You’re off to Great Places! Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting, So… get on your way!
– Dr. Seuss
Gather ‘round friends, and let me tell you about the greatest bet I ever lost…
October 2017, and the World Series matchup is set. Our hometown Dodgers, having posted the best regular-season record in baseball to earn home field advantage in the best-of-seven series, are consensus favorites against the team from my college city, the Houston Astros. Naturally I’m rooting for the good guys in blue, whereas my former college mate Ken falls squarely on the side of his underdog Astros. All of which leads to a friendly wager: Dodgers vs. Astros, with the winner choosing where we run our next marathon together.*
(*Said friendly wager comes six weeks after our most recent race together at September’s high-altitude, character-building Run Rabbit Run 50 Miler, which had been Ken’s call for his first 50-miler. So you’d think I’d know better than to risk putting him in charge again. Apparently I’m a slow learner…)
Long story short, the Dodgers throw everything they have at Houston only to come up short in Game 7, meaning Ken and his wife Jenny (also a Rice alum) wield the power to choose our 2018 marathon destination. And their inspired choice of Jackson Hole, Wyoming nearly makes an Astros fan out of me.
Jackson Hole isn’t easy to get to — check that, Wyoming isn’t easy to get to — but then again, that’s a big part of its allure. That and its immediate proximity to Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone National Park, two of our favorite getaways in the U.S. We’d recently visited both parks in July 2017 before running the Missoula Marathon in Montana, and every time we visit it’s like falling in love all over again.
Oxbow Bend, the most photographed spot in Grand Teton National Park
Throw in the fact we were able to convince our Hoosier friends Jeff and Susan to join us for a Labor Day Weekend runfest, and state 21 on my 50 States quest was shaping up to be a hole lot of fun.
But the first rule of Jackson Hole is, you have to get to Jackson Hole. And so, as Southwest Airlines frequent fliers, we flew into Salt Lake City and made the 300-mile drive through three states (Utah, Idaho, Wyoming) while listening to the historic saga of Marvel vs. DC on the Business Wars podcast. The charming drive through wide-open countryside played out like a minified version of the Great American Road Trip, and we rolled into Jackson Thursday evening feeling relaxed and energized for the weekend ahead.
Friday was a day to kill, and we were in the right place with the right people to kill it. Last summer in Montana, we’d front-loaded our race week with several days of hiking in Yellowstone and Grand Teton with family, leading to an epic physical struggle at the Missoula Marathon.
And so, having learned that lesson the hard way, this time we limited our pre-race activities to packet pickup at the host hotel and a low-key, picturesque driving tour of Grand Teton National Park (including the Snake River Overlook immortalized by Ansel Adams) with Jeff and Susan, followed by dinner at Ken and Jenny’s local Airbnb rental. Much as we wanted to be out in the park on moose patrol, the meeses would have to wait.
Ansel Adams never had such mad selfie skills (Snake River Overlook)
After 34 marathons, 40 half marathons and a handful of ultras, I’ve finally discovered the secret to a good night’s sleep before a race: low expectations. Sure, I always want to run well — who doesn’t? But given the altitude (~6,300 ft) and my less-than-focused training regimen since June’s Comrades Marathon, my “A” goal in Jackson Hole would simply be to soak in my surroundings and enjoy the run. This may very well be the first road marathon I’d finish in over four hours, but with 50 states and 7 continents worth of marathons on my radar, it was bound to happen at some point.
So after an unusually solid night’s sleep, I showed up in Jackson Town Square on Saturday morning well rested and ready to roll. Katie drove Jenny out to the half marathon start line near mile 15 while Jeff, Ken and I stayed warm in the lobby of the host hotel. There we chatted with a blonde woman in her late 40s/early 50s, asking her if she’d ever run Jackson Hole.
