Mason Dixon Longest Day 100K Race Report
Nate Regouski
The Mason Dixon Longest Day event is a spectacular beast of
a challenge marked by no outright signs of being “extreme”, but on closer inspection
reveals a methodical, deliberate beating that takes its toll on even the most
hardy runner. Whereas more prestigious
events may have single climbs of thousands of feet, or cross harsh landscapes
in scorching heat or cold, the MDLD event deceives the runner with repeated
descents and ascents, trails clogged by stinging nettle, poison ivy, and downed
trees, and employs a not-quite-so-scorching heat and high humidity to take its
toll. This is done in the midst of some
of the most spectacular terrain of the
This years event was my second try at the MDLD challenge. The ‘challenge’ is to complete the 100K in the hours between sunrise and sunset on the longest day of the year, just a tad under 15 hours. I made it 52 miles last year before a sudden onset of IT tendon irritation caused me to scrap the attempt. I was determined to make adjustments for this years run to prevent the same problem. Notably, I would not run up even the most moderate hills after 20 miles, and pay special attention to my stride to minimize pounding and strain.
Two days prior to the run I deposited 6 drop bags at strategic locations between the organized aid stations. This worked very well last year, allowing me to complete the first 50 miles carrying minimal supplies. Also in preparation, I obtained new maps (the dang dog ate last years maps – literally!) and marked aid stations, drop bags, as well as those tricky turns where I spent loads of time and energy off course during last years run. I reviewed my notes from last year to re-familiarize myself with the more humiliating points.
Waking up before the sun is a peaceful way to start any
day. I gave myself about 10 minutes before
I had to be out the door. A cup of
coffee and a few Ho-Ho’s in hand, I was in my jeep chugging down Highway 1, a
slight tinge of color already on the horizon.
Motoring down the road, past the rural farms and into the river valley,
the surroundings comes into focus as the sun nears it’s
breaking point. With 10 minutes to
spare, I pull into
At 
trail. Refusing to give in to common sense, I make
my way down the hill through the woods, coming out on the road 200 yards west
of the actual trail. I make my way up to
the parking lot just as Brett Pfleiger and John Sporer are crossing the
road. Having an ample supply of fluids,
I bypass the aid station and head into the forest. I easily navigate the woods and hills of the
next section of trail, but again get a little lost making my way to the farmers
field before Glen Cover marina.
It is still early. This is the warm-up, these first 15 miles, and I proceed to let my legs carry me on the flats and downhills. I am not pushing the pace, but I allow my legs to move at their natural tempo, neglecting to inform them of what is yet to come. Why discourage them after all? I pass Glen Cove and take a quick look for the water behind the ice machines. Not finding it, I continue on the path that skirts the pretty little cove busy with a few folks prepare their boats for a day on the water. Soon I am back on the path, making my way up and down the walls of the valley. There is a long stretch along a gravel utility road, and on this portion the sun and humidity make their presence known. It’s not terribly hot yet, but there is a sign of things to come later in the day. In one of the puddles along this road I scoop up a fist full of mud and apply it liberally to my face and body – my war paint. After a mile or so the trail re-enters the woods and travels up the hill before beginning the long descent through the rhododendron stands leading to Broad Creek cove, another beautiful river oasis dotted with cottages and boats.
I cross the Broad Creek bridge and enter the trail into the woods, past the “Trail Closed – DO NOT ENTER” sign. The trail soon becomes a moonscape of downed trees and logging equipment. I think the loggers mistook the blue dots for “CUT THIS TREE” markers, because there is no indication as to which way the MD trail leads. Following Hunt and Paul’s instructions, I make my way uphill until I can make out a logging road, which I follow to a makeshift parking lot, and eventually find my way to the boy scout camp and along the road to the water stop where Hunt is waiting. Topping off my fluids, I venture down Flintville road. At this point the scenery changes – covering county roads - some tar, some gravel - and passing small farm after small farm along the plateau of the river valley. An old fellow in a beat up pickup stops me to ask for directions to a nearby garage sale. I must have really looked like I was in-the-know. Despite the fact that I told him I was not familiar with the area, he stated the address several times thinking it would come to me eventually. It didn’t, and the guy finally figured out he was wasting his time. I told him there were a couple guys running behind me, and they for sure knew the address, but that they would probably try denying it and he should really press them until they gave him the information he was seeking.
