31 Jul 2026

Voyageur 50 Mile Race Report

Race Date: Saturday, July 25, 2026 – 6am

I didn’t know how this would all unfold. 2026’s training had been reminiscent of a sine curve. Up and down. At the Grandma’s Marathon finish line, I felt like my pesky hamstrings were healed after a half-botched lead up to that race. It was an unbelievable miracle to get that finish and feel back to healthy. Back to work – a little down week then right to Voyageur was the plan – a train-through race to Superior. All eyes on Superior. The day after Grandma’s Marathon I was fooling around on my stand-up paddleboard in Lake Superior, down to Canal Park on a hot day. One of my favorite things to do is paddle to the “ice house” – a concrete structure right off shore – climb up and do a flip off. The water was very cold this day, and I figured I could jump off from my board through the window to get in and climb up. I landed on my hands and lightly contacted my ribs with the concrete structure and heard a crunching noise. Huh, I thought, that felt kind of weird. Kind of hurt. No matter. I jumped off. Twice. Paddled a mile back to Leif Erickson Park. Portaged my board uphill 7 blocks. My side felt injured but it was such a light impact, the pain was minimal and I thought nothing of it. I played a round of disc golf layer on in the day and it was a little painful but I could throw with full power. No big deal. Unfortunately, it materialized into a full-on injury. I may have broken a rib, cracked a rib, damaged cartilage, something. The recovery is the same no matter what the diagnosis – 4-6 weeks of rest. The days that followed were very painful. Every breath and every movement preceded a sharp pain to the ribcage. Laying on my couch was probably the most uncomfortable. My biggest relief was walking, somehow. I needed to get back training, my legs felt fine, and I tested running a bit. It felt like a side stitch running the next day, a couple days later, and into the weekend as I did some tester runs. Not too bad. I got caught up in the fun of Hoops Running Club and the adjacent swimming club, tried to jump off the ice house again just a few days after the incident and it was a huge mistake. What was I thinking? Am I an idiot? My rib was definitely damaged. I tried a longer trail run on the weekend and it all went fine until I tripped on a root and went down. That was immensely painful and I could tell that it was a razor thin margin between making gains in training, and causing setbacks to my rib healing. Can I get one damn day where I’m not injured? After two weeks of very slow healing, testing it running, trying to enjoy my summer, after lots of pain and frustration, I realized I had to put my complete focus in healing and then see where I’m at, wherever that may be once the pain is gone, and pick up the pieces for Superior. All eyes on Superior. Voyageur was always going to be a train-through race, anyways, I told myself back then. I was so nervous as I laid out a training plan up to Superior and had just a few measly weeks before Voyageur. I signed up for these same three races (Grandma’s, Voyageur, and Superior) again in 2026 after feeling like I fell short in all three 2025 events. I already ran a much slower Grandma’s and it wasn’t looking good to beat my times at Voyageur or Superior, either. Crap. Luckily, my rib recovery plan held water and after a solid week of taking it very easy, I noticed substantial improvement. The emotional pain of feeling like I’m missing out on high quality trail time, camping, biking, paddling, disc golf, jumping off the ice house, and swimming in Lake Superior was greater than the physical pain of a potential broken rib. But, I knew rest was the right thing to do and my sense of being mostly healed was officially confirmed after a 2 hour/3 hour back to back run around the Beaver Bay areas of the SHT with my training partner and pacer from 2025, Justus. I slept on the ground, got the miles in and made it back home to air out all my gear with confidence that I could get back into some semblance of a training program. I just wanted to get some consistency in running and strength work.

Early the next week, I looked myself in the mirror and congratulated myself on making it through the hamstring and the rib and being back. The next day, horrible wildfire smoke engulfed the entire upper midwest and east coast of the United States. In 2025, the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon was canceled due to an Air Quality Index of 250 or so. The scale goes up to 500, and AQI readings in Duluth were over 1000, literally off the charts. Being outside was very unpleasant, exercising outside was not possible. The fires were raging out of control with hot, dry winds and my mindset took a huge dump. ONE DAY?!? Can I have one day, please? I asked the cosmos but nobody responded. I figured that was a “no”. I cannot have one day to feel like I’m set up for success.

