NamedPipe

Reading Time: 13 minutes

“Running all night. Not me.”

The bartender knew it before I did. My dad and I were drinking beers at the bar at Lutsen Resort. As he cleaned up the bar area, the bartender asked what brought me up to Lutsen. I was there to run a race – a 50k race (a tad over 31 miles). I explained that there are spring trail races up near Lutsen (25k and 50k) and a set of fall races too – a marathon, a 50 miler and a 100 miler. I remarked that the 100 mile runners were insane.

The bartender looked at me and said, “You want to do the 100 miler, don’t you?”

I laughed, “No way. I’m not that crazy. Running all night. Not me.”

Good bartenders have a way of seeing into people’s hopes better than most people.

That was two years ago. And this spring I signed up for the Superior 100 Mile Trail Race. I had committed myself to the insanity after two successful years of running the Wild Duluth 100K.

The Logistics Were Complicated

In August I started making out a plan to get me to the start of the race. We would drive to St. Paul for one night, leaving my girls (ages 8 and 5) with my Mom. Then my dad, my wife, my son (age 10), and I head to just northeast of Two Harbors to stay the night before the start. I also had to make sure we had a room at the finish line near Lutsen Resort, about 60 miles northeast of the start, for the next two nights. I would only sleep there one night.

The morning of the start was perfect. Sunny and about 50F. And since we stayed near the start, it only took us 5 minutes to arrive at Gooseberry Falls where the race started.

At most races people push closer and closer to the starting line – trying to get a better position up front.

In ultras people move to the back.

An air horn sounded and we were off. It’s 8am on Friday.

Friday was a breeze. If you ever offer me one full day to do any thing of my choosing it would be running the Superior Hiking Trail. I don’t need a race to motivate me to be out here.

The Damn Headlamp!

I was famous (or infamous) in the 2010 Wild Duluth 100K for not having a headlamp. My family had to drive all over Duluth to buy and deliver one to me on the trail.

But for this race my headlamp was in my drop bag at the Silver Bay aid station at mile 25. Tucked inside an extra pair of shoes. At the pre-race briefing they tell you to leave your headlamp at Silver Bay. There are no drop bags at Tettegouche (after Silver Bay) and most people don’t make it to County Rd. 6 (about mile 43) before dark. So I followed their instructions.

I came into the aid station and my crew (my wife, my son, and my dad) were excitedly waiting for me. I switched to a t-shirt. I grabbed some bananas and candy. My wife snapped my photo. Then I decided I would send my drop bag with my crew cause there was no need to leave it at the aid station – the unused stuff my come in handy later when I see the crew again.

I left the Silver Bay aid station quickly. My headlamp was heading to Lutsen with my crew. None of which I planned to see until after 1am. Back on the trail I was enjoying running and talking with Lisa, a runner from Duluth who I’d seen at Wild Duluth two years back. About 20 minutes out of Silver Bay she mentioned something testing a new headlamp this year. And then it hit me. I had no headlamp. And no way of getting it. And no way of contacting my crew.

I told Lisa about my stupidity. She said, recalling my first Wild Duluth 100k, “That’s a lesson you just refuse to learn.”

She offered to let me use her backup headlamp which her husband was brining to the next aid station. That gave me a bit of relief. Enough to relax enough and formulate a plan in my head. Meanwhile we were running along the rim of some of most beautiful and secluded lakes along the trail. There was no access to the lakes except by trail. They were beautiful.

I hoped that at the next aid station (Tettegouche) there would be cell phone service and someone there would let me make a call. I planned to call my dad and ask him (or my wife) to bring me my headlamp to the County Rd. 6 aid station at mile 43. Then I would have to move quickly to get there before the 7:30pm sunset.

I came into Tettegouche and the couple running the aid station were incredibly nice. I asked the woman if she happened to have a cell phone and if she had a signal up there (remember one of the tag lines of this race is “remote” – cell phone coverage is very spotty). She did have a phone and a signal. I pulled out my wet and ink-bled race plan sheet from my back pocket which had my dad’s cell phone number on it. She dialed the number and it was ringing. My dad answered and I explained to him the problem and what I needed. He was awesome and quickly said he would make sure the light was at the next aid station. It was now 4:45pm. My race plan had me at the next aid station around 7:20. I needed to stick to my plan or I’d be tripping on rocks and roots in the dark.

