This page is a landing-place for running-related stories, race reports, and poems inspired by running. I dunno how often it’ll be updated, or if anyone will be interested in reading. But here we are, for the record.

---

A little backstory: I don’t have a lot of experience with ultras. Prior to World’s End last year, I had completed exactly three 50ks, none of them on any more than flat, converted rail trail or paved path. What possessed me to attempt a rocky, single-track-heavy technical trail with more than 10,000 feet of climbing as a first time doubling that distance, I can’t tell you. (I think part of it was that it fell on my birthday, and pushing myself through sixty-plus miles of brutal, unfamiliar terrain just seemed somehow like the right way to celebrate.) I can say with complete honesty that I was not prepared for the wild difference in effort that the terrain called for, despite having done a few serious climbs out in the Pacific Northwest in the weeks leading to the race. But I was most undone by the mud. As a fellow runner this year put it, “Mother Nature shortchanged you.” It felt like the course consisted only of climbing and mud. And sometimes climbing through mud. Standing mud. Running mud. Mud that sucked at your shoes. Mud that kept you from seeing where you were putting your feet. My mental state on the course ran from frustrated to nearly panicked to despairing. By the time I made it to Aid Station 4, back at World’s End State Park, the first point at which runners could meet with their crews (in my case, my much patient and by that time somewhat worried husband), I was done. I surrendered my bib. 

Did it work? Yes and no. Certainly the hours out on the Buttermilk and Forest Hill Park trails helped re-acquaint me with the more technical single-track terrain… and the likely paces I’d be pulling. But as many times as I ran up that d*mned hill, it wasn’t enough for the seeming endless series of inclines at World’s End. Felt like past the second aid station at 11.4, I was stopping every 50 feet or so on the long climbs to let my heartbeat settle. And if it hadn’t been for fellow runner Andrew falsely telling me this was the last serious climb, I may have lost the will to keep climbing and again despaired. (In truth, it was never the last serious climb. Thank you, Andrew.)  

By AS4, I had finished my first Tailwind (Dwaultermelon—the only flavor I can take in over long periods of time and not want to gag), and a package of Noogs. I also had watermelon, Gatorade, Coke, and a few PB pretzels at the earlier aid stations. I fell off in the back half, taking in only a second Tailwind, a few Goldfish crackers and Swedish fish, and more watermelon and Coke. I must have looked depleted by AS6 (Coal Mine), the last stop at mile 24.8, where the volunteers not only topped off my Gatorade but also gave me about a half a pound of grapes to take with me for the rest of the trip. (And I did—I munched on those grapes all the way to mile 30.) I didn’t touch any of the salty or sweet snacks I had packed in my vest for the race—Goldfish, pretzels, gummy bears, Cheetohs. I also came back with three pretty much untouched packages of Noogs and one of Clif Bloks which I had planned to consume. All told, about 1400-1500kcal that I had packed to take in during the race… and of which I consumed about 560kcal, then supplemented by what I grabbed at aid stations (mostly fruit and Coke/Gatorade).           

I didn’t have any great aspirations or time goals for this race, as it was more about simply seeing if I could do the thing. But, as my friend and first running advisor Dorinda would always say, it’s best to have tiered goals. I used UltraPacer to make some general predictions about pacing and used a “standard” 10-hr model (given a 12-hr cutoff to finish) to estimate my time to arrive and depart aid stations; my “platinum” tier goal was to finish in under 10 hours. I stayed about 20 minutes ahead of each predicted aid station arrival, finishing in nine hours and thirty-six minutes. Definitely slower at the end, with my quads trashed and where running over even the flats seemed too much to ask. I stopped only once to take pictures—the waterfalls near Canyon Vista—and didn’t linger more than a couple minutes at each aid station. The weather was all just about perfect; I wore lightweight leggings, and two light tops, shedding a layer at AS5. I kept a windbreaker tucked in my vest but never needed it. I didn’t even wince at stepping into what mud there was—it felt only reasonable, and slipped into it ankle deep only a time or three. It somehow made a huge difference starting in daylight (the 100k starts at 5am, the 50k at a much more civilized 7am)… and knowing I was going to be finishing in daylight as well. I only felt the distant danger of wildlife once, when I came across fresh scat from some concerningly large animal (Bear? I am not an expert in these things.) at about mile 26. It hurried me along for a bit. I didn’t feel as prepared as I could have been for the race, but I at least did have a better idea of what I was in for. Will I do it again next year? I don’t know. But I still think it’s not a bad way to spend a birthday. 

