My plan was to pull my sled for 80 miles from Park Falls to Rice Lake. I made it 35 miles before I had to pull the plug, registering my first winter ultra DNF.
So what went wrong? It almost all came down to my back. I’ve never pulled a sled for 30+ miles before and despite switching out to a different harness this year, I still wasn’t able to take the pain. I have scoliosis which complicates my situation, as my lower back curves and twists off to the right. Normally it’s just an annoyance during a long run, but in this case, pulling a sled, it became completely unbearable. I’m not sure what this means for future attempts, but I know that I need to either figure out a way to strengthen my back for endeavors like this, or look at alternatives such as biking or kicksleding.
Despite having to register a DNF, I’m still incredibly happy with how much of the race went. My legs were a little tired, and my feet only had one blister. This is completely manageable and nothing more than I’d get in any other ultra. My clothing was dialed in, and my new Gore-Tex shoes were perfect for the incredibly wet conditions. When I came into the Ojibwa checkpoint people asked me what needed to be dried out. Amazingly, I was almost completely dry. That’s how well my clothing plan worked, and I couldn’t be more pleased.
My pace was right on track for what I wanted it to be as well. I was aiming for a 10-12 hour journey to Ojibwa, and I got there just slightly after 11 hours. I executed my pace precisely where I wanted it to be, which is phenomenal. The course conditions were wet and soft, which meant that as the race progressed I got slower and slower. The fact I was able to maintain as long as I did is a huge win for me.
So what other lessons did I learn to take into the future? One of the biggest was that I overpacked. I didn’t bother to weigh my sled until I got home, and then realized how much of a burden I was carrying. My pulk weighed in at 41 lbs. which is way more than it needed to be. I packed far too much food and water, especially since I had a 2 liter water bladder on my back. I also carried 2 more pounds of water that I never touched in the 35 miles I was out there. That was just more added weight on my back.
I also doubled up on jackets, and didn’t need nearly as many as I had. All total I had 4 jackets: my puffy for emergencies, a sweat jacket, a lightweight shell, and a heavy weight shell. I most certainly should have ditched the sweat jacket, and might have been able to get away with just the heavy weight shell. In addition to jackets I packed 7 pairs of wool socks. However, with my Gore-Tex shoes, I never changed my socks once in 35 miles, and my feet were dry at Ojibwa. Knowing how well my shoes performed I could have dropped the number of socks to 3-4. I also carried way too many shirts and tights.
I could have easily shaved 10-15 lbs, off of my sled, without even touching on a lighter sleeping bag or lighter sled. That type of weight could have relieved a lot more pressure from my back, and perhaps have made things slightly more tolerable. I don’t think it would have changed the overall outcome in any way, but it might have reduced my suffering a slight bit.
Yet, there was one piece of equipment that I wish I had brought along; a small pair of snowshoes. The trail got to be very soft, and my feet would often punch through the groomed trail. My regular snowshoes are way too big, but a small, lightweight pair of kid sized snowshoes could have been perfect. The snow was already well packed down, so I just needed a couple extra inches around my shoes to keep me afloat.
Finally, the biggest thing I could have done differently is simply not trying to accomplish SO much in a single calendar year. In 2019 I ran 6 ultra distances between races and pacing gigs. I’ve never even come close to that in the past. After my 100 mile race my training went into the crapper, and Tuscobia became “one more thing” that I really should have realized wasn’t going to work. My body needed time to heal, plus I needed more time to get in more specific training. I needed to figure out this back issue sooner, and determine if it can even be changed or worked around, of it I need to move on to something else besides pulling a sled.
That’s the more detailed run-down of what happened at Tuscobia. Overall, I’m happy with it despite the result not being what I wanted. I can’t stress enough how much I love all of these people, and love seeing them ever year. Even if it’s just volunteering, I can’t wait to get to these events and spend time with people who love the same things I love. No matter what happened this weekend, or what may happen in the future, I know I’ve found a great community.
I’ve been in the trail and ultra running world for 5 years. In that time I’ve tried my hand at a whole host of different races, both in distance and format. However, I had yet to try a 100 mile race, and I decided that 2019 would be the year that I would consider giving it a shot. Despite not pulling the trigger on registering for the Savage 100 race until late in the summer, I had been planning for it most of the year.
Why the Savage 100 for my first 100? There were a few different issues at play. First, this was the site of my first ever ultra distance, the Surf the Murph 50K in 2015. Going back to that same spot and doing 6 loops, instead of 2, felt like a good connection to where I started.
Second, Surf was a local race, and didn’t require any type of travel logistics. I wasn’t sure how this race would play out, and if I’d even be successful. The idea spending a ton of money on a destination 100 mile race, that may or may not work, didn’t appeal to me. It also meant that I was able to keep my participation a secret for a long time, with folks not figuring it out until only a few weeks before the race.
I decided to keep this race quiet as long as possible because I wanted to focus on getting the work done in training. As awesome as it is to get encouragement from friends, it can sometimes sabotage us by giving us a premature endorphin hit. We feel great about all the kudos we’re getting from folks, that we forget we still need to put in the hard work. I’ve seen first hand how detrimental it can be when people broadcast their big plans, but then lose the energy to make them happen. Therefore, I told only a select couple of people about what I was considering.
I put together my training plan, and joined my wife on many of her hill and speed runs, and just buckled down to do what I could. I got pretty close to the mileage numbers I was looking to hit for the year, only down a few percentage points. When you add in mountain elevation last month, plus a massive increase in biking this year, I was about as ready as I could be for someone in my (non-competitive) physical shape. Now, all I had to do was execute.
Race day arrived much slower than I wanted it to. The leading up to it seemed to drag on like never before. All I wanted to do was just start going… or abandon it all. I was a mental wreck that week. Soon enough though it was Friday, and I was doing whatever I could to squeeze in some last minute sleep before the 1am Saturday start.
The Savage 100 is a once-every-five-years race at Murphy Hanerhan park in Savage, MN. It is held in conjunction with the Surf the Murph race which offers a 25K, 50K, and 50M distance. Whereas the 25K, 50K and 50M are 1, 2, and 3 loops of the course respectively, the 100 mile is 6 full loops of the course. They also offered a 100K option, though it was really more like a 108K route. This odd number is because the loop is 16.7 miles, which works great for 50 and 100 mile races, but makes other distances just a bit long.
