Looking for a little redemption from my 2012 attempt at running the Superior 50, which was my first-ever attempt to cover 50+ miles, I had been thinking about this race for a long time. Last year I gave myself a pass, chalking up my lack of success to a steep learning curve. This year I was luckier, smarter, and luckier than last.
Thursday night, about 8pm, my hip went out. Way out. You know that thing that kind of runs over the front of your pelvis that connects your thigh to your lower back? Mine was pissed. I don’t know what did it, but it went out and I was pretty scared. I had trouble walking. I started treatment by soaking in a detox ginger/salt solution and rolling out associated muscles. I had little success, and was in significant discomfort the entire ride up to Lutsen. The Wife tried to distract me from my negative thoughts by talking about everything she could think of talking about. She succeeded in redirecting my negative thoughts; The Wife took one for the team. Our hotel room had a Jacuzzi, so I soaked and rolled and jet sprayed in an attempt to wrangle my fucking hip into compliance. I also rolled out my left ass check on a golf ball from Butler Pitch ‘n’ Putt, which I’m pretty sure is what saved my race. The golf ball released whatever it was that had irritated the hip. I was sore the morning of the race, ready to just run as far as I could before the problem took me off the course.
On the way up, we had lunch with my parents in Two Harbors. My dad, who was to be running the marathon, had thrown out his back on Thursday while brushing his teeth, was wearing a back brace. We were pathetic. During lunch, my parents saw a Dachshund they assumed had just been hit by a car and was dragging its broken legs across a the highway that runs through Two Harbors. Some guy stopped and looked, but the drove away. I went out and looked for the dog, but couldn’t find it and went back inside. We saw other people staring, so I went back and found it. The dog’s foot was bandaged in an old wrap, clearly not having just been hit, and someone came from across the street, saying that it was fine and she knew where it belonged. Much relieved. Before leaving the restaurant, I took a muscle relaxer, which seemed to help a little. I slept a little in the car, but not much. I think I saved up my sleep, because I went to bed at 9pm and slept like a rock until 4am. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well prior to a race.
Race morning, I misplaced the mouthpiece to my Camelbak, which my wife found, but not before 10 minutes disappeared and we were pushing it for time. We got to the race start just in time to throw on my gear and take off. I didn’t even check in with them at the desk, but rather I was one of the people whose name/number they call out to see if they’ve made it. I was stiff, but I was pretty ok running. I decided to run up closer to the middle of the pack instead of hanging back like I have in the past, thinking that they would probably be moving at roughly the same pace and that I would just be starting a bit farther ahead. I was correct. That choice might have saved my race. I took one Vespa prior to the start.
The first section is 7.5 miles from Finland to Sonju Lake. I fell in with a chatty crowd. That's pretty tough for me early in a race. I'm a believer in silence until the first aid station. Be cordial, sure, but I prefer to just go out there and get my head on straight. I warm up on the trail. Everybody's different. I get it. The course is a little weird in that right before you get to the first aid station, you cross a bridge and are routed to the left toward the aid station. Once you get there you are free to leave immediately, retracing the 30 yards back to the bridge, then past the bridge and on to the next stop. I retied my shoes at the stop and left.
The second section is 4.2 miles and was uneventful. The weather was warm. I was on schedule for calories and water when I came into the second aid station at Crosby-Manitou, where my wife met me with Vitargo, an energy supplement that agrees with me, which I drink at every stop. My shirt was soaked with sweat, so I changed it, had my wife help me get some ice on my neck and get going. I decided to make a point of keeping ice stored in a buff on my neck whenever possible, and when it became clear that the weather would be warm I stuck to it. We had discussed the need to keep moving through aid stations. It’s very easy to waste time, especially if I sit down in a chair, the detriment of which is exacerbated if you are slow like me and run into cutoff times with regularity. I got in and out, which is a testament to my wife.
The third section, from Crosby-Manitou to Sugarloaf, is 9.4 miles, involves a huge descent followed by a massive, relentless climb and then a long stretch of pretty rough trail. This year the race director set an 11:30am cutoff time following this section, giving 50-milers 5.5 hours to cover the first 21.1 miles. The combination of the heat and the ridiculous climb kicked my ass. I got to walking in an attempt to regroup. 12-15 runners passed me during my stroll. To the last couple of said runners I mentioned the cutoff time. They took off as fast as they could go. I was fairly miserable, ran out of water about 6.5 miles in, and accepted defeat. So then I thought I should just go ahead and run it out with everything I had, mostly out of respect for the time and sacrifice that my wife makes to put me out there. I thought there was a slight chance that they might not be terribly strict with the cutoff, since it was new and really harsh, but mostly I thought I would just run the best 21.1 miles that I could. I passed everyone who had passed me while I was hiking, going back-and-forth with most of them before pulling away at the end. Just short of the aid station, a 100-miler who DNFed was walking back on the trail saying that the stop was just ahead and the cutoff was pretty much happening. I blasted into the stop at about 11:46am. The Wife pretended there was no cutoff and began to fill my water. She kind of steamrolled the guy making the decision and he said that if I went and stood by the next trailhead he would let me continue. I had dreams of chugging a milk jug full of ice-cold water upon arrival and being DNFed, but on I would go if they would let me. I came here to finish the race. I was the last runner to clear the Sugarloaf cutoff.
