Superior Fall Trail Race 100 Mile Race Report

Race Day: Friday, September 4, 2025 – 8am

It was the middle of the night, so late that roughly 364 nights of the year I’m sleeping at that hour, in the middle of the woods near Finland, Minnesota when I decided that putting my name in for the revered Superior 100 was the best life choice I could make for myself. This was in September 2024 while pacing my friend Gretchen through the Sonju Lake section of the course as she made her way to the finish line. The energy, the mental fortitude required, the adventure, the process appealed to me so much at that time and I told myself I’d register. By January, the fire was still alive and I made it through the lottery. But, 364 days after that initial thought crossed my mind while I was speed hiking with Gretchen, I questioned whether it was actually the worst decision, possibly of my life.

When I got the acceptance email in mid-January 2025, the race seemed so far off. Because it was. 9 months is a long time to prepare, and my preparation came slow. I had zero routine and was exercising very sparsely until the end of February. My main training benchmarks were to be lead-up races – Grandma’s Marathon in June, then Voyageur 50 Mile a bit over a month later. I planned for a big training week in mid-August mainly on the course (training camp) and although my lead-up from February went practically perfect, it was not without challenges. I had a lot of anxiety about injuries, yet was unable to find the routine or time or energy to do strength training. My mileage was OK, but low in comparison to the past, and I was too scared to push it out of my comfort zone. My comfort zone was pretty limited.  I was dedicated to trying a new high-carb, liquid-only fueling strategy. Training for Grandma’s went well because I was able to build mileage really consistently and stay injury-free, but it was too little, too late. I felt behind, and slow, all spring. My time was off my goal, way off my PR, but pretty good all things considered. I was proud but not fully happy with my road marathon effort. Voyageur was exceptionally hot and although I struggled immensely, I pretty much only passed people on the back half. My time was way off my goal, but there were relatively slow times across the board and my finish placement was where I’d hoped. Training camp went super well. It was the highlight of my summer, and I was able to log about a 70 mile week nearly all on the SHT. My key workout was a 32 mile/8 hour race pace effort followed by 12 miles as fast as I could the next day through the always-challenging Crosby section. That went about as good as I could ask, but both runs seemed to be lighter than they should have or could have been. After the training camp, I felt very fit. When I was running the standby Duluth Lakewalk it felt like I was floating. I started dialing back mileage, and towards the end of August I felt like I was losing the fitness. Shoot, was my peak too early? It was. Darn it. I reminded myself that I couldn’t really add fitness within two weeks of the race but I could certainly screw things up big time. So, I followed my plan and my intuition and chalked up heavy legs and an average, ordinary first NMTC Fall Trail Series race at Lester Park to taper terrors.

When race week rolled around, it felt it had been taking forever and came out of nowhere all at the same time. My work and personal schedule on race week was light, yet I pushed logistical planning and packing to the very last minute. I got everything together without a problem. The plan was shouldered by my mom and my dad doing the majority of the crew work. My brother Andrew would be filling in towards the night hours as needed then pacing from Temperance to the finish for about 18 miles. My friends Justus and Ryan would be running with me for 22 and 12 miles, respectively, starting at Mile 50. I was lening hard into the liquid nutrition and planned for fast aid stops with just filling up bottles with water, grabbing baggies of mix, and heading back onto trail, blending the mix as I walk. I figured two scoops per hour – 240 calories and 60 grams of carbs – would be great, and that’s what I had been pretty extensively training with all summer. I packed heaps of candy, junk food, and various beverages as well. The weather was looking cold after a hot summer, with a sudden forecasted cold snap and frost warnings everywhere. Rain seemed unlikely, making for an ideal forecast. My parents and brother crammed into my house on Thursday night. One of them asked if my furnace was on. I half-jokingly replied that it doesn’t go on until November. We all went to bed nice and early, and I was cold. I sleeplessly thought of all the additional clothing I’d need to dig out in the morning to pack, and rethought my clothes to start the race. It was a normal, tossing and turning, on and off sleep night.

Race morning was brief to get out the door. I planned to get coffee and food at Caribou Coffee, which was probably the closest thing to my normal breakfast, unfortunately. Me and my mom started loading stuff into my dad’s Nissan Pathfinder. My brother was planning to work from my house, then drive my van up for the evening time. We planned to leave at 6 sharp, which was mere minutes away as we tried to organize our last heaping bags of crap into the trunk. I hadn’t seen my dad yet. Ugh! Wake up, pops! He stumbled out and we were about to all get into the jam packed vehicle. His rear access is super janky and doesn’t stay up on its own, but we figured once I start running, they could pretty much exclusively access out of the side doors. My dad got to the car and was not pleased by what he saw. “Ohhh, no. Darn it. How did this happen?” The passenger window was down, he pointed out. He said it was stuck up. It was on the fritz, he brought it into the shop, and the mechanic left it up but not operable. Now, it was somehow down and not going to work. He of course tried the window button on his door panel – no movement. We sat for a second thinking about what to do. I asked my mom if she’d mind if the window was fully rolled down the entire time, through the forecasted very cold night well into the 30s. She didn’t have to answer… we knew we had to pivot our plans quickly. The van would work best, we figured, and then Andrew could take his pick of his vehicle, mom’s car, or the hooptie Nissan. I ran in to get my key, yelled frantically for Andrew so I could explain the situation and he knew right away he’d take his own vehicle and promised me it was no big deal. PHEW. 10 minutes after 6 and we were driving.

We stopped at Caribou and anxiously waited in the drive-through for the coffee to brew or something. It seemed like an agonizingly long time but we were on the road without too much trouble. The internet map predicted we’d be at Gooseberry around 7:15am, which was relieving. And, the internet was right. We found a very convenient parking spot and I quickly got bib number and three Pacer bibs. A few people asked me if my mom was here. Yes! I said she was here in person! That was so nice to hear. She hadn’t been able to run or race recently and was booked for a second hip replacement surgery the week after Superior. I enjoyed getting the sense that my mom had left a similar impression – support, joy, camaraderie – on other runners as she had on me. I got through the bathroom line quickly and was ready to roll in no time. As I waited to get to the start line, I circled back to my van to make a decision on my clothes. It was kind of chilly, there were a lot of puffy jackets at the Gooseberry visitor’s center, but I knew it’d heat up before long. It was 20 miles before an aid stop. I figured layers were always a good choice and started with a thin long sleeve tech shirt, the same jersey I wore in 2017, and running shorts. I had my Nike trail shoes on, which I ran the entire Voyageur 50 miler in. That race caused me a bit of a tender spot on one toe and I had cut the shoe to provide a little relief. I decided to start with my trekking poles and running vest.

I made my way to the start line and saw so many friends. Local Duluth runner Jakob was up front, and I pegged him to win just like he did at Voyageur. He seemed nervous, and that made me feel excited. This is perfect – nothing to do, nothing to worry about. Relinquish control of my life, execute the plan and just find ways to enjoy a full day in the woods. That is all I had to do, and it was a freeing feeling. The race director John looked for a few racers that apparently hadn’t checked in, said a couple of words and with a “ready, set, GO!”, we took off running on the bike path.

