2024 Hell Hole Night 50K Race Recap

Last Updated on June 12, 2024 by Heather Hart, ACSM EP, CSCS

“What made you choose to sign up for the night race?” a stranger, who had just finished his 50 miler asks me as I am haphazardly slapping RunGoo on my bare feet, getting ready for a 6pm start for my own 32 mile race.

I laugh, and responded “It’s a long story.”

I didn’t want to regal this exhausted stranger with my parenting adventures, as this adventure in particular was almost too ridiculous (and certainly too long) of a story to tell. But since I haven’t written a post on this site since (checks backlogs) April 9th, I figure I have a little built in buffer to tell you, my dear readers, the ridiculous, long story.

The reason I signed up for the Hell Hole Night 50K went a little something like this:

1. Early April I decided to up for Hell Hole 50K – the day version. Race day worked out to near perfect timing to use the race as one of my last long training runs for the The Yeti 100 Mile Endurance Run – Washington edition.

2. A little over a month later, I sign my oldest son up for a local summer track program. He had an amazing spring season as a pole-vaulter, and was excited to keep the momentum going over the summer. Once I sign him up I learn that one of their meets is on the same day as the 50K.

3. Simultaneously I remember that there’s a night 50K option for this same event, and while both the track meet and the 50K are nearly 2 hours from home, they are only about 20 minutes from each other, the latter being on the way home.

4. Switch registration to the night 50K.

5. A few weeks later when I finally stop to think about the logistics, I realize that running a 50K after a VERY early morning and long day at the track meet probably isn’t a good idea. While I’m not one to shy away from teaching my kids about compromise and sacrifice for those you love, I also realize asking my 17 year old to sit around for 6 or 7 bonus hours after a long day of competing so mom can go run around in the woods is a BIG ask.

6. Message the RD, ask if I can show up to the race and run the course mid-afternoon as soon as the meet is over and as soon as I can get there (taking my results out of overall rankings/podium eligibility of course) in order to get home a little earlier than 2:00 am. Since there is a 100 miler going on at the same time, people will be on the course anyway. She agrees.

7. Three days before the meet and the 50K, find out the track team’s coach didn’t get the team registered in time, so they aren’t participating.

8. Message RD, apologize, thank her for being so accommodating, but let her know the track meet plans changed, so you’ll be there for the normal 6 pm start as an official racer.

9. Find out the DAY BEFORE the meet that the kids can, in fact, compete after all.

10. Say nothing to the RD, as I realize I am already a huge pain in the ass and she has more important race day details to deal with. While out for a mountain bike ride the night before, I get the great idea that I’ll swing by the race on the way home, grab my packet, but take a “DNS”. Instead I’ll run my own “unofficial” 50K on Sunday here on a very similar course. I inform my husband of my plans, he agrees to pace/crew for me on his bike.

11. Wake up at 5:00 am Saturday morning. Load car. Strap pole vaulting poles to roof. Wake up kid. He’s not feeling good. He goes back to bed. No track meet.

So, after an early morning alarm clock and my inability to take a nap once I’m awake, I twiddle my thumbs around my house for a solid 7 hours before finally getting in my car and making the 90 minute drive South.

Which brings me back to haphazardly slapping RunGoo on my bare feet, and telling a stranger that the reason I signed up for the night version of the Hell Hole 50K was too long of a story to tell. I felt like that was a pretty standoffish response to a question that seemed sincere and asked with genuine curiosity, so I add:

“I’ve run almost every distance of both the summer and winter versions of this race over the past 6 years, so I thought a few night loops around the course would be fun!”

It was true, every January and every June since 2018 I’d run anywhere from one loop (16.3 ish miles) to six loops (plus a little extra to hit 100 miles) at a time competing in various distances and editions of the Hell Hole races. During events that I didn’t race, I volunteered to man aid stations, spending many a sleepless night helping other runners reach their finish lines.

I have run the Jericho Horse Trail so many times that I’ve experienced the full gamut of emotions from excitement (due to blissful ignorance), to hatred (swearing off running a race on this trail ever again), to feeling like I have left a piece of my soul out here. And in turn, it truly feels like the trail has permanently become a part of my very being.

It’s more than saying “I know this course like the back of my hand”, even though I do. This place feels like home.

So yeah, the night course felt like a good idea, far better than the alternative option of missing the race altogether. Especially since this would be the first edition of the Hell Hole Hundred held under its new race company, Palmetto Ultras, after our good friend Chad handed over the reigns to the new race director, Kayla, and retired Eagle Endurance events.

Whew. How do you like that for a race recap intro? I promise we’re getting to the good stuff.

Now, despite the race (which also offered a 100 miler, 50 miler, 50K, 16.3 miler, and 10K with traditional day time starts) hitting full capacity and therefore selling out, there was a smaller crowd for the night 50K, only about 20 or so of us.

At a few minutes before 6:00 pm, the night 50K crowd begins to hover in the general vicinity of the starting line as RD Kayla gives us final race instructions. As she begins the traditional 10 second countdown until the start, no one would actually step up to the start line. Everyone is giving that sheepish “I’m not trying to win, someone else go first” look to each other.  