The fourth section is 5.6 miles, and was pretty runnable trail, and leads to the halfway point (which has a 1:30pm cutoff.) Just into the section, I came upon a girl about my age walking back toward the last aid station. She said she was quitting and didn’t know why. I said, “C’mon. We’re gonna run this race now.” Liz and I got to be buddies, and we ran that fucking race. Sometimes we hooked up with other runners and made a train of it, but we stuck together for the better part of the next 23 miles. She would eventually finish ten minutes ahead of me, which is awesome. Liz would’ve quit if I hadn’t stopped her. We got to the next aid station with about 5 minutes to spare before the cutoff. The Wife hustled me in and out with precision. I changed shoes and took down another Vespa.
The fifth section is 7.1 miles of the most runnable trail on the course. I dropped Liz early on and put on the gas. I was feeling great and running great. There was no cutoff at the next aid station, and the cutoff at the aid station after that was comfortably reachable, but the 7pm cutoff at Oberg, the final aid station, had me concerned. I kept myself from doing math this time, as I've learned how detrimental long division can be to my mental and emotional constitution, but I knew that if I was to get out of the last aid station I was going to have to run what trail I could run. I passed a ton of people in that 7.1 mile chunk of trail, running playfully and having a blast, entertaining the possibility that I might finish the race. I damn near sprinted into the next stop. When things go well out there I get a goofy, contented smile and demeanor, which had fully set in by the Temperance River aid station (33.8 mile) where I quit last year.
The sixth section of trail is 5.7 miles and is pretty runnable, but does include a 1000-foot climb up Carlton Peak. The first stretch is a memorable run parallel to the Temperance River. I passed some high school kids who were jumping off of a rock 20+ feet up because kids are dumb. Just after crossing the river, I was moving along, kind of thinking about how I remembered the trail differently, when a woman came back toward me with concerns about lack of course markings. We backtracked, finally running into three other runners (one of whom was my buddy Liz.) We figured that we were fine if there were five of us. Liz and Peter took off ahead, while the other two laid back. I began to prepare myself for the grueling climb that lay ahead. I fell in behind a 100-miler and his two pacers just at the base of the climb. Two of them had the farts super-bad, but I couldn’t smell them so they were funny. They were all nice guys and one of them offered me some food. I declined, but it was good to see the conversation between pacers and runners. I hope to experience that first-hand someday. (READ: If you run and I know it, I might hit you up to pace me someday, maybe in the Black Hills at the end of June in 2014.) I was beginning to pass 100-milers with regularity. Passing people is encouraging, even if they’ve been running for 50 more miles than you have. I got to the next stop with time to spare, giving myself 1:50 to cover the next section.
The seventh section is 5.5 miles, and is always much tougher than I wish it was. I set out hustling, but not hurrying, knowing that I was in a position to finish if I just maintained. I wasn’t out there to be a hero and get some time or another, so I began to pay attention to not getting hurt and not blowing up (as in not pushing myself too hard.) Liz and Peter and I met up, hustling along at a slow but steady rate. Near the end of the section, Liz took off and then I followed suit. Rolling into the last aid station is a great feeling. The party atmosphere begins to set in. TC Running Company brings their RV, plays music and hosts an incredible buffet of running treats. (I accepted their water, but my wife had me covered on everything else.) Most people are pretty sure that they are going to finish their race. I even sat in a chair to drink a Red Bull and a ginger ale and Vitargo and change shirts and put on headlights. We get our picture taken. On my way out, my wife called at me because I forgot bug spray. I’m really glad I got bug-sprayed.
The final section, from Oberg to Lutsen, is 7.1 miles. About 300 yards into it, I stop to apply body lube to some chafing in my left armpit that wasn't going to get better on its own. I got to fucking around with my pack, and six familiar faces passed me. I was totally fine with that. I put on long sleeves and hiked along. The main goal for this section was to not get hurt. About 45 minutes in, it got dark enough to turn my lights on, right around the time I started the first of two 1000-foot climbs. The first climb is Moose Mountain, and it is steep as hell. At the top, a 100-miler with Hokas and trekking poles cruised by me. I caught back up to him at the top of the second climb, Mystery Mountain. His name was Nathan, and he was a chiropractor from Green Bay. He was very up front about his state as a basketcase, but he moved forward at a steady rate. He kept worrying about a lack of course markings. I wasn’t worried, because I know that area and I know that there is only one trail that well-worn. That wasn’t good enough to calm Nathan’s nerves, so we stopped a few times to make sure that there were fresh footprints in the muddy spots. Everything was fine. We might have moved slower than I could have, but I was happy to have the company. Trail buddies can be good buddies. I hiked with Nathan through the end of the section, telling him of the campground followed by the 180-degree turn, quick downhill and then the roar of the Poplar River. The trail spit us out at the edge of the Lutsen ski area, running down the road to the Caribou Highlands. I took off my headlamp, leaving Nathan behind and passing a couple of other 100-milers, ran around the back of the pool area of the hotel and into a small crowd of people celebrating. My parents were there and my wife was there and it was just a great feeling to go back to that race and succeed.
Each time I run these I realize more and more how important other people are to the experience. There is no way I finish or have as much fun without my wife. She is incredible crew, an amazing race partner. As far as I’m concerned, we run these races. My trail buddies helped me pass time, and helped me keep going and going. The volunteers make the whole thing possible.
I am really sore, especially in my shoulders, back and ribs (mostly from steadying myself after tripping on roots and rocks.) I chafed like hell in both armpits (from swinging my arms about) and on both lovehandles (from my thumbs when placing hands on hips to climb hills.) It hurts like hell to bend my toes. I feel fantastic. We’re hitting .500 for 50-miles races. It’s time to up the ante: Wild Duluth 100k. We got this.
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