Admittedly it was early and we were all trying to wake up, but still I was taken aback by the glassy look in her eyes and the listless tone in her voice. “I just need this state,” she replied wearily, glancing up without ever actually looking at the three of us. “I’m running all 50 states, this is #43.” Without prompting, she then informed us without any hint of enthusiasm that she was running all the continents this year. “Wow, all seven in one year? That’s quite an adventure,” I offered. “Eight,” she corrected me. “New Zealand is now a separate continent.”
What, no love for Madagascar? I thought, avoiding the urge to ask about the Atlantis Marathon. Seems someone gets their knowledge of world geography from social media and not Scientific American.
Then, without so much as a parting smile, our blonde box-checker stood up tiredly from her chair and moved slowly toward the door of the hotel to face her destiny in state #43. I’ve seen root canal patients in my dentist’s office who looked happier than her. This is how most Americans view running, I thought. And I hope that if I ever reach the point where running brings me as much excitement as paying taxes and shopping for car insurance, that someone grabs me by the shoulders, shakes some sense into me and reminds me, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS FUN THING YOU USED TO ENJOY SO MUCH!”
Ken, Jeff and I gather beneath 10,000+ pounds of shed elk antlers
Minutes later we left the warmth of the hotel ourselves for the short walk to the start line. The morning was crisp and clear, the air pristine — a perfect day to run a long way. We paused for a shot under one of the four iconic elk antler arches that sits on each corner of the Town Square. Anyone who’s ever visited Jackson with a camera has snapped at least one photo of the elk antler arches.
The start arch — this one made of inflatable rubber and not elk antlers — stood on one corner of the Town Square. After a last-second bathroom stop at Starbucks that caused me to miss the National Anthem, Ken and I nonchalantly crossed the start line alone at the back of the pack, as the timing crew prepared to pack up their equipment. We were in Wyoming, and we were in no hurry.
And with that, state #21 was underWaY.
Ken and I take a sunrise stroll across the start line
In God’s Country (Start – mile 13)
After an immediate turn onto Broadway, Ken and I fell into a comfortable rhythm as we caught up to the back of the pack. Each of us congratulated a fellow with “CHRIS, 50 States Marathon finisher, Wyoming #50” printed in huge letters on the back of his shirt; Chris flashed an appreciative smile and thanked us in kind.
We hadn’t even run a mile before we were greeted with a hint of things to come: a sublime view of the distant Teton Range bathed in the first pink light of sunrise. In the foreground, the morning fog covered the ground of the National Elk Refuge like a thick layer of cotton balls.
I was bummed to see Jeff walking in mile two as we passed; it was clear his knees were bothering him, both of them having fallen victim to Father Time and the surgical scalpel in recent years. Jackson Hole hadn’t been on his 2019 race schedule until we’d invited them to join us, so for him this marathon would clearly be a case of “How bad you want it?” Wisely, Susan had elected to enjoy her day by sticking with the half marathon.
National Elk Refuge, mile 1 — the Teton Range can be seen in the distance
As we cruised through town on the edge of wilderness, I checked my breathing and effort, since the main challenge of Jackson Hole for this sea-level sissy would be the altitude. Starting at 6,200 ft and finishing around 6,300 ft, the course would feature a net downhill to mile 8.5 before adopting a gradual, almost imperceptible uphill trajectory over the final 18 miles.
The morning was as crisp, clear and postcard-perfect as advertised, and I glanced at my Garmin periodically to ensure I kept my pace at a manageable 8:45–9:00/mile. Having run at more severe altitude in Colorado a year earlier, I knew that while the mile-high altitude of Jackson wouldn’t necessarily affect the cadence of my breathing, it would compound the usual marathon fatigue leading to increasingly heavy quads as the miles wore on.
After mile three I realized Ken was no longer running alongside me, though how far back he’d fallen I couldn’t be sure. Though most of his own marathon training had been done on a bike, Ken lives in Steamboat Springs at an altitude similar to Jackson, and so I assumed we’d be reunited at some point along the 26-mile route to Teton Village.
I was already running alone by mile four, heading south along US 26/US 89/US 189/US 191, a highway with more names than cars. Here we ran on the paved bike path dotted with the occasional black-and-gold elk crossing sign, the early morning traffic whizzing by on our left and the fog still blanketing the fields to our right like a frothy witches’ brew.