All in all, I went into Voyageur very unsure of my strength and stamina, and feeling a little emotionally beat down. Would it even be possible, or smart, to try and finish the thing? My volume had been exclusively in the 0-35 mile range since the end of April, and not consistent at all. That is not the recipe for a good, strong 50 miler. How would the body hold up? I told myself it didn’t matter – if I raced it right, this would be a good opportunity to listen to my body, dial in nutrition and just have fun suffering in the heat. The forecast was for newsworthy heat indices across the region and no wildfire smoke. Somehow, the smoke was unpleasantly present for just a few days mid-July between the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon and Voyageur, then blew out. I got my brother and sister on board to crew me, got my aid station worksheet planned out based on a top speed of 6 miles per hour/10 minutes per mile. 10 minute pace equates to about an 8:20 finish time, but I promised myself that in the race, I’d pace completely off feel. I tried to race Grandma’s at “Voyageur effort”, which went well, and just wanted to emulate that effort level. I had gone under 8 hours twice (both last decade), then 9:32 the year before. I didn’t feel more fit after a year, or than at Grandma’s after a month. But I also clearly remembered mistakes from last year’s Voyageur and knew I could rectify those, and my body had somehow come around and I didn’t have any glaring concerns. Conditions were shaping up to be very similar to 2025 if not more challenging with an even hotter forecast. My plan was to carry substantially more liquid but stick to the mainly liquid fueling strategy. I told myself I had to eat at least one thing and drink water at every aid station. I didn’t forget tape for the inside of my thighs where I suffered from brutal chafing the year prior, to apply the nipple band-aids or an array of foot/ankle tape as a preventative for my known problem spots. This would be a toll on the body, but I figured I could do a good job protecting it. As race day inched closer, I got increasingly excited to feel the pain of suffering in the inescapable heat of Jay Cooke’s green tunnel. What if I could run the horse trails on the way back? I wanted to be in it so bad.

I woke up very early on Saturday morning and got my stuff together. Boiling water, bottles filled up, tape on the body, coffee machine prepped. I forgot to start the oatmeal and suddenly felt very late and rushed. I told my brother a couple last minute things then rushed out the door with my oatmeal in the pot. I ate that on the way, took a couple sips of very hot coffee, and felt ready to go once I got to Carlton in the dark. My brother Andrew made it to the start line as well, and he was planning to link up with my sister Emily later on. I felt bad for them because I have one window AC unit in my bedroom and the rest of my house was probably pretty warm overnight. They are troopers, though. A fellow racer told me he read my blog and loved the intel on the Voyageur course and how I introduced some humor into the story. That was nice to hear. I utilized the Carlton Daze bank of portable toilets instead of the ones near the start/finish area and the two-block walk was substantially faster than waiting in line. I was shocked to see a guy half in and half out of a porta-potty, completely passed out. Umm, HOW does that happen? How do you get so trashed you pass out in a portable toilet? Throw up in an alley like the rest of us! Why did nobody extract him at the end of the night? Where are his friends? So many questions. When I completed my business, mindful and caring John Storkamp was checking his pulse. Still alive. Phew. I didn’t even think of that.

After chatting with a few other friends and familiar faces, listening to race director Ron say some words, and with two bottles of carb mix in hand, we started off from the new start line with a “3-2-1, GO!”. The race started off fast as always. I saw Henry Campbell sprint past me, weaving through everyone to get towards the front. I was right next to Bennett Isabella. We’ve been racing next to each other for years. It was nice to catch up. After some fast jogging on the downhill paved Munger Trail, we got onto wider dirt horse trails and both noticed we had sweat through our shirts already. It was humid, but very cloudy and the temperature comfortable. It seemed like 50 runners went out way ahead and out of sight, and we were in the third chase pack. Yikes. The miles clicked off nicely in the early miles. I tried to remember each little turn and feature as we got to Forbay Lake and continued through Jay Cooke State Park. I wanted to know for the way back.

