tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85421897406622700022024-03-18T05:32:17.526-07:00Better Than a Stick In The EyeRobynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-58851564878210269522019-09-14T07:21:00.001-07:002019-09-14T07:21:41.776-07:002019 Superior 50 Mile Race Report: Patience, Acceptance, Gratitude<h4>
Prologue</h4>
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I’d been pacing and volunteering at the Fall Superior Trail Races for five years before my own fire started to kindle.</div>
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Spring Superior, sure. I’d run the out-and-back 50k four times, up Carlton Peak and back to Lutsen. But fifty MILES of rocks, roots, and 12,500 feet of climbing? I wasn’t convinced I wanted that, until 2018 Fall Superior, when, after pacing 28 miles overnight, I stood at the finish line and realized I did. I put my name in the lottery in January and found myself with a big goal race on my calendar. September loomed large. </div>
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This year’s training was all about Superior preparation: two 50k races, 70 miles in three days at Western States Training Camp, Voyageur 50 Mile. My training log shows that I averaged 45 miles per week, certainly the most I’ve ever run.</div>
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I learned a lot along the way, especially about the joy of starting slow and finishing fast. I ran even or negative splits at Chippewa, Afton, and Voyageur, finishing all three ultras smiling, laughing, and running strong. Despite an unexpectedly crazy summer of job searching and career change, I stayed mostly injury free, taking a day or two off here and there when something didn’t feel right, but mostly checking off runs, intervals, hill repeats. No training cycle is perfect, but it’s been a great season. I’m amazed and grateful that I came to the starting line well prepared, well trained, uninjured, and excited to run. </div>
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Race morning began with a 3:15 alarm, ahead of the 5:15 start. The sky at Finland Recreation Center was clear and streaked with stars, and the air was cool and breezy. The weather all day couldn’t be better: clouds moving in after a clear morning, temperatures in the 50s, no more rain after a few showers the night before. I checked in, saw some friends, danced to 80s hip hop (“Joy and pain/Are like sunshine and rain”).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fist bump with Bob. Photo: Chad Richardson</td></tr>
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I was in a good place mentally — eager to see sections of the course I’d never seen, and ones I’d never seen in daylight, eager to see friends at the aid stations, but with no specific time goals aside from beating the 16:45 cutoff. I thought of the advice I’d heard an experienced runner give about the course — “Be patient” — and decided that would be my plan for the day. Patience, acceptance, gratitude. </div>
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Start to Crosby-Manitou (mile 11.7, ~3:00): Sunlight, wonder</h4>
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On John’s countdown we were off, running easily up a gravel road for a few miles before a turn onto the Superior Hiking Trail, which we’d follow for the rest of the day. Aside from a few quiet conversations and the sound of footfalls, it was quiet, with headlamps lighting the road and trail. I cruised the opening miles at an easy, warming-up pace, stopping 30 minutes in to change the batteries in my suddenly-dim headlamp (and breathing relief that I'd packed spares). My friend Bob ran right behind me much of the way, in companionable quiet. It was his third attempt at Superior 50, and I wanted to see him succeed.</div>
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The brightening sky contrasted with the dim trails as the day began, and eventually it was light enough to switch off headlamps. We hit Sonju Lake aid station (7 miles) in full daylight, right around the two hour mark. Bonfire smoke swirled and volunteers directed runners in and out, refilled water, and offered food and encouragement. We didn't need much, so early in the race, and quickly headed out again on the short but rootbound 4-mile section to Crosby-Manitou.<br />
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I'd run this section three times before as a pacer, but always in the deepest hours of the night (and usually in the rain). It was exhilarating to <em>see</em> the trail, and to enjoy the dry ground among the deep tree roots. We crested Horseshoe Ridge, which I remembered as nothing more than a sensation of deep black open space to one side of the trail, and I gasped at the spectacular views of the Sawtooth Ridge and early fall colors. Turns out, this section is gorgeous! The woods ended quickly and I ran up the gravel road to Crosby-Manitou in great spirits, eager to see the next section in daylight.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning sunshine on Horseshoe Ridge</td></tr>
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Crosby-Manitou to Sugarloaf (mile 21.1,~6:10): The only way to win is not to play the game</h4>
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This 9.4 mile section of trail looms large in the Superior mythos. It’s the longest section between aid, and with its descent and climb through the Manitou River gorge, it starts off steep and technical, before giving way to a long 6 miles or so of mostly-runnable but often seemingly interminable wooded singletrack. I've paced it twice, and both times succumbed, at least a bit, to the "we should be there by now!" syndrome. This time, I was ready to do it differently. Patience, acceptance, gratitude. The only way to win this section, I knew, was not to play the game.<br />
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This section had given Bob trouble in years past. Once, he’d even fallen and broken some ribs on it. So at Crosby-Manitou, as we refilled water and ate bratwurst, I told him, “We’ll do this section together and keep our skeletons intact.” Then I repeated something I’d said years ago, when he first tried Superior: “We should come into Sugarloaf saying, ‘I can’t believe how good I feel!’”</div>
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We bounded down the steep rocky trail to the river crossing. Or, rather, I bounded. I'm relatively fast on descents, and Bob was beginning to slow down. At the bridge, I waited and he caught up, and we started the big climb in a little group of runners. I knew this section well. “Three false summits, then you’re on top,” I announced, stepping up and up.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manitou River, from the bridge</td></tr>
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The trail climbed boulders and leveled, then climbed and leveled again. I'd slow to let Bob catch up, but despite his summer of strong training, he was beginning to hit a low point. Finally, we were finished climbing and rewarded with incredible views from the ridge. I was exultant — we had conquered one of the Big Scary Climbs on the course! — and tried to share my excitement with Bob. He replied in monosyllables. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of the climb!</td></tr>
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"This next section is a total mental game," I reminded him. "It's always longer than you think. But all we have to do is keep moving. Don't look at mileage or time. The only way to win is not to play the game."</div>
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To my surprise, the trail today was flowing under my feet and I was eager to push the pace faster than Bob wanted to go. "Okay, this is a runnable section," I'd say, following him. He continued to hike. "Let's run this," I tried. "Run!"</div>
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The morning sunshine began to give way to clouds, keeping the air cool. I was amazed by how dry the trail was, and by the work that had been done over the summer in perennially muddy sections. We ran and hiked over new boardwalks, our feet dry. I kept encouraging Bob to eat and drink, and he kept moving forward, never giving up even as he navigated a physical and mental low point. "You should go on," he said on several occasions. "As long as you keep moving, let's finish this section together," I responded.</div>
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In due time, we crossed the Caribou River bridge. "Three miles from here," I grinned. Bob's mood lifted and he ran. We both ran, ticking off the two sets of power lines, the road crossing, the covered-bridge river crossing. He consulted his phone. "Just under a mile left." "THE ONLY WAY TO WIN IS NOT TO PLAY THE GAME!" I replied. Our momentum built as we began seeing the signs the Sugarloaf volunteers had posted. Finally, grinning absurdly, we ran in to Sugarloaf.</div>
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Sugarloaf to Temperance River (mile 33.8, ~9:35): Acceptance, and the gifts of the trail</h4>
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Sugarloaf is MY aid station. I've volunteered there for the last five years. I've paced into it twice. Jan and Joe O'Brien, the long-time aid station captains, are beloved Superior friends. When I thought of my Fall Superior race over the past year, I had visualized this moment.</div>
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And Sugarloaf came through for me. Raucous cheers and cowbells greeted us as we arrived, and I got monster hugs from Jan, from Travis, from Steph, from LOTS of people. I couldn't stop grinning. After six hours and 21 miles of running, in the middle of the woods, I had come home. A volunteer refilled my water. Steph brought me chicken noodle soup, heavy on the noodles. Jan and I laughed that I'd signed a 10-year contract to work at Sugarloaf and would HAVE to be there next year, even if I was moving to Seattle.</div>
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Recalling my unexpected battery swap that morning, I said, "Travis, remember my [EXPLETIVE DELETED] headlamp? I had to change batteries AGAIN this morning!"</div>
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He laughed but then got serious. "I have a headlamp in the car. Want to borrow it, just in case?"</div>
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I bit back my initial "No" and considered. In the back of my head, I had been a bit worried about navigating Moose Mountain with subpar lighting. I made a decision. "Yes. Yes, please, I really would." He ran off to his parked car and returned a minute later with two good headlamps. Overwhelmed with this unexpected generosity, I shoved one in my pack and a little mental burden I hadn't even been aware of quietly slipped away. One more quick round of hugs and I was crossing the road, yelling "I LOVE YOU, SUGARLOAF!!!" as cheers and cowbells saw me off.</div>
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The next 12 miles were the only section of the course I hadn't seen before. I was now running along, moving at my own speed, and deep into the mindset of patience, acceptance, gratitude. It felt good to run and to feel the ground move beneath my feet, and this was a runnable section, traversing past wetlands and woods, with occasional inland views of brightening autumn colors. Without trying very hard, I slipped into an attitude of curiosity about what the trail would give me next.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early fall colors!</td></tr>
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On this section, I began to pass runners in greater numbers: mostly 50 milers, but occasionally I'd round a curve and see the pink ribbon of a 100 miler in the distance. Kevin Langton was power-hiking his way to Cramer Road, and I overtook him, got a hug, and tried to help him troubleshoot his bad stomach. His writing and his words have been such an inspiration to me and to hundreds of other runners, and I wished I could give back some of that energy today. </div>
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The miles into Cramer Road were very runnable but a bit longer than I expected. I tried not to play the game, though I worried a bit about losing my cushion of time till cutoff, and arrived when the trail brought me there. I was at the halfway point in the race, a marathon in, and about 50 minutes ahead of the cutoff. My friends Mara and Cari were volunteering at Cramer, and they filled my water, brought me my drop bag, offered food and encouragement. Colleen S was there too, giving encouragement. Bob came in as I was preparing to leave. Zevon played on the speakers. Again, I felt incredibly cared for and loved. I was eager to see what the second half would bring.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mara and Cari: Great volunteers, or THE GREATEST volunteers?</td></tr>
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The miles from Cramer to Temperance were again new to me, and the words patience, acceptance, gratitude were strong in my mind. The trail brought me climbs and descents, and soon I found myself running downstream alongside a rushing river: the Cross River, I later learned. I basked in its beauty, in the afternoon light, in the feeling of effortless movement as I flowed alongside it, down, down to the bridge to cross. The Cross River was a gift, one that amazed me all the more because I hadn't known it was there. An unexpected burst of joy that felt like it lasted for more than just a few miles.</div>
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A bit of climbing, a bit more trail, and I descended to Temperance River before I knew it. I had passed more runners and many hikers. The afternoon was flying by, and I was flying with it.</div>
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Temperance River to Sawbill (mile 39.5, ~11:10): Riding the wave</h4>
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Temperance River aid station in late afternoon was laid back but ready to help. As "Footloose" played and I sang along, they fed me bacon and pancakes, filled my water, offered me food to go, assured me I was over an hour till cutoff. The spell of movement was on me and I couldn't stop for long. I was off, excited to see Carlton Peak and Sawbill. With two thirds of the race behind me, I was already beginning to feel like the end wasn't too far off.</div>
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The trail crossed and then climbed gently up the river, and the many afternoon hikers moved aside for me, offering encouragement as I ran. This is our family's favorite section of the trail, and it was a joy to be on familiar and much loved ground. I passed a few 50 and 100 milers and shared cheerful words and energy with them. The trail veered away from the river, climbed some more, entered the woods, climbed again.</div>
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Without really noticing when it happened, I found myself on the flanks of Carlton Peak. The last (and only previous) time I'd done this section was 5 years ago, pacing Travis. I'd forgotten just how steep and prolonged a climb it was, and I kept moving but slowed as the steps became bigger and bouldery. Around a corner and I overtook Steph Hoff and her pacer. Her smile was as big as ever and we shared a quick hug and words of excited encouragment. She was absolutely crushing Carlton, on her way to a hard fought and gritty finish. Seeing her was a huge lift as I finished what felt like the hardest climb of the course.</div>
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As I rounded the flanks for Carlton Peak and hit blessedly level ground, then gently downhills, I passed a few runners before falling in behind another 50 miler. She was moving at my pace and it was fun to have someone to follow instead of pass. We gathered speed and momentum as we descended Carlton toward the Sawbill parking lot. We seemed to go faster and faster, crossing long boardwalks and trail sections, enjoying the rewards of gravity we'd earned on our climb. Finally, I couldn't keep up and she pulled ahead, but I'd gained time and, paradoxically, felt even more energized. With a huge grin, I ran into the Sawbill Aid station. </div>
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Sawbill to Oberg (mile 45, ~12:45): On familiar ground</h4>
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Sawbill was jumping, the biggest aid station I'd seen since Crosby Manitou. They cheered every runner in like we were winning the entire race. Music played. Families hung out in chairs and on blankets. The aid station volunteers fed me soup and noodles. I was comfortably ahead of the cutoff and gaining time on every segment now. With a half marathon to go, I felt unstoppable. I realized that I was going to finish this race, and in good style.<br />
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Jason Husveth was helping out here. "Jason," I said, "there's nothing else quite like this, is there?" I started to choke up. Good grief, I thought, I can't do this yet. I probably still have 4 hours left out here! We talked a little about the day, the trails, the year. It was a good, quiet moment in a high energy, hectic place -- and a reminder that I had some big feelings around this race. I packed them up and headed out to the final aid station.<br />
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I've run Sawbill to Oberg at least five times. I remembered it being not especially hilly, sometimes muddy, frankly a bit boring sometimes. But today, I was entranced by my own movement. 40 miles into my day, I could run, and I was fascinated to watch the trail unfold beneath my feet, under the spell of my own motion. I watched with curiosity and detachment as the trail gave me climbs and descents, as it gave me a few patches of mud. I laughed at the signs for the Oberg parking lot, which I knew were comically far from the actual aid station, and at the spur trail to Mount Levaux, where I took a wrong turn one Superior.<br />
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The long double-wide section into the aid station, where you can hear your destination long before you're there, was an old friend. I was among friends, all day, every step I went.</div>
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Oberg to Finish (mile 52.1, 15:02:28): Nothing left to do but finish </h4>
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Oberg was a party, and I came in feeling like a rockstar. Cheers and cowbells and music and so many people after a quiet day in the woods. This was it, the last aid station. All that was left now was to run the final 7.1 miles in. This race I'd been dreaming of for a year, for longer, felt almost over. I choked up again, overwhelmed with gratitude and amazement.</div>
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So many friends at this stop. Alex was here, pacer bib still pinned on, having sent her runner off to finish his 100 mile race with his family. I hugged her, ate more food, started to run out, came back to get out my headlamp, stopped to take a picture of the final aid station sign. "Nothing to do now but finish this thing," I grinned. I didn't want it to end, but I was ready for the end. Eager for the trail, I headed out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAv0KLDetFEZUCGpbY36MeWzDWgVb22ifRWw_yKVxs56Cd9TREKzph7A8l2nMG5an3ErAb1bXO9hAuV2knZQ1ADrY4zCcCZajsv2rajEZFnZTEvJAh5jUJ3srikc74vGCsXAvQ6p2p-wri/s1600/IMG_5406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAv0KLDetFEZUCGpbY36MeWzDWgVb22ifRWw_yKVxs56Cd9TREKzph7A8l2nMG5an3ErAb1bXO9hAuV2knZQ1ADrY4zCcCZajsv2rajEZFnZTEvJAh5jUJ3srikc74vGCsXAvQ6p2p-wri/s320/IMG_5406.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Contemplating the finish!</td></tr>
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Five years ago, I'd broken down this section for Travis. "Runnable section, steeper climb, Stairway to Heaven, long runnable section on Moose, steep descent through the saddle, switchbacks, over the top, past the campsite, and it's all downhill to the Poplar River." At the end of his 100 miler, it had been slow going. Today, the miles just went steadily by as I watched the ground flow under me. The climb up Moose was steep, but short. The top was more runnable than I remembered. Everything felt shorter today, and time slipped by. I kept passing runners and pacers, saying, "I think we should finish this thing!" and getting grunts of assent and "Hell yeahs" in response.</div>
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Night fell and I turned on Travis's headlamp. It was like strapping the sun to my forehead, and the ground leaped out in bright contrast. I breathed gratitude for friends, and thanked myself for accepting his offer of help, hours ago. The party was in full swing at the finish line and the sound carried into the saddle. I power hiked switchbacks, crested Mystery Mountain, started dropping down in the sudden silence. Passed Amy and E Rolf on the descent, moving, moving. Past the campsite. No more uphills. Sound of the Poplar River faintly ahead.</div>
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I overtook a 100 miler and we quietly discussed how close we were. "I think it's farther than you expect to the river," I said, remembering previous runs. I rounded a corner and saw reflectors. "Or, maybe, it's right here!"</div>
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The Poplar River bridge. I stopped for just a moment, admired the river in the dim light, the chaotic noise of its waters. I breathed in the cool night air. It had been a perfect day. Tears stood in my eyes. I wanted this moment to last forever</div>
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With a final breath in of river-scented air, I turned back to the trail, climbed, and ran gravel road, then paved road, then wider paved road, as the lights of Lutsen came up all around me. People stood by the road and said "Congratulations." I slowed so the 100 miler ahead of me could get her finish -- it turned out to be Angela Barbera, I'm glad I waited -- and I paused in the dark, at the corner of the swimming pool, while she finished. Then, I ran into the lights and the sound and the friends and the joy of the finish, feeling more powerful and accomplished than I have ever felt in a race. </div>
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<h4>
Open to the possibility of greatness</h4>
At FANS this year, early on, Lisa Kaspner-Swift told me, "I feel great! I'm sure it'll all go wrong eventually!" I said, "Open your mind to the possibility that today could simply be an incredible day." And although she didn't feel incredible<i> every</i> step of the way, she proceeded to run the race of her life, covering over 100 km.<br />
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A long trail run seldom goes according to plan, and after seven years of doing these, I've come to expect that unexpected problems will punctuate any effort of many hours on the trails. But in my planning for problems, injury, gear failures, and trail disasters, I try to remind myself to be open to the possibility of unexpected greatness as well.<br />
<br /><br />
We run for many reasons, but perhaps the rarest and most sublime are those fleeting days where everything comes together, the world moves under your feet, and the trail unfolds before you. Superior 50 was a day of unexpected greatness for me. A year of training, a slow start, dry trails, perfect weather, five years of volunteering karma, and the love and support of my extended trail family alchemized into an experience I will never forget. I can't think of a more beautiful end to my time in Minnesota than this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghv1GbMlA1T-YGypUV9t3d6wrBFFa-QkFUdx3pCtliOtA2FWUtNO4q7dvloWR6CjD4wfbI6lDviuL-VFq78-mfq652QNQsUhPzNvVNzNwjo6kZfZEErS2l6Jp3ZaxhBp9tNtl03nybG7jR/s1600/superior+reid+plumbo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghv1GbMlA1T-YGypUV9t3d6wrBFFa-QkFUdx3pCtliOtA2FWUtNO4q7dvloWR6CjD4wfbI6lDviuL-VFq78-mfq652QNQsUhPzNvVNzNwjo6kZfZEErS2l6Jp3ZaxhBp9tNtl03nybG7jR/s400/superior+reid+plumbo+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This, but running. Photo: Chad Richardson</td></tr>
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Thank you, trail family. Thank you.Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-66122830374721765302019-09-05T09:30:00.000-07:002019-09-05T09:30:11.242-07:00I Owe Kate A Race Report: 2018 Superior Pacing Report <h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">It's a great time for a Superior race report!</span></span></h3>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">I paced Kate Leis from County Road 6 to Sugarloaf in the 2018 Fall Superior 100, wrote most of a race report, and didn't finish it until today. What better time to finally publish it than on the eve of the 2019 Fall Superior races?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Jokes aside, this was a really special event for me. It was my fifth fall at Superior, and for the first time, I came away from the race with a new fire. I had found the drive to want a Fall Superior finish of my own. A few months later, I entered the lottery for the Superior 50 Mile. The day after tomorrow, I'll be at the starting line and taking on this big, scary, beautiful, joyful, incredible event myself, for the first time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">This race report is a reminder of what brought me to this moment. It's a preview, an inspiration, and, I hope, a launching point — for me, and for all of you who are taking on something big, this weekend and in times to come. And for Kate, this is a thank-you letter. Thank you for sharing with me an event so special that it changed the trajectory of my running career. I can't tell you how much our journey through the night meant to me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Genesis</span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Back in July, I offered to pace Kate, who I didn't know well, but I figured it'd be fun. Turns out she's my age, going for her 5th Superior 100 start (and 3rd finish), and she can *move.* Pacing anxiety begins.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(Pacing anxiety: The almost-always irrational fear that your runner, having already gone 43 miles/11+ hours, will be able to run so fast overnight that you can't keep up.)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I pack way too many layers, shoes, snacks, and camping gear and head north on Friday morning. After stashing gear at Sugarloaf (mile 72), where I'll finish, I finally make it to County Road 6 (mile 44), where I'll pick up Kate, around 5 pm. The plan is to volunteer here, pace Kate overnight to Sugarloaf, then work there till close.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">CR6 is jamming in bright sunshine. Spectators line the gravel parking lot, the aid station is serving up standard ultra fare, and runners are coming in looking happy and surprisingly non-muddy. After a dry August and early September, the trail is in extraordinarily good shape this year.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">I'm immediately making PB&J sandwiches, setting up the propane stove for soup, and trying to figure out how to make coffee. This year, it's a new cone-filter pour-over system, which I love, but I fail to find either the directions or the measuring scoo</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">p so I'm eyeballing the amount of coffee grounds.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />A runner asks for coffee. I pour him a cup from the still-dripping airpot.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />"I'm not sure how strong it is. Let me know, okay?"<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />He takes a sip. His eyes widen a bit. "It's, uh, great! But, could you put some water in it?"</span></span></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Superior Hiking Trail tourist</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Kate had sent her crew and pacers a spreadsheet of her anticipated paces and times through the dozen-plus aid stations on course BECAUSE OF COURSE SHE DID. It had her coming into CR6 at 8:32 pm, but she'd rolled an ankle two weeks before earlier and ha</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">d emailed us that she was throwing out her time goals and just wanted to finish.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Apparently she's having a good day, though, because at 7 pm her husband shows up and tells me she'll be there in 25 minutes or less.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">I'm scrambling around, trying to speed-eat my dinner, telling someone else how to make the coffee (having now located the directions and the measuring scoop, glory be!), making sure my pack's ready to go. Jamison, the aid station captain and a good fri</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">end, comes over while I'm standing by Lisa, his wife.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />JAMISON: "Aren't you pacing? You're not dressed for running."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: [I'm wearing running shorts under my pants. I start undoing them to show him.] "Ah, but look!"<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />JAMISON [backing away] "You're... taking off your pants in front of me. While standing next to my wife."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: "Yes. Yes I am. I want to show you what's underneath." I waggle my eyebrows at him.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />LISA: [laughs at both of us]</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Kate blows into the aid station and it's go time. I lace my shoes, grab my pack, slam a cup of Coke as she downs a turkey wrap and dances back and forth at the trailhead, ready to clock some miles.</span><br style="color: #1c1e21;" /><br style="color: #1c1e21; content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" /><span style="color: #1c1e21;">To cheers and cowbells, we run into the woods. It's 7:30 pm.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We reach a high lookout over the inland lakes and woods just as the last light is going, and I stop for a picture, then run hard to catch Kate again. “I’m a Superior Hiking Trail tourist,” I tell her.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dSKEcSI3nG0gvClW_16XMOs-vlspd8lfg9ofIeIJdz9nFl3TymcB_ICIWkCf7TkxPx2yuOQUJK8pGVWH1pwj5xP9UZtZQV55cGjpUSAyKBmkNTFDCneKiuSG0_9VcxeBvVGfkke3m93_/s1600/shtsunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dSKEcSI3nG0gvClW_16XMOs-vlspd8lfg9ofIeIJdz9nFl3TymcB_ICIWkCf7TkxPx2yuOQUJK8pGVWH1pwj5xP9UZtZQV55cGjpUSAyKBmkNTFDCneKiuSG0_9VcxeBvVGfkke3m93_/s320/shtsunset.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The only picture I took, but it's a good one</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now it's fully dark, we're climbing and descending, Kate's ankle is giving her no trouble to speak of, and we're just riding the wave. We move along, occasionally passing or being passed by other runners and pacers, but for long stretches, the trail is ours. There are boardwalks, roots, rocky climbs, but nothing seems to exist outside the little bubble of light we carry with us.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The day has been warm, and the nighttime temperatures are headed into the 40s with a breeze. We're in shirtsleeves, breaking a sweat when we climb hard, then cooling off at the top when a breeze comes through. It's a good temperature for moving fast, in the dark, and that's what we do.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">After a bit over two hours, we're into Finland. It's the halfway point of the race, it's a major aid station, and there are lots of people coming and going. Kate is still feeling great as she eats mashed potatoes and bacon, and her husband Matt helps h</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">er get geared up for the night, with poles, gloves, a more powerful waist light. He and their parents will go get some sleep; the next time we'll see them will be tomorrow morning at Sugarloaf, 21 miles later.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />"That's good crew management," I comment. I've seen a lot of exhausted, sleep-deprived crews in my five years at Superior.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />"I figure I'll really need them tomorrow, so they'd better be rested!" she grins.</span></span></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Susan likes my hair</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">We're out of Finland and trading leads over and over with running legend Susan Donnelly. Incredibly, it's her 18th Superior 100, and she has done over 100 100-mile races. She passes us, exclaiming, "Robyn! When did your hair get so long?" I laugh at th</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">e sheer weirdness. We have an intermittent conversation about hair over the next several hours, before she pulls ahead for good.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />The exhilaration of being out in the woods at night is kicking in for me now. It's past my bedtime. It's past *everyone's* bedtime! We're running around in the woods! We get to do this all night! It's forbidden and silly and it's a beautiful night and it feels good to be moving under our own power, across big miles of trail.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Another 7.5 miles and two and a half hours, and we're into Sonju. In contrast to Finland, it's a small aid station with no crew access, and it runs pretty much exclusively in the middle of the night. It's like a tiny oasis of light and welcome in a big</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;"> dark world.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Kate is putting on a clinic on how to go through aid stations, and it's all I can do to throw down some coffee and a bite of something before she's refilled her water, moved some snacks into the front of her pack, and is ready to blaze out again. All I can do is chase after her, laughing at the contrast from the year I spent an hour in Sonju in pouring rain, trying to bring a runner back from the dead.</span></span></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">The bicycle</span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">It's after midnight now and we're on the short (4+ mile) but deeply root-bound section of trail into Crosby-Manitou. Kate has been running now for over 16 hours.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />KATE: "Look over there. There's a bicycle!" [points into the woods]</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;"><br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: "I see a tree stump, but not a bicycle."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />KATE: "There's totally a bicycle there."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: "I totally believe you that you see a bicycle. That sounds awesome. I wish I could see it too."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />KATE: [stops] "Robyn, look *there.* There is seriously a bicycle."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />I stop and look where she's pointing... and damned if there is not in fact an actual bicycle, 10 yards off in the woods, parked next to — I can now see — a tent.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />We laugh all the way into Crosby-Manitou.</span></span></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Riding the wave</span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">It's a perfectly clear night and the stars are shining with an intensity that I don't remember. The moon's just a tiny sliver. The world is big.</span><br style="color: #1c1e21;" /><br style="color: #1c1e21; content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" /><span style="color: #1c1e21;">The last half-mile into Crosby is up a gravel road, uphill. We run it. We're riding the wave.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Crosby's a party, another all-night aid station but with a sort of "last chance" vibe, since the next section's 9+ miles long and gnarly and takes most people anywhere from 3 to 6 hours. You can get anything here — coffee, a burger, grilled cheese, bak</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">ed goods, candy, three kinds of soup. I'm pretty sure that if a runner came in and demanded a beer and a shot, they could set it up. We're happy with burgers and, for me, more coffee. For the first time all night, Kate sits down, long enough to dump a rock out of her shoe.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Last year, I spent a good half-hour at Crosby, lip-synching Zevon songs and side-eyeing my runners, who did a major drop-bag dive that looked like a paleo food truck collided with an electronics store. This year? We're out in 15 minutes and Kate's complaining about how long she took. It's awesome.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">It's 2:15 am and we are in the guts of the night now, moving through the longest hardest section of the race. Kate still feels good, but the hours and miles are becoming more apparent. Still, it's the fastest I've moved on this section of trail.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />We dr</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">op down into the Manitou River gorge, leapfrogging with a few other runners, then start the long, long climb out.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />"Okay, I know it's wrong," I say, "but I... really like this climb? I mean, it is very clearly what it is. You don't wonder, 'Should I be running?' And then, eventually, you're done and at the top. I like it!"<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Weirdly, Kate seems to understand this. She tells me about getting passed, in her first ultra, by people power-hiking faster than she could run. "So I went home and I started practicing my fast hike," she concludes.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />I laugh. We've been absolutely booking it up climbs all day, and it's clear that whatever she's doing is working.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">We're through the gorge and climb out, we've done the long descent off Horseshoe Ridge, and now we're in the long, *long* section of not-much-memorable before crossing the Caribou River. It's 4 a.m. or so. Kate has slowed from a very fast hike to a mer</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">ely fast hike, but we're moving along, reminding her to eat and drink every 30 minutes. We're telling stories about pets, friends, our lives, races. It's companionable. We feel patient and know that if we keep moving like this, we'll reach the next checkpoint.</span></span></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Weird happenings deep in the night</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">We cross a small bridge over a trickle of water, consisting of two 2x6 boards, side by side. One's partly rotted and rotates as I cross it. My foot slips through and is trapped between the boards.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />It's 4 a.m. and my problem-solving facilities take a m</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">inute to get back on-line. I try pulling my foot up — not enough space. I try rotating the board back, but can't quite figure it out. Kate turns back. "I'm stuck in a bridge," I say helpfully. We laugh a little and she suggests I take my shoe off. But just then, I notice there's a wider gap further along, and manage to get my foot out through it. I shake my head and we laugh as we move on.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">A little further up the trail: We come around a corner and there's someone lying on the ground in the trail. Wait, there are *two* people lying down, one on either side of the trail. Kate's in the lead and visibly startled.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />The prone forms resolve the</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">mselves as a runner and pacer. It appears they just couldn't wait any longer to take a nap. The pacer opens one eye, gives us a thumbs-up, and waves us on.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Up the trail:<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: "What the hell was that about?"<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />KATE: "I'm just glad I didn't see that when I was alone."<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />ME: "Yeah, my first thought was, 'PLEASE DON'T BE DEAD!'"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">We've reached the Caribou River, about 3 miles from Sugarloaf. It feels like we're getting close. Kate has run this section recently and has shockingly good memory of the course and landmarks; she ticks them off as the sky turns a dark gray, then a lig</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;">hter gray, and a band of orange appears at the horizon.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />We pass through a clearing and admire the rainbow-striped horizon and setting crescent moon. It is sublimely beautiful. We realize our cameras can't capture it, so we just try to soak it in.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">As the sky lightens, we know we're close to Sugarloaf. We keep looking for landmarks and listening for the sounds of the aid station. We're trying to be patient, but we know it's soon.</span><br style="color: #1c1e21;" /><br style="color: #1c1e21; content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" /><span style="color: #1c1e21;">And, sure enough, soon enough, it's there, and we're out of the woods. It's 5:45 a.m., it's daylight, Matt and the crew are there, looking refreshed.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<h3>
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">From dusk till dawn</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Kate's crew ushers her into a chair and plies her with food, foot care gear, fresh socks, and encouragement. She's in good hands.<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />Her second pacer, Cary, has dropped my car off for me here. (I parked it at CR6, found Cary, and said, "It's a late model</span><span style="color: #1c1e21;"> black Prius. They key's under the front wheel." There's a lot of handing your car keys to a near-stranger at Superior.)<br /><br style="content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" />I find the bag of fresh clothes I'd stashed in the woods yesterday and gratefully change shoes and put on long pants, while drinking coffee and eating hash browns and bacon. Even as Kate prepares to throw down the last 50k of her race, I am mentally changing gears and getting ready to work aid-station magic.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1c1e21;">Kate takes off into the woods to cheers and cowbells. She'll go on to finish in under 32 hours, taking 27 minutes off her PR. Here's her race report: </span><a href="http://www.bhflife.com/katestraining/2018/9/11/superior-100-2018-edition">http://www.bhflife.com/katestraining/2018/9/11/superior-100-2018-edition</a><span style="color: #1c1e21;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br style="color: #1c1e21; content: ""; display: block; margin-top: 10px;" /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">She, Cary, and I meet up at the finish, 12 hours later. She is radiantly happy.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHLY4PJx4Z6Ek8byGSKjqdduuWurp9XPM4zjPqctMBqpL_VHVhjJYY7xyCEZWqxfMZC-mfrZ_9pWrdL6nfa1upiAgrY_aknCx6kEjw_UuKkgaXtiZqGAUkt7JzwueP_QcmawnXlCXrFAM/s1600/supfinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHLY4PJx4Z6Ek8byGSKjqdduuWurp9XPM4zjPqctMBqpL_VHVhjJYY7xyCEZWqxfMZC-mfrZ_9pWrdL6nfa1upiAgrY_aknCx6kEjw_UuKkgaXtiZqGAUkt7JzwueP_QcmawnXlCXrFAM/s320/supfinish.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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At the finish line, the speakers are blasting "Could Have Been Me," punctuated by announcements of incoming runners finishing their marathon, 50 miles, or 100 miles.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">I wanna taste love and pain</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Wanna feel pride and shame</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">I don't wanna take my time</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Don't wanna waste one line</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">I wanna live better days</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Never look back and say</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Could have been me</span><br style="color: #222222; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">It could have been me</span></i></span></div>
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In my mind, a fire is beginning to take hold.</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-23844164321339462762019-07-09T09:45:00.000-07:002019-07-09T09:45:19.419-07:00Like a Freight Train: 2019 Afton 50K Race Report<span data-offset-key="8182a-0-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ran my third Afton 50K on Saturday. My PR there (6:38) was five years ago, and was a real high-water mark in my running career. Two years ago, I did it in 7:11, a run notable for a negative split and for having WAY more fun in the second half.