Runners in the 100 mile are given the option of a 1am start or a 5am start. This gives you either 36 or 32 hours to finish the race (1pm Sunday finish), and you can decide for yourself what makes the most sense. Since this was my first attempt, I chose the 1am start. I arrived around midnight and deposited my drop box in the appropriate area by the Start/Finish aid station. I decided to use just one box at Start/Finish that I would return to in between each loop. There are 4 aid stations on every loop, which means you’re never more than ~4 miles from an aid station at any time.
One of the dangers of a looped course with so many aid stations is that you have an opportunity to stop and dawdle a LOT. One of the reasons I decided on only one drop box was to ensure I didn’t spend too much time anywhere except Start/Finish. I budgeted myself 20 minutes on each loop at Start/Finish, but no more than 5 minutes at other aid stations.
Because this is a local race, I knew a lot of people who were toeing the start line with me. It was awesome to get to hang out with so many of my running friends before, during, and after the race. We all gathered at the start line at 1am, and before we knew it, it was time to leave. I knew I needed to be smart and not try to go out too fast on the first loop. I left Start/Finish at a good hike, and only broke into a jog occasionally to give myself a nice long warm up.
Because I’ve run this course a lot in the past I had a lot of data to draw on. I spent a lot of time working out a pacing chart with some different options; some faster, some slower. However, “Option 1”, which was what I felt was the most reasonable, amounted to a 34:15:00 finish. I calculated data for every aid station (both in and out times) and total time for each loop. My goal would be to stick as closely to these times as possible.
As I approached the first aid station at just under 3 miles in, I recalled that it would be unmanned for our first loop. Therefore, I just kept on hiking and running right past it. This would be a common theme for the North aid station throughout my race. I just didn’t need that much when I had just left Start/Finish 3 miles earlier.
The first 5.5 miles of the course are the most brutal hills of the entire race, and you get to do them 6 times. There is one hill that is actually a set of three hills, all going up without descending in-between, which is particularly rough. I knew I’d have to see it every lap, so I simply put it out of my mind and kept focusing on my feet in front of me.
I arrived at the Horse Camp 1 aid station on schedule, and my friend Bob had volunteered to get it up and running for the 1am runners. He was an absolute godsend during the early parts of the race, making sure that we had everything we needed. Since it was my first lap I just grabbed a swig of Coke and moved on. The next ~7 miles of the course is a large prairie section that is mostly flat. Gone are the hills of the north section of the park, and they’re replaced with beautiful rolling fields of prairie grass and easy rolling horse trail.
In the middle is the Natchez aid station which was being manned (solo) by my friend Mark. He cheered me in, got me some more pop and sent me along my way. I then got to hit a small road section that is both a blessing and a curse on every loop. Sure you can run it hard, but you shouldn’t. After a couple times through, you start to get pretty sick of the harshness of pavement, and quickly start longing for more dirt.
Eventually, you enter the trails again and end up at Horse Camp 2 (opposite side of the previous Horse Camp aid station). The loop was going well, so I stuck to my quick visit routine, grabbed some pop and a couple snacks and just kept moving. From there you head into a small connector trail that has unfortunately seen better days. Over the 5 years of running this race, I’ve seen this trail go from being mostly OK to being taken over by a beaver dam that has forever changed the landscape. This trail hasn’t even been open this year to the public, so the fact that the race was able to use it was a huge favor. I’ll be curious to see what the park decides to do in the future with this area because I can’t see it continuing like this forever.
This short section eventually dumps out to a road crossing and back onto trails similar to the ones in the first section. However, these trails aren’t nearly as bad in their elevation change, and you can flow through this section much easier than the first one. Soon enough I found myself back at start finish, my first lap done in 4:30, just 3 minutes slower than my prediction. It was still dark (5:30am) so I set about getting myself ready for the next loop by the light of my headlamp. I had a clean pair of socks for every loop, and quickly changed those out. I stuffed more food in my vest, and got a refill of my Skratch drink, and then headed right back on course. I told myself, this was just going to be my life now.
The next loop would be the loop where the sun would come up. I was moving well and feeling good, so I once again decided to completely skip the North aid station. I announced my number as I walked in (the station was now manned), waved, said thank you, and walked right out. I wanted to get as far down the course as I could before the other races started. The 50 mile started at 6am, the 50K at 7am, and the 25K at 8am. I knew that the further down the trail I got, the more spread out these racers would be. The last thing I needed was to get trampled by a bunch of speed demons as I’m trying to wake up and start my running day.
I also had a mini-goal of reaching Horse Camp 1 before it was light enough where I could put my headlamp away. I grabbed a handful of bacon from Mark (who had moved to this aid station) and as I started heading down the trail the sun was just getting bright enough to ditch artificial light. Wow, does it feel great to put a headlamp away. Going from dull white light to the full light of day is a huge boost to the mental state.
I once again managed to run two key sections that I wanted to target for quicker paces: a large section of the Minnregs lake loop, and the road after Natchez aid station. In fact I managed to run these sections on my first four loops, and portions of them on my last two. Having small mini-goals like this are key to keeping mental sanity when you know you’re going to be out there for 34+ hours.
Although the day was getting brighter, it also brought along with it the threat of rain. The forecast had predicted a couple small showers around 8am, but there were also occasional sprinkles starting earlier. It actually annoyed me because I kept pulling out my shell to stay dry, only to have to take it off 15 minutes later when the sprinkle didn’t develop further. Eventually though the rain hit, and we got a good hour of a nice light shower. It wasn’t very bad at all, and it provided some variety on the day.
I don’t really recall much else about loop 2, except that I finished it in 5:14, 7 minutes faster than my predicted pace of 5:21. Considering I was now a full 50K into my run, this was pretty much spot on.
When I got to the aid station to begin loop 3, my friend Shelly was there and she jumped in to action to help me out. She took care of my bottles, getting my drop box organized, and drying out my shell. She was a huge help in making sure I didn’t spend any more time than I should. I debated changing into a short sleeve shirt for the third loop, but in the end decided to just keep going with my long sleeve. I wouldn’t say I regretted that decision, but I probably could have enjoyed the heat of the day a bit more with a different shirt.
I once again blew through North aid station and put my head down on the triple hill. The day was getting warm, and the sun had emerged from the clouds. The heat was particularly noticeable on the prairie sections, but I managed to move really well despite it. It was a bit surreal to still be out on the same course in so many different conditions. I got to see the trail in lots of different conditions, from wet and muddy, to dry, to covered in frost.
At the Horse Camp 2 aid station I met up with my friend Troy who offered to pace me on my 4th loop. I hadn’t planned ahead for any pacers, but gladly welcomed him to join me for the long hike into uncharted territory. In my pacing chart I overestimated how much I would fade on my third loop, and so I came in 12 minutes under my goal at 5:42. This was only my third time at the 50 mile distance so my data was a bit weaker for this loop.
