Sunshine, Mud, and Euphoria on the Trails: 2014 Spring Superior 50K Race Report

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today

And give us not to think so far away

As the uncertain harvest. Keep us here

All simply, in the springing of the year.

- Robert Frost, "A Prayer in Spring"

"Adventures are not all pony-rides in May-sunshine."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Turning around at Carlton Peak

The summary:

50K + a little extra up and down a spur trail, in 7:41:15, a 19-minute PR. Shoe-eating mud puddles, May sunshine, cascading rivers, wild onions, great people. Another well paced run with a 20-minute negative split (only partly due to getting off-course on the way out) and a strong finish. I feel like I ran this one very well.

Preparations

This was my spring goal race and one I'd been looking forward for a year. Last year's Spring Superior was my first 50K and it was amazing. My finishing time was 8:00:18 (with an official 8-hour cut-off time). I did it five weeks after breaking my arm -- it was still in a brace -- and just getting to the starting line was a major triumph. Finishing was too.

This year, training had gone well. I'd gotten a few good long runs, including six and a half hours on snowy trails, 33 miles at Zumbro five weeks before the race, and 20 miles ending with a well-paced half marathon three weeks beforehand. My weekly mileage peaked at 52 miles, a few weeks before Zumbro -- by far the biggest weekly mileage I've ever done. I'd been lifting weights and doing core regularly, and recently added a bit more intensity (and fun!) with a weekly November Project workout.

I felt like I was ready to PR the heck out of this course. Four weeks before, I ran the 25K loop at Afton in 3:24. Based on that, McMillan claimed I could run a 7:16 50K on similar terrain. Well, we'd find out.

My "A" goal for this race was 7:15. Why not go big? My "B" goal was sub-8 hours, which would be a 50K PR. My "C" goal was to finish happy and not severely injured. 

I rode up to Lutsen the day before the race with the incomparable Stephanie, and we met up with some friends and scoped out the trails.

Mystery Trails! Where do they go??

The out-and-back course goes up over Mystery Mountain and Moose Mountain, then descends to the Oberg aid station. The 25K "fun run" turns around there, while the 50Kers continue through more runnable boggy highlands to the Sawbill (Britton Peak) aid station. Then there's an ascent up Carlton Peak, turnaround at the top, and return to the start.

Y-axis elongated for extra excitement.
The most noticeable climbs/descents on the course are
Moose and Mystery Mountains and Carlton Peak.

We admired Moose Mountain.

It isn't big by non-Midwestern standards,
but the trail is rocky, rooty singletrack.

 Maranda and Theresa were just coming back from a trail run as we checked out the course. Thanks for volunteering!

Look at that joy!

The rivers were all very high, due to recent snowmelt and rain. Beautiful!

There was still some snow on the trail, and a whole lot of mud.

 Race day!

I was up at 5:15 for a 7 am race start -- downright luxurious compared to my usual 3:55 weekend long run wake-up call. Chris and the boys had driven in and arrived late Friday night -- I would see them after the race was over. I'd made it a point to get lots of sleep in the week before the race and I felt well rested, healthy, and excited to run.

Ready for a day in the woods!

After race morning check-in, we gathered at the starting line for the pre-race briefing.

Race director John Storkamp. The trail conditions?
"Long sections of dry runnable trail alternating
with deep mud and standing water."

 Then, without further preamble, a quick countdown and we're off!

 It was fun to be running this race for a second time. I felt like I had some idea of where to push my pace and effort, and where to walk. I'd thought about the course, and how I would feel, and what I would do.

In the first mile, the course goes from pavement
to dirt road to doubletrack to singletrack.

We found the mud right away.

Start to Oberg, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Mud

 Even with almost a mile before the singletrack began, there was still a steady line of runners moving up the trail, initially. The trail climbed pretty steadily up Mystery Mountain, and I couldn't figure out what the periodic slowdowns were. Finally, it became clear: people were slowing to detour around or pick their way through the mud.

I was similarly cautious... for a while. Then, three or four miles in, I decided my feet were going to get wet and muddy no matter what. I started plunging straight through the mudpits. Yeah, my feet got wet. But I was wearing gaiters to keep out anything solid, and my Peregrines had meshy uppers -- the water drained right out, and my feet returned to merely damp on the long dry stretches. And it was much easier and more fun than tiptoeing around the increasingly wide, long, and deep mud patches!

There were sections along here where I was absurdly, ridiculously happy. I think the stretch between Mystery and Moose Mountains (to be fair, it was a long, gentle downhill) was pure absolute bliss. It was a beautiful day, I felt great, it was incredible to be out in the woods, doing this thing that I love, and doing it well.

I ran a lot of this race by myself, at my own pace. I had a few good conversations over the day, but not the hours-long discussions I'd had at my first Superior race. It was a different kind of day. I really enjoyed having big periods of time in my own mind, interspersed with meeting some great people.

I'd figured that if I was on a 7:15 pace, I should hit Aid Station 1 at about 1:40 into the race. I was there at 1:50, and felt fine with that.