This year, my training was pretty good (Chippewa 50k, 70 miles in 3 days at Western States Training Camp, most recently a back to back 18 mi/14 mi weekend), but I didn't think I had a new course PR in me. This was actually great news! It really took the pressure off. I had no time goal heading into the race, just the goal of having fun and enjoying the hell out of Afton, the entire way. As it turned out, I ran 7:17, stopping to help a sick runner along the way, had a grand time, finished strong, and accomplished every goal I had.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXFfNRmG35BnU5kt4A3yJhWWVEev0zM00utf1oJIDJ6ocg2USDffPMDlj5dKoqAvfAFuFZt-u3E402-AL4XMKOOTMX7u2jOHmRTp31LEt-yxMMovDi_DKC_yFitPq8IADzZXVoqArMglY/s1600/afton+pre+fresh+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXFfNRmG35BnU5kt4A3yJhWWVEev0zM00utf1oJIDJ6ocg2USDffPMDlj5dKoqAvfAFuFZt-u3E402-AL4XMKOOTMX7u2jOHmRTp31LEt-yxMMovDi_DKC_yFitPq8IADzZXVoqArMglY/s320/afton+pre+fresh+tracks.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">UMTR group picture, pre-race.<br />Photo: Fresh Tracks Media</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a brutal 3:15 am wake-up, three of us carpooled out, arriving early enough to get a coveted parking spot in Afton State Park, already a win. Check-in and pre-race was a blur of seeing trail friends, group pictures, squaring away a drop bag, almost forgetting to put on sunscreen. (Spoiler: Should have reapplied at the midpoint. I got a little rosy.) We lined up, John played Beastie Boys, I danced and laughed and any remaining nervousness fell away and never came back. Just like that, we were off.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIIXO-zddZlPAwZkV__0TINUirxzU13Dhor97Abzxfp98HyZT140cPRSAqefh2UekOYZUi6Y1GJlAgBIL69PmUTdr7tcXvSzy-MDg5t-0sr3Vh7bmw3-zz0JDjh09fOTDTAsCOSbllKLo9/s1600/afton+pre+john+stewy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIIXO-zddZlPAwZkV__0TINUirxzU13Dhor97Abzxfp98HyZT140cPRSAqefh2UekOYZUi6Y1GJlAgBIL69PmUTdr7tcXvSzy-MDg5t-0sr3Vh7bmw3-zz0JDjh09fOTDTAsCOSbllKLo9/s320/afton+pre+john+stewy.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Bob, Jon, and me, happy at the starting line.<br />Photo: John Stewart</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Afton standards, the weather was pretty moderate, with temperatures peaking around 81 degrees and lower humidity than sometimes. Nevertheless, when we climbed to the prairie around mile 2 and caught some breeze, it already felt good, and throughout the day, those unexpected little gusts of breeze were a life-saver on an otherwise sweaty course. I rolled through the first loop feeling good, trying to remember to eat as I went, high-fiving aid station volunteers, savoring the overcast early morning before the sun broke through.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIFew1iCF3K1Y0Fhw4X0tc-lDv61LqtZb6OtIuoAtZqrkFb9j_yDN5QdMvqWLptg0o54S3KTwlPx2Owm3P5Aj3s7iPWTYSGnoYd6J8Jz5NmnqtNVvQv9mVgKX7g-iK3-INvlGGOJqISRQ/s1600/afton+evan+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIFew1iCF3K1Y0Fhw4X0tc-lDv61LqtZb6OtIuoAtZqrkFb9j_yDN5QdMvqWLptg0o54S3KTwlPx2Owm3P5Aj3s7iPWTYSGnoYd6J8Jz5NmnqtNVvQv9mVgKX7g-iK3-INvlGGOJqISRQ/s320/afton+evan+roberts.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Enjoying some early prairie miles.<br />Photo: Evan Roberts</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjGOekiTJhinphfkmfqo3VMrtQkgK_YlSeR557w0CrucHhHkutt9ko0V0mExzqb0L-q1-kyuaQDAahVxIg2SMx-SrYvyL9KDQK4D8RhSxT8q6U79i49Q0z2afhve92zBIgZ3K5ctqcDUm/s1600/afton+2+fresh+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjGOekiTJhinphfkmfqo3VMrtQkgK_YlSeR557w0CrucHhHkutt9ko0V0mExzqb0L-q1-kyuaQDAahVxIg2SMx-SrYvyL9KDQK4D8RhSxT8q6U79i49Q0z2afhve92zBIgZ3K5ctqcDUm/s320/afton+2+fresh+tracks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cranking on the rail-trail!<br />Photo: Fresh Tracks Media</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-0-0" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">By the time I finished the first 25K loop in 3:16 (just 12 minutes off my 25K PR! whatttt?), I was feeling a little tired, and definitely getting toasty. But hey, that's Afton. Dawn and the great aid station folks refilled my hydration pack, I replenished my snacks, and I headed out for loop 2. As I briefly ran with another runner heading out of the start/finish aid station, I commented, "</span></span><span data-offset-key="8182a-1-0" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">Congratulations</span></span><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">! We've done the hardest part of this race — starting the second loop!"</span></span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6XgVSmk6MDTrKwsb3L6u4AmO38HrUMD0IEpI8_0mg1ofRekY_BIM-Oi9Jg2SjCCLpfSXvUo5XFIVJew_mJoayI8sjGUQNe6HUcyucUspJGAGAZISP3kYGh2ckRAWUSpOozCzl0UuXXjU/s1600/afton+end+of+1st+loop+fresh+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="653" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6XgVSmk6MDTrKwsb3L6u4AmO38HrUMD0IEpI8_0mg1ofRekY_BIM-Oi9Jg2SjCCLpfSXvUo5XFIVJew_mJoayI8sjGUQNe6HUcyucUspJGAGAZISP3kYGh2ckRAWUSpOozCzl0UuXXjU/s320/afton+end+of+1st+loop+fresh+tracks.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finishing the first loop, waving to the photographer!<br />Photo: John Stewart</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Although I was tired as I approached mile 20, I was pleased that I could still run nearly everything I'd run in the first loop — and on the downhills, always my strength, I was easily passing other runners. As the day warmed up, I started putting ice into my bladder at aid stations, and filled my buff with ice and put it around my neck. I left the aid stations feeling like I'd been packed in ice, and it was great.
At about mile 23, near the bottom of a long, somewhat technical downhill, I passed a little group of three people. One had taken a fall and was reclined against a bank, looking dazed. The other two had stopped to help.
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Hi! I'm Robyn. What's your name?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
"... C," he mumbled softly.
"What's your last name, C?"
He mumbled his last name. Thank goodness for personalized race bibs. Okay, mildly confused, oriented times one....
"Hey, C, do you know what today's date is?"
[long pause] "... no."
"Do you know what this event is called?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
[long pause] "... no."
I checked his pulse during this conversation. It was rapid and a bit thready — which might have been normal at mile 23, but the other runners told me he'd been sitting for at least 5 minutes at this point. I know the Afton race loop well, so it was easy to decide what to do next.
"Okay! We're not too far from a gravel road where they can get a 4-wheeler. How do you feel about trying to walk out, C?"
We stood him up, the runners who'd stopped each draped one of his arms over their shoulders and we started walking the rest of the descent, maybe 1/4 mile.
God bless the running community — during this time, 10 or more runners had passed us, and <i>every single one of them</i> stopped and offered help in the form of ice, salt, water, food, and to run ahead to the aid station and send word that we needed a 4-wheeler. The runners who'd stopped had already sent word ahead to the next aid station, and someone with cell reception had called them as well. We didn't know it, but they were already mobilizing an EMT crew, as well as a 4-wheeler.
I realized I hadn't introduced myself to the two heroic runners who had first stopped and were now walking him out.
"By the way, I'm Robyn. I'm a doctor, but I'm a pathologist, but I also do race medic stuff. So, I can fix blisters and I can tell you why you died, but everything in between's a bit of a gray area." Despite this, we worked together to help troubleshoot; they'd started appropriate first aid before I even arrived.
We reached the gravel rail-trail road and I thanked the runners profusely. They took off and I waited with C, helping him make phone calls to his family. In the next 10 minutes, help arrived in rapid succession: first, a hiker who brought food and company. Next, Mark, the nearest aid station captain, sprinting in with fresh ice. And finally, three 4-wheelers carrying John Storkamp and an EMT team. That's some awesome support. I gratefully handed C off to the EMTs. Shook hands with everyone who'd come to help. High-fived John. And took off.
I didn't look at my watch during that interlude and wasn't using a GPS, but I'm guessing it was a 20-25 minute stop. However long it was, and whatever the reason, though, I felt unstoppable after that. I just got running again and suddenly, momentum was carrying me along for the whole remaining 8 miles. I rolled though the next aid station, where my friends volunteering had heard there'd been problems up-trail.
"Hey, it's Dr. Reed! I hear you were delivering a baby out on the trail!"
"Yes. That is exactly what I was doing. Well, okay, technically, <i>Mark </i>delivered the baby, but they named it after me."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">The America-themed aid station (think lots of flags and bunting) sprang into action, packing me in ice and plying me with cold drinks, then kicking me out. I left at a run, yelling, "GOD BLESS AMERICA!" at them as they cheered me out.
The next section started with a mile-plus of straight flat gravel rail-trail. Sometimes, this section can be the most mentally challenging of the course. This time, though? I cruised it, feeling like a freight train myself. Climbed the Meat Grinder, and rolled into the last aid station of the course.</span><span style="background-color: white;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmyRq8upTfWK1SUUuL2TNjfuFbroEi1UD2hfs-YXWuror-j-yKYxjHmOVxFMZUQVZN_fDJHzxW2c3y1xGdcbr78oqyk-eS3YzIZejNytcbK1dMx2Zh5_RV6TwkFNv3KrJdSYT65dRBuTP/s1600/afton+fresh+tracks+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="765" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmyRq8upTfWK1SUUuL2TNjfuFbroEi1UD2hfs-YXWuror-j-yKYxjHmOVxFMZUQVZN_fDJHzxW2c3y1xGdcbr78oqyk-eS3YzIZejNytcbK1dMx2Zh5_RV6TwkFNv3KrJdSYT65dRBuTP/s320/afton+fresh+tracks+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: small;">Fresh Tracks Media makes us look more epic than we feel!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">"Dr. Reed! How's it going?"
"Aid Station 5! You are my FAVORITE aid station!"
"Aw, I bet you said that to Aid Station 4, too."
"No, I told them 'GOD BLESS AMERICA!' I love all my aid stations, but I love you the most."
I grabbed more ice and a potato. 5k to the finish!
On the last, humid, wooded leg of the course, I considered my time. I'd wondered, before stopping, if I could go sub-7 hours. Now, I was aiming for sub 7:30. Actually, I realized, it was going to be better than that. I kept passing runners as I climbed the final hill and started the final mile on the prairie. 7:20? Better yet — I hit the finish line after 7 hours and 17 minutes of worry free, joy-filled, purposeful time on the course.</span><span style="background-color: white;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhqQgZWTMh12y9rlMST6rtHG7f4ZUhCO16j9q9j571lEDXi6Mq2lJQYmnG0oOjjuZ39-v-r1QyUfRK2ca9uY9PkK9wJTdfBlpMOu8WyrcVVGn13OsOfYN_Gi5Q6x_bFF7UW6v4WJTmUjHe/s1600/afton+finish+jamison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhqQgZWTMh12y9rlMST6rtHG7f4ZUhCO16j9q9j571lEDXi6Mq2lJQYmnG0oOjjuZ39-v-r1QyUfRK2ca9uY9PkK9wJTdfBlpMOu8WyrcVVGn13OsOfYN_Gi5Q6x_bFF7UW6v4WJTmUjHe/s320/afton+finish+jamison.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: small;">Couldn't be happier at the finish!<br />Photo: Jamison Swift</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every race has stories. Every race has meaning. Every race has unexpected connections. This is one I'll remember for the welcome, unlooked-for sensation of strength deep into the race, for the lesson that I can run, and run strongly, even when I'm tired, for the relief that great medical support was so close to hand when we needed it, for the realization that after seven years of trail running, my trail family is family.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="8182a-2-0" style="color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true" style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
They're all good days, but this was a very, very good day.</span></span></span></div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-88231843036530459212019-01-31T09:34:00.000-08:002019-01-31T09:34:00.544-08:00Arrowhead 135: 2019 Volunteer Report<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Witness</span></span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><a href="http://www.arrowheadultra.com/">Arrowhead 135</a></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">. A 135 mile point to point race by foot, bike, or ski on a snowmobile trail from International Falls to Tower, Minnesota. Deliberately scheduled for the coldest week of the year. Solitude, distance, survival. </span><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">I’ve been talking about coming up to see it for years. It seems too insane to even exist. I had to see it for myself. Getting there is hard: (1) I-Falls is really far away, and (2) it runs Mon-Weds to avoid snowmobile traffic. But I've worked out my schedule. I've made the time. This is the year.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">And what a year I've picked! A historic cold front is predicted to come in on Tuesday, plunging temperatures to -30F or colder, and wind chills into the -50s and -60s. As multi-time Arrowhead finisher and winner John Storkamp puts it, this year is "a good old-fashioned Arrowhead race."</span></span></span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Including, but not limited to</span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday morning, I drive up, getting to International Falls in time for the 2:30 volunteer meeting. “Frostbite Falls” has lived up to its name with a vengeance, setting a new low temp record of -44F this morning. But by the time I roll in, it’s a balmy -5 and sunny, with views of Canada just across the Rainy River.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Runners have been checking in for the mandatory gear check. With only three checkpoints on the 135-mile course, and no outside help allowed, they must carry winter survival gear with them: a -20F sleeping bag, bivy sack, stove and fuel, and food, among other things.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-_kWByWhkRYuwNr3Tg08U9GMj2F9dlc6agV29bAePAQTr1sjwxBLyeTRYqfqg__RVWeG8k2syK0i1sXLKBfsEs3guLDV87hL7QCX0kwg85QrfMUeSSXDnjW3C5viVH_oV9JsSWZ0gvNL/s1600/bob+ah2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-_kWByWhkRYuwNr3Tg08U9GMj2F9dlc6agV29bAePAQTr1sjwxBLyeTRYqfqg__RVWeG8k2syK0i1sXLKBfsEs3guLDV87hL7QCX0kwg85QrfMUeSSXDnjW3C5viVH_oV9JsSWZ0gvNL/s320/bob+ah2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Gear check! (photo: Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I sign the volunteer waiver, certifying that I am aware that, by volunteering, I could meet my end in numerous colorful ways “...including, but not limited to the following dangers: hypothermia, frostbite, drowning, collision with pedestrians, vehicles</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">, snowmobiles, wildlife, and other racers and fixed and moving objects, dangers arising from surface hazards, equipment failure, inadequate equipment, weather conditions, and animals and the possibility of serious physical and/or mental trauma and injury, including death, associated with winter athletic competition.”</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ll be volunteering at the finish line, logging finishers, checking to see they’ve still got all their gear (pulled on a sled by the runners, in frame bags for bikers), and escorting them into the casino, where there’s a hospitality room. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">After a briefing from Ken the race director and Mike and Frank, the finish line captains, I sign up for two 6-hour shifts.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_09-ki_vvnDNLboR-Cy0mntu5ou8SMQ2wfasVWjZZOstR-nAOtz9_ZfezqFSELItfCSBMjK6Q1NJwZhhSKjJ6cGoP4epBM0ycMdK-xR_-AH2U4QHWS6urDvye6Qk5DG4lPbfVZqDB_Y7/s1600/arrowhead+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_09-ki_vvnDNLboR-Cy0mntu5ou8SMQ2wfasVWjZZOstR-nAOtz9_ZfezqFSELItfCSBMjK6Q1NJwZhhSKjJ6cGoP4epBM0ycMdK-xR_-AH2U4QHWS6urDvye6Qk5DG4lPbfVZqDB_Y7/s320/arrowhead+1.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My car, just before leaving. The IKEA bag contains,<br />among other things, 4 different coats, 4 buffs,<br />2 pairs of boots, and an insulated, fleece lined skirt.</span></td></tr>
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />Do your part — Keep our finish rate low</span></span></span></h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2AlWnkomD_GoTC3RJvUeP1g5335SOHeiO0-76WvoZEG4VpJOPGoQprcTH9iv7qt5VbQMdi7CPMhKHVLjDntnw9ubq7ESxZd3czUmmJyAV4aZloCugmUFJHyf7j54iegR-aCCNGtkXUTs/s1600/bob+ah3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2AlWnkomD_GoTC3RJvUeP1g5335SOHeiO0-76WvoZEG4VpJOPGoQprcTH9iv7qt5VbQMdi7CPMhKHVLjDntnw9ubq7ESxZd3czUmmJyAV4aZloCugmUFJHyf7j54iegR-aCCNGtkXUTs/s320/bob+ah3.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">photo: Bob Marsh</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The pre-race meeting is in the community center auditorium. Ken, the race director, says, “This is forecast to be the coldest Arrowhead ever. It’s cold for <i>us</i>, and we <i>live</i> here.”</span><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">He emphasizes frostbite prevention, making good choices, and cooperation on the trail.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqTRFWkC-ctG5fWu038S6uHL3lujG4OkYQ5TFfx4E0V6iTIFlOXvrTXXKZCS1-cJK89p7Ox66TDwUK-knAWhX2g51h19WvAikWPc_CUyDGzBhV9Z0Skpce731CsngMPW6KXmhuUMtrrVO/s1600/arrowhead+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqTRFWkC-ctG5fWu038S6uHL3lujG4OkYQ5TFfx4E0V6iTIFlOXvrTXXKZCS1-cJK89p7Ox66TDwUK-knAWhX2g51h19WvAikWPc_CUyDGzBhV9Z0Skpce731CsngMPW6KXmhuUMtrrVO/s320/arrowhead+2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I enjoyed this entire slide, showing a cumulative 15 years<br />of finishing rates, but especially the last line.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">The auditorium’s filled with fit, nervous looking people. The chatter over the spaghetti dinner that follows is about gear, staying warm, and staying dry. In conditions like this, breaking a sweat is dangerous. Wet clothes lose heat fast, and wet skin freezes.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I catch up with a few friends who are running or riding this year, and meet a few more. It’s not the same crowd as at more temperate ultras, though there’s overlap. Winter ultras have their own unique subculture. Jamison and Lisa are here to volunteer, just weeks after directing their own winter ultra, the <a href="https://stcroixwinterultra.com/">St. Croix 40</a>. It's an event designed to help racers prepare for Arrowhead and similar long winter races, emphasizing survival skills such as bivying and using a stove in cold weather.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<h4>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Race start</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Race start, 7 am Monday morning, at a ball field in town. It’s -9 and snowing lightly. I drive in behind a line of fatbikes, the riders wearing the required reflective gear and blinking lights. Runners unload pulks (sleds) from their cars. It’s quiet and orderly, but there’s an unmistakable vibe of prerace excitement.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-laYzs8nzvxxITZT08stUHdtfztFeA6jSHBLjsptZVPjBbegQm8LYE2Br_2pTgBuv0vdYK8KBrPk0l-kv3-KeR9bY8ifnTC3xH1rXvlUSMS6tngPzDDE-5CVHfeVUvV_XveuA_Ztsqw7/s320/arrowhead+3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Prepping pulks, ready to run</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">My friend Kari, a ridiculously accomplished runner, is biking this year. She’s pumping up a tire that went flat on the ride over here — tire pressure is much lower with the 75-degree temperature drop between inside and outside.<br /><br />I tell her what my fri</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">end Todd told me when I broke my elbow at mile 2 of Zumbro 17 one year: “We’ll, at least you’ve gotten that out of the way.” I give her a giant hug and wish her an amazing ride.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBS1cmcqkeh9S7IGXnK9BSNZvf1I1KasdBLzIru5ikLwlZAo-ajC6Zb0oGTFZAYh5hZInGE-xGolmTCkBQnvZ1-5wm4prYgRntCupTe8Qb53mXmooZIE30ckIJACyTcqmObhW2VhYPDQQT/s320/arrowhead+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Fireworks, through a chilly camera</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The bikes line up. Someone shoots off fireworks. They’re off!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The sky is just beginning to lighten as the skiers (all 4 of them) and kicksledders start, and then the runners.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Go bikers go!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZjBalV5XCO2fjseaORzsFdz_KtyTVyMWWUMPW9B4UKiNWRt4iYNlqbD7Jb_iaz_aq-VkZ-KOoE6cuyAMgjCdnND8NwbUt1jXb-dSbTgHT8ClAdr1ajzDoWzy5kU8rr5otcLbI9Dm186i/s1600/arrowhead+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As we spectators start walking back to our cars, John Storkamp (10 time Arrowhead finisher, 3 time winner) jogs up to the now-empty starting line, where his pulk is waiting. Everyone knows John. He grins and greets people as he gets ready to start the race, a few minutes late.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">(</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">43 hours later, he finishes in fourth place.)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">At 8:30, it’s -14, the sun is up, and I see sun dogs for the first time. It’s a beautiful morning.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">See the rainbow?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-fWHV3hLWj9KMPPUsej45wLPSfihV49JBkPfReSKTPKBrOiFNuyAO0JCu9GLiFP4cspiNt26bUnwm4VkVhPbfRT4H1Mzsu69jR1HPzVjyXfB2Ahp5cSfgGK8LYQJ-dX7i_YRBlJDtVjO/s1600/arrowhead+8+bob+marsh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-fWHV3hLWj9KMPPUsej45wLPSfihV49JBkPfReSKTPKBrOiFNuyAO0JCu9GLiFP4cspiNt26bUnwm4VkVhPbfRT4H1Mzsu69jR1HPzVjyXfB2Ahp5cSfgGK8LYQJ-dX7i_YRBlJDtVjO/s320/arrowhead+8+bob+marsh.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Me at the start, warm and<br />happy (photo: Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">With the race started, I have no commitments for 17 hours. I get coffee with the fabulous Maranda, who has come up for the race start. I pack up my car, and decide to head to the first checkpoint, at mile 30 or so.<br /></span></span></span><br />
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Gateway: Cold enough to snow</span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The Gateway checkpoint, at mile 35, is named for the Gateway General Store</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">, a gas station and convenience store on a lonely stretch of Highway 53. In addition to coffee, candy and chips, they’ve got crockpots with six kinds of soup for sale, plus homemade pastries and cookies. Today, I learn, is their busiest day of the year.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I arrive a bit after 10 am, six bikers have already come through, barely stopping to check in before blazing back onto the trail. I say hello to the checkpoint volunteers and admire the fully-loaded fatbikes leaning against the store wall, their owners warming up inside.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2Y78BBboLFfVqtb2mRuHkdkdjqyxIHDULENCgOAaIU7yRmalbKpHS4E0QR5yx4f8PUGj5sAbnccN8dxBOY4tIkJVukyde5nmLS1_Hjrd5V6UL0PaPmqL0J0XHkLcBpCK3aElLjxRA6VW/s1600/bob+ah4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2Y78BBboLFfVqtb2mRuHkdkdjqyxIHDULENCgOAaIU7yRmalbKpHS4E0QR5yx4f8PUGj5sAbnccN8dxBOY4tIkJVukyde5nmLS1_Hjrd5V6UL0PaPmqL0J0XHkLcBpCK3aElLjxRA6VW/s320/bob+ah4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Riders in early morning sunlight (photo: Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Russ, the on-the-ground race coordinator is here and recognizes me from last night’s meeting.<br /><br />“Hey, Robyn, when do you have to be at the finish line?”</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /><br />“Not till midnight.”<br /><br />“Could you help out here for a few hours? I’m short a volunteer.”<br /><br />Well, sure. I change into my boots, put on another buff, and don a reflective vest.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We’re standing outside the store, checking racers in and out. We spot their race number (on their body and bike) and record their time in. Then — the tricky part — record when they head out. At this hour, it’s all bikers — the runners and skiers won’t </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">be here for a few hours. Some barely stop (especially the small group of people in the “unsupported” category, who can’t go inside or accept any outside help, not even water), but some are in Gateway for an hour, drying off, getting ready for the next, 35 mile leg.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s warmed up to about 5 degrees and, defying the forecast, it’s snowing lightly to moderately. I joke with volunteer Mark that maybe the snow will keep things warmer. He says, “Yup. Up here, there’s two kinds of winter weather: cold enough to snow, and too cold to snow. We prefer ‘cold enough to snow.’”</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bikers are rolling in steadily now, most wearing masks or face coverings. There are epic frost beards and snotcicles. The biggest difficulty seems to be moisture management — it’s really tricky to dress so you don’t sweat out there, and the snow is complicating things further. Still, this is the front half of the pack, and, aside from a few people dropping early, they look pretty good.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOevnZdFn5FvLSy3InaNsdI2dHILHUpYVPcsgUVLbLgltCc7roo7S0MNrEdXHLciuB0aadpcTqzNbLWovQo9BRpfwAq9nNMeuEmNm5UuiMGgVKICS3n3lYVbzIXzMmFZyUU6Xtb8WRiQRM/s1600/bob+ah5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOevnZdFn5FvLSy3InaNsdI2dHILHUpYVPcsgUVLbLgltCc7roo7S0MNrEdXHLciuB0aadpcTqzNbLWovQo9BRpfwAq9nNMeuEmNm5UuiMGgVKICS3n3lYVbzIXzMmFZyUU6Xtb8WRiQRM/s320/bob+ah5.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Kari and another rider, coming <br />into Gateway (Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Even if it’s as warm as it’ll be for the duration of the race (and it is), it’s cold standing still on the side of the road. After an hour, I break out my chemical handwarmers and footwarmers. I got some notable frostbite last winter on my toes and have no wish for a repeat. Between that and a few cups of hot delicious salty Gateway soup, I’m good for the next few hours.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At 2 pm, the next shift of volunteers arrives and I’m done. I thank them and the folks I’ve been working with, and head out for something I’ve been looking forward to, getting onto the trail myself.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Arrowhead solitaire</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another hour or so down the road, the Arrowhead Trail crosses the Orr-Buyck road. Jason has recommended it as a nice section to run. I find the crossing a few miles back from highway 53, park, and lace up my trail shoes.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Strained sunshine in a winter sky</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s 3 pm, 4 degrees, and still snowing. The trail’s been packed by snowmobiles, but there are no footprints or tire tracks I can see. My feet crunch in the slightly soft snow as more filters from the sky.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NoKzT-5FUfofecX3n6G4FcQZ7cwFvjkJyWKAOWN2szVSJNtmGTMXk7zw05h3VAD-DTBE7gNeUclJfllm5iAKGMmWwQARHBhNCVqtqpNvsSd6UwQYmKsmPcoGitdKQKydhyRIwMcPLHa4/s320/arrowhead+10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">So much solitude</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">It’s very quiet here. At one point, I startle a bird — grouse? — and it flaps away indignantly. That’s the only life I see on my outbound few miles. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">I crest another short, steep rolling hill and turn around after 30 minutes or so, following my footsteps back. Two bike racers pass me, pedaling steadily on the snow, and disappear around a bend.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a burger at a snowmobiler bar, I reach the finish line, at the Fortune Bay Casino and Resort in Tower, MN. The finish line is a canvas tent in the back, heated with a portable wood stove. I can see smoke pouring from the chimney and blowing sideways as I sort my gear in my hotel room. I manage a few hours’ sleep before my first shift there begins at midnight.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Finish line, Monday night</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s 11:50 pm Monday night, I’m wearing crazy winter gear, and I’m trying to find the door leading out to the finish line. Eventually, Lisa, who’s returning from her shift, points me out the correct door and over the correct snowbank, and I’m sweaty but there. It’s -6F and cooling off fast.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Finisher's-eye view</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAyozT8DanYz6U1ZBtgQr1hs8SwVIU-2h1qbEpR5uMC1e4tYy1Xcz1D9oDaUMnozE-MIkiNLBMwghpXLAZLIITyFsK8-RgVORCXENkBK48zolYk1vYupVoo0qKugWGy2qKfjrMzUTjavO/s1600/arrowhead+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Inside the tent, it’s at least 50 degrees warmer, even beside the door, and everyone’s shed a few layers. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Paul and I are the new kids on shift, and Frank, one of the finish line captains, gets us up to speed on our duties. As racers arrive, we record t</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">heir number and time, then help them get a finish line photo if they want one. We escort them into the casino through a utility corridor where they can leave their bike or sled, and conduct a gear check, making sure they still have the required -20 sleeping bag, bivy sack, stove and fuel, lights, reflectors, and 3000 calories of food. (Frank: “I’m usually ‘Minnesota nice’ about the gear check, and ask but don’t make them show everything. But if it’s someone who’s first in their division, then really look.” Other finish line captain Mike: “Or if they give you any attitude.”) We then escort them up to the hospitality room, where heat, food, and company awaits, and hand off their timing sheet to the volunteers there.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Warm inside the stove-heated tent!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Eventually, a headlamp winks from around a curve in the trail, and we put it into action. A </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">biker — the seventh — </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">climbs the final hill. We all pile out of the tent, throwing on hats and gloves, and ring cowbells, yell encouragement, and check our watches as he rolls to a stop at the tent. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">I snap a photo (“look epic!”) and walk him inside.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2CquaiMJg5CjNUsehAPojValXwD9ZhfQFHJEmcxaR0J-0-JJzI4a84_e_P-X1s9OCkXhkARYjvytsd4odH-EOO4uz81RqfnJ8AWlS2MG-L8gilXRaO9Co4sd2gZWvZtWGz34ZwijHBLe/s320/arrowhead+13.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Congratulations, Chuck!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2CquaiMJg5CjNUsehAPojValXwD9ZhfQFHJEmcxaR0J-0-JJzI4a84_e_P-X1s9OCkXhkARYjvytsd4odH-EOO4uz81RqfnJ8AWlS2MG-L8gilXRaO9Co4sd2gZWvZtWGz34ZwijHBLe/s1600/arrowhead+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">About 15 riders finish between midnight and 6 am. Most look happy, and a number of them tell me how much fun they had. The packed snow and cold temperatures made for fast riding — in fact, the first place finisher, Jordan Wakely, shattered the course record by 90 minutes, lowering it to an impossible 11 hours, 43 minutes.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">More than one says, “Great course for bikes, but those runners... wow, I just don’t know.”</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">In between arriving racers, we follow their progress on the SPOT tracker (which about half the racers are using), peek out the tent door to check for incoming lights, and tell stories about winter camping, Scouting, kids, and work. The tent is cozy and there’s wi-fi from the casino. It's a surreal little island of civilization in a savagely cold night. Every time we step ou</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">tside, it’s colder and windier, and when I remove a mitten to record a rider’s number, my hand rapidly becomes painful, then numb. You can feel the wind tearing away body heat. By 6 am, it’s -19F, which is also the predicted high temperature for the day.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7VKlTAUK4th4FVzprZAcUHavnZKKy-8z3cOjWLezE8llpvyXZA2tbnOR_khc_PrP1F_EQB95MeiahMkmdRVrjangYzZ5OFG_m2JB3Tse3o_wD2d5Tqomj5TJ-1wZQ-_Zz-2-wfpnpyP2/s1600/arrowhead+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7VKlTAUK4th4FVzprZAcUHavnZKKy-8z3cOjWLezE8llpvyXZA2tbnOR_khc_PrP1F_EQB95MeiahMkmdRVrjangYzZ5OFG_m2JB3Tse3o_wD2d5Tqomj5TJ-1wZQ-_Zz-2-wfpnpyP2/s320/arrowhead+14.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Don’t believe the hype. There was MOST CERTAINLY wind chill.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The hall where riders are leaving bikes is filling up with frosty, still-laden bikes.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_rBoASKbVd6aJ5MXxqV0U4nj0YSfL25oxuFoRJlk9GQwMLgBO5_92QUuu4IL3zOtcuGeyNmIkq0tXFYawFDS3grR85aEpXwxg4f4drA4NozTGJRZn2E93d9zGNEw-gEXkrPaCSasx6Zo/s320/arrowhead+15.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Some incredible rigs!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Moments from first volunteering shift:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">PAUL [returning to the tent]: "That guy I just took in? He's an admiral in the Navy!"<br />FRANK: "What? Retired?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />PAUL: "No! Active service! Oversees a fleet of 82 ships!"<br />ME: "How on EARTH did he train for this?"<br />PAUL: "Well, he did mention he was kind of undertrained..."</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Multiple conversations about winter gear, because that's what you talk about at a winter ultra.<br />ME: "Mike, are those Steger mukluks?" [Steger is a well known and well regarded mukluk maker — or so I thought! — in nearby Ely, MN]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />MIKE: "Are you kidding? These aren't mall-walker mukluks! They're from Empire." [proceeds to extol the virtues of the guy in Duluth who makes 10 pairs of muks a year and has a waiting list]</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: “I’ll get a finish line pic for you. Turn off your headlamp.”<br />BIKER [struggles with frozen headlamp for a full 90 seconds, failing to turn it off]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />ME: “Never mind. I’ll do a profile shot. It’s more epic that way anyway.”</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Congratulations, David! You <i>do</i> look epic.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">[Three bikers roll in, right in a row, and start exchanging hugs]</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">FRANK: “Do you all want to be recorded as finishing together?”</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />THEM: “Oh yes.”</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3kfiF98CFykGdqYwkWBlnZrOyuepEcSQ7xBBaGiQUgkkNKeSgJlcUcRn8P071shjfuFJaMqY5dObAhOurGdQ9IPA8xOS_5_9ujp4rFyegFTUZsv1heKQtvXOsLsUYUXK3EpquLfCFDPL/s320/arrowhead+17.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Congratulations, Jere and Leah</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3kfiF98CFykGdqYwkWBlnZrOyuepEcSQ7xBBaGiQUgkkNKeSgJlcUcRn8P071shjfuFJaMqY5dObAhOurGdQ9IPA8xOS_5_9ujp4rFyegFTUZsv1heKQtvXOsLsUYUXK3EpquLfCFDPL/s1600/arrowhead+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the elevator, I make a belated realization. “Hey!” I exclaim to Leah. “You’re first woman!” We all cheer there and then, and she gets properly congratulated when we get to the hospitality room.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A few minutes before 6 am, the next shift shows up. 28 riders have finished. We show the new volunteers what we’ve been doing, shake hands, and head back to the casino for some downtime. I’ll be back in in 6 hours, at noon, so I’m focused on getting some sleep and eating. I pull the curtains in my room and crash hard.</span></span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Finish line, Tuesday afternoon</span></span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">A few hours' nap, a shower, and a square meal later, and I'm on my way back to the finish line.<br /><br />I run into dropped runners and riders as I walk through the casino. Sveta Vold is there — I'd embarrassed both of us yesterday at Gateway when I said, "You</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">'re Sveta? Wow! I'm a huge fan of yours!" Now, I start to tell her that I'm sorry she's dropped, and she waves off my concern. "It's okay. I'm not bothered by it. It was the right thing."<br /><br />Alex and Jared have dropped from the foot division. They've both completed this race before in some tough conditions. Alex tells me, "We just couldn't stay dry. All our baselayers were soaked. And when we changed, everything wet just flash-froze. It wasn't safe to keep going." She's matter-of-fact about it. There's no question it was the right call.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4rzBBoVw8_EN1YbmA6wGzvHxgVoXcFMT-9LRgcjNO_Qk7Edg8-nNxENre4_HKnkwHoF0CrgCzC6_BTJGMeEQ17Aa9skzFsk8vJ4iRgFfHy2Rf1PVsqcEPsxkSZzQcEz4nrFqGIRt4yXR/s1600/bob+ah7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4rzBBoVw8_EN1YbmA6wGzvHxgVoXcFMT-9LRgcjNO_Qk7Edg8-nNxENre4_HKnkwHoF0CrgCzC6_BTJGMeEQ17Aa9skzFsk8vJ4iRgFfHy2Rf1PVsqcEPsxkSZzQcEz4nrFqGIRt4yXR/s320/bob+ah7.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Alex on the trail (photo: Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Jared adds, "We knew from the forecast that it was going to just get colder and colder, and that made it easy. There wasn't that possibility that conditions would improve, that might make you want to keep going."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We're now 29 hours into the race. After a comparatively torrid stream of bikers (15!) in my last shift, only seven more have arrived in the previous 6 hours.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">There are about 11 bikers still on the course. The DNF (Did Not Finish) rate for the bikers is hovering aro</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">und 50%. Dozens of runners have dropped, though 13 will eventually finish (an 80% DNF rate). We expect the first runners to arrive some time after dark tonight, 36 hours or more after they've started. All but one kicksledder has also dropped (he'll eventually DNF too). All 4 skiers have dropped, including a few incredibly strong ones — the snow's so cold that skis don't glide.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Our volunteer complement for the noon-to-6 shift is me, my friend Bob, and Eliza and Megan, two young outdoor guides from Ely. We learn that they work with a dogsledding outfit, and spend their days guiding, winter camping, and skiing with the dogs.<br /><br />U</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">nsurprisingly, they're well prepared for the current weather (now -20, dropping fast, and quite windy), and we all stand around outside for a while enjoying the weird conditions (how can it snow when it's -20?!) and filtered hazy sunlight. It's probably 60 or 70 degrees warmer in the tent and transitioning back and forth is a shock.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The stream of incoming riders has slowed, but now that it's daytime, friends and family are coming by to wait for their riders to finish. Ashley and Grant show up, waiting for multi-time finisher Marcus Berggren to come in on the bike. They're both previous Arr</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">owhead finishers themselves, on foot, but dropped from this year's race. We have a convivial time standing around the tent with our coats off, eating cookies one of the volunteers brought, talking about races, camping, trails, and good times.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Frank stops by to thank all of us. He </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">says, "This has been the best year ever as a volunteer, because we've had so many people helping out. Thank you, all of you."</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Every few minutes, we unzip the canvas door a few inches and peek out of the tent so we can see riders approaching. When we spot one, we all throw on layers, run out, and start ringing cowbells and banging pots and yelling.</span><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">The riders are icy, masked, grinning fiercely, proud to be done.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's a lull. </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A Fortune Bay publicist stops by, takes pictures of us outside by the tent, does an interview. We're all bemused.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The talk turns to gear again, and Megan and Eliza put on a winter-footwear clinic for us. We get a demo of their favorite socks and boot-liners, mukluks ("yeah, these are Stegers, I wouldn't wear them for anything serious, but I got them at the Ely Goodwill for $20"), and overboots. I learn more about how to keep my feet warm in truly Arctic conditions than I ever have before.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">As the wind whistles in the tent door, I spot a bike coming up the trail. As Phil finishes, a second bike appears — Marcus! We stand outside, with our backs to the wind, and make noise as the two of them finish.</span><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><br style="color: #1d2129;" /><span style="color: #1d2129;">Marcus stops at the finish line, digs in his pack, and pulls out a Swedish flag. Ashley laughs. "You've been carrying that for a long time!" He poses with the wind whipping the flag, then we head inside.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Marcus holds the course record for fastest Arrowhead on foot. As we go inside he comments, "Every time I do this on the bike, I cannot imagine doing it on foot. And I say that as someone who's *done* it on foot, multiple times!"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's do it again</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">It's 3 pm. I look at the race tracker pages, talk to Frank, who's in the hospitality room, and come to a realization: There are no bikers still on course who have yet left the 110 mile checkpoint — no way they'll be here in under 3 hours. The first run</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ners won't be in till after 6 either. There will be no finishers for the rest of this shift.<br /><br />With Frank's encouragement, I return to the tent and suggest that 2 or 3 of the 4 volunteers could leave. Megan and Eliza tell me they were planning to be here till 6 anyway, and they live less than an hour away. Bob's ready to go inside; his feet are cold and he'll be here for another day and more volunteer shifts. Me, I'm working tomorrow, back in Minneapolis. I gratefully take the chance to start driving back in the daylight instead of after dark.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I shake hands with everyone in the tent. Stop off at the hospitality room to pick up my luggage and say goodbye to the volunteers. Make sure Megan and Eliza get their race shirts and swag bags.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />Frank thanks me for coming. I tell him, "It was an incredible experience. Let's do it again soon."<br /><br />I carry my bags out into the whipping snow and rising wind. My car sounds offended as it starts. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think of the runners and riders still on the course in the early twilight — the first won't finish for several more hours, and the last won't finish till this time tomorrow.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I point my car south. And I begin the trip back home.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Witness</span></span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I came to Arrowhead because I knew that experiencing it, even as a volunteer on the edge of the activity, would tell me more than I could ever learn by reading or listening. I came because the first time I volunteered at an overnight aid station, at <a href="https://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">Superior in 2014</a>, it genuinely changed my life. Curiosity brought me, and a desire to go deeper.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">What I brought from it was a renewed sense of community. Volunteers who, though they've never run or biked the course, come back and stand in the cold for <i>days</i>, year after year. Riders and runners finishing the race for their fourth, or sixth, or tenth time. Veterans welcoming newcomers. Racers helping each other in ways you'd never need, or see, on a more conventional course.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">It's a special world, with its own remote, fierce beauty. I'm glad and grateful that I witnessed it. I'll be back.</span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYD52qK99TJ-B5EFwSsY87Z8euAfjprYOom2kGJJTD4anuCNt8RigdwOo92yEVw6LX_3wZpIR8QKU9wvvu6edZtc_5VP2_y9nu-siQayBrs1yZucHU0yc08s8-L09FYJWDPduDr3HWZC_5/s1600/bob+ah8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYD52qK99TJ-B5EFwSsY87Z8euAfjprYOom2kGJJTD4anuCNt8RigdwOo92yEVw6LX_3wZpIR8QKU9wvvu6edZtc_5VP2_y9nu-siQayBrs1yZucHU0yc08s8-L09FYJWDPduDr3HWZC_5/s320/bob+ah8.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Prerace excitement with Kari and Dawn (Bob Marsh)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-50870770926094147592019-01-31T07:43:00.000-08:002019-01-31T07:43:00.954-08:00Remembering Randy Kottke<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I wrote my concluding remarks for the UMTR Awards Banquet in November, I was thinking about <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1321421279&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARCxOfHdaBO_lVrahpPtSEbZIl0l8NFPfE9YSU7n9MgpSWBlKrascgPTcD6spYUTWA-VVumZdI7zTQsP%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/randy.kottke.1?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARCxOfHdaBO_lVrahpPtSEbZIl0l8NFPfE9YSU7n9MgpSWBlKrascgPTcD6spYUTWA-VVumZdI7zTQsP&fref=mentions" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; text-decoration-line: none;">Randy Kottke</a>. Here's part of what I said then. I still mean it.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEkdqCR9U0UNl3hVjOWoadAYp7uz-QAG09KLdItVDG-Rt6vs3z2uw3jgBqzwVsHOkUlJ2hsyKUya1UKWkLiMubTWzDZGY1Wb1kDXSQ4F7rGTlFxRxlYbqQUUpXFGTxzPbQ8jjwPc6diL5/s1600/randy+kottke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEkdqCR9U0UNl3hVjOWoadAYp7uz-QAG09KLdItVDG-Rt6vs3z2uw3jgBqzwVsHOkUlJ2hsyKUya1UKWkLiMubTWzDZGY1Wb1kDXSQ4F7rGTlFxRxlYbqQUUpXFGTxzPbQ8jjwPc6diL5/s320/randy+kottke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In 2018, we lost two beloved members of our community, Shane Olson and Logan Polfuss. We grieve their loss, and remember the gifts of generosity, joy, and laughter that they brought to us.</span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Their passing is a reminder that, even in a community of unusually fit and uncommonly good-looking people like ours, there's no certainty of long life, or indefinite good health.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;">Before every race, my coac</span>h, <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=123524&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARD7jHPXLf6NuBq35Ilt0_q55jOV-QHZWtwlBqsL6KVPsOjnaead2rBz_cgDRzk4matOs6RyWK5TJY93%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/MountainRoche?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARD7jHPXLf6NuBq35Ilt0_q55jOV-QHZWtwlBqsL6KVPsOjnaead2rBz_cgDRzk4matOs6RyWK5TJY93&fref=mentions" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration-line: none;">David Roche</a>, s<span style="color: #1d2129;">ends out the same email. It say, in part:</span></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
"We are stardust with delusions of grandeur. None of this stuff matters except the memories we make. So *decide now* that they will be good memories, no matter how the race actually goes."</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
For most of us, trail running isn't the most important thing we do. But I think, for many of us, it's a safe place to experience success, and sometimes failure, and often joy, that we can take into the rest of our lives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;">A wise person named</span> <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1275002375&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARA7lyT5hTjnesu52Sty0McnFNjkbnRgjtMgNLRQZBWUVCw8Ha9T4AIM--vIl1uhvdivOwiI4C753RX_%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/jstorkamp?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARA7lyT5hTjnesu52Sty0McnFNjkbnRgjtMgNLRQZBWUVCw8Ha9T4AIM--vIl1uhvdivOwiI4C753RX_&fref=mentions" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration-line: none;">John Storkamp</a> onc<span style="color: #1d2129;">e wrote:</span></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
"We are not saving the world simply by putting on a footrace, but we are spreading joy, creating an envelope for greatness with and amongst great people."</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
At times, our lives can get complicated, difficult, even tragic. Running won't solve that, but together we can create community and space to heal, love, and do things that last.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;">So go out there. Run. Share. Volunteer. Create memories. And, in the words of another wise person,</span> <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1622856640&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdK-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARB7eP6DTdn4OOVIyAzoKXoak4om4Q6RYhrl2ejNaocOdvI3ierYj_k9EwPxb9R5pWYNenojf2U29soU%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/aaron.buffington.96?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARB7eP6DTdn4OOVIyAzoKXoak4om4Q6RYhrl2ejNaocOdvI3ierYj_k9EwPxb9R5pWYNenojf2U29soU&fref=mentions" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration-line: none;">Aaron Buffington</a>,</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
"Love the trail.<br />"Love the experience.<br />"Welcome the tough times.<br />"And keep it going. Enjoy every day."<br />----------------------------------------------------------------------</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Randy, your spirit fills every mile of the trail, and we remember you with every moment of unlooked-for joy and unexpected friendship. Thank you.</div>
</span></div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-28973395638442232352018-04-18T09:39:00.000-07:002018-04-20T13:40:19.223-07:00The Year The Trail Won: 2018 Zumbro 50 Mile and Volunteer Report<br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.33px;">Prologue: Zumbro out-Zumbro'd itself</span></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Weather and
trail conditions are always the story of this race, and we've had some doozies
in the 6 years I've done Zumbro, but this year Zumbro out-Zumbro'd itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the week
leading up to the race: Heavy snow, then it all melted, then rain. (So, trail
best described as "highly juicy.")<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>Forecast for the weekend: Temps hovering around freezing, heavy rain
changing to snow, with 25 mph winds gusting to 40 mph.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'd signed up for the midnight 50 mile race. No
training cycle is perfect, but I'd had some good long runs and some good
intensity. I'd trained in wind, snow, -20F windchill, and ice. I was by no
means ready for a 50 miler, but I figured I had a good 50K in me, and beyond
that, well, I was ready to suffer, if conditions and timing would permit me to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In light of
the forecast, packing was surprisingly easy: Did I wear it some time this
winter? Throw it in the car.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For the run:
3 jackets, 4 pairs of mittens and gloves, 7 pairs of socks, 4 pairs of shoes
(one with screws in the soles for better grip on ice), tights in 3 different
weights, and so. many. buffs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Also,
camping gear, after-race clothes, heavy winter coat, raincoat, waterproof
winter boots.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Also, a snow
shovel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let the
record show that I in fact did use 80% of these things, including the snow shovel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Watching the skies: Friday afternoon to midnight</span></span></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I arrived at the start/finish Friday around 3 pm. Temperatures in the mid 30s and
windy, iron gray skies, no snow on the ground, no precipitation in the air,
though it had been pouring rain with standing puddles at the race start.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYaLlQHhrwHm53r_Z6HtC7pzMr5Db0Hy2CXVM_NpOf5qThLN3cGM7jJUKNqWkBGfZT6TVS_x29TXfIqdCL-CDMoLcQEZ8u8NuYF0xT0MGfgbxXk8-zaXgLUgKgYYw1AnOfuzJFgZNyJE6/s1600/lisa+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYaLlQHhrwHm53r_Z6HtC7pzMr5Db0Hy2CXVM_NpOf5qThLN3cGM7jJUKNqWkBGfZT6TVS_x29TXfIqdCL-CDMoLcQEZ8u8NuYF0xT0MGfgbxXk8-zaXgLUgKgYYw1AnOfuzJFgZNyJE6/s400/lisa+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Campground, Friday afternoon (photo: Lisa Kaspner-Swift)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1w7QFJpuNzEZa8OPYMxci17GhaJ7NokgbNOUpUb0lb9wbbUjWztrROXECFsr_lvW87pWnjPac-G3fGcgknIyNfGj4v031WgYTmUsShc1sZsB7OJtdaVnaIeb_IfQ2VgXpoDh_d5c_nM6/s1600/lisa+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1w7QFJpuNzEZa8OPYMxci17GhaJ7NokgbNOUpUb0lb9wbbUjWztrROXECFsr_lvW87pWnjPac-G3fGcgknIyNfGj4v031WgYTmUsShc1sZsB7OJtdaVnaIeb_IfQ2VgXpoDh_d5c_nM6/s400/lisa+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Campground, Saturday morning (photo: Lisa Kaspner-Swift)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The 100
milers had been on course for 7 hours and the fastest of them were finishing
their second (of 6) 17-mile loop. They were coming in mud-spattered and with wet, gritty feet. Foot care
was a major theme, and nearly everyone was changing out socks and shoes, every
loop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Rob comes in and heads to the aid station for food.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">ME: "Is it as wet out there as it looks?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">HIM: "Yeah, some sections of the trail are now a river.
Lots of mud."</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">ME: "I bet the sand coulee section isn't
too sandy, though?"</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">HIM: "The sand coulee section is under
shin-deep water."</span><br />
</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">ME: "..."</span><span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The bonfire is going
and won't go out until tomorrow night. The wind whips across the campground and
blows the smoke in every direction. Randy, Jim, and Larry are by the fire. Jamison's captaining the aid station, other friends are crewing runners.<br />
<br />Randy tells tall tales. I laugh at Jim's ridiculously warm, but appropriate, mittens.<br />
<br />
"You know it's a good Zumbro year when you get to haul out all the
Arrowhead gear again."</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span id="goog_1085922984"></span><span id="goog_1085922985"></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunvqQTh2lDRc_7l7_PF-SFTa3EwnzT26D_5fO1ZqB5-rubpCqHIKMjiJPVwPkHgrAIwXUE8rxoSbcH17x5ve6uH-X4XTwZgk0pXNrKSFcF1D6TVKg5ILyVu_gJtBbB3VD2i18i6OU9WYL/s1600/jim+randy+larry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunvqQTh2lDRc_7l7_PF-SFTa3EwnzT26D_5fO1ZqB5-rubpCqHIKMjiJPVwPkHgrAIwXUE8rxoSbcH17x5ve6uH-X4XTwZgk0pXNrKSFcF1D6TVKg5ILyVu_gJtBbB3VD2i18i6OU9WYL/s320/jim+randy+larry.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Jim, Randy, Larry. That's a lot of awesome packed into one picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">Although many runners
are wearing shorts or half-tights, it's cold standing still in the wind. I walk
around, catch up with friends, get news of the trail.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">"How are trail conditions?"<br />"Favorable."<br />"Favorable?!"<br />"Favorable to the trail winning."<br />
<br />
At 5, I eat some food I've packed, and set my car up for camping.<br />
<br />
At 6, I lay down in the back of the car to get some sleep ahead of the midnight
start.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After
shivering in my sleeping bag for a while, I sleep surprisingly well. <span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>I'm briefly awoken around 8 pm by the clatter of ice hitting my car
windows. But the coating of ice seems to dim the outside light and muffle the
noises of the start/finish area, and I go back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h4>
50-mile start: This is, in fact, a blizzard</h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I awaken
again in full darkness. Glance at my watch. Yikes! It's 11:10 pm, and I've
overslept my alarm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The car
windows are completely covered with... ice? snow? I don't know until I open a
door and HUGE fluffy snow flakes swirl into the car in clusters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The term
"blizzard" is often misused to describe any large amount of snow.
That's not what a blizzard is. The meteorlogical definition of a blizzard is a
storm with large amounts of snow (falling or blowing), with winds in excess of
35 mph and visibilities of less than 1/4 mile.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>This is, in fact, a blizzard. Visibility's near-zero, the wind is
whipping, and the air is full of snow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm up,
dressed, brushing teeth, and off to the start/finish aid station to find coffee
and try to eat some of the breakfast I've packed.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>The picnic shelter that houses the aid station and race headquarters is
packed with 50 mile runners, pinning on bibs, shuffling nervously, and trying
to stay warm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br />
</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">I get to the packet pickup table. John, who I met at my very first ultra five years ago, is manning the table.<br />
<br />
ME: "Hey John, I don't know my race number. Can I still check in?"</span><br /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
HIM: "Absolutely not."</span><br /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
ME: "AWESOME. I'm going back to bed!"</span><br /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
[we laugh]</span><br /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
ME: "Seriously, this is fucked up, even for Zumbro."<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The vibe at
a race start is always excited and nervous. But between the weather, the
reported trail conditions, and the midnight start, it's amplified tenfold above
normal tonight. I see so many friends, wearing waterproof layers and headlamps,
all exchanging nervous banter and looks as if we're about to go do something
exciting and possibly illegal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unprecedentedly, John Storkamp gives the pre-race briefing under the shelter instead
of from a stepladder at the start.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"We
thought long and hard about whether to let you guys loose on this course.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>"Not so much because of the course, but because of the road
conditions in and out of here. We can't use even 4-wheel drive vehicles on the
minimally-maintained dirt road to Aid Station 1/4 right now, because it's in
such bad shape. We've got ATVs that can evacuate people in an emergency, but
it's going to be difficult."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">"By the
time you get the 3 miles to AS 1 in this race, you will have had a
life-altering experience. You will have seen things out there.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>"If you get there and you are not certain you can safely continue,
or don't want to, there's a shortcut you can take from there back to the
start/finish. It's about a mile. Use it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[This is
unprecedented. I have participated in at least 15 major races with John as RD,
and I have *never* heard him this up-front about dropping. And dropping 3 miles
in!]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"If you
finish a loop and you're not certain you can safely complete a second loop,
please hand in your bib number. Do not go back out on the course if you don't
feel you can finish another loop safely."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">John:
"As of 11 pm, 50% of our 100 milers have dropped."<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>[The normal drop rate for the 100 is about 30%, total.]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"And if
you don't want to start the race, that's okay too. Just hang back at the start,
and we'll put you to work volunteering."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[Holy shit,
we're all thinking. Did John just tell us to consider not STARTING?]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We all walk
out to the starting line. It's snowing heavily and the wind is in our faces.