Photo credit: Andrew Ward

Photo credit: Andrew Ward

Photo credit: Andrew Ward

I repeatedly told myself to run my own race in the early stages of the day, and I’ve felt more confident in dropping back out of a group than ever. That’s essentially how it played out. Bennett and some other runners just had a little more pop on some slight uphills, I let them go and next thing I knew they’re out of sight. There was some minor shuffling in placement, especially once we got to the first aid station at Peterson’s. I told myself I had to drink water and eat something. The food looked really good and I found myself stuffing my mouth with a PB&J sandwich section, a pickle and an orange slice. I untied my little collapsible cup from my shorts drawstring and swished around some water. I took a little bit to go and hobbled back out to the trail without spilling too much. I had to essentially stop in my tracks to retie my cup to my shorts and tuck it halfway into my waistband, and then set back off. A handful of miles in, I noticed a little soreness or tightness in my left hamstring. My main concern from earlier in the year was a pesky decades-long frustration with my right hammie up by my butt, but my left had been injured back in May, a little tight for a few weeks prior to Voyageur. Besides the general lack of running volume, this was my biggest concern of the day.

I found myself in a nice group with John Storkamp, Erik Kaitala and a few others. John was doing “speed botany”, naming all types of plants as he saw them: “Long Beechfern, Bracken Fern, Bunchberry, Mayflower”. Ok ok! I get it! You know your plants! It was fun to joke around with John for a little bit, then meet Erik. I’ve heard the name for years and years but never met the person in real life, so that was cool. I lost them on the Seven Bridges section, which had a bunch of fresh hay and netting, making running kind of unpleasant. I tried to stop at the river crossing to dunk my hat, my little pack was gone and I was by myself. I got to the Hwy 210 aid station and drank plenty of water. It wasn’t too hot but the plain water tasted delicious compared to the sips of concentrated sugar water I’d been taking in all day so far. My body was holding up nice at about halfway to the turnaround. I noticed a flap of tape coming from my groin region. Shoot – my anti-chafe method was failing pretty quick. I was getting close to my first crew stop at Beck’s, and thought about how Beck’s to the Zoo turnaround and back to Beck’s was my downfall last year. I told myself that if I could feel good coming back into Beck’s I’d be in good shape. I passed a few people struggling around Mission Creek and was excited to get to the third aid station.

Photo credit: Northern Minnesota Track Club (NMTC)

When I saw my brother and sister in the crowd, I ran right up to them and my brother outstretched his hands to hot-swap the bottles. Nope, I said I’m having some problems and that my shirt was bugging the shit out of me. My tape was coming off, I didn’t know if I should try to reapply groin tape to prevent horrible chafing but knew there was no way anything would stick to my slimy thighs. I didn’t know what I was thinking wearing a long sleeve tech tee. Actually, I knew exactly what I was thinking… good sun protection, more fabric to soak up water and sit right next to my skin and evaporate and cool me down. In reality, it got soaked with water and sweat and was dragging on my shoulders and just felt droopy and uncomfortable. It was so annoying and I was happy to take it off and remember that I packed my tried-and-true jersey just in case. I ran to the portable toilet to take care of a very early stage bubbling feeling in my stomach. Just as I reached for the handle, John exited and apologized profusely. I didn’t really respond… like, of course it’s going to be nasty in there. What porta-potty isn’t unpleasant? More pleasant than squatting in the woods. Hey, some people nap in these things, no apology necessary. It was the slipperiest toilet seat I’ve ever sat on, by far. I envisioned the legendary butt sweat of John Storkamp fixing my hamstrings issues through some type of osmosis. Assmosis? I got the heck out of that stifling hot plastic enclosure and back to my crew. My sister had pinned my bib number onto my jersey, everything in my crap pile was picked up and I lumbered over to the aid station table to stick to my plan of drinking water and eating at least one thing. Nothing really looked appetizing. I ate two or three pretzels and a pickle, drank a couple cups of plain water and set back off. My friends Danielle and Justin flagged me through the dangerous Beck’s Road crossing and I was back on track, running strong.

