January 19, 2020: 33 of us toed the starting line in the early morning light on the dock next to the National Park Visitors Center in Cruz Bay, St John. It was warm and misty, but given where we were, this was great running weather. We were well inside the tropics and the temperature was a moderate 72F. Ah January.
The horn sounded and we were off. I folded myself in near the back of the pack. We had 13.6 challenging miles of mostly trail running ahead of us and I was just hoping to finish. This was my first race in the tropics. I had trained for the distance, I had trained for the hills, but it was winter in the north, so I hadn’t trained for the heat.
My family has been making regular pilgrimages to St John for quite a few years now. On our first trip here I didn’t run at all. The heat was shocking and the water, the reefs and the fish were amazing. We spent as little time on land as possible. When I finally started running on our trips here I found that I loved it. There was the challenge of the heat of course. That got me up and out early, something I struggle to do at home. There was the challenge of the hills. St John is a steep range of volcanic hills that jut out of the ocean. Finally, there are the views. St John doesn’t stand alone, but is nestled within the Virgin Islands, a closely spaced group of small islands and cays. Anywhere you look you have a view of emerald isles in an azure sea. Stunning. Worth running through hills and heat as each view earns me a short break to take it all in.
We pass Lind Point, our first viewpoint, about a half mile into the race. I yell to those ahead of me “Hey, isn’t anyone stopping to take in the view?” A few chuckles make their way back through the mist. We trudge on. The first mile of the course rises gently but it’s also rocky. I get through it at 13:40 pace. Caneel Hill, the first and steepest climb on the course begins. I start trading places with a female runner who passes me on the one flat section but who is a slower climber. I reach the crest ahead of her. A volunteer standing on the lookout platform at the top asks if he can take my picture. “Sure.” I pose for a moment, and he tells me I’m in 23rd place. Cool, that’s way ahead of where I thought I’d be. My Garmin clicks off mile 2 at 19 and a half minutes. More good news. I thought that hill would take at least 25 to climb.
We descend a few hundred feet then climb Margaret Hill, at 811 feet, it is the highest point on the course. The descent from Margaret starts off steep, wet and rocky, never a comforting combination, but then morphs into a beautiful stretch of gentle downhill. I’ve got a rhythm going for a few minutes when I hear a few folks ahead of me hoot announcing that they have reached Centerline Rd. The first trail section of the race is behind them. I reach the road moments later. The woman I had been racing with got ahead of me on the downhill. I see her stopped, hunched over on the side of the road rifling through her pack. “Are you okay?” I ask. “I lost my keys.” That’s the last time I saw her. I heard she turned back. Bummer. I feel my watch buzz as I’m climbing the first hill on Centerline letting me know that mile 3 is behind me.
Roads in St John are not your typical thoroughfares. They are expert ski slope steep in many sections, and windy, narrow and generally in bad condition to boot. To top it off drivers drive on the left side of the road with steering wheels that, like in the US, are also on the left. That combination leaves drivers peering through St John’s fecund foliage as they strain to see around corners. I was more concerned about the dangers of running on the roller coaster that is Centerline Road than I was about steep wet rocky trails. After all, I can control the risks I take on trails, but I have no control over brush blind drivers turning a car in my direction.
Alas, Centerline proved safe as we were virtually the only ones on St John who were up and about so early on this Sunday morning. Running Centerline also allowed me to pick up my pace. Mile 4 zipped past at a relatively quick 11:50 pace. Partway through mile 5 we start down L’Esperanse, a Jeep trail that was in great shape due to the efforts of a volunteer crew who spent days clearing it earlier in the week.
We followed L’Esperanse for a few miles down to Reef Bay. One of my competitors passed me on the way down and another passed me when I got momentarily lost at the sugar ruins in Reef Bay. I found the route and made my way to the post pounded into the sand just above sea level went around the post as required and started running up Reef Bay trail determined to get back past the competitor who had just gotten by me. This trail starts off relatively flat but gets steeper and steeper as we climb. This trail passes through a rare patch of old growth forest. St John is beautiful, but its history is ugly. Forests were cleared for sugarcane and rum production by slaves who lived lives that were “nasty brutish and short.”
St John was the site of a successful slave rebellion in 1733. Slaves turned the tables on their masters killing many of them and driving the remainder from the island. They held the island for 6 months. The arrival of 200 French regulars put an end to the rebellion. The last group of rebels chose their own end, jumping to their deaths from the cliffs at Ram Head in the southeastern corner of the island.
