Ultimate Wildman Challenge – Part Two – Wild Duluth 100k Race Report

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Race Date: Saturday, October 18, 2026 – 6:00am

After tossing my name in the hat for Wild Duluth, I felt very lost and confused about training, the race itself, and what I wanted to do. The last time I had done the Wild Duluth 100k, I defended my winning title with an even faster time. 5 years later, I felt slow, barely competent, and mentally shaky after the Superior DNF. I felt like my nutrition strategy had failed me – sugar water wasn’t the final answer after all, and didn’t know what to do. I only had 5 weeks from when I registered, which wasn’t a lot of time to really train or gain fitness. Do I even do anything? Just keep some steady running up?

I tried to focus on my maintenance protocol, which is four strength routines per week and essentially a jog every day. The fall NMTC series kept me sharp, but I didn’t do many long runs. The long run is interesting because it takes so much time, and it can be pretty strenuous physically. They’re hard to get out the door for, sometimes, but I love them and for a 100k race they’re indispensable. I logged one solid 4 hour run way up north around the Cascade River area of the Superior Hiking Trail, mainly on a section that I adopt. It was really fun but I didn’t have a lot of water. It was like Superior all over again! So much for practicing drinking way more to see if I felt better and could run stronger. That 18 miler was fairly fast, just about what I was hoping to do at Wild Duluth to get a roughly 12-hour finish, but it was also a really hard run and I struggled after turning back around at the bottom of Cascade River and climbing way back up to my campsite. My plans focused in the days leading up to the race, as I started working on my spreadsheet and taking stock of food and fuel. I went to the grocery store and picked out a smorgasbord of drinks and foods that sounded like they’d be palatable while exercising. I laid down the standard 12-hour finish time pace chart and it seemed a little daunting, but I figured I might as well try to stick it and just see what I could muster.

The Friday before the race, I met with my crew Justus and Caroline at Pizza Luce. I told them it was my good luck, then realized that I held a crew meeting at Luce before Superior… and it was not good luck. Oh, that good luck/bad luck stuff is all hogwash anyways! I wanted pizza, so pizza is what we got. We went over my spreadsheet, my plan, but once we ordered our pizzas our conversation diverted away from the race and it was just the most wonderful dinner out with two friends. I got home feeling at peace, ready for the next day ahead, and relieved with confidence that Justus and Caroline would have my back if I started faltering at any point. I handed off all my sugar water, my grocery bag, a backup pair of shoes, some additional water bottles, and my trekking poles, and got to bed early for a horrible night of sleep. Despite feeling fine in all aspects, I was tossing and turning, nervous, anxious about my early ass alarm. It was one of those nights where the alarm goes off and you wonder: “did I even sleep at all?”. But, I jolted out of bed feeling energetic, made my pot of oatmeal and coffee and had a half of a banana. The weather was looking perfect. Chilly but not too brutally cold at the start, optimal conditions during the day, and Sunday looked even nicer with a touch more warmth. So much sunshine – everything I could hope for. I had my two bottles of sugar water and my pack with me, and with 20 minutes to go until race time I headed out to the finish line.

My plan was to do the tried and true 90 grams of carbs per hour, which is what I had trained for all year. That plan fell apart at Superior because I slowed way down, and the chances of that happening at Wild Duluth were pretty high as well. I put an aggressive pacing plan out there, and the grams of carbs per hour calculation is based off of the pacing plan. But, what I planned to do differently than Superior was carry water with me at all times and eat more food. I knew that would be challenge because hammering the carb mix does not bode well for easy chewing, swallowing and digesting of solid food. I figured if (or rather, when) I slowed off my 5 mph pace, the extra food would carry me and I’d stave off dehydration and the feeling of being totally repulsed by my drink mix with plain water in hand.

At 5:51am, my idling van in the gravel Bayfront Festival Park parking lot, I read 41 degrees off my vehicle’s outside thermometer – almost on the border of needing a long sleeve shirt. Naw. I told myself I’m a badass dude and decided to start the race in a singlet. It was almost like stepping into the cold shower – I dreaded what was coming and braced for the extreme discomfort once I opened my car door and stepped out of the warm, cozy minivan. It wasn’t bad at all. Phew. What a relief. I walked over to a crowd of other 100k runners ready to start and started shivering pretty quickly. I tried to keep it together but it was almost uncontrollable shaking. There were lots of light jackets, gloves, spectators bundled up in massive coats and huge hats, then me in the skimpy shorts and tank top. The race director Andy got on the microphone and said a few things but I wasn’t able to pay attention or comprehend what he was saying. Before long we dispersed. I went around the corner to the start/finish line, lined up and moments later Andy yelled “3-2-1-GO!” to start the race. He hopped on his mountain bike and started furiously pedaling to get well ahead of the surging pack. I went out fast, trying to catch up to Andy yapping out front, Tryg and Henry charging ahead, and Kevin next to me with a huge smile on his face. He was ready to rip. We all chatted a bit and rolled a pretty fast mile to start the race. It was under 8 minutes, but for whatever reason that didn’t seem like a problem to me. Tryg pulled over to pee on an industrial building almost immediately, and I tried to anticipate how much this re-route section would suck on the way back. It didn’t seem that bad, but also my perception of time (and suckiness) was skewed this early in the race. Or rather, my perceptions become heavily skewed by mile 60! We turned up the bridge across the interstate, turned onto 1st Street and charged up the last hill before turning into the woods to meet up with the standard race course. Tryg and Henry and Kevin had put a bit of distance on me on the steep uphill, and by the time we got to the woods they were pretty much out of sight. I was somewhat relieved by that, and felt that I could better lock into my own pace, a comfortable pace, being by myself. I wanted to keep a pulse on the front runners, and although Tryg is very fast and I pegged him to win handily, I wanted to feel like I could compete for one of the top slots. Looking at the start list, I figured if I put it all together I could get 5th place. That was a goal. Sub-12 hours, 5th place, suffer and get through it, and finish were my goals for the day, in order for both what I most desired and what was least realistic. I figured I might as well put a time and place goal out there just to have it, but I knew that if I was dead last to finish I’d be OK with it. As long as I suffered and got through it and made it to the finish this time, that’s all I wanted.

