This following is a story of a errors, setbacks, and ultimate failure that takes place “up North” near Lake Superior.
After the Zumbro 100, I asked Derrick, “What’s next?”
He said, “Let’s enter the Superior 100!”
I said “OK”.
That was Mistake #1.
In early January, I entered the race lottery with Derrick and Jim—we've done races together before and wanted to team up again. Since it's a lottery, there's a chance we won't get picked; some runners try for years before being chosen. The race is scheduled for the weekend after Labor Day, which coincides with the Defeat of Jesse James Days.
Would you believe we were all chosen on the first attempt!
The race runs along the Superior Hiking Trail from Gooseberry Falls to Lutsen, passing state parks with views of Lake Superior. Known as “rugged, remote, and relentless,” it ranks among the five toughest 100-mile races in the U.S., making it an exceptionally tough race to complete.
Even so, recent running successes kept my confidence level high (maybe too high?):
•I was able to complete my first attempt at 100 miles at the Zumbro 100 last April. It was tough, but I made it. I wrote a story about it and found a couple publishers (Like the Wind issue #44 and The Dundas Messenger)!
•After 15 years of running the 24 hour FANS race in Bloomington I surpassed the 1,000 lifetime miles threshold. They gave me a jacket!
•I decided to try my hand at a “Backyard Ultra” at Elm Creek in Maple Grove. In this type of race, you have one hour to complete a 4.17-mile loop. If you complete the loop before the hour is up, you can go again. And again, and again, until you can’t. Why 4.17 miles? If you can go for 24 hours, it’s an even 100 miles. I made it 12 hours and went 50 miles. That was my goal, and I was happy with it. I want to try it again.
•Some friends and I climbed Half Dome this summer. Steep and scary, but the view from the top was so worth it!
And my training over the last several months went pretty well so I felt physically ready.
There was a little bit of “destiny” wrapped up in this one, too. The race started in 1991, making this one of the oldest 100 milers in the country. My wife, Linda and I were married in 1991, and actually spent our honeymoon at Caribou Highlands (it was called something else back then) in Lutsen, the race’s Finish Line. Linda asked me the day before the race, “If I told you that you would be finishing a 100-mile race here, in 34 years, what would you have said?”
“You are nuts!” was my enthusiastic answer.
All these things combined left me confident and assured that the Superior 100 would simply be another success story. All I had to do now was drive to the race, carb load (pizza!), and run 100 miles. Easy right?
That was Mistake #2.
I drove up Thursday afternoon. My plan was to go to the expo in Two Harbors, get my bib (I was #83), and leave my drop bags—each one carefully prepared and filled with food, clothing, and various other items I thought would be needed to keep me hydrated and fueled for the event. Each bag had just the right items for each stage of the race—headlamps (and a backup) for night running, extra socks for each aid station (you never know!), etc. so I felt ready for whatever came my way.
There was a photographer taking pictures of each runner, “so they can identify the body on the trail” I joked. He laughed like he had already heard that one several times and was prepared to hear it several more times!
Then it was off to the North Shore Pizza Café in Two Harbors; a favorite of mine and Linda’s, to pick up my supper—a large pepperoni and olive pizza, pre-ordered to be more efficient.
I finally arrived at my VRBO rental (walking distance to all the local hot spots!) in Grand Marais at 6:45. I had told the owner that I would be there about 7:00, so things are going exactly as planned. After all the planning, training, and planning and training, things were beginning to line up and fall into place.
By that time, I was pretty hungry and ended up eating most of the pizza while I tried to “relax”. It was too much food right before bed and I ended up tossing and turning most of the night as I was too full and had too much on my mind to settle down.
Even so, the 4:30 a.m. alarm came too quickly. Happily, Linda called to wish me a “good morning” and say a quick prayer for me. Her and the kids would be joining me later tonight or sometime tomorrow.
I tried to finish my pizza from the night before, but was only able to force down a couple of pieces as I was still bloated from the previous evening’s feast. So, I grabbed some coffee and took off to catch the bus at the finish line at Caribou Highlands to be transported to the Gooseberry Falls starting line.
There were several names on the participant list that I recognized, and I actually knew some of them. After arriving at Gooseberry Falls, looked around for someone to talk with, but saw no one in the crowd I knew. Instead, I grabbed another cup of coffee and waited for Derrick and Jim to show up.
Eventually, I found them in the crowd and joined them with their families while we anxiously awaited the start.