 The starting temperature had been in the high 30s or low 40s, but now that the sun was well up, it warmed up rapidly. At AS1, I left behind the hat and gloves I'd worn briefly at the start, and my "Zumbro security blanket" -- the wool shirt and rainjacket I had carried out of caution. (Thanks, Chris Rubesch, for improvising a drop bag for me!)

 Oberg to Sawbill, or I Liked It So Much I Did Some Extra

After the first aid station at 7.75 miles, the trail continues to go up and down, but there aren't any big climbs or descents for a while. My plan was to run more of this than the first leg, which required some hiking. I crossed rivers and a beaver pond.

See the lodge in the middle?

 Along this stretch, I was running with a group of 3 or 4 others when we accidentally went off onto a spur trail up Mount Levaux. We started climbing, hit three switchbacks, and came to a patch of snow with no footprints. Then I noticed the blazes had turned from Superior Hiking Trail-standard blue to white. Uh-oh. We turned around and descended, meeting another runner on the way up who'd also taken the spur trail. I later heard a larger group had gotten some bonus Levaux miles too. I'm not sure how much time we lost here, but I doubt it was more than 10 minutes.

Back on the marked trail, I could see where we'd missed the markers -- three flags before the fork, then one that was a little difficult to see, on the correct trail after the fork. Whoops! The upside? The marked trail was a lot easier to run than the climb up the mountain! Heh.

The fast runners began passing on their return trip along this stretch. The leaders were flying. It was great to see Christie blazing through for a big win, and to see Rob running his first ultra and zooming in for a top-20 finish. Julio met me with a big sweaty hug. Everyone had an encouraging word as they passed by.

Sawbill to Carlton Peak to Sawbill, or Wait, This Mountain's Got a View! 

At the Sawbill aid station, I was 13.2 miles in and it was getting warm. I put sunblock on my face and arms, (bringing sunblock = WIN, not bringing sun hat = OOPS), grabbed a salted potato, and headed out for the 4.5 mile Carlton Peak out-and-back section.

A runnable, gradual climb on trails and boardwalks...

... eventually becomes a steep climb through birch forest. Beautiful!

 This was close to the turnaround, and I saw everyone. One of the joys of an out-and-back! Shelly said, "Did you get lost?" Well, yeah, a little. Rick said, "Isn't this great?" I told him, "I liked it so much I did a bonus Mount Levaux summit!"

Todd was excited to see me.

Amy looked fabulous. So much sparkle! 

 I made the last, steep climb to the Carlton Peak summit. Last year, it was 40 degrees, drizzling rain, and about 20 yards visibility. This year, on the other had, you could see forever.

Incredible.

I stopped long enough for a few pictures and a sip of beer with the race marshalls and volunteers at the summit. Got ready to start back down, and then said, "Wait a minute. I promised myself that if there was a good view this year, I'd stop and enjoy it." So I stopped, breathed in the cool air, and drank in that amazing view of the lake and the woods and the sky. It was 30 seconds well spent. I headed back down, refreshed.

Sawbill to Oberg, or Picking Up Speed

 It was 5.5 miles back to the Oberg aid station, then another 7.75 back to the finish. The first half of the race had taken longer than I expected; I started back down Carlton at about the 3:55 mark. On the other hand, I was feeling good, my energy was fine, I seemed to be keeping up on fluids and salt, and I was in great position to make good time back. Hey, with my bonus miles on the way out, I figured I could negative-split my return trip if I stayed focused and moving. I grabbed some Endurolytes at the aid station to supplement my S-Caps, and off I went.

Back through the wild onions by the Onion River.
They'd been stepped on in places and the trail smelled like onions.

I think I left Sawbill at about 4:20 on the clock and got into Oberg at about 5:45 -- about 40-45 minutes ahead of the cutoff in each case. I wasn't exactly flying on this leg (15+ minute miles), but clearly I was doing well relative to my position in the race, because I started passing people, sometimes one person and sometimes a group of three or four.

Many runners really weren't moving much more slowly than me... until they got to the mud. And by this point in the race, hundreds of feet had run these trails. It was muddy! I plunged straight through where some people stepped more carefully, and I passed a lot of people that way. To my great surprise, nobody passed me back, all the way to Oberg.

Oberg to Finish, or There And Back Again

I left Oberg on a mission: I wanted to cover the last leg in under 2 hours. That seemed feasible -- after all, I'd done that leg in 1:50 on the way out -- and would still bag me a 10 minute PR. As it turned out, I did it in 1:45 -- a true negative split! Mentally, I divided the 7.75 mile leg into three segments: the run-up to Moose Mountain, which I would run as much as possible; the steep, long Moose Mountain climb, which I would power-hike, and the saddle over to Mystery, short climb up Mystery, and long steady descent to the FINISH LINE!, which I would run. 

This section of trail had seen both 50K and 25K traffic -- twice each! -- and it was absurdly, farcically muddy. Parts were like running through a buffalo wallow. There was no way to avoid the mud, so I didn't.

 Mud splashed me all the way up to my waist. My goal, going through mud holes, wasn't to avoid getting wet... it was to avoid losing a shoe. (I succeded.)

Chunks of wood and dirt got in my shoes despite my gaiters, but my feet were surprisingly comfortable, so I just kept going.