Well before the 24th Ave W aid station, I sensed lights bobbing behind me getting stronger and stronger. Two guys latched on and ran behind me for a minute. My stomach felt a little unsettled, which wasn’t really surprising as I didn’t put forth much effort to use the bathroom at the start line. I decided that if there was a toilet at the first aid station I’d stop. I ran it in with another guy and sure enough, a porta-potty was right there and I went right for it. It was a major relief, actually, but I heard all types of commotion going through the aid station and I got a little anxious that I lost my place in the pack. Who knows how many people just passed me? So I finished up and got back out onto the course. Across the avenue, down Miller Creek, I experienced a feeling of pure happiness. I was glad to get a poop out of the way so I could simply crank miles all day. I was excited for a nice, extra long shift in the woods.

A few more runners made their way up behind me as dawn crept into the woods. The darkness started dissipating and making way for an astounding sunrise as we ran along the Duluth hilltops. I was running with a guy who grew up in Duluth but had moved to San Diego, and a younger Twin Cities guy looking for his first ultramarathon finish. It was nice to chit chat, I was happy to do so. I led our little group for quite some time, but stopped to pee on the Brewer loop section and ran the last little bit in to the aid station by myself. I was excited to see Caroline and Justus, and when I got the aid station I asked to sit down. “Where is the chair?” They looked at each other a bit puzzled and said they didn’t bring the chair! No matter! Ah! Really? What? No, no big deal. Another crew person offered their chair. Oh yeah! Frenzy! I sat down and ate a bit of candy, they filled my bottles up and I was feeling good. I told Justus and Caroline just that. The fresh bottles felt so heavy in my pack but I knew that would be temporary. I tried to thank them profusely as I ran out. It was a pretty quick stop. I almost went the wrong way out of the aid station, nearly cutting the course by 20 feet, but corrected as I heard yelling. I got back on the track and almost ran into another racer. Oop! I realized it was Gretchen Metsa and we set off together. Sweet! I hadn’t seen Gretchen in eons and it was awesome to chat with her. Just like the old days! She had broken her ankle or foot and that had set her way back in training and racing the last couple years, and she was looking forward to getting back to it today. I regaled her in my story of dropping out of Superior, realizing I had already told the same story three times on the day to three different people already.

The miles flew by and I was right on pace for my 5 miles per hour goal. I just needed to stick with Gretchen all day and I’d get there, I told myself. Another runner came up behind us, I recognized Ericka and it was good to chat with her as well. I was feeling so social this morning! Ericka was going for her longest run ever and she seemed a little nervous on the day, stating her finish time estimate of 13 or 14 hours. I yet again told my Superior story – I was going for redemption, yada yada. The two women eventually made their way ahead of me and starting running out of sight after I stopped to pee. The peeing, the hue, the feeling of not being parched were all in a very stark contrast to Superior. I was feeling fine, and was fine with not killing myself to keep up with anyone or any pace. If I fell behind on my goal pace, so be it, I told myself.

I got into Spirit Mountain at about 2:45 race time, almost 14 miles in, nearly to the second off my spreadsheet time estimate/pace goal. That was good, but also meant that the buffer I built from those first few screaming fast miles was gone. I ate a small granola bar as Justus filled my bottles and told Caroline that I was feeling excellent.

My stomach felt just unsettled enough that I chose to go into Spirit Mountain’s lower chalet to use the bathroom. It was probably a waste of time – I took my time in there – as my spreadsheet pace goal slid verifiably off track once I finally got back out onto the trail. I was very nonchalant about my time without any sense of urgency. I just didn’t care. I ran across the bottom of the ski hill, merging with local trail runner Matt Livingston. I ushered him ahead. We both had painful Superior 100 Mile DNF experiences and were both out for redemption. It was very nice chatting with him for a while. Maybe too nice. I felt like I was going a little slower than I’d prefer. Matt must have sensed it and pulled aside to let me go ahead. I scooted around him and started up the trail. We were moving right along when I had a gut feeling of being off course. I let him know and we both became a little confused. We popped out to a little road/access trail crossing and I had to stop dead to reorient myself and think critically about the race course. I told him I was almost certain that we were off. I stressed that at this intersection there would be race flagging. It was a big enough road crossing where it would have been flagged. We could see the blue blazes of the Superior Hiking Trail, but I knew that the race deviated from the main SHT just for this lower chalet aid station section. That seemed to convince Matt and we reluctantly headed back down the way we came. When we got back to the intersection, another fellow Duluth runner Logan tried to come up the trail. He may have thought we were 50k runners as he tried to run towards us, but we both shouted in unison “don’t come this way!!” Matt and I both spotted pink race flagging ahead and confirmed out mistake. I snuck ahead and ran away from the guys towards Ely’s Peak.

I was a little frustrated I took Matt and I off course. He had apologized profusely to me, but I certainly blamed myself. I figured we added on a little less than a mile, and my goal pace had slipped even more. I ran a little bit harder. By the time I zipped through the Magney aid station I was down by 12 minutes. I was down a whole mile. Plus the course was longer this year by well over a mile. So I figured based on my average pace goal of 12 minutes per mile… add a mile off course, add an extra mile on Railroad Street, I was way off. I found solace in my watch showing me that I had pretty much averaged 12 minutes per mile so far, but the problem was I was on track to log well over 60.0 miles as I have in the past, on the traditional course. I saw the first 50k racer charging near Bardon’s Peak, recognized Mitchell Campbell running hard with a little chase group, local speedster Lily crushing her first 50k, and then a steady stream of runners headed to Bayfront Festival Park. I was especially excited to see how the women’s 50k was shaping up, because three strong runners from the WURD running group (Washed Up Runners of Duluth) were set to duke it out. Lily was my pick to win because she’s very fast. But, I didn’t know if she had ultramarathon experience so my thought was if she could keep up with fueling she’d be a lock to win. Well, when she zoomed by me she was chewing. Ohh yeah! Ana came through next. She had a little bit of longer trail racing experience and is a fast marathoner. Finally, one should never ever count Hanna Torvi out! It was fun cheering them on in sequential order, as well as countless other friends and strangers, all 50k finisher hopefuls. It gave me energy to provide a little energy in the form of generic bumper sticker-esque encouragement. “Looking good!” “Strong work!” “Keep running!” “Go you!”

