Bigfoot 200! 2026

The inaugural Highlands trail Challenge 100k - blissfully technical

The road felt hard on the feet, a complete change from the soft ground mixed with angled rock making up the highlands ridge. Headlamp on full, normally it would illuminate the entire forest ahead like a motorcycle light. This time, it made the thick fog a fuzzy white, the ground below appear in 7-foot increments as I sprinted with the remaining energy I had to the finish nestled somewhere in the jungle of Norvin Green. It crossed my mind that along with my phone dying the headlamp would also. Was it 12:30AM, 1154? Or did I really lose track of time and it wasn't even 11 yet? I decided since I lost the watch I normally glance at every so often to see how many miles I've done so far, I'd just flow with the passage of time and leave forward progress and milestones to surprise. As it turned out, time did distort itself throughout the day, and wildly. 

Never though a bunch of trails I called my "home" would feel like another world, and this race did that. I was under the impression that the trail (I rarely study maps, so I downloaded it to my phone as recommended in case you go off trail) was following a route I've been doing solo for a decade, since going on day-long treks with friends to get "massive vert" and explore the hundreds of miles of trails within the Ramapo area.

Norvin Green and Ringwood are somewhat an anomaly in the New Jersey landscape, reminiscent of mountains once Himalayan in stature but whittled down to peaks just 700 feet tall or so, but still maintaining the steepness of the final 1/4 mile to reach the peak. The rocks, and they are plentiful, litter the trails, attempting to get into some kind of stride requires a solid concentration to avoid having to stop completely or flip the ankle into a wedge.

I thought I knew every rock and tree by name, the patterns of rising rivers, exactly the easiest way up a hill, the turns of the wildly meandering highlands Teal trail.

Turns out I was completely unaware of a section of the state park dubbed "Jungle Habitat". When you take a left of off skyline drive and go through the yellow barrier, you immediately wonder how long it has been since a parking lot the size of 3 jumbo Walmarts was repaved. There isn't a sign of oil, lines, and definitely no recharging stations.. it is cool to think you are watching the slow but really quick inevitable swallowing of human modified rock by encroaching weeds, moss, and eventually layers of soil. Cool to think that even plastic and styrofoam, although toxic in small amounts dissolved into the water supply, will turn into a harmless layer of carbon in 100,000 years some tens of meters deep.

First item of business, tackle the famous "Stonetown Circular" route. I knew this loop over years of studying its wild turns off of jeep roads by trying to do the loop in under two hours. Having it at the start of the 100k meant I could actually chill on the pace in the opposite direction I ussually go, which avoids the longest climbs. Chatted with some folks in the sunrise about Hokas of all topics. There should be a church of Hoka, because I get flyers and invites to events and pamphlets and I think someone came to my apartment selling Hokas once. As we rounded Stonetown, I felt awesome. Feeling awesome early on is no surprise, but everyone knows it has a shelf life. The longer the distance, especailly with lots of climbing and not to mention the energy expended in dodging rocks and uneven terrian, leads to a slower and slower recovery and eventual crash in energy. Although I've learned my crash-point over the years, it seems to hover right around the 62 mile mark, or about 16-18 hours into a slower running type of event like an ultra.

But I was going at a harder effort than I should have. Seeing the other distances' runners come toward me as the loop returned us back to the start at 17ish, is a giant boost of energy. Ussually I know nobody so all we do is say "G'job" "G'work" "bearverages ahead" "looking handsome today" "looks like a rough night" "can I borrow 5 bucks for gas, this was a bit further than I thought" or some combination thereof, but seeing friends attack the course on the shorter races was exciting - especially seeing some who signed up that morning. This boost of energy is like a shot of adrenaline early on, you feel as if you could maintain the pace all the way to the end and start fantasizing about setting a record or getting in before sunset (that was my dream time). But the mind plays tricks, likes to expend energy efficiently, and forcing oneself to move slower actually takes discipline which is a always a struggle. The mind simply doesn't have the built in ability to judge an 18 hour effort evenly without some conscious action.

So the second part, the out-and-back,

My story of the Tammany 10, 2022 version

 Every time I think of the very beginning of spring, the subtle transition from endless waiting for windshield heat to melt just enough of the ice to see 6 square inches of road in front to the first army of mosquitos impatiently waiting to be the first to strike, I think that before all this happens, I have to break winter completely by doing the Tammany 10.