Photo credit: Emily Ward

Running on the flat, limestone DWP trail felt smooth and easy, and in no time I made it to the old train tunnel and the SHT junction. Onto some technical trail, I felt like I was totally by myself. I had no idea where Bennett was, where John made it to, or really any other racers ahead or behind me. Oh well, I made my way up and up and was discouraged by some really slow mile splits. I kind of forgot how I was trying to pace, and was excited with a 12:10 mile. Then I realized I was trying for 6 miles per hour, not 5. That’s a big difference. 10 minutes per mile, no 12. Crap. However, I had made it to Beck’s essentially right on time. Well, maybe a few minutes behind pace to make an 8:20 finish, which I didn’t feel like was feasibly possible. I felt run down and dragging by the time I got onto the Magney horse trails. It was luckily still cloudy but also still muggy with condensation on every leaf visible. The heat was coming out, but it didn’t feel oppressive. On some of the sweeping overlooks, haze was certainly present over the land and I wondered if it was wildfire smoke shrouding my view of Wisconsin. The fresh carb mix in my bottles tasted good enough, but it got so warm so fast. I was right on track with my nutrition strategy of about 100 grams of carbs per hour. I tried to keep it smooth and steady and controlled. I thought of one of my favorite racing mantras: “smooth is steady, steady is fast”. Then I thought of my friend Dave Lane and one of his sayings “it’s a process”. That didn’t really apply, but I liked saying IAP back to myself repeatedly. I yelled out loud “IAP BITCH!!!” for some reason and just thought it was hilarious, and giggled to myself up and down the Magney horse trails by myself. Down to Skyline, down the massive downhill bomb back to the DWP, and I thought about how appealing it’d be to skip the whole Magney and Ely’s Peak section and just run the DWP back. Would they take my shirt back if I cheated? Could I get, like, a time still? With an asterisk? Naw, no cheating today, I told myself. Being goofy helps pass the time, but I was eager to see the leaders and take stock of where I was at. I saw the first guy come through just pummeling along with a sun hat, gloves and arm sleeves. Dude was decked out. I started announcing each person’s place. Henry came bounding by, but I didn’t recognize many others. I lost count after 14 or so. Real close to the Zoo turnaround I saw Bennett looking sweaty but good. He said I’d see him soon enough. Maybe… It was a frenzy the closer I got to the turnaround aid station but I found my siblings and they were ready for the hand-off. I first struggled to get my little cup untied from my shorts to drink water. I got a sip of Coke as well, and ate a tiny piece of watermelon. Hey, it’s something. I chatted a little bit with Andrew and Emily, but it was brief as we swapped bottles and I left. This was where I made the biggest change from last year. Instead of not taking any fluid at the aid station and carrying a half liter bottle with mix on the hard 7 mile stretch back to Beck’s Road, I took a 24oz bottle with mix and 24oz with plain water. I squirted almost half of the bottle onto my head before I hit a marathon on the day. It felt so good. I heard John yell from Knowlton Creek right outside the Zoo turnaround. He was fully submerged up to his ears, laid back with his shoes sticking up out of the water like buoys. I kept chipping away, excited to get back to Beck’s feeling good. That was my only goal, my sole focus.

