By Marsha Bond Hayes
My story, I'd like to think, is a lot different from most athletes. I was never an athletic type person growing up. I never played organized sports; like most kids of the '70s, I rode my bike for endless summer hours, swam, hung out at the playground, and played baseball, all while barefoot. Long story short, I moved to Northern Maine in my late 20's. I started a family and became a bleacher mom. Sitting was my pastime for over 20 years, and I was content with this role.
In 2010 I became ill; I felt horrible, my body fighting me every step of the way. Even getting out of bed was a huge undertaking. It didn't matter what I did: sitting, lying, standing, or walking. Sometimes, I was actually just too physically exhausted to even breathe. I was finally diagnosed with systemic scleroderma, an autoimmune disease in which I make too much collagen. After this diagnosis, I went to bed and proceeded to stay there for a year. I wallowed in the oh so typical why me's, what did I do's. You know, the shit we say to ourselves when faced with difficulties. In between feeling sorry for myself and sleeping my days away, my friend and I started being "trail angels" and befriending Appalacian thru hikers, or "Hiker Trash" as they are known on the trails. We would go into Baxter Park and bring dinner and treats to the hikers staying at the birches lean tos. We would also take a ride into the 100 Mile Wilderness and drop treats in trees along the trail. The one wonderful thing about getting to know all these amazing souls was their stories: stories of overcoming fear, finding friendships, and most of all, the joy in completing this wonderful trek through 2,182 miles of wilderness. Something in me was fueled by their stories and their excitement. I was on a mission, and I planned that when my last nesting left the house, I would don my backpack and go! I needed to remember who I was and why I was on this journey called life. What was I thinking? I had never walked more than three miles on a road. But, my heart was telling me I needed to do this. My brain, not so much.
I knew what I wanted to do but had no idea how I would accomplish that, so I decided I MUST climb Katahdin. If I could summit her beauty, I could walk the AT. I asked everyone and anyone if they would like to climb with me, and low and behold, my sister in law Lyla said yes. So my sister in law, nephew, niece, and daughter made a date and went. We got to the gate a little after 6 AM and into Roaring Brook Campground around 7 AM and started our journey up the Chimney Pond Trail because that is considered the easy trail. Everyone knows that. It was very quickly into this hike when my head started playing games with me, and my body was agreeing. When I tell this story, I always add that I died 16 times that day. I knew I was in trouble when an 80 year old couple blew by me. At one point into the hike, I lay on a rock and sobbed. I couldn't take one more step, not one more. I felt my dreams of the AT fading away, and most of all, I felt like I was a failure. Lyla leaned into me and said the most powerful words I have heard in my life. "You CAN do this. You are bigger than this. Are you going to let them win?" Them being the people who laughed and told me there was no way I could climb Katahdin. I popped up and said NO. We got to the Chimney Pond Campground, and I swear it must be what heaven is like. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever witnessed. The round trip is a 6.2 mile hike, and it took us over 12 hours to complete, but I did it, and I wouldn't have without the support of Lyla and my nephew Darren.
I vowed I would climb to the top of Katahdin if it killed me and started walking, beginning my addiction to conquering challenges. Two years passed, and I finally realized my dream of kissing that sign on my 50th year on this planet. I've climbed her every year since.
Fast forward to a pebble tossed and little ole marathon in Millinocket, Maine. Luckily my friend Tricia was helping organize it, and I was quickly thrown on bib duty. I was introduced to Chief Pebble tosser, whose vibe was contagious, and I quickly realized that the marathon vibe is like no other one I've ever been around. Excitement, happiness. It was all so contagious you couldn't help but be swept up into it. I decided I was going to be a runner, only one problem. I had never run, and I didn't think I even liked it; oh yeah, and the arthritis in my hip, too. But, I didn't care, and in typical Marsha fashion, I sat on that idea and let it do its thing for three marathons, each one fueling that desire more. Was there a way I could do a marathon without actually running a marathon? Probably not. The 2019 Millinocket Marathon came, and I vowed 2020 would be the year I started training. I asked the only person I knew who was like a professional runner if he would be willing to "coach" me along, kick my ass when I needed it, and throw me a scrap when I deserved it. He was on board and offered all the no nonsense tactics a good coach is famous for. His first bit of enlightenment is still my number one go to. "A pencil doesn't sharpen itself" and "zip it" and "shut it, just do it."