As much as I was savoring the natural beauty of my surroundings, I wondered whether this alone would be enough to sustain my motivation over the next 22 miles.
But if any race can get away with sameness of scenery, it’s Jackson Hole. Every mile was another scene from the Great Outdoors: golden-green landscapes, hearty conifers and distant mountains with a sprinkling of residences and commercial buildings. Even an atheist like myself had to appreciate that this was God’s Country, and all around us Wyoming’s wyde-open serenity and splendor were on full display.
How ironic that the country’s least populated states (Alaska, Wyoming, Montana) are also among its most beautiful. Most Americans don’t know what they’re missing.
Not only that, but the largely asphalt path beneath our feet was well maintained and a pleasure to run on. Huge props to the town of Jackson for all it’s done to optimize its Community Pathway System — as a traveling runner, I know how little regard some other parts of the country have for runners and cyclists (I’m looking at you, Texas).
Jeff ignores his knees and powers on, mile 8
At regular intervals along the right side of the trail, small signs bore the outline of a particular state plus the state abbreviation with “GRIF, State #__” written on them. Collectively the signs counted up to track Grif’s steady progress toward his 50 states goal, each of us reliving the journey right along with him. This was a neat distraction and a cool way to relive 1,310 miles of marathons.
I pulled alongside a skinny fellow in a tank top, arm warmers and visor who looked like he should be running at the front of the pack. Yes, I understand looks can be deceiving and especially where the stereotypical “runner’s body” is concerned. But still, I couldn’t help feeling a momentary surge of adrenaline on passing him by. And in the course of running 26.2 miles, I’ll take every little advantage I can get.
In the shadow of giants (Mile 14 – finish)
Heading north now toward Teton Village, the second half of the race began with a much appreciated high-five from Katie, who on this day was deftly playing the role of support crew for five runners. As expected my legs were starting to lose some of their springiness, and as much as I would have loved to demonize the altitude, if I’m being honest I probably did myself no favors with an abbreviated recovery after 56 hilly miles in South Africa.
The camera adds 10 pounds & 10 miles: Grand Teton beckons, mile 14
So I was psyched to kick off mile 14 with a clear view of Grand Teton’s snow-capped peak in the distance. The nine million-year-old sentinel of Jackson Hole never looked more striking, its indomitable majesty gazing down from its perch high atop the cerulean sky. Best of all, that unmistakable white crown would be my muse and North Star for much of the final 12 miles. I couldn’t imagine a better companion.
The half marathoners merged with our own course in mile 15, not that there were any crowds to fear — with the half starting at the same time as the full, the only overlap between the two would see the fastest marathoners passing the slowest half marathoners. Jenny and Susan were well ahead of me, and hopefully we’d not meet until the finish.
Bridge over untroubled waters, mile 17
Mile 17 saw us cross the legendary Snake River on a foot bridge parallel to the Teton Pass Hwy. To our right, the river flowed peacefully alongside the Teton Range, the distinctive snow-tipped summit of Grand Teton beckoning from afar. On any other day, this would have been the perfect place to stop for a picnic lunch.
Soon after crossing the river, I did a double take at one of the most ingenious course landmarks I’ve ever seen: an electrical transmission tower cleverly designed to look like a pine tree. Soaring above its all-natural counterparts, the electrical evergreen blended in beautifully with its wooded surroundings. Only once I’d passed did it really occur to me what I’d seen, and I’d have to return after the race for a proper picture.
Would you have realized this isn’t a tree?
As we turned onto the shoulder of the Teton Pass Hwy for a brief stretch, an electronic road sign bid drivers to be “CAREFUL: 3 MOOSE HIT IN JULY” and warned of “YOUNG OSPREY ON ROAD.” As if to punctuate this warning, the occasional osprey could be seen nesting atop an electrical pole. Meanwhile, a fast-moving flock of Canadian geese flew overhead in characteristic V-shaped formation, their distinctive honking quickly receding to the south.