I was still passing people! People who are normally faster than me! I was a little embarrassed to be moving so much better, but I was exhilirated too. I passed people going uphill, and downhill, and even a few 25K runners. I was getting excited.

I ate my last gel -- a Roctane I'd saved for an extra energy boost. I drank more water and took my last S-Caps. I started the final descent down Mystery Mountain.

I could still run! I had so much energy, and nothing hurt -- just an all-over fatigue -- but I could still run! I passed a few more people and told them, "We're getting close!"

I hit the doubletrack, then the bridge, then the dirt road, then the pavement. About half a mile to go. I was determined to run all the way.

Just before the turn into the finish area, I had a great surprise.

I hadn't expected to see the boys and husband were there!
They'd been exploring Temperance River in the morning,
then came back after the 7 year old fell into Lake Superior.
Of course he did.

 I high-fived my boys and said, "See you at the finish line!" Absurdly, I passed a few more people.

 The last few hundred yards across snow, through mud, around the swimming pool, and through the finish. A glimpse of the clock -- 7:41:xx. I couldn't stop smiling. I stopped for a few deep breaths, hugged everyone I knew, eventually remembered to get my massive wooden finisher's medal. Found my family. Saw everyone at the finish line. Hugged all the people I'd passed who came through a few minutes later. Eventually peeled off my truly appalling shoes, socks, and gaiters and hosed off the worst of the mud. Took it all in.

Epilogue, or Pony-Rides in May-Sunshine

Bilbo Baggins observed that adventure isn't always pony-rides in May-sunshine. But this day... it was pretty close. I got to spend 7 hours, 41 minutes, and 15 seconds out in a beautiful place, doing what I love, with amazing people (and tasty snacks!). I spent the rest of the weekend with my incredible husband and children. I am so blessed to be able to do these things. I am so excited that I am learning to do them well. I am so eager to keep doing them.

A friend described my approach to ultrarunning as "Relentless Unending Positivity." I like that. Because -- as an insightful ultrarunner recently said -- when you're doing something like this, it's because a lot of things have gone right for you. It's good to be able to appreciate that, to be in the moment, to love what you're doing, and feeling, and experiencing right now.  

Thank you, Superior volunteers, John and Cherie,
Stephanie and Mike, Chris, William, and Karl,
and everyone who stands behind me and holds me up.
You are all amazing.

Race report: Twin Lights Half Marathon 2014 (with mom!)

Executive summary:

2:22:32, a new PR for both of us and an age group win for Mom. We ran a smart, well paced race with a big negative split and a fast finish. And had an awesome girls' weekend with my sister and my aunt, too.

Mission accomplished!

Prologue: Warm and sunny? Nah, how about 40 degrees and drizzling?

"Let's run the Old Port Half Marathon again," Mom suggested in January. It was the nadir of the polar vortex, and the idea of a cloudless, 85 degree day on the Maine coast did sound pretty amazing. But I'd rather spend it sitting on the patio of El Rayo with a plate of tacos and a pitcher of something fruity than running 13.1 miles. Last year, that race got toasty.

"How about a nice chilly April half marathon?" I wrote back. We were planning a girls' weekend in New England for April anywhat -- my sister Karen, my aunt Jan, mom, and I. Twin Lights Half Marathon was in Gloucester. Looked like a scenic route. Seemed like a good place to spend the weekend. We signed up, I booked my airline tickets, and Mom made reservations at a sweet B&B in Rockport, three miles up the road.

They knew we were coming!

A pretty cool place

Turns out Gloucester, Rockport and the whole Cape Ann area is a great place to visit. Gloucester's been a fishing town for 400 years and that's still a part of the economy, though tourism is becoming a bigger contributor.

Fisherman's Memorial in Gloucester.
It was beautiful and very moving.

Spring was just beginning to arrive, with blooming daffodils and budding leaves -- about two weeks ahead of conditions in Minnesota and Vermont.

Halibut Point State Park.

It was awesome there.

Yup, not bad.

We ate great food, drank a lot of coffee,

Girls' weekend! Karen, me, Mom, Jan

and walked on the beach.

Stage Fort Park

Mom and I got a 40-minute shakeout run on Saturday and headed into race day feeling well rested and ready to have fun.

Bonus miles, or, If 13.1 miles is good, then 20 is better, right?

It was three weeks before the Spring Superior 50K. Since I'd be missing my scheduled long run, I wanted to get some extra miles in before the race. INKnBURN Ambassador extraordinaire and Gloucester local Jenn Brooks had not only given us outstanding advice on where to eat and what to do in the area, but she had also pointed me to some local trails back behind the Rockport school. So on race morning, I got up early, had a couple of hard boiled eggs, a sweet potato, and a cup of coffee, and headed out for an hour and a half of playing on the trails.

A half mile or so along the gravel road...

... brought me to some lovely wooded singletrack.
Hey, why not? I followed the blue blazes.

It got a tiny bit muddy.

 It was a great bonus run! I was back at the B&B by 7:30, where Karen (crew extraordinaire) set me up with more coffee and a banana and Mom's foam roller. Plenty of time for second breakfast before heading to the starting line for the 9 am start.

It was about 43 degrees and breezy at the race start, but the steady rain of the day before had tapered off and the forecast suggested only scattered showers. As it turned out, we got some drizzle during the race, but no heavy rain. Perfect running weather!

