewalk. I trip over a curb, blasting my toes really hard this time. That really hurt. We finally see Mary, the van, and the start line. We make it there, and I sit down behind the van on the curb immediately. Mary sees me shaking uncontrollably and wraps a blanket around me. I’m having a problem holding my drink and getting it to my lips, so I sit it down. I try to relax and control it, but I can’t. Mary asks if I’m stopping when she sees me remove my shoes. I tell her yes, I’m done. I’ll settle for the adventure as it is and skip the return trip. Kevin can have it to himself and the other 1000 runners who will be starting the JFK50 in about 45 minutes.

I want to go back and do it again, but after my toes forgive me. It may take a few days.