Climbing the steps near the top of Reef Bay I spied the competitor who had passed me. I pushed hard up the final set of steps to once again reach Centerline Road. We were at 786 feet, which ties Caneel Hill as the second highest point on the course. We were just crossing Centerline this time and heading right back down to sea level. There was a water station, my competitor stopped to refill his Camelback, I inquired as to the entrance of the Maria-Hope trail. The volunteers pointed me in the right direction and I started down without stopping thereby executing the pass. I had never been on this trail, but I expected it to be a "gut," the local parlance for a steep stream bed. I figured we'd be jumping from rock-to-rock down a hopefully dry cascade. The fact that the organizers warned us about this trail taking out runners at the safety meeting the previous evening didn't do anything to ease my trepidation. The trail was steep, but it cut across the face of the mountain as it dropped, it didn't follow the fall line straight down. Best of all, a stiff breeze was blowing up from Maho Bay down below drying the trail. Even with this it was slow going. It was a bummer to see my average pace slow from 16:30 to 16:35 per mile as I descended, but the descent went off without a hitch. I reached to road above Maho Bay in short order.
I had reached the second road section and I passed the 10-mile mark as I ran along beautiful Maho Bay. In one sense I had reached the easiest part of the course as there was only a 100-foot climb over about 1.5 miles. On the other hand, it was now after 9:30, the sun was high in the sky and there was little shade along the road. Things were a bit shadier before Hurricane Irma blasted through here in 2017. The course takes us on a section of road that bisects a mangrove swamp. The mangroves were huge and had formed a canopy over the road. The swamp remains, but grey skeletons are all that remain of the mangroves.
I struggled up the 100-foot climb in full sun. As I did a young woman zipped past me. I wanted to query her, “where the heck did you come from?” She was so much faster than me that I couldn’t imagine why she was near the back of the field. But the sun was beating me into the pavement and anything more than a mumbled “good work” was not going to get vocalized. I learned later that a woman showed up to the starting line way late and the folks there got here started. I expect this was her.
I took my first break at the end of the road section, 11.3 miles into the course, volunteers refilled my Camelback while I took some shots of Leinster Bay. This was the area I used to run when I first started running in St John. We’d stay at Maho Bay Camps, and I’d run from there and along the road to Leinster Bay. I’d then run along the bay and up the Johnny Horn trail as I’m about to do now. The old Dutch Road that formed the initial part of the trail into the bay was wiped away by Irma, but the forest is regrowing. The new trail was pleasantly shaded in sections. The trail along the bay is a bed of coral bones for much of the way. The corals in this bay are spectacular. Waterlemon Cay which sits out at the edge of the bay has some of the best snorkeling in St John.
I was getting tired. My watch reported that I was maintaining a 16:15 pace and try though I may, I could not bring down that average as I jogged along the beach. At the end of the beach, I started up the Johnny Horn trail climbing a pair of switchbacks while making loud suffering noises and causing hikers above me to wonder aloud “Are you okay?” I have never been one to suffer in silence. I assured them “just suffering, not dying.” I stumbled past them as I continued to climb. Mercifully, the trail reached the ridgetop. I jogged past the side trail to the Murphy Great House. It was hard to bypass. This has always been a favorite diversion of mine during runs. The floor of the house remains and provides a platform for taking in stunning views of the Sir Francis Drake Channel that separates the many islands of the BVI and the USVI.
The trail continues along the ridge making gentle climbs and descents until it doesn’t. Without warning one is faced with a series of steep brush-clogged switchbacks to gain the divide above Coral Bay. Though I did my best to fend him off, one more competitor worked his way past me on this set of climbs. To add to the pain, part way up it began to drizzle. Ah yes, 80 degrees and 100 percent humidity, conditions were approaching sauna for the final stretch of the race. The trail’s namesake is a historical character who was second in command of the island at the time of the slave rebellion. It’s been said that “He had a grimace for a face, lies for eyes, noes for a nose, arse cheeks for face cheeks, fears for ears, whips for lips, dung for a tongue, and to all who knew him it seems strange that he has but one horn for a name.” The climb seemed in character with this description of his personage.
Over the top, finally, all that’s left is a nearly 500-vertical foot descent into beautiful Coral Bay down a steep rocky jeep trail. I’m watching my time; this race has a 4-hour time limit and I’m at about 3 hours 43 minutes. If I don’t want a DNF, I have to make it in under 4. I’m running at about 16:40 pace which would have been plenty fast to get me in well under 4 hours if this race was 13.6 miles as advertised, but I left 13.6 behind me shortly after I crossed the divide. All I had left was barely enough to improve my average pace as I ran down the jeep road and through the flats in Coral Bay to the finish at Skinny Legs. At the finish, I recorded 14.18 miles and 2839 vertical feet of climbing in 3 hours 55 minutes or 16:34 per mile. I was the 21st male to cross, the 27th person overall, the last person who crossed under 4 hours and the only 60+ year old to do so. It was the least efficient way possible to go from one end of St John to the other, but it was a great way to start the day!
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