This was a smallish race, with about 800 finishers. Packet pickup was quick and easy, and we claimed our numbers, T-shirts, and a handful of Clif bars. There was free parking right at the start/finish, free bag check (though, confusingly, it was marked as costing $2), and free race photos. Love it!

We wandered around, warmed up a bit, hit the portapotties, and checked our bag just in time to line up for the race start.

These National Guardsmen did the whole race
in uniform with full packs. Hard core.

About to start!

We lined up near the back...

... and we're off!

We followed our race plan to a T. Run-walk intervals of 3 minutes, 1 minute put us near the back, but we passed people continuously throughout the race. The course was an out-and-back with a little loop at the turnaround, and went over a few rolling hills.

The aid stations were well decorated...

... and the volunteers were well dressed.

The scenery was pretty excellent.

We only stopped for one selfie along the way :-)

We made very steady progress, knocking out nearly perfect 11 minute splits, one after another. For a long time, we ran with Joyce, who lived and worked in Rockport. It was fun to see her husband on the roadside cheering her on.

The course wound through the woods between Gloucester and Rockport, then went right through the heart of Rockport. Heading out of town, it ran along the coast, with great views, especially on the return section. All along the way, people came out to cheer and ring cowbells. The turnaround loop went through a residential area and we ran past houses with families who had come out to watch the race and -- in one case -- operate an unofficial (and extremely cute) water stop.

Karen was there to cheer us on as we came back through Rockport. She'd been waiting by a water stop, passing the time by making the volunteers cheer more and louder. So fun to see her unexpectedly on the course!

We were going steadily, not too fast but at a good pace. When we passed the mile 9 marker, I started feeling sad that we only had 4 miles left to go. This was so fun! At the mile 10 marker, Mom started picking it up a little, taking the hills on with more energy than anyone around her. Suddenly, we were passing lots of people.

"I feel pretty good," I said at about this point. "How about you?"

She felt pretty good too. No trouble from a tweaky knee, and she looked so strong. "My training program says I can run this in 2:24," she said.

"I think we can get close," I agreed. "Let's run the last mile without any walk breaks."

We hit the mile 12 marker and picked it up some more. The race ends with a downhill, then a flat last quarter mile or so. We both felt great as we rounded the corner to the finish area. A hundred yards away, we could see the finish line and the race clock. 2:23:15! "Okay, let's kick! We can do it!" I exclaimed. We accelerated again. As we ran into the chute, Mom exclained, "I can't feel my legs!" "That's okay! Keep going!" I yelled, and we ran over the timing mat, just under 2:24.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that I remembered that the clock showed the gun time. Our chip time was 2:22! Big PR for both of us! We were elated.

Age group win for Mom! We later figured out she was
the oldest runner there. And definitely the awesomest.

Thanks, Karen, for being sherpa, cheerleader, chauffeur and all around
great person! You're my chief crew if I ever do a hundred miler!

Conclusions

A good day.

This was a very well organized race, and a lot of fun to run. Good swag (pint glasses for the finishers, cotton T-shirt, hot pizza, massages), free parking, bag check, and photos, well marked and scenic course, great volunteer support. We loved seeing so many people out cheering on the course, too. The only suggestions I would have for the race organizers would be (1) bathrooms on the course, and (2) make the bag check a little more clear (we thought it cost money and hadn't brought any, so we didn't check our bags there till right before race start). 

I think we ran this race very smartly. We began conservatively, with 11 minute miles, and were able to pick up the pace in the last few miles and have a negative split and a fast finish. I know that's how you're supposed to do it, but it doesn't always happen that way... and it made for a very fun finish.

I'm also really excited about being able to run this well after doing 7 miles earlier in the day. I feel like this weekend and Zumbro have put me into great shape for Spring Superior, and I'm getting excited about that race.

Finally, it's obvious we were both suffering from a lingering runner's high. 24 hours after finishing the race, we signed up for the next one: a little 26.2 mile jog around upstate New York in October. Oh, and an 8 hour run in the woods in November. After all, as long as we want to run a marathon together, and as long as we both can, why wouldn't we? 

Can't wait to do it again. I love you, Mom!

Zumbro DNF FAQ*

*Did not finish; frequently asked questions (in my mind)

First of all, there are some incredible race reports and race photos out there from this weekend. You should probably check them out. If I missed one, post it in the comments and I'll add it here:
Kevin Langton's 100 mile race report
Matt Wilson's 50 mile race report
Julie Berg's 50 mile race report
Jon Howard's 50 mile race report (with rain video)
Tim Smith's 50 mile race report
John Heemstra's 50 mile race report
Sarah D-Potter's 17 mile race report
Jake Haugen's finish line photos
Zach Pierce's course photos
Todd Rowe's course photos
Janet Gray's uber-muddy course photos from the 17 mile
Scott Mark's course photos
Kelcey Knott's finish line photos

I'm mulling over my weekend at Zumbro. Trying to figure out what I should learn from it, what I should change next, what I should let go. Here's some of the questions I've been turning over.