Beck’s Road is always a little bit hectic with the meat of the 50k field passing through and plenty of 100k runners with crews patiently waiting. After zipping down the Munger Trail, I spotted Justus and Caroline and their sweet, beautiful chair and plopped down right in it. I saw Eric Borer and he said I was eating more candy than he’s ever seen me eat, which was good. You wanna see me eat candy? Just stay tuned, my friend! Justus promptly filled my bottles and I made good on my promise to eat more food by housing an uncrustable, washing it down with cherry coke, and another strong dose of candy. I hadn’t eaten anything on the trail and figured that as long as it was going down at the aid stations I’d meet my fueling goals of “eating more”. I essentially made the plan to only eat at aid stations because eating on the run just seemed like too much. I told them I was feeling super good, which wasn’t even that egregious of a lie. I feel like it’s helpful to say that at aid stations for my own self. Like, if I repeat it enough out loud and with enough conviction, it must be reality that I feel great. I wasn’t dawdling at Beck’s Road/Munger aid station but I certainly took my time. I was excited for the next section, remembering the joy of passing the back-of-the-pack 50k runners and having a little bit of alone time before the 100k turnaround.

I felt pretty chilly right away leaving the aid station, despite the mid-morning sun shining bright. I warmed up quickly, though, and joked to myself that I haven’t been comfortable temperature-wise all day. Either freezing cold or warm. Perhaps I’ve been perfect temp all day? I got distracted and slowed way down on the flowy, easy-running trails leading to the Mission Creek area due to “The Clench”. Gah, why is my stomach hating me today? I figured after Poop 1 I’d be fine. I figured after Poop 2 I’d be fine. This one came out of nowhere and it was an immediate crisis that needed resolution. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the Grand Portage aid station, and whether there was a toilet there anyways was a mystery. I didn’t have a choice. Rapidly, I either had to stop running dead in my tracks, or dramatically shit my pants. So I pulled off into the woods, down a little berm to find a nice tree to hold onto while I squatted. Again, I took plenty of time, and was happy that I had toilet paper and hand sanitizer in my pack. It was worth it to take my time, but I felt that pain of falling even further behind my goal pace. By the time I got back onto the trail, a few 100k racers had gone by and I essentially resigned to the fact that a 12 hour finish was out of the cards. What about in the 12’s? I ran some quick math, and it didn’t look good. Hey! I told myself that it wasn’t the point. Why am I out here? Redemption. I wanted to do something really hard, really uncomfortable, I wanted to be in a mental position of wanting to quit the dang race but get through it and persevere and get the finish. I was feeling good, put could put the hurt in a little more. So, I took a huge swig of sugar water and pushed onwards. I realized the taste of my mix was kind of off. I had prepared several baggies, all with a different flavor of electrolyte additive. Justus had discussed his plan to mix gallons of the mix to speed up the aid station process, instead of pouring one of my prepared baggies in one flask then filling it with plain water and mixing. I wondered if I was tasting a blend of all the flavors. Sugar water suicide! 14 year old me at Taco Bell would be so proud!

Stomach back on track, fueling on track, pace way off track, and with a little bit of fatigue starting to arise, I told myself that this was all I ever wanted. Right here. What I was doing right at that moment was my favorite thing in the whole wide world. I absolutely live to be out in the woods, bashing the crap out of my legs, doing whatever I can to run fast. I told that to myself over and over. I was kind of in no man’s land, not having seen another 100k runner besides from the recent crouched vantage off the trail, but it was indeed fun cheering on the last of the 50k runners. I was a little in awe with some of them. There were people in full winter coats, huge chopper mittens, hats and I was in my July race kit feeling just fine. I wondered why some of these people did it. Wouldn’t a 4 hour half marathon be, like, more enjoyable than chasing the cutoffs for a 14 hour 50k?? Whatever, I told myself to not judge, not look down on the power walkers. Not my problem, not my deal! People are entitled to their own version of fun and I commended them for doing it. Some of the last stragglers did not look like they were having fun, though.