The start was really fun because there were spectators lining the bike path for almost a half of a mile. We went under the Hwy 61 bridge, crossed over the Gooseberry River, and Jakob was running right next to me counting people ahead before they got too far off. 13, he said. He told me he can’t go up there, he knows what happens when he goes. We took a couple easy turns and eventually found our way to a snowmobile or ski trail. People were passing me and I certainly wasn’t going my race pace since I was running. I found it hard to ease off when people were zooming past me. I let them do it anyways. My pal Tyler from Cloquet joined up with me and said a couple times that he didn’t really know what he was doing and if I was looking for 24 hours, I must know what I’m doing. Mile splits were coming in fast. It was nice to see double digit times flash across my watch, but I knew it was all uphill out of the start line and 10 minutes per mile was substantially faster than I was planning for. Leading into the race, I had a top-tier goal of under 24. I could envision how awesome it’d feel to go under that beastly threshold. I figured I was more in shape for 25 hours on the dot. So I figured that in the 23s would be stellar, in the 24s would be great and that was expected, and in the 25s would be pretty much a lock barring some type of catastrophe. I predicted that under 24 would be a lock for 10th place or better. My race pace goal was strictly 4 miles per hour, or 15 minutes per mile. That was the whole plan – run 100- 15 minute miles including stops. If I was strong, I’d be able to chip away here and there and sneak under 24 hours. 25 hours on the dot gets me to 100 miles but everybody knows that the course is longer than 100.00 miles. I figured the early miles would provide a nice little time buffer. People were exclusively passing me – lines of runners. We eventually ran onto a skinnier ski trail or back access ATV-type trail, then onto the Superior Hiking Trail proper. I was comfy with my sleeves rolled up, using my poles to assist with almost every step. It didn’t feel like I was going super fast, or slow. Just controlled. At least twice I could feel people behind Tyler and I. We stepped aside, and tens of people would pass in single file. I couldn’t help talking with Tyler about how fast the race was starting. We joked how we’d be passing them all again. Jakob was way up front, far out of sight. Tyler and I agreed we were probably in 50th place. The miles flew by and we hit Split Rock in no time feeling great.

I got my bottles filled up at the first aid station and the drinks were going down very well. All systems go. After a couple hours, I had gone up nearly three miles or 45 minutes up on my pace guideline of 4 miles per hour. The field seemed to shake out a little bit after Split Rock, and I told myself out loud, and Tyler, that I had to lock in. I tried, and it was hard! But, I found myself walking a little more often and really trying to keep it easy. I still found mile splits in the 12 and 13 minute mile range, and none over 15. I just told myself to walk all the uphills and race my own race.

I was running with Tyler as well as other friends here and there on the way to Beaver Bay. The conversation was flowing with strangers and friends. My friend Shannon who I’d run with almost every Thursday through the summer at the Hoops Running Club came up from behind, we chatted a bit, then she made a pass. I talked with my pal Alex who I’d raced against lots over the years. He said he just got stung by a bee. We talked about mass spectrometers for a little bit. He ran off ahead. On a ridge north of Split Rock State Park, not 3 minutes after Alex ran out of sight, I got stung by a bee! I felt a stinging, sharp pain on my left inside thigh, and looked down to see a squirming bee fall to the ground. What the hell?? It really hurt! But, I kept running, hoping that the venom would be somehow beneficial to my system.

People came and went. I chatted with a few people, like Jeff out of Silver Bay. I asked what his goal time was. He said 26 or 27 hours. I didn’t know how to verbalize my follow-up question without sounding like an asshole, but I questioned if his plan was to run this fast this early. I couldn’t understand how the race was starting off so fast. 20 miles went by like nothing, and I had a lot of fun trying to keep it cool and easy while talking with lots of racers. My fueling strategy was right on, and I was excited to see my crew. During the final mile or so into Beaver Bay, I ran by myself after being surrounded by people and yapping for hours. I could sense the aid station, saw a volunteer or spectator, turned a corner and saw the unmistakable mark of a Superior aid station. The HAM radio operators were seated first, a few volunteers with flags, then the road, then a massive horde of people.

Crews, spectators and volunteers were everywhere! It was incredible. I scanned the crowd and found my mom’s waving arms quickly. I went to her, and my dad had all of my stuff well laid out. I said I just wanted the mix and was out. I grabbed it, filled up with water, sipped a little water and was out. I put the two bags of mix under my hat and two backup baggies on each hip in my vest. In no time at all, I ran out to the sounds of a roaring crowd. It was exciting. There was a light mist in the air and I was very comfortable in my clothing choices. Before running too hard, I lifted my hat, tried to carefully pour two scoops of mix into each full bottle of water and get the caps screwed back on. It worked OK, but it took a while and even a slow walk was too unsteady to pour the powder from a baggie with accuracy. I planned to fill my second bottle on the singletrack and ran the easy gravel while I had the opportunity to speed up a bit. Tyler came barreling down the gravel road hill towards the Beaver River and we set back off. I told him I really wanted to lock in at 4 miles per hour and that the punchy climbs between Beaver Bay and Silver Bay were slower than the fast runnable trail that we’d been enjoying all day so far. It didn’t work well, we were fast. Tyler stopped to pee quite a bit and I just kept steadily chipping away while he caught up.

I was planning to take a little stop at the Silver Bay crew stop, and switch shoes from my Nike Pegasus Trail to big Mizuno tanks. Taking the poles and running vest from the start seemed to be a good idea, although I noticed that I was developing hot spots on my palms. Pre-race, I had generously applied KT tape on known hot spots like my collarbones and inner thighs and I seemed to be doing great from a chafing or blister standpoint. On the ridge high above Penn Boulevard, Tyler and I were running together plotting our next moves. The aid station came in no time, 25 miles down and I was so excited how fast 1/4 of the race flew by. I found my parents, sat in a chair and got my shoes changed. My first pacer Justus was there with a pitcher of water in hand. He told me very flatly that I was going too fast. I had texted him earlier that if I’m way ahead of my time at Silver Bay (knowing he’d be volunteering there), to yell at me. I was way ahead of my time, Justus fake scolded me in the lightest way ever, but I would have discounted any comment delivered in any way. I was right where I wanted to be.

