Superior 100

I'm still working on getting more photos etc but have a read......

We arrived in Duluth just after lunch time, grabbed some sandwiches, and then attempted to figure out a plan to get everyone to Lutsen in time for dinner and myself to Two Harbors for the pre-race meeting. Kind of a mess with 6 people and a 2 year old. I was stressing out about the whole situation and wished at one point it was just me and my truck. I ended up with my Mom's car and my parents, wife, and daughter headed north. The rest of the gang hung out in Duluth, as my brothers had spent quite a bit of time living here in the past. We'd all meet up later that night in Lutsen. Fortunately my friends Ben and Erica had just rolled into town as well so we all met for a beer at Grandma's and enjoyed the sun for a bit. I could have easily stayed outside and drank beer all afternoon. We all went our separate ways shortly after.

                                   

The drive up Highway 61 was great, windows open music cranking. I arrived at the pre-race meeting about an hour early and wandered in to take advantage of the spaghetti dinner put on by the local 4-H club. Great food, but being "expensive to feed", as my wife always says, I should've brought more money! I got my lone drop bag all ready to go, checked out the miscellaneous items for sale, viewed the kick ass trophies, and then relaxed in the car until the meeting. The place was packed as the race director thanked all the volunteers and necessary folks that made this event happen. Then he went over any race day logistics and changes, nothing really new. I was itchin' to get to Lutsen as I still had a bit to drive. 

I was tired of driving as night had fallen and the views were gone. My eyes wide open for deer. I found my way to the condo we were staying at and quickly organized what few items I needed for the morning. I had some food and a couple beers and soon was off to sleep, tired not only from the long day but still feeling the effects of a trans Atlantic flight with a toddler 10 days earlier and the surge in social life. My wife and daughter were visiting my family in Minnesota, we live in the UK.

I awoke on Friday morning about 530am, which is sleeping in for me. I layed in bed until about 545 when my Dad poked his head in to make sure I was awake. I snuck out trying not to wake my wife and daughter.  I took a shower, as I always do pre-race, and headed upstairs to gather my things and scrounge up some breakfast. Then my Dad gave me a ride up to the awaiting shuttle buses. 

I grabbed a seat in the back of one of the nearly full school buses. It was dark and people were chatting about past, present, and future races. About random blogs, gear, etc. I kept quiet and to myself as I always do. I neglected to bring my iPod as it was with my family in the two backpacks I gave them for crewing, it hadn't even crossed my mind to have music with. In the dark ride from Lutsen to Gooseberry Falls I saw name places and roads of all the aid stations and reminded myself I'll be back through here on foot. Soon the sun began to rise over Lake Superior and by the time we arrived at Gooseberry it was light out.

                                   

I got off the bus, grabbed a cup of coffee provided by Peet's Coffee, one of the race sponsors. I filled my handheld and went back and forth to the bathroom not willing to stand in line. I recognized no one. People were kitted out to the gills. Race vests, backpacks full to the brim, all sorts of water bottles Daniel Booned from belts. Calf sleeves, arm warmers, hats, bandannas, walking poles, gaiters...... Holy shit! I stood there with half inch inseam shorts, a visor, light jacket, shoes, and a handheld bottle! What the hell are people dragging with them? I got this same "under equipped" feeling at the previous 50 mile races I'd done. However I've always believed less is more.

My family arrived to wish me well and I joined the other runners at the starting line. The race director went over a few things from the pre-race meeting and we were then on our way. Yeah, it wasn't that exciting of a start. Really. People were fired up but we had 103 miles to cover, it's not like a 10km and you line up, heart rate pumping. 

                            

From what I could see at the start Dusty Olson, a guy I recognized from my old Duluth days, and John Horns, the eventual winner took off the front. A second pack formed, and I settled in with another guy behind them as we tread forward at an easy sustainable pace on our way to Split Rock Aid Station. 

Not too much action early on, just settling in for a long run, getting to know the guys around you. We arrived at the out and back Split Rock Aid Station which was pretty small. No crews were allowed due to the limited parking so only a few people were here. I grabbed a few Hammer Gels which I'd never used before, filled my bottle and off I went. Having never used the Hammer Gels I was excited to try them. They tasted great but the packaging sucked; a pain in the ass to open and too big. I guess the best thing to do is buy these in bulk and use a flask. For now I'll stick with GU. 

The heat was stifling. I do not think anyone was prepared for the wet blanket of humidity that layed on us for the entire race. People began to drop off the further we ran, supposedly a few of the guys initially out front always start fast and slowly creep back. I went shirtless at the Beaver Bay Aid Station giving my lone sponge of a short sleeve shirt to Ben and Erica. Knowing I'd need it later to prevent chafing from my race vest I asked them to get it to my Dad if possible.

In trying recollect the race I've been looking at the aid station maps. It's unreal how little I remember of the 26 hours I was out running! So, some of this may be off a bit! I believe I saw my family at the Silver Bay Aid Station and pulled out my UltrAspire Alpha race vest in order to get more water on board. I was going to leave this at home preferring the Ultimate Direction AK vest I had gotten from Alpenglow Sports. However just to be safe I had the UD vest in a drop bag with my headlamps at the County Rd. 6 Aid Station so I threw in the Alpha as an afterthought, I'm glad I did!  I had been running with just one handheld which wasn't enough. Ben ran to his car to grab my t-shirt, I got two water bottles filled and I was off. Hot but feeling good about carrying more fluids. Little did I know but the next segment would be a rough one!

I set off towards the Tettegouche Aid Station, about another 10 miles. Things were going good until my lower back seemed to be giving me issues. I'm not sure when, maybe within 5 miles of the next aid station I was demoralized with the pain growing in my back. What the fuck!? Not even half way and my body is rebelling? And my back? I'd been focusing my strength training on lower back and abs for months! It was bomb proof! I knew this! I was forced into a quasi-walk-shuffle-run motion in a desperate attempt to get to the Tettegouche Aid Station. I was passed by maybe 6 or 8 people who were all supportive and just like me wondering "how far to the next aid station?" as the heat was taking it's toll.

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. 

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! 

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!