I eventually came up to another 100k runner, which was refreshing. He had mid-calf socks with words emblazoned along his Achilles: GOD on one. SPEED on the other. I simply couldn’t resist cracking a joke so I asked if he ever mixed up the socks and accidentally wore SPEED GOD. I couldn’t believe how hilarious that was and at the time just loved that dorky term – SPEED GOD. Like, what would I do for someone to reference me as speed god? I would do anything, probably. That’d be a sweet neck tat. SPEED GOD for all to see. He at least endorsed my joke, whether or not he actually thought it was funny. He said he has several pairs of these particular socks, and sometimes would get them mixed up and end up with SPEED SPEED, or GOD GOD. If he was really confident on the day, he’d pick SPEED SPEED. That was too funny. We ran together for a while. I noticed my shoulder starting to get pretty irritating. I had taped the front of my shoulders, knowing that the abrasion of my pack bouncing all day would chafe me bad otherwise. Well, I placed the tape in the slightly wrong spot and it was clearly not guarding against the friction. I found myself holding my hand under the shoulder strap and even tried to move the tape. Once it debonded from my skin, there was no adhesive left and it was just a floppy strip hanging down. Fail! I knew that I had some extra tape in my pack, and was once again happy for the foresight to bring my small aid kid. Especially for this section. First the e-dump, now this?? I told myself I’d take a long enough stop at Grand Portage aid station to get the clavicle figured out, knowing that it’d be really uncomfortable by the turnaround after another hour or two. I made it to Grand Portage and saw my friend Liam. YES! He was so ready to help, so I ran up to him and removed my pack. He was looking for a bottle to fill. I said I wasn’t doing well. I reached in my pack and told him he couldn’t look at what I was doing. I grabbed my “waste bag” and spiked it into the nearby trash can. Liam probably thought I was going through a crisis or something. I was all over the place. But I got my strip of KT tape and calmly described my shoulder situation and he taped me up nicely. I then noticed Kevin right there next to me sipping water the whole time. Dude! “How’s it going?” Very brief pleasantries were exchanged, but I didn’t need any other aid and ran off immediately after Liam’s expert tape job. I looked back, expecting Kevin to dart off with me, but it was an odd sight that is ingrained in my memory. He was just standing there, not drinking, not eating, not getting taped up, not doing anything. I might have yelled “KEVIN” but I was already way off. I was almost frustrated. Like, what the hell was he doing back there?? This is a race! I expected him to surge right up to me as I ran along the choppy Saint Louis River. He never came. I passed a few hikers, a parked car on Highway 210 with people who cheered me on, and I felt eager to get to the turnaround. I was really eager for Beck’s Road. I knew that that aid station on the way back was the crux. If I could get there and feel somewhat OK, the rest of the race would go good enough. I started feeling so slow, though. The hills were taking their toll. I felt good walking but had to tell myself to run the flats. My legs had a marathon in them and I could feel it. I had plenty more energy and I knew that, but it was the point in the race where I knew the leg fatigue was there to stay. My stomach was feeling better, luckily, and I was taking down my sugar water with ease. It actually tasted kind of good when I could alternate with plain water, swish that around in my mouth and spit it out then sip some more. It emboldened me to take big swigs of the (generally kind of nasty) concentrated sugar water. I had zero desire to eat food – a small cache of candy and a gel were to say stowed away in a side pocket. I kept scraping my elbow on the sharp gel packet corner, and figured it was stupid to carry that dang thing around all that way. I wasn’t going to eat it anyways. I passed a 100k runner or two, and knew that I could get some good fast splits coming into Oldenburg Point. Good. I saw the first place runner in a cutoff flannel moving so smoothly back to the start line. I felt very slow in that moment, like every step was strenuous. Every step was indeed kind of strenuous but I was realistically moving nicely. Henry and Tryg were running together in second and third. I was able to get some fast miles, including a very exciting sub-10 minute mile, as the leaders front of the field passed me one by one. I had experienced a lot of 13 minute miles on the day so far, so to feel like I had some gas in the tank was awesome. That gave me the energy, the juice I needed to push it hard to the turnaround at Olderburg. My deal was that I should run hard knowing that I was going to be able to sit down and relax for a minute at the halfway point soon.

Yet, fast running miles brought pain and agony. I just felt like trash at Forbay Lake. 100k runners were zipping past me looking strong and smooth and I was on the opposite side of the spectrum. 4th place, 5th place, 6th place – I announced it to each of them as they went by. DANGER NO SWIMMING signs adorned the dam. Maybe I just jump in and see what happens? Mmm, naw. I love this too much. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do. Down the hill, around the bend, and the road crossing and aid station were right there in sight. Oh yeah. Easy! It was so much further from Forbay to the last aid station at Voyageur 50 Mile than to Oldenburg. Caroline and Justus and Shannon were there waiting for me with the lovely chair. I wasn’t hungry at all but brute forced some chips. I told them I’d eat pizza at Beck’s. Justus was absolutely tight with the mix and got me filled promptly. I announced that I had 31 miles on the dot on my watch, so it was probably going to be a true 100k, although I wasn’t planning on going off course on the way back. I joked with Justus about 5:45. Game planning with him a week or so prior at the running club, I had straight-faced pitched that I go out with the intention to win again. Like, race to win, forget about the clock. Keep the race leader in check and just see what happens. See, I figured, that’d be a win/win situation because if I dramatically blew up I’d get that much more DNF redemption. Justus, in a rightfully skeptical tone, had recommended that maybe I just planned on getting to the turnaround in 5:45 and taking it from there. Well, here we were and I was way off 5:45. Halfway into the race, 6:20 on the clock, I was 20 minutes off my spreadsheet halfway split estimates, and I had also slipped on my watch or “true” pace, running perhaps 10-15 minutes slower than 12 minutes/mile on average. I thought about an even split race and how 12:40 sounded. Maybe slightly faster if I didn’t go off course on the way back. So, I figured a finish in the 12’s would be totally feasible and put that back in my head. I just couldn’t slow down much. I told them about Kevin staring off into space and not going with me at the previous aid station. Shannon kind of rolled her eyes, and with her daughter Dot in earshot, confessed that Kevin had two “uh… adult gummis.” It was the funniest shit I had ever heard in my whole life. Ah… well the story checks out! It put a hilarious context to the image burned in my mind of Kevin just peacefully looking at a cloud as I had frantically rushed through the aid station.

Jokes aside, I begrudgingly left the comfy chair without too much dawdling, and found it fairly difficult to get the legs turning again. They were getting sore. My body was holding up pretty spectacularly, all things considered. After the shoulder tape job I was all set. My feet were feeling fine – I’m always worried about my right big toe. I hadn’t turned either ankle at all and the lower extremities were solid. My big leg muscles were feeling all good, and everything else was in good shape. The biggest irritation or pain point was probably chafing in my armpits, which was a little odd. That hadn’t happened much in the past but it was minor enough that I was certain it’d be ignorable. I eventually got the steam-powered locomotive pistons chugging back up to speed and was able to find my running pace on the easy, flat, wide horse trails around Jay Cooke State Park. I starting thinking about hunting. I figured I was around 10th place, give or take a few, and had lost track of my placement counting passing 100k runners around the high single digits when I was closing in on the aid station. I sensed I was a bit in no-mans land without any charging 100k runners clearly behind me either. I truly believed that I would be able to finish strong.

