Another Lap

The Third Annual Freer Winter Solstice Backyard Ultra

On the shortest and darkest day of the year, or as near to it as schedules allow, we gather to make a humble offering to the sun in the hopes that it will once again choose to reverse course and make our days longer and brighter. This year, we chose Sunday, December 17th, for the Third Annual Freer Winter Solstice Backyard Ultra. The event is based out of my garage, and held on 1.25 miles of pine-lined forest trail in the Freer Field County Park of Balloonfest fame.

The format is simple: from sunrise to sunset, attendees run or walk as much or as little as they wish! The start is at exactly 7:48am and the finish is at exactly 5:03pm. As is tradition, lap 1 included a group of us walking easy with a cup of coffee, and the final lap included a group of us walking easy with a beverage. The garage served as an aid station and general recovery zone, with heaters and music and snacks and drinks and chairs and friends, as well as the all important tally sheet, on which each participant must sign their name and place a tally mark after each completed lap.

A small group of us started this solstice ritual in 2021 and immediately realized we were on to something special. Contrary to most backyard ultras, we used a no-cut format, where all participants were welcome to simply complete as many laps as they desired between sunrise and sunset (which works out to 9 hours and 15 minutes), to celebrate staying active and out of doors on the shortest day of the year.

That first year, 30 people ran or walked at least one lap, with total distances ranging from 40 miles to 1.25 miles. Overall, we covered 438 collective miles. Nine people completed in-a-day distance PRs. All with no competitive race energy and no entry fee. Our little tweak on the backyard ultra format seemed to make it magical for us masses who aren’t elite athletes. Attendees could, and many did, take long breaks between laps, which made it delightfully hard to quit. In 2022, 37 runners and walkers covered 491 total miles. Once again, many personal bests were set and a handful of folks did their first ever 50k! The tradition was solidifying.

I think that part of what makes it so compelling is the simple beauty of the in-a-day challenge. Climbers and mountaineers have long pursued aesthetic or obvious lines or routes - those that call out to be climbed immediately upon being seen. Units of time can also be aesthetically appealing - space and time of course being the two variables of movement, and both holding inherent value to a runner. How far can we travel on foot in a day? This seems a question worth answering for its own sake. And how often should we test our all-day capacity? A full year is hard to argue with. Why not check back in after a lap around the sun?

As the great poet-musician M. Ward once forlornly asked, “If life is really as short as it seems, then why is the night so long?” One could answer this question, or at least find peace in its unanswerableness, in many arenas - religion, philosophy, meditation, nihilism, etc. - but I prefer running a lot.

On Sunday morning, the garage slowly fills with people and stoke. Everyone is getting caffeinated and energized. The day is full of potential. We’re warm, dry, and know we’ll have good company when things get painful. My older boys, Cedar and Rowe, had said they’d wait and join the party later in the day, but their enthusiasm could not be contained once they saw the crowd building and jittering in the garage. They scrambled to pull on shoes and coats and hats to join the first lap. I think they could tell this was the real New Years’ party in our household, and didn’t want to miss out on the ball drop.

Around 40 people took the first lap together. Steady rain had started a few hours before sunrise and was supposed to continue all day. There were already some large puddles in low lying spots and the trail was mushy most the way ‘round. By the end of the day, things were going to get messy!

My friend JP Krol had driven in from Maine, and blitzed it from the gun, hoping to set his 50 mile PR. He literally lapped us on our coffee walk, but alas, the solstice demon snatched his ankle on lap two, and he spent the rest of the day icing and resting to fight off the inevitable swelling.

The laps fell steadily for many in the morning. The pre-church attendees were moving quickly, many knocking out 10 or more laps before heading off to morning services. The trail deteriorated more and more each lap and soon we were all splashing through puddle-filled field sections and churning through thick peanut-buttery single-track. My backyard may never be the same, and I’m fine with that.

Everyone was getting properly tired by around 2pm. We’d been moving along pretty continuously for 6 hours, a big day out already. But this fatigue is also where the deep social connections take root. Lots of silent high-fives were shared as we passed each other out on the trail. Occasionally one could hear Joel Vanderzyden barking out his trademark call of “BIG DOG!” or “RUN OR DIE!” when he passed a fellow traveler.

In any ultra, one needs to find a particular resolve when energy fades and a collection of crises pop up - cramps, blisters, nausea, creaky joints, dull headache, bonking. Dozens of people continued to slog, shuffle, limp, and hobble through the mud - some even with a smile. Another lap. Another lap. Another lap. The tally sheet was filling.

As the light faded, it became clear that two of us were going to tie for most laps on the day. Me and Moss. Could it be any other way? We shared the last few laps together for old times’ sake. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more at peace.

With the hard laps done, we opened the garage door to fresh air and the first bright, albeit low-angle, sunlight of the day. I popped Kai in the kid-carrier-backpack (ouch), and about 20 of us set out for a nice slow walk to finish the solstice.

The sun set, right on time, thus ending our ritual for this year. Our last lap had been quite leisurely and we actually had to race up to the garage to finish it in time! Fifty-two people got out there at some point during the day, and we covered 589 total miles as a group. That ought to be enough to set our earthly course back towards the light.

Perhaps my favorite part of the solstice, and the little event format we’ve stumbled upon, is the number of people who set in-a-day distance records for themselves. Here is this year’s honor roll (from memory…I’m sure I’ve missed some):

• Brigid (my mother-in-law) completed her first marathon.

• Paul (my father-in-law) set a PR of 15 miles.

• Cedar (my son) set a PR of 6 miles.

• Rowe (my son) set a PR of 7 miles.

• Kim (my wife) set a post-birth-of-our-youngest-son-Kai PR of 16 miles.

• Chelsea Schwartz set a PR of 32 miles.

• Little Olivia Majesky set a PR of 3.6 miles.

• Logan Emser set a PR of 35 miles.

• Joel “BIG DOG!” Vanderzyden set a new-ACL PR of 12 miles.

• Ellen Freeborn-Moss set an “Ellen 2.0” record with 20 miles. She did 40 miles here in 2021, and has completed the Mohican 50 miler, but suffered a life-threatening TBI in May and is rebuilding, sure to be stronger-than-ever soon.

And now, with all these amazing accomplishments in our pockets, we’re getting tipsy off one light beer and/or happily tucking into some warm pizza. What a great excuse to get this whole crew together, at least once a year. I’m in great health, but can no longer claim to be young, and am increasingly aware that my tally of great days like this, with all my favorite people, are certainly finite and likely few. If we don’t all make it around another big lap, I’m glad we moved together today. And when my big laps are done, please gather for one more solstice run on my behalf. Get every last mile and smile that you can before the sun dips below the horizon.

Perhaps I’m more aware of mortality this year than most. Ellen’s brush with death out in Utah, her arduous recovery process, and her return to the solstice did nothing to convince me, as I thought it might, that these endurance pursuits – running, riding, climbing – were meaningless. Quite the contrary, it reminded me just how much they deeply matter to so many of us, and how they can provide a source of light in the dark.

See you all next year for another lap.

Be free,

Chris