My quads were cramped, my shins were bleeding, my lungs burned, my whole body ached. And I had barely run a mile.

I was running the Shut-In Ridge Trail Race, a tortuous 17.8-mile run that climbs 3,000 feet from the North Carolina Arboretum to the base of Mount Pisgah along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Along the way, runners slash and slip and stumble up steep, switchbacky slopes while gasping for thin, high-elevation air. And since the annual race is held on the first Saturday in November, fallen leaves often conceal the trail’s rocky, ankle-twisting terrain.

Shut-In is one of the most grueling races in the country — and also one of the most popular. Race director Adam Pinkston said Shut-In’s 175 slots filled up in only a few days, and this year he had to turn away hundreds of applicants. Now in its 22nd year, the Shut-In Ridge Trail Race has a cult-like following that attracts the region’s top trail runners — as well as foolish first-timers like me.

For months leading up to the race, I tried to ignore my running buddies’ Shut-In horror stories of broken arms, fractured femurs, and other trail carnage. I pretended not to hear accounts of well-trained runners literally crawling up the last two miles. I convinced myself that Shut-In was just a distant date on the calendar that would never really arrive.

My self-delusions continued even on race day. I harbored secret hopes that my registration would have somehow been lost in the mail (even though I had already received confirmation of my entry), or the race would unexpectedly be canceled due to inclement weather (it was sunny and 60).

To my shock, Pinkston cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Runners need to make their way to the starting line.”

“Oh my God,” I thought, “they’re going to run this thing after all!”

I joined 175 surprisingly light-hearted, laid-back runners in the Arboretum parking lot. Milling around at the start were streamlined stallions in slick singlets, beer-bellied 60-year-olds, wrinkled women wearing lipstick and sports bras, and wild-haired runners dressed in neon Spandex. They bantered jokes that are only funny at the starting line of an 17.8-mile mountain run: “Hey, there’s only one hill on the entire course,” “I hope a bear eats me before I reach Ferrin Knob,” “I thought it said 1.78-miles on the entry form.” One grizzled, gray-haired runner wore a shirt that read, “17.8 miles and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in oxygen debt.” And when a Shut-In veteran recalled a snowstorm one year that stopped the race after 12 miles, a few rookie runners swore they saw a few flurries swirling down from the cloudless sky.

Meanwhile, the serious contenders were quietly lining up at the front. Last year’s winner was running the New York City Marathon instead of Shut-In, which meant the race was up for grabs. Asheville newspapers billed four-time Shut-In champ Jay Curwen as one of the favorites. Steve Hetherington, one of the region’s top trail runners, had traveled down from Roanoke, VA for a shot at the Shut-In title. Local speedster Thomas Cason was a threat, and ultrarunning legends Eric Clifton and David Horton also lined up near the front.

The race starter dropped his arm and yelled GO! In the flash flood of adrenaline that followed, I ran with the front pack of runners through the Arboretum. But once I turned onto the Shut-In Trail, I faded quickly. The narrow, near-vertical trail climbed sharply for over a mile. I was barely moving my legs by the time I reached the first overlook.

Originally Shut-In was a horse path between George Vanderbilt’s Biltmore estate and his Pisgah hunting lodge. Today, the Blue Ridge Parkway parallels the Shut-In Trail and provides easy access to the trail at each of its scenic overlooks. On the morning of the race, crowds of volunteers and spectators gathered at the Parkway overlooks to hand out Dixie-cups of water and watch weary runners like me slog slowly up the mountain.

I followed Shut-In’s white-dot tree blazes along a twisting, roller-coaster path of ups and downs. Just when a steep climb had nearly drowned my legs in lactic acid, the trail would suddenly plunge straight down a leaf-littered grade. Two experienced Shut-In runners glided past me on the downhill, and I vowed not to let their black singlets out of sight until we reached Ferrin Knob.

The trail’s undulations continued through Walnut Cove and over Grassy Knob. I passed camouflaged hunters hiding out near Sleepy Gap and hoped they wouldn’t shoot at the yellow canary on my running shirt. At Bent Creek Gap, dozens of squirrels scampered across the trail, stuffing their cheeks with fallen walnuts. Trees and understory vegetation enclosed the trail in tangled arches, which is probably how Shut-In got its name. All but a few splotches of sunlight were shut out by burly chestnut oaks, black walnuts, red maples, and yellow poplar along the trail.

Shaded by the Shut-In canopy, the forest floor was alive with green. For a few miles, the trail rolled out a mossy carpet lined with maidenhair, Christmas, and bracken ferns. But as we climbed Ferrin Knob, the moss and ferns gave way to thick mats of dry, slippery leaves. I couldn’t get any traction, and the black singlets quickly disappeared from view. I dragged myself up Ferrin Knob. Then, dropping sharply down the back side, I crashed into two trees and face-planted into a fluffy pile of leaves. A few minutes later, I was clotheslined by an overhanging branch and slammed to the rocky turf. It took every ounce of willpower not to curl up in those crunchy leaves and rest for a bit. I half-heartedly got to my feet and kept trodding.

Up front, it was an exciting race. Thomas Cason and Asheville newcomer Bryan Dayton – both running Shut-In for the first time – were striding side-by-side with two miles to go. Dayton moved past Cason on the long climb to Pisgah and cruised down to the finish in 2:30:38 – only five minutes off the course record set by race director Adam Pinkston in 1998.

“Who is that?” mumbled spectators as Dayton crossed the finish. The tattooed 28-year-old marathoner had shocked the Shut-In crowds. So, too, had Cason, the speedy road racer who finished seconds later, having just completed the longest race of his career.

Meanwhile, I was still slugging up the mountain. In the last two miles, the trail snaked 2,000 feet up a rocky ridgeline before topping out at the base of Pisgah. I shamelessly walked the whole thing. Along the way, I caught up with one of the black singlets — it was the first time I had walked past someone in a running race. But nobody cared about place anymore. We were just trying to get the damn thing over with.

The trail kept climbing and climbing and climbing. I gritted my teeth and hung on for as long as I could. Wind shook the trees and splattered more leaves along the trail. My chest was heaving and my head was spinning in the altitude-thinned air. Just getting one foot in front of the other required everything I had. Finally, I felt the ground beneath my feet level out. I crested the summit and coasted deliriously down to the finish.

I sprawled out in the grass and watched runners stagger one-by-one through the finish chute. Then, after gulping down a half-gallon of water, I listened to the race director give an interview to reporters.

“Shut-In runners are different,” Pinkston said. “There’s a special quality to the runners who make it out here, year after year. They’re the best part of Shut-In, because they seem to know what running is really all about.”

He was right. I noticed a distinctive spirit and comraderie among Shut-Iners. Not only are they the gutsiest runners around, but they’re also the most gracious. All day long, runners stepped aside to let me pass, offering words of encouragement as I ran ahead. They shared Gatorade and Gu – as well as helpful trail advice. The black singlets alerted me to slippery rocks and tight curves on the trail. And one bald runner  in between gasps of air – congratulated me on a good run as I plodded by him. Even the front runners were primarily working together rather than against each other.

The Shut-In runners I met that day weren’t cutthroat competitors trying to beat each other at any cost. They were fellow human beings  humbled, perhaps, by the mountains — trying to help each other to the top.

(Editor’s note: Will Harlan writes about the outdoors. He can be reached at wharlan@hotmail.com. Harlan finished fourth in the Shut-In Ridge Trail Race this year.)

 

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