Sometime around December I remember that “winter weight” (which I fully subscribe to, overindulgence in an exponential form) is always just temporary, and is actually a perfect opportunity to make you feel sluggish enough to spend the next couple of months slowly, weekend by weekend, attempting to adapt the body to increasing numbers of “Tammany laps”.

The Tammany lap is well known in a certain region of the northeast. Mt. Tammany, an odd shaped weathered remnant of a Himalayan peak from 100 million years ago, is actually on its final erosion and will be gone in a short geologic time. Today, it stands in contrast to the nearby rolling hills and farmland of the NJ/PA border. The trail leading to its peak is only a few feet off of the windy portion of route 80 that was bore out of the rock sloping down to the Delaware River. Just driving past Tammany and its sister Mt. Minsi on the other side gives you a momentary feeling of entering the Colorado Rockies, and that you passed a driving test of some kind.

A single ascent of the mountain is a tough endeavor for the average person (1100 foot of climbing in a mile and change, and much of it around boulders and up uneven steep passes, and due to the easy accessibility of the trailhead, many people pack the red trail up to the expansive peak overlooking the river and the valley (the distant highway sound contrasted with the silence of the mountain is eerie and you can feel both modern and ancient environments at the same time). The descent is equally tricky, anyone not used to dodging foot-sized pointy rocks will find themselves judging every step. A single loop back to the start could take 3 hours.

 

And that is why I am compelled to return to do 10 of these laps (plus the 5 trips to the other side of the highway, as this race is held partially on the Appalachian Trail the start/finish is safely tucked under a pavilion, perfect for Dennis to cook up perogoes and bacon and hang out at the end watching other finishers come in) every year in the hopes of having 10 Tammany 10’s completed one day. Since I always aim to finish in 10 hours or less, I have to run as much of it as I can, even uphill. I’m not talented enough to run up hills and make it look like running, it often takes the form of running but as slow as hiking, a habit I formed assuming I would one day be quick enough to make use of it.

With an average of 50 minutes per lap, you encounter a lot of hikers twice, even three times. They actually count the laps for you, but are almost always wrong. Sometimes they just stare at you. Sometimes they smell like weed. Sometimes there are so many in one group, that even if you tell them where you are going, half go left and half go right and create a corridor anyway (insert laughing emoji here). But my favorite groups are the ones that announce “RUNNER COMING” and the entire group of 10 all but dodges into the woods like there is an avalanche rolling down the hill. And they love us being there even though we maybe smell and probably look like we are completely spent and don’t really make much sense when talking. This year in particular some friends were parked at strategic locations and got many photos from the first two laps when the coffee and adrenaline was still fresh in the viens.

Every time I think of the very beginning of spring, the subtle transition from endless waiting for windshield heat to melt just enough of the ice to see 6 square inches of road in front to the first army of mosquitos impatiently waiting to be the first to strike, I think that before all this happens, I have to break winter completely by doing the Tammany 10.

Sometime around December I remember that “winter weight” (which I fully subscribe to, overindulgence in an exponential form) is always just temporary, and is actually a perfect opportunity to make you feel sluggish enough to spend the next couple of months slowly, weekend by weekend, attempting to adapt the body to increasing numbers of “Tammany laps”.

The Tammany lap is well known in a certain region of the northeast. Mt. Tammany, an odd shaped weathered remnant of a Himalayan peak from 100 million years ago, is actually on its final erosion and will be gone in a short geologic time. Today, it stands in contrast to the nearby rolling hills and farmland of the NJ/PA border. The trail leading to its peak is only a few feet off of the windy portion of route 80 that was bore out of the rock sloping down to the Delaware River. Just driving past Tammany and its sister Mt. Minsi on the other side gives you a momentary feeling of entering the Colorado Rockies, and that you passed a driving test of some kind.

A single ascent of the mountain is a tough endeavor for the average person (1100 foot of climbing in a mile and change, and much of it around boulders and up uneven steep passes, and due to the easy accessibility of the trailhead, many people pack the red trail up to the expansive peak overlooking the river and the valley (the distant highway sound contrasted with the silence of the mountain is eerie and you can feel both modern and ancient environments at the same time). The descent is equally tricky, anyone not used to dodging foot-sized pointy rocks will find themselves judging every step. A single loop back to the start could take 3 hours.