I got to County Rd. 6, a paved  road that you actually have to run on for about 100 yards. My smiling wife was there looking very un-ultra-crew like in a fashionable Free People wool sweater. I was happy to see her. Actually happier to see her than I was to get my headlamp. Running at night is hell. I didn’t look forward to it.

Into The Darkness

Next up: to make it to the Crosby-Manitou aid station at mile 62 to meet my dad. He was going to join me for some night running starting around 2:30am. Until then I had 6 hours of darkness to contend with.

For once the hell of running at night was not so bad. I made it to the halfway point of the race and picked up my sister’s Camelback that she loaned me and put on some warmer clothes. I consumed about two glasses of Coke at every aid station. Along with lots of potato chips, quesadillas, grilled cheeses and candy. (Note: Coke-quesadilla-M&M-Mike-&-Ike-flavored burps are not pleasant)

The Sonju aid station is the best one out there. There’s no crew access. It’s quiet and subdued. Nicely lit with holiday lights hanging on the pines. They had a beautiful campfire going and music playing. I could’ve stayed there all night if my dad weren’t waiting for me at the next aid station.

Every Ultra is a Crapshoot

Before I came into Crosby-Manitou I had a great conversation with a 20-year-old woman named Karlee who was doing her first 100 miler too. She had only done marathons before this.  I mentioned that some folks think you should progress up the ladder to the 100 miler. Start at a 50k, then a 50 miler, then a 100k, and only then attempt a 100 miler. Do not skip a step. I said, “Screw that, every ultra is a crapshoot. There are no rules to this game. If you think you can do it, go for it.” I was impressed by her spunk. She had made it to mile 62 – so I was sure she would make it to the finish. She did.

Family to Help Through the Night

I run because my dad runs. I didn’t run as a kid. Nor did I run in school. But my dad has run since I can remember. I helped him as a kid by volunteering at his races passing out yogurt at the finish line.

I knew he would be the perfect overnight partner. He’s not as fast as he used to be but I knew he had the stamina and the overnight pace on the trails is perfect for him.

But he was nervous. He never said it to me, but he did to my wife and to my mom. We had to cover 15 miles total to make it to Cramer Rd. where he would get picked up. Longer than he has run in quite some time. But doable.

I asked him if he still wanted to join me. He said, “Yes. Of course.” We grabbed some more Coke at the aid station. I also had some pizza. The volunteers made homemade pizza. It was an unexpected treat at 2:30am.

We finished warming up by the campfire. Then we gathered our overnight stuff and headed out.

We left at 3am. I figured it would take us about 4 hours to cover the 9.4 miles of overnight work. It was tough a start out of Crosby-Manitou. We descended 300 feet down to the Caribou River. Then we climbed about another 200 feet back up out of the river valley. After that initial slog, the trail leveled out and we actually ran portions of the trail. We stopped a couple of times and turned off our headlamps just staring up at the sky. It was amazing. I’ve never seen so many stars. I began to understand why in earlier times people studied the stars so much. I could’ve look at the sky for hours.

Sunrise – Another Day

People have mentioned making it to the sunrise would be a spiritual experience in the 100 miler. You are so physically depleted and to make it to the other side of night is quite a feat. I will say that seeing the sky get lighter motivates you to keep going. But the sunrise was only OK  – not spiritual.

Once the sun was up the anticipation was over. And I quickly realized, “Shit, here I am doing the same thing I did all day yesterday. Running on the trails. This sucks.”

As much as I love running on the trails (remember I said running the Superior Hiking Trail would be my ideal day), I’m also incredibly impatient and hate day-in-day-out monotony. So running on the Superior Hiking Trail for two days just reminds me that I’d rather be doing something new everyday.