While I was on loop 3 I got to have a phone call with my wife and got to hear about how she just PR’d the 25K! She asked me what food I wanted at the end of loop 3 and for some reason I decided a vanilla milkshake sounded good. After hanging up, I texted her that some chicken nuggets sounded good too!
I’m not a McDonald’s guy, and I rarely ever eat there. But for some reason, chicken nuggets and a milkshake seemed like the most appealing thing I could ever hope for. When I arrived at Start/Finish she brought me the food and it was instant heaven. I have no idea why it tasted so good, but it was perfect for what my stomach wanted. I scarfed down a 10 piece and a milkshake and just reveled in a nice full belly that wasn’t aid station food.
Despite being ahead of schedule Troy insisted we don’t take too long to get moving onto loop 4. I begrudgingly put myself back together, packed my shell for the transition to evening again, and we headed out on the trail. The sun wouldn’t set for a few hours, so we savored in the final light of the day.
One of the biggest surprises of the 4th lap was when I showed up at Horse Camp 2. My friend Michael surprised me there with beer and chicken fingers. I was shocked that he drove all the way down to Savage to sit at an aid station and wait for me. I was almost in tears as I headed out from the aid station, munching my chicken fingers (I saved the beer for after the race).
I’ve known Troy since my very first trail run at Elm Creek. I’ve been there to witness many of Troy’s adventures into the 100 mile racing realm. Unfortunately, Troy has a bit of a reputation because it took him quite a few attempts to get his first buckle (despite being such an accomplished runner). When I put together my plan for Savage 100 I said that if I could make it through lap 4, I knew I would get it done (barring serious injury). We had a good chuckle at the irony that Troy was going to be the one to help me get through this tough lap, but his experience with so many struggles was huge in helping him motivate me and keep me mentally focused.
Troy even got me back to jogging some portions of the lap, despite feeling like I was done running and wanted to stick to just hiking. He helped me work through that mental hurdle and soon enough I was moving with purpose again. Despite hitting a new all-time high mileage (67 miles) I managed to come in 6 minutes early on my pace chart for loop 4, in 5:48. By this time the sun had set, and it was time once again for a long journey through the night.
While I had been out on loop 4, my wife had talked with our friend Kate and found out that Kate’s runner had dropped and she was looking for another pacing gig. I told her I’d be more than happy to have her join me on loop 5. After my traditional change of socks, and a bit more caffeine we headed out into the dark for what would be one of the harder loops of the race.
Going in to a second night is really tough on the mind. Especially when you know that you won’t finish until the light of day again. The exhaustion was setting in big time, and Kate had her hands full keeping me moving at a steady pace. This time we did manage to stop at North aid station for more pop, and to ensure I was getting enough calories.
I did manage to jog the Minnregs section again, but I just couldn’t do it again on the road. Everything in my body was tight, and every step was a step further than I had gone before. That’s not to say that this was a terrible lap. Far from it, there were still many good sub-20/mile hiking sections. It was great to chat with Kate and get to know her more, and she was an amazing motivator, especially later in the loop. She really helped get me just a few extra steps of quicker movement periodically, which was what my body probably needed.
I don’t recall if I had told her my pacing goal for the 5th loop (6:15), but she managed to get me to the Start/Finish area in 6:14, which was pretty dang amazing. Once there I bid her farewell, and thanked her for sacrificing her night to get me through. My wife had also returned to the course and brought me a breakfast sandwich. Her plan was to meet me at Horse Camp 1 and take me through to Horse Camp 2 before heading back to the Start/Finish to see me at the end. That meant that I would be doing the first 5.5 mile section alone again, in the dark.
On loop 5 I had started to get really cold. We had encountered icy frost and bitter temps in the low lying areas. I had done whatever I could to stay warm but knew I’d need something more for my final lap. I changed into a warm merino wool shirt, and put my shell on over that. I also slipped on some pants over my shorts to help keep warmth in my core. Properly bundled, I headed into the cold, dark morning.
I’d heard about 100 milers and hallucinations before, but had no idea what it would be like to experience them myself. During this first section, the hallucinations came fast and furious which was one of the most surreal experiences I ever have had. Every rock I saw had a face of some kind on it. Branches and leaves turned into weird Halloween lawn decorations, and logs were transformed into animals of the forest that I expected to see. Despite knowing, cognitively, that these were not real, they just never stopped. The light of my headlamp intensified the misdirection, and by the time the sun came up again I was feeling pretty loopy.
The exhaustion was hitting a tipping point. I put on some music to help keep me awake, as my mental state had deteriorated to the point where I was shouting at the hills I was climbing. At one point I started yelling, “I’M GOING TO MESS YOU UP YOU M****** F***** HILL!! YOU’RE GOING DOWN YOU G** D** SON OF A B***!” I kept yelling it into the darkness, but maybe I wasn’t yelling it that loud. I honestly can’t remember.
Right around first light, I got to Horse Camp 1 and met up with my wife. It was such a relief to see another person again. By this point all the other races were done and all that was left on course were 20 or so 100 mile runners. We were all spread out over a 16.7 mile loop, which meant that seeing another person outside of an aid station was rare. My wife helped me refill my bottles, and we headed off into the morning.
As we headed into the prairie we got to talk and I got to share the night’s experiences with her. Despite the company I was moving really slow, and was bordering on sleepwalking. As we approached a small hill with a picnic table on top of it, I decided I needed a short nap. We agreed to let me lay my head down for 5 minutes to try and get some recovery.
I sat at the table, laid my head on my arms, and within 30 seconds was out cold. My wife gave me 6 minutes because of a barking dog just as I laid down, and then gently woke me. I sat up and looked around. I had entered REM sleep almost instantly, and after getting my bearings I realized I felt amazing. Six minutes of sleep, and all of a sudden I was a new person.
We moved through the next aid station quickly, and next thing we knew it I was running on the road section. I hadn’t run a step in hours, but here I was jogging along. My wife would be leaving me at Horse Camp 2, but I was feeling so good that I knew I’d be able to tackle the last 4 miles with no problem. When we arrived, I stripped off my shell, and the pants I had put on, and headed right back out into the woods.
