From Running Director Heidi Caldwell.

It’s hard to believe only a few weeks ago thousands of people convened in Atlanta to race, cheer, and celebrate at the Olympic Marathon Trials. It feels odd to share my reflections on a race that happened just before life-as-usual came to a screeching halt. I recognize how lucky I am to have run my goal race while so many others are now faced with dream races canceled or postponed. Any worry I felt in my lead-up to Trials now seems insignificant and frivolous. My big takeaway from the past month: don’t put too much weight on any one training block, workout session, or target race. Instead, remember your underlying reason for training and racing. Whether it is the fun of challenging yourself, the thrill of pushing your limits, or the gained sense of empowerment -- this is what we need to recognize every day we lace up our shoes. Whatever it may be for you, hold it close and honor it. We are all so lucky to find meaning in this pursuit that continues to get us outside and moving. 

Consider the following recap of my Trials experience a sampling of light-hearted, escapist running content for you to enjoy amidst the heaviness of today’s world. 

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You made it, now what? Last October, I rode the jubilant high of qualifying for Trials for several weeks before fully committing to racing at Trials. I found myself in an elusive space as a runner: Satisfied. I was happy with my new marathon PR and didn’t feel particularly eager to jump back into another marathon training block. As Ellie Pell - the woman I raced most of my qualifying race with - put it, “Hartford was our Olympics”. To no one’s surprise, however, I soon realized I couldn’t miss out on my opportunity to be a part of such a highly anticipated, celebrated event - Atlanta here I come!

My goal for Trials was simple: get to the starting line feeling fit, healthy, and excited to race. Given the hilly elevation profile of the Atlanta course, running a PR wasn’t the goal. I felt no pressure to run a certain time. Yes, I wanted to hold my own and run a strong race, but time wasn’t the focus of the day. This was a refreshing approach to road racing for me. Most of the half or full marathons I had raced in the past few years had been in pursuit of running a specific and fast time. I spent these races checking my watch at every mile split, keying more off what my watch displayed than how my body felt. Trials offered the perfect opportunity to break this habit. I could get out there and race a marathon - mile splits be damned! 

Fast-forward through months of winter training on slippery roads and snowy ski trails to Trials weekend. After weeks of shoe debates and good luck wishes, it was finally here! The two days leading up to the race were packed with a slew of athlete check-ins and pre-race meetings. Every racer was given a detailed schedule of when to pick-up competitor packets, get shoes measured, drop-off personal bottles, pick-up race numbers, get uniforms approved, and attend the technical pre-race meeting to explain how the heck 500 women with PRs within a 25-minute window would manage to grab fluid bottles all at once. It was a lot to think through and organize, but the Atlanta Track Club and all of the volunteers made it as easy as it could be. Plus, there were snacks available at all times to keep any sort of hanger distress at bay! 

At some point amidst all the pre-race hype, it dawned on me that I was about to race a marathon and that it was going to hurt. This may sound silly, but I was so distracted by the anticipation and excitement leading up to Trials that I hadn’t fully appreciated the painful part of marathon racing. Of course, this is part of the runner’s mantra: embrace the pain, celebrate our fitness, and push our limits. For this race in particular, I was fueled by curiosity. How will my mix of skiing and running training hold up on race day? What will it be like to run from the start with a large pack of fierce, fast women? How will the feed zones actually work with the unprecedented field size? How the heck would I manage to not snot-rocket on a fellow racer? Only one way to find out...

Race morning was oddly relaxed. The late start time of 12:20pm allowed for plentiful sleep and time spent chatting with friends. Beyond the nervousness for my impending physical pain, I was excited! On my post-breakfast shake-out walk, I got jazzed seeing the swarms of people setting up feed zones or meeting up to cheer along the course. It was a windy, chilly day, so my fellow Vermonters - Kasie & Meg - and I elected to get to the warm-up zone as late as possible, 11:30am. The only flaw in this plan was the congestion of spectators we found packed between us and the start area when we left the hotel. Through a brief panicked moment, we somehow managed to get there with enough time to stretch out, use the porta-lets, and check our bags before being paraded to the starting line and final warm-up zone. 