Beck’s Road was my full focus, and I noticed lots of micro ups and downs on the way there. I’d walk a bit up a tiny hill, get frustrated, make myself get back running, feel so slow and sluggish, drink a bit of sugar water, have trouble swallowing it and having to knock my head back like ripping a shot at the bar, then focus on not vomiting. Then I’d get running, then get running good, then would feel amazing like a prancing deer through the forest. Chugging mix. Then reset. Pain. Agony. The cycle continues. I got in a little group with SPEED GOD and another older guy, which was a welcome distraction. We exchanged places several times and it was enough stimulation to take my mind off the drudgery of 100k trail racing. I felt better than I had in a while with those two guys. It pushed me to work my legs a little bit harder than I think I would have alone. After an hour or so back and forth, I noticed a little gap on them and made it my focus to drop them. Why? No reason, except to see if I could. The hunt was on! I spotted another runner ahead, it was Gretchen. Ooo yeah! If I stick with her I’d be all good. Just like the old days! I fondly remembered a past Wild Duluth 100k passing Gretchen up the huge Grand Portage climb to take the lead and go on to win overall. Well, we were older and apparently slower. This time, I was totally fine with sticking behind her for a while. She said her stomach was not cooperating. I tried to give her some advice – take all the time you need at Beck’s. You gotta stay fueled up. You know what to do. The stomach will come back but you gotta keep pushing calories out here. The legs won’t come back if you neglect the fuel. I think I was saying those things as a reminder to myself as much as what I thought was a help to her. She was running fine, hiding her struggles extraordinarily well. I actually didn’t really believe what she was saying!

We ran it into the Munger aid station together and I felt like I was shot out of a cannon across Beck’s Road. I legitimately felt very good, strong, full of spark, and proud to get to the crux. I made it to the crux! I was so excited to pick up my poles. I spotted Justus and Caroline with ease, a tiny fraction of the fanfare compared to my first time there. I plopped my ass right down, afternoon sun belting down on my shoulders. I ate a little bit of candy, didn’t think I could eat pizza but told myself to take all the time I needed. That was smart thinking. I did not need to try to shave off a minute or two or five at the aid station if bonking would result in 5 hours of slow walking, or worse. Rushing through aid stations seemed to be a vital mistake from Superior – on the long races it may be essential to pick key aid stations to take all the time that’s needed. This was a key aid station, 42 miles down, and I had planned my “lunch stop” here with the pizza. I struggled to chew a tiny bite but gave it time. I drank some pop, refilled my candy stash, and left my pizza slice half nibbled. Oh well, good enough. I got up from the chair, tried to thank my crew profusely, and jabbed my hiking sticks into the ground to propel my body forward. Ooh yeah, I knew I was going to be happy to have the extra support. I yelled “THIS IS MY SHIT!!!”, screaming like a maniac as I got onto the paved Munger Trail.

It hurt. Ouch. However, the legs got up to speed on the paved Munger Trail and it was like a runaway train. I passed some pedestrians and small children trying to enjoy the beautiful fall day. The entrance back onto the singletrack trail is like a block wall. No transition, just jagged rocks straight up to Ely’s Peak. It took me a little bit to get my climbing legs settled, I was a little cumbersome with the sticks in hand, but I locked in in no time, passing day hikers on the bald rock outcroppings and yelling to announce my intentions to go around them in the tight cavernous sections. It was really busy, tough and frankly frustrating to navigate all the people. Most everyone was really respectful and gave me plenty of space. I made decent time up the steep, rocky climb and was awarded with a stunning view of endless yellow leaves and the Saint Louis River estuary shimmering in the background. Perfect! I was excited to get through my crux. Just steady chipping away the rest of the day, I told myself.

On top of Ely’s, I was ready and prepared to get into a nice rhythm but just could not get it going. It was too rocky. The poles felt fine, but I just had problems getting the steam engine up to speed. Every other step was a technical problem I had to solve in real time. It was frustrating. The hiking poles became less and less helpful as they got jammed up on rock piles, and mile splits absolutely weren’t helping my mindset. 13 high. Another 13 something. 13:44. Back to back to back to back slow miles. Somehow it felt like I was losing time every step, and there was nothing I could do about it. Oh! I could pump carbs! I remembered to drink my carb mix and knew that I absolutely had to get to the Spirit Mountain crew stop without any food left on me. I didn’t want Justus to scold me, but more importantly knew that it was crucial to keep fueled the entire race, even through the last grueling aid station, if I wanted to have some semblance of energy for the 10k the next day. Ugh, the 10k the next day.

I didn’t even want to look at my folded up spreadsheet to check the goal pace status – I knew I was way off. Stupid race. What was I thinking that I could get under 12 hours again? I’m so much slower than 5 years. How could I compete with these other strong runners? 5th place? Yeah fucking right. Superior 100 2027? Hell fucking no. The day prior, a week prior, the day that I registered for Wild Duluth just two days after dropping out of the 2026 Superior 100, I was convinced that getting back to that finish line in Lutsen would give me the true redemption I sought. Wild Duluth was just some redemption. The day before, I was convinced that Superior 100 be a fun future experience for myself. Yeah right! This isn’t fun. I am washed up! I’ve had my fun, I’ve had great successes, I told myself in that moment, and it’s just not worth it anymore. No no no. Nope – this is what I love. Get that shit out of your head! I love bashing my legs up in the woods. I love being out here suffering. I love pushing my limits. This is my thing. This is who I am. This is part of me. Yeah. Yeah.

The weird self talk worked, but I still had Superior in my mind. All things considered, I was having fun. But Superior? Nope, that was simply a no-go. I couldn’t imagine training as hard as I did last summer, starting the race, going through that pain and agony, pushing through for 15 more hours to get the finish. That was something I simply wasn’t cut out for. And I didn’t care. It was such a salient fact in my mind at that point, for some reason. I didn’t know why I was thinking about that. I tried to reorient my mind to the present. I didn’t need to think about that because what could I do about it? What could I do about it now? Uhh, finish the dang race. What can I do about that now? Slam sugar water. That’s right. A few sips went down without too much trouble. But soon after, I felt sloshing like I could potentially throw up at any moment. Must. Keep. Slamming sugar water. I had experienced a nagging frog in my throat all day and had been coughing a lot, which definitely didn’t help the gag reflex. My legs were still doing well, I was just frustrated and sick of feeling slow. I power hiked up into the Magney aid station all by myself and ran right through across Skyline without stopping. There might have been a fellow racer at the aid station, I didn’t have enough awareness to confirm that. I barely was able to mutter niceties to my friend Doug, long-time HAM radio volunteer, stationed in the parking lot.