Impatience is the enemy of the 100 miler. The whole race is about here and now. Be here now. Be here now. Be here now. Repeated for 2 days. If you can’t do that you don’t belong on the trails.

My impatience showed in how long I felt it took to get to the next aid station. It probably took an hour longer than I wanted. And I was starting to get agitated.

We grabbed some food. My dad tried to call my wife since we were running behind (he had brought his cell phone with). But phone coverage was poor and all he could get across was “Heather…” before the call dropped.

My wife imagined all the crazy possible endings to that call.

“Heather, we’re being chased by a bear.”

“Heather, Mike just fell off a cliff.”

When really we just wanted her to wait to come to meet us. Nonetheless, she understood the message as “please come meet us at Cramer Rd” – our prearranged meeting point. So she and my son got in the car and headed on out to meet us.

Trying to Kill My Dad

The next section of trail didn’t have any major climbs or descents. But it did have a lot of little ones. Each little descent was a chance to fall as our legs were tired and lowering ourselves with our quad muscles was painful.

My dad fell once but was lucky enough to be caught by a small pine tree next to the trail. No major injuries but a nicely scraped leg.

I was itching to go faster since it was daytime. I pushed the pace. Nothing too hard but faster than our night pace. Remember, I’m impatient right now.

I’m not sure my dad appreciated the increase in pace. He was well beyond what he’d run in quite some time but still doing fine.

We were close to the aid station when coming down a hill. His quad cramped up completely. I was worried that I’d have to leave him to walk in by himself. Helped me immensely make it through the night. But now I felt like I was driving him into the ground.

Luckily he walked off the cramp and within about 10 minutes we saw my wife and son on the trail heading toward us to meet us. They had already been waiting for an hour due to our miscommunication.

Cranky at Cramer Rd.

I was pretty cranky at the Cramer Rd. aid station.

My foot was in bad shape. I switched to the wrong socks at mile 25 after my first pair got soaked in mud bath. Those socks caused a blister on my heel which had now ripped open. So I had to do some first aid work on my heel.

I was frustrated that I’d be running all day again. I had hoped to spend some time on the beach of Lake Superior at Lutsen Resort. I said to my wife, “The best thing you can do for me today is to enjoy your own time at Lake Superior. Don’t worry about me. Don’t meet me until the finish. I’ll be there around 4 or 5pm.”

And with that I had dismissed my crew for the day. I had no more drop bags. But only 26 miles to go. And it was all on trail that I’d covered before.

Rules To Break

The next section had lots of ups and downs and ended with a descent to the Temperance River – a drop of about 600 vertical feet. It was during this exposed descent that it started to downpour.

So I came into the Temperance River aid station at mile 85 completely soaked. And it was still raining.

I quickly took cover under the tent canopy. The rain was coming down so hard that it would occasionally pool on the tent top and then come spilling over the edge like a mini-waterfall.

I grabbed some Coke and some chili and hunkered down. I didn’t know what to do. I knew my rule. But it was mile 85. I was paralyzed.

I run by rules. To be successful at running ultras (and I’d argue in life), you need to have a bunch of tiny and simple rules to eliminate decisions. You are faced with 1000s of decisions every hour of running. Without the rules you’d waste too much time and mental energy. You need that mental energy to keep you going. So you have simple rules.

• If you can’t see the top of the hill, walk.
• Drink at least two cups of water at every aid station.
• Run when the trail conditions allow for it – even if you are tired.

The rules will vary from person to person. One of my  rules is: I’m not going to run an ultra in a downpour. A quick sprinkle here or there is fine. You can judge it by how much blue sky you can see around the offending clouds. But if you are stuck in a downpour and there is no clearing, then stop.

It’s not that I hate rain. It’s just that there are too many other things to manage in an ultra. I don’t want to manage the gear and the planning it takes to run in the rain.

At the aid station standing next to me was a runner who was withdrawing into himself.

When I arrive at the aid stations I love it. All these great people to talk to and who want to help you. A buffet of food. Lots to drink. I get energized by the aid stations.