 

And that is why I am compelled to return to do 10 of these laps (plus the 5 trips to the other side of the highway, as this race is held partially on the Appalachian Trail the start/finish is safely tucked under a pavilion, perfect for Dennis to cook up perogoes and bacon and hang out at the end watching other finishers come in) every year in the hopes of having 10 Tammany 10’s completed one day. Since I always aim to finish in 10 hours or less, I have to run as much of it as I can, even uphill. I’m not talented enough to run up hills and make it look like running, it often takes the form of running but as slow as hiking, a habit I formed assuming I would one day be quick enough to make use of it.

With an average of 50 minutes per lap, you encounter a lot of hikers twice, even three times. They actually count the laps for you, but are almost always wrong. Sometimes they just stare at you. Sometimes they smell like weed. Sometimes there are so many in one group, that even if you tell them where you are going, half go left and half go right and create a corridor anyway (insert laughing emoji here). But my favorite groups are the ones that announce “RUNNER COMING” and the entire group of 10 all but dodges into the woods like there is an avalanche rolling down the hill. And they love us being there even though we maybe smell and probably look like we are completely spent and don’t really make much sense when talking. This year in particular some friends were parked at strategic locations and got many photos from the first two laps when the coffee and adrenaline was still fresh in the veins.

57 weeks out

Leadville.

No matter how much I try to get it out of my mind, it keeps drawing me in. Ever since the first visit in 2011 I've had visions of racing to a 17 hour finish and ignoring aid stations as I down a few beers for kicks at May Queen inbound.

Now after a good ramp up in all sorts of ways November through April, long-building tendonosis has crept up to the point where my mileage has dropped to zero, everything is stairclimber this, gain weight that,and I continue to limp around the office due to any kind of stretch to my outer heel just from getting uop and walking around. What is going on??

Back on the train

I've had a great month of consistent long runs and intensity thrown in with good measure, it's officially time to make my commitment to 2017! I've thrown in for the Leadville 100 run lottery, with Plain 100 as a backup. Both are so different in many ways. Leadville would be a competitve race, I'll try to destroy my old time, whereas Plain 100 would be just to finish without ultraslogging and, weell, not get lost :)

3 days at the Fair, 48 hour version

48 hours at the Fair

There’s nothing more mind-clearing than seeing the sun set and rise on the same stretch of land, watching the light fade from one side and arise hours on the opposite. The May moon is low, the air crisp, the night silent. At the NJ fairgrounds, the fog stretches across the grass and leaks onto the round airstrip used as a mile-long track. In May, the nights are short though, you can set a timer to the first wakening bird at 3:20AM, all while relieving your senses to pungent honeysuckle weeding from the interproperty forest.

137 times around the loop, the mind gathers more detail an experiences into the task at hand. Is it a task? What is really going on here? It’s not work, but it takes effort. The amount of calories burnt just being awake this long sends the metabolism into overdrive for weeks. It feels good to walk, another 10 minutes, the legs will be able to run faster than walking for another 20 minutes. Walking is time to zone out. Hear the incoming slap of running feet and try to do math on how many sections of 6 hours are left.

Green Monster 50k

 

The Green Monster 50k

 

 

My 3rd year into running long trail races, I have grown accustomed to always having something at least a couple of months away to get ready for. By now it has come to the point where I can just sign up for something a few weeks away and not worry at all about finishing. This opens up a lot of really cool and obscure races, especially ones on trail with difficult profiles.

 

I set yet again a goal to have a great finishing time in August 2014 at the always beautiful Leadville 100, I've finished 2 out of 3 attempts but both have been within 2 hours of the cutoff (28:08, 29:09 in 2013). Last year I developed plantar fasciitis in the left heel, an annoying overuse injury resulting from doing 4 races up to 100 miles in the 2 months after placing a headlamp too far ahead at Leadville and not finishing. Way to beat myself up for failing, with failure by means of improper recovery. 2013's training involved mainly trying to heal and catchup to old speeds and strength, both which went down despite completing some interesting and gnarly trail long runs. I felt that as long as my week included 1-2 tempo runs of 10 miles or more, and long runs every other week of 25 miles or more, the fitness would stay within just completing Leadville range.