Long comfortable gravel
roads eventually give way to the entrance to the Peach Bottom power plant area
where - unlike last year - I manage to navigate the area around the power line
towers without wandering around for 30 minutes looking for trail markers. I traverse the restricted area quickly and
quietly, ready to evade the security personnel.
I would just rather not have anyone see how bad my license photo
is. Near the power towers I experience
some cramping in my thighs. This is a
little concerning because it is early in a very long run. I cut my pace back a tad and adjusted my
stride, making a point to take in as much salt as possible at the next
opportunity. Crossing Atom road and
eventually coming out on Lay road, I pick up a granola bar and additional food
and liquids. This is where the run
really starts. It gets interesting and better
– if you can believe it. The trail cuts
across the road and heads directly up an unkept section of trail. After climbing the hill the path begins a
long slow descent, most of which is not cleared, so you have to push your way
through the brush. Large wolf spiders
seem particularly fond of this section of trail. You have the choice to try to delicately
avoid them, brush them out of the way, or blast through and hope they fall off
or are just not too venomous. Needless
to say I could have made a new pair of underwear with the spider silk I picked
up along this section. The trail opens
onto a road along the shore of the river, and soon turns back up the hill. After a long slow climb, I hit Coal Cabin
road and make my way down to the kayak outfitters where Hunt is waiting with
drop bags. I am feeling great, but I can
also tell it is time to ratchet down my pace and stride to deal with the heat
and conserve for the remaining miles.
Continuing down to
At the end of Coal Cabin
road the trial makes a beeline up the hill into a stand of beautiful evergreens. Pine needles cover the path and make for
soft, comfortable footing. Like my
previous attempt at the MDLD challenge, this is where I feel a profound sense
of peace on the trail. The combined
effect of solitude, the incredible surroundings, and running delirium allow the
joy of life to come into focus. My mind
wanders and I think of my incredible wife and children, the wonderful
experiences I have been granted, and the promise that the future holds. This overwhelming sense of peace and happiness
lasts almost until the finish (which I will get to later), and it is for this
reason this run is so special to me. No
other run has had quite such an effect. Perhaps it is simply the distance – this is
the first event over 50K that I have attempted.
But I believe it is the surroundings and beauty, the wonderful variety
of terrain. The fact that life IS great,
and I have an incredible family, helps
too.
Ahem – er – OK, I’ll move on now.
The trail along Muddy
Run starts by winding through the evergreens high above the creek and slowly
descends, crossing several small streams.
I stop at every chance to drench myself in any cold water crossing the
trail. I am not feeing hot at this point,
but I know the hills and exposed country roads are coming. When the path finally descends to the level
of Muddy Run, the forest opens to the magnificent slanting rock outcroppings
that line the creek. The water is
anything but muddy – crystal clear and inviting. The occasional kayak or two float by, darting
in and out of the turbulent waters along the way. There are boy scouts hiking, a few people
fishing, and a group of teens swimming.
This stretch of creek is a hidden gem.
There is no parking within miles of the trail head, but for anyone who
has an opportunity to hike this stretch of the MD trail, it is a must.
At the trail exit where the bridge crosses
After navigating the rocks south of lock 12, I am soon at the mile 38 aid station. Things are going very well. I have a quick chat with the folks there, change my socks, and am soon on my way. Past lock 12 there is a long stretch along the river on a somewhat flat trail, after which the path turns west, crosses the road, and makes its way up yet another beautiful creek lined with spectacular rock outcroppings. After following the creek for a short distance, the trail curves uphill and covers another section of evergreen forest along yet another smaller creek. The trail eventually crosses the creek, where I douse myself again, and begin the long dreaded climb up to El Posey road. Hunt and Paul noted there was a natural spring surrounded by bamboo along this section of trail, and sure enough – like a desert oasis – there it is! At the top of the hill I pass the Brett and John fan club/support team, which seems to grow by the hour. I was anticipating their mascot to show up soon. What is the Dover XC mascot? In all seriousness, these guys must be well liked to have so many folks and family carting around the tricky roads and trials of the area, supplied with ice cold water for all who pass. Thanks a bunch for your generosity and encouragement.