John counts down 3... 2... 1... and we're finally starting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On the trail: Mud, solitude, relief</span></span></h4>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After the
months of training, the weeks of tapering, the days of following the weather,
and the hours of waiting at the start, the only thing I'm feeling at the race
start is relief. Relief to finally, *finally* be starting this thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The 175 runners begin our climb up the first bluff. Snow and mud have mixed into
something resembling brownie batter under our feet. It's slippery, clinging,
and wet.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>We climb the singletrack, mostly in silence. The air is clean smelling
away from the bonfire smoke. The snow is swirling. The trail is piebald brown
and white, and the trees are laden with snow.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the top
of the first bluff, I'm warm and shedding layers. With temperatures hovering
just the wrong side of freezing, it's actually very comfortable out here in a
few layers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpJQsaKgRUkvT9SAc0a1OGlLwyAPng5Z7OjPCx85PMJRvlGC6yoHkaYAKNqeoJes2B8BgscYY4n-YIzhyeULRkGkE-PCypMm47klSSFc4vMlZPn01yWd92K46juxo6gdhRchZkLpbVuIs/s1600/tina+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpJQsaKgRUkvT9SAc0a1OGlLwyAPng5Z7OjPCx85PMJRvlGC6yoHkaYAKNqeoJes2B8BgscYY4n-YIzhyeULRkGkE-PCypMm47klSSFc4vMlZPn01yWd92K46juxo6gdhRchZkLpbVuIs/s320/tina+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">(photo: Valentina Cuervo Barrientz)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first,
3+ mile section is very muddy but very beautiful. My heel pulls out of my shoe three, then four times as the mud tries to hold on, and I finally stop to tighten the laces. The going is definitely
slower than usual, but I've known for a week or more that it would be, and I'm
prepared to take my time where I need to.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>The crowd rapidly thins, or at least it seems that way in the dark. I'm
moving in my own little bubble of light, through a landscape transformed and
hushed by snow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SW8_C4agCWMY9kBe71xp9gs7hbmCOX89Q6Ja474wq6T87pYBVEvDs44yezSzV4rRpfnB2RukYYXWYPEoIYgZaerHAf1kIP3Ne4SBHSm8YyhByJRjuH0WlDbY9qFZRvCOCwVMs4m-bBzZ/s1600/tina+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SW8_C4agCWMY9kBe71xp9gs7hbmCOX89Q6Ja474wq6T87pYBVEvDs44yezSzV4rRpfnB2RukYYXWYPEoIYgZaerHAf1kIP3Ne4SBHSm8YyhByJRjuH0WlDbY9qFZRvCOCwVMs4m-bBzZ/s320/tina+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">(photo: Janet Gray)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">The first aid station
is here before I know it, and I stop to eat something and chat with friends
working there.<br />
<br />
Brian Klug tells me that the 17 mile race, scheduled to start at 8 am, has been
canceled. Given that it would have brought 400 more runners, some on their
first trail run, into an area with no cell service via dirt roads in a blizzard
(and at this point, snow's worse in the Twin Cities than where we are), it's
hard to fault this decision. It is the first time John has ever canceled a
race, ever.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">I'm nothing but
happy, and off on the next section. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that it's
much better footing, with nearly no mud. The snow seems to be filling in mud
puddles, and the dropping temperature is partly freezing what's left.<br />
<br />
This is a longer (4.3 mi) section without any major features to
distinguish it, and, having been on this course many times, I know that it can
feel very long. But tonight, in my little island of light, time flows and the
the trail flows under my feet at exactly the right rate. I'm at AS 2/3 before I
know it.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I usually volunteer at AS 2/3, the most remote aid station, and I'm thrilled to see the overnight crew
there, keeping warm as best as they can and supporting all the runners. "This is some EXTREME Zumbro!" I yell as they cowbell me into the aid station. John Taylor offers words of encouragement as I drink hot coffee, and I'm off on the short loop up a ridge and
through the sand coulee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The descent
from Picnic Rock is as challenging as anything I've done so far. I squat, slide down packed ice in my trail shoes, grab trees that are heavily glazed with ice.
I'm wearing glasses rather than contacts, and am grateful for their protection
as I hit branches bowed by ice that I don't see in time to duck them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The sandiest
section appears to have actually been re-routed, because there's a full-bore river running
through the coulee. I'm filled with gratitude as I run along packed snow and
note how much *better* the footing is than usual.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>I've got nothing but joy and gratitude in my heart in this section. The
trail is moving along under me, the night is beautiful, and all is well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back to AS
2/3, now on the 3 side. My feet are definitely very wet, and the plastic bags
I'd put over them, while initially keeping them warm and dry, are now trapping
water <i>inside </i>instead.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>I execute a sock change by the bonfire, while drinking hot soup and
bantering with the volunteers. My feet instantly feel better, and I can't wait
to climb the ridge and see what the next section has in store.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">The next leg features
a long climb, a ridge section, a technical descent (Ant Hill!), and a long perfectly flat
gravel road section beside the river.<br />
<br />
The climb goes by quicker because I can't see it in the dark.<br />
<br />
The ridge has 40+ mph winds and the snow is drifting. In places the trail's
covered by 18" or more of snow. Later on Saturday, I hear that the gusts
increase to 60+ mph and the drifts to 3 feet. It's possible to stay warm, but
you've got to keep moving to do it.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ant Hill, much like the sand coulee, is much *less* difficult than usual! Snow
covers the normally loose rockfill. It's a bit icy, but mostly runnable (as my
trashed quads are still telling me). I'm whooping and laughing in surprise and elation as I run down it.<br />
<br />
I'm still feeling good and run nearly all of the mentally difficult river road
section. Near the end, my right hip flexor starts to ache — an injury that's flared
off and on for me since December, but that has been quiescent for the last few
weeks. I'm through the 4 side of AS 1/4 and heading back toward the
start/finish. It's muddy again, but there's less wind and I'm getting excited about
being done with a loop.<br />
<br />
I'd been thinking that I'll certainly do one more 17-mile loop and make it a
50k at least, but in this section, my hip flexor's getting worse, and my
left peroneal tendon is now joining in. It's a chronic problem that I manage
effectively with RockTape, but in the continued wet, the tape's come loose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nevertheless, I'm coming in across the campground
before I know it, and the clock ticks to 5:28 as I cross the line for the first
loop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[5:28 is not a personal worst, since I did a 7-hour
loop once, pacing a 100 miler. But it's pretty damn slow. To put it in
perspective, I ran the loop under icy conditions in 2013 in 4:35... WITH A
BROKEN ELBOW.]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h4>
Making choices, finding meaning</h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I cross the
line and Jamison, the AS captain, says, "Great job! Do you want to drop?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[He's saying
this to everyone — it's a reflection of the course conditions and the roads,
not how I look.]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I want
to look at my feet and think about my life," I reply. I'm pretty sure at
this point that I'm not going to get 50 miles, especially not under the 18 hour
cutoff. I think I could probably get another loop, but have questions about
whether I would do lasting damage to my hip flexor. I want to consider it again
after making my wet feet happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The woman
right behind me comes across the line, grinning ear to ear.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>"That was amazing! That was beautiful! Take my fucking number
NOW!" she exclaims. That's what most people are doing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I head into
the heated tent (set up for medical support and warming) with my drop bags, and
start changing out socks and shoes, and refilling my pack. Lisa is running
medical support, as usual, and we reminisce about the year she saved me from
hypothermia at this race. <span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>"People are making good choices this year," she says.
"I've had less to do than usual!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm changed
out and deciding what to do. I'm not sure whether another 17 mile loop is a
good idea, but I've decided to go to AS 1/4 and see how I feel, when John comes
in to confer with Lisa.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He mentions that he's been in contact with the county to plow
the road out, and that he's also paid a private snowplow operator to clear the
road to ensure that runners can get out. He continues,<br />
<br />
"I think we can continue to operate the race for the remaining 50 and 100
mile racers and allow the people on course to finish. But I'm concerned about
volunteer morale, especially at the aid stations."<br />
<br />
Saturday's wave of volunteers can't get in, and the people at the aid stations
have been there since yesterday. The race cutoff isn't till 6 pm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I see an
opportunity to do something more meaningful than go back out into a race I don't think I can finish just so I can feel accomplished.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>"John, I'm not going to be able to finish the 50. I was going to
take a shot at another loop, but how about I hike out to AS 2/3 and work there
instead?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">John is
definitely down with that. I emerge from the tent — it's daylight now — and
hand in my number without any regret at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">An unexpected aid-station party</span></span></h4>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I put on my
heaviest coat, right over my racing gear, throw more clothes, food, and boots
in my backpack, and start the 2+ mile hike out to AS 2/3.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">I can't believe I
might have dropped and not seen the course in daylight. It is astonishing.
Trees are laced in snow and ice. The ground is covered, above my shoe tops in
places.<br />
<br />
The trail, muddy at midnight, is now mostly frozen and firm. It's getting
better by the minute.<br />
<br />
I reach the top of the ridge and take in the view out across the valley. It's a
weird, beautiful sight.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A half-mile from the AS, I meet Brian, the overnight
AS captain, hiking back to civilization. I tell him I'm coming to relieve the
AS. He's glad to hear it. Everyone working there has been there since at least
6 pm, some since yesterday afternoon, and none were planning to spend the whole
day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">A glance around tells
the story of the last 24 hours. Despite the folding canopies, the tables are
covered in a half-inch of ice (and in some cases, frozen Coke or coffee), and
snow and ice have collected in open food containers. Water pitchers are slushy.
Snow collects in chair seats. Luckily, it's cold enough that it doesn't melt,
and wet isn't a problem so much as continued cold. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">
<br /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
The three remaining volunteers are mostly well prepared and keeping warm, though I do loan my warm Sorel boots to aid station captain Karen, who's
wearing uninsulated rain boots.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBWBhOHs3ayZ1VYzL-oEbNFlp04F1bVEkzppzHe_6qT_-HwS90iCvtkYARJ7MJ7N3YjquWxBCCHTVeOTs8D9dVUkO8wE8VfrWtp1i1PvNnzSjVSx-ecforzTw5iVDHfE56lmytdNlgHVi/s1600/john+taylor+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBWBhOHs3ayZ1VYzL-oEbNFlp04F1bVEkzppzHe_6qT_-HwS90iCvtkYARJ7MJ7N3YjquWxBCCHTVeOTs8D9dVUkO8wE8VfrWtp1i1PvNnzSjVSx-ecforzTw5iVDHfE56lmytdNlgHVi/s320/john+taylor+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">#aidstationlife (Photo: John Taylor)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;">I work AS
2/3 from whenever I arrive (7:30 am? 8? not sure) until the very last runner
has come through and the sweeps have removed all the markers from the trail,
around 3:30 pm. Here are some things that happen during that time:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1. I drink
about 4 cups of coffee and eat about 6 grilled-cheese sandwiches and some Gummi
Bears. It's all delicious. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2. I
unfasten ice-crusted gaiters and untie frozen shoelaces.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3. After
conferring with John and deciding to strip the AS down to a skeleton operation
to facilitate reduced volunteer numbers, I do a lot of work packing up the AS
to a bare minimum. I pack bins, collapse tables, and drag extra water
containers out to where an ATV can pick them up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4. I give
serious side-eye to groups of crew who show up and try to put the whole woodpile at once onto the bonfire. Then I fix it. Don't they know that you need air as
well as fuel?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3jRI5wR9bYAIR9QAGJcFON5C2HGD8azeaPkuoR_ZycWXqDZbDY-TM0Spz52TzGv9TcylDkap05_X8vzB5MNN0d8ih_zMV7goTkjMJdqDN4XscWOqn6I0dN3V80dJammYBGfCD8U4vzx7/s1600/john+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3jRI5wR9bYAIR9QAGJcFON5C2HGD8azeaPkuoR_ZycWXqDZbDY-TM0Spz52TzGv9TcylDkap05_X8vzB5MNN0d8ih_zMV7goTkjMJdqDN4XscWOqn6I0dN3V80dJammYBGfCD8U4vzx7/s320/john+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The way in and the way out (Photo: John Taylor)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Most runners
who aren't feeling well have done the smart thing and dropped. There's
surprisingly little "fixing" to be done, even late in the race. <span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>A 50-miler comes in, sits by the fire and buries his face in his hands.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>ME: "What's going on?"<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>HIM: "Is there an ATV coming by? I want to drop."<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>ME: "No, but there's a two-and-a-half mile walk-out. But, hey, is
this your last loop?"<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>HIM: "Yeah..."<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>ME: "Well, it's only 7 miles to the finish. You should just
finish."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">HIM:
"No, I want to drop. I pushed really hard, and I got lost and did that
last section twice, and I don't have anything left."<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>ME: "Aha! In that case, you should eat something!"<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>HIM: "No, I can't eat anything. I'm spent."<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>ME: "Aha! In that case, you should drink some ginger ale!"<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>HIM: "No, I can't drink anything."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[I now elide
another 5 minutes' worth of me trying to motivate this runner, who tells
me he came here to win the 50 and now that he can't, doesn't want to finish. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;">I consider
my ability to get runners out of my aid station and back onto the course to be
one of my superpowers, so I'm really working him. He is just not interested.
Finally, I throw up my hands, take his number, and point him to the walk-out.]</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;">We are
continuing to pack up and consolidate down as the number of runners on the
course dwindles. But we keep out the cowbell, because when a runner comes in or
heads back out, we are cheering like crazy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background: white;">
<br />
</span>And when they head out to finish their final loop, we cheer our damn
faces off for them. Because finishing a 50 or a 100 mile in these conditions is
just amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[The 100
mile finish rate was 17%. Of 120 starters, we had TWENTY finishers. That's all.
50 mile had 28% finish rate.]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Zumbro
continues to Zumbro. The snow switches over to pea-sized ice pellets, which
fall in profusion, making an incredible racket. They bounce around on the
tables and into the food dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZTbwkrdelV3wXWUIlIrYbXbQNBBasN4ccdYW9JW2RRLs3g5uT7XwDGH_uxazlPyHKznxdwl3E7pvqyMqi9g-rUyjF4T_FXbCMszGo56letLesXjFfnVodzGBh-_W8ftW1r7qjIp-5jNN/s1600/john+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZTbwkrdelV3wXWUIlIrYbXbQNBBasN4ccdYW9JW2RRLs3g5uT7XwDGH_uxazlPyHKznxdwl3E7pvqyMqi9g-rUyjF4T_FXbCMszGo56letLesXjFfnVodzGBh-_W8ftW1r7qjIp-5jNN/s320/john+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Firepit and drop bags (Photo: John Taylor)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The wind
continues to whip the bonfire smoke in every direction. It's impossible to
avoid the smoke plume.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My gloves
have gotten soaked over the course of the day, though I don't notice it till
later. But with the lifting, carrying, and staying busy, the rest of me is warm
and comfortable.<span style="background: white;"><br /></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">Eventually, we're
down to two tables. Then, with the last runners through and only the sweeps to
come, we move a few snacks onto tree stumps and take those down. The tents are
down, the drop bags are packed up, the ham radio operator's tent is down and fire's
out.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Aside from the trampled snow and bare patches
where tarps were laid down before the day's snowfall, you can't tell that there
was a little oasis of hot food, light, and heat here for the last 30+ hours.</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<br />
<h4>
Rolling up the finish line</h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-line-height-alt: 8.25pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everyone but one ATV driver and the AS captain head
back to the start/finish. Riding in an ATV in the 12" mud ruts and snow is
an adventure, but beats the 2+ mile walk back any day. Connie and I enjoy the cold breeze
in our faces.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back at the
start/finish, runners are finishing their races, but everyone who can has
already left. Word is that the roads are scary. Not just the dirt roads into
the race site, either. US Highway 52, one of the main routes between here and
the Twin Cities, is closed due to white-out conditions, drifting, and multiple
accidents.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I eat a
quesadilla wrapped around a few pieces of bacon (the grill is the last piece of
equipment to get packed), and try to figure out whether I'm going to be able to
drive home in my Prius.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>John and a few other of the core volunteers reassure me that they'll
make certain that I can get out, one way or another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[John and I
had a similar conversation early in the morning, before I went to AS 2/3. His and Cheri's attention to detail and their commitment to taking care of volunteers was a HUGE
reason I stayed on to help out. I have no idea how or when I'm going to get
out, but I am absolutely certain that he's got my back.]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Overheard in
the warming tent:<span style="background: white;"><br />
</span>"Your first hundred mile? Congratulations! And now you've done a winter ultra too. You should probably do
Arrowhead next year!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After 45
minutes in the warming tent and some food, I'm feeling pretty good and I've got
nothing to do until I have an exit strategy. I'm back out and helping load the
giant box truck with all the race gear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I roll up
banners with another volunteer, laughing as the sleep and calorie deprivation
catch up with us and we fail, over and over again, to roll in sync.<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br />
</span></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #b6d7a8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">I literally roll up the finish line after the last finisher
comes through.<br />
<br />
I untie tarps that were hastily hung to block some of the wind, laughing and
cursing at the terrible knots someone tied to get them up.<br />
<br />
I haul ridiculously heavy picnic tables back into place under the shelter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The entire
start/finish is packed and everything's back from the aid stations. We walk around the campground to tell everyone still there that the drop bags are finally back.<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Exit strategy, and choices again</span></span></span></span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 10pt;">It's 6:45 pm. There are just six of us left: John the RD;
Larry the former RD; Scott, driving the truck; my friend Todd; Lisa; and myself.
We stand in a little circle and shake hands with each other.<br />
<br />
It's been memorable, even for Zumbro. It's been hard and cold and wet and
difficult, even for Zumbro. John's had to make extraordinary efforts and some difficult calls, but with them he's averted the chance of a serious car crash or medical emergency
on the trail, which would have haunted him and all of us.<br />
<br />
It's been remarkable and memorable and special. Even for Zumbro.</span></span><span style="background: white; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I in my
Prius, and Lisa in her Honda Fit, caravan out behind Todd in his 4WD car. The
roads are snow-covered but passable. I'm home an hour slower than usual, but
I'm home.<span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>The lingering woodsmoke smell and my aching quads remind me that this
all happened just a few days ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Zumbro's
always a mess of complicated joyful Big Feelings. I wish I'd felt good enough
to charge out on a second loop. But I'm glad I could work at the aid station —
and I couldn't have done both. Either choice would have brought joy and
meaning. <span style="background: white;"><br />
<br />
</span>The best thing, though? In just a year, I get to choose my Zumbro
adventure all over again and see it through, with all its unexpected ups and downs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can't
wait.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">THE END.</span></span></div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-53142673327625576772017-09-15T14:54:00.000-07:002017-09-15T14:54:55.389-07:00The Happiest Place on Earth: Fall Superior 2017 Volunteering and Pacing Report<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">It's September, and the Big Dance of Minnesota trail running, <a href="http://superiorfalltrailrace.com/">Fall Superior 100, 50, and 26.2</a>, has come and gone. Once again, I was there to volunteer and pace. I wouldn't miss this one for anything. Sit back and enjoy some stories from 30 hours at Superior.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Getting to Finland</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">There are Car Logistics, so I
drop my car at the (not yet set up) Sugarloaf aid station and walk the 1+ mile down the gravel road to Highway 61 so Samantha can pick me up and give me a ride to Finland, where we're both working. I
bring along early dinner.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The next day, someone asks me, "Did
I see you standing on the side of Highway 61 last night, eating a giant
salad?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Yes. Yes, you did."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Jump around</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Mile 51 aid station is at Finland
Recreation Center, and it's jumping. Dawn is running a great aid station. The first dozen runners have come through
and more are trickling in, but lots of crew members and pacers are already
hanging out, the food's hot, and the music is playing.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggH06zYT0LDytEnD0N0-kLRZmHedHYzLEtxDkmQ_udZ4CtIb0aOksJ0hSIOOAKt0g_1uTVt81AUZlvo1ygW0FTBKRkALABeMweBLVg6vycxOS9CxlzM_jeSSrdcII-f9ApQ71P2QLJobid/s1600/superior+sam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggH06zYT0LDytEnD0N0-kLRZmHedHYzLEtxDkmQ_udZ4CtIb0aOksJ0hSIOOAKt0g_1uTVt81AUZlvo1ygW0FTBKRkALABeMweBLVg6vycxOS9CxlzM_jeSSrdcII-f9ApQ71P2QLJobid/s320/superior+sam.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha: "You know what the difference <br />between ultrarunners and normal people is?<br />When 'Jump Around' comes on, normal<br />people jump around for, like, 15 seconds.<br />Ultrarunners jump around FOR THE WHOLE SONG."</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">A runner's mom comes over and
asks Joy, Chalayne, and I whether one of us is a medical person. Without copping to the fact that we are, respectively, a nurse, an EMT, and a doctor, I ask, "What for?"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">"My son is trying to decide whether to drop."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Joy: "If he has to ask,
the answer is no."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Joy and I eventually 'fess up to
being medical and go over to talk to the runner. We agree that he looks WAY too
good to drop, even if he is throwing up.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Hey, Eric Nordgren once finished a 100 without eating
anything for the last 40 miles."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "I know Eric. And, yeah, but once it took him 8 hours to get
through Manitou Gorge and he dropped at mile 75."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Curses! Your logic is too strong for me. But now it's
time for you to leave."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: [gets up and leaves the aid station to continue his race]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We're handing out hot hashbrowns,
quesadillas, and bacon. The temperature's dropping on its way to the high 30s
and we're putting on more layers. Someone lights the bonfire and turns on the
strings of lights as the sun sets.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBOATq0-pYdSmWz_dTWwSIxLcCGfa3GFX8VZYPbI4_yGZWwdfw5DzRfp854Sx3Gk3YyrhkKI62r1vqnItVclbwSsFMUZnlIMJw793xOVx4veThJWt4QtsKEb6k1Fk8vTjSKAsRzN7C-Mn/s1600/superior+finland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="960" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBOATq0-pYdSmWz_dTWwSIxLcCGfa3GFX8VZYPbI4_yGZWwdfw5DzRfp854Sx3Gk3YyrhkKI62r1vqnItVclbwSsFMUZnlIMJw793xOVx4veThJWt4QtsKEb6k1Fk8vTjSKAsRzN7C-Mn/s320/superior+finland.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Fall Superior Races</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lots of friends are coming through. Susan is running her 100th 100 miler today. She's characteristically focused as she throws down three cups of hashbrowns, and acknowledges my congratulations with a little smile. Bekah is looking a little wide-eyed but overall great in her first 100 miler. Andrea's running her first 100 too, and Samantha is ready to pace her when she comes in a bit before 10 pm. It's busy and exciting.<span style="color: #90949c;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Pacing: Finland to Crosby-Manitou (11.6 miles)</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm pacing Joel and Kyle from here
to Sugarloaf, mile 72. They've sent me a spreadsheet with their expected times
in and out of each aid station, indexed to their splits from 2015, when they
last ran the race. It's a model of precision and prediction. They arrive only
45 minutes after their best-case time.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Joel has told me he doesn't want to waste time at Finland. As soon as I hear they've arrived, I rip off my outer layers, change
shoes, shoulder my pack, and bound over to where they've sat down (wisely,
nowhere near the fire). "YOUR PACER IS READY! LET'S ROLL!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">(It's possible I've had a few
cups of coffee.)</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I ferry bacon, soup, and coffee
to them. Jeff will also be pacing the next few sections. After only a
small amount of fussing with technology, food, shoes, and lube, we're on our
way across the soccer field and into the woods.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">It's 11 pm. Finland to Sonju is
7.4 miles and we're power-hiking at a good clip. Quickly, we warm back up and
are shedding hats and jackets, despite the cool temperatures.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">The trail is pretty dry, the sky's clear, and the waning,
three-quarters moon has risen. When I step off the trail to pee and turn off my
headlamp, everything is outlined in dappled silver shadows.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Sound carries differently in the
dense woods. Everything sounds very close and intimate. Conversation is easy
among the four of us as we walk single-file.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">In the dark, we can't see how
long the hills are or how steeply they climb. We're in a little bubble of
light, specks of warmth moving through the night.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We reach Sonju in a little under
two hours. It's a "minor" aid station, with no crew access, and in
the past it's been a quiet, mellow place.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">This year, however, Maria is captaining Sonju and she's not one for doing things halfway. The theme
is "Woodstock," and there's music, decoration, and costumes. Oh, my,
the costumes.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRsikHz1pkYxlGxfllPgBCv8mam9Y7FspcX_Bj5GoqUdmmIg_qx6cfmN3yfo_jYK31mCRtp914EFI3ZrkfqQGXNMnNrDsRFV3yGVQdhNF_-ujdc2icwrbylS_W3SnH69wOR4vOkKli3JQg/s1600/sonju+maria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRsikHz1pkYxlGxfllPgBCv8mam9Y7FspcX_Bj5GoqUdmmIg_qx6cfmN3yfo_jYK31mCRtp914EFI3ZrkfqQGXNMnNrDsRFV3yGVQdhNF_-ujdc2icwrbylS_W3SnH69wOR4vOkKli3JQg/s320/sonju+maria.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GROOVY.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Travis, <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/09/volunteer-and-pacing-report-fall.html">who I paced last year</a>, is there:</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIqH6AIBo1HqYjazrkt_gUISItLsbpzRcvqmeZZeZ1nqhjBg_8Qa-6wxgVpp7VEzJGt2TOG783cAOKEr5rrW0X-VfQqvjbCUCuZpoG-2svMwnW-WQ7YzlOFYyu2x96JnXDIaf7l6ySOjH/s1600/sonju+chester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIqH6AIBo1HqYjazrkt_gUISItLsbpzRcvqmeZZeZ1nqhjBg_8Qa-6wxgVpp7VEzJGt2TOG783cAOKEr5rrW0X-VfQqvjbCUCuZpoG-2svMwnW-WQ7YzlOFYyu2x96JnXDIaf7l6ySOjH/s320/sonju+chester.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where'd you get the wig?"<br />"What wig?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">We laugh about how much better we're both feeling at Sonju this year. Last year we made a long stop here, in the rain, trying to get Travis's mojo back. This year, Joel and Kyle are hours ahead of where Travis had been, and we're all feeling great.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">We reload on coffee and bacon
(seriously, my runners were POWERED by bacon) and we're off again, this time
just a 4.2 mile segment to Crosby-Manitou. Our stop has gotten us chilly and
it's harder to warm back up. My hands are freezing and I pull my buff back on.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We're still power hiking, and
we're still booking just-over-20-min miles. Solid for the middle of the night
and ahead of the spreadsheet projections. Conversation meanders. Joel and I
have a lengthy, likely-tedious-to-everyone-around-us discussion about Christian
theology. I recite poetry and make bad jokes.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Right around 3 a.m. and we're
arriving at Crosby-Manitou. The last half-mile is up a gravel road and we've
got our first clear views of the night sky in a while. The moon is high and
washing out the Milky Way, but thousands of stars still hang high above us. We
spot Orion on the horizon, and Cassiopeia overhead, and collectively bemoan our
lack of constellation knowledge.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">100 yards out from the aid
station and I hear Matt, the aid station captain, booming,
"Welcome to Crosby-Manitou, fueled by Peet's coffee!!!" He's clearly
been sampling his own wares -- it might be 3 in the morning, but he's WIRED.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We've planned a longer stop here.
Joel and Kyle plunk into chairs by the fire and surround themselves with an
explosion of drop-bag crap -- electronics, charging cables, batteries, food,
socks, I don't even know what some of it is.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I've brought them coffee and
bacon, eaten some fried potatoes and bananas, and I'm getting antsy. Matt and I
sing along to "Lawyers, Guns, and Money." I joke around with other
runners and pacers. I stage a one-person dance party to "Gangnam
Style." Finally, I tell my runners, "Let's roll." Eventually, we
do.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Crosby-Manitou to Sugarloaf, 9.4 miles<span style="color: #90949c;"> </span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">At 3:20, we head into the Manitou
Gorge. It's 9.4 miles that includes some of the gnarliest terrain of the
course. The spreadsheet says it'll take 4 hours.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">The spreadsheet's pretty good. It takes right around 4:05.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">The trail makes a bouldery
descent and crosses the Manitou River in the first half-mile, and then we begin
a long, steep climb out. This is the part everyone talks about, so I'm prepared
for the preposterously steep, bouldery trail and its multiple false summits.
Pumped on coffee and Zevon, I exclaim, "We're doing this thing!"
Joel, Kyle, and Jeff agree that we are, in fact, doing this thing. We're in
great spirits.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">What people forget to mention
about this section is that after you've climbed out of the gorge, you've still
got 6+ miles of trail ahead of you. It's long, but we're buoyed by being
through the hard part, and by the prospect of sunrise in an hour or so.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">At the top of a ridge, we pass a
runner who's off the side of the trail, sitting on a boulder. </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Come along with us!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"No, I'm going to rest a little here. But would you tell my
wife that I'm still coming, just much slower than I thought?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">We get his name (John), his number (49), his wife's name
(Angel), and promise we'll look for her at Sugarloaf.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">[18 HOURS LATER, AT THE FINISH
LINE:</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Race cut-off is 38 hours. A 100 mile runner finishes at 37:59,
to thunderous applause and cheering.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">10 minutes later, he finds me.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "You probably don't remember, but you passed me in the
Crosby-Manitou section."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "John! Number 49! We tried to find Angel!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "Here she is!" [I shake hands with his beaming
wife.]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "I spent SIX HOURS in that section. Got into Sugarloaf
and told Angel I wanted to drop. She wouldn't let me."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ANGEL: "He finished and said, 'Can you believe I wanted to
drop?!'"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "I finished! My first 100! In 37 hours, 59
minutes!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "This is the awesomest thing I have heard ALL
DAY."]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The sky lightens, the stars fade,
the sun rises. The mud is deep and wet in this section. We're hopping from log
to rock to board to avoid it.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "This is like playing 'The Floor Is Lava!'