–Joanna, May 31 2026

PS–Better than I could have put it myself. Here’s the full course description from the website. I dare you to read it and not want to try. 

Before sunrise, the forest at Worlds End State Park feels like a secret place. Shadows cling to the rocky slopes and mist drifts above the creek, blurring the lines of the world. You stand at the starting line, feeling the hush of dawn settle around you, the air cool and heavy with anticipation. The trail disappears into deep green woods, and you know that once you step forward, you are leaving ordinary ground behind.

Starting from the beautiful S-curve of the Loyalsock Creek in Worlds End State Park, the first miles are an invitation to what’s to come with winding, rocky singletrack framed by moss-covered boulders and arching hemlocks. They guide you gently at first, letting you settle into your stride. But soon, the forest changes its tone. Soon the trail climbs, rising sharply over rocky terrain. Roots twist like hidden steps across the path, forcing you to choose each foot placement with precision. Rocks appear where dirt once was. Roots stretch like fingers around every step. Switchbacks snake upward, granting glimpses through the trees of what you have conquered, what you have earned. The elevation demands respect. The terrain demands attention. And the course gives nothing for free.

However, once the trail reaches the edge of the state park proper, the forest opens up to a winding, serpentine meander along the plateau in the Loyalsock State Forest. You’ll experience fast level singletrack broken intermittently with swamp like conditions, narrow and dense passages through hemlock groves, and extremely technical cuts along water features. 

Then comes the descent, technical and unforgiving. You pick your way through loose rock and angled slabs, through shaded hollows where streams cross the trail. The sound of rushing water rises again, guiding you like an old companion. Waterfalls appear from nowhere, spraying cool mist into the air as you navigate narrow ledges and slick stones. Here, you are never allowed to sleepwalk through the miles; the course demands focus, awareness, respect.

Once back to Worlds End State Park for the first time, you need to resupply and prepare yourself for everything you already experienced but pumped up by a factor of two. Brutal climbs lie ahead as you work your way out of the state park but your reward is more waterfalls and bigger views – culminating with the epic Canyon Vista.

Leaving Canyon Vista, the trail shifts in tone and mood, moving from airy heights to deep forest corridors. Ferns brush your legs, leaves whisper overhead, and the quiet becomes a kind of music. Sometimes the trail opens to views that feel endless. Sometimes it closes around you, like you’re running through a emerald tunnel cut straight from the heart of the wild. Hours slip by without announcement, and every ridge, every creek crossing, every unexpected climb adds to the story you’re writing with your feet.

The farther you go, the more the course becomes a conversation between your body and the land. The rocks test your balance. The climbs test your lungs. The descents test your courage. And the forest never stops reminding you that beauty and difficulty can be woven from the same thread.

By the time you loop back toward Worlds End, you have traveled through places that feel untouched by time. Your legs are tired, your mind sharpened by miles, and your heart strangely light. The sounds of the Loyalsock Creek grow familiar again, the trail literally falls off the edge of the mountain straight down to the state park, and the forest opens toward the finish. The cheers you hear are not just congratulations – they are recognition of the journey you’ve taken, the challenge you’ve met, the strength you found deep in the Pennsylvania wilds.

You cross the line having not simply run a race, but having experienced the raw soul of Worlds End: a place where the terrain humbles you, the beauty stuns you, and the trail makes you earn every mile.