The home state hobble.. The Mass meanderthon.. whatever you’d choose to call it, this was a special one that required a lot of soul searching. I ran this southbound, solo and unsupported. This was my 5th traverse of Massachusetts by way of foot and trail. An annual pilgrimage whose maiden voyage first set sail in 2022.
Starting at the MA/NH state line requires a .7 mile hike in from the Royalston Falls Trailhead. I had been here previously during my 2024 Nobo hike of the NET MA section. Reminding myself to keep a keen eye out for the state border sign along the serene gorge shaped by Falls Brook. Well, I was a quarter mile into New Hampshire before realizing I passed the sign, muttering to myself “Good start, Chris”. I backtracked to the sign, relieved my bowels once more and off I went. The first 30 some odd miles went all too smoothly.. physically. I threw down a 50k PR that I would have been pleased with, had I been running a 50k race. Except I had 80 miles to go and I couldn’t have been mentally lower. It was in the Wendell State Forest where I collapsed on the side of the trail, ended the activity on my watch and called my mom (again) to pick me up. I was on the verge of tears, not because I was in pain, but because I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason as to why I wanted to quit. I was beyond frustrated with myself. I made one more phone call to Mary Moon, letting her know that I wouldn’t be needing a ride home the next day. Through my audible pissing and moaning, she talked some serious sense into me. Had I not called her, there’s no doubt in my mind that I was quitting then and there. I took a good hard look in my figurative mirror and asked myself, “do I want to talk about it, or do I want to be about it?” 13 minutes passed, but it felt like an eternity. I stood up, brushed myself off and continued on. Within moments, a revelation was had – The only thing stopping me from reaching the Connecticut border would be the SOS button on my Garmin.
Night would eventually fall and the temperature dipped to the low 30’s. I never wore more than my damp shirt, a light wind shell, gloves and a headband. My alpha direct hoodie and wind pants caught a free ride the whole way. I refuse to don my final layers until completely necessary, no matter the season. I was excited to make my way across the Holyoke Range through the dead of the night; not to be distracted by views and crowds. I was yawning some big yawns and heavily debated curling up inside a wide body porta potty at the Notch Visitor Center to catch some shuteye. I knew it’d be pointless with how cold it was outside and came to the realization there would be no dirt naps on this jaunt. Eventually reaching the Connecticut River, I began the 10-mile road detour to the other side, eventually greeted with a banner sunrise on the Mt. Tom Range. The hardest part of this section (and possibly the whole run) was not stopping at the gas station or Dunkin and stuffing my gullet with everything in sight. Same goes for when I got to the Westfield River crossing. The roast beef sign outside of Little George’s restaurant was a seducing temptress. I ended up fording the river where water levels reached up to my hips. I’ve never felt more like I was going to get swept off my feet and take a ride. I reached the Connecticut border at 28 hours 11 minutes 20 seconds. I backtracked to the trailhead and took a snoozer in the grassy field. A concerned woman pulled over, woke me up and asked if I was alright. I was just dandy. I Ubered to a nearby Stop & Shop where the guilt-free fried chicken gluttony ensued.
I packed 5,055 calories (1,140g of carbs) consisting of tailwind, carb gels, Gu’s and various Aldi bars. I consumed 4,465 calories (1,025g of carbs). Safe to say I lost some weight on this one. I bought a 10.5 oz bag of peanut M&M's two days before go time and another package the next day. Let’s just say those didn’t make it to the start line with me because I have little to no self control. Also, I collected all of my water from streams and filtered none because tomorrow’s irritable bowels are worth a lifetime of glory.