Woohoo!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Eventually, we hit an unavoidable
mudpit, and we're all in shin or knee-deep mud. So it goes.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">After a long time in woods and
upland bogs, we cross the final stream, climb gently, and up ahead we hear the
unmistakable sounds of Sugarloaf aid station. It's 7:30 a.m., the air is
growing warm, and the night is over.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">My pacing section is done. </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm sending them off with a fresh pacer, Kelli, but first, Joel
wants bacon. Of course. I raid the table and return with good news and bad
news.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Joel, they're making more but there was only one
piece. The good news is, it's huge!" [I brandish a giant piece of bacon.]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">JOEL: "This looks great. Now, I need about four more like
this one."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Did you hear literally anything I just said?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">They take off with their new
pacer. I peel off my mud-crusted gaiters, shoes, and socks and enjoy the
sensation of dry feet while eating a few aid station burgers with bacon.</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKzKxrA-ZBCUc7nhk-FU44CJz15dddqQye2t3uFQCAhXu3vtGaKi_3dqWJ2vY5MFh48wtM_GOhUeLunbBzBeVAt6o0nqM3u82juVFVOAxHbPnJWiHNGuNJdHXx10001dUV3gab5O-ZAaF/s1600/superior+kyle+and+joel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKzKxrA-ZBCUc7nhk-FU44CJz15dddqQye2t3uFQCAhXu3vtGaKi_3dqWJ2vY5MFh48wtM_GOhUeLunbBzBeVAt6o0nqM3u82juVFVOAxHbPnJWiHNGuNJdHXx10001dUV3gab5O-ZAaF/s320/superior+kyle+and+joel.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kyle (front) and Joel, crushing it in daylight.<br />Credit: Zach Pierce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</span></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Sugarloaf Volunteering</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br />Joe and Jan are running the aid station again, and as usual it's a well-organized, well-staffed, laid-back oasis in the woods. This is my fourth year at Sugarloaf, and every year it gets another accoutrement or two: this year, there's an actual porta-potty! How civilized!</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I chase my bacon burgers with a
cup of coffee and I'm ready
for some aid-station action. I butcher a watermelon, fill runners' water
bottles, chat with crew and pacers who await their runners.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">A cure for nausea</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Scott comes in. He's in pretty
good spirits, a little queasy but otherwise feeling great. Last year he'd come
in right at the cutoff and with a bad ankle sprain, so this is great. His crew
sprays him down with sunblock as he sits down for a short rest.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I bring him a ginger candy.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "This is good for nausea. Just tuck it into your cheek
and let it dissolve."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "Thanks." [sticks the wrapper in his vest]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Hey, I can throw that away. Do you have other trash
you need to get rid of?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "Actually, yeah. I've been picking up trash along the
trail."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">He begins pulling trash out of his vest pocket: a gel wrapper, a
piece of foil, and then... a ziplock sandwich bag with some dried green leaves
in it.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "What's that?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HIM: "No idea. It's not mine, I picked it up off the
trail."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">[My friend Jim, waiting for his runner, has joined us.]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">JIM: "It looks like... weed."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME [starting to giggle]: "Uh, yeah, it actually does."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">SCOTT [also laughing]: "I've never smoked pot. Is this what
they call a dime bag?" [He holds it up in the air and looks around.]
"Ten bucks! Anyone?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">JIM: "You totally picked up
someone's stash!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "I'm gonna throw it away. It's probably crappy weed
anyway. Though, hey, it might be good for your nausea!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">[I take the bag and the rest of Scott's trash and throw them in
the trash bag.]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">JIM: "Are you sure you actually threw it away?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">[We all giggle like little kids. Other people are giving us
weird looks.]</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Scott heads out, in good spirits. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Duct tape and determination</span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Jim waves me over. Angela has just come into the aid
station and needs some advice.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Angela is one of the "Gnarly Bandits," a group of
runners attempting to run a series of 4 100-mile Upper Midwest races and a
100k, all in one season. </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I'm the series director this year. I know that Angela did the Gnarly Bandit two
years ago (and then ran a 150 mile trail race a few weeks after completing it).
Her sweet, smiling, petite, blonde appearance masks the legs of an endurance
athlete, the heart of a champion, and the determination of a crazed badger.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">She's fallen somewhere in
the last section and slammed her dominant right hand on a rock. "It's a
little swollen," she says. </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">It is indeed swollen, and painful to move or manipulate. Her
question is not "Is it broken?" It isn't "Should I drop?"
No, this is Angela. Her question to me is, "Can I wait till Monday to get
this looked at?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I could examine her hand further
to get a sense of whether this is a bruise, a sprain, or a fracture. But as I
think about it, this doesn't seem like the most important issue at the moment.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Let's just talk about getting through the race for now.
The worst-case scenario is that something is broken," I tell her. She
nods. "If it's a simple fracture, then yeah, you can wait till after the
race to get it looked at. But the worst-case scenario for a fracture is that
it's damaged the blood supply to your hand. If that's the case, you need to
stop right away, 'cause not finishing is sad, but gangrene is much worse."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I examine her hand. Her
fingertips are pink, warm, and have rapid capillary refill. She's got normal
sensation in them. She can move her fingers and thumb, though it's painful to
do so.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Right now, it looks like you've got good circulation to
your hand. I want you to check your fingers at every aid station. If they start
to get blue, or cold, or numb, you need to stop and go to the emergency
room." She agrees. (I think I use the phrase "or your fingers might
turn black and fall off" at some point in this discussion.)</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We decide to gently wrap her
hand, both to protect it and to remind her not to try to use it. We roll up one
of her buffs and put it in her hand. Another runner has an Ace bandage and
brings it over, and I gently wrap it around her hand and wrist.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I realize I don't have safety pins handy and I've cut off the
velcro edge. But just then, someone brings up a roll of duct tape. Perfect! We
tear off a couple of long strips and secure the Ace wrap.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNxIFuBjSYBZ3g1XY7BZKamj9tKgtEIjHa41JbIgDnDcKRy8fEr1YX4MI3au-20NbDl1XTkSWegjEfkDSi-uPerzB5L70fXXM7jBDd8GFhx87rvgv0b93b-P9ZHwvKe9x9cxsvq0aadwT/s1600/superior+angela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNxIFuBjSYBZ3g1XY7BZKamj9tKgtEIjHa41JbIgDnDcKRy8fEr1YX4MI3au-20NbDl1XTkSWegjEfkDSi-uPerzB5L70fXXM7jBDd8GFhx87rvgv0b93b-P9ZHwvKe9x9cxsvq0aadwT/s320/superior+angela.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't get a picture, but Zach Pierce did at Temperance</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Try not to fall on it if
you can," I tell her, unnecessarily. "When I broke my elbow at
Zumbro, I think I re-fractured it going down Ant Hill and it hurt just as much
as the first time." Angela shudders in sympathy (but she's still smiling as I'm taping her up, and asking how other runners are
doing).</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">She's ready to get moving, and takes off as soon as I give the
all-clear.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Rick is crewing for Lisa, who
hasn't arrived yet. During this interlude, he's disappeared off to his car and
returned in running gear. "I'll pace her for a little ways," he tells
me, and takes off after her. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">12-plus hours later, Angela
finishes the Superior 100, 15 minutes ahead of the cutoff. Her hand's still
duct-taped together, still hurts, but she's beaming.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">On Monday, she confirms that, yeah, it's broken.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Just a flesh wound</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">A woman running the 50 mile comes in, covered in mud and with blood running down her face from an abrasion at her temple.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Would you like me to clean up that head wound?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">She's busy filling her water bottle and barely looks up. "No thanks."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Did you lose consciousness when you fell?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"No."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">She's out of the aid station </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">before I can ask any more tricky questions.</span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></h4>
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</h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Skin deep</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">My friend Kevin comes in, maybe an hour ahead of cutoff. He's been fighting injuries all season and went into the race undertrained but hopeful. But the Manitou Gorge has taken a lot out of him and his feet feel terrible. He's looking pretty demoralized.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Luckily, his wife Lisa is there and she is the greatest force for positivity that I know. She and I gang up on him.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Kevin, you look awesome! And you got a new tattoo! It looks just like mud splatters but I can tell." He smiles wanly and drops into a chair.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">We cautiously peel away his mud-soaked gaiters, shoes, and socks. His feet are white and streaked with mud. "I think I want to wash my feet," he says.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Lisa brings a towel and a pitcher of water. He pours, then realizes he's so stiff he can barely reach them.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">What the hell, my hands are dirty anyway. I help out. Lisa gets out her camera, which strikes me as incredibly funny, and the moment is immortalized:</span></span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUao8en0lu_qxn5O2aOHa33dDxnT1nn20DmeCkXTLfHdKuVLsmJW1lZIIdHU7Ul4lBzIJ8dyd4pHjpBuKn43kLQha5zH6GXfQSdyoCk9MDsMjuRkw456wEoo_voYkPu4jk477-EqL3d7j3/s1600/superior+kevin+l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUao8en0lu_qxn5O2aOHa33dDxnT1nn20DmeCkXTLfHdKuVLsmJW1lZIIdHU7Ul4lBzIJ8dyd4pHjpBuKn43kLQha5zH6GXfQSdyoCk9MDsMjuRkw456wEoo_voYkPu4jk477-EqL3d7j3/s320/superior+kevin+l.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the worst feet I saw that weekend.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Your feet are macerated, but the skin's intact. Your problem is literally skin-deep," I tell him.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I let Lisa manage putting socks back on, telling her, "I'm cool washing nasty feet, but my personal idea of hell is putting toe socks onto wet ultrarunner feet."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">He eats and sits a bit longer. When I come back by, he's in dry socks and good spirits. Shortly afterward, he gets up and continues. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Sparring with the master </span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Jim, Ron, and Rick have been
hanging out at Sugarloaf for hours, waiting for Lisa. She's been
having a tough time overnight, fighting cutoffs, and they're a little worried.
She's someone who has given so much to the trail community, working medical
support, pacing, crewing, and volunteering, and we all want to see her have a
good race for herself.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Lisa makes it in, less than an
hour ahead of the cutoff. She's tired, demoralized, slumped in a chair, and
announcing that she wants to drop.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Jim, Ron, and I prepare the
full-court press.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HER: "I couldn't eat anything for 20 miles. I only just
started feeling better."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "That's awesome! You're eating again!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HER: "My legs are shot. I want to stop."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "They're going to feel so much better now that you can
feed them!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HER: "That last section was REALLY HARD."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">ME: "Yep, that was the hardest section, and now it's done!
No other section has as much vertical gain as what you just did!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">HER: "Bullshit. Carlton Peak? Moose and Mystery
Mountain?"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">I step away, laughing, to confer with her crew. "You
guys," I say, "you know the problem here? It's that fully half the
lies that I tell ultrarunners, I learned from Lisa. She's the MASTER."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">JIM [to ME]: "Try and get her to laugh."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">ME: "Lisa, you wouldn't believe the stuff going on at this aid station. One of the guys filling water bottles suggested using Coke to clean out wounds!" (True!)<br />LISA (chuckles): "That's a TERRIBLE idea!"<br />ME: "And then Scott brought in someone's pot stash off the trail!" (We all laugh at that one.)</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Ron and Jim are fixing her shoes,
helping her change out of tights, filling her pack. I'm still working on her.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Hey, I'll make you my super-special snack I only make for
runners I really, really like: a peanut-butter banana."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"I'm allergic to peanut butter." </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Lisa, you're killing me."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">"This is just temporary
pain, like childbirth. You got through that, you can do this."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Robyn, I had short, painless, precipitous labor with both
my kids."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Lisa, I hate you for that, but I love you anyway. Now get
going."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">(At some point in the morning, I
overhear an aid station worker saying, "Everyone has a super power. Robyn's
is pep talks.")</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Grudgingly, she gets up and
shoulders her pack. I turn around to help someone else, and when I look back,
she and Ron are gone, down the trail.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Troubleshooting 101<span style="color: #90949c;"> </span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Andrea's in the aid station and
has a case of what Marcus calls "Superior shin" -- her
anterior tibial tendons are angry and inflamed, and every step is painful. But
she's come 72 miles and she's not ready to quit.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"When I stop and stretch it, it feels better for a little
while. And I can run a few steps at a time before I have to walk!" Dang,
there's no quit in this one. Even though you can see how painful it is, I want
to help her. We loosen her laces. Her crew rubs Bio-Freeze on her shins. We talk about rolling a cold
can of soda over the tendon, we talk about icing it, we talk about using hiking
poles. Eventually, she gets up and heads off, because never mind the pain, she
wants to keep going.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Allan is in with 30 minutes to
spare. A shoe had catastrophically failed 20 miles ago so he's in his backup
pair, and they're rubbing his ankles. Luckily, he's got a plan.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Take some duct tape, would you, and fold it over and over
again to make a pad about /this/ big and three-eighths inch thick. I'm going
to put it under the heel of my insole."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">We banter about how much better he looks than last year, when he
barely made it out of the aid station. He doesn't need much else -- he makes
his own homemade energy gel, he's got a laminated pace chart rubber-banded to
his vest, he's self-reliant. He's in great spirits and his eyes are twinkling.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Al, what's your line of work?" I ask him.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Before I retired, I was an engineer," he answers.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">"Let me tell you, that surprises me NOT AT ALL," I
laugh. "That was my first, second, and third guess."</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">As the cutoff time approaches,
then passes, we get a couple of runners who are ready to drop with injuries
and, in one case, peeing blood. We pack up the aid station, waiting for one
last friend, Kevin C. His crew, Elizabeth, and I bemoan his missing the cutoff.
"Now I can't use all my motivational lines on him! Dammit, Angela kept
going after I literally TAPED HER ARM BACK ON!"</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Kevin C. rolls in over an hour
past cutoff, relieved to be done. He's gotten remarkably far on almost no training as a full-time student and part-time worker. He's tired, but we laugh a little about how he'd rather have been working at Sugarloaf like he did two years ago. The trail sweeps are with him, and with their arrival, Sugarloaf is
finished for another year. It's time
for a hot shower, a square meal, a nap, and some fellowship and joy at the
finish line.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">The happiest place on Earth</span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">A short drive, a shower, and a square meal later, I'm at the Superior finish line. As night falls, the crowd, hundreds strong, bursts into cheers and cowbell ringing as headlamps appear heading into the finish line. A bonfire burns, music thumps, there are dogs and kids and spouses and runners all in various states of jubilation and fatigue. Runners sprint, dance, jog, and groove their way across the finish line, their exhaustion forgotten for the moment.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">I've come to recognize that when something stirs strong emotions, it's worth paying attention to what it is, and why. The Fall Superior finish line is like that for me. It's a palpable feeling of achievement, of months or years of dreaming, of mud-bound painful lows and soaring highs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">Massive credit to all who undertake
this journey -- runners, crew, pacers, volunteers. You all join together to
make the magic happen. And for a few hours every year, there's no happier place
on earth than the Superior finish line.</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129;">See you next year.</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KH9zUrvb18xHrQNfWEUytoz81TXS7DZ9GwoBGFhM_H27pZ2KkztXYw6jBWOx6QWS-ZfqvugJdGfk7bJs3r-ZJVHyujDDDUUDGSZxktvPkgM73AieXhd8V1DaLTkkhd1jGpdQqZNuJ_5M/s1600/superior+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="457" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KH9zUrvb18xHrQNfWEUytoz81TXS7DZ9GwoBGFhM_H27pZ2KkztXYw6jBWOx6QWS-ZfqvugJdGfk7bJs3r-ZJVHyujDDDUUDGSZxktvPkgM73AieXhd8V1DaLTkkhd1jGpdQqZNuJ_5M/s320/superior+finish.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: John Storkamp</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-41253600953176057082017-06-02T10:30:00.000-07:002017-06-02T10:30:22.375-07:00Western States Tourist: The 2017 Western States training camp report<div style="color: #222222;">
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Executive summary</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is a long report, because I ran a long way -- 63 miles in 3 days. Western States training camp is an awesome way to see the course in a low-pressure, fun, manageable way, and I loved everything about it. Get a cold beer and settle in for a long rambling story. (But don't worry, there are pictures!)</span></div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aKp3udjcqqr7DmhIQ91F4yftJXWdT9yBFj40OVwXRWfOaldzfx42SwITnQwWg23U9Q8ZJRbH94uz3U54eVcen8GlOTOSGjYy0ubE2xpcpA437VRYWhYEmHYKVpKTHnIz7ZONpsMZ8v8n/s1600/down+to+rucky+chuckyh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aKp3udjcqqr7DmhIQ91F4yftJXWdT9yBFj40OVwXRWfOaldzfx42SwITnQwWg23U9Q8ZJRbH94uz3U54eVcen8GlOTOSGjYy0ubE2xpcpA437VRYWhYEmHYKVpKTHnIz7ZONpsMZ8v8n/s320/down+to+rucky+chuckyh.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Living the dream!</span></td></tr>
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Training for training</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Western States training camp sounded too good to be true: 70 miles on the Western States 100 course over the three days of Memorial Day weekend, with aid stations and shuttles, for $140? Anyone could sign up, whether running the race or not? It sounded like a relaxed, fun way to see a renowned course that I might never see as a runner. Friends had done it in past years and loved it. I cleared my schedule for the last weekend of May, and when registration opened in December, I signed up. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Although the weekend only covers part of the 100 mile Western States course, I knew the mileage I'd run would be big for me. With guidance from my awesome coach David, I've steadily built mileage over the last 9 months or so, almost injury-free. But even so, my greatest weekly mileage to date was 51 miles. This spring, if you asked me what I was training for, I told you, "I'm training for Western States training camp."</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a good run at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-prs-we-choose-chippewa-moraine-50k.html">Chippewa Moraine 50k </a>and a week's recovery, we planned a week of big miles capped off with back-to-back 20-milers, followed by a short taper. I also sauna trained, for up to 30 min twice a week. Things went off the rails midway through the big week with a calf pull after long hill repeats, evolving into a weird peroneus brevis/flexor digitorum problem that pretty much kept me off the roads and trails for a week. But by the Tuesday before Memorial Day weekend things seemed better and I managed a series of cautious but increasingly confident weekday runs before leaving for Sacramento Friday morning. I hadn't done all the training I wanted, but I was feeling healthy, hopeful, and eager to get on the trails. My goal: "See as much of the course as possible without messing anything up."</span></div>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Day 1: Robinson Flat to Foresthill</span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Not a normal year</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I reached Auburn Friday afternoon with two bags full of running gear and recovery tools, and filled the motel fridge with four days' supply of good food. An early bedtime and an early wake-up later, and I was on my way to Foresthill, the base of operations for the first two days. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The morning was clear and sunny as I drove up the wide, climbing Foresthill Road. Temperatures were forecast to begin in the low 40 and climb to near 80; the following days would be warmer, but dry and crisp. It was easy to spot the start area at Foresthill Elementary School; hundreds of trail runners were sorting gear at their cars or making their way along the road to the school. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The vibe was different from a race: a little more relaxed, though still focused. I saw my Minnesota friends Holly and Scott there (Holly is running Western States this year), as well as Janet and Mike (Janet's running it too). Maria and Doug had come as well. I checked in, ate a banana, visited a little. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG29v-mhX1x5K5Esj8-DBweFiEZXBzcRg6z-5jMQ_Kj_8BETQet_8r6yyxY2DTtOQ3h6wcJbUt_qB8M65FmyiN8tGqM6KYs0_fCjK3OM5tu6Uhm70GVyNgrUqjU6za7ZeIvRGeqEkkPXC8/s1600/with+Janet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG29v-mhX1x5K5Esj8-DBweFiEZXBzcRg6z-5jMQ_Kj_8BETQet_8r6yyxY2DTtOQ3h6wcJbUt_qB8M65FmyiN8tGqM6KYs0_fCjK3OM5tu6Uhm70GVyNgrUqjU6za7ZeIvRGeqEkkPXC8/s320/with+Janet.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Janet and I at the start!</span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">15 minutes before the shuttle buses were to leave, race director Craig Thornley began his briefing. "This is not a normal year," he started. "Which is good!" The extraordinarily wet winter had left snow at the higher elevations on the course. The road was covered with snow beginning 4 miles below the usual start at Robinson Flat (6800' elevation). We'd start the day by running those 4 miles up to Robinson Flat, then take a shortcut around a damaged section of trail just after it. In total, it would add about 2.5 miles to the days run, bringing it to 34 or so, the first 7-8 miles of which would be snowy. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a few more instructions about logistics and some Western States trivia, we boarded four school buses and began the winding, climbing drive up to our starting point.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3q8t7i-Nr2WAGpOtRPSOPqw8vKdyzo4dUwtQo-sliKv3wTVVOJK5dmN8-ZElk3wXvAkTbYiWtXRmX208Dpyo2yklCcBT8DwIrXJhR-LdIIon2B3Pjz9hrcllEQE2foj_UQJY00DbRBbd/s1600/near+Robinson+Flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3q8t7i-Nr2WAGpOtRPSOPqw8vKdyzo4dUwtQo-sliKv3wTVVOJK5dmN8-ZElk3wXvAkTbYiWtXRmX208Dpyo2yklCcBT8DwIrXJhR-LdIIon2B3Pjz9hrcllEQE2foj_UQJY00DbRBbd/s320/near+Robinson+Flat.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Out where the buses don't run</span></td></tr>
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<h4 style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Snowfields and sunshine</span></h4>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a 45 minute drive past fire-scarred pine forests and steadily up and up, the buses came to a halt just before a long stretch of snow covered the road. We piled out and, after a bit of leg-stretching and picture-taking, began following the pink flags as they marked the way up the road. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTBnSVkeOxO60FYO_2kyDrpCBfMN9ziJGcL595vLZrpjVkdVBf-vmVQgGobcqWGEr-KJv6kzCos011lBvPxfxedhC-unycEum9RnxXD9APHy6oDxd7PuiROHuR5ulTtZud7l-lYIJmGXY/s1600/Photo+May+27%252C+9+59+14+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTBnSVkeOxO60FYO_2kyDrpCBfMN9ziJGcL595vLZrpjVkdVBf-vmVQgGobcqWGEr-KJv6kzCos011lBvPxfxedhC-unycEum9RnxXD9APHy6oDxd7PuiROHuR5ulTtZud7l-lYIJmGXY/s320/Photo+May+27%252C+9+59+14+AM.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">On our way at last!</span></td></tr>
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<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We climbed steadily, partly on packed or softening snow, partly on bare road, occasionally climbing over or detouring around a downed pine. A few speedy runners passed me, but most of the group was content to hike the uphill road, running the occasional downhill section. I chatted with Janet, her friends Hallie and Desi, Brian who was training for the Tahoe Rim Trail 100, and others. The air was still cool, but the sun was strong and I was soon comfortable in a tank top and shorts. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At Robinson Flat, the snow was deep...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdbqyH7FYNjFLfgy-3-XBiK28ou_DyiQ-3kWRGGeFwSwFy_V9uT-E3P36yH9F-xy6ZQz6AMpJmzYAvpC7fRNcQyktWjoEgJsoqiim2nuJfrt6V-L_NTgpURDgvHnKMwclRpzFGsUf5QOQ/s1600/Robinson+Flat+snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdbqyH7FYNjFLfgy-3-XBiK28ou_DyiQ-3kWRGGeFwSwFy_V9uT-E3P36yH9F-xy6ZQz6AMpJmzYAvpC7fRNcQyktWjoEgJsoqiim2nuJfrt6V-L_NTgpURDgvHnKMwclRpzFGsUf5QOQ/s320/Robinson+Flat+snow.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Bathrooms were open, though!</span></td></tr>