Even if the chances of such an encounter were slim, it’s not every day you see a “MOOSE XING” sign along a marathon course.
I typically try to minimize/eliminate aid station stops, and luckily ideal weather helped my cause in Jackson. I’d been training in the heat and humidity of Los Angeles, plus I don’t sweat much normally. So with temperatures in the 40s and 50s I wasn’t losing much in the way of water or electrolytes, nor did the thought of Gatorade, GU or even water sound appealing. And so on I ran, bypassing each aid station with my reusable polyurethane SpeedCup stuffed in the pocket of my shorts in recognition of the race’s environmentally friendly, Cup-Free policy.
As you might predict at a small-town marathon in an isolated region of the country, spectators were limited to small, sporadic clusters in the vicinity of aid stations. Well, two-legged spectators at least — in the second half of the race we passed plenty of cattle, including a couple of black cows who chewed their cud and stared blankly at us as if to say, “Don’t you ever accuse us of being dumb animals.”
One of the largest gatherings of “spectators” on the course
At slower marathons, i.e. those I’m not necessarily racing, I’ll start out telling myself to stay steady so I can preserve enough energy to speed up in the final three miles and finish strong. Then, sometime after mile 16 as my legs grow heavy, that number becomes the final two miles… and then just as soon as I reach the mile 25 marker. Dr. Strange may be Master of the Mystic Arts, but after 30+ marathons I’ve become a master of mental chicanery.
It’s the immutable law of marathoning: whether I’m running the first 20 miles at 7:30 or 9:30/mile, at altitude or at sea level, the last six miles always suck. Two-time Olympic marathon medalist Frank Shorter said it best: “Why couldn’t Pheidippides have died at mile 20?”
Speaking of mile 20, the struggle was real as I glanced up to see Katie just off the path ahead of me — I hadn’t expected to see her again until the finish line. But as quickly as my spirits rose on seeing her, they immediately fell again when I saw Jeff standing alongside her dressed in spectating gear. Clearly, despite a strong head and heart, his knees hadn’t been in the game today. I had no doubt he’d made the right choice, and as it turns out his decision had been made easier by Katie’s presence (with automobile) at the halfway point.
Celebrating a Katie sighting, mile 20
From there I had one simple goal: to keep moving. Because I knew that as soon as I walked once, I’d want to walk twice, and each walk break would become progressively longer until I was racking up 10+ minute miles with no shot at a four-hour finish (my “A” goal which I knew was still within reach). I would already be cutting it close, so I resolved to stay focused and keep pushing forward as fast as possible without stopping. Just keep running, just keep running…
I felt like a human hourglass, as though with each stride my quads were gradually filling with sand.
Yet another immutable law of marathoning, this one a positive: even in a race as small as Jackson Hole with its 175 finishers, by continuing to move at even a leisurely jogging pace you’ll pass at least a few runners in the last six miles. And passing other runners always feels good, particularly in the closing miles when every ounce of motivation counts.
Both my neck and shoulders were now uncomfortably tight — a consequence of the altitude, I assumed.
Post-race hiking in Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park
At mile 25 the TLS Liquor and Beer tent awaited with free samples. No way, no way, no way. Instead I took that as my cue to try to step up my pace ever so slightly. At the same time I passed a fellow who, every few seconds, emitted a guttural bark as though he’d just been shot in the side. Luckily he showed no other outward signs of distress, and so with less than a mile between us and Teton Village, all my remaining energy went into putting as much distance as possible between me and my unnervingly noisy friend.
Ah, but few sounds fall so sweetly on the ears as the chime of a GPS watch marking the end of mile 26. That’s your cue to empty the gas tank and give it everything you’ve got, knowing the finish line will be coming into view at any moment.