 

Merely weeks before mid-August the injury and groin problems began to ease up enough to where longer than 50 mile distances would be bearable and running gait would be normal. I finished Leadville, and actually witnessed the cut-off gun at the finish with a fellow Nj'an after he killed his 25 hour goal. I was exhausted, but relieved that I didn't waste another grand for a tshirt and poster but no buckle. A few days later, I sat at work and wasn't sure if I wanted to take some time off. I decided to very very slowly work up in mileage to top off in January, and try again. Therefore, 50k's would be perfect until then to develop the base and get faster. I'd add in tempo runs soon and the speedwork which is a quick fix for vastly improving race times.

 

One 50k in at Mountain Madness (need to do this one just to get my fix of seeing the usual gaggle of maniacs in action), I did ok, but best was seeing a few folks off long-standing injuries back at it. Still off the endorphins, later that night I was browsing the ultra calender and was surprised to find an ultra near the black forest/poconos, so I signed up for the Green Monster 50k in Wellsboro PA, a tiny town in north Central PA with a cool downtown area that pops out of the woods. I was the sole NJ entrant in the inaugural 50k (there'd been a 25k the year before). I like PA, I grew up there, but not here! I guess I assumed the entire Appalacian Mountain range stopped at the Delaware Water Gap, dropped to great plains flat, and rose up immediately upon entering North Carolina. This area, dubbed the Grand Canyon of PA, had some respectible Catskill-ish mountains at around the 2k altitude. The start photo where I am seen performing my unintentional Jackson tribute shows the terrain for the day:



Pumpkins mark the start. 7:30AM start. Trolley in background. Shimona.



The start was moved due to the gov't shutdown, but they still managed to grant us a large hay field to park and sleep for the night, and the luxury of a 3-minute trolly ride to the start. As you can see in the picture above, during the short shorts shortoff (keeps me from shoplifting), a very brave guy was rocking the Tarahumara sandals for the whole technical 50k. kudos to that! it would be definitely worth developing the foot/ankle strength to do so comfortably. It was slightly chilly, and would remain so the entire time. Ideal running weather. I get inspired by wood and rocks, and add in the foliage and tiny rain droplets and a little caffeine, get out. It was an temperature where you sweat enough to know you are burning, but it evaporates right away. Yet not cold enough to get numb.

The group was 70 or less, and the front half spread out almost immediately down a flat carriage road leading into the woods at mile 0.75. I'd seen pretty gnarly race profiles for ultras, but 8000ft +/- for a 50k? I like pushing hard for distances less than 50 miles, usually keeping in my slightly below anerobic threshold for long periods, and my rule when feeling fit is I must run anything that doesn't make me slip underfoot due to steepness. This one would test that. I suspected I'd be hiking for a minute or two just to keep from going into V02 max zone (95% of max heart rate) on the first and last climbs shown below. A time for the race? I knew I wanted to push but would accept it as a training run if I blew up. So I gave myself 6-8 hours, beating 6 as the ultimate goal, but would focus on enjoying the awesome scenery as much as I could remember to do so.

50k race profile. The second half was more forgiving with long downhills.
 

The now single-track trail headed at a runnable but difficult grade up the first climb. At first it wasn't noticeable, but people began to see that although leaves were flying down all the time, the trail was completely clear. It grew obvious that someone had LEAF-BLOWN the ENTIRE trail. What! It would get Manitou's Revenge steep within a half-mile, where I would hike for 30 seconds. It was only one of 3 hiking breaks for the day and though wearing my legs out right away was a concern, adrenaline was high and I went for it. I knew there were long drops as well to relieve my hams and keeping up with bodyweight squats regularly along with weights has kept the quads in good form so I could switch up muscles constantly during the entire race. On this first section, the crowd dissipated immediately. During the short hiking session up this section, I was passed by 4-5 others. It's always been my weakness, trying to be at fast hiking pace. Plus, the right leg buckles a little as it gets super-steep, so I've always worked on running up steep sections and it feels more efficient, even though I know I'll sometimes be passed by fast hikers. From this point on passing would never be a problem, I was in the spread-out first 10 or so and could relax as I made way around the giant loop in the wilderness.