Having crested the hill to El Posey road, it is back to the valley plateau for the last long section of country roads. Along this section one of the houses has a nasty big dog – very noisy and intimidating. He bursts out of the gate and comes inches away, barking and showing his teeth the entire time. The homeowner does not emerge, so I slowly walk down the road, ready to plant my foot into the dogs throat if he jumps. I am not feeling quite so peaceful at this particular moment, but soon the dog is out of sight and all is well again. Plodding my way along the dusty gravel, I pass golden wheat fields being harvested by Amish farmers using thrashers pulled by teams of horses, yet another visual testament to the history and culture of this unique region. The trail again enters the woods, this time a drastically different, drier, stand of oak and elm trees that eventually lead to yet another small creek for another drenching in cold water. The lower areas are overtaken by more evergreens as I make my way along the creek bed towards Otter Creak campground. The trail follows a low-maintenance dirt road that parallels highway 425 on the ridge high above, eventually turning to cross a wooden footbridge to the path into the campground. The last 100 yards into the campground are excruciating, having to push through a large patch of fresh stinging nettle and raspberry thorns. I think there is no way I am on the trail, but sure enough the blue dots confirm the route.
Otter Creak campground is the perfect resting point before
venturing out for the last 12 miles. It
is complete with a camp store full of all kinds of goodies, and if you are so
inclined there is even a game room. For
me this is a huge benefit, because this is where my family wait for me, and the
amenities keep them busy during the potentially long wait for my emergence from
the wilderness. Running is my hobby, and
I am thankful my wife and kids make the trek to support me for a few brief
glimpses of me in a such a sorry state.
I find them close to the game room where they have set up camp. They are accompanied by one of the Trail Dawg
support crew (sorry I am no good with names), near a table where Amish children
are selling moon pies and other homemade baked goods. This is the 50 mile mark, and here I strap on
my water pack, change socks again, and take in yet more food and fluid. I am fortunate to be able to put down so much
without stomach trouble. After a few
pictures and some encouragement from the kids I am back on my feet and heading
out of Otter Creek Campground at around 
ice-filled water pack
has burst. I call my wife and asked her
to meet me with water bottles at the highway 425 crossing where I stopped last
year. As I pass the Christmas tree farm,
I reflect on my knee trouble last year, my legs being in great condition
now. I am very cautious to walk every
incline and manage my stride to preserve the condition of my trusty legs, which
still have not caught on to what the hell I am doing to them. When I finally cross highway 425, I am
relieved to have made it further than my previous try. I am completely confident that nothing can
prevent me from making the finish before sunset. I have 6 hours left to complete the
challenge. Only 10 miles to go. (Can you
sense the ominous foreboding?)
I notice Brett and John’s crew are making the trail
crossings earlier and more often, indicating the boys from
As for me, I am still in great condition, taking care to
keep it that way. Not long after being
passed, I AGAIN got lost, following an old overgrown road about 300 yards too
far before backtracking and picking up the trail that follows a creek down to
I continue to press on, determined to make the last 5
miles. It’s only 5 miles. Even if I walk I will at least finish the
event, and probably still meet the challenge.
At the end of the downhill along the creek, 
the trail turns and
makes a sharp incline up the valley wall.
After 10 steps up the hill my head is really swimming and I was laboring
for air. I make the hill 3 steps at a
time, sitting down to take a break in-between.
It is now that I realize I might not make it. Something is not right. Yes this is the longest run I have ever done,
but I took great care to play it safe, pay attention to my body, took every
precaution. My legs are still feeling
limber. My energy level is not a
concern. I make it to the top of the
hill, and am welcomed by a long, relatively flat straight section of
trail. Even walking this section is an
effort. Pressure continues to build in
my lungs. I keep taking in Gatorade and
water. Again downhill, which is harder
now because of the dizziness, and then back up, step by delirious step. I am very confused about what is
happening. How could I feel so good one
moment, and so bad the next? There has
to be a reason, and some way to counteract it.
