25 Oct 2019
Wild Duluth 100k Race Day: Saturday, October 19 – 6am
Terribly Tough 10k Race Day: Sunday, October 20 – 9:30am
I had a pit in my stomach in the dark, headlamp shining, as I stood with 80 other runners at the start line of the Wild Duluth 100k. Sure, I was a bit nervous. 100 kilometers is a long way. What about the next day? I had expectations of myself and didn’t want to fail. But the pit in my stomach wasn’t as much from nerves as it was from just an upset stomach. Great…
The concept of going back to Wild Duluth was hatched during my experience pacing my pal Joe Calaguire at the Superior 100 Mile. During a reconnaissance run up the North Shore in August, I realized my flat abilities and low fitness levels and probably griped to he and his friend Gretchen about needing a race to register for the whole run. Gretchen highly recommended the Wild Duluth 100k, her favorite race, and both she and Joe then regaled about finishing the year prior. Dang… I told them about how I loved the 50k race, having finished in 2014, 2015, and 2016. After that long 34 miler in August, I definitely had Wild Duluth 100k on my radar. Or maybe the 50k… something for sure. Maybe for sure… that’s a lot of running. My body wasn’t in prime shape. I had ankle and foot issues, fears of injury. I felt really terrible after Brewhouse Tri though, the terrible feeling of being out of shape. I had to put together a training regiment but do it smartly and simultaneously cure my injuries and ailments. Is that even possible? I started to run regularly after that up north run with Joe. After all, I was gassed after 34 miles and he expected me to run 50 miles with him through the night at Superior. I hoped I could do it but didn’t even really expect it of myself. But I it would feel great to be able to run all 50. I started running daily, my mileage increased and I started designating one day per week as a long run. The next big run, of course, was Superior 100 itself in early September. My pacing duties were a shock to the system for sure. Despite going 17 minutes per mile on average, I had to bow out after… 34 miles. I had extra fitness, the pace was slower than our training run in August, but I was so tired and mentally unable to proceed after going the exact distance in our training run a month earlier. Joe had another pacer Ryan on deck and he took over. I took a nap, ate some food and had coffee and was lucky enough to join in for the last 7 miles. Ryan and I pushed Joe hard to the finish and it was super inspiring to watch and be a part of. He finished his first 100 mile run with nothing left in the tank, passing 3 people in that last section. I was jacked and even more excited to compete, train and finish Wild Duluth 100k. I had to go long. Plus Superior 100 2020… everything. I’d race everything in 2020! Yeah!
My excitement settled after Superior 100 weekend. Next up for me is NorthShore Inline Marathon, of which I am the race director, and which requires an extreme amount of time leading up to and on race weekend. I told myself I’d wait until after NorthShore to register for Wild Duluth but I couldn’t resist. I just had to. I signed up for the 100k, if nothing else just to get a 100k finish on the running resume and somehow jumpstart my training with 8 weeks or so to go. I noticed the new Wildman challenge. Either you run the 100k Saturday and 10k Sunday or the 50k Saturday and half marathon Sunday to complete the Ultimate Wildman or Wildman, respectively. So I signed up for the 10k too. Oh well, I could hike the 10k if push comes to shove.
My training then catapulted forward majorly. With the exception of NorthShore Inline Marathon race week, I’d averaged about 40 miles per week for over 5 weeks. I drew up a training plan for the remaining 5 weeks to Wild Duluth. A quick turnaround, but I was hearing local runner Jess Koski in my head. He was an interview subject for the Duluth Rundown podcast, and talked about high mileage training, specifically getting to the 100 mile week threshold. He claimed any runner can reach 95% of their potential by getting to 100 miles per week by any means necessary, and hold it for three weeks or so. “Hundred, hundred, hundred”. He also claimed he would jump from 20 miles per week to 100. It was unbelievable, reckless, but intriguing. After a long, droning and meticulous build cycle of over 20 weeks in the first months of 2019, I was excited to try something different. Also, I had no choice but to adopt some of Jess’s methodologies. Once NorthShore came and went I only had 5 weeks until Wild Duluth.
My plan was to bump up from and average of 40 miles per week to 60, then 70, then 80. NMTC Fall Trail series was in full swing, and I would do at least one long run per week. A big double on the weekend would be even better. But the key was to not get injured. I adopted a three prong approach with chiropractor, physical therapy, and massage. PT made a difference. I visited Malcolm Macauley, who is also the inventor of the Lightspeed Lift body weight reduction treadmill. I decided to put my eggs in that basket by getting some PT work and utilizing the Lightspeed Lift once per week to get my mileage. Week one was a success and I felt pretty good. On to week two and I bumped it up. All systems go. The body was holding up great. PT made a difference but I was also being diligent about foam rolling and taping my sore plantar facia band. The third week I bumped up to over 80 miles. My key workout for the week was a speedier 15 mile run on gravel in drenching rain (to build mental fortitude), then a 5 hour run (2.5 hours out and back on the Wild Duluth course) for 25 miles the very next day. I crushed them both, but was a little nervous about my pace for the 5 hour run. I found it difficult to hold 12 minutes per mile. It was a struggle to feel like I was running with a conservation mindset and getting consistent sub-12 minute mile splits on the technical and challenging race course. I could lock in right above that pace though… and 12:15-12:30 pace felt like the normal. I knew that wouldn’t be enough to win, though. After that final simulation run, I felt very confident about a 13 hour finish but wondered if I could pull off 12 hours or less. To win, I knew I’d need 11:30 or faster.
Come race day, I felt great. Every week at NMTC, I’d chipped away at my placements. They felt easier. I knew I was getting fit. I certainly put in the time on my feet with race simulations… One 20 miler on the race course at goal pace of 12 minutes per mile, a 38 miler on the SHT at goal pace, and my capstone workout of 25 miles at just slower than goal pace out and back on the toughest part of the race course. After a two week taper down, my body was feeling really sturdy. I knew I had some vulnerabilities but was fully aware of them and thought I knew how to mitigate any problem spots and early destruction. The 100k was my goal. Sunday 10k, afterthought. The competition was looking pretty stout, and primed for a great race. There were proven ultramarathon runners, past WD 1ook champions, but no superstar runners who would undoubtedly win. But there can always be that dark horse in the race…
I woke up very early on race morning with a 6am start. My stomach was feeling pretty crappy at home but I had to make sure I was full of food and ready to rock. The weather looked great and I was comfy at the start line in my shorts and singlet. “Ready, set, GO!” and the group of headlamp-donning ultramarathoners took off into the early morning darkness. The race director Andy ran with us to make sure we took the right route. I went off really fast with the intention of seeing who was out there. Who would follow? Who would pass me? If I got out to the front I’d know who else was out there. So I sprinted off, knowing (or simply hoping) that one fast mile on flat pavement wouldn’t have any impact on the remaining 61 miles. That first mile was well under 8 minutes, and I was in the front of a conga line of people, leading the race up to Enger Tower. I was passed on the trail by a guy who I swear was telling Andy at mile .2 he’d run over a marathon distance like 6 times but never done a marathon or longer race. I was pretty sure he said his name was Tyler. Atop Enger Tower I pressed my hand on the post to ring the giant peace bell. Then I saw Tyler standing there, not running, facing me. He’d been turned around already. Jeez, who is this guy!! I took the lead again, zipping on by to the first aid station. I didn’t really need anything but filled two tiny sips worth of water and ate one oreo. I saw the chase group in my peripheral vision bypass the aid station completely and run into the darkness of Lincoln Park. I already had to pee, and stopped in the woods shortly after the aid station. As I turned around I saw another group of people pass me. Sheesh, where am I at now? It doesn’t matter, RUN YOUR OWN RACE MIKE. That was to be my mantra for the day.
10 days prior at the NMTC Pine Valley fall trail series run, I had a lot of confidence and went out to race. Well, I got smoked. I was with a pack for a mile and fell off. They passed me mercilessly and it crushed me. The next race, Bull Run, was a challenging, hilly and longer one in Jay Cooke State Park. I told myself to race my own race. The effort was day and night better. I moved up from 11th that Wednesday to 4th place at Bull Run. I felt good the whole time and finished strong. It was confidence booster and mental focus that I needed. Race Your Own Race. So when the hoards of people passed me, I told myself that it was OK, and reminded myself of the magic pace of 12 minutes per mile, 5 miles per hour, that I was to hold for 50 miles straight, then crank it down or do whatever I needed to do for the remaining race to finish under 12 hours.