One of the techinical sections. Pink tape was the 25k section. Blue after ~14 miles (Photo:Aaron Singer)

 I have been working on the amount of stuff I carry on trail runs, and this race would be a breakthrough. Not only was it easier given that most aid stations were 4-5 miles apart at most, but it was cool enough to only need one 20oz bottle for each 5-mile interval. So I started with two full ones, and didn't need to stop at any aid station to fill up until mile 16! I had pushed it a little, getting thirsty, but food-wise I had only needed 3-4 gels and a couple granola bars for the whole journey.

The profile was all up and down until the 25k point, halfway, where you would head right back to the start for the 25k race or go into the unknown for the second half. There were speedy descents and long tough climbs and I'd try to not look at my watch to keep focused on the moment and feel the distance out as opposed to wondering how far until the next aid station. However I would do a modest amount of watch-glancing in the second half to make sure I had enough water. Right around 14 miles there was a descent referred to as Frankenstein. It was the steepest descent I had ever seen in the woods- similar to one of those gravel pit mounds. And the footing was terrible- pretty much small pieces of shale. Without the leaf-blown trail, I would have been on my hands and sliding down. I had been running with a talented younger runner who was gliding along effortlessly, but trying to not lose energy for the whole distance. I had my Virgil Crest shirt on, a race relatively close to this area of PA, so we had some conversations about that epic course. At one point I couldn't keep the sentences long enough to answer so I had to wait until we were hauling along the flat summit portion around the halfway point. Suddenly, the 85% downhill grade pops out and I lurch forward for the big fall of the day. This guy continues down at casual running gait, gaining a good 3 minutes on me in seconds.

The second half was more climbs, but there were long pleasant slight downhills along with some sinking mud (tiring at 23 miles) and basically running along high ridges with views of miles and miles of clear sky and crisp air. I ran everything- at this point passing some of the front crowd- and getting more and more excited for the final 2 big climbs and final long descent- a 2 mile pleasant descent among quiet sleepy-hollow type scenary. It all ended popping out of a small break in the woods onto a field, something you wouldn't even notice walking right by. 200 yards to go and 5:59:15 on the watch!! I must have yelled I GOT 30 SECONDS! to everyone sitting by the side cheering me on in the last straighaway (perfect ending) as we dropped into the same carriage road as the start for a bbq-style finish.

I was very happy with this race, and glad I dug deep to run the last two climbs *except 20 seconds of the final climb- goal for next year! And met up with familiar faces from before- exchanging viewpoints on the course and motivation for the final 6 miles.








One of a couple of mandatory foot cleansing stations. (Photo:Aaron Singer)

Along the way, 2 granola bars, 3 more powergels, and water for 6 hours and 32 miles of running did the trick. This was a beautiful course; I become so myopic during races that I forget there’s a red and yellow magical forest before me. It’s weird that it takes effort to look up and actually soak it in. Forcing this, it was like riveting sheetmetal and appreciating the alignment of the rows' holes. Outdoor appreciation took focus. The hills were so blatant, often up and down 1000 feet with only a short crest, roller coaster style. I felt strong after taking my time building up in running mileage after a long foot injury, and ran every hill except the stupid hard parts. Everyone I met lived relatively closer than my 3.5 drive from Jersey, and made me feel welcome to the great north PA canyons.

If you like tough 50’s this one is a 9 out of 10 on the tough scale- missing the 10 because I can imagine the heavy leaf-cover would have a mde it a lot more slippery. No complaints though. this allowed for some consistent straight-aways. The before and after gatherings were low-key and had a bbq and key-chain medal. I saw the Tarahumara sandals runner half-way and we exchanged cheesy motivational one-liners which is all you need in the mentally straining middle miles.

Finishing 22 seconds short of the 6 hour goal, I realized the course was more like 32 miles so I was very pleassed with the time. But the day was perfect otherwise so it definitely wasn't the highlight.

I'd recommend these trails for hiking running, I think biking is good to go at some parts. Especially if planning the Eastern States 100 miler because it’s definitely close by to this, and perhaps harder (well, for less than one third the distance).