1. Should I have carried more clothing on my second loop?
Yes. I set out on my second loop with a tech T shirt, shorts, wool armwarmers, calf sleeves, and a cotton running hat. I was dressed for the current temperature, and for light to moderate rain. I'd run comfortably in similar clothing in rain many times before, but it was not adequate for heavy rain or a significant temperature drop. 17 miles for me was going to take at least 4.5 hours, and weather can change during that time. It would have been no big deal to carry a light long-sleeved wool shirt and a warmer hat.

Underdressed. Credit: Jake Haugen

2. Would those have been enough to keep me warm, under the circumstances?
Probably not. Everything I was wearing was saturated, and even though wool is warm when wet, it's not warm enough when it's soaked in cold water, in the wind. I think I would have needed a decent rain shell in addition to those extra layers to have a chance. Even that was not a guarantee -- a number of runners were coming in, soaked through their raincoats. But it would have improved my comfort -- and odds of finishing -- significantly. I've never run with a rain shell; as noted above, I'm fine in wool if there's not a prolonged downpour; but I think for longer trail races this would be a good thing to have in the pack. Though I might need a bigger pack...

3. Should I have waited out the storm at AS 2/3?
Tough call. It wasn't a great option. It was pretty crowded under the tents there, with lots of crew and runners who were dropping. It would have been cold and uncomfortable, and a long, uncertain wait -- it rained hard for about an hour. I would have been unhappy in a different way.

4. Could I have warmed up, changed clothes, eaten, foam rolled my IT band, and gone back out for a third loop and finished the race?
I think it would have been asking for trouble to try this. Even if I got my body temp back up to normal, I expended way more energy than I expected to on my fast run across the ridge, and on shivering through the last leg of the second loop. I think even with diligent eating, I would have been in a significant nutritional hole and could have had a bad bonk, or injury, or another bout of hypothermia. Especially since the trail was now slippery, rocky mud (where it wasn't just underwater). As much as DNF'ing was disappointing, it would been so much worse to be 100% out of gas, miles out in the woods.

A little bit damp out there. Credit: Janet Gray

5. What the %$# was up with my knee?
Not sure. The pain felt like IT band distribution, but I'm not positive, and today it feels better -- hopefully a sign I stopped before doing anything too bad. I wonder whether my strategy of walking up hills and running flats and downhills was putting strain on my legs that I hadn't trained for.

6. Did I train right for this race?
Sort of. It would have been good to do more hill training, and a longer long run. The hill training was tough, heading into an April race: very cold winter weather and heavy snow prevented me from getting to big trail hills in places like Afton. But I could have spent more time on road hill repeats, or even the smaller hills at Theodore Wirth or Lebanon Hills. Hill climbing, and running downhill, would have helped me, I think. But I don't think my training is what determined the outcome of the race.

Lots of snowy training runs this winter.

7. Was volunteering the day before a Bad Idea?
An early morning start and 10 hours on my feet wasn't the optimal way to spend the day before the race, but I think it was okay. I was well rested heading into Friday and didn't totally exhaust myself working the aid station. The experience, to me, was worth it.

8. What else do I need to figure out before trying a 50 mile race again?
Food, water, electrolytes. I didn't do a good job of following my nutrition plan (200 kcal/hour, eat something every 15 minutes) because I was distracted by talking to other runners, and by OMG! I'M RUNNING 50 MILES! thoughts. I could tell I didn't get enough calories by the end, because once I got into warm clothes, I was ravenous. I did follow my plan of two S-Caps per hour and water every 10 minutes, but the swelling in my hands (and peeing regularly, though not excessively) suggests maybe I was overhydrating for the conditions.

9. Anything else?
Pacing. Was I going too slow on the first loop and first half of loop 2? I don't think so. I was concerned that going at 50K pace would lead to Bad Things in the final lap, but maybe it wouldn't be any worse.

10. So what did I get right?
- Aid stations. I did pretty good getting in and out, and usually had an idea of what I wanted so I could get through efficiently. Next time, maybe I should not even bother with aid station food unless (until) I'm getting tired of what I'm carrying.
- Feet. Despite the sand on loop 1 and repeated soaking on loop 2, they stayed pretty much intact. I have a sore big toenail that might turn black, but I think that was from stubbing that toe in the dark on big sticks hidden beneath last year's leaves.
- Chafing. Even though I was wet, out for a long time, and carrying a hydration pack, I had absolutely none. Big cred here to my INKnBURN kit and Nathan pack, which performed perfectly, at least in that regard.
- Recovery. I'm focusing this week on eating enough (a lot!), sleeping enough (also a lot!), and getting my stiff muscles, especially quads, moving again. I hit a yoga class Monday, foam rolled very carefully, and went out for my first short, 2 mile run yesterday, and nothing felt injured. I'll hit my favorite spin class this morning to try and loosen things up some more. So far, so good!
- I didn't break anything. Last year, I fell on ice around mile 2 and fractured my elbow. This year, I did some slipping and sliding, but nothing's broken. Epic win!

Last year's Zumbro, coming into AS1 with a broken elbow.

Yeah, broken.

11. What's next?
In a week and a half I'll do the Twin Lights Half Marathon in Gloucester, MA with my mother. Should be fun, although I'm kind of expecting she'll clean my clock -- she got hold of a Hanson's method book and is now a mileage monster, clocking 30-35 miles/week and running 5 days/week. Yikes!