After picking up a couple baggies of mix and putting them under my hat, I ran off and almost tripped over the road with the new bulkier shoes. I was excited to lock in. This is where the actual hills start, I told myself in my head. I promised myself I’d get into a groove of 4 miles per hour. The next mile split after the Silver Bay aid station, mile 23, beeped at 16:30. Nice. My 24th mile beeped at 13:36. A little fast. Feel free to walk, I told myself. I lost Tyler at the aid station and felt alone for the first time all day. It was kind of nice and refreshing to have the field space out a bit. I felt like that gave me the chance to get into my own head and focus, instead of getting wrapped up in a pace line and just floating along yapping away. I hit that mile 24 marker at almost 5 hours on the dot. That meant I was exactly an hour up on my goal pace of 4 miles per hour. That meant that if my mileage was short, and I finished the race with 100.0 miles on my watch, I would be able to do 76- 15 minute miles in a row and finish at 24 hours on the dot. It was time to lock in. The whole day had been a mix between sunshine peeking through clouds, to fully cloudy, lots of wind and some very light mist or fog. Up to Bean and Bear Lake, the mist was heavier than ever and it felt awesome. My core temperature felt very regulated and I was thankful for no extreme brutal heat or heavy rain. The mist was just enough to feel a little cooling on the face, but not enough to actually feel wet or damp at all. At the sweeping overlook at Bean Lake, I was by myself and hadn’t seen a fellow racer for a little bit. I saw a couple hikers and a very cold-looking photographer at the top of the cliff as gusty winds threatened every hat out there. They were in what looked like several jackets, rain gear and had plastic all around their camera. I asked if they were staying warm enough. They were. I was in a great mood, and enjoyed trying to crack jokes to random pedestrians that happened to be out, other racers, volunteers, and of course myself. My bee sting would get kind of itchy here and there but it wasn’t painful or swollen or anything. I noticed my dominant right leg doing most of the work, and a little strain sensation on the upper inside part of my right ankle. I tried to focus on evening that out and putting equal effort onto my left side. I made great time through Bean and Bear.

Down the backside of the Bear Lake overlook and into Tettegouche State Park, I was going too fast and passed a couple other racers. My mile splits were consistently under 15 minutes and it felt too easy. I thought I saw my friend Shannon up ahead but never caught up and couldn’t confirm that I actually saw anyone. There were race photographers all over the place, which was fun. The sun peeked out as I got closer to the formidable Mount Trudee. I’m a big fan of that climb, and a big fan of sunshine. I said “SUNSHINE” out loud in a sing-song voice and ran when it felt sensible to do so. There were so many runnable, buffed out, slightly downhill prime trail segments that I just let it rip. A big climb up Trudee felt really great, and the wind was really whipping at the top. My 30th mile split was 16:10. Too fast. I knew I would have easy running pretty much all the way to Highway 61 and my next aid station stop, besides a little grinder climb near The Drainpipe.

As I power hiked along a ridge, with Lake Superior glistening off in the distance, I was yelling out and doing weird sing-song things and smiling to myself. I heard someone behind me. Whoops, act natural, I told myself. Coming up from behind me was my friend Lee, who I’ve been racing with for a long, long time but hadn’t seen in the flesh for seemingly a solid handful of years. He ran with me down The Drainpipe and we shared several miles together. It was great to catch up with him after being alone essentially since Silver Bay. Lee is a beam of positivity and he was running strong as we descended a snowmobile-type trail to the Tettegouche aid station. However, I was feeling a little tired and slow. Running seemed a little less automatic and floaty than the entire previous section and I was eager to get to the aid station. I realized it was a no-crew aid station and hoped that wouldn’t mess up my parents too much. I was hungry as the mist started getting heavier, and had the tastiest pizzadilla (red sauce in a quesadilla) ever. I was groaning out loud due to the highly pleasurable experience of eating the pizzadilla. It was a quick stop, and as I departed the cheering volunteers I carefully poured baggies of mix into each bottles. I confirmed to myself that it was much slower doing this on the run (or, technically, on the walk) than getting it done at the aid station where volunteers were eager to help me with this task and any task. As I walked out in the rain, Lee passed me with an ear-to-ear grin and I saw Tyler run out of the woods to the aid station tables. I didn’t want to run. I cheerily complained to random bystanders or race spectators that the rain was a bummer, and I joked about running through it to warm up or get to the cover of trees faster or something. I hobbled across the Baptism River bridge below Highway 61, and fearfully imagined dropping one of my hiking sticks precariously clenched under my armpit down the stories-tall drop to the rushing river below. Just as fast as the drizzle started it stopped and sunshine peeked out of the clouds. SUNSHINE! Tyler caught up to me in no time, as I promised myself that I could walk as much as I wanted up the north side of the mighty Baptism River. The buffed out, wide state park trails offered easy running, but I was so far off of sticking to plan through that point, I told myself that I not only had permission to walk at any point, but I absolutely had to walk at even the slightest uphill. Although I could feel the power and weight off my legs from each stab of my hiking poles into the varied terrain below, two symmetrical blisters were certainly forming on each hand under my pointer fingers. I bit a hole in the center of each one to allow fluids to drain and hopefully prevent a bigger issue. Are you supposed to pop blisters? I didn’t know what would be helpful to remedy the assault on my hands. Gloves sounded pretty horrible, and so did ditching the poles altogether. Hey, I figured in my mind, if hand blisters are the worst chafing issue that I encounter today that’d be a very good thing.

I exhaustedly told Tyler that I was really going to try and lock in at my goal pace of 4 miles per hour and to do that I’d be walking a lot. He was cheerful and agreed that getting in the groove would be best. He repeated that if I was going for 24 hours, he was going for 24 hours, that we could stick together and just chip away and start passing some of those speedsters that busted ass out of the gate. If they were still the race! He told me stories of the last section, such as seeing Alex fall down and his arm get scraped up and his glasses falling off. Oh no! I was so bummed about that. Not Alex! Tyler said he could have physically caught him – Alex stumbled a little bit, a bit of a slow motion biff, almost caught himself but then stumbled again the wrong way down harder onto a rock. Tyler promised Alex was probably just fine and was running. He passed him at that point, however. We made it up and down a few punchy, technical climbs before crossing Highway 1 outside of Tettegouche State Park. Perhaps my pizzadilla was hitting, but I felt renewed, in control, fresh and focused. I was shocked how we were 1/3 of the way done with the race already. How have we gone over 30 miles? My legs were feeling so good for having 50 kilometers of running in them. I knew the next section was a challenge, long and punishing and I told Tyler all about it. I was pleased to click off miles in the 14s, 15s and 16s. The 16 minute miles were always after big climbs, and big climbs were plentiful going up and over Fantasia Overlook, down and up Kennedy Creek, up and down through the Wolf Ridge ELC area. I was excited to tell Tyler all about the Lime Squeezer, one of my favorite rock features on the whole trail. We got through it without any problem. I was finally feeling locked in, and the pace was so manageable. I told myself that this was it – lock in, keep it fresh, keep it easy, keep the calories coming in. My liquid carb strategy seemed to be going so well. I was maybe getting a tiny bit sick of the two flavors that I had but I was steadily taking in fuel with no problems. My stomach felt so good, and planning my fuel intake between aid stations seemed to be going well. Right on track in all ways.