The newfound energy of the day, and my short nap, had created a new possibility for me. I could move with purpose once again. I headed through the beaver dam section with with a mix of jogging and hiking, and as soon as I crossed the road I decided to pop a gel and try and run as much as I could to the end. I don’t think I ever got faster than a 13 minute mile, but it felt like I was flying. I yelled at my legs that I was in charge and that they were going to run the downhills no matter what. I jogged the flats, and hiked as quickly as I could up the hills.
Throughout this 4 mile section I texted my wife that she better not dawdle as I was feeling great, and I would be way ahead of schedule. Sure enough I nailed the final four miles, and broke into a “sprint” to the finish line, crossing in 33:48. A full 25 minutes faster than my goal time. I was only 2 minutes faster than my lap 6 goal time, but it’s obvious that I would have missed that by a lot, and eaten into all the time I had built up on previous laps, if it hadn’t been for that nap.
I collapsed into a chair, took a selfie with the buckle, and cheered in the next few runners behind me. As expected, my blood pressure dropped after about 10 minutes and I had to lay down on a bench. I relaxed for a few minutes before we began the drive home to start my recovery, which so far has gone pretty well except for an infected toenail.
There are a few key takeaways that I got from this race. First, it’s the knowledge that I can actually do this. I put in the work as best I could, and I managed to be successful on my first try. This wasn’t because of some magic mantra, or how badly I “wanted” it. It was because I trusted in the process, and accepted that this would take discipline. I simply had to believe that I had done what I needed all year, and so there was no reason I couldn’t accomplish what I had prepared for. Hard work yields results.
One area that I was really pleased with was my planned pacing for this race. I had a lot of prior knowledge of the course to draw on, which helped tremendously. I also knew my abilities, and I planned accordingly. It would have been easy to shoot for the moon with some unrealistic goals that I would never achieve. I’ve learned that a more conservative approach is best, especially when trying something so new that I’ve never done before. All of that paid off tremendously, as I was able to stay really consistent with my plan all throughout the race.
I’ve also learned a lot of lessons about how to handle pain. At a certain point in the race, it just didn’t get any worse. Once I reached that point, and acknowledged it, everything got better. That’s not to say things stopped hurting, quite the opposite. It means that I was mentally able to accept the reality of my situation, and stop dwelling on how to change it. My feet were going to hurt. That’s just how it would be. Just keep moving.
Learning how well a power nap works for me was another key takeaway. Being able to stash that knowledge away for future adventures will be key to more successes. Knowing that 5 minutes of REM sleep is all it takes for me to reset, is a huge tool in my toolbox. With an 80 mile winter ultra coming up in December, being able to manage the sleepies will be tremendously important.
As I continue to process this over the coming months, I’m sure there will be more that I’ll discover. This was something that will stay with me for a long, long time. It took me 5 years of trail running before I took an attempt at the 100. That’s because I wanted to give myself the best chance of success, and I couldn’t be happier with how it worked out.
I should also mention a huge thanks to all of my friends who helped make this happen as well. In particular the TRECs crew who were my role models in how to get this done. Watching them and listening to their advice showed me what I needed to do to really be ready. I also need to say a special thank you to my wife Lisa and acknowledge how wonderful she is for standing by me and supporting me through lots of crazy adventures.
I’m not sure when, or if, I’ll do another 100. I have a couple in mind that I’d like to do, but I also need to balance that with my desire to do other things. Training for a 100 mile race takes a lot of time, and there’s a lot of things to do in life. Realistically, I’m sure I’ll do more in the future, but for the immediate moment it’s time to relax and recover before making any big commitments.
My Savage 100 was an incredible experience, and I’m truly in awe that I got to be a part of it. It tested me in ways I’ve never experienced, and showed me that I’m capable of doing what I set my mind to. I couldn’t be happier.
It’s about time I put pen to paper and wrote this report, while I still have the memories in my head. This is the third year that I’ve signed up for the Marquette 50K. The previous two times that I’ve registered, I’ve ended up not running it. Either I wasn’t in shape for it, or scheduling conflicts got in the way. The tough thing about registering for this race is that you need to commit on Black Friday the year before the race. They open up a sale that day, and on most years it completely sells out. They do keep a waitlist, but I think they need to do a better job of publicizing that, because according to the results over 100 people of the 350+ registered for the 50K, didn’t start the race.
As appears to be the custom for my races out of town, my friend Mike B. and I traveled together. However, unlike Badger, this was a guy’s weekend, as Lisa was staying home for a relaxing time on her own. I got up very early on Friday to get in a 2 mile shakeout run before cleaning up and waiting for Mike to show up in his minivan. I opt’d not to bring my trailer for this one, and just share a giant tent that Mike has. He also brought along a couple of cots so neither of us had to sleep on the ground.
The drive to Marquette is around 7 hours, mostly through rural northern Wisconsin. As we got over the boarder into the upper peninsula of Michigan, we ran into a serious amount of rain. This ended up slowing us down a lot, but we were comforted by the fact that this storm was going to mostly miss the Marquette area. It’s never fun to set up a tent in the rain, so we wanted to do whatever we could to get to the campsite ASAP and get things buttoned up before any rain started to fall. Our timing was great and we were set up and ready to head to dinner before any serious moisture hit. Our friend Greg pulled up into the campsite next to us, and the three of us headed into town to meet up with Lynnea and Heather for food.
We had a nice dinner at the Iron Bay restaurant, along with a couple drinks. However, we all realized that our wake up call was 3:45am, and we needed to hit the sack. Gratefully, the campground was mostly quiet that evening and I was able to get a fitful 5 hours of sleep. Too soon though it was time to get up and start getting ready.
Because I had just done a 100K two weeks before, I had no intentions of racing this 50K. There is a generous 12 hour cutoff for the 50K, and I knew that I could completely hike it and still have time to spare. We arrived at the start, and started getting ourselves ready. Mike was running the 50 mile version of the race, which is the opposite in terms of cutoffs. He would need to push hard to make the initial 50K cutoff in 8.5 hours, and then turn around and hit a solid final 20 miles to get in before the 15 hour total limit.
Starting a race in the dark (5:30am) gives you the advantage of seeing the sun rise. This is an incredible mental boost when running, and getting to experience it in the first ten miles of the race really makes the time fly. Those miles before the sunrise feel like a different race, contributing a small bit of mental trickery to help you cope with the notion of being on course for many, many hours.
The race course is divided into a 10 mile loop to the south, that everyone starts on. Then you return to the start/finish area and head out on a 20 mile loop to the north. The 50 milers come back to start/finish a second time and head out on a second 20 mile loop, but this time they do it the opposite direction. I really liked having the clear demarcation between the first 10 and then the 20. It created a nice breaking point where I could adjust strategy and approach the second 2/3 of the race with a different view.