While we waited, Derrick said there were about 20 runners (of the 250 entrants) that were older than us participating. I’m older than him, so said “You mean older than you, and I’m one of them”. Oh, well.
I had long ago decided that my strategy was not to run 100 miles this weekend. That’s way too much. Instead, what was going to take place today was about a dozen seven to ten mile runs from one aid station to the next. Ultrarunning is just as much mental as it is physical, and psychologically it would be much easier. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!
Eventually, the race director called us to the starting line. After a few inspirational words, we started. I was pumped—this was exciting! I shook the race directors hand as we went past.
The first stretch was about eight miles to Split Rock. Jim took off, and we didn’t see him again. He’s much faster than Derrick and I. Derrick and I ran together; it was good to catch up with him. We hadn’t seen one another for a while and he’s always fun to visit with. I kept pace with him to Split Rock, but he’s also quicker than me so I was running faster than I wanted.
That was Mistake #3.
I knew that I wouldn’t be able keep that up, so we separated just before reaching the aid station.
This was one part of the trail that I thought would be more familiar to me than it was. Linda and I have been here several times with the family, so I thought we’d be running on those same trails. But, once we left the paved part of the trails it was all new to me. Still, it was early and the running was easy. Part of the route took us along Highway 61, and several drivers honked and waved enthusiastically as they sped by.
It was starting to warm up, so I took off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist. Overall, I was feeling pretty good, despite going out a little too fast. There’s still plenty of time to recover.
The next stretch was ten miles to Beaver Bay, another place we’ve visited a lot on vacations. I knew some of the race route took us along trails that Linda and I have hiked, so I was looking forward to seeing this part of the trail in a different context. But, I ended up hitting a low point about half way through when my stomach started feeling a little queasy. What?
It’s way to early for this! Was it something I ate? Too much pizza? Why now? These were some of the questions swirling in my head--I still had 80 miles to go, and this will not make it any easier!
But, eventually, the feeling passed, and I was feeling much better. Things were looking good, and I started having fun again.
Soon, the aid station was in sight, and my daughter, Katey, was there waiting for me! I didn’t expect her until this evening, so seeing her was a pleasant surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said.
Right away I thought that is something my dad would have said (I had been thinking about him during my low point). We both laughed, she was thinking the same thing!
Katey helped me re-fuel and get a little food. I was craving a sandwich but they didn’t have any, so Katey said she would look for one at a local convenience store for me at the next aid station in Silver Bay, which was only about four miles away. So, it shouldn’t take too long before I had my sandwich.
The porta pottie called my name, so I answered and then began trotting down the gravel road towards the next section of trail. But, something was off…something was missing….what was it????
Oh!
My hiking poles!
I had dropped them when I arrived at the aid station; but it was no big deal to retrieve them since I had only gone a few steps down the road. I quickly turned around and grabbed them, and headed out once again. But, was this a foreshadowing of what was to come later?
Only four miles to the next aid station at Silver Bay. It started flat and easy, and I wrongly assumed the terrain wouldn’t change. But, there were some vicious hills in those four miles. So it took a bit longer than I thought it would, and it took more out of me than I was ready for.
When I finally arrived at Silver Bay, I could see that Katey sensed my struggle. She had picked up two sandwiches for me --a Turkey and PBJ. It was greatly appreciated because I was getting a little hungry. The aid station workers replenished my water supply, and graciously filled one of my bottles with Coke. For some reason, I was really craving Coke today. Which was kind of weird, as I am not a real big pop drinker.
I felt like I lost some time, so I abandoned the aid station after only a few minutes and crossed the road for then next ten mile stretch to Tettagouche. Half my Coke was gone by the time I hit the trail, and I decided to walk and eat before starting to run again. Even though I was a little tired, “relentless forward progress” was my motto!
Tettagouche was not crew accessible, so Katey said she would go to the next one, “wherever that was”. I wasn’t sure either (it was County Road 6 at mile 42), so I just said that I would see here there.
I recognized the trail to Bean and Bear Lakes that a friend and I (Brian) and I had run about a month before, so the familiarity was reassuring. However, the Coke didn’t mix very well with the sandwiches.
That was Mistake #4.
The queasiness came back with a vengeance. Each time I started to run, I felt like it was going to come up. So I had to walk to avoid losing my lunch on the trail. Should I just force it? Nah, the calories are better off in my belly than on the ground. So I decided to walk this one in and prayed that it wouldn’t backfire on me. That’s when I started to spiral a bit again. Again, it’s way to early for this to happen, but I was confident that I would come out of it as I did before. So, I decided to try some music for a distraction. Would you believe the very first lyrics that came through my headphones were “Love the run, but not the race…” (Quattro, by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss). I chuckled to myself.
