From Running Director Heidi Caldwell.

About two weeks ago I set out for a fun adventure run with friends in the White Mountains. It was a cold and clear blue bird day, promising stunning views and chilly temps above tree line. To make the most of our morning in the mountains, we planned a point to point route with many miles of beautiful, exposed ridge line. From our starting point we could see the summits were blanketed with a dusting of snow, and were jazzed to get our first taste of winter up high. 

Because we planned to run more than hike, we packed light while still carrying warm layers and plenty of snacks for the trek. We knew it was going to be cold on the ridge, so we stuffed extra pants, hats, light jackets, and dry socks into our near-bursting running vests. Layers - check; snacks - check; caffeine buzz - check; mountain stoke - double check. And just like that, we were off!

We sweated and stripped layers as we climbed the sheltered ascent up to the ridge. As we summited the first peak, we were greeted by cold air, icy rocks, and expansive mountain beauty. We continued on happily, layering and delayering as we descended and ascended along the rolling terrain. The trail became icier as we traversed north which slowed our pace some, but we were still able to strategically run between icy patches. Just as we were nearing our final peak of the day, I stepped on a sneakily icy rock.

My feet slipped out from under me and I instinctively put my hand out to catch myself on the boulder directly next to me. I had a lot of momentum, and as my hand met the boulder I continued to slide, heard a click in my shoulder, and felt a sudden surge of pain in my arm. As I lay on the ground, I immediately felt nauseous and light-headed, clutching my arm close to my body to try to minimize the pain. It was the type of pain when you know instantly that something is very wrong, and continuing the run as planned was not going to happen. 

We all sat there for a moment, unsure of the extent of the injury or what we should do. I had a hunch I had dislocated my shoulder, but knew so little about shoulder injuries that I wasn’t sure if it was dislocated, broken, or otherwise hurt. Whatever the injury, there was only way out - to hike down. My friends helped me put on my warmest layers and fashion a make-shift sling to help stabilize my arm. 

At the time of my fall we were over half-way through our plotted course, but still had one peak and six miles to the car. The first two of those miles were on the cold and icy ridge line trail. As we picked our way over the icy rocks, it quickly became clear that this was going be a long, slow slog. Navigating the slippery terrain proved extra challenging when one-armed and when every step sent shooting pain up my arm. My fear of falling was now heightened by the increased risk of further injuring my shoulder. Those first two miles took us two hours. To make matters worse, the howling wind left our sweaty selves getter colder by the minute. 

There were many tough moments during that hike out; moments when I sat down and didn’t want to move, moments when I sobbed, moments when fear of the cold and diminishing daylight were overwhelming, and many moments when I wondered how the heck I would ever get off that mountain. I found myself trying to negotiate with the universe - “I’ll never trail run again if you just make this pain stop”. My friends were absolute saints, feeding me Oreos and Poptarts as I could stomach them and talking to distract me despite my inability to contribute to the chatter. 

We finally made it down and to the ER, where a quick X-ray showed my shoulder was fully dislocated but not broken. A few drugs and some massaging and manipulating later, my shoulder was back in place. A couple weeks in a sling followed by some thorough physical therapy, and I’ll be back to normal.

It’s amazing how our minds forget and our bodies heal. The first day or two after “the incident” I had trouble retelling the tale; the pain was still so present in my mind that I didn’t want to relive it. But a few days later I could tell the story readily, and excitedly shared my new-found knowledge of how to put a shoulder back in on your own. My desperate promise to the universe that I would “never trail run again” is now laughable. While I certainly hope never to go through the experience again, I also recognize how much worse it could have been - what if it had been my knee, or if I had hit my head, or broken my collarbone too? 

As a runner who primarily participates in low-falling-risk activities and non-contact sports, this was my first experience with a significant impact injury. I’ve been through my share of over-use running injuries, but had never endured more than minor bumps and bruises from trail spills. With overuse injuries, we often reflect on (or agonize over) the aspects of training where we went wrong - too much too soon, not enough rest, not enough strength, not enough fueling, and so on. With this type of injury, the reflection process is different, but still with significant lessons learned.

Short of not going on the adventure in the first place (which in itself is a valid argument, especially in the age of covid), I don’t think there is much I could have done to avoid the fall itself. Sure, we could have decided to hike instead of run when we saw how icy it was, but I’d done similar runs in similar conditions and been just fine. There is a certain amount of risk that comes with trail running in the mountains, and I now feel lucky that this was my first adventure-ending accident. Rather than retroactively analyze the day’s apparent risks, I’ve found my biggest takeaway from this experience is the importance of being prepared for emergencies every time you set out for an adventure.

What does prepared mean? For most trail runners, it probably means feeling “over-prepared”. Yes, we want our packs to be light so we can move with ease, but that doesn’t mean we should skimp on the basic essentials. For me that now includes an emergency space blanket, extra water, extra quick sugar fuel, an assortment of basic bandages, and a headlamp, in all seasons. Basically, pack knowing there is a chance something might go wrong and you could be out there for much longer than you have planned. If you’re adventuring with friends, you can split these supplies between your packs to spread out the added bulk.

Which brings me to my second major takeaway: setting out for long excursions with friends. Not only is this a fun way to socialize and catch-up, but it is also a smart, practical safety measure. There is strength and security in numbers, especially when things go wrong. It’s hard for me to imagine what I would have done out there by myself that day, and I will be forever grateful to my friends for their calm, unwavering support and kindness. If conditions are dicey or you plan to be out for more than a couple of hours, be sure to go with companions.

Another lesson learned is the responsibility of the adventurer to invest time in educating themselves on best emergency response practices. No, you won’t be able to anticipate or know what to do in every possible accident, but knowing something is better than knowing nothing. Sitting in pain on that cold, icy mountain, I felt woefully under-educated and wished I had known more.

In the end, there is inherent risk in everything we do. We each get to determine our own risk budgets and choose to accept a certain amount of risk in order to live our lives to the fullest. The word “adventure” itself implies the unknown and the unplanned, with a hefty dose of potential pitfalls. Looking back at this experience in the mountains, I am grateful to have evaded major adventure mishaps in the past and feel motivated to be better equipped in the future. When we set out for an adventure, it is our responsibility to be prepared for the worst case scenario, even if we have only ever experienced the best. 

Long story short: Respect the mountains, up your packing game, expand your knowledge base, go with friends, always bring Oreos, and adventure on!