There’s no school like the old school: A race report (of sorts) from the 2019 Old Dominion 100 Mile Cross Country Run
*This article was previously published in the August 2019 issue of Ultrarunning Magazine.
While the ultrarunning world clamors to get into Western States, on the other side of the continent, the second oldest 100 mile race remains relatively cheap, easy to get into, and a testament to what ultrarunning is all about.
Most ultrarunners today have heard tales of what the sport was like in the “good ol’ days” where water was carried in Aunt Jemima bottles, aid stations were sparse, crowds were non-existent, and sponsors? Who’s ever heard of a race sponsor?
I’ve listened to many a story from the vets and patron saints of our sport like, David Horton, AJW, Sophie Spiedel, and others who have been running ultras since the times when there was no Western States lottery, HardRock wasn’t near impossible to get into, and literally no one had heard of Barkley.
Today — there’s a decent chance your grandma has seen the Barkley documentary on Netflix.
Hearing the stories of old has always made me wonder what it would be like to have run an old-school ultra. Well, I can tell you — Old Dominion has, as far as I can tell, remained as old-school as you can get. To call the race unassuming is a laughable understatement. From the aid stations (many are stocked with water, gatorade, mini snickers, pretzels, and not much more), to the pre-race briefing, to the signs pointing runners in the right direction at intersections that have been in use for all 41 years of the race’s history, to the finish line bereft of onlookers or cheers aside from the time keeper and whoever is there specifically for you, OD is an absolute gem of a race.
While I don’t have much experience in ultras (only started running them in 2013) and even less experience in 100s (OD was my second) I’d like to offer my take on the day and encourage you, who yearn for the days of old, to strongly consider running Old Dominion in 2020.
At 4:00 a.m., the race began at a haphazardly spray-painted double line in the gravel just outside the sulky racing track at the Shenandoah County Fairgrounds, in bucolic Woodstock, Virginia. Greeted only by the cool crisp air, a sole police car to stop the non-existent traffic, and the unmistakably earthy odor of a feed lot, we made our way through town and into the Massanutten Mountains where we would run 90+ miles before returning to the lonely finish line but not before running the last half mile around the same tired track where the race began.
As we snaked up gravel roads and past a partial road collapse that revealed the ancient road bed once trod by wagons, excitement was in the air as runners swapped tales of ultra glory and spectacular blowups. It was at this point that I knew I was about to experience something very different from my first 100 miler.
I got into WSER on a single ticket earned at David Horton’s Hellgate 100K. I was excited to run the most storied race in ultra lore and it did not disappoint.
In stark contrast to Western States, OD appears frozen in time, either blissfully unaware of what it could become or staunchly dedicated to remaining as old school as can be.
There are no veggies burritos, avocado toast, coconut water, gels, chews, or gluten-free options. When pulling into many aid stations you are told which coolers contain water or gatorade and left to your own devices. Not out of calloused lack of concern but out of an expectation that you — like those who came before you — are a resilient ultrarunner who doesn’t need help filling your bottle at an Aid Station. And that the offerings of snickers, pretzels, and strawberries is seen as an extravagant spread instead of a paltry selection.
Old Dominion is everything that Western States isn’t. And while I loved running through Robinson Flat to the roar of hundreds of crew members, seeing Dave Mackay at Devil’s Thumb, receiving advice and encouragement from Ann Trason at Dusty Corners, or running through the festival-like atmosphere of Foresthill, I equally loved the utter simplicity and lack of fanfare of OD’s aid stations. From the Duncan Hollow Aid Station that had as many humans as pack animals (used to bring in the Gatorade and water), to the Mountain Top Aid Station where I was run in the last 200 meters to the aid station by a little girl, who was very likely a granddaughter (or great granddaughter) of one of the race founders, who proudly offered me a freeze pop.
The organizers are mostly not themselves ultrarunners — or runners at all. And many of the volunteers are second or third generation from those who founded the race.
Pat Botts, the race founder, stands as a direct tie the roots of our sport. At the pre-race meeting she shared how and why she started both the Old Dominion Endurance Ride and The Old Dominion 100 Mile Cross Country Run after a conversation with Wendell Robie back in the late 70s when she competed in the Tevis Cup.
In a world that clamoring for vintage, old school, and authentic, Old Dominion stands, almost frozen in time, as a reminder of what ultrarunning is all about: you against the clock, against the course.
Part of me wishes to keep this hidden jewel just that, so that it does not someday require a lottery to gain entry. However, for those of you yearning for a true, old school ultra devoid of fanfare or pageantry and looking to earn one of the prettiest 100 mile buckles out there (only silver and only given to sub 24 hour finishers), you need to know about Old Dominion.