It worked, and my mode improved. What could be better than running through the scenic North Woods while listening to some great music?
Eventually, I reached Bean and Bear Lakes; what a view! “I think I’ll bring Linda up here on one of our next trips, she’d really like this”, I told myself.
But, pretty soon the music became “noise” so I turned it off and enjoyed the silence as I walked towards Tettagouche. My gut started to settle down a bit, so I began some run/walk intervals. Mostly walking but I felt better about moving a little more quickly.
Some parts of the trail in this area were re-routed due to some trail work/maintenance that was going on. I am not sure, but it seemed to make the journey to Tettagouche a little bit longer.
I had been leap-frogging a few runners in this section, and as the miles ticked by, the trail got a little wider and somewhat easier. The trails were better groomed in the State Parks. I had no idea how far it was to the next aid station, but it felt like it would be close to the cutoff time (you have to reach each aid station before a certain time, or you were out of the race). I was going downhill when I spotted a group of three of four runners ahead of me that had recently passed me just ahead on the trail. They were walking—I convinced myself that they had given up; they knew that they weren’t going to make the cutoff.
I trotted up beside them, and asked “How far to Tettagouche; have we already missed the cutoff?”
“Nope”, one of them replied, “We have about twenty minutes and we’re almost there”.
I wasn’t sure if he was right or not, but I chose to believe him and continued my run/walk intervals and left them behind.
He was right, it wasn’t too long and I saw a guy standing between some trees. As soon as he saw my bib, he called out to the Tettagouche aid station just through the trees, “We have number 83 coming in!!”
As I approached, another volunteer held out my drop bag which contained my headlight and a few snacks. I was glad to have the headlight, as the sun would be setting in less than an hour and I did not want to be stuck on the trail alone in the dark!
I dropped my poles, grabbed my light, pocketed a few of my snacks for later and perused the food arrayed on the tables. There was several different flavors of quesadillas, bacon, sandwiches, chips, and lots of salty, sugary, fatty foods that tasted ever so good after running for the last ten hours or so. Did I mention that they had BACON?!?
So, I grabbed a handful of bacon, a PB & J sandwich and a bag of chips for the road. I decided to stuff my face as I walked down the gravel road to the bridge crossing the Baptism River as it flows into Lake Superior. What a beautiful sight!
I was chatting with another runner at the time who had run the Elm Creek Backyard Ultra with me earlier this spring. We hadn’t met then, but agreed to look one another up next year as we both planned on doing it again. I was enjoying the conversation, and things were looking up again…..
We crossed the road and approached some steps going up a hill. Another re-route. We were supposed to go along the river towards the lake where the views would be amazing. Instead, we were climbing another hill, but at least this one had steps!
I finished my last quesadilla and reached for my poles. My poles!
Where were they!
Crap!
They lay on the ground, forgotten at the last aid station, now probably a good mile behind me. I was distracted by the food, and left them behind when I took off.
Now what?
Should I go back? That will eat up a lot of time, and I’m already starting to cut it close. Should I keep going? I knew that I still had to deal with the hills in Crosby-Manitou, and poles are almost a necessity there. What else will I have to deal with before I get there? I didn’t know. And what comes after? I didn’t know the answer to that question either.
Against my better judgment, I decided to turn around and get them. I pushed it because I didn’t want to waste a lot of time. Several runners leaving the aid station pointed out, “Hey, you are going the wrong way!”
I offered no reply; I might say something that I would regret later.
When I got to the aid station, and picked up my poles with a grunt of disgust, I grabbed some more bacon and asked for another cup of Coke, “mixed with a little rum, if you don’t mind”.
To my disappointment, I was handed straight Coke.
Anyway, I hurried back to the bottom of the stairs where I turned around and began my ascent for the second time.
I probably wasted twenty to thirty minutes with my little detour, and started to spiral again.
What do I mean by ‘spiral’?
One negative thought breeds another, none of which are true, but its hard to convince yourself otherwise. Mine went something like this:
“That was a stupid mistake, those extra miles will cost you!”
“Why am I doing this, I’m not going to make it!”
“I’m no good at this anymore, but was I ever?”