Photo credit: Emily Ward

I struggled a lot to get to the big climb back up. It seemed like I was running so slow, breathing so heavy, just hot and uncomfortable. It was fun seeing other racers behind me, and I tried to yell at each one of them. “Let’s go let’s go let’s goooo”, “nice work”, “keep chipping”, “looking smooth”, stuff like that. I told myself to just keep running no matter what. Except the big climb back up to Skyline. I could walk up that whole thing if I wanted to. My cadence was high, but pace pretty high as well. John came from behind me and overtook me easily. I had no response, which was fine, but it shook my mindset. I felt like I was moving OK and John just lumbered past me and out of sight before I could even begin to fathom how he did it. His cadence seemed only slightly different than a powerhike, yet he was gone in a blink. He must have been running a minute or two per mile pace faster than me. What the heck. I just wanted to get to the big climb so I could walk for a bit. It took forever to get there. I noticed my right foot was feeling kind of weird. The space between my big toe and the one next to it felt like nerve pain or something. I tried to bend my toes in my shoe to get it back right. Should I stop to massage it? It wasn’t that big of a deal, but I wondered if it could turn into a huge deal. My right big toe has been a problem in the past. I remember waking up after the Day Across MN 240 mile gravel bike race with a completely numb big toe. Not much to do here, I told myself, so kept running. Across Skyline and up into Magney horse trails, I yelled to local shoe store owner Jarrow “NO WATCH WAHMAN!” as I knew he was going for his 12th Voyageur finish, this time without wearing a watch. He said “hey Mike” in a very dull, monotone timbre as he ran past with another older guy with him. I told him to keep it up. “Thanks Mike” in the same tone. Magney was not nearly as arduous as the year before. I sipped my mix, took in a little plain water and squirted little bits on my ears every now and again. My goal was to just keep running, and I shuffled up and down those rolling hills just fine, yelling at every last runner passing me. My pace was slow. I knew I was siphoning time from my 8:20 goal and wondered if I could go under 9 hours. I knew I’d be really happy to finish faster than the year before, but even hours beyond that wouldn’t be too bad of a situation. A finish is a finish. To go much slower than last year would be a complete disaster, though. I didn’t want a disaster. What if I just dropped out? Maybe my foot is something I should stop for, I wondered. Maybe the smoke will get really bad and they tell us at Beck’s we can’t go on. Huh. Why do I even do this in the first place? It’s not really all that fun, or anything.

The last stragglers in the race came and went, and I was able to pass another runner or two along Ely’s Peak. Oh yeah. Seeing someone up ahead and chipping away on them was really fun and exciting for me. I started the count – I had passed maybe three people since Beck’s Road on the way out and hadn’t been passed by any besides John. I didn’t really count that because he was ahead of me at the turnaround and only passed me because of the creek stop. I remembered it was about a mile on the DWP back to the Beck’s aid station from the bottom of Ely’s Peak, and really looked forward to that. I got there, and ran it in fast, feeling super good about getting through what was, in my mind at the time, the crux of the race. I zipped across Beck’s Road and found my siblings with ease. My bottles were mostly empty. My hands were so slimy and the bottle so slippery that I couldn’t open the top to get to the last sips of my carb mix bottle, but squirted every last bit I could into my mouth. I got some water, orange Squincher, a tiny bit of fruit and poured water on my head. I got ice in my hat, and Andrew helped get ice into both of my mix bottles. I was very excited to drop my 24oz bike bottles and get my vest bottles back in my hand. It was much easier to carry those, and I could feel my hands and shoulders starting to get sore from the bottle “power grip” method. I saw my friends Caroline and Liam. As I left the aid station, accelerating to a run and headed back into the green tunnel under cloudy skies, Caroline noted that I look way better than last year at this part. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Photo credit: Emily Ward

