I was 100% set on DNFing at mile 34 due to my "back" cramping when in reality it was my piriformis acting up and referring to my lower back. Was I being forced to let everyone down this early? It's not like it's a mental barrier; if I was puking my brains out I could work though it overcoming the discomfort and refilling my food stores once the reset had been hit, a muscle spasm or cramp doesn't seem like something one can mentally overcome.
This was my worst segment during the race. My brother figured I lost an hour. That would've been a solid second place overall. I thought it was this injury hampering my progress but I later realized I was deep in a valley as well. Throughout these races the mind and body can do some odd things to try to "save itself" and part of the game is to be mentally prepared to push through these low points knowing they will go away and you WILL feel better. I look back on this and should've realized where I was, deep in the pain cave, and should've been positive. Seeing my mental state throughout has convinced me that staying positive is of utmost importance to success.
I rambled into the Tettegouche Aid Station and remember seeing my brother Chris. One of the aid station workers asked if my back was alright as I strolled in which was pretty cool. It was a cramped area with volunteers, spectators, and runners tripping over each other. My water was filled, I most likely nibbled some food. Chris offered ibuprofen, which I hesitated to take at first, but down the hatch they went. I sat in the grassy dirt and attempted to stretch anything and everything that may ease the dull ache slowing my progress. I do not remember a surge of positivity from seeing familiar faces, the stretching doing any good, or any thoughts of "I'm done" at the aid station as I had been so dead set on doing, but off I ran, " 8.6 miles to County Rd. 6 "!
The next section, for whatever reason, I hit a high point; familiar faces? better hydration? I don't know. I took off going far faster than I should have been going. The rage of positivity coursed through me so I took advantage of it and like a runner. I was fucking pissed off about my poor performance so early on, I've done the miles it was time to race and that shouldn't have happened. None of this 12:00 minute mile bullshit or power walking, I clocked the next few miles at round 7 minute mile pace, my normal easy training pace, slow still, but for an ultra such as Superior seemingly suicidal around mile 40 of a 103 mile race. I could see the County Rd. 6 Aid Station from the 300 foot cliffs I was skirting and knew a decent downhill was coming up. I hit the road and motored the short section of pavement giving relief from the rocks and roots and thoroughly enjoying a full stride.
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| feeling good on County Rd. 6 |
Throughout the race I was torn between "finish this thing, that's your goal, take it easy" and "you just made up 40 minutes from your previous section, let's catch these assholes!" as I had on my way to County Rd. 6. It is so hard to hold back your speed but you have to in order to finish. I NEVER run slower than 8:30 minutes per mile and that even kills me.
At County Rd. 6 I saw Ben and Erica but not the rest of the gang. I had barely beaten my crew as I saw them all walking from the designated parking area! I don't think anyone was expecting me to knock out such a fast segment after the slow run to Tettegouche I had just had! I grabbed my drop bag and switched to the UD race vest which had my headlamps in it. I ate some random solid food for the first time; olives, some homemade zucchini
bread, and more olives. My good friend Aaron wanted to run this short segment with me but it was 15 minutes too early for pacers!
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| wasting time at County Rd. 6 |
It was a medium length section, about 7.7 miles to the Finland Aid Station, dusk but not dark enough to require headlamps. I remember a rickety wooden causeway, the right side dammed by beavers creating a seemingly bottomless black lake, the left a 5 foot drop to boggy marsh. It winded along for a good distance and I remember being bummed as Aaron would have appreciated the beauty of this section as much as I did. I kept my eye out for moose. Shortly after I ran seemingly forever on an endless meandering wooden plank walkway raising me inches above ankle deep muck below. The race in general was dry, I can't imagine what it would've been like wet!
Arriving at the Finland Aid Station I recall seeing my brothers and people drinking beer in the background. Christmas lights adorned the out and back spur to the station although it was still light enough for travel without the aid of lights. I reeled in a couple more runners that were ahead of me. I believe this is where I opted for a shoe and sock change, we were at 50 miles so it seemed fitting I guess! I put on my headlamp and buckled one around my waist, soon darkness would be upon us. Off I went to Sonju Lake, one of two Aid Stations without crew access, 7.5 miles.
Keeping my headlamp off as long as I could, I caught another runner who was having some troubles and soon darkness fell. It was black all around and no other runners in sight. I ran with two headlamps, a Petzl on my head and a Black Diamond Storm around my waist. A spare Petzl eLite just in case hidden in my race vest. I switched off my light a few times to enjoy the solitude and seclusion. The stars were amazing when viewed away from the dense tree canopy. I heard the raging creeks and rivers. I felt the cool humidity of nearby lakes. All to be passed by unseen in the black moonless night. The shine of the course markers reassuring me I was progressing. It was always a relief to hear voices or music as I knew an invisible aid station was near hidden by the rolling terrain.