“6, 5, 4..” still no one would step up.  

I say something out-loud along the lines of “oh hell, if no one else will step up, I’m going to do it, and you’re all going to be stuck behind me”.  I meant it too: my 40’s have brought on both a newfound lack of being embarrassed by anything at all paired with an astute stubbornness that meant I would absolutely make these people run at my training-run-pace if they didn’t heed my warning. Very much in a motherly “you should have used the bathroom before we got in the car, now you have to hold it until we get to the store” sort of way. They were warned.

There were some nervous chuckles from the crowd as I step right up to the finish line, and others quickly fell in behind me.

“3, 2, 1, GO!” 

We all take off down the single track trail, with me in the lead. True to my word, I stick to my intended race pace, and the entire field of 50K night runners were, in fact, stuck behind me. I almost immediately call back “let me know if you need to pass!” I can feel the crowd of 20-30 something dudes behind me chomping at the bit to run faster, and I expect a few to immediately zoom by on my left.

Yet for over a tenth of a mile, no one would pass.

We cross the paved entrance to the Jericho Horse Trail parking road, and just as quickly we are back in the woods. This stretch of trail opens up a little wider (wide enough for a horse, I’d imagine), so I purposefully hug the far right side of the trail as I run, giving room for the others to pass.

I not so secretly hope they would hurry up and do it already – I am notorious for getting caught up in both competition and other people’s paces, especially at the start of a race – and I truly want to behave myself and stick to my plan.

It feels like forever, but in reality was probably less than a minute, before the first runner passes by me, and at least 8 or 9 others follow. I breathe out a sigh of relief, power on my headphones, and settled into my pace.

Less than a half mile later, I was all alone. This section of the trail feels straight as an arrow, yet I cannot see anyone ahead of me OR behind me.

It stays that way for at least the next 6 miles. And I relish every second of it.

There was a time when I would have (and certainly did) wax poetically about my thoughts, emotions, excitement, and fears while running alone for as far as the eye could see in a 259,000 acre National Forest. But perhaps one of the many reasons I haven’t been writing much lately is because I don’t feel I have much to say about my actual running anymore.

Anyone who has known me, even if only through this blog, for more than a few years knows that there was a point in my life where running was an incredibly large part of my identity. Many people will tell you that “running is therapy”, but for me it was more like the drug that I used to escape my own reality. Back then if I didn’t have running, I didn’t know who I was.

These days, running is just something that I sometimes do (and of course, have an entire career coaching other people to do, but that’s besides the point), it’s not the entirety of who I am. While that truth makes for a much quieter blog, I will be the first to tell you that our relationship – running and I – is much better this way.

So, instead of deep thoughts or heavy emotions, I’m going to share other notable race highlights. They involve things like rouge hamburgers and rogue bowels. Here we go:

At some point in the first 5K I stop to take a picture of a bird (of course I did) that I hadn’t ever seen before. Turns out, it’s a Yellow-crowned Night Heron. Hell yeah, new life list bird.

I count the number of bridges and dirt roads I cross between the starting line and reaching the point where we highway 41 for the first time. I do this every single time I run this trail and every single time I forget that number by my next loop. I think it’s 12, but don’t quote me on that.

I make it to the first aid station at Irishtown Road (approximately mile 6ish). I give sweaty, smelly hugs to my dear friends Anne and Kevin Jones, who are so established as THE volunteers at this location, that I’d be utterly dismayed to find anyone else there. After we embrace I say something like “sorry to be rude, but I have to pee SO BAD” and sprint over towards the port-a-potty. As I go, Kevin yells back at me “that’s not rude, rude would be peeing right here!”. I love ultrarunners.

(p.s. you should read Kevin’s book.)

I pass a pair of guys running with short, thick sticks that resemble clubs. By their running gait and the fact that I don’t remember seeing them at the start line, I’m guessing they are 100 milers. I briefly consider stopping to ask them why they are carrying those sticks, but figure I won’t bother them, they look tired. Besides, out of all of the wild things to be found in this forest (bears, gators, hogs, snakes, etc.), the only thing that scares me are other humans (non racers) and I don’t think a stick would help me in that scenario.

At the Yellow Jacket aid station (approximately mile 12ish) I happily run my mouth in that runners-high sort of way at my friends Karyn and Tony who are volunteering here throughout the duration of the race. I grab some Sour Patch Kid’s watermelon chews from the table and laugh to myself about how perfectly on brand these are for race director Kayla.

In addition to being an RD, Kayla is also a registered dietitian (the other kind of RD), and she is really great at helping runners figure out their training and racing nutrition strategies. These watermelon chews pop up in her social media feed often as a tasty, carb dense running fuel option, and I’m happy to see them.

I marvel at how dry the last 4 miles of the 16.3 mile course is this year. This section is notoriously a mess. Most years it’s covered in mud, if not 200+foot long shin to knee deep puddles (I am not exaggerating) that you cannot go around. This year, short of some “still drying so be careful” slightly muddy spots, this section is dry and surprisingly runnable. I pass a handful of runners.

