Race Recap: Seven Sisters Trail Race, 2004

With a few minutes to go before the starting gun, runners jockey for position. Pete heads to the front of the assembled mass. He’ll certainly be among the faster runners. Knowing my pace and my limitations, my commitment or lack thereof, to really “leave it all out there” I hang toward the back. Looking around at my fellow race entrants, I play the dangerous and error-filled game of trying to judge my pace against others based on their physical appearance, ultimately finding my place somewhere between the elderly man with hiking poles and a younger, well-toned jock in a tank top. People crowd in, there’s a loud cheer, and we are off.

The leaders sprint across a short open space to where the course funnels runners into racing two abreast and within a dozen yards onto a single-track path. We immediately fall into a line of racers all climbing a long, steep grade at a pace just faster than a brisk walk. Occasionally, someone will run by, jostling for shoulder room: “Excuse me,” “Excuse me,” “Sorry,” “Excuse me.” as they pass through the ranks; but for the most part everyone stays in line, pushed by those behind and pushing those ahead.

As the procession climbs, I hear two young women chatting cheerfully behind me.

“I know, I just got back into real running. The baby is only three months old. This is the first time I’ve been away from him for more than a few hours.”

“Well, you look great. Mine’s two months. I hope his dad can manage for a few hours.”

“Bonding time!”

Both women laugh.

Being followed by two young mothers who haven’t been running seriously since their children were born and probably not for several months before that? Clearly, I think to myself, I’ve started at too slow a pace. I pick it up and pass a few people. “Excuse me,” “Excuse me,” “Sorry,” “Excuse me.”

The race website describes the Seven Sisters Trail Race this way: 12 miles of technical, singletrack trail on an out-and-back course with over 3,500 ft. elevation gain, following the ridgecrest of the Holyoke Range. It’s widely considered the most challenging trail race in the Northeast… and in our humble opinion… it has the most beautiful views.

Andy Castillo of the Amherst Bulletin had this to say:

A narrow trailhead beginning at Route 116 in South Amherst winds up a grueling 1,000 foot incline to the top of Bare Mountain, where jagged stones give way to a rocky plateau that overlooks the Connecticut River Valley and the Holyoke Range, a 6-mile stretch of summits along which meanders the Seven Sisters Trail.

Marking the trail’s opposite end is Mount Holyoke, home of the Skinner State Park Summit House. In between there’s a series of ridgeline knobs, known as the Seven Sisters, that require technical skill and endurance to traverse. Hiking the trail there and back, covering 12 miles and 3,500 feet of elevation, isn’t for the faint of heart. Running the ridgecrest in competition against hundreds of other athletes during the annual Seven Sisters Trail Race is an entirely different matter.

The course is an out-and-back. Runners race to a point, turn around, and race back to the starting line. I’m a little over an hour into my trek out to the turnaround when I see the first runners coming back toward me. I’m not even to the Summit House and these people have already run all the way to the water stop at the far end of the range, run back up Hitchcock Mountain, and are now on their way home. Impossible.

With sure-footed grace, elite trail runners bounce from boulder to boulder, bounding down rock falls, leaning forward for maximum speed. They carry momentum through a short flat and up the next ridge. They are beautiful to watch. Light on their feet. Most often smiling. I’ve seen one or two click their heels, literally jump and click their heels, they are having so much fun. Slower and more timid runners, like myself, are the opposite. When descending hills, I lean back, carefully picking my way down the slope. Not only am I slower, but in my care, fear, and fatigue, I probably takie twice as many steps as the elites. Climbs are no different. Where the leaders run up the basalt trap rock, I have to climb hand over hand, each step its own effort. For me, there are few smiles and no clicking of heels.

As the first runners pass, I start counting. I know I’ll see Pete and I wonder where he stands relative to the leaders. I also count the number of women as they go by. Pete has a thing about being beaten by girls. Soon I see him. He is going fast but not bounding the way the fastest do.

“Great job Pete! About fifty people ahead of you. Nine women.”

Pete picks up the pace.

I make it to the Summit House, run across the porch (the only flat fifty-foot section on the entire course), and down to the water stop where I refuel before turning around to start the climb back up Mount Hitchcock. I pass a few runners coming to the turnaround behind me, but the pack has definitely thinned out. I cross back over the Summit House porch and hear cheering ahead. “Go Sam!” It’s Dick and Casey, who’ve brought Max up to watch a bit of the race and enjoy the view, maybe get a muffin from the bakery.

I hear “Hey Dad, how come you’re always in last place?” I tell myself I’m not really in last place, I’m just the last person he’s seen, but in fairness, there are not many people behind me. I consider correcting him but that would take effort. “Thanks, Max,” I say and I plod on.

With what I figure is two miles to go I’m in forced-march mode. Just keep going. My quads are smoked, so going downhill I question whether my legs could arrest a fall if they had to. I stumble my way from tree to tree, grabbing each for support and to control what might otherwise be an uncontrolled descent. I scoot on my butt down the sleeper pitches. Climbs are no faster, just safer, as I take one step, stop, breath, take another step, stop, breathe, and repeat. Only on the flattest sections do I break from a walk to what might be called a slow jog.

It is on one of these flat stretches that I hear two women coming up behind me. Their pace is only slightly faster than mine, so I can hear them for a while, though I do not turn around. Their voices are eerily familiar. They’re talking to each other like they’re out for a stroll. Maybe not complete sentences but certainly not with the same labored huffing and puffing that I am doing. And then I hear one of them say “Oh my God, my breasts hurt so much!” and then the other say “I so need to nurse.”

It’s them. The two women I’d separated myself from at the start because they were obviously going to be way slower than me. They’ve caught me and are going to pass me. Within a minute they are right behind me and I step off the trail to let them by. “Great job. Have a great run,” one of them says cheerily. “Yeah, you too,” I say, less cheerily.

Starting down the final descent I hear traffic and know the end of the suffering is near. About 200 yards from the finish, the trail widens and becomes smoother. I shift from a shuffle to what I hope looks more like a comfortable, if slow, run. Emerging from the wooded path, I cross a short, flat lawn and the finish line to the practiced cheers and clapping of dedicated volunteers and those few spectators still waiting for finishers.

Many of the early finishers have left, and a few cars pull slowly out of the parking lot onto the highway. The awards ceremony complete, some of the runners linger, swap stories, and congratulate each other. I find Pete. He’s been done for a while. Dick, Casey, and Max are there too. I think they’re surprised I finished at all. Max is ready for lunch so we all pack up, say goodbye and without ceremony or fanfare head for home.

For the record

The leaders finished the Seven Sisters Trail Race in under two hours. In 2004 the fastest time was 1:44. Pete finished in 79th place (2:53) and was bested by nine women. I finished in 141st place with a time of 3:32, bested by, among others, two young mothers who were just getting back into running. A total of 177 people finished the race.

All photos courtesy Seven Sisters Trail Race website.