I listened for wolves but all I heard was one step in front of the other and the sloshing of the ice in my bottles. Yep, ice. It was night and I was still filling my bottles with ice. Where was the nice cool breeze off Mother Superior? We were running far enough inland and in rugged enough terrain that I think I felt that refreshing breeze maybe twice. The sweltering humidity wasn't going away and any breeze we received was a stale heat from inland, anything but refreshing.
I spotted a few patches of diarrhea on the trail. Someone was hurting. I started looking for puke too. This is where more and more I became a competer versus a completer. I held back the reigns though. Stick to your goal, finish.
Sonju Lake Aid Station seemed to take forever to get to. I saw signs for the actual lake, felt the cooling effect of the body of water, and maybe even heard the water splashing the shoreline, but I never saw it. I finally saw lights along the spur trail and a sign with a huge arrow showing the way. It sure was a relief seeing more than just the reflectors from the course markers. If anything a change of scenery from the trail and the black surroundings. I recall two smiling women offering anything and everything. I refilled my bottles, ice and water, maybe snacked on a few things. I saw two other runners, one wrapped in a blanket sitting by the fire, another pacing speaking something about nausea and tums to the aid station workers. Competer: two more down! Hell yeah! Completer: damn I feel bad for these dudes, so close!
Into the black onto the next goal, Crosby-Manitou Aid Station 7.5 miles. I was expecting more low points, expecting my thoughts to flow more vividly, to answer questions about my life, but none were answered. Hallucinations? None. I focused only on the immediate task at hand, my feeding, my foot work and placement, and getting to the next aid station. All things considered I must be doing something right.
At some point in the dead of night I fired up my iPod Shuffle, a proven pain killer and motivator. Not that I needed it, but it just seemed like a good thing to do. I had my normal iPod with my crew as well but decided on the Shuffle. Simplicity and only the option to skip a song if it wasn't inspiring. I like that, no options for distraction. I vaguely remember focusing on my foot placements and then the low rumble of drums began to build until finally my anticipation was quelled with Eddie Van Halen's guitar and Diamond Dave's voice as "Hot for Teacher" seared my brain. In the blackness I was singing, er yelling, along with the lyrics bringing back memories of dawn patrol backcountry skiing in California's Sierra.
As I approached the Peet's Coffee Aid Station (Crosby?) I was relieved to be running on a dirt road. I could see headlights from cars shining into the night sky dissipated by the dusty humid aid, odd colors illuminating the trees from the Christmas lights strung about, and the sound of muffled voices. All of this culminated giving the aid station a Close Encounters of the Third Kind feeling to the activity hidden behind the crest of the hill. I turned off my headlamp and ran via only my dimmed waist mounted light allowing my eyes to dilate and relax.
After a brief stop the competer in me was anxious to see another headlamp searing the dark as I had been told the guy in front of me was having blister issues. Supposedly he'd been managing these at pretty much every stop. Two thumbs up to the crew and pacer who kept this dude motivated! Technical sections abound as I passed through Crosby-Manitou State Park! Down climbing the nearly class 3 descent I could feel for the first time the fatigue in my quads, fortunately only here and not while I ran. A couple drops I grasped trees in order to safely lower myself down. A nice change from the relentless single track of uneven rocks hidden by grass. I still yearned for the pulverized granite, moon dust, and intricate rock work of the Sierra Nevada.
I didn't have any pacers planned but at the Sugarloaf Aid Station ( I think! ) Aaron hopped in for a short section in the dark. I was feeling pretty tired and wasn't up for talking at all. I just wanted to focus on running. I felt bad as he's a good friend and I don't see him often and this was a great opportunity to chat, he also only had a shitty Petzl Zipka headlamp I had put in my crew bag which must have been a challenge to run with! Either way it was fun running with him and psyched he was up for a section in the middle of the night!
At Cramer Rd. Aid Station I mowed down two cheese quesadillas which settled my stomach. I had mainly been eating gels, Perpetuem, and occasionally snacking on random solid foods at the aid stations. My stomach posed no problems but after eating sugar for so long I was getting a bit of gut rot. I then bounced back and forth with the runner whom I had seen at Sonju Lake having stomach issues; the guy snuggled by the fire was unfortunately out due to plantar fasciitis problems I was told. We chatted about all we wanted to do was finish since this was both our first 100. He reminded me that there is a possibility that at mile 95 your leg could cramp and you can't finish, a grim reality, and a reason to take it easy rather than push it.
With the accumulation of steps my feet every once in a while would go numb. An odd electric feeling on the pads beneath my toes. No amount of flexing my toes stopped this and though not painful, it caused a bit of worry. I had been popping ibuprofen every 4 to 6 hours since Tettegouche which had been seemingly helping my "back" which was a relief. It was noticeable off and on and kept me in tune with managing it but posed only a threat for the rest of the race.
