Written by Jude Christian
My love of the mountains began when I was a kid - playing, hiking and trying to keep up with my father, disappearing into the mists of the Clints of Drummore, in Galloway, Scotland. My love for running didn’t start until I turned 50, but it’s not like I didn’t try.
I ran cross country in high school, which is to say, I had two legs that worked and a pulse, so in my tiny school that was qualification enough to make the cross country team. That came to an end when I lined up in my first meet, fell over two steps after the gun went off and was run over by several runners before getting back to my feet. For what it’s worth, I did finish that race, but didn’t find a love of running from that experience!
When I turned 49 years old I was staring down middle age, rather unfit, at a loss as to how to go forward in life, kids almost grown, and at a crossroads in my career. I thought of those people in my life who had influenced me, guides along the way, and thought of my Uncle Mike. He was my dad‘s identical twin brother and like a second dad to me. When he turned 50, he set out to climb the Matterhorn in Switzerland - did the training and accomplished the task in a typically determined fashion. It was the first time I remember being aware of an adult in my life, setting out to do something that was outside of their comfort zone - such a unique experience to feel such pride as a child in my Uncle’s achievement. That feeling, as a child, of watching an adult reach for something extraordinary, witness the work and training and see the joy of succeeding has stuck with me through all these years.
And that was it! I needed a goal for turning 50 and it had to be epic. So I started running with a purpose - well, more like walking, then power hiking and then adding in some running, one mile at a time, with a goal of doing the Grayson Highlands 50k for my 50th year - a sweet trail race in South West Virginia.
Getting to the start line proved challenging because until November of 2021, one month after I turned 50, the furthest I had run in the last two decades (at least!) was 10 miles. I was fortunate to have the Blue Ridge Mountains (“the spicy grandmother of mountains” as I like to call them) in my backyard for training. I will never forget how stunned I was when my friend Megan and I were challenged to run the infamous Jarmans Gap Road from the base of the mountains all the way up to the AT - I hadn’t believed it was possible, until it was.
Training always included a mix of successes and failures; of new distances achieved and the struggles with bad fuel; of epic views and bloody crashes; of companionship and lost toenails; but I remained determined to make it to the start line.
It was unexpectedly freezing for May with limited visibility and I didn’t know anyone, my brain spiraled as I imagined how many hours I would be out there, but there I was, in Grayson Highlands facing my 50km goal. I had to wear every item of additional clothing I had in my car on top of my planned kit - and it was cold enough that not one of those items came off for the entire race - not even the mountain biking gloves I found! The landscape and thick mist that was so reminiscent of childhood times spent in the lowlands of Scotland, I actually shed some tears when cresting the highest point of race.
With the conditions at hand I locked in my mental game and just took it one step at a time and tried to not think too far ahead. Running in trail races is part pain, part meditative experience- you feel every painful step, especially towards the end, and yet you lose all sense of time, until it rushes up to hit you squarely in the chest as you cross the finish line, and that completely insane, cold, exhilarating, scary, joyful, empowering experience of attaining my goal solidified my love for trail running.
What I had been searching for was what my external purpose was in life as I rolled into my 50th year, what I got back was so much more. From that moment forward I have sought new challenges, trails and vistas, and hoped to encourage as many others as possible to do the same.
Trail running has become more than running, hiking, summiting and going the distance. Its how I recenter, ground myself through breath, and connect with community and the raw beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My most treasured moments are running the trails that are so familiar they are like old friends you keep going back to. Like, Blackrock Summit - the midway point of a 14 mile round trip out and back starting at Sugar Hollow Reservoir. I had spent so many years hanging out in Sugar Hollow, swimming, rock sitting, hiking - and never thought I would be able to run up to Skyline Drive and beyond. And, Jones River Falls, what started as a place to build memories with my kids and my dogs is now part of my favorite 25 mile route.
The best thing about the mountains is that the challenge is ever present and the possibilities are endless.
So here we are, four years, 4727 miles and 461,341 feet of elevation gain spent running since I set my 50th year goal. My next epic trail challenge is taking me to where this stage of life all began, to honor my Uncle Mike. I am no climber like he was, so I will embark on a 7 day, 180km pilgrimage run with 41,000 feet of elevation gain from Chamonix, France to Zermatt, Switzerland - finishing at the base of the Matterhorn.
My kids have definitely seen me set and achieve some wild goals since my 50th birthday, but with this one especially, I feel it’s my turn to show them the importance of setting an intimidating goal, undertake training, get out of their comfort zone and do something epic! Maybe it won’t inspire them til they are 50 or maybe it will be sooner, but I hope to ignite something within them, like my uncle did for me.