I enjoyed running many miles with Tyler right behind me – I could control the pace the way I wanted to run and he seemed fine with that. We didn’t see any other racers throughout the whole section. Maybe one or two but it seemed like Tyler and I were in no man’s land. We shared some miles in silence, just chipping away. We climbed up to Sawmill Dome, saw local race photographer Tone and I yelled at him about the upcoming inline skating marathon. I figured we were a mile away, and Tyler and I talked extensively about GPS mileages on our watch. His watch showed almost exactly 0.5 miles more than mine. I told him that we just lock in and hold 4 miles per hour strictly, and we’d have a finish time in the 23s. I stopped to pee thinking that the aid station was right around the corner. That’s what I told Tyler… but realized shortly thereafter that I was wrong and it was probably another mile before I got to County Road 6. I ran it in feeling great. As evening seemed to be setting in, the sky was certainly darker but due to rain. Similar to the majority of the day, no real precipitation was falling but we were essentially in a cloud. Fog seemed to present and a fine mist was spraying everyone outside whether they wanted it or not. I liked it. When I got to my parents, they didn’t seem to be liking it. All the crews, volunteers and spectators were bundled up with puffy jackets. I sat down in a chair. Local ultramarathon racer, coach and race director Eric, who was not racing this day, told me Shannon was 2 minutes up from me and cheered me on with some words of affirmation. I grabbed two bags of mix to refill my backup stash in my running vest, then two more baggies to throw under my hat. I took some sips of water at the aid station but didn’t do or say much more than that before running off to cheers from the crowd. I couldn’t run or even really walk out of the aid station and fill up my bottles with mix at the same time. I told a passing racer that this was the slower way to do it. He agreed with me. I told myself I’d stop doing this and have my crew or someone fill up mix for me. I saw my friend John taking photos. He was set to run the 50 miler in just a handful of hours. A hundred feet behind him was his partner Danica. I quickly took my cap off, grabbed a baggie and held it out, “just like my cocaine days!”, thinking I was hilarious. Besides taking so long and having to either walk or stop completely, when I’d try to fill up my mix I always spilled white powder all over my hands and the bottle itself. The pure sugar mix made everything sticky. Luckily, the leaves were nice and damp and I always had nature’s wet-nap nearby.

I was excited to climb Section 13. I reminded myself how runnable the back stretches of the section were and that I could go as slow as I needed over the big climb to start off. I passed some backpackers and noted their multiple gallons of water that they were schlepping up. They knew there wasn’t a good water source, nice! I lost Tyler again and wondered if he was ahead or behind me. Probably ahead. Or was he waiting for me at the aid station? We had discussed at length our pacer situation, and he didn’t have one. He told me how nice it’d be to run together through the night because then he has, like, two pacers. Me plus my pacer. He seemed as eager as I to pick people off in the thick of the night. I didn’t know how I felt about him running with me the whole night. On one hand, it’d be fun to team up and get through the race together. I didn’t really mind him tagging along… would my pacers? Then again, it sounded exhausting to keep a conversation going all night long, whether Tyler was with me or not. More than anything, I was scared to throw off my pace or effort by having Tyler with me. I was dedicated to racing my own race no matter what the situation. On the backside of Section 13 I was moving slow through slippery rocks and roots. I came up on a middle aged girl and guy. The gal whipped her head around and quickly said “oh, look at you! Running! Huh”. It took me very much by surprise. I couldn’t tell if she was a racer or innocent bystander or what, but the comment was in a snarky, sarcastic tone and although I ran past them in just a second without really saying anything in reply, the interaction stuck with me for a long time. Who the hell would make such a mean comment like that? I’m doing my best here! I ran it back in my mind. No, that was a nice comments, she was complimenting you. However useless it was to think about this fully inconsequential and very brief interaction, I just spiraled on it for a while for whatever reason. I made it through the memorable County Road 6 to Finland section, crossing off each landmark one by one. Sawmill Bog sketchy bridge, Sawmill Bog nice new bridge, mossy corridor where I broke my finger while thru-hiking, huge glacial erratic, Leskinen Creek Campsite was coming up any minute. It took a while to find Leskinen but then I remembered the reroute. I was walking plenty up little hills here and there and heard a group behind me after running by myself for at least an hour. The group was very high energy, including local race director of the Wild Duluth races Andy and two other dudes. One of the other guys was being very abrasive making locker room jokes. Naw bro, I would prefer my hiking stick not up my ass. I don’t care about your…. stick… Not funny. Read the room. I was happy when the two guys ran off and Andy stuck by me, telling me he’d run with me a bit. Sweet! Andy is a talker. He was going on and on and if I tried to interject, he’d budge in to finish his thought. It was awesome, to be frank. I picked up on his conversation preference, I felt, and just prompted him to go on and on about Day Across MN, his knee, how his race is going and how it will hopefully finish up for him. I was pumped for him because he told me how he’d finished Sawtooth in 2001, 2010, and now he was back. In 2011, the race director John started doing a sweatshirt once you finish your first Superior 100, a star, name patch, then simply a star for each successive finish. Andy told me how he missed out on the hoodie, but if he got a finish this time around, 24 years after his first finish, he’d get a hoodie and three stars. We agreed that that was probably the best reason of anyone out here to finish the dang thing. I stopped to pee as Andy ran away. I took it slow and easy across slippery, jagged rocks near the Baptism River.

Once I finally got to the spur trail out to the Finland aid station, I ran it in, thinking to myself how 50 miles is such a great race distance. It was wild for me that I was already halfway through. I was feeling so good, and so excited to get into the night. A beast in the night! I had Kid Cudi’s Alive (Nightmares) stuck in my head. I felt an energy, an electricity on my skin as I thought about my whole world reducing to a cylindrical beam of light illuminating the endless rocks, roots and dirt to Lutsen. I saw my crew, this time decked out with my brother Andrew, Justus and parents. I decided I’d run straight to the hot food, get some in my hands then retreat back to my seat to change water and everything. I aggressively tossed my trekking poles near my van and ignored everyone with sights set on the aid station. I felt a little bad for being weird. Whoops, sorry! I saw my friend Dayeton volunteering at the aid station. I asked for hot food and moved down the assembly line towards what I was looking for. A volunteer starting listing out the soups available. Mmk mmk, what else? PB and Jelly. Mmmmk. Pizza. OH YEAH. Pizza! Pizza! They lifted up a cover and there were a few pieces of pepperoni squares available. A couple volunteers looked at each other in kind of a puzzled way. I asked if I could take them. They hesitated. Can I? They said of course I could. I was confused what was going on, so just grabbed a couple slices and got back to my van. A piece flipped out of my hand face down onto the gravel. As my crew started grabbing at my bottles, asking me questions, I got caught up in the high sense of urgency, fast paced energy of the aid station then remembered that I told myself I could take all the time I wanted at Finland. I stopped. After taking a deep breath, I verbalized my previous thought to my encircled crew. Then I jokingly stopped fidgeting and looked longingly off into the distance. I don’t think anyone thought it was funny, and it probably brought confusion and concern. I picked up my fallen piece of pizza, blew off some gravel and put it in my mouth. I crunched on some gravel and tried to make dentist jokes. I got my water bottles filled up as I tried to eat the pizza. It was tough to ingest quickly. I finally remembered to get my bottles filled up with mix while I was sitting down. I cringed when my dad folded the baggie along the long edge and not on the crease like I had done 100 times. The baggie flicked some powder into the air and I did everything I could to not criticize his powder pouring style. I put my headlamp on my head, knowing that I’d need the light before Sonju. Evening was upon us. It was damp in the air and I felt some serious concern about rain throughout the night. Although I was still comfortable every minute on the trail up to this point, once Justus and I started running out of Finland I was cold. I felt strong running, and once we got off the mucky gravel road and back on the singletrack SHT my watch beeped for 18:37 on my 51st mile. I reflected how it was a great stop at halfway, where I told myself I could take as much time as I needed. I hadn’t seen my friend Tyler since right before County Road 6 around mile 40 and now I had my first pacer Justus and he didn’t have any pacers lined up at all. I pondered with Justus about how he was doing.