I navigated the big downhill to the DWP trail, then right back up. I used my poles heavily and walked up the switchbacks away from Stewart Creek. Mile 46 beeped with a 14:30 mile. Ugh. I kept chipping. Mile 47 14:44. UGHH. I just could not get into a running rhythm with the punchy climbs and jagged rocks and roots coming into Spirit Mountain. This section will suck tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow will suck ass. The rest of today is going to suck ass. I was in a pretty poor mental state. I made sure my bottles were empty as I finally found the ability to run some of the buffed out downhills and lengthy boardwalks near Spirit Mountain’s big chairlift. I was so excited to get to the Spirit crew stop just to get some positivity from Caroline and Justus. I hadn’t really run with anyone since Gretchen, or even seen another racer since Beck’s. I was in no man’s land. I saw Rod peeing in the woods, waiting for Matt. Matt had said he got Rod as a pacer but was skeptical that he’d actually show up. And there he was, peeing on the trail! I breezed by him and said Matt was kind of far back – hadn’t seen him in a while. Rod said I was looking good. Psh. Yeah right. There was no way that was true.

I ran straight to Justus and Caroline and slumped into the chair without saying much. I didn’t have anything to say. I asked them if anyone was in front of me I could hunt. Meh, 5 minutes up or so were two people. That perked me up a tiny bit – just enough to not totally dawdle, although I took some extra time to eat candy. Eric was there as well and I got just enough spark to feel a shred of positivity before leaving the aid station. I was really averse to eating food at that point and candy was pretty much the only thing I could envision putting in my mouth and chewing. That was OK, even no food was good enough, as long as I could keep putting down the carb mix. Justus and Caroline told me they were going to try and push caffeine on me. I said there was no way. I didn’t want to be all jittery the rest of the day and evening. I had to get a good night sleep and race tomorrow! It was like a high stakes negotiation how they approached the pitch to take a caffeine pill but I shut it down quick. Justus poured me up, Caroline was the calm voice of reason that I needed. Bottles back in the vest, poles back in the hands, stand up, and I set off up Spirit Mountain. I looked forward to the next aid station already, knowing that if I could make decent time across Spirit, under the freeway, and power hike up to Highland Getchell, the hardest parts were fully behind me.

Mile 48 came in at 15:44. Damn. Well, that was with an aid stop and plenty of chair sitting. Keep chipping. Steady chipping will get me there. The afternoon seemed too short, like the noon sun transitioned to evening within an hour. The sun was shrouded behind trees and the hillside and it seemed suddenly darker. I wanted to finish in the light. Was I on track? On track for a sub 13? I ran some quick math and deliberated on what time darkness would fall. Not really on track for either, and I figured 13 hours and darkness were one in the same. Fuck god dammit. Shit. Doesn’t matter. Run it in hard. Whatever. Keep steady chipping. That’s all that matters. I remembered my most trusty mantra on the day – this is what I love to do. This is all I want to do – bash the hell out of my legs in the woods. Smash those shits. Where were those people ahead of me? Who will slow down the least? Not me. I tried to use that as motivation, and it worked. I logged a mile in the 12’s. Ok, progress. I saw some hikers on top of Spirit before the big drop back down towards the zoo. I asked if they’d seen any other runners ahead of me. The guy thought for a second and said yeah, maybe a few hundred meters ahead? OH??! My eyes got really big – I zoomed past them then thought to myself… a couple hundred meters? Wait, what, is this guy Canadian? How far is that really? A hundred or two hundred meters is nothing. Right? I couldn’t really visualize the distance. That’s like, within sight. So where were they? Go find out! The hunt was on – perfect timing as I got to the big downhill on the east side of Spirit Mountain and knew I could run. I bombed the hill, poles off the ground and balanced on my palms at their fulcrums, feet moving quickly across rocks and roots. Now is not the time to eat shit, I told myself. No, flow. Go for it. Push! Where were they?? Nothing. Nobody. But, I smelled blood and just the prospect of coming up on a late-stage suffering racer was a great motivator. Another mile split closer to 12 minutes flat. Good. Not exactly great, but good enough. Across the gravel road, down towards the zoo, back up. Down and up, down and up. This entire course is just down and up! I started feeling that tunnel vision where nothing else mattered, soreness kind of evaporating away and just a stubborn pursuit of the finish by any means necessary left at the bottom. I tried to see if anyone else was behind me with a view of the trail intersection, and then something forgotten from earlier in the day hit me! Matt was talking about a potential mis-marking of the course – the last two years we didn’t go all the way down to the zoo intersection but this year we did, adding even more mileage to already long, re-routed course. At the time, hours earlier, I could not picture what section of trail he was talking about. I had been totally confused and changed the subject. Hours later on the way back, it clicked, and was so satisfying to get closure on my earlier confusion. Then my emotions quickly switched, and it frustrated me a little bit. It’s supposed to be up there!! Come on! Oh, I thought, that’d be a convenient place to cut the course. Maybe I could just jump down to the Munger Trail and run it in from there. Naw, no, no, no. I wasn’t going to cheat today, I promised myself. I missed my chance, anyways. Where are those damn people?? Chipmunk! I had to consciously tell myself to run every step, with the taste of blood as my reward. And it worked – I ran so hard atop the rocky escarpments parallel to the interstate as evening seeped into the woods. Mile 50 came and went, earlier than usual, as expected. I was excited to go under the interstate, where I traditionally “mark” Mile 50, or Mile 20 in the 50k race. Under the bridge was sort of my last benchmark before the “home stretch”. I gave myself permission to walk as much as I wanted up to the Highland Getchell aid station. My carb mix was going down fine enough but I still had no desire to eat. My stomach felt a little sloshy. I thought I could hear stomach sloshing and genuinely couldn’t tell if it was my water bottles or stomach. I knew there was a toilet at the Growing Duluth business right across Cody Street. It was hard to decide to stop there or not. Would I regret not stopping? Would it be worth the pain? The reality was, and there isn’t any nicer way to put this, I had three poops on the day and my asshole hurt. But stomach sloshing typically leads to one thing: The Clench. That’s a big risk. I kind of had to go and even that fact was frustrating. I convinced myself (again) that it’d be the last stop, one final dump would do the trick. In and out, and it was worth if not just for the peace of mind. Despite mild irritation on the undercarriage, my body was holding up fine besides general fatigue. No blisters, no hot spots, no nagging issues. My biggest physical problems were chafing and irritation. I tried to inspect my stinging armpit to see if I was bleeding or anything. Nope, just a tiny bit of red chafing. It was not a problem. I had no problems.