Photo credit: Emily Ward

Photo credit: Emily Ward

Photo credit: Caroline Olson

Photo credit: Caroline Olson

Photo credit: Emily Ward

Onto the singletrack trail of Zapp’s Loop, I tried to keep it smooth and controlled. I had a bit of an energy lull after feeling totally charged up getting into Beck’s. The adrenaline rush of seeing my friends and siblings, feeling so good compared to the year before, the stimulation of volunteers and other crews perhaps took some extra energy out of me. I wasn’t around anyone and wondered if anyone would catch me or vice versa. Sure enough, I soon passed another racer and felt super excited about my progress. Another one! I wasn’t moving super fast, though, and could feel it. I was maintaining a run with every bit of focus I had. At Mission Creek I got onto my stomach on a rock, dunked my entire arms and head and half of my chest into the water. It felt good, but was too much effort as I struggled to get back onto my feet from laying on a large, flat rock. I was totally dirty and smelled like a river, and one shoe got pretty wet. Not worth it. My foot was doing fine enough – definitely felt some damage but it wasn’t getting necessarily worse or overly painful. I knew I was babying it my slightly altering my footstrike. I kept chipping away. The same person I passed after Beck’s caught up to me. Probably all the laying on my stomach trying to cool off. He asked if I still had my blog site going. OH YEAH. Two strangers commenting on my blog site in one day? Cool. He said he didn’t know how he stumbled on it. He said he was in survival mode, but he was moving really good and I felt like I was falling apart. Ben was his name, and he made enough time on me to get fully out of sight. I knew the Hwy 210 aid station was nearby but I was going slow and walking plenty up the punchy climbs out of the Mission Creek valley. Well, slow wasn’t exactly the right word. More like steady. Steady is fast. I was making my way but it wasn’t without pain. The heat of the day was catching up and I found that my jersey was fully dry in a matter of minutes after being fully soaked in the creek. My drink was warm and almost impossible to stomach. Thinking about sipping it disgusted me, and when I felt like I ought to get a gulp down the aftertaste was pure nastiness.

At the Hwy 210 aid station, I got plenty of water in and on me, ice in my hat, and glorious ice in my bottles. That made all the difference taste-wise, and as I set down the long, hay- and netting-riddled descent to Mission Creek, I drank extra sugar water because I knew it’d be hot before long. The sun was trying to peek out of the clouds, but we still had pretty much full cloud cover. I didn’t see anyone for a good long while. Running on the COGGS mountain bike trail was slightly arduous but I kept the same theme up – run no matter what. Don’t stop, don’t walk, don’t power hike, just run. My foot was becoming more bothersome in this section, and I got frustrated with the rutted mountain bike trail. I missed the nice even horse trails. My foot wasn’t getting more painful, but small missteps would send a nerve twinge into the webbing between my big toe and next toe, and I just seemed to be more aware of it. I felt the same twinge feeling towards the top of my foot. I wondered if my laces were too tight. They practically slipped off my heel hiking up Purgatory the way out… how could I tie them looser? I knew Peterson’s would be an excellent stop and an important checkpoint in the race at around mile 41. 9 miles to go sounded so good. I counted down the miles. Four to Peterson’s, just three to go to get there. Two miles left until Peterson’s. One by one, I made it there. I was so happy to get off of the mountain bike trail and I thought it was right around the corner for miles. Up and down the SHT. Onto Purgatory and I was going slow. I walked down the whole thing very gingerly, and just powerhiked back up. Then down again, slowly, carefully. Purgatory is the last remaining “powerlines” section of the historic Voyageur course, featuring extremely steep punchy hills in rapid succession. The sun seemed to be peeking out more frequently once I was out of the green tunnel and onto Highway 210 in Jay Cooke State Park. I entered the Grand Portage Trail and did whatever I could to keep my pace respectable and even and steady. It was working. I knew it was a pretty tough go to get there, though. Lots of uphill grinds. I came up to another racer and passed them. I ran with somebody for a little bit without saying anything as we got onto the horse trail. Yes. I knew the horse trail was just a mile or two in to Peterson’s, and I booked it, keeping it steady. I saw Bennett trying to run. I noticed he’d start up for three strides then resort to walking. Ouch. I saw him try several times to run, and fail, before I came up from behind him and yelled. “It’s like a train, brother! Get the train moving then you won’t stop! Let’s GOOO!!!”. Nope. He said his leg was locking up. Ouch! I passed him up quickly and continued on my way. I guess he was right. I got into Peterson’s with a few other runners around. What a sight for sore eyes. It was fantastic. I had planned to fill up my bottle with Squincher. I had a suspected floating piece of black mold in one of my bottles and tried to kind of fish it out but ended up just dumping out a swig or two worth of mix in disgust. As if the revolting sugar water wasn’t nasty enough. Add some flakes of black mold or whatever this little floatie was. My stomach was luckily holding up to the extreme amount of carbs I was slamming down, but mentally it was gross and I didn’t want to drink. I hammered the ice water while at the aid station. I got purple Squincher with ice, chugged some water, poured some water on my head and down my back. I ate a small piece of watermelon and tried to get ice and a refill in my bottles. I filled one up with ice water and the other half full mix bottle with just ice. It was nice to have the fresh water, but I forgot about my plan and as I was running away realized I might be a little short on calories, carbs and/or electrolytes. Oh well, I could smell the finish line. Game time.

