WM 100 Spencer's Recap - "The Pod"

The White Mountain 100 turned into an experience that I will never forget. The time is largely unimpressive, 44 hours and 24 minutes for my level of fitness, but speaks to the level of difficulty of this route. My experience on trail was shaped by my three best friends that I ran with. The terrain that I was able to cover and a reflection of three seasons of being in the White Mountains. It felt like a celebratory death march.

Madison summit and hut in the background.

Jimmy Rips, Jake Acieto , Ben Judson and myself made up, “The Pod”. Seven days before this event, a few text messages were exchanged in a group chat and we all decided to take a stab at this event. In the pervious seasons I have paced Ben and Jake in their respective WM100 attempts only to have them show up to my pacing section destroyed by the terrain and having to walk (carry) them out back to the trailhead. I have spent a lot of time with this group - training, hanging out, skiing, and climbing all over the White Mountains and Mt. Washington specifically. 

We have all been shaped, hardened, and scared by these mountains. We have been pacers for many friends and outsiders FKT’s in this area. It may sound arrogant but we are among the strongest in this terrain we call home. A specific style is needed to move fast in this terrain. I love these guys as if they were my brothers. They are the first ones I call or text after a scare in the mountains and a first to receive congrats or love after a hard day. This developed into an experience more then a race or a run. We were able to share the terrain, the emotional load and some physical pain along the way. 

As much as the nitty gritty details of the event matters, the amount of calories consumed, liquids needed, and shoes changes. Those stats and numbers fail to accurately speak to the experience we had. Four friends spent almost two days crossing over terrain that has shaped us into the athletes we are all today. 

Feeling fresh early. 

The event started at 6am on Friday morning. After a brief message from Andrew Drummond and a few nervous jokes, we shuffled into the woods. Jimmy decided to stretch his legs out and speed up the first mountain, Judd fell off pace and went out the back soon after. I thought to myself, maybe this was all going to explode and I wasn’t going to see my crew after all. Onto of the Carters, Jimmy in a cloud, appeared on trail. We hooted, hollered, and rolled down to Carter Notch Hut to gather water and a brief safety meeting. We goofed, laughed and hustled our way up and down to Pinkham. We passed through the aid station briefly and moved on with our day. 

Cresting over to Madison, we ran into Chris Dailey, a local legend. Chris, another Mt. Washington addict, is a figure in our community we look up to. Offering us snacks, encouragement and snapping some photos with the entire Presidential Range in the background. It was an energy boost we all wanted. Moving closer and closer to Washington, it all began to dawn on us. We were in for it. We all began to do the math in our heads and our original time estimate of mid 30 hours quickly jumped into the 40 hour range. On top of Washington, we held hands at the summit and called Andrew Drummond, laughing as he watched on the live cam, us dancing and cheering at the sign. No crowds or glaring looks from the Cog were to be had, as we were overdue from our original time line. With the light fading, we pressed on. Passing the huts, filling our packs with bread leftover from dinner at each stop. Webster Cliffs offers quite a tease. We could see the aid station from the top. Only separated by a few miles and a couple thousand feet of White Mountain terrain. 

The Pod at the summit. 

Crawford Notch aid, again, came and went. There was A slight tension in the air as we all knew the event has not even started yet. Getting to Galehead represented “the start” our group decided. The daunting task of the Pemi and Franconia Ridge lay waiting for us. We made quick work to Zealand and the ascent began to send us into a downward spiral. All too familiar to our group, we fought against the bonk, along with the doubts and questions of continuing as we crossed Zealand to the Twins. Arriving at Galehead, 24 hours in, our group was beaten. We slammed coffee, sat in the morning glow and felt the stares from sleepy hikers in the hut. Jake, the fastest man in the Whites, waved good bye and took off down the trail.  We joked, the event had started. We marched, towards the Franconia Ridge, the most popular ridge in the Whites. We weaved in and out of large hiking groups. Resting only at one summit to drink in the views and give our legs a rest before the soul crushing descent down to Franconia Notch (Liberty Junction / Mile 72). 

The Southern Presi's at Sunset, 34 miles in.

After Liberty Junction, the cracks had been blown wide open. I could not run (shuffle) anymore. I told my partners that I had one speed and it was only getting slower. I went early to get up to Lonesome Lake and enjoy some alone time on trail. At Lonesome, we came together. Entering into the Kinsmans we all thought we had made it. This section did not have any major climbs, but we quickly found the short steep descents. We found the second sunset and second darkness. We separated as my pace grew slower and slower. Into the darkness we all marched. A headlamp of Russ Grant, friend of the shop and meme artist, picked me up a couple miles from the Kinsman Notch aid station (mile 89). Russ caught me in rare form, laughing as we descended into the final aid station. 

The Pod and their logs. 

Jimmy, Ben, and I left the Beaver Brook Trailhead with one final 3,000-foot ascent and descent ahead of us. After one last safety meeting, there must have been around two dozen of them during our time out. We split up, my pace slowing to more of a crawl. Near midnight I topped out, the lights of the surrounding towns sparkling against the pitch-black sky. I cried.

Alone. Ninety miles in, forty-two hours on the move. The descent was slow—painful—and ended to the cheers of friends. Jake, Ben, and Jimmy hugged, trading laughs and jokes. It was far too late, and we were all too sleep-deprived to let the reality sink in. Andrew handed us logs painted with a white blaze, and with that, it was over.

Much to our group's style, a few days later we are all back out running up and down the hills of the White Mountains. Just this morning, only four days after the event, three members of the pod went up to the summit of Mt. Washington. Addicts to the lifestyle of these mountains. 

Jake and I out for a morning ramble up the Northeast Ridge of the Pinnacle four days post event.