So I kept on moving forward. My next miles were right on target. Some slightly faster than 12 minutes, some slightly slower than 12. I’d see something like 11:47 flash on my watch for a mile split and say “yes, good” under my breath. I didn’t see or sense anyone behind me, and was surprised to not see anyone ahead of me. I mean, I was moving pretty good on the trail and it seemed like a lot of people passed me during that first aid station stop and pee break. After 5 miles, I was way ahead of my one hour target, thanks to the first three miles being very speedy. So I had a buffer. Time to lock in, and lock in I did. I continued to click off miles, under the bridge of Haines Road, and up to Brewer. Light came and I took off the headlamp. I ate a gel. My stomach hadn’t felt better from the early morning. In fact worse. Way worse. I almost had stomach cramps. I had a bit of the “clench” going on, and knew I wouldn’t make it to the toilet at the Highland Getchell aid station 3 miles away. I had to take an emergency dump, so pulled off of the trail to a cliffside, held on to a tree and popped a squat. I was sure glad to have brought toilet paper in a baggie in my small handheld water bottle. It was a quick ordeal and not too unpleasant. I then ran off, like a rocket shot off. I felt like $1,000 bucks and no longer in discomfort physically or mentally. The feeling of knowing you have to poop can drag on you. Smooth, I said to myself. Keep it smooth.
The miles kept clicking off and it seemed like no time that I was at the Highland Getchell aid station about 9 miles in. I still had a buffer, and still hadn’t seen anyone ahead or behind me. I realized I forgot a cup and it was cupless event. Of course, I had my water bottles (handheld and vest with two bottles), but nothing for pop at the aid stations. I wanted coke! I instructed my all-star crew of Emily and my mom to fill up my bottle with water. I was brief and frenzied. I left them to run into the parking lot to the portable toilet. It was just to clean up and use the hand sanitizer. Mission accomplished. Back to normal. Luckily my friend and aid station attendant Mae lent me a cup. I drank coke, had some pretzels and shoved gummi bears in my mouth as I headed down the trail. I finally saw someone approach from behind just as I darted onto the trail. Down, down, rocks, roots, up, up. I’d lost the guy behind me. Back to no man’s land. My watched beeped for 10 miles and I was still well ahead of my target 2 hours for the distance. I was locking in at my goal pace, though. Where is everyone else? I wondered why I wasn’t passing anyone. I mean, I’m running good, running consistent miles. It seemed like there were so many people in front of me. RACE YOUR OWN RACE MIKE. The miles continued to click off during the overcast and fair morning. I was kind of warm already. The handheld was a great choice, though, and I felt like I had plenty of water and room for food while traveling as lightly as possible.
The next section was going good but also was frustrating. I kept rolling my ankles. Both of them slipped many times, and every time I’d yell and swear. Luckily I was in no man’s land and nobody was around to hear me. Nothing was lasting, but I knew each slip of the ankle caused damage. My ankles, feet or lower legs were probably going to go first, so I had to protect them. Whoop, ankle roll, “FAAAA!!!”
With energy and feeling smooth, I made it down Spirit Mountain with ease. Those were some smooth downhill miles, but I couldn’t help but think ahead with dread on how uncomfortable the climb back up would be, because it seemed like a full 2 miles downhill to get to the unmanned water station at the Spirit Mountain lower chalet. I prepared to refill my water and was surprised to see Emily and my mom. Hmm, I thought I told them to skip this aid station and go to Magney… I didn’t say anything, just drank some gatorade and grabbed a gel. It was a quick in-and-out. I did ask out loud about my placement and the field ahead, and the HAM radio operator chimed in to say I was in 8th place. Hmm! Interesting. The top guys were must be making time on me, and I believe the report was that a few guys were running together about 20 minutes up. Nothing crazy…
The climb up the other side of Spirit was tough, but I made it through smoothly with no damage done. Keepin’ it smooth. When I got to Magney, I ate some pretzels at the aid station while a volunteer filled up my handheld water bottle. They asked what they could do for me, and I replied that my crew wasn’t here yet. I asked them to tell my crew that I left already. They asked who my crew was. I said Emily and my mom. Then I saw Emily drive by at the exact moment I ran off. I told the aid station volunteers that that was my crew. I hoped they’d make it to the Munger Trail aid station in time. I kind of worried about that, but knew I had some time before I’d make it there myself.
Down, down, down, puddle jumping some creeks and through the woods I ran. Up to Bardon’s Peak, I wondered when I’d see 50k runners and was excited to see how that race would be panning out. I still hadn’t seen a 100k runner since the one guy at Highland Getchell. Nobody in front of me. No man’s land! Race your own race. I was completely impressed by the lack of water and mud on the trail. The trail was dry and tacky. Boardwalks were bone dry. I did experience a few mud pits that were pretty raunchy, but they were surprisingly few and far between given the amount of rain Duluth had received in September and October. I saw two 50k runners while traversing the rocky outcroppings near Ely’s peak. They were neck and neck in the front. I didn’t recognize either of them. About a minute back was my running pal Kyle Severson, who I’d shared many running miles with this summer. I saw Chase Edgerton, a guy with a really cool name who I met at many of the NMTC fall race series races. He and I duked it out several times. He was in the mix. I saw Anna Lahti right up there, Kaelyn Williams right behind her, who I’d pegged to win. Pat Davison gave me a high five on the trail as he passed. I saw Kyle Schmidt right up there, too. The top 15 runners in the 50k were all within 10 minutes of each other. It’d be a dog fight out there. Cool. Dave Schaeffer yelled at me as we passed. It was fun to see friends. I passed the top 20 people before the Munger/Beck’s Road/Ely’s aid station. Once on the Munger Trail, I ran it in to the my crew feeling really good. I was frenzied at the aid station stop but Emily knows exactly what to do. She’s been through this before, and probably knows what to do better than I do. Mom was taking pics with my sister’s dog Rose in tow. I told them I wanted pizza back here. Emily said Hugo’s didn’t open until 11. I said I meant on the way back and ran off into the woods.
I was 20 miles in and right on pace. I hadn’t hit 4 hours quite yet. I tried to pinpoint my exact mileage at 4:00. 20.9. That puts me about 1 mile up on my goal pace, a buffer of almost 12 minutes. Let’s call it 10 minutes up. That’s a good little buffer. My body was getting sore, sure, but I was feeling really good. Really controlled, mentally stable, positive. I told myself that I should feel super lucky to be out here in the woods. I am so lucky that my training went so well and I’m out here and really doing it. The passing 50k’ers offered encouragement, and personal contact brings one out of one’s own mind temporarily. Before long, I caught up to a 100k runner, local guy Alex. I chatted with him a little bit, he seemed to be in good spirits. He let me pass and I made the move and wished him well. A few more miles, getting closer to Jay Cooke, and I passed another. Matt was his name and it was his birthday. Cool! I wished him a happy birthday as I made the pass and left him out of sight. I KNEW I’d start picking people off. My strategy was paying off. So I started thinking… Ok now I’m in 6th place. I’d see every single competitor in the 100k because of the out-and-back format. When would I see the front runners? How far up would they be? What would they look like? Are they killing each other up there in a game? I am just back here racing my own race. I figured past champion Ryan Braun would be up there, if not hanging in first place. I also figured beast ultra runner Brandon Johnson would be up there. He is super strong. I passed one more runner in the deep technical woods outside of Jay Cooke. Then across a ridgeline and down a huge hill towards the Saint Louis River.
I was in and out of the Grand Portage aid station, which is prohibited to crews. I asked how the field was stacking up. They said I was maybe 4th place and the two guys up front were way up there, probably 20 minutes up. I knew I was 5th place, so took a mouthful of delicious Coke flavored gummi bears and ran off. I took advantage of the easy running through Jay Cooke towards the turnaround. Besides a few monster climbs and descents, the trails were wide, flat, rockless and rootless. Thus, completely runnable. I made some really good time and knew I was close to the turnaround and the next chance to see my crew. I was really looking forward to it. Still feeling pretty good, I tried to capitalize on the best running terrain that I’d have the whole race. I noticed some much faster running splits but was OK with that. I saw the first place guy come through at about 5:35 race time. I was curious at what exact mileage the turnaround would be at. 31? 30? My goal going into Wild Duluth was to go under 12 hours. For better or worse, the exact mileage would have a big factor on whether I could hit that benchmark. I saw the second place guy, for sure it was Tyler and he looked really good, just a few minutes back. Then I saw Brandon maybe 5 minutes down from the leader, and Braun a minute or so behind him. A minute later, I got to the aid station. The front was decently clumped up, and there I was in 5th place. I couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the chase. I was running so consistently.
