The Long Way Home

A stillness hung over the frosty Vermont autumn morning, penetrated by a slight breeze rippling through pop-up tents. Soft dappled light crept across the hills illuminating the first signs of foliage change—oranges that would soon be reds, yellows that would burn vibrantly in a matter of days. Wisps of fog crescendoed from the dew in the valleys below and the low murmur of sleep-deprived voices invigorated by caffeine and cold hummed through the air.

We milled around with several hundred runners—some looking like the experienced endurance athletes they were: systematically stretching, consuming GUs, decked out in lycra, sporting visors and headbands and specially-tailored water bottles; some just looking like my neighbors (as they were)—ordinary folks out for a morning stroll, no more than a casual jog through the woods. My dad sipped coffee next to me, pacing in his trademark soccer shorts and Windsor High School trucker hat, looking the same as he did on the sidelines when he was my varsity coach nearly a decade prior. Maybe he had a little more grey in his beard this time around.In those years, we’d both come to this race under different circumstances. My father, Andy Tufts, has volunteered at the Vermont 50 and Vermont 100 races for the past dozen years as an EMT, race official, and in any other capacity they ask of him. I vividly recall helping in youth on some torrentially rainy days, marking times and checkpoints for runners at the Johnson Farm aid station with the help of some high school friends and teammates.

—Andy’s life has always revolved around community service. He was, perhaps, born into the role as the son of a pastor in rural Danby, Vermont. He attended the University of Vermont to become a teacher and was simultaneously active in the Emergency Medicine Living/Learning program, later worked as an EMT in Chittenden County, and ultimately moved to the Upper Valley in his mid-to-late twenties for his first full-time teaching gig—the same place he works today, more than 25 years later.He’s currently the most senior staff member among Windsor High’s educators, has served as  athletic director and interim vice principal, coached soccer, track, softball and basketball, served on the town’s select board for a term, and still finds time to volunteer as an EMT in the neighboring village of West Windsor. You could say he wears a lot of hats, but really he only alternates between a worn WHS Yellowjackets trucker and a sun-faded Patriots cap; perhaps he’s better considered a man of many socks.I first approached my dad about running the Vermont 50 when I was preparing for my own first ultramarathon out west the spring before. I don’t know if he had ever previously considered running that distance—he had never run a marathon at that point, let alone an ultra—but my gumption and the promise that I’d stay a few weeks at home with he and my mom seemed to galvanize his competitive spirit. We signed up within the first thirty minutes of registration going live.