I left the Peterson’s aid station with Ben and tried to get right up behind him as he ran away from the aid station looking strong. He told me to pass whenever, and I replied that I was doing everything I could to keep on his back. We chatted a little more. He had done Wild Duluth a couple times but never Voyageur and was going for his first 100 mile finish at Superior this year. Oh yeah! I came up on another guy walking through the horse trails in Jay Cooke and felt like I was now chipping away at people. Yes. This is why I race, I told myself. The hunter. This is who I am. I can smell blood from a mile away. The guy seemed surprised and said I came out of nowhere. I was running strong and felt it. I felt the energy, the buzzing, the hair standing on the back of your neck. Then again, I still had an hour of running to get to the swinging bridge. The race is far from over. I turned onto the Munger Trail and the guy I had just passed absolutely scorched me on the pavement. How?? He was almost out of sight by the time we got back onto the dirt. I was in the zone but it was an act of pure mental fortitude to keep the pace up. I noticed how my legs were no longer sore. My hamstring that was kind of bothering me earlier in the race and that was gone. Calves, quads, hips, everything was firing well. I blamed the sugar water. It is a miracle. Who would have thought that simply properly fueling one’s body would result in a more enjoyable 50 mile run experience? Yet, the act of running was tedious, being outside on a hot day with my face hot and my ears hot, being drenched in sweat and sticky carb mix and creek water… I didn’t want to do it any longer. I didn’t have any humor left, no jokes to tell myself, no mantras. Just work. I thankfully got a bit more excitement at Gill Creek when I saw several racers and passed them all. Me and Ben power hiked up the back side together and left two or three other racers on the climb. John Storkamp was in the mix and said he was cramping bad, and that he always cramps climbing up the steep Gill Creek climb. I told him he wasn’t cramping. It’s just a little… thing. A tickle or something. No, he assured me he was cramping. Nawwww. Then I looked down across a couple switchbacks and saw him stiff-legging it. Ouch. At the top I was feeling so good, amped up, aggressive after making several passes and with a spring in my step I went around Ben and tried to put some time on him while I had the energy to push.

I made it to Forbay Lake with the speedy road runner guy in sight. A long way off, for sure, but in sight. It seemed sunny after Forbay, getting into the State Park. This section is where I think a top 10 finish is either earned or squandered. Pancake flat, very runnable, but no turns and you can see this arrow-straight horse trail just go on forever. Ugh. I tried to tell myself that if I just die less than others, I’d be steady passing people. I had told someone at the start or the beginning stages of the race that one of the sweetest joys is passing someone on the last river trail section of the course. Hold it together, I told myself. I didn’t see a single person between before Forbay Lake and the last aid station right before the swinging bridge. A couple walkers, someone with a Voyageur hat told me I’m looking really good, then picnic tables and people and dogs sitting at them. Keep pushing, keep chipping. Around the corner and a Ham radio operator. YES. Andrew, his dog Winston, and Emily. YES. I knew the end was close and I got a major jolt of adrenaline. When I got close enough, I dropped my bottles, made a “my hands are ready for the bottles” gesture and held my arms out to grab the fresh set, and did not stop for water or food. I muttered as I passed “I just want to be done”, turned on the jets and ran out of there.