In fact, that had been my plan all along. I would go out strong on the first 10 miles, and then just hike the 20 as a tourist. I figured that would be all that my legs would be good for. Despite being the easier section, I wasn’t able to run quite as hard as I wanted to on the first 10, due to a couple of very technical sections that required slowing down. This was complicated by some bottlenecks of people who were still bunched up. None of the climbs in this first 10 miles were that bad, but there were enough sections of rocks and roots that I wasn’t able to go flat out. I managed to finish the first 10 in under 3 hours, and was feeling really good. I was well on track for a potential 10 hour finish.
I got back to the start/finish aid station and found my drop bag. My plan was to grab my hiking poles and use those for the next 20 mile section. I was feeling pretty good though, so I just attached them to my vest and headed back out on course (after fueling up). As I left, I got to run a bit with Wayne Nelson, who’s a bit of a legend in the Minnesota ultra and trail scene. It was fun to meet another Minnesotan on course, and we shared a mile or so before he managed to leave me behind. Despite feeling good, I knew I shouldn’t push it too hard. There were still a LOT of miles to go.
The first big climb of the race is actually not one of the “four peaks” that are advertised. The Sugarcube mountain (as I came to find out) is right before the Sugarloaf aid station. It’s a rocky peak that requires a bit of scrambling to find your way up. It’s not terribly tall though, and when I got to the top I was treated to a semi-decent view, in light of what I was about to experience. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to hit the first of the four peaks until after the next aid station, so I didn’t spend much time on this “little” mountain.
I came into the Sugarloaf aid station and realized I needed to empty my shoes of rocks. They didn’t have any chairs for runners, but I managed to find a nice rock to sit on. I got my shoes emptied, and my stomach full of food and headed back out for what I was told would be a long stair climb to the top of Sugarloaf. Sure enough in less than a mile I came upon the first of the wooden staircases that would bring me to the top. I actually don’t mind stairs, and many times prefer them to climbing up rocks. They just take a certain mindset and understanding, and once you get your mind away from the monotony of them, they’re actually quite easy.
I crested the peak of Sugarloaf (along with a boatload of tourists) and was treated to what would become my absolute favorite view of the race. The view from on top of this mountain is spectacular. You’re near the shoreline, and so on one side you have the expanse of Lake Superior. On the other side is the rolling hills of the U.P. I spent a bit too much time up here taking photos, and savoring the view, but soon enough I knew I had to start the decent down.
The path down the other side wasn’t nearly as nice as the stairs going up, but it wasn’t terrible. I also knew that after Sugarloaf I would be treated to 5-6 miles of relatively flat terrain along Lake Superior. I was starting to physically tire, so despite being on very runnable terrain, I had a tough time actually moving quickly. Instead I enjoyed the beautiful scenery, and at one point I headed down to the shore and dipped my hat in the water. The water was still cool enough that it was incredibly refreshing on my head.
It was in this area that I started to realize that I might need to poop. I didn’t remember seeing a bathroom at the last aid station, and I started to worry that none of the aid stations had porta-potties. I hadn’t packed any toilet paper, and even if I had, the area I was in seemed like a very developed park. I didn’t want to risk getting caught by day use visitors with my pants down off the side of the trail. After a couple of miles I spotted my salvation. A parking lot was about 100 yards off to my left, and there was a vault toilet there. I ran over and as I approached the door a lady jumped out of her car and ran to the door of the bathroom and started knocking, and telling her young daughter to hurry up, because a runner needed to use the toilet!
The young lady left the toilet and I did my business, and sure enough that made everything feel a lot better. As I hit the trail I started feeling my legs under me again, and I broke into a jog. I was feeling great, and decided that my plan for the mile 21 aid station would be to change my socks and enter the final 10 miles with a good head of steam.
I did make a crucial mistake though at that aid station. In addition to changing my socks I also needed to refill my water, and make more Skratch electrolyte drink. In my ultra-brain I started doing everything myself. Instead, I should have been relying on the volunteers to fill my bottles while I dealt with my socks. I wasted WAY too much time futzing with packages of powder and bladder closures. It’s a good lesson for next time… let people help!
I headed out on the next section and came on the second “peak” of the four. Called Bareback, this mountain was mostly a long slow climb up granite boulders, with little to mark the trail except for some ribbons hanging from trees. On more than one occasion I had to take a moment and look around hard, to see where I was supposed to go. It was on this peak that I pulled out my poles. Yet, by the time I got to the top I decided that they weren’t actually helping, and that they were slowing me down. So, I put them away and never used them the rest of the race. Another interesting lesson learned.
Coming down the hill I managed to get in some running again. I had been leapfrogging some folks (who I think were from Illinois) and with my new found energy, I was able to finally pass them for good and get in some solid miles of jogging. It was only 4 miles to the next station, and I was feeling really good. The miles were clicking away, and my legs were holding up way better than I expected. I came into the final aid station raring to go, and so I didn’t take a lot of time. I ate a bunch of food, and downed a lot of pop before making my way up the third of the notorious peaks… Top of the World.
Despite the ominous name, this climb was absolutely most enjoyable of the entire race. It was a LONG climb to the top, but the trail was nicely buffed out and there was nothing technical about the ascent. These are the kinds of climbs that I can really rock, and before I knew it I was on… top of the world. Because of all the intersecting paths, there was a timing mat on top of the mountain. I crossed over it, took a couple of photos of the amazing view, and started the, equally, buffed out descent.
The fact that the 3rd hill was so mild put me in a tremendously good mood. I looked at my watch and started doing some math. I realized that a sub-10 hour finish would be easy at this rate, and I might even be able to get close to 9:15-9:20. But then I encountered… Hogsback.
I’ve climbed a lot of Lake Superior mountains, from Moose Mountain, Carlton Peak, and Mystery Mountain. None of them compare to Hogsback. As I was running along I looked to my left, and there was a couple of people slowly making their way up a steep and technical ascent. I steeled myself for what was to come and tried to climb as best I could. Part way up the hill I came across Heather, who was having a rough time on this mountain. I gave her some words of encouragement (I think… I may have just complained about his mountain needing to eat a bag of d**ks), and then passed her by.
The final section to the ascent goes from a marked path, to a sheer granite rock scramble. The next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees, trying to find anything I could grab on to, to get me to the top. It felt like it took forever, and the entire way my mood soured. By the time I got to the top, I didn’t even care that the view was the most spectacular of the entire course. I didn’t care that I could see forever, and that I only had 2.5 miles to go. Hogsback had broken me.
