Pace Setter : April 2026

Reflections from the Escarpment Trail

By Seamus Hodgkinson

I ran my first Escarpment Trail Run in 2001 and completed my eighteenth in 2024. Its mantra—“mountain goats only”—is honest and real.

If you drive the Thruway south from Albany, your eyes see the looming silhouette of the three peaks that make up the legendary Great Wall of Manitou. These peaks were revered by native tribes. Through a car windshield, climbing any one of the peaks seems like a challenge. But on the last Sunday in July, the Escarpment foot race takes on all three at once. For me, its demands have become a mental, physical, and spiritual high point of my year.

Three years ago, at age 75, I earned my 300-mile shirt and joined a pretty elite group of crazies! I feel lucky and blessed to have toed the start line of the Escarpment Trail Race so many times (over 16 times!)—each one, I admit, I start with trepidation and uncertainty, but also with a sense of something much bigger than the ordinary, and so infinitely worth it for that.

Here is an ode to the race I wrote after finishing last year:

The last Sunday in July, and you know there’s only one place to be, even though memory protests at the abuse awaiting. The woods could care less, and the rocks sharpen their ancient edges, out there on the trails of hope, where hours are spent alone with thoughts and fellow travelers. Wondrous bubbles of joy pop up magically on peaks and in notches—generous volunteers of fun and fig newtons, just when you need them. However, the lonely mountains don’t relent, and Windham, Blackhead, and Stoppel remain true to Manitou’s sacred wall, and demand a price in sweat, pain, and even blood. The rocks and roots and ruts may revel in their harsh victories, but we who strive boldly also win mightily. For one short, special day, the world of useless worries is forgotten, and we embrace briefly the self which really matters.