As night set in, we traded places a few times with local runner Matt who thanked me for recommending hiking poles to him. I had to stop and pee and switch the back pocket where my backup light was. Matt passed us up, Justus and I kept cranking. It was fun having him out there. I explained where I was at – right on track for a 24 hour finish as long as we could lock in. This was the key part of the race where hitting 4 miles per house was crucial, I said, and requested that he give me feedback on slowing down. I was running my own math. I figured I was at least a 15 minute up. I had a 15 minute buffer, which would be close to minimizing the gap of my math for 100 miles compared to the actual race distance of 103 miles or so. Simply knock down a handful of hours with four miles traveled each and I’d be looking good. We turned the headlamps on and suddenly transitioned from day to night. A beast in the night.

I had fun telling stories with Justus. His pacer style was very intuitive and I felt engaged whether he was telling me something, asking me questions, keeping it race-focused versus random life conversations, or not talking at all. It was all very natural and kept me energized as we picked people off one by one through Egge Lake. We came up on another headlamp – a solo runner and before my light beam reached them, I heard “Mike?”. Tyler? There he was! He was not doing well at all. Tyler told us how his primary light broke and his backup light was so dim he couldn’t see anything. Well, the light strap broke. He fell twice. He fell down on a bridge then slipped off the tilted surface. Whoa, dude, slow down! Justus and I confirmed that his strap was broken, and recommended just holding the light. The light works, right? It seemed like our presence calmed him down a little bit, and we got back in a rhythm quickly, making our way through deep cedar root structures, all incredibly slick from a day of misting rain and early evening dew. I could sense Tyler’s light dimming behind us but I didn’t break my rhythm. Justus confirmed my feeling that we were a bit ahead of schedule. I felt like my rhythm was optimal, speed hiking up every hill, tip toeing through the most technical sections, and running at a nice clip through the flats and runnable downhills. It didn’t take long to drop Tyler. I felt guilty, but also a sense of relief that I could focus on me and only me. I was concerned. A chink in the armor like having light issues and falling down and getting frustrated is sometimes hard to recover from. I knew it, and could only hope Tyler would have the mental fortitude to get past it.

Miles clicked by with Justus and before long we entered an alternate entrance to the always fun Sonju aid station, which was a no-crew stop. I noticed the funny glowing alien blow-up doll, and hoped to get some warm food. Nothing sounded super appetizing, because all I really wanted was a pizzadilla. I selected the fried rice, got my bottles filled back up from about half-gone, and sat by the fire while quickly eating my little cup of tasty rice. I knew I couldn’t finish it all. Justus took care of it for me, along with some perogies. I mixed in my additional mix and we set off before too long. We bypassed another group right away after the aid stop. I was picking people off. A beast in the night! Justus caught onto my mid night mantra. It was awesome. We discussed perogies for a while, and I was energetic running really well on the way to Crosby. Miles flew by, Justus told me we were right on track. I noticed a couple stints of left ankle pain that would kind of come and go. It was irritating and I must have mentioned it with enough urgency that Justus picked it up and agreed that I should tape it at the next aid station. The section is shorter, but it went by so fast and in the snap of a finger we saw car headlights and crossed Highway 7. We walked a little and ran a little to get up the gravel road to the aid station and it was nice to sit down once I found my parents in the darkness. I requested my jacket because I had been cold each time I set off from the aid station. Crosby was scary. This was the first crew stop in the dark. I took my time handing my bottles off, taking my left shoe and sock off to tape my ankle. I got a quesadilla but it was cold and I couldn’t really eat it. I cracked open a Bubblr and sipped a bit, and grabbed a fruit snack for my pack. Before long, we were setting back out. It was cold right away.

As we ran down to the Manitou River on buffed out, wide state park hiking trails, I started feeling a little uneasy. Physically, I was doing so good. Yeah, I had some tweaks and damage mounting up, but for 100k in, my body was holding up very well. I was well on track for a 24 hour finish time if I was to just hit 15 minute per mile from here on out. I just felt nervous and scared. I kept thinking about the night stalker, coming up on racer after racer just as I’d envisioned early in the race while getting passed repeatedly. We passed a few people around the grueling climb out of the Manitou River and my mile splits were high from the aid station stop, big climb, then just hard to get into a running rhythm from there. 16 minutes, 16:55, 17 something. I was logging slow miles around Horseshoe Ridge and starting to feel depleted coming into the Caribou River area. It was so muddy and overgrown and there were so many slippery roots. I couldn’t run it. How could anyone? A runner and pacer passed us and I couldn’t respond. Justus reminded me to eat and drink, but I knew I had to conserve my liquids for the exceptionally long section. I ate a pack of fruit snacks. I didn’t want to eat. I wasn’t hungry. I was having trouble running and had Justus switch from behind me to up in front in hopes that he could better dictate what was runnable. It seemed to work well and I tried to think about shutting my brain off to just follow him. I had a hard time keeping up to him as we crossed over the Caribou River and headed back up out of the river gorge. The rushing river pounding the rocks 50 feet below the bridge was an ominous noise. I wondered what I’d do if my trekking pole slipped out of my hand and fell down the gorge. It was a grind completing the Crosby section to Sugarloaf, where I’d drop Justus off after 22 miles and pick up my middle pacer Ryan. Ryan stepped up last minute to run a 12 mile stretch. It seemed daunting to attack those two sections and still have gas to run in from Temperance. The deep night was unpleasant.

In the birch ridgeline north of the Caribou River, Justus confirmed my notion that I was losing time. He said we were off track for 15 minute per mile since he picked me up, but not by much. My feet were getting tired. I talked with Justus about changing shoes, but it was hard to focus on a conversation. My mood had certainly switched at the Crosby aid station and it was hard to feel super positive or like I wanted to be out there. I passed a few people, which helped, but I also got passed once so it was almost a wash. I couldn’t really do math or get a sense of my pacing, which was easy and consumed my thoughts for hours on end in the daylight. What dominated my thoughts was how hard it was to run. I was really looking forward to the aid station, I think Justus was too, and we were energized and excited by the feeling that it was right around the corner. My bottles were completely empty, and he was recommending I eat food at the aid station. I felt exhausted.

