2025 Fire Tower 50k

I ran the 2025 Fire Tower 50k on October 4, the last hot day of the year.  I was happy with the result, but it wasn’t the triumph I had hoped for, which I think was due to the heat and my need to relearn some old lessons.  I thought I was well prepared physically and had good fueling and hydration strategies, but I ended up running only about the first twenty miles and walking most of the remaining ten.  The trudge across the finish line was a far cry from the joyous romp I had imagined.

What went wrong?  Though I put the miles in, I wasn’t as well prepared as I thought.  I ran trails all summer, which I prefer over pavement, but in retrospect my trails were the best of both worlds, as flat and smooth as a paved trail without the joint-abusing hardness of pavement.  I thought I’d be able to just run free, while the reality was that, although the Fire Tower course is reportedly not as technically demanding as some others, it has its challenges.

My strategy to deal with the heat may not have helped.  I thought perhaps it made sense to follow my original (non-heat) plan early, before it got hot, so I went ahead and tried to run at about a 9:15 pace for the first few hours.  In hindsight that was too fast because both the temperature and characteristics of the trails were demanding energy from me that I would dearly need later.

Lastly, I just didn’t drink enough.  I thought I had, but by the time my body served me notice that it was parched, it was too late.

A more detailed account:  The first couple miles are on an often silty track that serves as an announcement by the course that the sailing will not be smooth from start to finish.  But the message arrives in the brain as a whisper because it’s an exciting few minutes, with adrenaline and anxiety and all the happy people embarking together on this adventure.  26 runners (9 of them women) started the race in 2021 when I ran it the first time, and the energy at the start has grown along with the field, with 119 runners this year.  (Ironically, in 2021, I had planned to walk the whole thing and then walked the first twenty miles before alternately running and walking the remainder, finishing in 7:18.)  This time I walked roughly half of the first mile as a warm-up and then joined the field of runners.

The next ten miles or so are about as good as the trails get, and I made good time.  I sipped an electrolyte drink regularly and had a carb gel every 2.5 miles.  The fire tower ascent was uneventful, but the scene was boisterous, with a big aid station, volunteers, park guests, runners going up, runners enjoying the view up top, runners going down.

The easy trails gave way to roots and rocks from roughly miles 12 to 15, and while the wheels did not come off then, that’s where the lugnuts were loosened.  I was following a guy and somehow I lost my mind and decided to stay with him.  This was a treacherous stretch with grapefruit- to soccer ball-sized rocks popping up randomly, all under a carpet of fallen leaves.  Focused on every footfall, I found myself dancing around and over obstacles, each step an adventure, and twice I had arm-cartwheeling near-wipeouts.  Oddly, in the few moments I dared to lift my eyes from the track to see the guy in front of me, he was smoothly running along, with no dance moves in sight.  My recollection from my previous time spent on the course was that this rocky stretch along the river was my favorite, a walk filled with lovely and interesting sights and sounds.  Worth the price of admission.  But on this day, running, I failed to note the beauty.

I hit 15.25 miles, roughly halfway, in 2:32, which I was happy with.  Unfortunately, I could tell then that I was cooked.  I had expended way too much energy pirouetting around rocks at too quick a pace.  At 17.64 miles, I decided to walk, and after my left foot slammed into an obstacle seconds later, I went down.  All that care taken while running, and I let my guard down walking.  As one does, especially on the playground, I popped up and looked around to see if anyone saw, then brushed myself off and continued.  Falling while walking is fortunately not nearly so violent as while running.  I walked for a tenth of a mile, then ran for another mile before walking again.  This time, the walk doubled and the ensuing run was cut in half.  And so it went until I was walking full-time.

I loaded up on fluids at the mile 20.6 aid station and marched off up the hill.  It had gotten hot but I hadn’t realized it.  As for hills, around mile 18 or 19, there’s a long hill that is not steep, but it’s the beginning of a gradual uphill stretch that proceeds for ten miles until you reach the silt that started your trip.  Neither the course map nor my watch showed it as uphill for ten miles, but every time I looked it seemed like it was uphill.  For the record, this is not a hilly course, with a reported 816 feet of gain over 30.62 miles.

While the hills may not challenge you, the grassy trail to the next aid station might.  One fellow who visited while passing me said of the grass that it was more like blazing a trail than running it.  Not only did I not begrudge the dozen or so people who passed me while I walked in, I was thrilled for them.  I had imagined running the whole thing, and passing people who had overreached, and the shoe was most definitely on the other foot.  But the competitive spirit I started the day with had dissolved along with my energy stores, and at that point I was happy to see people who had planned well and succeeded in executing their plan.  By the end I didn’t care where I finished and I barely cared if I finished at all.

Somewhere in that long slog between aid stations I decided that I could at least start working some jogging into my walking, because if there’s one thing I’m good at, that’s it, going back to the same race four years earlier and several years of training to do both.  And with that attempt I discovered that I was dehydrated and cramping.  Just steps into a jog, I cramped and had to stop.  Then I drank and drank, until liquid was sloshing in my stomach, and I couldn’t seem to fix it.  I tried eating an extra electrolyte tablet that is typically dissolved in water, but no luck. As I approached the last aid station at mile 27, I thought I would let the aid station experience help me decide whether to call it a day.  I refilled my water bottles, had a drink of coke and sat for a few minutes in a chair with mist falling on me, the “best seat in the park” according to the volunteers.  I couldn’t argue with that.  I felt good.  I got up and headed out for the last 3.5 miles.

Half a mile farther, both legs cramped and I was frozen in place.  “What the f— am I supposed to do about this?”  Had it happened closer to the aid station I probably would have quit.  But going back the half mile seemed nearly as impossible as going forward three more, so I drank and tried to loosen up and was able to get going again.  With what I thought was two miles left, I figured if I could just pull off 13-minute miles I could break six hours.  When I’m cruising, I can walk 13-minute miles.  I can do this.  

It was a good speech, but on the hot trail after six hours, you don’t get to create your own reality with words.  After a few more failed jogs, I gave up on six hours, wished a few more passers well, and walked across the finish line in 6:04:33.  As results go, considering the conditions, it was solid.  It took me a while to see that, as the trudge of shame had beaten me down that day.  I felt defeated.  

When I think about different approaches I might have taken, I wonder how they might have affected my final time.  For instance, if I had gone out slower, say by one minute per mile in the first 12 miles, and then two minutes per mile in the next 8 miles (to account for the rocky stretch), that would have costed me 28 minutes through 20 miles.  Could I have made up more than 28 minutes in the last 10 miles by running instead of walking?  Probably?  Maybe?  I’m not sure.  I may have felt better about myself, but I’m not sure it would have impacted my final time a ton.  Maybe by four minutes and thirty-four seconds, which would have been nice.

It’s an age-old strategy dilemma.  Start slow and finish strong, and you wonder how much earlier you could have finished if you hadn’t tortoised the start.  Start fast and crash before the end, as I did, and you lament your aggressiveness.  Obviously there’s a middle path, but it’s hard to find.  Unfortunately, I’m not getting wiser, just older, so I expect this will not be the last time I choose to chase the imaginary hare.

One last thing about the day.  The vibe out there is great.  The race is well run, everyone is friendly and helpful, the park is beautiful.  I’m pleased it has caught on so well.