After spending a few minutes being way too grumpy to the awesome volunteer on top of the mountain (sorry!) I went to head back down. The volunteer directed me where to go and as I looked over the edge I realized that there was no path. Just a steep granite rock face that you slide down on your ass. I muttered more curse words under my breath, and began to crab walk down this rock face, praying that I didn’t rip my nice PATH Project shorts.
Once I got down the rock face I came across Mike, who was making his way up the mountain on his second time around for the 50 mile race. He was hurting bad, and I was in a bad mood, but I tried really hard to be encouraging. I knew that he had a really easy stretch if he could just make it over this damn mountain, and I told him so. We parted ways and I began the slog back to the finish line.
At this point my left knee was feeling twingy from the climb (I might have banged it on the rock), and I was still grumpy. I looked at my watch and realized 9:15 wasn’t going to happen. My mood did lighten as all of the 50 milers passed me, and I was able to give them some encouragement, and cheer them on. They had a tremendously hard day, with a race that has very difficult cutoffs. It made me pause and remember that I had the easy task.
Soon enough I was down the mountain and on the final stretch to the finish. The last mile of deer trail took forever. I was ready to be done, and I swear I could hear the finish line music from miles away. At one point I came across the campground and I knew that was the final quarter mile. Soon the fence appeared that would guide me to the finish. I ran as best I could and crossed the line in 9:38. Not my best time for a 50K, but a marked improvement over my 10 hour estimated finish.
I headed to the finish aid station and grabbed some food before joining a bunch of the other Minnesota folks who were reminiscing about the day. We all hung around for a while before I decided to head out and wipe down before changing clothes. I knew I had quite a few hours before Mike would finish so I took the opportunity to hit a local brewery in town, Blackrocks.
I ordered up a flight of beer, and as I started sampling, my friends Carrie and Rob came in. We all got a table together and started chatting about the day. Greg, Jake, and another guy who’s name escapes me, joined us, and before long we had filled one of their picnic tables with runners. At one point in the evening I checked the live tracking and realized that Mike would be finishing soon, so it was time to head back.
I grabbed the camp chairs from the van and went to watch Mike finish. Greg went to get pizza with Heather, so it would be ready at the campground when he was done. Soon enough Mike came across the line, beaten up, but successful. Some of his first words to me were, “Never let me do this again.” Marquette 50 Mile is a beast, but Mike finally had redemption on his DNF from many years ago.
After a quick recuperation we headed back to camp and enjoyed some quiet time with pizza, beer, and friends. Sleep was sounding better and better though, so we soon hit the showers and then called it a night. We had a long 7 hour drive home the next day, and a good night sleep would mean the difference between an easy ride, and suffering. Despite some neighbors deciding to play their guitar late into the evening, sleep took me quickly.
The next morning we packed up, and then all met up at Cafe Bodega for breakfast. I thought I was hungry for biscuits and gravy, but really, I should have just gotten the eggs and bacon. Soon enough though it was time to leave, and we began the journey home. Google routed us around some storms, and before we knew it, we were on I-94 into the Twin Cities. All in all, a nice easy ending to an amazing weekend.
Marquette was a very different race than Badger, but equally as challenging. It made me work in a very different way, and having the two back-to-back, made for a wild couple of weeks. I’m not sure if I’ll be ready to tackle the hills of Marquette right away again next year, but I can certainly see myself returning someday. It’s a beautiful race in a wonderful town. The atmosphere is pure trail running, and I felt like I was among family. I’m grateful to the folks who put this race on, and would recommend this to anyone looking for awesome views and technical terrain. You won’t be disappointed.
Ever since I changed my running philosophy this year, I’ve been much happier with where I’m at. I’m not stressed about “the next big race” because I don’t actually have any races planned. I’m just doing things when I feel like it. Case in point, the Treasured Haven Farms 12 Hour Run that I did on Sunday. My wife had signed up for this run a long time ago, so I knew I would be there, but I didn’t decide to join in until 9 days before the race. It was another moment where I said, “what the heck, that sounds fun.”
Treasured Haven Farms is one of the hidden gems of the trail race world here in Minnesota. It’s a small organic farm that opens up their property to trail races a few times throughout the year. We’ve done a 7 mile race there before and it’s a lot of fun. This is old-school trail racing at it’s finest. No chip timing, no big fanfare, just a bunch of land with trails on it, and a clock at the finish line.
When we arrived we were greeted by a few other UMTR friends who had also made the trek. They had opted to do the 3 and 6 hour version of the race, which was probably smart given the predicted high temps for the day. This was going to be one of the hottest days of the year with temps reaching into the 90s. We also found out that besides my wife and I, only one other person had signed up for the 12 hour race. This factor would be key later in the story.
At 7 am the race launched and I started out at a decent pace figuring I should, carefully, bank some miles while the air was still cool. I locked in to an 11:30 pace, which under most, flat, circumstances is my “go all day” pace. The loop that we were running was 3 miles long around the edge of the farm fields, with a couple jaunts on to some beautiful wooded paths. These wooded areas became sanctuaries throughout the morning as the temps started to climb and the sun started beating down hard.
The first couple of hours melted away pretty quickly for me. Just over two hours in I had a solid 10 miles on my legs and was feeling pretty good. After three hours I decided it was time to move to a run/walk strategy to help conserve energy and survive the climbing temps. By this point the 3 hour runners were finished up, however our amazing friend Ann, and another friend’s husband DuWayne (she was running the 6 hour) decided to be our crew for a while.
Every time we came in from a loop they were right there making sure we had everything we needed, throwing away our trash, and generally taking care of our every need. They stuck around for a lot longer than they needed to and treated us amazingly. We were humbled and grateful for how wonderful they were to us. Another friend of ours, Bob, showed up with trail running fixture, Pearl the dog. He lives near the farm and so he stopped by a couple times to encourage us. That was a huge surprise and really lifted our spirits as the day wore on.
As the race continued I caught up to my wife who was a loop behind me. We would occasionally stick together but usually one of us would move ahead of the other as we were feeling good. As the loops wore on I ended up spending a lot more time at the main aid station, taking my time as I felt like it. I went in to this race with very minor goals, and so I wasn’t pushing too hard to do anything phenomenal. A few days before the race I thought it would be amazing if I could get 100K or 50 miles, however as the weather report got hotter and hotter, I decided that if I could bang out a 50K I would count that as a success. By 5 hours in I was already at 20 miles, so I knew a 50K was pretty much in the bag.