But this man next to me was looking beyond the aid station to the rain and dark sky. He eventually sat down and asked the aid station staff to call his crew which was at the next aid station. He was going to drop out. DNF.

I considered dropping. I was cold – it had dropped to about 50F. I had my rule. There was at least 5 hours of running left. I had my rule. I also had dismissed my crew for the day. I had no way to get ahold of them. Even if I could track them down at Lutsen Resort it would take them 45 minutes to come get me. So I decided I didn’t have to decide. I could just stand and wait.

Eventually the aid staff asked me if I had any dry clothes. I said no and that I didn’t have any more drop bags either. Finally, the aid station captain, Brian Poeppel, said he had some extra shirts in his truck. They were just t-shirts but at least they were dry.

He showed me the t-shirts and I must have looked reluctant. I wasn’t convinced it would help. It was still raining and I was still cold. And the cotton t-shirts would soak up water immediately.

Then Brian did something generous. He said, “Wait, you can wear my sweatshirt.”

He was wearing a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and a zip up jacket. He didn’t need the extra sweatshirt right now. He was willing to give me his already warmed sweatshirt off his body. I was astounded. And the rain was starting to let up too.

Then he sealed the deal and the fate of my race by saying, “Just give it back to me at the finish.”

I was in his debt to return his sweatshirt at the finish. He had the confidence in me that I would pull this whole thing off.

I took my wet shirt off. I put on the warm sweatshirt of Brian’s. It was exactly what I needed. My body was starting to warm up. The rain was starting to stop. I can do this. Only 15 miles to go (actually 18.3 but I didn’t want to think about that).

“Number 37 checking out,” I called to the aid station official as I left. I was back on the course and in the race.

Rivers & Roads

The next section of goes up and down the Temperance River. I enjoy it because I like to listen to the sound of the river rushing. It’s a beautiful and wide river and trail is very easy on each side of the river.

The ease of river running makes for a relaxed start of this section. Because after that you climb to the top of Carlton Peak from the banks of the river. A vertical rise of 900 feet. Surprisingly I managed that climb quite well. I thought it would be near impossible but I did it.

After the next aid station we head into a section of trail that I’ve hiked with my family probably 15 times. It’s so familiar that it’s one of the few sections of trail where I can anticipate the aid station about 2 miles before I arrive. It was easy since I knew it so well. Of course there was the hallucination of the family of midget children peering out at me from the tree stump in the woods. But at this point I’m used to weird stuff like that.

I came in just fine to the Oberg Mountain aid station at mile 95. And at that point I knew I could finish. Nothing was going to stop me from covering the last 7.1 miles.

I know the last section quite well. Even the “stairway to heaven” – a section of switchbacks that climbs the back of Moose Mountain. Just when you think it’s over you turn a heavily treed corner to see a set of stairs with trees lining it tightly. The sun shines down the path like a light from heaven. And that is the last of the big climbs of the race. (As one very experienced race participant said, “Who puts a giant hill at mile 96? Insane!”)

I ran with Susan Donnelly for a bit on last section. This was her 11th Superior 100 Mile Trail Race. I’m in awe.

A friend of hers came up the trail from the finish and said she left the finish about 30 minutes ago. With that information, that I was 30 minutes from the finish, I turned on the legs again.

I picked up the pace again to finish strong. When I crossed that bridge over the Poplar River I knew I was incredibly close.

I ran hard on the gravel roads until I saw my wife cheering me on right before I turned off the gravel to the grass that leads to the finish. I felt great.

I kept my pace around the pool and hit the finish line. 33 hours and 55 minutes. I was done before dinner.

Post Race

I had to track down Brian to give back his sweatshirt. I owed it to him. I found him in the crowd with his wife who also worked at the aid station. I brought him the sweatshirt and I said with my voice quivering, “I would’ve never finished this race if you hadn’t loaned me your sweatshirt.”

He said, “I had completely forgot about the sweathshirt.”

And I said, “You said the most important thing to keep me going at the end, ‘Just give me back the sweatshirt at the finish.'”

And I gave the sweatshirt back to him.