I heard my name and knew there were probably some friends at the aid station, and almost felt bad that I just zinged through. But I wasn’t interested in taking my time. I felt good enough where I knew I could make it to the end without any fuel or hydration at all. But, the heat of the day was coming upon us, I had passed plenty of people between the two last aid stations and knew they were coming for me. I knew one bottle of mix and one bottle of plain water would handily get me to the finish. I sprayed water all over my head and ears. It felt so good. I sipped my fresh mix. It was cool and delicious. I yelled at pedestrians on the swinging bridge “RACER COMING THROUGHHHH” and people did their best to move themselves and their dogs. Shortly after the swinging bridge, I caught up to the speedy road racer who passed me with ease on the flat pavement of the Munger Trail. He noted I was way faster on technical stuff and to go ahead. I said he might see me later. He didn’t think so. I said maybe on the old course, which ran just another half mile or so of pavement into the school. What a sweet joy to make the pass. I wanted to make sure that stuck, so kept the pedal to the metal through the insanely technical river trail section. I was moving good. Little things like punchy hills and hazardous rocks and roots slowed me down to a walk, and it took a concerted effort and strong will to get back running at any opportunity. Ankle bending and awkward movements on my right foot shot painful spikes into my big toe area and I figured that’d be an issue to deal with. Oh well, I was going to get the finish. I didn’t really know if I would the whole time. I thought about dropping out. That is typically a fleeting thought but you never know. Under 9 was already out of the cards but I figured unless I fell or something bad like that, I’d beat my time from last year. But, not by a whole lot. I couldn’t exactly remember where the dang bridge was, and it took forever to get there. But when I did, oh that was nice. Voyageur is so strenuous, so brutal, but to get through the most technical section by far – to see that bridge and cross it, and know that you just have some easy pavement running to get that sweet finish is all worth it. When I made that last left turn, I saw a runner ahead. Oh yeah? Oh yeah! They were carrying a paddle. Oh yeah, that’s Nick! He ran the whole thing with a dang canoe paddle named Pierre. Last year he did just about half of it with the paddle. Can I catch him? I put on the burners, and was making time. The burners were puttering out, though. Maybe on the old course… Too little, too late. I could see him cross the line. With nobody behind me, I was next. My siblings, my friend Kris and the race committee were there to greet me with photos and smiles. I immediately had to sit in the shade, and collapsed near a table where the women’s champion mugs were sitting and took off my shoes to rub my right foot. I asked what place. 14th. Meh. I wanted top 10. My time of 9:16 was definitely meh. I felt pretty frustrated. How did I run 7:28 back in the day? Is it even possible to get under 8 hours again? Yes. I also thought of everything I’ve been through. Injury after injury. Setback after setback. Yet, I was able to run through most of it, do the bare minimum to get to the finish line, and still put up a fight. I didn’t deserve a top-10 finish! Or an 8:20 finish time. I put together a really smart and calculated race, nailed my nutrition strategy, Andrew and Emily nailed their crew assignments, and I stuck to my plan really well. At the end of the day, the race went exceptionally well for me. It was a major boost of confidence, and almost like a weight off my chest, with just a handful of weeks until Superior. I rewarded my finish with the nice cool spray of a nearby hose to the face. I was able to bounce back pretty quick after the race after taking a few days of unimpeded rest and eating as much food as I wanted. My toe was a bit of a question mark in the days immediately after Voyageur, as it as been, but the 50 mile was always going to be a train-through race, and I knew right away that I had to get back out there to train as soon as possible.