If I had been thinking clearly, I would have told myself that it’s just another mistake (#5 in case your are counting), nothing fatal, and there’s lots of time to recover; what’s another two miles in a 100 mile run-nothing!; I am doing this because you love it—take a look around—this is awesome! I can do this—I found a way at Zumbro, Elm Creek, FANS, and Half Dome, and other times too many to list.
Eventually, I calmed down and steeled myself for the next ten miles to County Road 6. If I make the cutoff, great! If not, I convinced myself that I am sorta, kinda OK with that, too (not really!)
There were still several other runners around as I was passing and being passed quite often. One asked as he passed by me, “Hey, are you from Savage?”
I said “No”.
He didn’t say anything else and kept on going. I wonder who that was?
It soon got dark and I put my headlamp on. Coming into the race, I wondered what it would be like to be in the middle of nowhere on an unfamiliar trail. It wasn’t too long before the other runners cleared out and I was by myself.
And I loved it! It was so peaceful jogging/trotting/walking among the trees. Alone with my thoughts. The woods were pretty thick, but I was able to get an occasional glimpse of the lake. The moon was peaking out from between the clouds, reflecting its light on the water. Serene. There’s no place else that I would rather be than right here, right now, I thought to myself.
But, it was a real possibility that I would not make the cutoff time at the County Road 6. I was moving pretty slow and going back to get my poles cost some valuable time. By my calculations, I was only going about two miles per hour, and would have to pick up the pace significantly to make it.
How will I get back to civilization if I don’t make the aid station in time? I remembered my attempt at a 50k in the Moab desert a few years ago. My race ended about the halfway point, and I was told that I had to wait until the race was over to get a ride back with one of the aid station volunteers. Or, I could hitch a ide. After sitting around for a couple of hours, I ended up doing just that with some runners from Colorado.
Would the situation be the same here?
I should try to call the family so they can pick me up. What about Chad? He’s supposed to meet me at the Finland aid station at mile 50. If I make the cutoff time, I will be hours later than expected. Maybe I should apologize for wasting his time and tell him to go back home?
There’s no cell service here, so I’m stuck. Maybe the aid station is in an area with service? Oh, well. I’ll deal with that then as there is no sense worrying about it now.
I noticed a woman limping in the darkness ahead of me. She was talking to someone on her phone. It was on speaker so I could tell that she had hurt her Achilles and was talking to her husband who was waiting for her at County Road 6, about a mile and a half down the trail. I asked if she was OK—I could send someone back if she needed.
Hey! She was talking on her phone--there IS cell service here!
I quickly pulled my phone out of my belt and called Linda. She was at the aid station with Matt and Chad. I’m so glad that I got hold of her—I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t.
The sound of cowbells started to drift through the night as runners ahead of me passed through aid station. Soon, I heard a much longer sustained cowbell “explosion”.
What happened? Oh, they were shutting down; I had missed the cutoff time.
My Superior 100 race had ended in a DNF (Did Not Finish). It was over.
Pretty soon, I reached the road and slowly headed down the shoulder to the aid station.
A volunteer greeted me, and asked my number.
“83--rhymes with DNF!” I may lost some of my dignity, but at least I retained my sense of humor. Everyone laughed. But I was done.
As I write this a few weeks later, I have had some time to reflect and pull out some lessons:
•Small mistakes add up. It’s relatively easy to recover from one or two mistakes during a race, but a series of little ones can compound and become insurmountable over time. Maybe more thoughtful planning could have minimized or eliminated a couple?
•Unplanned vacations can be fun!
I planned on mostly being alone over the weekend, but the whole family showed up!
Since I wasn’t running on Saturday, we had lots of time to hang out as a family. We actually did a little bit of hiking, souvenir shopping, rock hunting, and visited the Duluth Aquarium. I’ll never forget my “Hippie” conversation with Linda at the “Hungry Hippy Taco” restaurant. We were laughing so hard we embarrassed the kids.
•Support from family and friends is invaluable.
I was much harder on myself than anyone else. The encouraging words from everyone really made it easier to recover mentally. I was told many times that it’s better to fail at something epic like a 100 mile race than a 5k!
•As I mentioned earlier, I think I was getting a little proud of my ability. That led to some complacency, which turned out to be costly. Public humiliation can be hard.
•As far as running goes, I love running on trails through the woods. But if I think about the many races that I have done over the years, I do much better on less hilly courses like Elm Creek and FANS. Next year I am going to avoid those races that are difficult, and focus on races where my chances of success are greater.
Registration for Elm Creek opens soon, maybe I’ll give that another try…..