At the turnaround, I sat down to take a load off. Emily replenished my handheld water bottle with water and gels in the pocket. I’d kind of slowed down on eating on the trail. My gel intake was OK but I wasn’t making much progress with the gummis or more solid food like Clif bars. As I sat I ate handfuls of Old Dutch chips, which were immensely delicious. My watch read 30.6 miles or so. Without much more ado, I stood up gingerly. Oof. All the sudden my legs felt so heavy. I asked my mom and Emily about pizza and they said they’d have it and would see me at Munger Trail aid station. I grazed the aid station for munchies, filled my mouth and my hand with various snacks, and set back off across Highway 210 and into the woods. Back to Bayfront. My watch read 5:49. So I figured I was about… 13 minutes back from the leader. Wait, double that because it’s out and back and I’m 26 minutes back? Oof. Race your own race, Mike! Next on the chopping block is Ryan. Then Brandon. No… race your own race, race your own race. Either way, I was doubtful I’d be able to do anything because my legs felt terrible. How did this happen??
Running was a drag. Luckily, I was able to keep up a good clip and hit some fast miles on the first hour of the return trip. I felt a need to make a pit stop and at Forbay Lake saw a portable toilet. Might as well stop… so I did and it was a good idea. I hobbled back into the woods and some cheery horse riders congratulated me and told me they were counting and I was in fifth place. I barely mustered “thanks” with a deep sigh. A glance at my watch was timely as I saw 6 hours come and go. My mileage was relieving, almost 31.5 miles in, and I was proud that despite feeling like shit I was able to run good. At this point, I figured I had a buffer of 20 minutes on my goal of 12 hours. Excellent. So I tried mental tricks such as gratitude. I told myself how lucky I was to be out here. How lucky could I be to be able to do this? How lucky am I to have had such a great training regiment. I nailed those workouts to get me here. As long as I could run smoothly, I’d be in good shape. The pain is fake. Smoooooooth. Smooth running on these nice runnable trails. Ugh a hill…
I saw 100k’ers heading to the turnaround and my notions of an absent chase pack were confirmed. I was pretty well set in 5th place and I figured at the very least I could hold this effort or slow down within my 20 minute buffer to get 12 hours flat and hold my place of 5th. It was nice to see all the other 100k participants, but I felt bad by not offering much encouragement. I just didn’t have the energy to respond with anything more than “thanks” or “nice work” or just “nice” or a mumbled “mehhh” as they passed.
The whole way to Grand Portage was pretty rough. I just didn’t feel good. I knew I had to run and was luckily running good, but it was not fun. I saw Bob and Lindsay at Grand Portage as I took some pretzels, coke and gummi bears. Luckily they had cups there. The coke was delicious. I ran off quickly, barely noticing Lindsay holding their newborn baby! As I entered the solemn woods once again I felt bad about not stopping or barely acknowledging them and their new baby. Gah, I just got my head down… Oh well, down to business here.
The big climb out of Grand Portage was actually very welcome. The change in pace, literally, felt nice. I wasn’t power hiking very fast but making my way up good enough, and the change-up of terrain made running at the top just a bit easier. I ate a gel and had a bit of a second wind. The sun was coming out after being pretty cloudy all day. Not that that was necessarily good… I had been sweating all day. I squirted myself with my water bottle and it felt great. Up ahead, I saw Braun. Ooo! There we go. After some tough miles after the turnaround I was in survival mode. I had a pretty big buffer on my time goal, so let’s get it. I slowly reeled Ryan in and when he sensed me nearby he immediately pulled to the side and let me pass. I thought that was strange. I chit chatted a little bit, and he said he was pretty drained after getting a cold earlier in the week. Dang. What a bummer. Ryan had done a 11:32 and an 11:31 in the past two years at Wild Duluth 100k for 1st and 2nd place, respectively. He knew how to race this thing and was frankly my biggest concern competition-wise before race morning. It’s a bummer he wasn’t able to compete at the same level he was accustomed to at this race, but that is how life goes. I made the pass and after a few minutes, looked back to see nothing and nobody. That provided me with a little jolt and I was back. I was back! Keep it up, Mike. You are doing great. You are fuckin’ doing awesome Mike. I was talking myself up. It kind of fell on deaf ears and I couldn’t help but feel tired, depleted, sore and ready to be done. But I knew I still had juice in my legs and they kept churning. It was turning out to be a completely beautiful day, the sun shining through the fall leaves. Colors were amplified at the vast overviews atop Saint Louis River bluffs. With a series of switchbacks and a climb ahead, I heard my name. “GO MIKE!” I responded “Brandon?” I knew it was him. I saw him walking with his trekking poles. I jogged up steps carved into the hillside to catch up, and chatted with him a bit. He seemed eager to talk. He said he was dragging a little bit but still well on target for his 13 hour finish. I said he’d be on track for 12. He said he wasn’t but for sure under 13. OK. I wished him well and continued on ahead of him, running out in front. He kept talking and I felt kind of bad leaving him in the dust. It’s a race baby, and the pass gave me another little jolt. No time to chat, I had to exploit that boost of energy. Now where are these other two guys, I wondered. Brandon was now out of sight, and I tried to do some quick math. Was I still on track? Oh yeah, for sure. Is Brandon just factoring in some major slow down to get under 13 or am thinking wrong? I figured if I held 12 minutes per mile from here on out I’d get to mile 60 at like 11:40. That’s a super respectable finish time.
I felt pretty good and was happy about the terrain through Mission Creek. It was just variable enough to get a good mix of power hiking and running. Both felt decent, neither felt great. I nibbled on some gummis. I ate a salted carmel Gu and it was delicious. I wondered if I’d be hungry for pizza in an hour. I wasn’t hungry at all. Taking down a gel is one thing, slamming pizza is a totally different deal. It was good to be in a good mood. I thought about grabbing my trekking poles for the climb up Ely’s Peak. That means I’d need my vest. That may be a good switch-up. I didn’t mention anything to Emily, though, so they probably wouldn’t be prepared. Hmm. I’ll ask anyways. I knew I was close to the aid station, and very excited to see my crew, when I crossed over Beck’s Road. John Storkamp was the volunteer crossing guard, and in a brief pause for a vehicle to pass I asked how the field was looking. He said they were way up, maybe 20 minutes. Hmm. Ok.
I saw my mom in the woods before popping out to the aid station. She was yelling like crazy, very excited. I guess it was exciting… I’d passed two more people to scrape my way into third place. I yelled at her to get my poles from the car. She said they were there. When I sat down and started nibbling on a piece of pizza, I mentioned how I was really happy with my time so far and knew I could hold this pace and really happy with being in third place. My neighbors Pete and Susan and Clarence were there cheering me on. It was an energetic atmosphere. I was happy to see my poles and vest on the ground. Nice. Crew knows best! I instructed Emily to fill my two vest water bottles. An aid station volunteer took them from here right away and filled them up. Nice. I spent longer at this stop, taking time to drink fizzy water, mountain dew and gatorade. I was parched, as my handheld bottle had been emptied in the last section. The volunteer pushed me back out. “Ok it’s time you get back out there man!” Better not argue…
I went off, poles in hand. Oof, that’s was a rough transition. I felt like I could barely run, but eventually the wheels started rolling, I got momentum and ran it out on the Munger Trail towards Ely’s Peak. Light like a feather. During the toughest climb of the race course up Ely’s, I was breathing heavily. I felt OK, was thankful to have my poles, but when I got to the top and was able to run I couldn’t get the discomfort of the vest out of my mind. I had used this on all three of my long training runs, plus the two 34-milers with Joe. It didn’t bug me then! Were the straps off? I tried to fiddle with the straps a bit. It made no difference. Ugh, whatever. My underarms were already chafing from the singlet rubbing and I’d forgotten time and time again to apply some ointment to those trouble spots. My nipples were getting quite painful but not to the point where I could remember to address it at an aid station. So what’s a little rubbing from this pack on my shoulders? I just kept hammering up and over Ely’s.