Speaking of things I’m marveling at, the temperature at this point is in the low 70’s/upper 60’s. Another “this is not normal” for the Hell Hole Hundred. Usually, we’re happy when the temps dip below 90 overnight.

The sun starts to set and I bust out my headlamp. Admittedly, I was a little nonchalant about packing for this race, and just grabbed gear that has always worked in the past. What I failed to remember is that this headlamp that I’ve always loved has spent the past two years being used on my bike helmet while adventure racing, rather than directly on my head. As such, the band has stretched beyond the point where it can stay securely around my head. So in a “you better figure something out” moment, I decide to wear it around my waist. It’s not perfect, but it works.

As I cross highway 41 again and run the short stretch of trail to the start/finish line to check in before beginning my second loop, I come across a near whole hamburger just sitting upright in the middle of the trail. I don’t know why I find this so hilarious, but I do. So much so, that I come running into the start/finish rambling about a hamburger on the trail, probably confusing the hell out of Kayla, the volunteers, and any other racers in earshot. The first 16.3 miles took me almost exactly 3 hours. Things are going exactly as planned.

As I’m getting ready to head back out on loop #2, I must have mumbled something out-loud about my headlamp situation as I was fiddling with it, because Kayla asked me if I wanted to borrow her waist lamp. Talk about a race director going over and above! I happily borrowed that lamp, and it made the next 16.3 miles significantly more enjoyable (thank you Kayla!).

On my way back out, I take a picture of the hamburger. Two runners are coming into the start/finish headed in the opposite direction. I explain to them I’m taking a picture of a hamburger, and that I find it hilarious. I wonder if they assume I’m running the 100, and prematurely hallucinating.

At some point early into loop two, my digestive system starts to do some flips. As any ultra runner or ultra endurance athlete can tell you, this isn’t uncommon, though for me it’s unexpected only 18-20 miles into a race. When I reach the Irishtown aid station again, I stop and spend a few minutes chatting with Kevin and Anne, while simultaneously reaching for snacks I think might help calm my stomach. Pickles, ginger chews, and some crackers should do the trick.

About three miles later, I’m absolutely convinced I’m going to shit my pants. Walking isn’t much better than running, so I continue to run as much as possible. I somehow manage to find this hilarious, as I’ve never actually pooped myself while running before. Of course, I hope that today won’t be the first time, but I figure there’s absolutely nothing I can do but laugh.

I spend the next three miles doing the run/walk/shuffle based on the status of my stomach. I remember the mid-day macaroni and cheese I ate for lunch, and wonder if that might be the culprit. Night starts are hard, you aren’t really sure what to do with yourself. I make it to Yellow Jacket aid station, and my stomach has started to settle. Nevertheless, I take a few more ginger-chews and spend a few minutes chatting with Tony. I figure a few minutes of NOT jostling my stomach around would be for the best.

I cover the last 4 mile stretch significantly slower the second time around. In addition to the gut rot, which thankfully has deescalated from “might need to change my shorts” to a general lower GI tract rumbling, my feet were starting to feel the past 28 miles. This section has a lot of hidden holes, and plenty of not at all hidden cypress knees that I still manage to nearly trip over anyway, so I’m taking it slower.

Eventually, I’m on the other side of highway 41 once again. The hamburger is gone. I cross the finish line, 32.6 miles, in 6:57:06. This earns me 2nd place female, and 4th overall. And while another woman beat me (by 14 minutes), so her record will stand, I beat the previous course record for women for the night 50K by just over 57 minutes.

I’m given a finisher’s plaque and a kick-ass trophy that reminds me of something I might win a bowling league (I am not at all being sarcastic when I say these truly are my favorite.)

My feet are a little sore and my mind tired because it is now WELL past my bedtime, but overall I feel good. I did what I came here to do: log some training miles and slowly regain some of my ultrarunning-confidence. Despite all of the initial stressing out about how I was going to make this race happen, I somehow made it happen…even though I still did not make it home until well after 2:00 am. Ahhh the life of an ultrarunning parent…

(it was worth it).

So, there you have it, my 2024 Hell Hole Night 50K experience. There were highs (hilarious mid trail hamburgers!) and lows (nearly shitting my pants). There were endless hugs from friends I hadn’t seen in too long. And there was ultrarunning, something I didn’t realize I truly have missed more than expected*.

(*but get back to me after this upcoming 100 miler, I may change my tune again.)

Lastly, I need to tell you that Kayla/Palmetto Ultras went ABOVE AND BEYOND directing this event. The race swag was fantastic. The course was impeccably marked. The aid stations had everything you could possibly need (including those ginger chews for aforementioned angry stomach). The overall vibe was so positive and supportive. There’s always a little bit of hesitation when someone else takes over an event you have come to love, but I know without a doubt that she made the Eagle Endurance/now Palmetto Ultras community proud.

I 10 out of 10 stars recommend that you give one of her upcoming races a try. Just be sure to leave me a spot before they sell out.