Another straight section, and then down again, and back up. I pull out the maps. It is about 2 miles to the next water stop,
where the trail crosses the road. I can
make that! My water is running low. Another straight section, and to the left I
notice an old dirt road overgrown with tall grass. Inspecting the maps, I figure this path leads
to Kohler road, about a half mile off the trail. I rest and think. What is the best decision? Again I inspected my maps. 2 miles to the last water stop. ½ mile to the road and not completing the
distance for the second time.
This is a personal challenge. I am not in it to inflict great suffering on my body, to win, or to prove anything to anybody, and certainly not to put myself at any risk. I turn west off the trail and follow the path towards the road. It is much longer than ½ mile because it does not meet Kohler road directly. I have a cell signal so I feel safe. Along the way my wife calls. I lay down in the grass and tell her where to retrieve my body – er – to meet me at the end of Kohler road. I get back up and keep walking, making it to Kohler. I do the zombie shuffle slowly down the pavement towards highway 425. Vultures start to circle overhead.
I make my way to highway 425 and deposit myself at the end of a driveway to a country church. I receive some very odd stares from locals passing by. I definitely do not belong. My wife calls again – she is having trouble finding me. About 10 minutes later she pulls up and I drag myself into the passenger seat of the van. When I stopped last year she gave me a little grief for not continuing. Not so this year. Everyone is quiet as we head to the finish area to retrieve my drop bags from Hunt’s van. There we see Paul, for the first time that day. In a state of delirium I try to describe what happened. We bade the supporters farewell and begin the journey to retrieve the drop bags I had placed along the course. As I sit in the passenger seat, I begin to feel worse, and get very hot. At some point I feel like I am going to be sick and remember asking Stacey to pull over and then everything is black.
The next thing I recall is hearing her say my name and something about 911. As things come into focus I open the door and crawl into the grass in the shade of the car. I implore Stacey to give me a few moments before taking drastic action, and over the next 10 minutes things become clear again. I wait a while and then get back in the car and blast the AC on high, and get as much Gatorade down as I can stomach. We continue down the road and within 30 minutes I am feeling relatively normal again, comfortable enough to continue with the plan to retrieve my drop bags and drive my jeep from the start area back home. As we drive, Stacey describes what had happened. I had slumped forward and was breathing rapidly with my eyes wide open, in some kind of seizure. I assumed I had just passed out, but apparently it was a little more scary than that. The kids and Stacey were understandably rattled. By the time we are back at the start I am well past the point of concern. I still do not feel like I could have trekked the last 4 miles, but I am no longer delirious. The pressure in my lungs is subsiding.
I do not write what happened on the way home to elicit sympathy, or to justify my reason for quitting. If you read this and get the urge to make sure I am OK, or offer advice, please refrain. I respect the opinion those more experienced, but I have though about this, spoken to several people, including a doctor who is also a long distance runner, and the problem was either low sodium (a common cause of seizures) or fluid imbalance (too much or too little). My race report is more for my purposes than for others to read. If you are such a hardy runner that you actually enjoy reading several pages of one persons description of putting one foot in front of another for hours on end, more power to you, but I seldom get very deep into others race reports – no matter how well written or whimsical – because ultra running us just not that exciting. If you thought otherwise, sorry to burst your bubble.
Here is what this long distance foolishness it is to me – fulfilling, affirming, a great way to break out of the patterns of everyday life. It is beautiful and peaceful. It is meditation and a reminder of how special life is. It can remind us to take nothing for granted. It can open your mind and provide a path (or trail if you prefer) to greater understanding and perspective. It can make you appreciate how special those unique relationships are with your partner, children, and friends. That is what it is for me to run, and to run the Mason Dixon Longest Day in particular. If I never finish, I will keep trying, and I have a feeling it will continue to be special year after year.
Nate Regouski
Some photos courtesy of Brett Pfleiger, John Sporer, and their support crew.