The next mile split was well over 12 minutes. More like 15:00. Bad. Oh well, that’s why I had the buffer on my time. I knew the next 10 miles would be the most difficult on the whole course. That’s an objective statement… they’re just the hardest miles. Not to mention I was at mile 42 or so. 20 to go. If I could get to mile 50 feeling OK I knew I could hammer out the last bit faster than this bit. But I already didn’t feel OK. Although, I had experienced a little bit of a renaissance between Grand Portage and Ely’s Peak. My positivity waned with each mile towards the Magney aid station as every single split was over 12 minutes. I got close to 12 a couple times… maybe a 12:45 minute mile here or there. But those were met with some 15 minute miles. That won’t do it. I saw my buffer fade into oblivion with each mile. And each beep of the watch, I’d do math. 20 minutes up on my time. 15 minutes up on my time. 10 minutes up on my time. 9 minutes up on my time. It was still a buffer, but my trajectory was not looking good. I wondered if I’d see my crew at Magney. They had plenty of time to get from Ely’s to Magney, but from Magney to the bottom of Spirit Mountain is only two miles for me, and a difficult route for Emily and my mom in the car. With much more water on my back instead of in my hand, I ran through the Magney trailhead without stopping. I wasn’t hungry anyways. I saw Bruce, Brandon’s dad, with a familiar bag of Old Dutch dill pickle chips in his hand. He said Emily gave it to him for me. I declined his offer and ran off. It was a rough looking run though. Only two miles, all downhill, to Spirit. Make it Mike. Make up some time baby. Let’s do it. You’re doing great. You’re doing it. Keep it up. I’m so lucky to be out here. This is great. Fuck this. I hate this. I’m dead. My legs are fucked.
I ate another gel and snacked on a gummi or two, then strategized a bit. It was a big uphill climb out of Spirit Mountain. I should keep the poles, despite my slow going with them and the pack. This stupid pack was rubbing so bad but I didn’t even care. It wasn’t painful. It would have been, and should have been, but any and all pain was being compressed and shoved away. Eat some food at Spirit. Climb up and out of Spirit and you can make up time on the way to Highland Getchell. From Highland, it’s pretty runnable. If I can feel good at Highland I can run it in for the most part. What do I need to do to get there? Eat food.
I sat at Spirit and ate a waffle. I shoved another gel in my pack, then drank mountain dew and some big slugs of gatorade. Emily said that the two guys up front were duking it out. She thought one guy passed the other, and the one guy had asked her exasperatingly how much farther. Psh, a long way bro! So someone was hurting… I left quickly, but not without mentioning I’d drop the pack and poles at Highland Getchell. The climb up Spirit was brutal and with a lot of walking. I hiked up and up. I knew it’d be slow. I remembered it from the way down. It was slow. My mile splits were not encouraging. My buffer further minimized. I made OK time on the back side of Spirit, though. Just keep moving. Where is that guy?
I tried to recall the specific point when my watched beeped 10 miles. It was a specific point… oh yes, Cody Street! That was my benchmark. I could do that last stretch in two hours for sure. Where was I? Close. I kept checking my watch over and over as I thought I got closer to the Munger Trail. The 10 hour mark got closer and closer and I knew I was getting closer and closer to Cody Street. Then from the Munger Trail, under the I-35 freeway, it was maybe 5 or 10 minutes to Cody Street. I popped at onto the Munger at 10 hours flat. I was just over 50 miles. My buffer had minimized from 20 minutes at mile 40 at Ely’s Peak to 4 minutes. I tried to run faster to get to Cody Street at a good time. I saw a runner up ahead. I’ve been pacing this whole thing for 12 minutes per mile, 5 miles per hour, which equates to 12 hours for 60 miles. But wait, this is a 100k race. That’s supposed to be 62 miles. My GPS was indicating that it’d be closer to just over 61 miles. That means my 12 hours estimate has been wrong this whole time. Oh no. It was completely demoralizing. Not only have I lost 15 minutes in the last 10 miles, but I desperately needed that 15 minutes to get under 12 hours. At this point, I’m not 4 minutes up on that magic 12 hour finish time, I’m over 10 minutes down if I keep doing 12 minutes per mile. Crap. I started thinking about how I’d frame this… I’d post on Facebook how I didn’t meet my primary goal, how I didn’t meet my secondary goal of a sub-12 hour finish, but had a great race and did as well as I could. I put it all out there. I can’t go any faster right now, so… that’s the story. I was happy to know that I was about a mile out from the next aid station, where I’d get to see my crew again. And I’d get to drop this god damn pack and poles. They suck. So keep on running. You’re doing great Mike. How awesome is this that you’re doing so well. I tried to force my brain to be positive. My legs did keep churning forward, so maybe the mental positivity did work. But it was kind of fake, because I would just as quickly revert to negativity and dread, an overwhelming desire to stop.
As I strongly anticipated the upcoming aid station, I saw a shadow up ahead. I actually sniffed, as in smelling blood in the water. There he is. Time to crank. I sprinted ahead, a major jolt of energy out of nowhere. The guy who was leading at the turnaround was walking, and I ran up the hill, blazing past him in a blur. It felt great, so strong and forceful. He’s not passing me again. Nobody is. I’m up here in second place now. The excitement was still with me as I ran into the Highland Getchell aid station. I was so excited to get the vest off of my back, and I dropped them with my poles, took my handheld water bottle back, now stuffed with enough food to bring me to the finish. Emily told me the guy in first place was way up and looking really good. He was 17 minutes ahead of me. Oof, that’s a big gap. She said “sorry hun”. I waved my hand at her. Oh well, I figured that sort of time would win the race. This guy put together a good race. Good for him. I was pretty sure it was Tyler, who had never run a ultramarathon race before. It’s gotta be him. Nice work guy. I made a brief stop at the food table to grab some gummi bears. I ran off, excited to be in second place and close this race out. I knew it was relatively easier running from here on out and I would be able to hold a decent pace. I still had some juice in my legs, but the uphills would sap me. It was really hard to get back running once I’d stopped. I felt a pre-cramp feeling on the insides of both of my upper thighs, especially when I was power hiking. Would my inner thighs actually cramp? That would be bad. At a boardwalk, I hopped up and my calf almost cramped. It was that pre-cramp feeling. Yikes. That’s a close call. My calf felt like it was on the absolute fringe of an all out cramp. I told myself “relaxed”. “Smooth and relaxed. Run smoooooth and relaxed.” So that’s what I did. But any small hill would stop me nearly dead in my tracks. My hike was slow. But once I got going, especially on a slight downhill, I could roll.
I was at about 10:20 race time out of Highland Getchell. 17 minutes is impossible to close, Emily said it all with the solemn “sorry hun”. But now it was a race of the clock. 9 miles in 1:40 is… hard. I tried to calculate based off of my magic goal pace of 12 minutes per mile. 9 miles takes 1:48. So I need to shave off… about one minute per mile. Let’s get it. I went into overdrive mode. I had told myself all day that once I get to mile 50 I can let ‘er rip and just go. Well, here I am in second place, having moved steadily through the field with my “Race Your Own Race” strategy, on the cusp of going under 12 hours. It was going to be extremely close regardless. I tried to make good on the runnable sections of trail, but would get stymied by any little hill. My power hiking was slow, and it would take precious time and effort to get back going again. Come on, keep pushing keep pushing keep running, run run run. Run Mike. Run right here. I’d push off of a tree to get some forward momentum. My mile splits were OK, but not good enough. High 11’s. Some low 11’s. I was clicking them off. I got a little turned around atop Brewer Park with the zig zagging mountain bike trails and a reroute. I got back on course and tried to sprint down Brewer. I made good time, but was once again stymied under the Haines Road bridge. I just couldn’t run up the hill! Crap, I’m losing time. Each mile was enough to keep the dream alive, but not enough to be comfortable at all. Let’s get it, Mike. Come on, you can get 12 hours. I really didn’t want to not meet either of my goals. To have the goal to win is stupid because you can’t control who signs up and what sort of shape they are in. But the goal to go under 12 hours is all me. Regardless, they were both goals for this race and I was close to meeting at least one of them. Come ON Mike, let’s GO! I pushed hard. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. I didn’t feel depleted, full, or anything besides tired. But I was fortunate enough to be able to run on any slight downhill. So when I saw them, I took advantage.