As I began my first pre-race stride, I looked to my left and saw Molly Huddle striding alongside - and then quickly away from - me. The novelty of that moment felt way cooler than I imagined it would - I was about to race with Molly-Freaking-Huddle! The privilege of the experience really sunk in at that moment. Every single part of race morning, pre-race check-ins, and on-course aid was the same for all racers, professionals and amateurs alike. 500 women strong were about to charge off the starting line in one shared ambition and shared experience. I got chills and smiled at the wildness of it all. 

Minutes later, we were unleashed onto the streets of Atlanta. The adrenaline hit me immediately, and hit me hard. The first six miles was one long, screaming hype tunnel. Any plans of starting out conservative and going for a negative split flew out the window as I gleefully charged along in the middle of the pack. The leaders started out slow, so the whole pack stayed relatively bunched up for several miles. The pack was brought to a brief halt a number of times in the first mile as we all jostled for positions and some got tripped up. The field eventually stretched out as the pace quickened up front.

The race course consisted of three laps on an 8 mile loop, with an additional 2.2 mile loop added to the end of the third lap. I loved every minute of the first lap, soaking up the crowds’ cheers and my fellow racers’ energy. It wasn’t until early in the second loop that the pack thinned out enough for my mind to settle. Around mile 10 I glanced at my watch and saw I had started faster than I intended to on the hilly course. My initial adrenaline spike was fading as I approached the halfway point, and I could feel the hurt settling into my legs. With another 13 miles to go, I knew I needed to relax and find my own cruise control. Thankfully, my friend Meg rescued me from this low point as she ran up beside me in the following mile. Together we cranked through a couple of gusty, gutsy miles heading into the third and final loop. 

Around the 20 mile mark I entered full-on suffer-fest: don’t think, dig in, and just try to pass as many people as you can. I think every one of us was in survival mode that last lap. The hills were relentless and challenging, but it was the wind that brought tough to a new level that day. Some of the gusts were nearly strong enough to stop you in your tracks. I even saw one woman get knocked to the ground in front of me by a particularly strong gust. To top it all off, the extra 2.2 mile loop at end of the third lap boasted two of the biggest hills of the day. Hats off to Atlanta Track Club - that final 5k was one heck of a slog. On the final out and back stretch - passing under the Olympic rings - women were offering whatever encouragement we could muster as we ran by each other. There’s nothing like 26.2 miles of hills and wind to bond even the fiercest of competitors in mutual respect. 

Crossing the finish line was a triumph for all of us that day. My lungs burned and my heart rejoiced. Seeing all of the women streaming into the finish was a powerful, awe-inspiring moment. Together, we had made history as the largest-ever field of runners to race in a US Olympic Marathon Trials. And we did it in some of the toughest conditions on one of the hardest courses in Trials history. That moment in the finish zone solidified the race as the most fun, most grueling, and most memorable race I had ever run, and perhaps will ever run. The whole experience exceeded my expectations in so many ways, and I am forever grateful to all of the people who got me there. Your collective encouragement gave me the confidence to tackle new workouts, kept me excited throughout the long training block, and made me proud of marathon training through a Vermont winter. 

In particular, I want to extend enormous gratitude to the many friends, family members, college teammates, and Craftsbury campers who made the trip to Atlanta to cheer and celebrate. The day was meaningful and memorable because of you. Nothing will ever top the sea of bacon costumes, retro ski outfits, USA onesies, and hot pink tie-dye shirts shouting to me across the sidewalks of Atlanta. Your cheers pushed me through the wind and carried me up the hills. I can’t wait to be race-side for you, sporting my own cheer costume, and yelling myself hoarse on your dream days. Looking forward to seeing you all on the roads and at the races on the other side of these uncertain times.