As the 6 hour run was finishing up a huge blessing rolled in, in the shape of clouds and a light rain. Suddenly everything started to feel right in the universe again. There was a breeze with the clouds and the temps dropped in to the 70s. It was a little bit of heaven. Granted I had still been running for 6 hours and was feeling all that pain on my legs. I had a major blister on my right big toe that I got covered up, but it still was an irritant. As the hours wore on it also became apparent how lonely the rest of this day was going to be. After the 6 hours folks finished up, the only people left were myself, my wife Lisa, and another runner named Eric.
Eric was crushing the course, lapping us repeatedly as he racked up miles. He was a solid runner and a super nice guy, however, it sounded like he was just doing this for a training run and that the only reason that he bumped up from the 6 to the 12 was because only my wife and I had signed up for it. One of the times he was passing us he mentioned, “Hey if you guys want to call this early just let me know, I’m cool stopping whenever.” At this point I think we were all feeling a little silly having just three runners keeping a race open for an extra 6 hours.
My wife and I talked about it and decided to keep going for a bit longer, but that if any one of us decided to drop that we’d all probably call it a day. At the eight hour mark I took a solid 15 minute break as my wife and I talked about things. She was hurting bad and just wasn’t feeling confident that she wanted to go on any further. The rain had stopped a long time ago, and the sun was coming back out. The temps were predicted to climb back into the high 80s before we would be done. She decided that she was done. I looked down at my watch and realized I was at 30 miles, so I opt’d to go out for one more loop and knock out a solid 50K.
As I headed out for this final loop I found my body working really, really well. Maybe I had just adapted to the pain, but I felt like I could run again. I ended up running almost all of that final loop and knocked out a 35 minute 3 miler. That was almost as fast as my initial loops early in the day. Since this was going to be my final loop, I decided I had better leave everything out there on the course, and so I pushed myself to sub-11 minute pace as much as I could and crossed over the finish line with a few minutes before the 9 hour mark to spare.
With ~33 miles and 9 hours under my belt I decided it was a good day, and I was more than happy to join my wife in calling it done. That’s the beauty of a timed race like this. You can stop whenever you want and if you decide you’re done earlier than the bell, that’s totally up to you. I clocked in my second 50K of the year, only 4 weeks apart, which is light years beyond where I’ve been in previous years.
I probably could have gone on another three hours and finished out 40+ miles, but I wasn’t out there with anything to prove. I kept moving for 9 hours, completed a solid distance, and even found a second wind late in the day that propelled me to some solid running on tired legs. That’s one of the biggest ‘wins’ that I took away from the whole day; proving that just because you’re in pain at one point in a long race, doesn’t mean you’ll be in pain the entire race. Pain is temporary, and our bodies are often able to do a lot more than we think they can.
I’m incredibly happy with how this race turned out. I don’t know what is next for me, as I’m not doing any long term race planning this year. I’ve got my favorite 5K (Endless Summer French Park 5K) coming up soon, but other than that it’s all up to whatever I feel like. That’s one of the best feelings I’ve had as a runner in a long time, and it’s made all the difference in my attitude and enjoyment of running overall this year. Low pressure and running for fun. It’s what trail running is supposed to be about.
One of my goals for 2018 was to get back into shape enough to tackle an ultra distance race again. I had a great streak of races at the end of 2015 and into early 2016, but then everything fell apart, and in 2017 my longest single run was 19 miles. I knew that part of it was needing a mental break, but I also needed to focus on running smarter and making sure I kept myself from getting injured.
I approached 2018 with the idea in mind that I would not sign up for anything until I was ready. I have given a lot of money to races in 2016 and 2017 that I never even started because I was sidelined, and I didn’t want to repeat that this year. I started out my year with a typical training plan for a 50K, but wasn’t able to follow it exactly because of illness and weather. Eventually though, the miles started to rack up. I decided to target either Chippewa 50K or Chester Woods 50K as my return to ultras, but didn’t commit to either until I felt like I could be successful.
A few weeks ago, my friend Mike and I went out for a 22 mile run around Elm Creek, and at the end of the run I felt great. That afternoon I decided to take one of the few remaining spots in the Chippewa 50K. I knew that if I was feeling that strong after 22 mile, I could tackle 9 more. Despite this confidence, I found myself approaching race day with anxiety and dread. For some reason, I was irrationally nervous about this race, and I couldn’t figure out why. Even my friend Matt told me that I looked like s*%! at the start line, completely wrapped up in some mental struggle.
The race is about 2 hours away, so we had to get up very early to get there on time. We arrived about 50 minutes early, and started checking in and talking with friends. My wife would be volunteering for part of the day, after she went out for a solo run herself. We also had the UMTR banner with us, and had to make sure we got some shots of the series participants to post on social media. Soon though, it was time for me to line up and get to it. I was still nervous, but getting in to the start corral seemed to help a bit.
At 8am we launched and proceeded to work our way down the huge hill that starts and ends the race. The Chippewa 50K is an out-and-back course that begins with a toilet bowl spiral around the trail visitor center You then do some miles on some spur trails, before joining up with the main Ice Age trail for the majority of the race. As luck would have it, weather conditions were perfect on Saturday. The sun was out, and the temps started in the 30s and climbed into the 50s. I wore a light long sleeve shirt and shorts, and was completely comfortable.
As we rounded around the backside of the visitor center, 2 miles in to the race, I handed off my gloves and buff to my wife, as I already knew I wouldn’t need them anymore. The trail was in pretty good shape and I felt like I was making decent time right off the start. I had been on this section of trail a few years ago when I did the Chippewa 10K, and my memory reminded me to watch my feet, as the first couple of miles are very rooted and rocky.
I hit the first aid station at mile 3, grabbed a small bite to eat and hit the trail again. I locked in a really good pace and found the miles ticking by easily. Eventually I got to the section where the 10K splits off and began a journey on trails I had never seen before. One of the more interesting things that I saw, just after the split, was that someone had vandalized the course the night before, and posted hardcore porn on some of the trees. Someone actually wasted money on a porno magazine and ripped out the pages to tack them up on trees. My wife, who was just doing a casual run, managed to clean up a bunch of them so the runners didn’t have to see them coming back. Apparently there was also a note about some local sports shop with all kinds of lewd comments, so this must have been some kind of local grudge.
Once the “entertainment” was out of the way I noticed very quickly that the Ice Age trail is really well maintained and built. This particular section of trail is amazingly runnable, with clear paths and only small rolling hills. You pass by beautiful lakes and prairies, which distracts you from the fact that you’re involved in a long footrace. I managed to lock in a solid pace, that in retrospect was faster than I should have gone, but felt completely comfortable on this terrain.