Piedmont came and went, check that off. I sprinted down the steep decline, jolted across Skyline, then down down down across some boardwalks. This section was mostly downhill so I anticipated making up some good time, but there were no incredible mile splits here. A few more in the 11 minute range. Good enough, but not great. I really looked forward to the flat section and brief road run getting into Lincoln Park. I thought I was close, just around the corner. Nope. Right over this hill right? Nope. When I get there it’s like a mile to the aid station. Get there Mike. Boom, there it is. I ran it out, passing a 50k’er or two in the process. I sensed the final aid station was close so expended some extra effort, all adrenaline at this point, to get there. I ran up the hill away from Miller Creek. If I could get to the aid station at 11:30 race time, I could make three 10 minute miles. I can do that to close it out. I can do it! I popped out at 24th Avenue West, crossed the road to the aid station. I planned on dropping my water bottle to go extra light. All I need is some gatorade and I’m off. No time to spare. I heard Emily yelling frantically and literally jumping up and down with her hands in the air. “GO GO GO!!! Mike, keep running, come on you can’t stop here!!!” Ok, that’s what I was planning on doing I guess… but when I got closer to her she yelled at me: “he’s right there! He’s walking, go get him! You got first place!” WHAAT? I was in utter disbelief. How did I make up 17 minutes? I thought he was in good shape at Highland Getchell? That was 6 miles ago, how can he fall apart that bad this close to the end? But it doesn’t matter… there he was. He was moving really, really slow. I chased him down. Wait, that’s a 50k runner. I passed the 50k runner. There Tyler is. I recognized his white jersey. He had a pacer. They were walking. I was running. Running hard, actually.
I’d been here before. In 2015, I was in 2nd place in no man’s land from mile 15 to mile 28 in the 50k race. I somehow caught up to the first place guy, saw him at the final aid station, but he ran away from me and I couldn’t respond. I wasn’t going to let this happen this time. I want it too bad. I got juice left in the tank. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My head buzzed a bit. The adrenaline rush was intense. So I picked up the pace even more as his pacer glanced behind him. I made a decisive pass. Tyler congratulated me. I didn’t say anything. I heard his mom, presumably, driving on Skyline Road within shouting distance. She yelled at Tyler “he’s in the 100k!!” I was completely within earshot, just 10 feet ahead of Tyler and his pacer. He yelled back “I don’t care.” Well, if that how he feels… and I sprinted into the woods as hard as I possibly could.
I was in first place. Holy crap. How did that happen?? What an incredible racing experience to fall behind at mile 3, run alone in 8th place until mile 22 or so, then just move through the field one by one by one until mile 58. The adrenaline carried me up to Enger Tower. I didn’t walk, somehow summoning the energy to trot up the hill. There were kids at the peace bell but I just had to ring it. I asked them if I could but didn’t wait for them to respond. They moved aside as I jammed my hand against the pole. Then I set off on a dead sprint. It’s all down from here and I can roll three fast miles. I know I can. I have to. I’d crossed the 24th Ave West aid station at 11:30 flat. Three 10 minute miles is all it takes. I recited Drake lyrics in my mind: “I want it all, half was never part of the agreement.” I want both my goals. I spent the whole race thinking it wouldn’t happen and here it is, well within my grasp. I sprinted downhill further and further. Across 3rd Street, Across 1st Street. I was going almost too fast for my brain to process the rocks and roots. But that wasn’t because it was actually too fast, it was because I was actually too tired. I knew if I could get to Superior Street with 10 minutes to spare I could run it in. It’s flat pavement from there. Unless my calf cramps on the hard pavement. Yikes. It was so close to cramping, I could just feel it right there. But I popped out to Superior Street, sprinted across and over the freeway bridge with 10 minutes to spare. I was going to do it. I kept pushing down the path, across Railroad Street, onto the bike path that I ran with Andy and the whole rest of the 100k field 12 hours prior. A few turns into Bayfront, a glance at my watch and I knew I’d have the sub-12 hour finish. The adrenaline had never left and when I thought about that seemingly impossible finish time the hair on the back of my neck stood up, my head buzzed, and I knew I’d give a big yell at the finish line.
I had a cheering squad at the finish, and Andy was there to give me a hug. Then I yelled. My watch said 11:56, I was jacked up. I couldn’t believe the finish. Just unbelievable.
I waited for Tyler, Ryan and Brandon to finish. Tyler was a skier, new to the area and a Saint Scholastica student. I told him he had some serious potential. He was he wasn’t really trying to win or anything, just wanted to check out the trail community and try something new. He pacer said they walked the last 7 miles. Ouch.
I was painfully sore, and my mind went to the next day. I left absolutely nothing in the tank for the Terribly Tough 10k. My legs were shot. Luckily, there were no injuries that I could discern, just extreme full body soreness and pain, especially in my legs, obviously.
At home, I took a shower and finished it off by standing up, turning the water all the way cold and standing with the front of my legs and the back of my legs towards the water for about 5 minutes. Then back to warm. Then compression socks. Then food. I couldn’t really eat. I had an array of drinks but couldn’t seem to drink enough to replenish the dehydration. Like I was kept forgetting to drink. My head was so buzzed up from the win and the whole race day that I wasn’t tired even by 10pm. I had woken up well before 5am. Ugh. My alarm was to go off at 8:20am the next day. I tossed and turned all night.
The next morning, I woke up well before my alarm. Emily got up first and I rolled around a little bit. I was for sure sore. But it didn’t seem like anything would be of serious concern for the 10k race. I was curious if I could push or if the body would say no. I noticed some strange specific pains. My second smallest toe on my right side. Shoulders from pack rubbing. Underarms from jersey rubbing. Left back of heel. Calves. Hamstrings. Quads. Hips. Butt. I stood up and stretched a bit, went to the ole foam roller, and it actually felt good to press on my muscles a bit. The foam roller, as always, works out all kinks and I already felt way better than the previous night. Even after the cold shower I was so sore, but this morning I was loosening out really well. This may just happen. I’m gonna go for it, I thought to myself. I told Emily I thought I’d go for it. We agreed to get takeout coffee and bagels, I gathered my stuff together and we headed back to the Munger aid station, the Superior Hiking Trail trailhead at 123rd Avenue and Beck’s Road where the inaugural Terribly Tough was going to start. During the car ride, my legs stiffened up and I was pretty uncomfortable by the time we parked.
Looking at the start list, I knew I could win on fresh legs. Racing the NMTC series prepares you extremely well for a 3-6 mile all-out effort on challenging and tough trails. But what about super trashed legs… I figured I would warm up a little bit and just see how things feel. I got out of the car, walked it off, checked in and used the restroom. I went back to Emily’s car to roll out my legs a bit more with the 1″ PVC pipe section I’d brought. That felt good, and I felt good. Good considering the circumstances.
Emily walked out with me, took my clothes and said she’d meet me at Spirit Mountain. Then she left. I was in a little bit of an unconventional race outfit. First of all, I couldn’t stand to turn my ankles anymore. I was deathly afraid of my ankle tendons being so inflamed that they couldn’t hold my foot in place and I’d roll my ankle even more often. I couldn’t take that! So I taped my feet like crazy. It initially hurt because of the tape pulling on my skin and leg hair but that was a non-factor once I started warming up. I put on compression socks, my “old” mikeward.cool jersey, and half tights, which I’d never really run in, let alone raced in. Finally, I had the same handheld at the previous day. It was a little damp. Gross. But nothing in it besides water in the bottle.
With 10 minutes or so to the start, I tried running. All systems go. I saw Brandon and his running partner Sam, who’d run the 50k the day before, on the Munger Trail and so we jogged a bit. Brandon was running good despite the 100k. Sam was too. They were both planning to complete the 10k with their wives at a slower pace than their speediest potential. We turned around right before the rocky entrance to Ely’s Peak. I really thought I could run this thing at a decent clip. Would I crash and burn majorly at mile 1? Who knows.
Lining up at the start, I saw Schuney and Greg Haapala right up front. Andy made some pre-race announcements and before long, he yelled “Ready, Set, GO!!” through the megaphone. We ran up the little gravel entrance to Munger Trail, took a right, and hit the pavement for a quarter mile. I sprinted out front right away. Why? I do not know. Why do I have to start hot every single time?? I just wanted to see. I glanced behind me at the railroad bridge and Schuney was right there with me. I might not be able to take the trails or any elevation… might as well bank some time on the flat pavement. A hard left onto the rocks and I just hopped on up and scrambled up and up and up. So far so good. No implosions. Feels normal. Weird! But oh, I was breathing heavy. Nothing like that the day before at all.
I made it atop Ely’s peak, past quite a few bystanders, feeling really good. I made the scramble pretty quickly and even though I was breathing super heavy and my heart rate was probably jacked, I still had juice to run on the flats. I hopped around the rocks on the top of Ely’s and it was really fun. Dang, how is this happening! I didn’t feel frustrated with the trails, the rocks weren’t bothering me. The excessive ankle taping seemed to holding up fine. I felt solid! My watch’s first mile beep confirmed that with a time under 10 minutes. I noticed Dave behind me. But eventually he was gone. Hmm! The rocky section on top of Ely’s came and went, now into the woods. On to Bardon’s Peak. The day was utterly perfect. Beautiful temperature in the morning, ample sunshine. The trail was dry, nicely stamped down from the day before. Low wind, it just seemed that the trail was more visible than the day before. I was zooming. It felt really fast and really fun. That gave me a jolt.