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<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">...and we veered off the road across it, following a trail detour that eventually brought us out to a forest service road. Here, we began a steady gentle downhill and snowbanks alternated with running streams of meltwater on the gravel road. It was easy to jump over the little streams and keep feet dry. I knew the day held a LOT of downhill running and the next day did too, so I ran as lightly and smoothly as I could, focusing on running economy rather than speed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After the first 3-4 miles past Robinson Flat, the snow ended and we followed a sharp (but well marked) turn onto the official Western States course. Occasional brown trail markers joined the pink flags to show the way. I had a talk with Mike from Alabama, who had run Western States ten years ago, and with a few other people. The woods smelled piney and dusty. The sun continued to warm up. It felt great to be out in such a different, beautiful place.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7i3v3ScxDutLPJ4h_LU4X5hTL6s2TQ8Z0U6GRxXI-s2GJzzApkoW2PekcH_8A4e1r608PMOqMQDeJRQTFKnc4CXlVUr9WIBMEmryREx72nR5GLYG5gX0kN5ovybH4XhhWEIoh11dwhk-_/s1600/mining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7i3v3ScxDutLPJ4h_LU4X5hTL6s2TQ8Z0U6GRxXI-s2GJzzApkoW2PekcH_8A4e1r608PMOqMQDeJRQTFKnc4CXlVUr9WIBMEmryREx72nR5GLYG5gX0kN5ovybH4XhhWEIoh11dwhk-_/s320/mining.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Passed a few of these signs!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The training run had fully stocked aid stations, but fewer than during the race. The first was about 11 miles into the run, at Dusty Corners. I got there in about 3 hours and took my time, filling up my pack (the 2L bladder was getting pretty low), putting on more sunblock, emptying trash, thanking the volunteers -- many of whom will be back in a few weeks for Western States.</span></span><h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Descent and climb through the canyons</span></span></span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Not long after the first aid station, we began descending into the first of the famous "canyons" -- down to Deadwood Creek. It was steeply switchbacked singletrack that went down, down, down. I had caught up to Mike and I ran this section with him. We had a good time moving down through the shady green trails, pausing to marvel at the noisy little streams and the giant tree trunks </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;">that crossed the trail.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZzNb0fqZ9fhQ9QxnLVs8H9iHzXUugr3O8WamVgebW2F9ISC1MJR8DV73UmLrhYmTpZi5FilHu7qNVnRlTeESwF5EvihC1T0VQuWsR9EIWKLwpQz3jElZwlKX5dzo02YExbmNrijxPFlk/s1600/Photo+May+27%252C+2+03+17+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZzNb0fqZ9fhQ9QxnLVs8H9iHzXUugr3O8WamVgebW2F9ISC1MJR8DV73UmLrhYmTpZi5FilHu7qNVnRlTeESwF5EvihC1T0VQuWsR9EIWKLwpQz3jElZwlKX5dzo02YExbmNrijxPFlk/s320/Photo+May+27%252C+2+03+17+PM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Me and a big tree. I'm such a tourist.</span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">"You know what the first rule of running is?" he said.<br />"What's that?" I asked.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">"What goes down what goes up."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">It struck me as a bit pessimistic, especially on a point-to-point run.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">"You know what my first rule is?" I replied. "Run the mile you're in." (After all, it's hard to run anything else!)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the bottom of the canyon, the swinging bridge crosses the creek. It's cool and noisy and beautiful and would be a great place to stop and spend an hour.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp08S2OVdR0qbr8xSPBGQcgf5-l-emr9KZMFEt1S2ngH3LYllqm71akbpFWr-ZH1tpeLS06O3FCgNQm2HvLNfZHzYVKnnKIksWGsLUPys04IL4_1r0CoME956SXa6cETE7krFy6x6WCJLW/s1600/swinging+bridge+deadwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp08S2OVdR0qbr8xSPBGQcgf5-l-emr9KZMFEt1S2ngH3LYllqm71akbpFWr-ZH1tpeLS06O3FCgNQm2HvLNfZHzYVKnnKIksWGsLUPys04IL4_1r0CoME956SXa6cETE7krFy6x6WCJLW/s320/swinging+bridge+deadwood.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Ahhhhh.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_vw6YiEfrk7dmIMGmGf_3qwERjGCyLudE2aNbm9agZw-4KIbKykE6jdMiqyIQ7LGShPDwQ0NbNmlnmy5_7VCvETozIBD1Wp1Te7O-Q3CQzkiE05NtZ_LGIROozSRqx20JWMk0bh6WgIv/s1600/deadwood+ck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_vw6YiEfrk7dmIMGmGf_3qwERjGCyLudE2aNbm9agZw-4KIbKykE6jdMiqyIQ7LGShPDwQ0NbNmlnmy5_7VCvETozIBD1Wp1Te7O-Q3CQzkiE05NtZ_LGIROozSRqx20JWMk0bh6WgIv/s320/deadwood+ck.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The view downstream</span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I didn't stop, though, but immediately started the steepest climb of the run, the 2-mile switchbacked climb out to Devil's Thumb. Here, I left Mike behind and found a slow, steady rhythm. The first two-thirds of the 40 minute ascent were in the shade and I enjoyed listening to the fading sound of the river and in gauging my progress upward by how far down I could look. I passed a few runners, and a few passed me, but mostly I had the trail to myself.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The last section climbed out of the valley and found an area of direct sunlight. It was hot, but very beautiful.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSS_ULvnAI5aqandqNA9z98CrexBSXtmqFunkvvvzWlhwC-3tMGkuXDzw68_O0MKEsppdbigcR9-TJuW8lnUUeGmBbdtIbDcKgrRc7Xk6FIPONstHpgSL5gyXHEu7Q4BiYRzeBLRC4kWY/s1600/devils+thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSS_ULvnAI5aqandqNA9z98CrexBSXtmqFunkvvvzWlhwC-3tMGkuXDzw68_O0MKEsppdbigcR9-TJuW8lnUUeGmBbdtIbDcKgrRc7Xk6FIPONstHpgSL5gyXHEu7Q4BiYRzeBLRC4kWY/s320/devils+thumb.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Up up up!</span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I finally reached the top, in a little grove of pine trees, I let out a whoop. I'd done one of the two big climbs and felt pretty good! I was jubilant as I ran into Devil's Thumb aid station shortly afterwards, now 20 or so miles into the day. They had watermelon! And ice! And one of the volunteers dipped into his personal stash of sunblock! Happiness, joy, and only 8 miles to Michigan Bluff.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Down to Eldorado Creek was much less steep, and a peaceful solitary run. I met a couple backpackers on their way up who shared their trail mix -- delicious after eating mostly gels! This time, when I reached the creek at the bottom, I stopped, took off my shoes, and put my feet in the ice-cold water for a few minutes. Wow! That felt really good.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjyH4aJ0BRADGgGNMI5rjP1zGm8HX3n8CshLpzKkVECgVrykoYICwXy59BI2II05ZxqKIjQJVJkAlPqCI_mH1NLDNUQMAV-FOT-4M6HjdlWzaSkhlzNUQ1Vj11zWFwzwTP3u4CN09L5qs/s1600/Photo+May+27%252C+4+28+39+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjyH4aJ0BRADGgGNMI5rjP1zGm8HX3n8CshLpzKkVECgVrykoYICwXy59BI2II05ZxqKIjQJVJkAlPqCI_mH1NLDNUQMAV-FOT-4M6HjdlWzaSkhlzNUQ1Vj11zWFwzwTP3u4CN09L5qs/s320/Photo+May+27%252C+4+28+39+PM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The view from the bridge. I joined them. Definitely the right call!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The climb up to Michigan Bluff was longer, but nowhere near as steep as up Devil's Thumb. I once again found my pace and went steadily up, eating and drinking as I had been all day.</span></span><div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Michigan Bluff aid station had the vibe of a block party, with as many visiting neighbors as volunteers. Every runner was greeted with a hearty "Welcome to Michigan Bluff!" I joked around with a few of the great volunteers there as I again filled my pack and hat with ice water and my mouth with watermelon and salty potatoes. Many of them had run Western States themselves a time or three, and most volunteered at the aid station year after year. What a great organization!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Need anything?" a helpful volunteer asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Ice in my pack, please.... that's enough, thanks!"<br />"More ice anywhere else?"<br />"Aw, I bet you say that to all the runners," I told him.<br />"Yeah, but it isn't working!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Maybe you should try a different pick-up line."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I couldn't stay any longer; it was time to go on. "Only 10k more!" they told me, and I headed off, now in the midafternoon sun. Down the road, up the road, and suddenly I was descending steeply on singletrack again. Another canyon? Sure enough, I was on the way down to Volcano Creek.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisq0LNTC_nAsTWHJdXTg20DB4hypZMqush2jK53WXu4kzHEA8AVH15J3n7sJEx9nmuKdefx4y0g4qnUkFSy03zPD78a8F1p_gi_ytTmmdzfXwqzh4ZjX0A-2yfXc-QagUGFvkFjRH8a5vz/s1600/Photo+May+27%252C+6+48+02+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisq0LNTC_nAsTWHJdXTg20DB4hypZMqush2jK53WXu4kzHEA8AVH15J3n7sJEx9nmuKdefx4y0g4qnUkFSy03zPD78a8F1p_gi_ytTmmdzfXwqzh4ZjX0A-2yfXc-QagUGFvkFjRH8a5vz/s320/Photo+May+27%252C+6+48+02+PM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No bridge here, just a few ropes to hang onto while fording the knee-deep water. "WOOOO I LOVE THIS SPORT!" I yelled as the cold water shocked my feet and legs. "We get to play in the water! And eat snacks! How awesome is this?!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Refreshed and energized, the steep climb back out of the canyon felt easy and do-able. Once I hit the road, I knew I was close to Foresthill... though the climb up Bath Road was longer than I expected. But at last, I was on the road, I was running... and then I was back where I'd started that morning, after nine and a half hours and 34 miles of running. Grinning, still, from ear to ear.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Interlude: The most joy</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I drove back to Auburn, walked a little creakily up to my motel room, and texted my coach:</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YZSdGwXL24HnFN4bIxySSIxtO8qADm6V2UEWOO9eaO6bXA_Zr73rQHJGxitbkviDKFNuO1xLCDQrxFO1WWo-XqachrOjolbPPlk8zmSFkN4xm2pa0vTIibWBuVmZyqS-kNmaJN4ETrbj/s1600/txt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="377" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YZSdGwXL24HnFN4bIxySSIxtO8qADm6V2UEWOO9eaO6bXA_Zr73rQHJGxitbkviDKFNuO1xLCDQrxFO1WWo-XqachrOjolbPPlk8zmSFkN4xm2pa0vTIibWBuVmZyqS-kNmaJN4ETrbj/s320/txt1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">(beer + no bottle opener = sad)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Then, the important question of the evening. Being David, he gave the right answer:</span> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0PwUnQOVtHTBN8qyIVuf2v6FblKYxLY1Tvv0eQz2_MCpP4e1Ard1GS4ZfqDKQLIhWEbM4SFlfwqJNt1L6OkHTdR7fU5voON7GBrP0MGEGfHr5CM7Qxk2Z05HSsJcRm2WSBbfs_TORTiy/s1600/txt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="415" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0PwUnQOVtHTBN8qyIVuf2v6FblKYxLY1Tvv0eQz2_MCpP4e1Ard1GS4ZfqDKQLIhWEbM4SFlfwqJNt1L6OkHTdR7fU5voON7GBrP0MGEGfHr5CM7Qxk2Z05HSsJcRm2WSBbfs_TORTiy/s320/txt2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wow, I thought. The most joy? Well, I'd had an amazing time running. I wasn't tired of running yet. I wanted to see the course, and heck, the next day was "only" 18 miles. If all felt good in the morning, I wanted to run.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<h4>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Day 2: Foresthill to Rucky Chucky</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I awoke feeling a little stiff but overall pretty good. Running sounded like a great idea, and today's itinerary promised to take us on the "Cal Street section" of the course, all the way down to the American River crossing, which seemed like it was going to be pretty great. I headed off to Foresthill again.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The crowd was smaller today, though still with a few hundred runners. After a pre-run briefing that covered bus logistics (today we'd run from Foresthill and buses would return us afterwards), Western States trivia questions, and a warning not to swim in the American River, which was very high right now, we started off down Foresthill Road.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We turned onto Cal Street and soon we were on double- and singletrack trail again, descending gently, then steeply, through shady wooded groves and across little lively streams. About a mile into the run, as different paces were still shaking out on the trail, a voice behind me said, "Excuse me," and a shirtless runner flew past me, moving with inhuman speed and grace down the steep slope. I -- and everyone else on the course -- had just enjoyed a Jim Walmsley fly-by.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'd been a bit concerned about the downhill running I would do today, after yesterday's descents into canyons, but even though the course ended 3000 feet below Foresthill, I felt my quads loosen up as I ran, and it all seemed okay. The morning air was cool, though the sunlight held a promise that things would heat up, and I enjoyed the wildflowers, the madrona trees, and even an impromptu lesson from another runner on how to identify poison oak. I ran a bit with Mike-from-Alabama again, and talked a bit with other runners, but also enjoyed long stretched of peaceful solitary running. Before I knew it, I was at the first aid station of the morning (Cal-2), and we were almost halfway through the day's running.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As the trail continued to descend, we came within earshot and then sight of the beautiful, green American River at last.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7FIvHReEC9RAK5qBqYd_bQiHYZd_2MfZ6cRLw5Npj86RNGdjfaGKGZU2CFCYYbl26c3Dv_j9E5rcZBFevTINRX0kmWrB6EYbGgNYLvWnvVg7fcqhl6cYEzYMCqOaikW27SZ3fJcdpnhS/s1600/american+river+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7FIvHReEC9RAK5qBqYd_bQiHYZd_2MfZ6cRLw5Npj86RNGdjfaGKGZU2CFCYYbl26c3Dv_j9E5rcZBFevTINRX0kmWrB6EYbGgNYLvWnvVg7fcqhl6cYEzYMCqOaikW27SZ3fJcdpnhS/s320/american+river+2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Views like this for most of the day!</span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Along this stretch, I meet up with Mona and Julie, who proved to be amazing company for the rest of the day.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKOeLz88a0O7b1c88-zhwnnFrXT5m2bcqAEYKyrM_H4RJHMGXsVFlANkSSUcJLBmsSdTaDXrjqEdt4WDS4Fr_tn9LlfLaw8O7gz1RV9lXW3avmw0gyweqVVhbOnK9m5NurqbOPb5T32Vm/s1600/julie+and+mona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKOeLz88a0O7b1c88-zhwnnFrXT5m2bcqAEYKyrM_H4RJHMGXsVFlANkSSUcJLBmsSdTaDXrjqEdt4WDS4Fr_tn9LlfLaw8O7gz1RV9lXW3avmw0gyweqVVhbOnK9m5NurqbOPb5T32Vm/s320/julie+and+mona.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mona (left) and Julie (right), photo credit Mona Gutierrez</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They were hilariously entertaining, accomplished runners and struck a great balance between moving efficiently down the trail and stopping to enjoy every shady scenic overlook and cold stream along the way. They shared my philosophy that it wasn't a race, so as long as we were ahead of the sweeps (and we were, by an hour), why not have fun along the way?<br />
<br />
At last the trail stopped descending. We'd reached the river! Trails that had been dusty and occasionally rocky now became sandy. The shade gave way to bright unbroken sunlight and the air was warm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkrpz2m0Avmh6LDFWi3nEFVaJ1oftBJtPGKR_S-JSCRq_nVj1UfBDC6i8f5hP2a1Jacr-ZkgbOCELbKmKwrUKvTMqNK7mU-yatyovX4yQeq9Ym_Cp114jBktew_zyiYwHUFcaTSvVo6M5/s1600/american+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkrpz2m0Avmh6LDFWi3nEFVaJ1oftBJtPGKR_S-JSCRq_nVj1UfBDC6i8f5hP2a1Jacr-ZkgbOCELbKmKwrUKvTMqNK7mU-yatyovX4yQeq9Ym_Cp114jBktew_zyiYwHUFcaTSvVo6M5/s320/american+river.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy riverbank trails</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When we got to a creek crossing not far from Rucky Chucky, Mona and I were at last ready to join Julie, who'd been plunging into streams all along the way. The water was everything I'd hoped for -- an ice cold shock to my legs and core.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhD2q-feF8SyWO8UpppXEeI4KlUa3gAQED41BLuR8Ytv7CsBLJjW8PgIUIMdVbJ7In8GRc3dLXv1PmGG1kuKlCIotZ-uZ3GEN3DmcIiVu5DYIqcfca3-q3NvlQbMMqtNIf8FscHwJ3weu/s1600/day+2+water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhD2q-feF8SyWO8UpppXEeI4KlUa3gAQED41BLuR8Ytv7CsBLJjW8PgIUIMdVbJ7In8GRc3dLXv1PmGG1kuKlCIotZ-uZ3GEN3DmcIiVu5DYIqcfca3-q3NvlQbMMqtNIf8FscHwJ3weu/s320/day+2+water.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So good! Photo credit: Julie Melendez</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We reached Rucky Chucky a little under five hours after starting. The Western States course crosses the river here; most years it's fordable but this year it'll be on rafts because the river is high. For the training run, after stopping at another well-stocked and friendly aid station (I heard Stephanie Howe was volunteering at it, but I didn't recognize her) and loading up on ice in my hat, bandana, and pack, we climbed the 2-mile, steep, dusty, exposed dirt road to the Driver's Flat staging area, where the shuttle buses would pick us up. In the meantime, the organizers had a pretty excellent finish-line oasis set up: a grill with burgers and hot dogs, massages from Monsters of Massage (AWESOME!), music, and a shady place to sit and tell stories. It was a great way to end another incredible day of running. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Day 3: Finish line out-and-back</span></span></h4>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What would bring me the most joy? I asked myself Sunday night. After 52 miles of running in two days, I still felt pretty good. Certainly my downhill muscles were stiff, but nothing felt injured. I'd been eating, sleeping, and recovering like it was my job. I was definitely up for some more running. On the other hand, the run on tap for the training weekend was Green Gate to the finish, 20+ miles, and I didn't feel like I needed <i>that </i>much running. I also wanted to run earlier in the day than the scheduled run (which didn't start till nearly 9:30), to avoid the worse of the heat. I decided I'd start at the finish line, and run out-and-back, probably for a total of 8-12 miles, depending on how things felt.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Western States finish is at the Placer High School track in Auburn. I arrived Monday morning just as the training run organizers were opening for business. I said hello to a few friends, did a little stretching, and headed out through town, looking for pink flags as I went.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a small amount of random-walking, I found my way to Robie Point and the trail, and went downhill towards No Hands Bridge. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2TOIectxDhJ4hMtmyABcAeRs1Q3AMDnDCQ_chpSgxyQPF812fGFrXXWGyAcLBPfjmHg4yTLbGNvN0x1Jie9ZWw5OyoMkVwzJnQk1vl7w_hXzAn5u5X9APSnOKtF1B23QVZEHY8C90WsxS/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+10+46+36+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2TOIectxDhJ4hMtmyABcAeRs1Q3AMDnDCQ_chpSgxyQPF812fGFrXXWGyAcLBPfjmHg4yTLbGNvN0x1Jie9ZWw5OyoMkVwzJnQk1vl7w_hXzAn5u5X9APSnOKtF1B23QVZEHY8C90WsxS/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+10+46+36+AM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">First view of the river!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I descended, I enjoyed the coolness of the morning and saying hello to passing runners. The trail passes a beautiful little waterfall... </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWOyUPR9BYQorWFISXAs9l9I-K_ooFgGwnttpRBCbawbseDo-LxtRHc9esShnXvce3Of2K-xMW6LqJeC2AGdSy0LnRS-M5Xi1i_stL3akqoVvO4T3OO_0S2ND3Di5kCS_Eaj7occtYHIQ/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+10+54+57+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWOyUPR9BYQorWFISXAs9l9I-K_ooFgGwnttpRBCbawbseDo-LxtRHc9esShnXvce3Of2K-xMW6LqJeC2AGdSy0LnRS-M5Xi1i_stL3akqoVvO4T3OO_0S2ND3Di5kCS_Eaj7occtYHIQ/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+10+54+57+AM.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Good place to cool off!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">... and soon comes to No Hands Bridge, with insane views off both sides. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIhBjGjngLfLMyRVZmixSqLFW_LBDDY91bQWE2B9lGzLJXn1bIGikWZGyk2fTS6T6mEeXNOHF1tcGn2jvYeNngmmKkaZh8oAdzT5Brn9WMH0KT8XFQ-emApcfS3hgFhb4uROHhudAOnpg/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+11+07+43+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIhBjGjngLfLMyRVZmixSqLFW_LBDDY91bQWE2B9lGzLJXn1bIGikWZGyk2fTS6T6mEeXNOHF1tcGn2jvYeNngmmKkaZh8oAdzT5Brn9WMH0KT8XFQ-emApcfS3hgFhb4uROHhudAOnpg/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+11+07+43+AM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Upstream; the line at the top is Foresthill Bridge</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was having lots of fun so I kept going, starting the climb up from No Hands Bridge toward Cool. It's a long, steady stretch of mostly doubletrack trail and there were plenty of runners and walker out enjoying the morning. I decided I'd turn around after an hour and a half -- I didn't have anything to prove and wanted to keep my mileage more sane today.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the 90 minute mark I still felt good, but going back seemed like a fine plan too. I turned and started descending back to the river. I took my first and only fall of the weekend along here, bloodying my shoulder, elbow, knees, and hands, to the horror of passing runners and hikers. But it seemed pretty minor and I washed up in a creek, then more thoroughly at the No Hands aid station. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekWsIKPOgpc1eRKiDy-1G2elJ7nYWglvcEoctSRSShnYxyLlHNhXeh0zpiBI4QMn8GXk_xUaJUmgWaxCzUc8yVw9U-VkTlJgdFmP_1DtLdq84IngUtfCXuiV42fRxXv-96XKBbmkfEiMe/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+11+55+18+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekWsIKPOgpc1eRKiDy-1G2elJ7nYWglvcEoctSRSShnYxyLlHNhXeh0zpiBI4QMn8GXk_xUaJUmgWaxCzUc8yVw9U-VkTlJgdFmP_1DtLdq84IngUtfCXuiV42fRxXv-96XKBbmkfEiMe/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+11+55+18+AM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My view on the way back</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The climb from the bridge back up to Robie Point was steep but I knew I was near the end, and the day was still cool. It was fun to come up the road and see the mile 99 sign: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKi00sl_K92mJTge0DGFKKKh3dkKtTGyyfjDs3nhqydpm1o9kkGLm_l19u1Kuf_kttpPaawwUjg19HN77OuygTjCYetPDv0Anps-sBz2RS9ZZeQeIhnNf2tbhYSGy6VSiIpn16leIIVX5/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+12+52+53+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKi00sl_K92mJTge0DGFKKKh3dkKtTGyyfjDs3nhqydpm1o9kkGLm_l19u1Kuf_kttpPaawwUjg19HN77OuygTjCYetPDv0Anps-sBz2RS9ZZeQeIhnNf2tbhYSGy6VSiIpn16leIIVX5/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+12+52+53+PM.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Yay!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">... and to see red footprints painted on the road, leading back to the stadium. I crested the hill and jogged gently down to the stadium as my Strava told me I'd gone 11 miles, a little sad to be done running, but overpoweringly happy to have had such an incredible weekend.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Final thoughts</span></h4>
<div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don't know whether I'll ever run Western States. Heck, I'm not sure I'll ever run at 100 miler. But I'm still riding the high from this weekend and I don't know when I'll come down from it. Being a "tourist" on the course was, for me, truly living the dream.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I fell on Monday, I told concerned runners not to worry, I now had the Western States 100 in my blood. I was joking, but I do feel like this weekend unlocked something new in me. The knowledge that I can exceed my own expectations and my own previous limits. The confidence that I can train for things that are hard and show up ready to take them on. The elation of living in a body that can become something new through patient, transformative work. And the embrace of an accepting, encouraging community.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wonder what else I can do?</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGDA5VqaXMD54MzB95xsxBTHZ1SxNkVlyGApQFUFUy8-4kYHel3z5RVIjt9mvYBDpajJHr5W0FtmO1WCHz9LX3CO6XieBlPHLlPVpJscXdKcowTCKaEybB5szQFh7uJq3rFGMoSui3is0/s1600/Photo+May+29%252C+11+08+17+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGDA5VqaXMD54MzB95xsxBTHZ1SxNkVlyGApQFUFUy8-4kYHel3z5RVIjt9mvYBDpajJHr5W0FtmO1WCHz9LX3CO6XieBlPHLlPVpJscXdKcowTCKaEybB5szQFh7uJq3rFGMoSui3is0/s320/Photo+May+29%252C+11+08+17+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for great things!</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-90914582952719815592017-05-01T15:30:00.004-07:002017-05-01T15:30:45.347-07:00The PRs We Choose: Chippewa Moraine 50K Race Report<h4>
Executive summary:</h4>
My first 50K of the year in 6:51, my third-fastest time. The weather was perfect and the trails were too. I ran an almost perfectly even split and felt good the whole way. I set a PR for cheering on other runners, volunteers, random hikers, and dogs. Smiled my face off, yelled WOOHOO, airplaned a downhill, told stories about parasitic worms to everyone in earshot, and had a ridiculous amount of fun the whole way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New training goal: Spend more time feeling like <i><b>this</b></i>.<br />
(photo: Mike Wheeler)</td></tr>
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<h4>
How I got there</h4>
This was my first 50K race in almost a year; my last one was <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/05/a-warm-one-spring-superior-50k-2016.html">Spring Superior</a>. In the intervening 11 months, I'd started training by heart rate (in August), which seems to have kicked my lingering left peroneal/knee problem (along with diligent foam rolling and taping), and made my "slow easy" pace considerably faster.<br />
<br />
With guidance from running/life <a href="http://someworkallplay.blogspot.com/">coach David</a>, I was steadily able to add more mileage, and more miles beget more miles, until my mileage in the first 4 months of 2017 (689) was almost double that of 2016 (389). I'd covered marathon-plus distances in three events (<a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/07/34-miles-in-time-for-dinner-fans-2016.html">pacing at FANS</a>, <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/10/cloud-forests-whale-song-and-bonus.html">Grand Traverse</a>, and 36 miles at Icebox 480), set official and unofficial PRs at the 10K and an unofficial PR on the Afton loop, and done more, and harder, and for longer, than I'd been capable of a year ago.<br />
<br />
I still didn't really know what to expect on race day. My longest training run this cycle had been 19 leisurely miles at Afton, at the post-Zumbro Pie Run, but on the other hand, I had more miles on my legs than ever before, and I felt ready to race.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday of race week, in an email detailing nutrition and hydration minutiae, David ended up with these words:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thank every single volunteer and encourage every other runner. Positivity is a performance enhancer. I want people to come up to you after and thank you for being so great on the course. This is one of the main SWAP rules... </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Fuel well, run the downhills with purpose, and smile your fucking cheeks off. You guys are amazing!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"</span></blockquote>
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I tend to run pretty happy anyway, but I took it as a challenge. No matter how the running went, I was going to do my best to PR in positivity in this race.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sunshine and breeze</h4>
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I got up stupid early on race day, had an omelet (2 eggs, Brussels sprouts, don't kick, it works for me) and coffee. Since race start would be 3 hours after breakfast, I packed an almond-butter apple and a hard-boiled egg and ate them on the drive, with a second cup of coffee. This worked out well. I headed two hours down the road to New Auburn, WI, enjoying an incredible sunrise. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBS8NNYZcrQEuAlS79r20ZKqIXwwEJueHotaXWhU7opWfMh-hyGSLtvug4sjZ_v-4LPCFTVoyOy-B7gbAELhe3ObemGMe6gkRc-Ncre6EiJy6AK6T83yExsDZcHaT-g1sxCAZjivgwYFdI/s1600/IMG_0327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBS8NNYZcrQEuAlS79r20ZKqIXwwEJueHotaXWhU7opWfMh-hyGSLtvug4sjZ_v-4LPCFTVoyOy-B7gbAELhe3ObemGMe6gkRc-Ncre6EiJy6AK6T83yExsDZcHaT-g1sxCAZjivgwYFdI/s320/IMG_0327.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worth the crazy wake-up call!</td></tr>
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The Chippewa course is an out-and-back on the Ice Age Trail, and starts at an interpretive center set up on a hill. The morning was brisk, so it was nice to have some indoor space at the pickup.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kari was running, Erik was cheering</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIsy8YhAbPWxlkGxZcpuZ5oMsXcntL-IKjEe-9_Ubc0yYKWzU5fmU3KeBBxcbFrODU0Wc6LUzDYjE6MusmoC4S_drWffs3f0xjxNZ31Xf6W-XnkC4kddnXR_NOdEU6shvjSIJ0SzByoZG/s320/IMG_2477.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephanie and Travis were there in the infamous pink van!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIsy8YhAbPWxlkGxZcpuZ5oMsXcntL-IKjEe-9_Ubc0yYKWzU5fmU3KeBBxcbFrODU0Wc6LUzDYjE6MusmoC4S_drWffs3f0xjxNZ31Xf6W-XnkC4kddnXR_NOdEU6shvjSIJ0SzByoZG/s1600/IMG_2477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got to run with Jenny!</td></tr>
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There was plenty of time to pick up my shirt and bib, wander around seeing friends, and conclude that I'd be OK without my buff and gloves, which I had forgotten.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4kWUMRQ8gsFkvYD4Kx2tyQvbk_maEqKMRIbI4LcFe0RZerFtR4R1V1tM_wmI6B5Zg4m9Jm1nPC5qxTCs6cV2uwkLPyUHZPN4CaKA3xFkqFcc44J24CVu8DLUe6amiq1P_QrW_9-BQeuq/s1600/IMG_2478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br />
With 10 minutes to go, we started to line up...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkQlNDldkeyj4fW6qKpiBNVq-WOQ3cW35n-gzbSMmsEwziTfeIkFSZr8UNcOLGOA9UvcfgG7LMjGTbDS7FnafAFjzdld31BBcnQkDMT9QzGF8sUDrtwLKrh3mmZBUn0RizB_ouA3kdwCK/s1600/IMG_2479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkQlNDldkeyj4fW6qKpiBNVq-WOQ3cW35n-gzbSMmsEwziTfeIkFSZr8UNcOLGOA9UvcfgG7LMjGTbDS7FnafAFjzdld31BBcnQkDMT9QzGF8sUDrtwLKrh3mmZBUn0RizB_ouA3kdwCK/s320/IMG_2479.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not very organized, yet</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave and Janet</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2P5gqYep6QeQ7biWqR3EncsLYSfETDCivSrZZ77d5POXS193-uC4COYa7zXRgQv9ZA24VPgF_RPlZQHSzjQEokwiqvorfT4zbjaBkC-H-BX91VgY4lMlg42B0lmEU1yJFWkcB9eiK2xX/s1600/IMG_2481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting-line picture with Janet!</td></tr>
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The sun was shining and the temperature was in the low 40's by the time race director Jeff gave a few instructions (follow the pink flags, thank the volunteers), and we were off, down the big hill.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ppzMxfvywv-ja_UMNqtlPhU6rMRhmVRyLrLy3sWDMabkS99eXNOOfx8rz4bAsAZnrVCoDwmaoyAP09Lt4Kpdr10CGhQiMFyDAiO3M8FqVM7gHPCsEEwwBHhBwKV_ilXH4-ZN9AB9oJBq/s1600/IMG_2482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<h4>
Start to turnaround: Finding my place</h4>
It felt great to be running with almost 200 friends, down the hill and across the grass for a mile before we got to the woods. Unsure of the course or my fitness, I'd decided to aim for 3:30 to the turnaroud, a negative split, and a sub-7 hour finish, if possible. My goal for the first section was to stay comfortable.<br />
<br />
The course reminded me a lot of Lebanon Hills -- small but continuous hills pushed up by the advancing glacier, which left behind little wooded lakes as it retreated. We climbed and descended gentle hills on leafy trails with an occasional rock or root to keep your attention.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Airplane at mile 2!<br />
(photo: Chase Nowak)</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXj5woqUZ6Z3JiSntrSCqR-X-Ed9NkgJrDQWLb9laxJv0c7oYllm_FwJRGk2TtVCVxOfggkTnCT4fJRJY2OF3uo-fbVrsYAjsY_2xzC-BIEeF-nqR94zkCYpuBukULuFGVr3lUGrTATNId/s1600/Chase+Nowak+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXj5woqUZ6Z3JiSntrSCqR-X-Ed9NkgJrDQWLb9laxJv0c7oYllm_FwJRGk2TtVCVxOfggkTnCT4fJRJY2OF3uo-fbVrsYAjsY_2xzC-BIEeF-nqR94zkCYpuBukULuFGVr3lUGrTATNId/s320/Chase+Nowak+2.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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I wanted to run comfortable at least to the turnaround, so periodically I'd back off my speed and let the people ahead of me go. In this way, Jenny Marietta and her friend Taylor eventually caught up to me and we stuck together for the rest of the way outbound. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Several little plank bridge crossings like<br />
this one -- a little scary and lots of fun!</td></tr>
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The trail wound past lakes, beaver dams, and Jenny stopped me to point out a wetlands with three tall trees containing big messy nests. Bald eagles? Maybe so.<br />
<br />
We passed backpackers who graciously stepped aside for us. "WOOHOO backpackers! Thank you!"<br />
<br />
We passed a hiker with a dog that patiently sat. "That's a good dog!" ("Sometimes," the hiker smiled.)<br />