7.1, 5.5, 5.5, 7.1; the mileages I focused on for the final four sections. Never once did I think I've made it 70 miles or only 24 miles to go. I always directed my attention to the immediate distance to the next aid station and only the number, not the location. This may be very likely why I am having such a difficult time remembering the race! It's taken me viewing photos, the aid station maps, and my Superior Hiking Trail guidebook to write this damn thing! The late night segments are the hardest to recollect.
The final three aid stations segments I remember taking it easy, power walking quite a bit, for fear of not finishing. Arriving at Temperance River Aid Station the sun was beginning to put an end to the never ending blackness. Visibility was still poor and headlamps were still needed to see the footing. I was running with the guy I had been bouncing back and forth with. We were pretty worked and hoped the sunrise from Carlton Peak would boost our spirits. I pushed on ahead after too much walking and scrambled my way up and around the peak. The sun burned reds and pinks into the morning sky, a descent and then sections of smooth boardwalks followed. I hit a high and ran full stride for the first time since my stint with Van Halen, the competer in me relishing dropping the other guy.
At Sawbill Aid Station it seemed as if the workers had just set up and were awaiting the throngs of runners heading their way. I may have changed socks here or was it at Temperance? I can't remember but thought it may reduce my numbing toes. I remember considering a shoe change somewhere to my road shoes but figured fuck it, I'm too close now. I remember my Dad at Temperance, Sawbill, and then finally at Oberg Aid Station. No sign of the runner behind me or in front of me. I saw a sign saying "Oberg Parking Lot" and got excited since I assumed the final aid station was near. I'm not sure how long the distance was but the traverse of the hillside I was on went on forever. I kept thinking that these signs are in place to help beginner hikers, it can't be THAT far? Either I was moving slow or it really was THAT far, but it was endless.
Finally arriving at Oberg Mountain Aid Station I asked what the final section was like and the workers said some up but not too bad. Well that sounds easy! As soon as I crossed the parking lot I hopped on some single track and from there all I remember is up. No switchbacks. It reminded me of the skin tracks we'd put in on Jake's Peak in Tahoe backcountry skiing. Straight the fuck up! Once up a flat top meandered about until another steep section, straight down. I actually remembered this spot. I backpacked a lot of this portion from Lutsen south in college. I recognized none of it until now. Half way down a tree's roots shoot across the trail creating a giant step down. I hopped down unimpeded this time by a huge backpack and continued on.
I was close and continuously looked over my shoulder for other runners. I was in fourth overall in my first 100! Not too bad for a rookie. In researching the race course I remember one blog talking of the endless switchbacks in the final push to Lutsen. I hadn't seen any switchbacks in 96 plus miles, where are they? Boom. Up Mystery Mountain we go. Not the short steep switchbacks of the Rockies but a long gradual mentally painful trudge. Yes, you are going uphill, but should you power walk? Should you run? Mind melting. On and on, looking over my shoulder, spying for any humanoid movement hunting me down in the dense foliage obscuring my view.
Finally topping out on Mystery time to go down. I could see signs of civilization, ski chalets, maybe a chair lift? Well it was anything. I picked up the pace going down, full stride, motoring, even though I still had 2 or 3 miles. I hit a long service road that intersected a paved road. Looking ahead and behind along the road, my vision unimpaired, no one was in sight. I weaved between the line of cones the race director mentioned 26 hours ago but the finish still loomed, where the hell is it? I walked for a bit as the first set of buildings created a false finish. Then around the corner, on some grass, and into the finishing chute!
I threw devil horns as I crossed the finish and one of the workers aggressively blocked my passage so I didn't run off with the timing chip around my ankle. That was it. Over. 102.9 miles. Not many people were at the finish, I remember seeing 2 of the people who finished in front of me and I attempted to chat with them. I drank half of a Coors Light tallboy Ben was happy to furnish. I felt pretty good all in all. My family was there as well as the friends that made the trek up north to help out and watch.
Most of the finish and all that day my memories are little. We had breakfast at the restaurant, everyone had Bloody Mary's, they looked good, I wanted one. It was a beautiful day but all I wanted to do was sit still, not move. I got back to the condo, filled the bath up, layed in it and scrubbed the dirt off my legs. I then awoke, yes, in the bath, to my wife asking if I was ok. I had fallen asleep almost immediately in the tub!
I napped off and on throughout the day. That night we had pizza and I shuffled up to the awards ceremony and party, with no energy to party at all. I picked up my sweatshirt and kick ass belt buckle. I had officially finished 4th overall, 26:14:14. I was 10 minutes out of second, and 4 minutes out of winning my age group! If only I had known, the competer would have taken over, but I was happy, as not only finishing, but finishing 4th in my first 100 miler is pretty damn sick!
A HUGE thanks goes out to my family and friends that helped out and showed up for moral support!