Then, in month, I'll head up to the North Shore for the Spring Superior 50K. I loved this race last year and feel like I'll be well prepared for it this year. It was my first 50K. It was hard, and beautiful, and exhilarating. I'm looking forward to bringing my family up too -- they'll go rock hunting while I run the race.

What's next after that? I'm going to wait till after Spring Superior to decide. There are great options at every distance over the summer, and some great longer races happening in the fall. I'm in no hurry to set my schedule -- no matter what I do, I'm pretty sure it's going to be great.

Nothing but good times ahead.
Superior 50K, last year. Photo: John Storkamp

Race report: Zumbro Midnight 50 Miler, 2014

Executive summary: 

I dropped at 33 miles, and about 9:55 in, with hypothermia after traversing a ridge in a thunderstorm, unprepared for the weather. I know I made the right call. But I'm still on a lingering high from an incredible weekend. So many people did great things, so many acts of generosity and selflessness, so much joy and pain and emotion... Wow. Wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Still smiling at mile 31? Must have been Julio's witty banter
and hot chicken soup. Photo credit: Julio Salazar

Prologue:
I was late to the 50 miler party, having signed up for the race about five weeks ago.  My training cycle wasn't perfect, but I had the taper nailed. I headed into race week as well trained as I could be (last weekend of long runs got cut short due to some knee pain and completed on the elliptical, but I got my 8 hours of training, and the pain now seemed to be resolved thanks to the work of my excellent ART guy), pretty well rested, and even got a sports massage the week of the race. I figured I was in great shape for a 50K, and beyond that, well, I felt like I was ready to suffer. Packed up every item on my two-page list and I didn't forget anything critical. I got up at 4 am Friday morning and headed toward Zumbro.

Start/finish, campsite and Zumbro race headquarters.

 Aid Station 2/3:
After I pitched my tent an hour before the 100 mile race start, the first order of business was volunteering. I was really excited to work at an aid station for the first time. We were lucky the race came at the end of a week of dry, sunny weather so the minimally maintained gravel roads to AS 1/4 were accessible by car.  From there, AS 2/3 was a mile or so up the trail, and accessible only on foot or by ATV. I met up with John Gustafson, the aid station captain, and we walked in together, reaching the site an hour before the first runners arrived.

The next 8 hours were busy: Mixing drinks, unpacking the dozen big Rubbermaid containers full of food, tools, tarps, Christmas lights, first-aid kit, cowbell, and motivational signs ("Never Surrender"). Greeting hundred-milers with "Hi! What do you need?", filling water bottles and bladders, making PB&J sandwiches and quesadillas, stashing sweaty layers in drop bags. Lin and Jackie and Peter showed up to help in the aid station, and other folks, crewing for friends, visited and pitched in at times as well. It was great to see the speedy front-runners, the steady midpackers, and the determined people at the back, all moving through and getting it done.

The initial cloud cover cleared and the day warmed up -- a lot. The sun shone and runners came in on the second 17-mile loop looking hot and a little sunburned. We broke out bags of ice and watched a few people pour pitchers of water over their heads. I began to think about sunburn myself, and tried to drink more water. A runner came in looking queasy and demoralized, and I watched Joe, who was crewing his wife, revive him with ice packs, peanut butter, and deep breathing. John kept us entertained and taught me important lessons about the care and feeding of hundred milers.

Brilliant early spring sunshine. Photo credit: Todd Rowe

Soon, it was 4 o'clock, the end of my shift. The aid station was well staffed and I was resolved to follow my plan to nap before the 50 miler midnight start. I said goodbye to the aid station crew and hiked back to my car, and then to my campsite.

Trails at Zumbro are a mix of wide horse/ATV trails... 

... and rocky singletrack. Photo credit: Todd Rowe

Midnight 50 Miler:
I packed my drop bag and hydration pack (2-page list strikes again!) and crawled into my sleeping bag. It wasn't easy going to sleep in bright sunlight at 5 pm, but after an early morning start and a busy day, it wasn't that hard either. I slept deeper once the sun went down, occasionally waking up just enough to hear cowbells and cries of "Good job, runner!" as hundred-milers ran past on their way to the start/finish/aid station 5.

My watch alarm sounded at 10:45 (and 10:48, and 10:50... leaving nothing to chance), and I felt reasonably refreshed as I got up and tried to persuade my body it was just a really early morning run. I dressed, brushed my teeth, and ate a sweet potato, a piece of roasted chicken, and a hard-boiled egg. Got to the start line and had a cup of coffee and picked up my number.

As a side note, how genius is it to have a coffee company sponsor your ultramarathons? Thanks, Peet's Coffee (and Matt Patten)! You rock.

The sky had clouded over but it was still surprisingly warm, probably close to 50 degrees. Over 100 50-milers lined up, race director John Storkamp counted us down, and we were off on the stroke of midnight.