Approaching aid stations in the night at Superior is a uniquely special experience. You hear echoes in the distance, flashes of light, whiffs of bonfire smoke, you know it’s close. Sometimes, you’re wrong. You see the HAM radio operators and say the same thing “278 comin’ thru!”. Then you see your concerned looking crew and a glorious folding stool. Once I sat down at Sugarloaf, Justus reminded me right away to get my jacket on to stay warm. I asked about my shoes. They didn’t have them but would bring them to the next aid station. I ate a small amount of food and everyone was recommending I take food along with me and eat it. I was getting kind of whiny – the bag of chips I had was way too full and it wouldn’t fit in my running vest, I figured. I demanded a smaller bag. They gave me some needed tough love and told me it’d fit just fine and to eat the chips. In fact, I could eat the chips to reduce the size of the bag. My bottles were refilled with water and the mix. My mom was trying to get me set up with the bottles and pack and helping with my jacket. Her hands trying to fix things as I was trying to do my own thing resulted in a short-fuse freakout moment and I yelled at her. I said “MOM”, looked her dead in the eyes and firmly requested, “STOP fucking with my shit!”. Ryan said he would never get away with talking to his mother like that. Ooops. Gah. Whatever. We gotta go. Sugarloaf was a mere pit stop. I got my bottles back and loaded into my vest, I had a mouthful of food, I thanked my crew and Justus and took off with Ryan. I had to walk for a bit as I ate food and organized my life. I got the recap from Ryan on how he got up the shore, what the crew situation is like, and some other types of quick news. We started running before too long and it was just right back to it. Keep doing the thing. It didn’t take long for frustration to set in. I was reminding myself that the section was runnable, but frequently giving up to walk with a powerful pole technique to propel me forward any time it seemed too steep or too technical or too high of a tree to jump over. My body was feeling the compounding damage from the day and Ryan reminded me to eat as much food as I could. I wanted to tell him to shut up – I was so done with food. My drink was still fairly tasty. I was convinced I was drinking enough and promised to Ryan that that was the case.  My wrist was getting irritating from poling in a repeating motion for lots of hours in a row and I could feel a tendonitis-type issue forming. My hand blisters were beyond gone and I knew they were going to be gross in the future. But, for the time being they were just the hands I had to deal with. My feet were getting tired and I could feel various tender areas on my ankles and knees. My hamstrings and quads felt fairly beat up. My mobility was hindered and I felt reduced to a shuffling run or fairly strong power-hike. But, the power-hike speed was not enough to clear 15 minutes per mile, let alone factoring in aid station stops remaining. There were so many trees down. The Sugarloaf section seemed so unrunnable at night, with a grinding slight uphill, roots, overgrown trail and the downed trees. I noticed a couple decent mile splits, and a couple getting too close to 20 minutes per mile. I couldn’t really do math and at one point tried to read my pace chart to see if I was even on for 24 hours any more at all. Ryan told me to not focus on that and focus on eating and just moving forward. Ugh, I just shut up and put my head down. Ryan was telling stories and going on and on about random stuff but I just couldn’t focus on what he was saying, instead drawing inward and letting my intrusive thoughts overtake my focus. I went back and forth a couple times with a runner – Ryan and I would come up on a racer and their pacer, I’d pass with authority then feel depleted. Then I’d spend too much time walking, unable to get into a good running rhythm and could just feel the two guys creep back up from behind. I couldn’t respond and let them go. I had to pee 5 or 10 times throughout the section and it just felt so good to stop for a second and turn my light off and pee. My legs felt so unsteady while stopped. I wondered why all the sudden I was peeing like crazy. Maybe it was my brain tricking my body to stop the relentless grind forward. Ryan said it was a good sign, then reminded me to eat. I told him with a defeated vocal inflection that I was drinking my mix. We made our way just fine, and it was nice to get to Dyer’s Creek, a familiar landmark pretty close to the Cramer Road aid station. I’d be able to change shoes there, I thought, and I just need to keep stopping the bleeding for now. I tried to keep moving and did a decent job of it. It wasn’t fun, though. We climbed up and out of Dyer’s Creek, hit the road, back into the woods for one last jog of singletrack before Cramer Road. With that familiar nearby aid station energy building, we were at the next aid station in a snap. I sat down and changed my shoes, but also had my head in my hands for a little bit, and certainly wasn’t talking much. I didn’t feel like food at all, but took a little bit in my mouth, took some candy in my pack and got my bottles filled back up. My attitude was in the dumps, but we set off before too long and got to running. Right away, I felt my right foot crammed into my Nike Pegasus Trail shoes that I’d run the first 25 miles in. I knew they were tighter than my Mizuno trail, but holy crap, how were my toes so sore? A few more steps and I had to stop to pee again. I thought about turning right back around and getting my bigger shoes back but kept going. It was a mistake. Every step was painful and my middle three toenails on my right foot were very tender. I was either kicking roots way more, or just noticing it with the newfound pain in my toes with my feet squished into smaller shoes. Every time I’d kick a root it was excruciating. I was kicking roots at a rate of a couple per minute. I was complaining dryly to Ryan and he didn’t really give my whining too much acknowledgement. He was going on and on about stories from races. I found it hard to focus on what he was actually saying. I had been having a conversation for the most part, but after we started towards the Cross River in the pitch dark middle of the night, I was barely acknowledging Ryan’s random commentary with an “uh, huh”. That was eventually reduced to “uh”. Then I just stopped responding altogether. I had to stop to take the insole out of my right shoe. It helped marginally. I questioned how I’d finish. I thought about how much of a waste that’d be to have Andrew not even get to pace, Ryan and Justus running through the night for nothing. Yeah… I was going to finish. But, it was sucking big time and I just wanted to get done with the Cramer Road section so I could switch shoes again. Ryan and I were focused in two completely different orbits. I figured he thought that just regaling me with stories was helping, but I could only consider the pain I was in, how much running sucked, and how I was letting my whole race plan slip away. The new shoes did feel better underfoot, and to some extent on my ankles. But the toes were killing me. I curled my right foot to take some pressure off my toenails. That was not comfortable or sustainable. I racked my foot on so many roots and rocks. I was able to run a decent amount, but it was exceptionally hard with the small shoes and I found myself walking way too much. Ryan and I were making it through, though. He reminded me to eat. I told him I was done with food. I ate a tootsie roll and drank some of my mix to appease him. I knew I wanted to completely drink my two bottles before the next section at Temperance. Ryan and I actually picked off one racer and pacer, and being next to the loud, rushing Cross River was nice. I was dreading the grueling downhill with sore toes after we crossed over the river. I felt like my light was dimming. I had Ryan run in front of me to set a pace, and it seemed to work well. I was running pretty well. The repeated pee breaks were slowing me down. Ryan kept reminding me to eat and I’d just moan or grunt. Across the Cross River and I remembered we were about 2 miles from the aid station. I told Ryan we’d see at the sign post at the top of the hill. He saw it first, and corrected me. 1.9 miles. Nice! That seemed doable. Plus, to start at Temperance with my brother seemed like it’d be the home stretch. We set off into the night and got caught from behind by bright lights and two runners. I was pretty sure this same pair – the racer with running tights and their pacer – who had exchanged race places with me over and over in the Crosby section. They told us we could lead them out to Temperance and Ryan did just that. It was good for me to be sandwiched in between another racer behind me and Ryan in front. He was calling out every feature as his eyes saw it. “Root, root, rock, big drop, big rock, root, root, bunch of roots, slippery boardwalk, stairs, slippery stairs with off camber boardwalk at the end and lots of roots at the end of that”. Yeah yeah, we know it’s horrible. I was so excited to get to Temperance. I was increasingly pumped to have my brother pace me in. The final three sections seemed suddenly so much more achievable than when Justus and I were struggling through the Caribou River area. And I was coming out of the least positive mindset of the race, by far, in the two sections that Ryan was pacing me through. I knew I was way off my top goal time. 24 hours was simply out of reach, but I was still motivated to chip away and pass people down the stretch. The familiar lights, soft murmur of humans through the trees, then a HAM radio volunteer and I was so excited to finish that section.