I could jump up rocks and do small technical scrambles just fine, and there are plenty of them, but had issues with the longer inclines. Those sapped me a few times. I just tried to churn my feet up any hills. I knew that was slow going, though. My second mile was further under 10 minutes. The miles were clicking off fast. Wow, almost half way! It’s like my mind was still on ultramarathon mode. I just kept pushing. Nobody was in sight. Keep going man. You got this. Still talking to myself…
I knew intimately that the last tough hill is up the spur trail to the Magney trailhead, the aid station from Wild Duluth. It was again set up as an aid station. I blitzed it and tried to open up on the gravel of Skyline Boulevard. Up a bit, then down. I sure opened up. It did feel good. I was in disbelief. This was an interesting test in the human capacity. How does the damage-repair cycle work? It makes me think about multi-day efforts like…… what else…… a Superior Hiking Trail thru-hike.
A drop right off of Skyline led me down, down and down all the way to Spirit Mountain. I figured I could go fast since it’s very much downhill, but the rocks, technicality and narrow, sharp turns were just impossible. That is just slow running terrain! My energy levels were pretty even. I was certain I could have been faster on fresh legs but I was running pretty good on super tired legs. Every mile was under 10 minutes so far, and every subsequent mile I had hoped to get under 9. Nope. Mile 5 was 9:55. Crap. I said “Crap” to myself out loud. But I was winning the race, all boardwalks from here on out. The time was flying by and the race was almost over. That was fine by me, although I was having great fun. The 100k was not all fun, that’s for sure.
Just like Andy promised, I saw the finish line well before getting there, and seemingly passed it. Mark was at the final turn and I sprinted down the gravel road down towards the lower chalet at Spirit Mountain. I saw my crew once again, Emily and my mom, but this time they didn’t see me on the course the whole time. They had no idea where I was at. I crossed the finish line, happy to be done.
I just stopped on a dime, got a hatchet, another champion bottle, and a mug. That’s a lot to hold. I set it all down to take off my jersey. It was really hurting my nipples and my underarms.
And just like that, the odyssey of running 110 kilomters in a weekend was over. Holy crap, the Ultimate Wildman Challenge can be done.
Wild Duluth 100k
Terribly Tough 10k
Shoes: Brooks Cascadia 13 size 12.5 (100k), Nike Wildhorse (10k)
Handheld: Nathan 19oz insulated
Vest: Ultimate Direction FKT Jurek
28 Sep 2019
Trip Plan: Drive to Superior Hiking Trail Rossini Road Trailhead, run ~38 miles back to my house (.3 miles off the SHT), grab my bike and take a road/gravel route ~36 miles back to my car.
Start Time: Thursday, September 26, 2019 – 7:55am
- Run 7:52:08
- Transition: 0:13:00
- Bike: 2:12:08
This was the second adventure day that I dreamed up early on in the summer. I got the St. Louis River paddling trip in the books months ago, and this intense duathlon idea was looming. I knew I would have to wait until after the NorthShore Inline Marathon (of which I am race director… therefore low sleep, high work hours, no time for cool adventures), and when that wrapped up I was eager to pick a day and go. However, daylight was a serious concern and every day I waited meant a higher chance of being caught in the dark at some point.
With Wild Duluth 100k on the horizon, and training going really well, I questioned something like this. On one hand, what better simulation than 40 miles on the SHT? On the other hand, training is like digging a hole and filling it back up. A tough training effort is a bigger hole and takes more time, sleep, recovery, to fill it back in and get back to “normal”. The Rossini Duathlon would require digging a real deep hole. But I knew I wanted to do it so what the heck??
I saw my opening on Thursday. Not really thinking of my Wild Duluth training plan at large, I had Thursday on my mind and worked my week around accordingly. I wanted to make sure I had all my personal life stuff in order (work, chores, dogs). With that in place I was ready to go! The night before was the infamous NMTC Fall Wednesday Night Trail Series race at Brown’s Point in Superior. 8k of steep ups and downs on mostly ski trail. I had an exceptional race after two kind of crappy weeks of getting passed mercilessly, and chalked it up to really focusing on sleep. I’d slept 11 hours a piece Monday and Tuesday. I felt normal soreness Wednesday night and when I woke up Thursday.
I questioned even going… I lamented to Emily and she didn’t really have a good answer. Oh well, stick to the plan, I thought. My hamstrings were the most sore, right up by my butt from holding sub-7 pace on trails for over 4.5 miles. That Wednesday trail race was a tax on the body for sure. I felt late all morning but got out to the coffee shop for various bagels and coffee, and was up to Rossini Road before 8am.
First steps out of the car… sore hamstrings. Crap. I’ll really have to focus on recovering these hamstrings this week, I told myself. I had to be reassuring: after today I have most of my miles in for the week and so plenty of time to do stretches and strength work and foam rolling. But the fear was real. What if I really mess my body up? All this training and planning for Wild Duluth down the drain. What if I can’t finish this run? Jeez, 40 miles is a really long way. What am I thinking? Who can I call to pick me up when I bail? It was a cool 37 degrees according my van’s thermometer, but I felt pretty comfortable in just a short sleeve tech shirt. I neglected to bring poles, and thought about 12 minute pace as a rough target. Despite the negative thoughts right off the bat, I mostly walked up to 12 Mile View in no time, feeling great.
The morning was simply pristine. Perfectly beautiful. A textbook fall day. How fortunate am I to be able to spend this whole lovely day out here? I now remember interviewing Adam Schwartz-Lowe for The Duluth Rundown podcast as he described gratefulness as a mental strategy to keep going during a 100 mile race. That really works. It was pretty hard not to be grateful… I can’t stress enough how overwhelmed I was by the beauty of the fall day!
I was surprised how fast I got to the Big Bend campsite. I remembered hiking home from this campsite in 2016 as I trained for that year’s thru-hike. I also remember during the thru-hike itself getting rained out in the night. I looked at that tent pad that flooded me out years ago. Nobody was camping, I wondered how many people I’d see today. For now, just me and the tweety birds. I wasn’t quite at 5 miles when the first hour struck. Therefore, a bit down on my goal pace. But I was feeling really smooth. The trail was perfect for running. Dry, kind of tacky, not so overgrown as I thought it might be. I was rolling. I hit Fox Farm Road trailhead and was kind of sad to leave the section between there and Rossini. I could run that piece endlessly. It’s just perfect trail running terrain.
On the ridges out of Fox Farm Road, I saw a backpacker. He stopped me, grasping for my name. “You’re… you’re… what’s your name?” I said Mike. He said he was Carl, he helped me out at NorthShore just a couple days back. Then it struck me and it came flooding back. He is Anne Hyopponen’s brother and we chatted a bit. He said that Anne and her husband Dave (who I have raced with many times) told him I’d be out here. Here I am! It was a funny coincidence, and cool to see a fellow lightweight backpacker. He was going from Martin Road all the way north to Canada, testing some gear for the PCT along the way. We crossed paths and were on our way. I looked down at my watch. Cripes, getting further and further down on pace. That is the trouble with an unsupported run… the clock don’t stop, and I need to filter water! I wondered if I’d see another thru-hiker, a gal going for a supported Fastest Known Time. Lacie is the name, she’s going northbound on the trail, and I figured I’d see her. I wonder where?
The miles kept clicking off and I felt good through 10 miles around the Fox Farm Pond campsite. I was working hard to scrape my way back to 12 minutes per mile average, but also keeping it smooth. It was the perfect temperature by this point, and I was focusing on eating food as not to fall behind on that. With a big mouth full of food, I realized my water stores were running low. I knew there was a creek before the Sucker River and aimed for that. I completely ran out of water before getting to the creek crossing and filtering water back into my two flasks. Boy, that makes the pack feel much heavier all the sudden! But on we go…
I ran it out to the North Shore State Trail, where there is a shelter near the Sucker River Bridge. I put my hands up in the air and yelled “Hello Sucker River!!!” as the breeze wafted through my armpits. Mmmm perfect. I was running good, making my way quickly through the terrain. I wondered if I’d see Lacie at the exact same spot I saw the last FKT completer – Austin – just south of the Sucker River campsite. I did see someone, just north of the Sucker River campsite. A gal was walking with perhaps just one trekking pole, nothing on her back, looking fresh like she was on a morning stroll. I wonder if that’s a camper at Sucker just going for the morning wakeup stroll? I barely said hello as I zoomed past through an entanglement of cedar roots adjacent to the Sucker River. It didn’t even strike me until hours later that this was the thru-hiker Lacie! That notion was confirmed much later on when I checked her tracking link. Crap! I wanted to spitball a bit with her, see who she was and her plan and how she was feeling. Oh well.