I signed up for three events and the streak. The bridge I figured in my head started with a little three miler, then the Down East Sunrise Trail Relay, because yeah, it's fun and in the dark, and it's fun, and I'd wind out my year with the MDI Half Marathon. That is how 2020 started, and then Corona hit, not even the good kind with a side of lime, but the damn shut the whole world down kind. I kept training on the road, and I hated it. My knees hurt, and my hips ached. The road is uneven and broken. It was no fun going out there. Three months in, and I thought, man, I should at least be enjoying this a little bit, but I wasn't. Gary suggested that I try running on the shoulder, which made all the difference in the world. I made it to 100 days, complete with a pirate cannon blast off via Facebook Live, and for the first time in my life, I did something consciously for 100 days. With that, all spring and summer races were being canceled and postponed, but there was still hope for the MDI Half Marathon and Millinocket.
I traded my roads for the trails. The Bait Hole Loop is two trails. One is three miles, and the other is about 1.9, and if you work the figure eight just right, you can squeak a five miler out of it. I was in heaven: soft dirt, hills, stumps, water, and the best part of all, I could run with my dog off leash. I mean, if running is good, then running with your best friend has to be even better. 100 days turned into 200 days. Summer came and went complete with another summit of Katahdin, and I never missed a day. I was literally in the best physical shape of my life. Covid took all my dreams of participating in a race in 2020. The fall lasted long into December in Millinocket. We had little if any snow. I kept throwing out to Gary I should run the Millinocket Half Marathon. I was joking in my head, but of course, he wasn't. "You can totally do it. You are in the best condition and have been training all year for this. And, there won't be another year you will be able to because you'll be working it."
The secret plan was to run the course, but I kept overthinking that, so my alternate plan was to just run where I felt most comfortable, and that was at the Bait Hole. I had it all worked out in my mind, two figure eights and then the three. Bam, done. I woke up early and got dressed, and headed to the woods. After five miles, the dog was done, so I had to bring him home, grab a snack, and headed back out. I had two choices: I could go to mile five on the Golden Road and run from there or go back to the comfort of what I know best: the woods. My mind was telling me one thing, but the truck was headed for the woods. I started running and thought, Marsha, all you need is eight more miles, just eight, that's it. It started raining, you know that cold slushy December rain. I was wet, hungry, and getting tired. Up to this point, six miles was the longest I had run. I got to mile eight, and there was a woman walking her dog. He came bounding up to me and proceeded to bite my ass not once but three times. I asked the woman if she could please leash her dog as he was biting me. Her reply to me was, "Did he bite you or nip you?" "Uhhh, he bit me." "But my dog doesn't bite," she replied. "Well, my ass begs to differ," I said as I ran off. Luckily, he didn't break the skin, and, truth be told, I just needed to get through five more damn miles.
By mile 11, I was asking myself who thought it was a good idea to be a runner. I did not have a reasonable answer. I was tired, soaked, thirsty, and starving. There was no energy ball station, no fireball station, no soup, no hamburgers, no cookies, just me and my thoughts, and those were only out to kill me. I still think I might have actually been moving backward at some point. 3.5 hours later, I finally made it to the truck, looked at my Garmin, and it said 13 miles. I quickly thought I could park downtown and run across the finish line to make the 0.1 I needed. When I got to the park, I could see people. I pulled up, and there dancing in the street were Gary and Ben. Pleasantly surprised, I told Gary I needed 0.1 to finish, would he like to run across the line with me, and we did. Apparently, running through the woods 13 miles is a lot more work than if I had just run the course. But would it have been better? I think not. So here I am, the streak still going. I traded my running shoes for snowshoes and skis in the winter but am happily getting ready to get them back out. I'm actually looking forward to it, something a year ago I would have never thought would excite me. Do I consider myself a runner now? Absolutely not, but I love whatever it is I have become along this journey.
“I traded my running shoes for snowshoes and skis in the winter but am happily getting ready to get them back out.”
About the Author
Marsha Bond Hayes, from Millinocket, Maine, is a 55 year old mom of three, an artist, a fitness junkie, a believer in the impossible, and a "wanna be runner."