<br />
We reached the mile 9.5 aid station just after the 2 hour mark. I'd breezed through the mile 3.5 aid station stopping only to pound blue Gatorade and effusively thank the volunteers, but now it was time for a water refill and to grab some snacks. Bob Marsh, Janet and Mike Hausken, and the other awesome volunteers helped me out, then kicked me out as I kept thinking of things I'd forgotten, like throwing out my trash.<br />
<br />
Jenny, Taylor and I continued up the trail to the turnaround, talking about her "surprise" going-away/birthday party, our kids and their doings, friends and trails we knew. The temperature climbed into the low 50's and I pulled off my arm sleeves. A steady breeze kept things cool and ruffle the water on the lakes. Everything felt easy and fun.<br />
<br />
We joked about "fake running." This was something I'd invented at Icebox last November. I'd dragged Jenny and Jon Matthiae out on a fifth loop (miles 28-35) by promising, "We're not running. We're fake running!" By running verrrrry slow and easy (fake running!), we'd gotten it done in good style. Plus, it cracked us up to say "fake running." Still does!<br />
<br />
Runners ahead of us began coming back, first one by one and, as we neared the turnaround, more and more. We yelled and cheered for everyone, told the first five women their rank and splits, stopped to hug a few. I regretted not bringing along a cowbell. As always, out-and-backs are the best for seeing everyone in the race. Not far from the turnaround, we passed Kevin Chem. "I'm too old for this shit," he told me, grinning anyway.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Turnaround to finish: Taking care of business</h4>
My goal was to hit the turnaround at 3:30, and we ran in right around 3:20, still feeling great. I was really happy, and excited about turning around and running back home.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome AS volunteer went beyond the call of<br />
duty by taking a picture of me. Thank you!</td></tr>
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After a five minute stop to move nutrition into the front of my pack (Larabars, Clif organic food, Shot Bloks, and a few Gu and Roctanes), I took off again, this time with Taylor and Ross Jilk. Jenny stayed behind to run in with her cousin, doing his first 50K.<br />
<br />
The three of us set a comfortable pace and had a merry time of it for the better part of an hour, picking up a few more runners in our train. I told stories about parasitic worms (don't know why it was on my mind, but fun to talk about). Ross told us about his work in plant biochemistry, and Taylor told us about textile design. It was fun and relaxing. We hiked the hills, ran the flats, and moved along.<br />
<br />
A bit before the mile 9.5/21.5 aid station, Ross began to drop back a bit. "Too much biking, not enough running," he explained. Taylor and I pulled ahead and ran into the next aid station together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwbbWMVpuH8I3te974sLdUV9IU0aUkCsdyGNR6V-PxZcI-oCYRZes9Rjw68nXAInZZuE2p8_dja41tFbfowxncTty_cllrjCd5-5yX8gXXPNmKSHLQdcZY8pPHAK1mg7EiUGvhQToaUGM/s1600/IMG_2487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwbbWMVpuH8I3te974sLdUV9IU0aUkCsdyGNR6V-PxZcI-oCYRZes9Rjw68nXAInZZuE2p8_dja41tFbfowxncTty_cllrjCd5-5yX8gXXPNmKSHLQdcZY8pPHAK1mg7EiUGvhQToaUGM/s320/IMG_2487.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish line selfie with Taylor!</td></tr>
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She'd spotted a tick on my calf a mile or two out, so I was of course imagining I had them everywhere. When we got to the aid station, I asked Bob to check my legs for more ticks. Thankfully, he found none. Thank you, Bob! We grabbed a few snacks and went on.<br />
<br />
The next section had a bit of breezy cool road, then a run through an open, meadow-like area. The sun was overhead and I was glad I'd brought my sunglasses. The humidity was low and the breeze felt energizing. We both still felt good and moved well.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhothB-P_jxNAsoavgKiHzvTmcvIjWumzXHxEVy9afb-MYOm_3u6AVIWElke30to9C7SJCgqoEEAK49cYAaAAho-9jC7bI0J9GnOK8BBd6EDAwfFF9PLGwafTAkua3R_L2TCL1E8f7FvMgJ/s1600/IMG_2486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhothB-P_jxNAsoavgKiHzvTmcvIjWumzXHxEVy9afb-MYOm_3u6AVIWElke30to9C7SJCgqoEEAK49cYAaAAho-9jC7bI0J9GnOK8BBd6EDAwfFF9PLGwafTAkua3R_L2TCL1E8f7FvMgJ/s320/IMG_2486.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back across another plank bridge!</td></tr>
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As the trail to the final aid station wound on, conversation faltered. We were still moving well, but for me, it helped to focus on keeping that forward movement going. We passed lots of people on our return trip, probably 15 or more. All were still looking strong, and afterwards, a few told us they'd picked up their pace as we passed. It was good to feel progress on the long trail.<br />
<br />
We went down another decline, and started walking up another hill. "We're taking care of business," I said. Taylor agreed. "We're doing pretty well!"<br />
<br />
The first/last 5 miles had mile marker signs, and I whooped when I spotted the first of them. "Only five more miles?" exclaimed Taylor. "Yes!" I exclaimed. I guessed we had only a little more than an hour to go.<br />
<br />
Just before the final aid station, we passed Kevin Chem, who was power-hiking but looked strong, then Kari Gibbons, who was working out a cramp. They both caught up to us at the aid station as we attacked the delicious orange slices (me) and pickles (Taylor), and finished close behind us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDB1A27zYlUcb2Y1bJcKdhlfLrDMASqT0_F0O4NVq7mocuqSn5GyjukCyJWDAKgZqQ2_4DX3mujO17SdY7qS4SxmcNKXOB3R-sqWQRoDiLJ9GAZZUTdjzTKHCvPsCUv5LtZz2bDpjg1FK/s1600/IMG_2488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDB1A27zYlUcb2Y1bJcKdhlfLrDMASqT0_F0O4NVq7mocuqSn5GyjukCyJWDAKgZqQ2_4DX3mujO17SdY7qS4SxmcNKXOB3R-sqWQRoDiLJ9GAZZUTdjzTKHCvPsCUv5LtZz2bDpjg1FK/s320/IMG_2488.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This may be the last time it ever happens</td></tr>
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Out of the final aid station and through terrain neither of us remembered well. "I remember this hill, but I didn't think it was this long," I said, more than once. But we were still running! The mile markers slowly counted down. 3.... 2... then we were on the grass and could see the visitors' center up on the hill... 1...<br />
<br />
We ran, and ran, and I kept waiting for the final big climb. (I wanted to have an excuse to stop running and walk! I'd been running a long time!) Taylor pulled ahead a bit as I started walking too early. Finally, after a false climb and little descent, it was unmistakeably there.<br />
<br />
Power hike up the big grassy hill, past the "NO WALK HILL" and "EMPTY THE TANK" signs, and at the top, the flag-lined 100 yard run to the finish. The clock ticked to 6:51 and change as I crossed the mat, grinning and cheering like a little kid.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7q1sLsZ58NTy-v84sWroW8j5I7WFC1FLzH5qC2fYQEzjUV2PsRi8YV5kYWkzJklGGyltfPOJYNOWm1hlMkh-rdhrhvAbEiD2zp88WmOkgXJ4uXvwJ1eMyV4ZRbhviDcrZApdVdlixCxPy/s1600/Mike+Wheeler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7q1sLsZ58NTy-v84sWroW8j5I7WFC1FLzH5qC2fYQEzjUV2PsRi8YV5kYWkzJklGGyltfPOJYNOWm1hlMkh-rdhrhvAbEiD2zp88WmOkgXJ4uXvwJ1eMyV4ZRbhviDcrZApdVdlixCxPy/s320/Mike+Wheeler.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">... and we're back where we started!</td></tr>
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<h4>
The PRs We Choose</h4>
I set out to set a PR for positivity and joy in running on Saturday. And really, it was a pretty easy PR to set. After all, the weather was perfect, the trails were beautiful, and I felt pretty good the whole way, enjoying the company of new and old friends. But the act of consciously choosing to be joyful and to embrace the run with all it brought changed how I experienced it, and made it greater than it would have been without that "race plan."<br />
<br />
I reached my sub-7 hour goal, my "beat the women's median time" goal, and got decently close to my "beat the overall median time" goal. I set a benchmark for my fitness this season. And I figured out something about setting process oriented goals and making this run and every run worth celebrating.<br />
<br />
A little while after I got in, Janet finished her fourth Chippewa 50K. She checked her phone messages, hoping to see her son's prom photos. Instead, it was full of photos of her brand-new, first grandson, born that morning right as we started the race. Her face lit up with joy as we gasped and yelled and hugged.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ri3kbWrOMx2FLAqQy8SIk3edq1S6k_FheUbE7e1VTRDW4hWgiQZbeYbBBQXKZcG6KNgHRFHOkVIOJO9m2q4EKL_ATn2qxxbwiD3at7qFjnd6IPpXtlcwNviMMjETf1IZzm0Q8Gr1yrIv/s1600/janet+-+dave+shannon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ri3kbWrOMx2FLAqQy8SIk3edq1S6k_FheUbE7e1VTRDW4hWgiQZbeYbBBQXKZcG6KNgHRFHOkVIOJO9m2q4EKL_ATn2qxxbwiD3at7qFjnd6IPpXtlcwNviMMjETf1IZzm0Q8Gr1yrIv/s320/janet+-+dave+shannon.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NEWLY MINTED GRANDMA!<br />
(photo: David Shannon)</td></tr>
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A fast race is nice. But some race day events stay with us forever!Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-62041138396273206782017-04-28T13:37:00.000-07:002017-04-28T13:47:31.362-07:00Unstuck in Time: 2017 Zumbro Volunteer Report<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Back to Zumbro</h4>
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For the fifth year in a row, I spent an April weekend at the <a href="http://www.zumbroendurancerun.com/">Zumbro 17/50/100 Mile Endurance Run</a>. It's the site of a lot of "firsts" for me. It was my very first "big" trail race, back in 2013 (when I <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/running-with-broken-elbow-or-its-just.html">broke my elbow</a> at mile 2), my first <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/04/race-report-zumbro-midnight-50-miler.html">50 mile attempt</a> (and DNF) in 2014, my first encounter with a 100 mile race. It's been a place of struggle, and beauty, and wonder, and accomplishment. It's also an annual trail family reunion, the first time in 6 months that many of us come together to celebrate a winter of training or recovery, and the year to come.</div>
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This year, instead of running Zumbro and Spring Superior, I'm planning <a href="http://www.frontrunnerusa.com/event/chippewa-50k-and-10k-trail-run">Chippewa 50k </a>at the end of April and <a href="http://www.wser.org/training-runs/">Western States Training Weekend</a> at the end of May, so I didn't sign up for any of the Zumbro races. I decided instead to volunteer Friday and Saturday, and run the race loop myself on Friday, during the day, when things weren't too busy at the aid station.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Un-Zumbro-Like</h4>
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After an abnormally warm February and dry March, the weather forecast for race weekend was... warm? sunny? I packed rain gear, merino wool, gloves, and spare shoes anyway, because, well, Zumbro is defined by its wildly unpredictable weather and trail conditions. But in deference to the forecast, I also included a sun hat, sunblock, and sandals. Unlike every other year I've been there, there turned out to be no rain, no snow, and mostly clear blue skies.</div>
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I drove down to the start/finish early Friday morning and arrived an hour ahead of the 100 mile start.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQys-eHJ34J1xYDbi99TCsPU2h9vjbpyDFekGnXsLOJabTSF3RYYKkMOQqkVA3MKtGib9K4e6LV10LzKVGDdS-ImKXie7xk4p2S3UJLFuguSAVTqmD-_p47fjiE2K3REKxhWu_VIWXwst/s1600/Zumbro+2017+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQys-eHJ34J1xYDbi99TCsPU2h9vjbpyDFekGnXsLOJabTSF3RYYKkMOQqkVA3MKtGib9K4e6LV10LzKVGDdS-ImKXie7xk4p2S3UJLFuguSAVTqmD-_p47fjiE2K3REKxhWu_VIWXwst/s320/Zumbro+2017+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have never seen Rob K without this smile. I'm not sure I'd recognize him!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob came down early and ran the 17 the next day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alicia and Cheri, radiant and caffeinated</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The merch table was jamming!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To our everlasting disappointment, Rob<br />
took off the hat before the race started.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqO1gpj-tCmV00kDxv7EqXijRmaeV2ryLChpmQPR3ZLwy9RviQ-zg454PqsDNBIrvCdvFjaoivTzULpsR7gBiB2SWU77cJ5SoxHeNImuLvNMdrQU7_4UNki-I-oUCXs3-Ds2EXmgfBbud/s1600/Zumbro+2017+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9 of our 11 Gnarly Bandit contenders!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob, wondering why everyone else is so overdressed</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Susan and Erik, two returning Gnarly Bandits</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radek's first 100 mile start!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIS7UeZg9n5RrzdJi6uTasTqbAamuOqsmhoYtjsXmH1e1K3nQyjpzRM3_THU1IWqMkthjQmhFczlaJrE9ZIsIuxKqD0PVZar1yxHfSzCY2wCWj4JmWHzQ7BoJSQTzIcG1zJ2fDrzJNVwHy/s1600/Zumbro+2017+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIS7UeZg9n5RrzdJi6uTasTqbAamuOqsmhoYtjsXmH1e1K3nQyjpzRM3_THU1IWqMkthjQmhFczlaJrE9ZIsIuxKqD0PVZar1yxHfSzCY2wCWj4JmWHzQ7BoJSQTzIcG1zJ2fDrzJNVwHy/s320/Zumbro+2017+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin and Wendi, spreading joy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As the sun streamed down in a cloudless sky, John gave some words of guidance from his traditional stepladder, made a few jokes so terrible I won't repeat them here, counted down from five, and the race started. It was a perfect day to run. With runners on their way, I headed out to AS 2/3.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Friday volunteering and running</h4>
<div>
At AS 2/3, Matt Patten was in charge and the setup was well underway. It was my fourth year volunteering here, and though the cast of characters shifts a bit from year to year, the drill is much the same: mix the HEED, put out the gels, organize the drop bags, figure out what one item didn't make it into the (exceedingly well-organized) bins this year. (It was the salt.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One big difference from last year and other prior years? No mad rush to light the bonfire or set up the camp stoves for hot food. We'd do all that a bit later, but meanwhile, it was already beginning to warm up in the sunshine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With the trails unusually dry and lacking in mud, ice, and snow, we expected the first runners through in near-record time, and they didn't disappoint. The 100 mile had 74 starters this year, and after the front-runners came by with barely a pause for more water, or just a wave hello, a steady stream of mid-pack runners came through in ones, twos, and threes. We rang cowbells as they appeared around the bend and came in through a sand coulee, and again as they departed, bound for Picnic Rock. It was fun to see so many familiar faces among the runners, from Doug Kleemeier, who led from wire to wire, to Kevin Langton, who had been injured and was happy to even be on the course, to Allan Holtz, the oldest 100 mile starter and determined to get some great mileage.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By the time the front of the pack wound back around to the AS 3 side of our tent, we had music playing, a fire was burning, and the first wave of snacks was out and ready. I renewed my acquaintance with Brian the HAM radio operator, who's been at AS 2/3 every year for a long time. Matt handed out bags of Peet's coffee as a thank-you gift to the volunteers. We broke open the box of race T-shirts, this year an alarming shade of pink.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once the last of the 100 milers came through AS 3, I changed into my running shoes and headed out for a loop of the course.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was sunny, breezy, dry, and in the low 50's. The trails were dry and firm. It was a perfect day for a long run.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_p8l5wnIaR1YwZYhxOWq8B4IysVXPhMMjSo1Al4cSUmNaDOL5TCs3NwDIjKpVk3fNUkSEoeXq24iyYBSwQXaE-j9hZBeOICQBey3r9fJvKqg-eDW2FHEVxMHxTm-KQqP6MqMkFJ0nFq5d/s1600/Zumbro+2017+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_p8l5wnIaR1YwZYhxOWq8B4IysVXPhMMjSo1Al4cSUmNaDOL5TCs3NwDIjKpVk3fNUkSEoeXq24iyYBSwQXaE-j9hZBeOICQBey3r9fJvKqg-eDW2FHEVxMHxTm-KQqP6MqMkFJ0nFq5d/s320/Zumbro+2017+020.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sandy parts were... very... sandy, however.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I plowed through the deep sand coulees, waved at my AS 2/3 compadres, and headed up the ridge.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZuRwgvgnKXlupCu1FFtdjRlUN8O3V0c_nZRpBXQ4WZD862Q9eYaMco7ZHuNqL9wOFD8BBXF00k6c_V63WIwyPnnXZhpp3Q38blvxn-J2qAdXe5gphGR_YJew_JRtnfGBNJhJh-xsqYOV/s1600/Zumbro+2017+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZuRwgvgnKXlupCu1FFtdjRlUN8O3V0c_nZRpBXQ4WZD862Q9eYaMco7ZHuNqL9wOFD8BBXF00k6c_V63WIwyPnnXZhpp3Q38blvxn-J2qAdXe5gphGR_YJew_JRtnfGBNJhJh-xsqYOV/s320/Zumbro+2017+021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it crazy that this climb and this ridge <br />
are my very favorite parts of the course? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXS5D2_O1hv-RxmccKqMf4Afr06HGccLlWydaQSrHgHNCTIrlY8wtUFqn7Qx8POcWI-eTI76w7W5Uts-p7KpR7x5Q77so9htGFyQlbw8l-pcyd1FMFIMhUdf-EqfW3W4pC1b4G1jGduSd/s320/Zumbro+2017+023.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never get tired of the view from the top!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXS5D2_O1hv-RxmccKqMf4Afr06HGccLlWydaQSrHgHNCTIrlY8wtUFqn7Qx8POcWI-eTI76w7W5Uts-p7KpR7x5Q77so9htGFyQlbw8l-pcyd1FMFIMhUdf-EqfW3W4pC1b4G1jGduSd/s1600/Zumbro+2017+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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It was a smooth run along the ridge, and before I knew it, I was at the rocky, steep Ant Hill descent.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IxTtRW7QYWUF6zDpr1XoFQ9X2SZPI5VGjSkR1DvSPvogILeDGH2ygKowxpjTbN7iEjv22OfjOxYsHvbo99dUtcQiMuk9nMkS7hLIs46IE4UTyRDXF_79XY6z0RumrHf43GcF9rJlzL0s/s1600/Zumbro+2017+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IxTtRW7QYWUF6zDpr1XoFQ9X2SZPI5VGjSkR1DvSPvogILeDGH2ygKowxpjTbN7iEjv22OfjOxYsHvbo99dUtcQiMuk9nMkS7hLIs46IE4UTyRDXF_79XY6z0RumrHf43GcF9rJlzL0s/s320/Zumbro+2017+024.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you hit this only 5 miles into your run, you can actually run it! Fun!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd been running alone for an hour now. (I only saw two runners the whole time I was out.) As I came down Ant Hill, my mind began to wander back to other times I'd been on this course. Last year, at the bottom of Ant Hill, Mike Madden and Dave Shannon were out hiking and seeing Mike there filled me with joy. Two years ago, Jordan and I had made two slow descents down the rocky slope -- but on the second one, we were celebrating, because all the major climbs were over. Three years ago, a sudden thunderstorm turned it into a river course, and I was as cold and wet as I've ever been.<br />
<br />
Remembering these years past, I began to feel a little unstuck in time. My present self and my past selves were all running together, existing now, existing then. I thought about what my future self might be thinking, next year, coming down Ant Hill.<br />
<br />
I reached the gravel road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfMyyHbfrO2e631cqahGBfc1SjrPb3p5e9FSbzsU-SaIAC9rmJldPqciAcl4iYyDCuA04SCvv4xMlMl5ksHg4Cidprl_VJRuP9kBT5nwS_jbFLtTHnMOYxdwujibV3GPwP-baGvgcjl-s/s1600/Zumbro+2017+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfMyyHbfrO2e631cqahGBfc1SjrPb3p5e9FSbzsU-SaIAC9rmJldPqciAcl4iYyDCuA04SCvv4xMlMl5ksHg4Cidprl_VJRuP9kBT5nwS_jbFLtTHnMOYxdwujibV3GPwP-baGvgcjl-s/s320/Zumbro+2017+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It went on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij4ww2dPXo0zupDvfu67M559uv15P0hBCfUmZGqcHcvraUKw034595DZQQF2ZM2gHR9R0Hs3AZrLXXjsJt4TQB96r5EGzRkACPLfQU_T9G0VskWRz3NTe9Otw4tqkMxShMWHH0UGaEKzJZ/s320/Zumbro+2017+026.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaJXMD5R8fcm6tgqawECAXwBVxlW7U-KZcujUKmtivP7geG3OgpIf_sJeT3Vke-apPzI5Ros6_yTpRa65CINpT1n325XRO4FGSS3rbodVHf4jOsNG1ZYsJacSia1QjBEpbnyJaA2-Gcbt/s320/Zumbro+2017+027.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaJXMD5R8fcm6tgqawECAXwBVxlW7U-KZcujUKmtivP7geG3OgpIf_sJeT3Vke-apPzI5Ros6_yTpRa65CINpT1n325XRO4FGSS3rbodVHf4jOsNG1ZYsJacSia1QjBEpbnyJaA2-Gcbt/s1600/Zumbro+2017+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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... but again, not so bad on a perfect spring day early in a run. It seemed like no time before I reached AS 1/4. I spent a little too long there shooting the breeze with Bill Pomerenke and getting my forgotten run nutrition out of my parked car, then headed off to the start/finish.<br />
<br />
Turns out, when you take the trail to the start/finish at the midpoint of your 17 mile run, it's much easier than when it's at the end of the loop! I ran easily and steadily, listening to birds and breeze, and spotting early green growth on the forest floor.<br />
<br />
Near the turnout to the field, Doug Kleemeier caught up to me at the end of his second loop. Every single time I saw him at Zumbro, he looked happy. He was having an incredible race. I waved him on, and made sure I ran wide of the flags as I came into the start/finish area behind him.<br />
<br />
The start/finish had the laid-back vibe of the other aid stations: the race was underway, the music was playing, and people were around, but with the runners spread out, there was plenty of time to talk, laugh, and catch up on the winter's doing. I talked for a while with Lisa and a few others, then looked at my watch and said, "Gotta go!"<br />
<br />
Up the hill, take in a view of the camp below, and into the "Hobbit woods."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhze5xjx7SKKjHk2zZ0mthc2PTtlG_e_4-R0Gp9VPiYPQLwNYzk5h217_WUS8t7kciBNlTNSpFmqT62_1L9MM5WwGgDdXu476nVaz6TC3st8ssKWTj1mDg58uouBqJgr51ZL6zIQ8d99NQ/s1600/Zumbro+2017+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhze5xjx7SKKjHk2zZ0mthc2PTtlG_e_4-R0Gp9VPiYPQLwNYzk5h217_WUS8t7kciBNlTNSpFmqT62_1L9MM5WwGgDdXu476nVaz6TC3st8ssKWTj1mDg58uouBqJgr51ZL6zIQ8d99NQ/s320/Zumbro+2017+029.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhhhh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was my fifth year doing the Zumbro loop, and parts of it are sharp in my memory. Start to AS 1/4 was known territory, and after the initial climb, a fun runnable jaunt. Back through AS 1/4, and I began the longest, final section of my circuit.<br />
<br />
It's taken me a long time to learn the rhythm of this section. There are lots of minor features, but no big defining ones. There's a long wooded ATV track, a gentle descent to the river, a U-bend around a field, some crazy steep climbing and a washed-out final descent through the woods back to AS 2/3. Running the decline to the river, I passed Don Clark and Lorien, maker of owl hats. They were walking the loop, and when I paused, they showed me the earliest spring flowers, and little white snails, and tomato-red fungus growing on the bank.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirX9RmsQhwdlWxDnv6YaeI-aZjRSHvzesF9-57loGb-qz6mPUJeNMz7CV33NSPb8tkB8DzD5IlrpkFNAb0h6ECKQubLWK7K1-Pni0UIF9MdxDbj7qvV9mm5kTZPAI5_aP3RKCG1Ekw7ax/s1600/Zumbro+2017+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirX9RmsQhwdlWxDnv6YaeI-aZjRSHvzesF9-57loGb-qz6mPUJeNMz7CV33NSPb8tkB8DzD5IlrpkFNAb0h6ECKQubLWK7K1-Pni0UIF9MdxDbj7qvV9mm5kTZPAI5_aP3RKCG1Ekw7ax/s320/Zumbro+2017+030.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring ephemeral</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Again, I had the sensation of being unstuck in time. I'd seen this section in misty sunrise, and the dark of night, and in brilliant sunshine. I'd run it joyfully, walked it painfully, and all my past selves ran alongside me, encouraging me to finish the loop strongly.<br />
<br />
As I finally got back to AS 2/3, 4.5 hours after leaving, it took a few minutes to bring myself back to the here and now. But I felt refreshed, renewed, and ready to take on the care and feeding of 100 milers once again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9p06OzDpnkbcezwHK9t_Xpg7R_jUT2eCGeQ4DJ1pFHwer8GKELniLvnnWhLBoQHiPBw3YtKrw-uGYf8Xoco-fe2NjNlc42mKvwxKMsiKWTgTlCrEtvClpuhfg9zPmwZnx9I86uMgBKVC/s1600/Zumbro+2017+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9p06OzDpnkbcezwHK9t_Xpg7R_jUT2eCGeQ4DJ1pFHwer8GKELniLvnnWhLBoQHiPBw3YtKrw-uGYf8Xoco-fe2NjNlc42mKvwxKMsiKWTgTlCrEtvClpuhfg9zPmwZnx9I86uMgBKVC/s320/Zumbro+2017+031.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a good thing I was fully right in my mind<br />
the T. rex walked into camp. He'd come all the<br />
way from AS 1/4 in that getup!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Most runners still looked strong coming through loop 3.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcCux07Tzf0D_LPzR6fFuchFqwTdQy5ZKqQ_YNjEVHvHhJLU7FQ9VWP0SEVK53dIWcvxuvOlAlHuzctkK6Cc_akdkO50f8noI81rnYpeKoSx7s7LnoUerNKA5sk-Z4AV7nOcSXdOhQHq0/s1600/Zumbro+2017+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcCux07Tzf0D_LPzR6fFuchFqwTdQy5ZKqQ_YNjEVHvHhJLU7FQ9VWP0SEVK53dIWcvxuvOlAlHuzctkK6Cc_akdkO50f8noI81rnYpeKoSx7s7LnoUerNKA5sk-Z4AV7nOcSXdOhQHq0/s320/Zumbro+2017+032.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wendi and Jeremy showing off their<br />
matchy-matchy SHARK ATTACK gaiters!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As director of the Gnarly Bandit Ultra Trail Series this year, I paid close attention to my 11 Gnarly contenders, and was pleased to see that they were all still in the running, and all still looking happy and well. Tina Johnson and Jeff Leuwerke were crushing it up in front; Erik Raivo a crazy, blissful grin every time I saw him; Susan Donnelly was -- as ever -- unstoppable; Allan Holtz was a steady presence.<br />
<br />
A few runners were struggling. After a strong start, Rob Henderson was having one weird problem after another. He dropped onto a blanket near the fire and we watched his calf muscles twitch involuntarily, like small animals burrowed under his skin. He wasn't feeling it today. His gut wasn't cooperating. He said, "I think I want to drop." After 20 minutes of resting, eating, and both of us working on his eerily twitching, cramping legs, he still wanted to drop. As soon as he'd turned in his chip, making it official, he looked substantially happier. When I saw him a week later, he told me, "Best decision I ever made."<br />
<br />
Kevin had come through on his first loop in a train of 6 runners, all looking delighted to be with such a happy runner, all echoing his joyful "WOO!" But by now, his IT band injury was catching up to him. Without a word, he headed for a chair by the fire and curled in on himself, negotiating silently with pain and injury.<br />
<br />
As evening began to set in, we continued to greet runners with cowbells, cheese quesadillas, and Matt's incredible homemade pizza. Between waves of runners, we told stories, complained about the quality of the music, stirred up the fire. It felt a bit like an all-day cookout, a bit like the end of a laid-back fatass or a long day in the woods.<br />
<br />
The night crew of volunteers arrived, headed by the capable Dan Harke, and we handed the aid station over to them, explaining which soup was vegan, where we'd put the cheese, which cutting board we were using for which foods. By 7 pm or so, things were in the capable hands of the night shift. Dave Koch gave me a ride to AS 1/4 in his ATV (that was fun!), and I headed out for the evening.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Saturday volunteering</h4>
The sunrise was achingly beautiful as I headed back down to Zumbro.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvY8YXw2j7N_Ji2zCc4Z8HOkAx76dABt6s1Lj0zfPwE9WasQLX6wd0WkNc9OYYat8p5nrcXK47BgHR1i51BGFW7k0aMB5vJPZbcDFuVm2Kz-WsB9Fp57DAddBbI_RBjPpw2yOWLq3Q2Ee/s1600/Zumbro+2017+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvY8YXw2j7N_Ji2zCc4Z8HOkAx76dABt6s1Lj0zfPwE9WasQLX6wd0WkNc9OYYat8p5nrcXK47BgHR1i51BGFW7k0aMB5vJPZbcDFuVm2Kz-WsB9Fp57DAddBbI_RBjPpw2yOWLq3Q2Ee/s320/Zumbro+2017+035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just, wow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I imagined seeing it from the perspective of runners and pacers, out all night, and remembered how the rising sun was a source of energy and renewal the years I'd been out on the trail at night into the day.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
AS 1/4 was a subdued scene at 6:30 a.m. Music played softly, the fire was banked low, and a few runners and crew wrapped in blankets sat around it, not talking. On the walk to AS 2/3, a few 50 mile runners passed me, moving with the steady, unhurried gait of runners who were in the middle of something but not yet near the end.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The vibe was similar at AS 2/3 as we relieved the overnight crew. As 100 mile runners tricked in in ones and twos, I greeted them with "You're still here! Good morning!" Indeed, most were still here, though a few had dropped yesterday and overnight. 50 milers were coming through on their second and third laps. We fired up the music, fired up the quesadilla pan, drank coffee, and set to work.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I started my late-stage aid station patter: "You know what I'm making special for my 100 milers this morning? Peanut-butter bananas. Banana because it's super digestible, peanut butter to coat your stomach. Sound good?" It's not really about the PB bananas; it's how you sell it.</div>
<div>
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<div>
Susan Donnelly came in on her final loop, looked at the aid-station food offerings with distaste, told me, "This is hard work." </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGJQp8LS5hlVcfXRUFYi-btaNbYsgP_xEYhYtJ0a-y2F52TsJmcfp2hXcvclpTXSPWXnSz3rstbcDJVSKl-Z3VR6xZnEUsmHpAimfhqPo4QlQc5955D1uIdoUP-3_icYmAFxzLSkp3zWV/s1600/Zumbro+2017+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGJQp8LS5hlVcfXRUFYi-btaNbYsgP_xEYhYtJ0a-y2F52TsJmcfp2hXcvclpTXSPWXnSz3rstbcDJVSKl-Z3VR6xZnEUsmHpAimfhqPo4QlQc5955D1uIdoUP-3_icYmAFxzLSkp3zWV/s320/Zumbro+2017+038.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hard part of the race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After eating a peanut-butter banana, she headed out on the Table Rock loop. 40 minutes later, she was back on the AS 3 side, announcing, "I need another one of those peanut-butter bananas." Fuel in hand, she was off on the final part of her race. A few more 100 milers came in on their final loop. It was good to see so many people ready to finish a long, tough race.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kevin Chem came by, taking race photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6y8Iutqs-WDqrScLae8qrvW0xXoEXvdUcHIyA2fabfA7btxMM92JWphWYku-xv6fGATXPISyW6DXmdD9p6FfzzgPmojtWcT2ITFq475uMaZykOht9JuOb_eI95_iGrsMEAJetmFIwxekJ/s1600/Zumbro+2017+036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6y8Iutqs-WDqrScLae8qrvW0xXoEXvdUcHIyA2fabfA7btxMM92JWphWYku-xv6fGATXPISyW6DXmdD9p6FfzzgPmojtWcT2ITFq475uMaZykOht9JuOb_eI95_iGrsMEAJetmFIwxekJ/s320/Zumbro+2017+036.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The presence behind the camera</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLk-iiyAyxEUGAroCvNuTLF248OaB2DNrTLsfHopmlAyIm7_d9zW52A6JY8xYYFoVpLCDcu4uJZM0pdIQ8QJXn-tdNaTQyyDw5y0i9aymiRbVhRsLUol5qwljVjeoTy9Kx1WOYxxQWtX4j/s320/Zumbro+2017+037.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sure he's smiling this much because<br />