Hiking away from Sucker, it was time to lock and load. I was feeling a bit fatigued. Not bad, but definitely a feeling of needing to get into a rhythm, zone out and click off these miles. About a marathon left seemed daunting. I wasn’t afraid to walk up hills, and was running very quickly and efficiently on the many flat and slightly downhill sections. Running right on the fringe of 12 minutes per mile on average, I was definitely mindful of my pace and had a sense of urgency. Still, not afraid to walk up the hills. It’s a long day. My hamstrings were still sore with a tight feeling up by my butt. Ugh. They were no worse, though, and my feet, ankles, quads, back, everything else felt golden.
By the time I got to Heron Pond campsite with just a mile to get to Normanna Road, I was moving really good. This section is just so easy to run. I leaned forward, kept those legs churning and let my momentum and gravity do the work. I hit some fast miles coming into my estimated half way point at Normanna Road. Excellent. I didn’t know how to think about the remaining sections with many miles on snowmobile trail. Carl said he was happy that his shoes finally dried out. Would it really be that muddy and wet? When I took a right hand turn and passed over the French River bridge, I got a little taste of what was to come. Well I can certainly churn out fast miles on this stuff, I told myself. There just isn’t the steep inclines on the snowmobile trail like there is on the singletrack sections. And even those steep inclines are nothing compared to the other 250 miles of the Superior Hiking Trail. The anomaly of the SHT is between Duluth and Two Harbors where the trail cuts inland. I, however, love these sections and don’t think they get the love and respect they deserve.
Anyways, I saw plenty of 11’s flash on my watch as I cranked up and down the snowmobile sections, southbound to the Lester River. I told myself that if I could run in to the Lester bridge, up the ups and all, I’d be able to sit at the banks of the Lester and eat all the food I could and drink all the water I could and sit all I like. It was hard, though. I started getting the insurmountable fatigue… where you know there is nothing you can do to mitigate the pain and agony. Well, except stop running. There were plenty of instances where I made audible groans and grunts. Sometimes I’d step on a root or rock wrong and twist my ankle. OUCH! I’d yell. Or just simply a wave of pain… a dunk in the hurt tank. But it gets absorbed somehow. Yep, the final 15 miles would be a struggle. I wondered if this was too much? But I was feeling pretty good overall. The fatigue was starting to show itself in certain spots like my ankles, the bottoms of my feet, still in my hamstrings, quads were starting to feel it, the back liked to stretch out on the uphills… yep, I was feeling it. But I was motivated to finish strong and look back at my overall pace with contentment. So I kept running. There was very little walking, only when absolutely necessary, leading up to the Lester River. I was so sick of itchy plants on my legs. Even though I could move good on the snomo trails, this section sucks. I tried to tell myself it was a unique section, cool trails that are underutilized. But the bottom line is that the snowmobile trail sections go on forever!
I was so happy to get to Lismore Road. I felt like I was really dragging ass at this point. I had no lift. I don’t think I could have run under a 9 minute pace if my life depended on it. But I could run 10:30 pace on the flat road endlessly. I saw a few backpackers through the previous section. The sun was high in the sky and I was sweating. I again ran out of water having not collected any since before the Sucker River. I wasn’t really hungry and probably wasn’t eating enough food, but would catch back up at Lester by eating all my pizza. I felt so stupid even bringing it. These two massive slices had been up against my back for hours and hours. I could have subsisted on exercise food until the transition zone at home, and then ate pizza. Instead I carried along these heavy pizza slices for hours and hours and miles without taking a nibble.
I was so happy to see the shelter at Lester River. I crossed the bridge, scoping out a good spot to collect water. I went under the bridge, filled my bottles, chugged a lot of water, took everything out of my pack to kind of reorganize, and ate one of two slices of pizza. I couldn’t eat the other one. I also looked at my handy distance calculator to see where I was at. Home looked to be about 12 miles away. That seemed like nothing. And that excited me. I rested at Lester just like I told myself I could.
The legs were slow going getting up from the riverside rock I was sitting on. I told myself I could walk it out for a while, to digest and get the wheels back turning, but looking at my watch I understood that I had fallen way behind on my pace. 5 miles per hour/12 minutes per mile was utterly out the window. Oh well. It didn’t seem like I was sitting for that long but 10 minutes goes by in a snap when you are dead tired. It was business as usual from here, run whenever possible and walk when I have to. I was definitely able to keep pace with some 10 minute miles, many 11 minute miles, and some 12’s. Every now and again I’d need to walk up a hill. There weren’t many, but some miles in the 13 and 14 range. I didn’t even bat an eye at those…. but the 10’s jacked me up. Let’s go!
Before long I was back onto the snowmobile trail, across Prindle Road, Billy’s Bar came and went, UMD Farm a blink of the eye and I knew I was moving real good. I got to Martin Road in no time at all. Yes. The worst is over, all downhill to get home… I made a mistake right across Martin Road and thought the trail went into the ditch. I was in a swamp and said “forget this!” and backtracked to the road. I then realized the road was the correct route indeed. Stupid. On the road and gravel parking lot, I probably looked like a senior citizen. I was hunched over, probably had the lean going on, creaky old legs somehow churning forward. It was survival mode for sure. The relatively fast snowmobile trail miles seemed to have taken their toll, but probably not any more or less than the 20 miles on singletrack to start the day off. I knew I’d finish this baby up well under 8 hours. It was my goal now to get home, do what I need to do to set off on the bike, and actually start biking by 4pm, about 8 hours from when I started off this morning. I planned out what I’d do: let the dogs out, drink a lot of water mixed with powdered exercise drink mix, maybe use the restroom, feed the dogs a scoop, repack my pack. Should I wear the pack on the bike? Hmm. I still had about two hours to figure that one out.
I hit a wall in the Amity sections. It’s just so rugged… I had to sit down. Not good. I realized at this point that I didn’t have anything left for the bike at all. I still had 5 miles to go, one hour left, a couple tough hills in Hartley, and a huge 36 mile ride on my modified singlespeed gravel bike. How would I do that? It seemed impossibly daunting. Maybe I’d just skip it… No, how could I do that? I’ve come this far. This whole deal is about the adventure duathlon. No way I wouldn’t set off on the bike. But seriously, how would I be able to do the bike? I was dead tired. I dragged my throbbing legs to Vermilion Road and forced them to rotate in a rhythmic motion once again. Just like a steam train getting it’s rotors going, start slow and eventually they’ll be moving ’round and ’round. On the gravel road, I got up to speed and was pleasantly surprised by my ability to roll. The technical trail and uphills were killing me but I could hang on the flat road. Just like a steam engine… legs go ’round and ’round and ’round.
I got into Hartley and struggled on the singletrack once again. Ugh, so hard. I decided to eat my second piece of pizza while hiking up the steeps in Hartley Park. It was not an appetizing slice and my stomach wasn’t feeling great. I tried to eat it all but just couldn’t chew the crust. I slammed most of the huge slice but out of frustration chucked the other bits into the woods. Not the best example of Leave No Trace but I was not going to uncrumple my plastic wrap and rewrap a half slice of old crusty pizza just to throw it in the trash at my house. Enjoy the ‘za, animals of Hartley.
I was elated to get to Hartley Road. The hardest was behind me, I told myself. I cruised on the wide and buffed out trail leading to Arrowhead Road. Up into Bagley and the running felt good. Bagley is a gem of Duluth… the wide and soft trail is such a treat to run. And I was running good for being well over 35 miles for the day. I was still about a mile, 12 minutes or so, off of 5mph average. When I got to the big hill in Bagley, it almost stopped me in my tracks. I arched my back, and tried to maintain a speedy cadence of power hiking. I didn’t have it. My stumps, formerly legs, could barely churn forward. I had to audibly voice my disdain with the trail conditions. “BRUTAL,” I muttered, exasperated. “This hill is brutal.” Once to the top, no time to dilly dally, get those legs moving again. I ran down the backside, ran through the parking lot, and ran through UMD towards Chester Park, my home trail. I was nearing one mile to go and my watch was over 37 miles.