The Zumbro course has a little of everything. The first leg climbs 300 feet up a bluff on singletrack and doubletrack trail, then traverses through pine woods (the site of last year's elbow fracture) before it drops down the back and winds along to the first aid station. The second leg crosses a bridge, then parallels the river with a long series of mostly gradual climbs, before a steep descent down what may or may not actually be a trail. It's the longest leg, at 4.3 miles, and feels longer than that. The third section loops up to Picnic Rock, back down, then through a half mile or so of ankle-deep, soft sand. I had gaiters that kept the sand out of the tops of my shoes, but a fair bit sifted in through my shoes and I could feel it between my toes. The fourth leg climbs and traverses a ridge, drops down the long technical descent called Ant Hill, then returns to Aid Station 1/4 via a mile or so of long, flat, straight gravel road -- surprisingly difficult to run. The final leg back to the start/finish area is runnable double and singletrack, a short stretch of road, then the last quarter mile through the grassy campground and into the finishing chute.

Very few things freak me out. It's not bravery, it's willful lack of imagination. But I didn't want to let myself think of 50 miles.  I tried to keep my vision of the next 12 to 15 hours very much like my vision of the trail: only what I could see in my little cone of headlamp light. And most of the time, it worked. The trail kept me in the here and now. Here is a rocky climb; oops, that was a log hidden under those leaves and now my toe hurts; look, there's two runners ahead, moving so slow it must be a hundred miler and his pacer. "Great job. You're moving well," I told them as I moved past.  I walked the uphills, and ran the flats and downhills, trying to run lightly and without hurry.

Friends came and went on the trail, as our paces coincided, then diverged. I ran a lot of the trail with Mike Barton and Julie Berg. For a lot of the run, especially the second loop, I was alone, and that was nice too. The air was warm -- soon I was in just a T-shirt and shorts -- the wind was light, and it was still, aside from some early morning turkey calls.

I came through loop 1 just a few minutes after my goal time of 4:30, feeling pretty good, though perhaps a bit behind on nutrition. I stopped at the start/finish long enough to change socks and remove all the sand from between my toes. It was nearing 5 a.m. and the sun would be up soon. I left my wool shirt and hat behind, and grabbed my running hat and sunglasses, thinking it might get a little warm when the sun came up. I held onto my wool armwarmers, figuring they would keep me warm if there was some rain. Everything felt pretty good as I headed back out onto loop 2.

I passed Arika and Jeremy, who were running the 100 mile, at the end of my first loop.  They had been running together all day and night, and Travis, who had come to pace Arika for a loop along with his wife Steph, had now decided to pace Jeremy for a second loop, his fifth. Todd was pacing Arika on her fifth loop, and I once again overtook the four of them heading out on my second loop.  They were all in good spirits and moving well.  I enjoyed their company for a little while before running ahead.

Around 5:45 am, it started to rain -- lightly, then moderately. I put my wool armwarmers on and felt fine. Hey, if this keeps up, the sandy section won't be quite as... sandy, right? The sun rose and the trail lightened up enough I could turn off my headlamp. The sky was pretty gloomy, but day had come.  As I climbed yet another hill heading to AS 2/3, I felt a little dissociated or light headed. Was it an electrolyte problem? Not enough calories? Or just my internal clock getting wise to the fact that we'd started running at midnight? I wasn't sure, but I felt better after some more food and a little coffee at the aid station. It was great to see Friday's daytime AS 2/3 crew back in action. Hello, John and Lin!

Cloudy view from the first ridge, down to the campsite/start/finish.
Photo credit: Janet Gray

As I ran the Picnic Rock/sand coulee section for the second time, I noticed the beginning of a little pain in my left knee. Oddly, not my medial knee, where it had been hurting for the last five weeks, but the lateral side. What the heck?! I never have IT band problems. I began to plot a stop at my car to use the foam roller before my next lap. Back at AS 2/3, I stopped and stretched, which helped a bit.

The rain was definitely picking up now, and was harder to ignore. I heard a distant roll of thunder as I prepared to head out to the ridge climb, and asked John, "What's the official party line on climbing the ridge during a thunderstorm?" He replied, helpfully, "Stand next to someone taller than you."

Well, I hoped I could get across the ridge before anything really bad hit. I headed out, probably around 8 am. Heading up to the ridge, the rain was picking up more and more, and by the time it leveled out, it was pouring rain. I could see lightning flashes now, and the thunder was rolling and clapping. I counted seconds between lightning and thunder: seven, then five, then three. There was tree cover along the ridge but it was definitely the highest point for several miles around. I decided there was nothing better to do than to keep on running. I didn't think it was very likely I would get struck by lightning, but it wasn't entirely out of the question.

Much of the trail along this section is singletrack that's worn into the ground, forming a trench. It quickly filled with water. I heard later that there was a hailstorm at the start/finish area. I abandoned any hope of keeping my feet wet and splashed on, booking surprisingly good time across the ridge as the wind picked up and the rain pounded down.

Ant Hill was transformed into a lively creek bed/waterfall and I slid and skidded down the mud, trying to avoid the big rocks. The rain had saturated my hat and I could feel cold water seeping into my hair. It was still pouring down rain and I couldn't help but laugh at just how rainy and wet and ridiculous things had gotten.