Back on the trail, under the power lines above Cody Street, I held my poles in my hand while running. I felt strong, albeit slow. It was going to be a major struggle to make under 13 hours, and to get there I absolutely could not let off the gas pedal. In fact, I had to finish stronger and faster than I had been running since I was on that section 11 hours ago. Where were those other guys? 200 meters ahead my ass! I felt like I had been absolutely smashing it and running so hard from Spirit… how was I not able to make up 200 fricken meters? Well, the recent toilet stop. I told myself I’d get some intel and be quick and studious at the aid station. The Highland Getchell aid station has given me that hope and focus before! But, giving myself permission to walk up the entire Keene Creek was in direct conflict with my desire to pass people. I felt compelled to run, and like a badass knowing that my crew could probably see me just charging up to the aid station with my poles off the ground. When I got to them and slumped in the chair, I remembered my key tactic – lie! Lie to their faces! I communicated to Caroline and Justus that I was feeling way better and ready to round out the race with strength. That message was, in reality, probably delivered with substantially fewer words. I intently asked where the other guys were. They were short and almost dismissive: “eh 10 minutes or so. Want some candy?” Oh. Damn. I was completely deflated. What about 100 meters up? Did I lose that much time? No way. The dude on the trail by Spirit lied to me! Can’t trust those Canadians! 10 minutes was not a feasible gap to close unless they were absolutely dying. But the way Justus and Caroline responded, I knew immediately that it wasn’t going to happen. So, next goal was hold off anyone else behind me. Who was back there? Gretchen dealing with stomach issues? SPEED GOD? Could I get under 13 hours? Could I finish in the light? Justus and Caroline had my headlamp set out and told me to take it just in case they forgot at the other aid station. I almost told them to keep it just as a statement piece. Like, to prophesy that I was under no circumstances going to get to 24th Ave W before it’s dark. Will it to be! No, no, that’s dumb and we all knew it. So I grabbed the lamp, tried unsuccessfully to stomach some candy and headed off. I told them the mix was enough fuel for me at this point, and the fresh sugar water was fairly tasty.

I struggled badly right out of the aid station through the extremely technical, rocky and jagged river section. I told myself I had to get into a rhythm on the runnable Brewer section, and bargained that I could walk up to Skyline before I had to actually run. I saw my Hoops Running Club friends Grace and Alex right across Skyline and they said I was looking great. Yeah right. It was nice seeing them but I almost felt disgusted. Why sugar coat it? I’m hunched over, all dirty, probably smell, maybe bleeding. Definitely look haggard. Probably have several new face wrinkles from the wincing. Don’t patronize me! My emotions switched quickly and I knew deep down I was deeply grateful for them. So, I kept pushing, digging my poles deep in the ground for a solid pushoff. Then, once the steam locomotive pistons were firing at a fast enough rate, I picked up my poles, leaned my hips forward and just churned those little leggies. Steady chipping. Steady chipping away will get me to that finish. Almost an 18 minute mile flashing on my watch was discouraging, but expected with the relentless uphill and aid station stop. A mid 12-minute mile atop Brewer was satisfactory but a little disappointing. I tried to push as hard as I could, and felt very alone and isolated as night continued its quiet, unstoppable advance into the woods. I enjoyed a quaint, peaceful view of West Duluth below the cliffside to the my right, basking in the waning light of a beautiful day. 13 something minutes. Bad. 13:44. God damn it. Then another high 13. Back to back to back 13 minute miles. How was I losing time? I was running! What the hell? I couldn’t really figure out how to run any faster. I felt like I was going fast… fast enough… but my watch was telling me something drastically different. Satellites off? Just keep doing it, just keep running. I told myself I could walk up a tiny hill, then would accidentally keep walking on a slight flat, but was doing really well at reminding myself to just get back running and I’d snap back into it with ease. Mile 55 came and went as I went under Haines Road via the underground tunnel. I was about 11:50 into the race. Could I rip 7 miles in an hour? I figured I’d finish right about 62 miles on my watch. I knew the last two miles would be speedy and I was confident that I could rip a fast split on the tarmac into the finish line. When I thought critically, though, I easily acknowledged that a 12:59 finish time would require 7 sub-10 minute miles in a row. Nope. I knew it was essentially impossible.

It was getting dark as I climbed up to Piedmont. My legs, my spirit and mind were all intact. I was feeling good enough in all aspects, and had a ton of confidence to get the finish line and also get a 10k finish the next day. Yet, the disappointment of so many goals falling through my fingers was striking. The A-goal of sub 12 was clearly over an hour off. B-goal of top 5 finish was way off as I was almost certainly in 10th place at least. There goes my winning streak… My D-goal that I invented mid-race to finish under 13 hours was fully out of reach. And with dusk setting in and another hour and change of running left to do, my C-goal of finishing in the light was not in the cards. However, I met my goal of suffering. And I knew at that point I’d meet my F-goal of just finishing the damn race. So in reality, I’d accomplished what I set out to do. I’d get some redemption. I’d restore my self-image as a badass dude. And things were looking quite good to get another arrowhead on my hatchet. Despite feeling a bit of inner turmoil, frustration and agony, I also felt quite a bit of general pride, positivity and happiness. There was a lot of sharp emotional flip-flops during the meat of the race, but nothing major. I didn’t feel any tremendous runners high type moments, which is fairly common at long races, and I didn’t have any true meltdowns. Those are also fairly common at long races. Just kinda good, kinda bad, up and down, over and over. Kinda slow, kinda fast, back and forth, back and forth. All day.