Perhaps it was adrenaline, but I ran quickly through Chester. I hit a sub-10 minute mile. This had to have been my fastest one. Crazy. I ran past a couple off-leash dogs and it made me fume a bit. I wasn’t in a great mood at this point. Tired. The next dog ran beside me and I yelled at the dog and it’s owner. The guy asked me if I wanted to go. Umm what?? We had a yelling match, he told me to chill, told me who cares, I said it’s illegal, I said he’s being disrespectful to me. No way to come to a mutual understanding. I ran away. Hips forward, legs churning, I made it to the bottom of Chester, up the steps to 6th Street and over to my house in no time.
I almost collapsed out of exhaustion. My feet were so tender as I putzed around, putting my plan in action. Dogs out, drink the drink, put the stuff away, get the thingy. My brain was foggy. I sat down to put on my bike shoes and yelped in pain as hip tweaked in a direction I wasn’t used to. My legs had been doing the exact same motion for nearly 8 hours and that’s all they knew by now. It was rough. I again questioned how I would complete this adventure, but went through the motions to complete the task. I hobbled up the back steps with my bike, ready to take off. I barely was able to mount my bike but realized when my butt hit the seat that I still had my running shorts on. No way I’m doing 35+ miles in these short shorts. I set out my bike shorts many hours ago but forgot to put them on. ARGH! It was almost too much to handle, but I set my bike down, went back inside and changed my shorts. The dogs were mad at me for leaving, just like that, and I apologized profusely. I think that was it… what else would I need? Last chance… I ended up taking my vest, now refilled with water. Snacks accessible, some in my bike bag, phone in my bike bag for pictures, I was ready to roll for sure this time.
I started up 11th Avenue, a very steep grade. Just perfect. My legs were fatigued for sure, and it hurt to put pressure on my feet as well as pressure on my butt. Once I got off of the avenue to the flat street, it was a sweet relief. Coasting felt great. The wind in my face, the zero impact. Ohhh, beautiful. This was going to happen. I tried to break up the remainder of the ride, the remainder of the epic adventure duathlon, into manageable chunks. Once I get out of town, up this huge damn hill, onto Jean Duluth Road I’d be smooth sailing. Then it’s an intimidating stretch from the end of Jean Duluth Road up to Fox Farm Road. Once I hit Fox Farm, it’s some fun gravel about 10 miles to Two Harbors Road. When I get to Two Harbors Road I am home free. I can gut it out from there, I don’t care what condition I’m in. I had it all planned out. The biggest threat was probably not my body or nutrition or fatigue, but a mechanical issue with my bike. I was concerned about the front skewer holding my wheel in. It sounded loose. I’d tightened it up before heading out, but it seemed loose again. I could just hear it… like the front wheel was moving around ever so slightly in its fork. Plus, I was riding the makeshift singlespeed setup. I had purchased a new chain and rear derailleur but forgot about the cable. Out of frustration, I just said I’d rock the singlespeed. Maybe permanently. Riding on 8th Street, I was holding good speed and the gear I did have seemed to be the perfect one. If I could make it up 11th Avenue out from my house, and get up to 22 miles per hour on 8th Street, I’d be good to go.
As I made my way to Jean Duluth Road, the starting and stopping and thinking involved with riding with traffic was frustrating. It was great to get to the open road of Jean Duluth. Just stay off to the side, don’t get hit, crank away and this thing will all be over soon, I told myself. I felt really pretty good once I hit Glenwood, Martin Road, Stokke’s and the soccer fields, Billy’s Bar, Breeze Inn, then up some hills getting way out of town. The hills were tough with the single speed. The downhills were glorious and I didn’t feel pressured to try and get speed, I would just coast. And I could get going at a nice clip on the flats.
The ride was going smooth as I hit 5 miles in about 20 minutes, and 15 miles in an hour with ease. I took it slow and easy on Normanna Road past the SHT parking lot, on the way up to Fox Farm Road. I didn’t want a motorist to put an end to my trip, and felt uneasy on the very small shoulder with vehicles zinging by me. I tried to sit up a bit and pay attention. As I shifted my position, I realized that no position was comfortable at all. I’d stand up to stretch, my feet would scream. The clip and pedal dug into the ball of my right foot exactly where I smashed it 200,000 times today on the trail. My butt was sore on the exact spot I needed to sit on. My back needed to stretch out. I was probably three inches shorter after impacts of the long day on foot. Then my triceps, shoulders and arms gave out. I couldn’t hold myself up on the bike. What I would do for some aero bars so I could just rest on my elbows… They weren’t in pain. But I had no aerobars so my triceps will have to do!
I was certain Fox Farm Road was right around the corner on several occasions. Around the next corner, and I could finally see it. Is that it? I saw a vehicle with a huge cloud of dust behind it and knew that was the gravel. I didn’t recognize the foreshadowing of the huge dust cloud. I was grateful for the change of scenery and surface as I got onto the gravel of Fox Farm Road. This road is just fun to travel on. Lots of logging activity, you feel like you’re really out there. I suppose that’s because you are really out there! The gravel road was one step away from pavement and very hard. Not very rocky or loose at all. I could crank just as fast as on the pavement, so that’s what I did.
I heard a vehicle come from behind me, and was disappointed in the dust cloud trailing it. Dust got in my eyes and my mouth, and I could barely see where I was going. Don’t fall, don’t fall, I told myself. I probably should keep eating, I said, so grabbed the blueberry waffle and scarfed it down. That tasted good. As I was chewing, another sound from behind me. This one was a massive dump truck. Oh, great. The cloud was especially large, but I used my eyelashes as a filter and kept my mouth closed. Not so bad. Keep cranking. I was moving good along Fox Farm Road and eager to get to the end. As fun as this road is to travel along, it goes on forever. I started getting anxious, bored, ready to be done. I could summon the leg strength to push hard, but it definitely hurt to do so. I few times I lost my momentum by just coasting. Too tired. What a waste. A few more cars passed. The sun disappeared and clouds moved in. It was still a perfect temperature out, and I did make sure to regale in the stunning scenery of Fox Farm Road. A few more turns in the road, a few more straightaways, a fun little downhill and I passed the Fox Farm Road trailhead on the Superior Hiking Trail. I told myself that I was close to the end now. By the time it took me to think that thought, there it was. My brain wasn’t working at 100% capacity. I remembered distinctly the route, as it’s easy to get lost in these backroads. Left on Two Harbors Road, left on Laine Road, left on Rossini Road. I took the Two Harbors Road. Just that turn gave me a little jolt of energy, as this was the point that I’d thought about all day being the home stretch. Nothing could stop me now.
I didn’t fully realize the grind ahead, though. I made good time on Two Harbors Road as it seemed to be mostly downhill. The bike was holding up… my trusty machine. Beautiful. I still had water and felt full. Well, full enough. Laine Road came quickly and I had a few miles of pavement before getting onto the gravel again. I didn’t realize while driving this morning, but Laine Road was all uphill. A vehicle passed me, and I watched it disappear in the distance, motoring up a huge hill on the horizon. I have to go up THAT?? So I pushed and pushed on the pedals, trying to get some momentum a mile out from this looming hill. I had to stand on my tender feet to crest the bump. I knew I was close and the pain had all but subsided… just survival now. I hit two hours on the bike, over 30 miles in. I was very pleased with my speed thus far. I’d thought many hours earlier of my lack of bike miles in the previous month. It turns out that was not an issue. And I cranked away.
Atop the massive hill on Laine Road, I finally was able to peer down the other side and felt relieved to see a downhill slope. I rode it out, happy with coasting on the firm gravel.
I kept on pedaling, ’round and ’round, and was feeling pretty positive at this point. Wow, I’m definitely going to do it. I didn’t think it’d happen. Well, I kind of knew it’d happen but there was definitely the element of fear and uncertainty as I drove this same road over 10 hours ago. I saw the signs up ahead denoting Rossini Road. I took a left. Another little uphill and 90 degree right hand bend in the road and I knew I was very close. With excitement, I rode it in with the remaining energy I had left. It was almost like my brain knew we were close and stopped sending the signals of STOP, DON’T PROCEED, SEEK HELP that had been firing for hours. That is the pain cave for ya. I caught a glimpse of the SHT trailhead sign first and a smile lit up my face. I made a smooth turn into the lot and rode right up to my van, placing my hand on the back and stopping my watch. Another vehicle had joined me in the parking lot, which kind of surprised me. I sat down on the ground for the photo opp, and to rest. Done!
Driving home, I told myself to yell. I gave a big yell: “YESS! WOOO HOOO!” That felt good.