One of the first cutoffs you encounter in this race is the turnaround at mile 15.5. You must be through that checkpoint in 4 hours. This is despite the fact that you have 9 hours to do the entire race. I think that this cutoff time got in my head a bit more than it should have, and I ended up pushing harder than I should in the first half. However, the first 10 miles were really pleasant and runnable, so I didn’t think much about it.
I hit the second aid station at mile 10 determined to get moving quickly so that I could hit the turnaround with plenty of time to spare. However, what I didn’t know is that the middle 11 miles of this race are the toughest. Right out of the aid station I discovered the muddiest portion of the course. There was absolutely no way to keep your feet dry and clean in this section. The mud was relentless for almost a mile. Eventually, you get back to dry ground, but with that dry ground comes a lot of climbing. Chippewa doesn’t have any big mountains, but it has a relentless up and down of smaller hills that shreds your muscles without you even realizing it.
Despite this difficulty, I pushed hard and made it to the turnaround in 3:31. My last 50K race I completed took me 7:40, and so I was feeling really optimistic that Chippewa could be a PR. I even thought that perhaps a sub-7 hour race could be in the cards. It was at that point that I started doing math. Never do math during an ultra.
I headed back on the trail, saying hi to friends as we passed each other, and thinking about what lay ahead. Almost immediately after thinking I could pull off another three and a half 15.5 miles I calculated what that meant. There was simply no way that I could pull off that type of speed (13:30 min/mile) on the way back. The torment of the relentless hills, and the thought of the mile-of-mud, started to beat me down mentally.
I managed to catch up with my friend Erik and we ended up spending a few miles together. He was coming off of Zumbro 100 a few weeks earlier, and so he was moving at a similar speed to me. We chatted about life for a while and then eventually he caught a second wind and started to move stronger, pulling away from me. I started doing more math. I thought that if sub-7 couldn’t happen, I could at least try for 7:30. Then my watch beeped and told me I just did a 17 minute mile through the mud section. 7:30 was probably out the window.
I hit the 4th aid station and did what I could to get some calories in me. Unfortunately, the race had decided to stock this product called “Silver Star Nutrition” which is some weird milk protein based energy drink. It tasted blah and felt weird on my gut (I know many people complained of stomach issues later on), so I ended up just sticking with water. This is one time in my life I actually craved HEED.
I got in and out of the station and started the plod back to the finish. It was in this section that I really got beaten down mentally. Ultras are just as much a mental challenge as a physical one. You have to keep moving forward, despite everything your mind tells you about how you should quit. As I passed mile 22 and entered the “easier” portion of the trail I attempted to run, but struggled to keep moving faster than a hike. All I wanted to do was lie down and take a nap and call my wife to come pick me up. As the miles clicked by, I realized that even a sub-8 hour finish would be hard to accomplish. I got sad.
I had been feeling so strong in my lead-up training that I felt like I should be able to tackle this with ease. In retrospect, my nervousness at the beginning of the race was most likely due to my mind knowing that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but wrestling with the denial of it all. I wanted this to be easy. I wanted this to be “just another long weekned run”, but in the end, it wasn’t and it couldn’t be.
When I look back at the elevation data from Chippewa 50K I realized just how tough this race actually is. My 7:40 50K at Surf the Murph was 50% of the elevation of Chippewa. The 22 mile training run I did was 50% of the elevation of the first 22 miles of Chippewa. Nothing I had done yet this year had the level of mud that I encountered in mile 10-11/20-21 at Chippewa. This wasn’t just some random Saturday run. This was a race, and a challenging one at that. However, that’s way more math than a person can do at mile 25 of an ultra, and so I just had to deal with my disappointment.
Since I knew I was going to come in after 8 hours, I decided to take care of myself a bit more. At mile 26 I stopped at a bench and pulled out my clean socks. I could feel my feet starting to have bad things happen to them, and decided a change of socks would feel good. It didn’t matter that I only had 5 miles to go, I wanted some comfort. Needless to say, the new socks felt heavenly. It was well worth the 5 minutes it took to put them on.
I hobbled around the final 3 miles after the last aid station and discovered that this section had become a mud bath as well. All the traffic from all the racers had chewed up the trail in the warm sun. I ground up and down the final hills until I reached the prairie near the visitor center. I ran as much as I could, but anything faster than a 15 minute mile was just not happening. I practically crawled up the final hill to the finish and did my best interpretation of what a sprint should should like as I crossed the timing mat.
I was beaten, in pain, and depressed. But then, as I crossed the finish (8:08:41), there was Wendi and Matt. They were cheering and congratulating me as they handed me my award print. I went over to the grass and laid down as my wife got me some food. Everyone around me smiled at me and told me how great a job I had done, and within moments, it was all OK. I stripped off my muddy shoes, drank a warm beer (that tasted like perfection) that Erik gave me, and savored the moment.
This certainly wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My 50 mile at Zumbro was objectively more difficult. However, this race had such mental baggage associated with it, that overcoming that was the biggest victory. My last real 50K attempt was the Spring Superior 50K, where I DNF’d 7 miles from the finish. I signed up for Marquette 50K twice and never ended up going because I knew I wasn’t in shape enough to do it. Chippewa signaled my return, and I wanted it to be glorious.
In reality, Chippewa was exactly what it was going to be, a tough 31 mile race. From a physical standpoint I ran it well. I was nowhere near last place (159/195), and now, two days later am able to run just fine. Perhaps I should have controlled my pace a bit more on the way out, and taken the section to the turnaround a bit slower to conserve some energy, but it probably only would have saved me 10-15 minutes or so. Considering my abbreviated training through the winter, and how quickly I ramped up for this race, I have nothing I should be complaining about.
This race was mainly a mental test for me. Going in I thought I needed to prove my physical toughness. In fact, what I needed to prove was that I could handle the struggle with my own mind. I had to prove to myself that I could overcome my DNF and DNS’s. I had to engage that inner struggle between the part of me that wanted to stop, give up running and go back to just playing video games on the couch all night, and the part of me that knew I was better than that. Running, and specifically trail and ultra running, has had such an impact on my life that I can’t just walk away. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
I feel that I still have more to prove to myself, and Chippewa 50K was the first step towards discovering more of who I am and what I’m capable of. I’m in this for a lifetime, and sometimes we forget that life it hard. Chippewa 50K was tough, but maybe, just maybe, I can be a bit tougher.