I kept my foot on the gas and was proud of my decisions to hold my poles along my hips and run at every chance I had. Piedmont came and went, shorter than I remembered, without too much trouble at all. I almost felt like I was in a flow state, satisfied with my efforts despite many multiple 13+ minute miles. I started passing some 50k runners. I knew the aid station was close and couldn’t have been more excited to get there. I planned to drop my pack and poles and just take a handheld into the finish. I ran it into my people, smiling and feeling genuinely joyful when I saw Caroline and Justus for the last time on course. I handed them my nasty pack, my trusty poles, and was happy to power grip one last bottle of carb mix into the finish with my headlamp in the other hand. With hope, I asked them one last time if there was anyone ahead of me. They kind of brushed it off again – 10 minutes up or so. Yeah. Meh. Yeah, not gonna happen. Whatever. I had at least 30 minutes to get to the finish before the clock would hit 13 hours. 30 minutes was usually my estimate from 24th Ave W to the finish, but on the normal course and when running the 50k. I didn’t really care, but I still had a desire to give it all I had left for the day.

I was able to run really well after crossing over Piedmont Avenue. Darkness had fully set in and I couldn’t see the trail once I got back into the woods. I had my light in my hand but it was way too shaky and I had to get it on my head. The wide, smooth trails over Skyline and up to Enger Tower felt fantastic. I was so excited to get through the last climb of the race, so I took it hard. At the top of Enger, I lightly tapped the swinging log, hoping for a nice little ring of the Japanese Peace Bell to close out my day, but my tap was far too weak and contact was not made. Ugh. I laboriously turned around and smashed my hand into the log to get a nice robust bell ring and quell my frustration. It was barely worth it. I passed several 50k runners on the way down, yelling “home stretch!!” One runner was skeptical. She said she was already grumpy, so it better be the home stretch. All downhill, lady! She said she didn’t want to do any downhills. Or uphills. Nearly out of earshot, absolutely bombing down to Skyline on the backside of Enger, I yelled back “there’s a nice long flat stretch for youuuu!”

I was hammering the descent, and couldn’t wait to hit the road. I was so excited, in fact, I ran down the wrong road. Crap! 3rd Street! I took time to look at my microscopic watch map. Even though it was just a few steps in the wrong direction, the mistake was frustrating. A small little bit of trail beyond that and I was on 1st Street, confirmed by some bobbing headlamps down the way. I cruised past those 50k participants, absolutely belting down the roadway in the dark, trying to leave it all out on the course. Was it worth it to check my watch? I figured I was already over 13 hours. It didn’t matter, I was going to give it all I had anyways. It felt like I was running 5 minute flat pace. There was quite a bit more vehicle traffic compared to 13 hours prior, and 50k runners and I were kind of all over the road. I picked the right side of Railroad Street, running with traffic, and I noticed other 50k runners against traffic as they should be. Whatever… I moved my legs as fast as possible, still sipping my mix to the last damn moment. Railroad felt fairly long and tedious, as expected, but it was nice to see the lights of Pier B and Bayfront in the distance and reel them in. Every step brought progress to my goal. I certainly could not accelerate even as I got closer, closer to the sweet end, so I just tried to hold onto the feverish cadence of my spinning legs as I got onto the bike path and the traditional course. Onto the sidewalk. Yes. Under the canopy of Bentleyville christmas lights. We’re here. I had been thinking about the finish for a while. Could I really yell out “redemption?” Yes. Yes I can. Yes I will. I have the right. No… I have the obligation! To bellow it out upon finishing! I noticed the clock and the crowds cheering. I saw my faithful crew Justus and Caroline yelling. 3:10 was on the clock. Eh, good enough. I crossed the line and tilted my head upwards. “REDEMPTIOOOOOOOOOOOON” as long as I could hold it. I held it a long, long time. Then I fell to my knees.

Justus and Caroline made their way over and helped me up. I gave them both huge hugs, which seems funny at the time but probably really wasn’t, as I was disgustingly unclean. I sat in a chair, then got cold and felt my legs get more sore and restless. Moving them seemed less painful than stillness. I shuffled inside the family center and filled my new mug with tasty looking wild rice soup and spotted a very appealing-looking gallon of chocolate milk. That was absolutely delicious. It took me 15 minutes to eat one bite of soup as I chatted with the finisher right before me, Logan. He had an excellent race. I talked with a few other people, Justus and Caroline, my long lost friend Justin, my 50k finisher friend who works at the Superior Hiking Trail Association also named Justin. Then I suddenly felt the need to get the heck out of there and go home. I didn’t have a ton of turnaround time to recover for the 10k, so figured that being focused was my best path forward. I asked my crew to help me with a few more small items – helping me carry my crap to the van and transferring the aid station supplies.

I knew I ought to eat a lot of food but my stomach felt fucked up. I ate a small bite from my soup mug, still mostly full, as I drove. I figured a stop at the grocery store would be a good call. I went to the co-op and grazed. I was easily the grossest person in the store. As I shuffled around, I anxiously noticed my butthole was the most painful part of my body by far. Would this be a problem? Hopefully not for more than 25 hours, anyways. I purchased a huge bottle of chocolate whole milk and a strange combination of two asian dishes that I could microwave. When I got home, I was not hungry at all but forced myself to finish the cold soup. I got into the shower to prep for my bath that I had been meticulously planning for hours and hours. 15 tedious minutes into the shower, however, I realized that a bath could take hours if not days at that rate. I didn’t need it. I sat down in the shower as a compromise, washed my legs off, screamed a little bit when the hot water contacted my taintal region, but my body seemed to be in fine shape all-in-all. An hour after I got home, I was still not hungry whatsoever. Knowing I had to eat something before bed was kind of stressing me out. It wasn’t until 10:30pm that I suddenly felt ravenous. I cooked my asian dish and ate it in bed. MORE FOOD. I warmed up several slices of pizza and housed that shit. I took down some additional munchies with ease while mostly horizontal, plus the entire liter of chocolate milk and several fizzy waters. I turned off my bedside lamp before I was even done chewing and fell asleep pretty quickly thereafter. It wasn’t an excellent night of sleep, per usual, but good enough to get an arrowhead.

Race Results

GPS Data

Time: 13:10:39
Place: 12/74
Pace: 12:44

Shoes: Mount to Coast T1, size 12.5

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