Running as a Metaphor
“I knew long before I toed the start line of the Vermont 100, that I was finishing. It wasn’t one specific factor, and it wasn't wishful thinking. I wasn’t saying this to trick my mind into believing it. I just knew. ” - Matthew Goldstein 2024 Finisher, Vermont 100
The day was about perfect - sunny, moderate temperatures, the beautiful Vermont countryside, horses, runners, race crews, the enthusiasm of so many people doing something so crazy. At 10am when we first met Matthew at the “Stage Road” checkpoint, it all seemed almost easy - and after all, it was only 30 miles into the race - easy… Runners were smiling as they refueled and received hugs and cheers from their crews and race volunteers. At the next station, Camp 10 Bear, mile 48.6, I began to see the dirt and bruises, pain and perseverance, and only in that light did I begin to understand the “why.” My time at Otto Specht has shown me the different strength and tenor of the capacities one gains through adversity. Experiences like this redefine what is possible.
Matthew understood this race as a metaphor for the work we do at Otto Specht long before I began to draw these parallels. His son Rafa has been with us for 2 years now. This was why Matthew chose to use the race to let people know about our school and to raise funds so other children could attend. It is why I was there to pace him and Mr. Bosch, Rafa’s teacher, was there to help crew the stations with Yara and Leia, Rafa’s mom and sister. But only in being there in the midst of it did we realize we were stepping into something that was somehow familiar.
In another 11 miles, the “Margaritaville” checkpoint, mile 58.9, the picture for Matthew had drastically changed. SInce leaving Camp 10 Bear a couple hours prior, he had been vomiting nonstop. With his crew there to support him, Matthew tried anti-nausea medication and tried to keep something, anything, down (coconut water and some contraband ramen from a race volunteer worked). In his greatest moment of struggle, he had a network of support - giving him his jacket, blankets, hat, and a full length chair upon which he took a 2 hour nap! And this is the crucial thing about support - in your moments of strength, it may be just a nice backdrop, a high five to boost your confidence, words of encouragement - but in a moment of need, the right support can change the course of one's journey, sometimes drastically.
We had planned that I would meet Matthew at the “Spirit of 76” checkpoint, mile 78.5, and pace him for the last 22.5 miles. I admit my uncertainty that I would be running as he napped and I questioned whether it was possible to recover and run 40 more miles. When he took off again, I decided I would be ready to join at the next checkpoint, mile 70, just in case. You can imagine our surprise when Matthew practically sprinted past us having run his fastest 10 miles of the day! “Aren’t you the guy who was napping at Margaritaville?” one runner asked as he began passing many of the runners who had come and gone in the two hours he spent at Margaritaville. Matthew felt good. He would see me at Spirit of 76 as planned.
The next 7 miles were a grueling elevation gain that his recovery had spared me, but at 1:30am, Matthew pulled into the checkpoint, ready for me to join him through the finish. We headed out into the forest and farm roads, calm and beautiful under the nearly full moon. We held a steady jog on the flats and walked the hills. We passed a couple runners here and there, but otherwise the night was quiet. Once, as we were holding to a nice pace, the glow of our headlamps landed on another runner, just off to the side, who had taken a seat on a stump. We could see the look of doubt and despair on his face. “You ok?” we asked. He was not in a good state, the fatigue and the night wearing on him, biting into his resolve and his judgment. Even in the summer, when your body has been through 80 miles and your clothes are sweaty, sitting for too long will quickly drop your temperature, your muscles can stiffen, and you can find yourself in a bad place. “Come on,” Matthew told him. “Come with us.” We walked together for a while, talking, and his mood lightened. He told us to go on a couple of times, not let him hold us back, but we stuck together until he regained his resolve and joined up with some others. There is a camaraderie born out of shared struggle that was very present at the race; a community built amongst strangers. No one was trying to get somewhere at anyone else’s expense, whether finishing in 17 hours (this year’s winner, a woman, finished in 17:19) or 30 (the cutoff).
At some point, still well before sunrise, Matthew tells me he has just seen lawn chairs neatly stacked amongst the trees, and that the road had an interesting geometric pattern to it. He also saw a family of ducks that turned out to be horse poop and a bronze statue of Yara but chose to keep those visions to himself. Matthew was certainly not the first to hallucinate during an ultra marathon; fatigue of a much milder sort can cause sights, but in this case it is also a little known side effect of anti nausea medication, and a first for Matthew. A better known side effect of the medication is fatigue and moments later, Matthew was begging to take “just a 60 second nap on the side of the road.” It was my turn to not let someone make poor choices on this splendid moonlit night and I had to keep telling him -“not ‘til Bills.”
Bill’s was the next aid station, mile 88.8, and we arrived as the moon was setting behind the trees past the hay fields. It was beautiful. Matthew took a 90 second nap (he earned an extra 30 seconds for waiting). As the faintest light began to color the landscape, we set back off. The sun rose and we went through more bucolic scenes - cow fields, forests, and quiet neighborhoods where many people had left water buckets and signs of encouragement on their lawns to support the runners. Walking up a hill, our friend from the forest, by now in excellent spirits, passed us with a group of runners, and later we passed them again. Time and again we wound up running with people who Matthew had last seen maybe 20 or 60 miles earlier. Everyone was on a shared journey but everyone was also on their own personal journey. We heard about ups and downs in brief conversations before parting ways again - slower, faster, passing, being passed.
In the stunning clear morning light, we came to “Polly’s,” the final aid station. The crew was there and ready to support but as I was about to pull over, he said, “Let’s keep going.” And we did. More cow fields and forests, hills that somehow became taller when you thought you were almost at the top, and finally the sign: “Mile 99.” We paused for a quick photo of Matthew and kept on - a new sense of excitement as we wound through the forest paths. The another sign - “½ mile to finish” and Matthew says, almost casually - “You wanna see something?” and off he goes, me, his pacer, who had not even done a full quarter of what he had, racing to keep up! Those final runners we passed stepped to the side in congratulations as we flew past. To mile 100.
Matthew had finished the Vermont 100 before, 5 hours faster than this time around. He had also had to drop out before, right at Margaritaville. He didn’t have a crew that year to help him get back on his feet. Matthew didn’t see the extra 5 hours as a disappointment. He looked at the positives. Running through the whole night. Watching 2 sunrises. It also left him with the question, “How long can I really run for? How many more miles?”
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