Pretty representative of the trail after the rainstorm.
Photo credit: Janet Gray

I breathed a sigh of relief at the bottom of Ant Hill, then laughed again as the water came over the tops of my shoes and up my ankles, heading onto the gravel road. The rain was still pounding down hard enough that you couldn't see very far down the road. My left knee was hurting more now; I'm sure my fast ridge run and descent didn't help whatever was going on there.  No matter; I was going to run as much of it as I could, because I was getting cold.

I shambled down the gravel road, with visions of Aid Station 1/4, shelter and hot food drawing me along. I overtook Jeff, another 50 miler, as I went. "I think I'm dropping," I told him. I'd been thinking it over since the bottom of Ant Hill. The combination of worsening knee pain and increasing hypothermia was not looking like a winner. "I am too," he told me. We walked, then ran together into the aid station.

I stopped long enough for a few cups of hot broth and a conversation with the irrepressible Julio, who had volunteered all day Friday and all day Saturday and was fixing a steady stream of cold, wet, underdressed runners. I was shivering pretty hard and just wanted to get to the finish line where my dry clothes were. It's only 2.7 miles to the finish, on easy runnable trails, I told myself. Let's go.

It was a long, long 2.7 miles. I was shivering hard and my right hip flexor went into painful spasm, I think from the shivering. I've been that cold before, but never for that long. My hands were very cold and surprisingly swollen. I tried to think of what to do. Move as fast as I could, but that wasn't particularly fast. Eat more. I could do that. I downed two gels and and a couple of date rolls. Keep moving. Try not to get worried.

I kept going and going, through ankle-deep puddles when I had to, through mud when possible. Am I still on the trail? I backtracked and, yup, there was a marker. Keep going. Onto the singletrack. Keep going. Onto the road. Must be close now. Finally, the turn into the campground and the finish line. Run it in. I completed loop 2, 33.4 miles total, in 9:56.

I look good for someone who was freezing.
Photo credit: Jake Haugen

Lisa and Christie met me just past the timing mat. "How are you feeling?" "Really cold," I answered, heading straight for my drop bag. I pulled on a wool hat and fumbled my drenched armwarmers off, then was stymied trying to get my fleece coat on. My wet arms and swollen hands were stuck in the sleeves. Oh well, it was partly on. At some point, I said, "I'm dropping." I must have looked bad, because Lisa immediately said, "I'll take your number over." I think she was worried I'd change my mind and try to go back out! Christie got me a cup of soup, then gathered my drop bag (I'd kind of scattered the contents) and walked me to my tent and car, where my dry clothes were.

After an extremely shivery clothing change, I gradually started feeling human again. I was very grateful that although my tent had leaked a bit in the storm, my pants and shoes were still dry and I had spare socks and a several dry wool shirts (including the one I had left in my drop bag instead of carrying on the second loop. Would it have saved my race? I don't think so, but it would have helped. Lesson learned). Suddenly, I was starving.  I drove the 300 yards back to the start/finish with the heat blasting, and stood by the bonfire for a long time, leaving only long enough to retrieve successive cups of coffee and a massive bacon-and-egg quesadilla.  BJ, who volunteered at the finish line, cooked 100 pounds of bacon that morning, and may have saved a few people with his bacon-and-egg quesadillas. Thanks!

It took 45 minutes to stop shivering. The rain had stopped, but it was still cool, probably in the low 40s, and breezy. Runners from the 100, 50, and 17 mile were finishing. Most of them were very wet, and some were very cold. Arika and Todd came in from her fifth loop and she was very cold, shivering and wet. Four of us converged on her, bundling her into a chair by the bonfire with a coat, a space blanket, a hot drink, and a dry hat. She got into her van, blasted the heat, and eventually warmed up, but had to drop, after running an incredible 84 miles. There were a lot of people dropping after the thunderstorm. I think the 100 mile had 15 finishers out of 56 starts -- a brutal attrition rate.

I wish we'd all had the race we set out to have. But for me, there's no question I made the right call dropping. Even in a change of dry clothes, after a meal and a hot drink, I think I would have been endangering myself (and maybe others) by going back out. By quitting when I did, I think I'm setting myself up to have a great remainder of the season, instead of incurring a season ending injury my first race of the year.

Even though I didn't complete my race, I loved this event. It's the first big local trail race of the year, and so many of my trail friends were there, either running, volunteering, crewing, or cheering. It's like Woodstock for trail runners -- complete with rain, and even better, with bacon! So many people went beyond their ordinary limits. The runners, of course, but the pacers too, like Travis, who ran 17 extra miles with Jeremy and helped him finish his first hundred, and Todd, who cleared and marked the course on Wednesday and Thursday, photographed the race all day Friday, then saw Arika through the thunderstorm and safely back to the finish. And volunteers, like Julio and John, who worked two full days. And Lisa and Shanon and Christie, who worked overtime in the medical tent, keeping everyone out of the hospital. And race directors John and Cherie, who worked for weeks to pull this off. John stood at the finish line and personally announced and gave finisher's medals to everyone who finished, and just radiated joy while doing it. You could tell, watching him, that everything leading up to this race was worth it for moments like that.

Thanks, everyone, for an amazing weekend. Thanks for the lessons of love, and selflessness, and humility, and joy, and going beyond what you think you can. I can't wait to do it all again. I can't wait to see what's to come.