And Jackson Hole’s Teton Village finish line didn’t disappoint. In fact, it was among the most beautiful I’ve seen, nestled as it was at the base of the Teton Range with the last few yards on grass. High above us red gondolas delivered passengers from the village to the top of the mountain and back. The scene — green and evergreen surroundings overlooked by mountains on a backdrop of vivid blue sky — overwhelmed the senses, as though Mother Nature had jacked up her vibrance setting to “11.”
One of the country’s most gorgeous finish lines
Crossing the grass I heard Katie yell, “You’re gonna make it under 4 hours!” In silent celebration I passed under the inflatable arch — patterned after Jackson’s own elk antler arches — in an official time of 3:58:05, keeping my sub-4 road marathon streak intact.
Exhausted, I bent over with hands on knees and said hello to co-Race Director and legendary ultrarunner Lisa Smith-Batchen, who welcomed me back and hung a finisher’s medal around my neck, signaling the official completion of state #21. Among her storied accomplishments in the sport, Smith-Batchen is a nine-time finisher and two-time winner of the Badwater 135, as well as the first American to win the prestigious 6-day, 250km Marathon des Sables. (Both races bill themselves as the world’s “toughest foot race.”) So receiving congrats and a medal from someone of her stature was the perfect ending to a special morning.
Co-Race Director Lisa Smith-Batchen welcomes back her finishers
(Jackson) Hole lotta love
Jenny and Susan waited at the finish with Jeff, each basking in her own post-race glow. Ken would join us 50 minutes later, his pace like most of ours having slowed considerably in the last six miles. It is an immutable law of marathoning, after all…
As we sat recovering and swapping stories, we saw our blonde friend from the hotel cross the finish line with the same faraway, expressionless look on her face from that morning. She’d successfully notched state #43. And though I don’t claim to know her story, here’s hoping Jackson was simply a mental hiccup on her journey across 50 states and seven — check that, eight — continents.
Ken finishes strong with Jenny’s support
But we couldn’t leave before the grand finale. Alongside an impressive gathering of friends and family (“Grif’s Crew”), I cheered fellow 50 Stater Chris Griffes — the fellow we’d passed in mile one and to whom all those signs along the course had paid tribute — across the finish line as he celebrated the final chapter in his own epic 18-year quest, begun at the turn of the century in his home state of Washington. Bravo, Chris!
Being a fellow 50 stater who’s not quite halfway to my goal, I have big-time respect for what Chris has accomplished and the resolve he’s shown to get there.
“Grif’s Crew” erupts in cheers as he closes the book on his 50 States journey
As good as the race itself was, the post-race was even better. After a celebratory gathering with the six of us at Jackson’s popular Snake River Brewing, Katie and I spent Sunday exploring Grand Teton National Park with Ken and Jenny. There, hiking in the shadow of the Teton Range, we immersed ourselves in the park’s wild beauty while enjoying excellent human and ungulate companionship, including our first moose sighting since — well, since our first visit to GTNP a decade ago.
Note to every state I have yet to run in: please be more like Wyoming (moose optional). Except you, Alaska and Hawaii — you guys don’t change a thing.
Oh, deer! A moose cow cools off in Cascade Creek, Grand Teton National Park
Jackson Hole is a shining example that, when it comes to marathons, size doesn’t necessarily matter. Sure, two of my favorite marathons in Boston and Chicago both happen to be huge and awesome. But most of my favorites including Big Sur, Missoula and now Jackson Hole are smaller, more intimate gatherings in some of the nation’s most picturesque venues. So it comes as no surprise that JHM recently was named the best marathon in Wyoming by RaceRaves. Shout-out to Race Directors Jay Batchen and Lisa-Smith Batchen — it’s tough to imagine a more charming, uplifting race experience.
With that, we said our goodbyes to Wyoming and hit the road for our return trip to Salt Lake City. Maybe though, with my Boston Red Sox ousting Ken’s Astros as this year’s World Series champs, the choice of our next group destination race will fall on me.
Until then, here’s to us losers… because state #21 was a WYnner.