I easily found my chair and noticed a few other crews or racers hanging out at the aid station. I sat with my face in my palms, just hating life, as Ryan and my crew discussed my withering away. He said I need to eat, and I disagreed, telling him and my parents that I was done with the food. I ate a pancake with syrup and a small piece of bacon either way. I got my bottles filled up, and it was unbelievably nice to switch shoes. They touched different parts of my feet and lower ankles that were uncomfortable, but the relief on my toes was absolute and noticed right away. I changed my long sleeve tech shirt for essentially a fresh replica. I set off with Andrew after thanking Ryan, and bolted into the woods. He seemed a little surprised right away because I was running strong through the buffed out, wide and flowy trails alongside the west side of the Temperance River. I told Andrew I just wanted to run it in. I felt confident that I’d be able to run. I was running. I just had to dig deep and really want to do it. I asked him to just keep me running, and we set off into the night.

We made good time to the bridge across Temperance, and chugged along to get up to Carlton Peak. We came up on a runner, with dawn in full force, with full running tights. I thought it was this same dude with his pacer that I’d traded spots with a bunch but we still didn’t really talk. I asked to pass them up and Andrew and I kept chugging. 6 minutes later, I lost my energy, I lost my flow, I wasn’t able to run and my walking was slowing down. It was impossible to keep the momentum. The tights guy passed us back up. The sun seemed to come up right as we crested Carlton Peak, but the trees shrouded the lake view. There were amber columns of light projected majestically on the raw rock faces to my left. My brother and I enjoyed the awe and kept chugging along. Sunshine! I couldn’t run fast down the smooth back side of Carlton, which was frustrating. I felt like such garbage. I felt bad for snapping at my mom at a past aid station. I asked Andrew if she was offended. He assured me no. I didn’t know how to feel. I was tired, but knew I was coming into the finish, and knew I was going to finish, but it also felt so daunting and was at least a couple hours of running. So close yet so far. I wasn’t running so well. To start the running motion was a challenge. I just had to keep moving forward. We crossed over Sawbill Trail and entered the aid station as the guy in tights was headed out. It was fully light out, and I dropped my lights with my dad. I had a tiny bit of wild rice soup but couldn’t eat it. I was excited to just drink liquid calories and told myself to keep that up. I wanted to get on the chase and run this next section, so we headed right out. One more aid stop. I felt relieved for the sake of my dad. My mom had apparently circled back to check into the hotel. Andrew was planning to drive all the way back to the Minneapolis area after I finished this dang stupid thing up, and I just wanted to go back to the hotel, take a shower, eat food, take a nap, then just sit in a chair and watch people come in the rest of the day. Maybe with a beer in hand. I wondered how Tyler was doing. I hadn’t seen him since before Sonju. I wondered if Jakob had finished yet. Probably. Heading out of Sawbill, I looked at my cheat sheet. I had about 13 miles left. That’d take… 3 hours if I’m able to go consistently faster than the prior 13 horrible miles. I was at 90 miles in, although my watch read 92, a few minutes over 23 hours. So, I confirmed in my mind that 24 hours was out of the question, 25 would be a huge stretch, but I could maybe finish in the 25s still if I really busted. So, Andrew and I ran hard. We had a few fast miles, but it was just hard to keep going, and I wasn’t really talking or doing anything except groaning and grunting.

Despite small challenges like a slight uphill or downed tree or exhaustion breaking up my flow and causing me to walk, despite having to pump myself up and almost plan my approach to get back running, I could still run well when I got into that rhythm. My body was feeling good enough but wrist was pretty painful, and my ankles were not in the best shape. I could feel some fatigue under my kneecaps but it was nothing I couldn’t run through. The smallest hill, a rut, slippery roots or an off-camber boardwalk would reduce me to a walk, and my walk was slowing down. It was frustrating. I had Andrew run in front of me, thinking that he could decide what was runnable or not. I asked him to tell me to run. He said he would. A little runnable stretch and Andrew started up running and I silently protested, feeling simply unable to run. I would get going eventually, though. I asked Andrew again to, like, yell at me to go if he thought I could run. He confirmed he’d do it. I didn’t get the verbal whipping that I was hoping for, so asked if he could verbally request that I run, out loud, if he thought a section was runnable for us. I wasn’t sure if I was making sense. I just kept trying to move as fast as possible. There was nobody out on the trail. We didn’t see any racers, hikers, photographers, no one. It was a quiet morning. I drank my mix and it wasn’t too bad after all those hours. I didn’t want to eat and just told myself if I got close to finishing the bottles I’d be good for the race. I hated it out there. It was so frustrating, so hard, and it just felt like my race was down the crapper. I had set it up so perfect, how did I just blow it all? Gah. It was so hard to run through that crap. Rocks, roots, the hills were killing me. I couldn’t keep it up and every step was deliberate. Every step was a toll, each one adding up to the culmination of a successful finish of the 100 mile race. I knew I’d finish, and my mindset was not solid. I would go from not caring about anything and choosing to walk it in, to thinking under 26 was possible and running hard, to chatting with Andrew, being totally silent. I found myself breathing deeply through my nose and pushing the air out through my mouth and my loud, hypnotic breathing kept things going forward. But, the slightest chink in the armor would get me walking so slow. I felt like I was performing well below my abilities, which made me sad. I lost it in the night.