BOTTOM LINE: From now on, whenever non-runners (and even some runners) ask why I’m running in all 50 States, I have an easy two-word answer: Jackson Hole. The opportunity to discover incredible hidden gems like JHM is what motivates me to travel the country and the planet in search of the world’s best races. Few marathons can top Jackson Hole’s mix of eye-popping scenery, comfortable low-key production and easy access to two of the nation’s most beautiful destinations in Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone National Park. It’s no surprise then that Jackson Hole was just voted the best marathon in Wyoming by runners across the country on RaceRaves.
For most of us Jackson Hole isn’t easy to get to, but then again that’s part of its allure. Flights into Jackson are typically expensive and indirect, with the airport located right at the base of the Teton Range. For this reason (but also because we have a Southwest Airlines companion pass) we flew into the closest Southwest hub, Salt Lake City, and made the 280-mile drive to Jackson through rustic Utah, Idaho and Wyoming. The drive felt like a Cliffs Notes version of the Great American Road Trip. And we stayed just outside of town (~2 miles from the marathon start in Jackson Town Square) at the Flat Creek Inn, a nice affordable alternative to the host hotel in the heart of Jackson.
Susan and I bask in another shared finish line
The race is held on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, when Grand Teton and Yellowstone experience the last gasps of the summer tourism season. So while there will still be plenty of cars in the parks, traffic won’t be what it is during the summer months. At the same time, weather for race weekend this year was gorgeous, with temperatures ranging from the high 30s to mid 70s with plenty of sun. And few sights are more stunning or life-affirming than Grand Teton and the little Tetons on a sunny day.
Note to sea-level sissies like me: Jackson Hole sits at ~6,300 ft, and though the altitude may not perturb your breathing, you’ll likely notice your legs feeling heavier than normal on race day. Luckily the course is relatively flat with gentle climbs and descents, so you’ll have that going for you in your battle against the thin air.
PRODUCTION: Don’t confuse adjectives like “low-key” and “relaxed” with “loosely organized” — race directors Jay Batchen and Lisa Smith-Batchen know exactly what they’re doing. This is a race for runners by runners, and one that does exactly what it needs to do production-wise before yielding the stage to the star of the show, Jackson’s pristine beauty. The marathon course was impeccably measured and marked, with plenty of aid stations (or so it seemed, though I didn’t stop at any). As a cup-free event, runners were instructed to carry their own “hydration system” (cup, bottle or vest) which could be filled and refilled at aid stations; I carried in one pocket a handy collapsible HydraPak SpeedCup which I ended up not using.
If race photos are your jam then Jackson Hole may not be for you, since Katie was the only photographer I saw on the course.
Reminiscent of Disney events, the post-race food was a FitFul box containing pita chips, hummus and applesauce. Best of all was the goodie bag, which included a voucher for a free beer (with the purchase of an entrée) at the popular Snake River Brewing, which happens to be Wyoming’s oldest brewery as well as a great place to celebrate another marathon success with friends. Cheers!
SWAG: My favorite finisher medals tend to feature some memorable aspect of the community, whether it be a city skyline or popular local attraction. Case in point the smartly crafted JHM medal, which depicts the iconic Jackson Elk Antler Arch with a “JHM” dangling from the peak of the arch. And not that anyone runs (or judges) a marathon next door to Grand Teton National Park based on its shirt, but JHM’s is a nicely understated blue Greenlayer tee that I’ve happily included in my regular rotation.
Updated 50 States Map:
RaceRaves rating:
FINAL STATS:
Sept 1, 2018 (start time 7:05 am)
26.42 miles from Jackson to Teton Village, WY (state 21 of 50)
Finish time & pace: 3:58:05 (first time running the Jackson Hole Marathon), 9:06/mile
Finish place: 32 overall, 12/27 in M 40-49 age group
Number of finishers: 175 (91 men, 84 women)
Race weather: cold (36°F) & clear at the start, warm & sunny at the finish
Elevation change (Garmin Connect): 557 ft gain, 514 ft loss
Elevation min, max: 6,033 ft, 6,337 ft