Leveaux came and went, we finally made it over the Onion River bridge. I felt unfamiliar with the section but before long, it was the glorious last aid station at Oberg. I was so excited to get there. I knew it was the home stretch and I’d be able to smell the finish line. Oberg is special. It’s so hard, but you find an extra gear out there. I was excited to attack Moose Mountain and Mystery Mountain and show my brother what Superior was all about. We came up on my dad and I didn’t even sit down. I told him I just wanted to fill up on water. I was fast – in and out. I logged a couple 13 minute miles through Oberg and into the final section. I passed the guy in tights. He kind of stayed right there. I’d make a little time and was moving fast. One little hill and I couldn’t run and I couldn’t hike fast and I felt like I was just floundering. The tights guy passed us up and I felt like there was no way I’d catch back up. I told him that, he said I would. His pacer wasn’t with him any longer. I tried to keep up. No go. Oh well. I was kind of ambivalent at this point. I didn’t really care about my place, my time, or anything. I didn’t care about my body. That thing was fucked. I’d just walk so slow, moaning and groaning. Andrew was probably unimpressed by my lack of urgency. He had a long drive ahead, I wasn’t unaware of that fact. My emotions and energy would shift sharply. I told myself I could still get under 26. I picked it up and ran. I wasn’t super excited to be running trails – I felt pretty defeated in all ways, but was able to move pretty well looking forward to Moose Mountain. I didn’t feel like we were headed the right way, but figured Moose was bound to be right there. The section was, like, 7 or 8 miles? We were a couple miles in. It was, like, 3 miles on top of Moose, then 3 miles up Mystery and down the damn finish line. Despite feeling disoriented, the climb was unmistakable and we hit it. Andrew made it to the top much faster than I did. I had no zip, no power on the steep and punishing climb. I was so gassed when I got to the top I just wasn’t able to run. But, I pushed off on my sticks, yelling “YAH” and lurching forward. Luckily, my feet followed suit and started churning. I was still running. But, I couldn’t do it. I had to stop. I stopped running and Andrew went so far ahead. I walked slowly across the top of Moose Mountain and when I’d see Andrew from around a corner stopped, he’d keep moving forward as if I had a reason to go chase him. I was so tired. I thought it might be funny if I just laid down on a rock. I found a perfect boulder and just slumped over it. I saw Andrew look back, we weren’t saying much to each other. I knew it was of no benefit to not be moving forward. This was the home stretch, I reminded myself. I got up, started running, and felt rejuvenated. Maybe I should have continued to focus on taking in carbs, I wondered to myself. I thought I saw a race photographer in the distance but it ended up being a stump. I was looking forward to the recognizable descent from Moose Mountain. Up and over Mystery is the true home stretch. I could smell the finish. I thought of stories I could tell Andrew from duking it out down Moose and up Mystery over the years. I was too tired to start the story. I remained silent, besides breathing loudly in through my nose and out through my mouth, sprinkling in grunts and winces of pain.

I hadn’t seen the tights guy for a while and my prediction that he’d run away from me was apparently correct. I ran just fine through the lowlands on the way up to Mystery. The worst pain was my left wrist, although my legs were totally trashed and it was just stubbornness and eagerness to get to the hotel room shower keeping my feet churning. We passed some hikers going the opposite way. My eyes were pretty fuzzy. I was so tired, I would kind of go cross-eyed. I could control my eyes enough where I wasn’t actually falling asleep, but it felt so easy to let my eyelids droop and my eyes to cross. It took abnormally long to focus. I didn’t really need to, I was robotic on the trails. I thought I saw a massive black dog with floppy ears. No way. Looking a little closer, it was a big stump. There were several moments like that getting up Mystery Mountain where my eyes were playing tricks on me. I’d see something out of the corner of my eye, a race photographer was commonly the likely candidate. After a focused look or a few steps closer I’d easily be able to tell that again, I was looking at a plant. I was so excited to finish, sit down, take a shower, ohhh I couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it’d be to take a nap. It was fully in the mid-morning by now with the sun rising high into the sky. It felt so much later than my memory of 2017 when I saw the sunrise at Moose Mountain, not Carlton Peak. Dang. Andrew was taking me in, though, and I was OK with anything that’s not a DNF. I was going to get it.

My watch hit 100 miles on the climb up Mystery Mountain, a 15:41 mile and 25:21 into the race. I didn’t think I’d be able to make the sub-26 time with a few miles left into the race. My watch was a couple miles up, and the actual race distance was around 103. Unless I ran under 10 minute pace, there was no way. I was walking at the time, and slowly, so figured it would be what it would be. I was confused where the Mystery Mountain campsite was. Didn’t they actually remove it? I was talking to Andrew all about it and he probably thought I was delirious. I was delirious. We got right back to running at the top of the hill. I could smell the finish line, running was the only way. There were campers at Mystery Mountain campsite, which took much longer to arrive at than I remembered. Then we bombed down. There were a couple bikers, hikers and spectators out and about, and that helped me bring it in. The downhill bombs and the ever-increasing width of the trails headed down to Lutsen were so fun. Andrew led us down and I was making great time. I was shocked that I was still perfectly comfortable in pretty much the exact same clothes the entire race. Over the Poplar River bridge, I held my hands out as a pedestrian cheered us on. We bombed down the gravel trail and it was amazing to hit the pavement. I knew the finish was changed to avoid road running. Andrew and I passed a guy walking. It was a 100 miler. What the heck? I riled him up to run it in with us. He said he couldn’t. Hey, I figured I’d take any pass I could at this point. I sprinted on in. I told Andrew he could run straight on in. He was confused. I was also confused. He sprinted up from the road and we made it around the big lift, following cones and flags. It was a short detour from the sidewalk to the tunnel under the road. A little jarring ditch, up and out, and we ran towards the hotel. I kept the cadence motoring forward despite a small hill that I would have walked up normally. My ankles were so shredded. I kept pushing. I thought of how special it was that my mom and my dad would spend all this energy just getting me to the finish. What a damn pain. I was almost embarrassed, surely frustrated with my time being so off what I thought I could do. The finish line was a welcome sight and I was certainly proud to get the finish. There was some action at the finish for sure now that it was a reasonable hour for most people to be awake. Andrew ducked behind me and I ran it with a big smile on my face. I saw little Dot – her mom Shannon most certainly had a breakout race – with an outstretched hand. I recognized my nasty, sticky and dirty hands but slapped her palm anyways.

Through the finish line, I stopped my watch, slinked down to the nearest chair possible, and a volunteer was right there for me with my finish buckle. They asked if I wanted anything. I asked what they had. Sparkling water, coffee… YES. I told him both. My brother and parents were right there with me and we were all kind of dazed. It was sunny – a blinding light. I had to sit down on the ground, and fell to the earth to stretch my legs out. I jokingly looked up at my crew and told them we should do this every year.

My mom and dad seemed relieved and cheery, as did I. Andrew took right back off to the Twin Cities. Yikes. I expressed to my mom how thankful I was that she was able to be there for me, and I apologized about yelling at her mid-race. I got a little choked up telling her how instrumental she has been in my running journey and the impact she’s had on my life and had to stop with the sappy shit. I slowly and overdramatically got up to take a photo with my crew and the howling wolf.

I think that being off my goal time made me hungry. The first time around, in 2017, I surpassed my expectations and had a nearly perfect race. It took 8 years to get back. Right away, and weeks later, I was confident that Superior Fall 100 Mile 2025 was far from the perfect race. Eventually, I hobbled away from the finish line area. The shower, nap, and meal was extremely gratifying. I made it back out to the finish area a few hours later and hung out all day. It was awesome. I saw so many friends old and new, watch lots of friends come across the finish line in their marathon, 50 mile, or 100 mile races. My knees were very swollen and painful. All of my joints were pretty inflamed. I could tell my hands, ankles and knees were bashed up good. Getting up and sitting back down was slow and clunky. After sleeping for over 12 hours at Caribou Highlands, right at the finish line area, I woke up Sunday morning feeling in substantially less pain. I can’t wait to embark on this 100 mile adventure again.

Race Results

Race Tracking Link

GPS Data

Time: 26:19:01
Pace: 15:47
Place: 20/176