he's not running 100 miles this year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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At 8:00, AS captain Matt called a brief all-hands meeting. "There are 500 people registered for the 17 mile race. They'll be here in less than an hour. We need a plan to deal with them all." We filled dozens of cups with water, HEED, and soda, moved the food back, and stationed volunteers in the coulee to spot and record race numbers. And none too soon -- the 17 milers started arriving, first in a fast-moving trickle, then a stream, then in droves.</div>
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For the next hour and a half, we worked all hand on deck, filling water bottles and cups, setting out more Coke, helping out the occasional runner who had gotten into trouble. I tried to make sure the 50- and 100-milers got the help they needed, offering them hot and cold food, ice (it was warming up!), and encouragement.</div>
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A few injured runners came through. After examining and troubleshooting, I helped get rides out for a woman with a bad quad pull, and one with a sharp foot pain that was getting worse, not better. ("Is this your goal race for the season?" "Oh, no. I have a half marathon in two weeks, then a marathon, then Ragnar..." "Hmm. It's up to you, but in that case, I don't think you <i>need </i>another 20 miles on that leg.") A runner was overheated, nauseated, and couldn't continue, even after sitting in the shade with ice on his neck. A 50 mile runner wanted to drop because she wasn't feeling well and wasn't enjoying the race. With so many runners on the course, our ATVs couldn't easily get around, so runners who dropped often had to wait quite a while for a ride out. Most of them took this with good humor and grace.</div>
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In the full sunshine, temperatures reached the 70's as the clock crept toward noon. Bob Coolidge arrived, hot but in good humor:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FWYBifTG2KPh-36q-BmkKjXII3IeB83hBzC31nAvidnMSLCMgLwVU_g-Ir4173hQFRJB2KKXAFhK0WkL-fUNzTeASoGBEMx7XhzVREfz2otPJjvUYhLqBPF5H0AGQx2AgRAHsWTHe9lc/s1600/Zumbro+2017+039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FWYBifTG2KPh-36q-BmkKjXII3IeB83hBzC31nAvidnMSLCMgLwVU_g-Ir4173hQFRJB2KKXAFhK0WkL-fUNzTeASoGBEMx7XhzVREfz2otPJjvUYhLqBPF5H0AGQx2AgRAHsWTHe9lc/s320/Zumbro+2017+039.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and dressed to SLAY</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We cooled him down with cold drinks and a bag of ice on his neck, and he power-hiked out of the aid station, radiating determination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UD61iTYX0dK6LSUbRHZAsrnx5NjJpVH2yX3spJ81b69qBJ1Cdc-9ZHBybhMOOxoKkK6WSUUAETZNxY-495Iz0uhepCF_z0_aaSiQph4m7loXto67XER6auhyphenhyphenazKlXGmRv0G4MEOJPtu3/s1600/Zumbro+2017+040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UD61iTYX0dK6LSUbRHZAsrnx5NjJpVH2yX3spJ81b69qBJ1Cdc-9ZHBybhMOOxoKkK6WSUUAETZNxY-495Iz0uhepCF_z0_aaSiQph4m7loXto67XER6auhyphenhyphenazKlXGmRv0G4MEOJPtu3/s320/Zumbro+2017+040.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James volunteered at AS 2/3 last year. This year, he<br />
volunteered Friday, then ran the 17! WOOO!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_YXqr3ZOaCF2_lYWLhmCZSG9NZ02POSXm-7T-I_uMPQGiDxrQuuyTrE4hyphenhyphen5N9xwRT78UTfIm9oSKRNwlVmMeyOErBCBJaxFSAhDVEVa4364VO4K8kZRFsttDfrJW4Fe45NpA9zr_qQsp/s320/Zumbro+2017+041.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carl ran the 50. Katie ran the 17. He came into AS 2<br />
just as she was leaving AS 3. We yelled, "COME<br />
BACK!!!" She did. Best aid-station hug EVER.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHklPqWwJ-hBAI84BLZhBbc3ct2yLuXFQBi7FKll_SBjJjJcza_SwNtrbanfPhdlUrX1P1EjrkUQSAPwrtU0fePyR_IrKBZ8GFaVv6mTVI0-G7pf55py46SLbQ71jfMaJj5bYo_HER9oO/s1600/Zumbro+2017+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHklPqWwJ-hBAI84BLZhBbc3ct2yLuXFQBi7FKll_SBjJjJcza_SwNtrbanfPhdlUrX1P1EjrkUQSAPwrtU0fePyR_IrKBZ8GFaVv6mTVI0-G7pf55py46SLbQ71jfMaJj5bYo_HER9oO/s320/Zumbro+2017+043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn and I matched! Oh, and check out my Unshoes<br />
sandals! They were perfect for standing and walking all day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cXKMVNJk0U3C-XyXuaZbiqF1xS6JJl_oilhmFoWuexOkPomeHfBMjjXrw-Hz5RB3_fDN599sWamXV3Mj-m7-Q-3X65RqwMct-0xldFE-9L50QI0Nt4jcADwyWOlN1GIMlKDjF4EaIZFu/s320/Zumbro+2017+045.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephanie and Ava, killing the 17!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cXKMVNJk0U3C-XyXuaZbiqF1xS6JJl_oilhmFoWuexOkPomeHfBMjjXrw-Hz5RB3_fDN599sWamXV3Mj-m7-Q-3X65RqwMct-0xldFE-9L50QI0Nt4jcADwyWOlN1GIMlKDjF4EaIZFu/s1600/Zumbro+2017+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cXKMVNJk0U3C-XyXuaZbiqF1xS6JJl_oilhmFoWuexOkPomeHfBMjjXrw-Hz5RB3_fDN599sWamXV3Mj-m7-Q-3X65RqwMct-0xldFE-9L50QI0Nt4jcADwyWOlN1GIMlKDjF4EaIZFu/s1600/Zumbro+2017+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
As the clock drew on toward noon, the stream of runners slowed. I fed and chatted with a hot 100 miler on his fifth loop, then kicked him out as politely as I could, but I don't think he made the loop 6 start cutoff. A few 50 and 100 milers came through on their final loop. I was especially excited to see Sally Hulbert still in the mix, and was thrilled to see her finish later that afternoon. In the early afternoon, we started packing up the aid station.<br />
<br />
By 2:30, all the runners were accounted for. We packed up boxed, took down tents, consolidated tables. We stacked gear where ATVs could carry it out. Around 3, the sweep crew jogged in, looking like they were having the time of their lives. We shot the breeze with them and they headed out on the Picnic Rock loop, unhurried, unworried.<br />
<br />
By 3:15, everything was packed up except one table with drinks and snacks for the sweeps. Volunteers took their leave, one by one. I gathered up all the layers I'd started the day with (gloves? hat? seemed ridiculous now!), the snacks I'd brought, the coffee Matt had given me. Thanked everyone and started the walk out. AS 2/3 was finished for the year.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Final Zumbro thoughts</h4>
I love habit and repetition. I love the ordinariness of things I do every day, every week, every year. The rhythms of Zumbro are part of my year now. I know when I arrive that I'll leave a little warmer, a little more saturated with campfire smoke, and with my heart a little more full than it was before. Whether I'm running, pacing, volunteering, or spectating, it's become my way to kick off the running season, and a link to friends and trail family.</div>
</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-17494349750103962592016-10-13T09:28:00.001-07:002016-10-13T09:28:25.844-07:00Cloud Forests, Whale Song and Bonus Miles: 2016 Grand Traverse Report<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Something new this year</h4>
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When I realized I'd be on call this year the weekend of <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/10/race-report-2015-wild-duluth-50k.html">Wild Duluth</a>, I started looking around for another event to take its place. I was spoiled for choices: there are awesome local trail races in September and October at every distance from 10 miles to 50 -- including four or five just the weekend of September 24! I listed a few possibilities on my coaching spreadsheet, and my <a href="http://someworkallplay.blogspot.com/">awesome, life-affirming coach</a> suggested I go with "what inspires you."</div>
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It didn't take much reflection. I wrote back, </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"What inspires me on this list, hands down, is the <a href="http://grandtraverseduluth.com/">Grand Traverse</a>. Great scenery, great trail, nice distance, point to point, it's a timed event even if it's not a "race," organized by the cool kids in Duluth, ends at a brewpub that has excellent burgers, really it's kind of a no-brainer."</blockquote>
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Since the 27 mile course was essentially identical to Wild Duluth, minus the first 5 miles, it seemed like the perfect WD50 substitute. I signed up and started getting excited. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFoH-Y4QAlXTsTjiv2D6ij4fPzfhUSLKNmZ_BAp6Lx-Rp6e1FBAfCSZMdzxm0UfJPUXmeMal1UGg_SFODZIj7Br_m8V4N82eOd089K4avE_6aLyow5pIyQBmGDL0gEE4zOJFot_GghDtB/s1600/wd50k+profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="69" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFoH-Y4QAlXTsTjiv2D6ij4fPzfhUSLKNmZ_BAp6Lx-Rp6e1FBAfCSZMdzxm0UfJPUXmeMal1UGg_SFODZIj7Br_m8V4N82eOd089K4avE_6aLyow5pIyQBmGDL0gEE4zOJFot_GghDtB/s320/wd50k+profile.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile, courtesy of the Wild Duluth website</td></tr>
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The day before the race, I wrote to my coach, "Race goals are to smile every mile, WOOHOO the downhills, eat delicious questionable food, meet friends, take pictures, make memories." I was ready for whatever the day in the woods might bring.</div>
<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br />No good plan</h4>
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The 27 mile started at Saturday at 6:30. The shuttle left Fitger's at 6. Sign in by 5:30. I hatched a plan to drive to Duluth Friday night and camp, then rethought it when work ran late, picking up the rental car ran late, and it was pouring rain. Camping sounded like a bad plan, so I went with another bad plan instead: I set my alarm for 1:55 a.m., got up and out of the house by 2:45 a.m., and drove to Duluth in the quiet dark wee hours of the morning.</div>
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(The other bad part of the plan? Grand Traverse was the day of the fall Cub Scout campout, so after running, I got to drive to Grantsburg, WI and camp in our "4 person" tent with Chris and the very excited children. The upside was that I was so tired by then, I slept great. Even when it poured down rain.)</div>
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I reached Fitger's with plenty of time to spare and visited with Jamison and Lisa and Rick, made repeated trips back and forth to my car to retrieve headlamps and forgotten gear, and messed around with my well-stocked hydration pack till it was time for the school-bus shuttle. Up the road to the start, at the edge of Jay Cooke State Park, a quick countdown, and a few dozen of us were off, running by headlamp, downhill along a gravel road.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Start to 123rd Avenue (~6 miles, plus some extra): Bonus miles are the finest miles</h4>
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We started in twilight, running a bit faster than we planned to down the hill. My goal for the day was to run at my "easy," low heart rate pace (by feel; I don't carry a monitor) at least to mile 17, then see how I felt. We turned onto the Superior Hiking Trail and ran, in a lengthening line, along the singletrack. The sky brightened and our headlamps winked out, one by one.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I enjoyed the chatter and seeing friends and strangers out on the trail, but was happy to truck along at my own pace. A few miles in, as we traversed a wood whose leaves were just beginning to turn, a runner ahead of me stopped.</div>
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"This isn't the trail," he said, a bit uncertainly. "I recognize this section. It's not on the SHT."</div>
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Well, it was possible. The Grand Traverse didn't have many of its own signs, relying instead on the SHT blue blazes most of the way. I hadn't been paying much attention to blazes, and couldn't recall when I'd last seen one. On the other hand, I hadn't noticed any other trails.</div>
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"Are you sure? Maybe we should go a little further and see if there's a blaze," I suggested.</div>
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He wasn't entirely sure, so four of us pressed on, down a long gentle slope.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqo4hnwyOFQIpbe1ZSA15pyEZ8P4Y8NWoMtmrQDgaznl1h4d5lJZBjXdtugAWfU9pPg54UtrtiSTnxFf57r0E-E5kfxg3k8f3aRt4oV009J1apA_r6Tm5nJiOvV3fvd5I-LCrjmNttvhP/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+05+10+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqo4hnwyOFQIpbe1ZSA15pyEZ8P4Y8NWoMtmrQDgaznl1h4d5lJZBjXdtugAWfU9pPg54UtrtiSTnxFf57r0E-E5kfxg3k8f3aRt4oV009J1apA_r6Tm5nJiOvV3fvd5I-LCrjmNttvhP/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+05+10+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two roads diverged in a yellow wood<br />And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler,<br />I tried them both anyway.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After another quarter-mile or so, we stopped again. "This is definitely wrong," he said. We hadn't seen any blazes, and he was more certain now. We turned back, heading uphill and sweeping another couple runners coming toward us, down the wrong path.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Half a mile from our turnaround, we spotted a blaze... marking the spot where the trail branched left. "Hey, I recognize this!" I exclaimed. "That's the turn I missed at Wild Duluth last year!" I laughed at the memory and decided to enjoy the bonus miles I'd gotten. After all, 27.4 miles was going to be an instant PR. Why not get my 28.6 mile PR instead?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvMdeIeZKxFVRkUpFMTQ3rpYO8sbZLydt9YGdUFfexSXtFIehtBfqh-preOHDuGnkUkw714vizKnp2yrYgPkhbCdm45if1zyg-6MDeLEgw-DPFpQvHuNynNt5dGTzwixMjPK_3VUzWKG-/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+7+46+09+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvMdeIeZKxFVRkUpFMTQ3rpYO8sbZLydt9YGdUFfexSXtFIehtBfqh-preOHDuGnkUkw714vizKnp2yrYgPkhbCdm45if1zyg-6MDeLEgw-DPFpQvHuNynNt5dGTzwixMjPK_3VUzWKG-/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+7+46+09+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I passed Rick and Steve some time in<br />there and made them stop for a selfie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The rest of the section was scenic but uneventful, and I reached the mile 21 aid station about 1:45 in. I decided 15 minute miles sounded like a great goal for the day -- it was a pace comparable to my <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/05/in-beauty-may-i-walk-spring-superior.html">fastest Superior 50K</a> time, and would result in about a 7 hour finish time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
123rd Avenue to Magney-Snively (~5 miles): Ely's Peak and whale songs</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The section over Ely's Peak is one of my very favorite parts of the SHT, and I couldn't wait to get on it. I refilled my water, grabbed half a banana to supplement my gels, and trucked out. After a short gravel road section, the trail started climbing the rocky peak, with views of the St. Louis River and the lake unfolding as the climb grew higher.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyiZ4mGazYGgjqvpkFOyjnrd0eDYTmtTlPUACHP57FFB6XHpuLEFuLeWz0cp5IzQ6YqjkRwACnp5qJDMQX1SZmQByMkgkqxsbjcyhsLr5U0DJajAvkmm1VZwFHgyrB2iEYOAI1eU_vOAZ/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+23+50+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyiZ4mGazYGgjqvpkFOyjnrd0eDYTmtTlPUACHP57FFB6XHpuLEFuLeWz0cp5IzQ6YqjkRwACnp5qJDMQX1SZmQByMkgkqxsbjcyhsLr5U0DJajAvkmm1VZwFHgyrB2iEYOAI1eU_vOAZ/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+23+50+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The climb begins!</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It was a cool, overcast day, and I was comfortable in shorts and a tank top, though I also carried a wool shirt and a rain shell, in case the weather worsened or I slowed down. (I learned something from my <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/04/zumbro-dnf-faq.html">Zumbro DNF</a>!) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The sumac leaves were beginning to turn and a few trees seemed to realize it was fall, but most were still green and lush. In the railyard below, trains called to each other, their booming horns echoing like great whales. I ran easily, soaking in the sights and sounds.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUa4MI6VrI6UZF-rkTqx5cVCNvw7VvTVpryi2WeDiQBq8wx9SD7XO7hwslM6Rory-DNyaGV0WVMWTn8EnzlUBW7nLjrhRm41TarxewLmY-ifYmFWgHie3MFT3sqO8NzOShLpwJBch7Ber/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+27+13+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUa4MI6VrI6UZF-rkTqx5cVCNvw7VvTVpryi2WeDiQBq8wx9SD7XO7hwslM6Rory-DNyaGV0WVMWTn8EnzlUBW7nLjrhRm41TarxewLmY-ifYmFWgHie3MFT3sqO8NzOShLpwJBch7Ber/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+27+13+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midway up, among the sumac</td></tr>
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I passed a few other runners, exclaiming, "This is my favorite part! Isn't it great?!" Yeah, I'm annoyingly cheerful when I'm having a good day. But most of the time, I had the trail to myself, and that was great too.<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikqYb6PO_7mIRkgsF93eAFIzQP4I7ipPqjYTFg-vlnvQyFzILfxQGFe9NZvpbV9lHWm_4JpsU58m-eooFfFTQbhxgvYvN5ShnaLaaWYs_WXEMrys7Iu1bbhqhG5antBttGf3ir558Vv16m/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+27+27+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikqYb6PO_7mIRkgsF93eAFIzQP4I7ipPqjYTFg-vlnvQyFzILfxQGFe9NZvpbV9lHWm_4JpsU58m-eooFfFTQbhxgvYvN5ShnaLaaWYs_WXEMrys7Iu1bbhqhG5antBttGf3ir558Vv16m/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+27+27+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and near the top</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After following the peak, the trail undulates through woods and emerges on a road. I reached the second aid station about 3 hours into my run. So far I was keeping pretty close to my goal of 15-minute miles.<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
Magney-Snively to Highland-Getchell (~6 miles): Rockin' the big W</h4>
<div>
I chatted with the two awesome volunteers at Magney-Snively, a mother and son, while I emptied out my trash and picked out a few more gels. Today, Gu gels were my fuel of choice -- they were sitting well and that's what I ended up eating pretty much all day. They checked me in on their list, I thanked them, and headed off for the next, and biggest section of the day, the part of the trail Lisa Messerer calls "the big W."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6heGQawqjfCMos6MeQLtDtTVI-asi3eS3Hj5seXsUekzODgiYWgSGOrEjctOZo8ZirWgqeJfvl1PEJ8y35ATiJaPb89M-M7LZ5dHCRzzhzKjqLBYPy6w0c-6KNo07MtQKRW6x-dtJ9dQ/s1600/wd50+the+w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6heGQawqjfCMos6MeQLtDtTVI-asi3eS3Hj5seXsUekzODgiYWgSGOrEjctOZo8ZirWgqeJfvl1PEJ8y35ATiJaPb89M-M7LZ5dHCRzzhzKjqLBYPy6w0c-6KNo07MtQKRW6x-dtJ9dQ/s320/wd50+the+w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The elevation profile shows you why.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The section starts by winding its way to Spirit Mountain, followed by a long gentle descent that steepens as you run along the river. I ran a lot of the initial section with Wendi Baldwin and we had fun recapping the Superior 100 (again) and chatting. Eventually I pulled ahead and enjoyed the descent to the river on my own.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I ran the <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/10/race-report-2015-wild-duluth-50k.html">Wild Duluth 50k</a> last year, I was already having knee pain in this section. This year, by contrast, I felt great. No, more: I felt <i>amazing</i>. Being able to run the sections I'd hiked, painfully, last year was awesome, and I had a huge grin on my face all the way down to the bridge...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO69Phy9b6myZA75ttydiwIDMxvJLXfud1a0LrKvul-pdl9HReJzwD9cIAphomscCeCXEmlc-3oxqoXOPjzer0pXcMnKMIWWx2Frd8LCkMKONBedJjExTfEnQXdvRAgMEYGGC-5_XbrTHP/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+10+32+56+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO69Phy9b6myZA75ttydiwIDMxvJLXfud1a0LrKvul-pdl9HReJzwD9cIAphomscCeCXEmlc-3oxqoXOPjzer0pXcMnKMIWWx2Frd8LCkMKONBedJjExTfEnQXdvRAgMEYGGC-5_XbrTHP/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+10+32+56+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the first point of the W!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
... and back up along the river again, even up the ridiculous steep stairs that are the #1 reason I say I'll never do the Wild Duluth 100k (because who in their right mind wants to see those <i>twice</i>?).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I felt strong and happy and uninjured and <i>it was magnificent</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Clouds rolled in as I traversed another rocky section, and there was light misty rain. I passed Jamison and Lisa along this section and said, "We're running in a cloud forest! This is so cool!"</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPcQ8xCZLAJ6_JnXdt9gpr96Ye0b1FkeFYjjUNmNKajpfDtSO_cxncU46uVXSNwu82pjTjuR8oA9Wyzgy-ZkCfPk3gV_-4IKNnSXapJpJh1ebYS58XXIVWKufrvG4fepOQ7lli7dB2KEY/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+10+43+45+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPcQ8xCZLAJ6_JnXdt9gpr96Ye0b1FkeFYjjUNmNKajpfDtSO_cxncU46uVXSNwu82pjTjuR8oA9Wyzgy-ZkCfPk3gV_-4IKNnSXapJpJh1ebYS58XXIVWKufrvG4fepOQ7lli7dB2KEY/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+10+43+45+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloud forests, lichens, beauty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3g6w6FMWIMxoXr43Y5nJlBCm8Dikv06qcw0JYLv7rmd1o71JLICdlct-onYhQAM7Y9xTCq5IZatnywD2sQKq5ylDt9kjDqUzvf94z1ry0wKU-7JfH_0lkxARjfT9o5pWBu-hIRCOz2SH/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+9+05+36+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3g6w6FMWIMxoXr43Y5nJlBCm8Dikv06qcw0JYLv7rmd1o71JLICdlct-onYhQAM7Y9xTCq5IZatnywD2sQKq5ylDt9kjDqUzvf94z1ry0wKU-7JfH_0lkxARjfT9o5pWBu-hIRCOz2SH/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+9+05+36+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views just keep unfolding along the<br />second half of this leg. So amazing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Not far from Highland-Getchell, I ran into Lisa and Ron, out for a run in the other direction. We stopped to catch up -- I hadn't seen her in a while, and we had races and running to discuss. After a good five minutes' talking and laughing, another runner came around the corner, and I remembered I was trying to run this thing. "Oops, gotta go," I said. We yelled our goodbyes as I charged up the trail. I didn't stop till I got to Highland-Getchell. <div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrj2hzq48eO93i7YSsuXi2UGevuuycr82lwzFfdtOF3ngB4UZ6o5QUrEFTfKYjbiiw8DsbXtf_xtJY0wjeuIgHuA9Ni2SFJttw_sCDZ902oddCBbi6Uy1g-WZMCGXunPuPuVs1_BC_IUPj/s1600/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+29+25+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrj2hzq48eO93i7YSsuXi2UGevuuycr82lwzFfdtOF3ngB4UZ6o5QUrEFTfKYjbiiw8DsbXtf_xtJY0wjeuIgHuA9Ni2SFJttw_sCDZ902oddCBbi6Uy1g-WZMCGXunPuPuVs1_BC_IUPj/s320/Photo+Sep+24%252C+8+29+25+AM.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still crazy happy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
Highland-Getchell to 24th Ave (~5 miles): Keeping the focus </h4>
</div>
<div>
Highland-Getchell was where I almost dropped last year at Wild Duluth, so I was elated to still feel so good when I arrived. I was still pretty close to 15 minute miles for my overall pace. I chatted with Mae, who I'd met earlier in the month volunteering at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/09/volunteer-and-pacing-report-fall.html">Fall Superior</a> and who was volunteering here. I searched for more vanilla Gu. I refilled my water. And I headed out on a trail section I recalled being "runnable but not memorable."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd hiked this entire section last year, and it was great to be able to run it. I was now 18 miles in, and I was starting to feel the miles piling up, in my legs and hips and back. Now that I thought about it, the last time I ran longer than 18 miles was... uh... <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/07/34-miles-in-time-for-dinner-fans-2016.html">FANS</a>? In June? Yeah, I think it was. Well, I decided, I can definitely finish, and probably in good style, but the final third is going to be harder.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I worked hard to maintain focus as the trail wound across boardwalks, up and down, and across more rocks. I walked a little more. My pace fell off my 15 min/mile goal, but I was still running. I kept eating gels (they were still working), and busted out my secret magic Roctane stash. It helped. I was glad to reach the final aid station feeling tired, but still in the run.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
24th Ave to finish (~5 miles): I'm still running</h4>
<div>
At the final aid station, I spent a few minutes talking, used the porta-jon, and grabbed a handful of pretzels. (Salty food sounded really good by then!) And then, I was off. A final climb to Enger Park, and then a long descent to the waterfront. And, different from Wild Duluth, a 1.5-ish mile section along the waterfront before finishing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The climb to Enger Park seemed like nothing today, and I ran most of it feeling tired but overall pretty good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I passed the bell as some visitors rang it, and I imagined its vibrations sinking into my bones.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I remembered hiking this section with Wally Goettl last year, and the good conversation we'd shared.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Down, down, down the boardwalks and roads. Past the turn Wally and I had missed last year. (I was watching the SHT blazes like a hawk after my early navigational error.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Run across the highway pedestrian overpass. Run down the ramp. Run along the railroad tracks, and across, to Bayfront Park where Wild Duluth ends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Keep running. It wasn't fast, but I was still running.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Around the DECC, along the waterfront. Passed by joggers. They hadn't run 27 miles on the SHT today. Up to the drawbridge. Juuuuuust as it was going up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I stopped dead. Tried to take a picture for posterity, but my phone battery was dead. The bridge creaked slooooooly up. Boats went in and out with no sense of hurry. The bridge creaked slooooowly down. All I could do is stand there and laugh, so I did.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First one across the reopened bridge. Still running. Then out around the pier. It was windy and cool. The SHT signs were ridiculosuly tiny, the size of a credit card. Back along the lakewalk, dodging visitors, families, kids.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then back onto the shore, past the veterans' memorial, and now I could see the finish banner at Fitger's. I passed a few Grand Traverse hikers and they cheered me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, up the stairs (really? ow), past a few cheering spectators, and to the finish.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdNcbMp7eBBGLnvZhzc7bW3LJtHWhOlSyZfffAnNwQpE868ZhJN3rJrQ3FJtYq5o5QPcSwgIGg4kF23BlgcrTl0r7iENj3KS-aFTQ3OeR75LWCvnk1JHIvPGSp7_p_tBiiTIiQBDEQRgP/s1600/grand+traverse+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdNcbMp7eBBGLnvZhzc7bW3LJtHWhOlSyZfffAnNwQpE868ZhJN3rJrQ3FJtYq5o5QPcSwgIGg4kF23BlgcrTl0r7iENj3KS-aFTQ3OeR75LWCvnk1JHIvPGSp7_p_tBiiTIiQBDEQRgP/s320/grand+traverse+finish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the finish line, all smiles!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
My unofficial finish time was 7:20. Bonus miles and drawbridges considered, I was happy. Good, happy, strong, uninjured running considered, I was <i>really </i>happy. It was a great day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
Final thoughts: Miles of smiles</h4>
<div>
This was a fun event and a great day. I'm happy my heart-rate training is paying off, both in terms of training consistency (I've logged 150+ miles/month three of the last four months, which is my most ever) and in terms of injury prevention/healing. I'm delighted that I could still run and feel good at the end of 28 rocky technical trail miles. And I loved being on the Duluth sections of the SHT again -- they truly are some of my very favorite.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Grand Traverse is outstanding training for Wild Duluth, and a great event in its own right. Thank you, organizers and volunteers. And thank you, Jamison, Lisa, Wendi, and other friends who shared trail miles and a memorable meal afterwards!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's do it again some time.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-26978815607415298892016-09-13T13:38:00.000-07:002016-09-14T11:06:12.610-07:00Superior 100 Volunteer and Pacing Report 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">I spent the weekend at the Fall Superior Trail Races (100, 50, 26.2 miles), volunteering and pacing. It was my third year at Fall Superior, and it continues to be, to me, the premier event of the seasons, the Big Dance of Minnesota trail running. Participating is a privilege and a joy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">I'm so glad it's time again.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">My plan is to volunteer
at Finland aid station at mile 50, from the 5 pm opening till my runner,
Travis, comes through around 10. Then I'll pace him through to Sugarloaf (mile
72) and work Sugarloaf till it closes around noon Saturday.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friday afternoon/evening: Finland (mile 51.2)</span></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I arrive at Lutsen on
Friday afternoon and take a quick nap, the last I'll sleep till tomorrow night. It's great spectator weather, clearing to sunshine and in the 70's, though for the runners this is warm and surprisingly humid. I meet Bob and Colleen for a ride to
Finland. Colleen is pacing too, and Bob's been volunteering today and will run
the 50 mile tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- About 10 miles down
Highway 61, Bob says, "By the way, you'll have to tell me how to get
there. I don't know the way."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Colleen and I
exchange looks. Neither do we, and there's no cell reception. Finally, Bob retrieves
written directions from his car trunk, and we're back in business.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- After only a few
missed turns and backtrackings, we're at Finland, right on time. Eric is the AS captain
and there are already another 4 or 5 volunteers making PB&J sandwiches,
mixing HEED, and doing other AS setup things. The first runner has already been
through. I jump in to help and so does Colleen, even though she's not on the
volunteer roster. Thanks, Colleen!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPQEx_61BXuojiPZzgdGr_CHxA0hdN7YqwDv6fpU17GVboU7oLx95q6xWU2DmbhXv3BZLawTI0ZcrFvDmDu180Zk3-y1_Kk1CvTsNNHwUTpAEFduf8dgh9jjY7-dmjhwTeClmOb7QPTiG/s1600/IMG_2860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPQEx_61BXuojiPZzgdGr_CHxA0hdN7YqwDv6fpU17GVboU7oLx95q6xWU2DmbhXv3BZLawTI0ZcrFvDmDu180Zk3-y1_Kk1CvTsNNHwUTpAEFduf8dgh9jjY7-dmjhwTeClmOb7QPTiG/s320/IMG_2860.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finland, getting set up</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Chris and Angela are
working here after driving all night in their camper van to reach the race. I
met them at this spring's Zumbro, where they singlehandedly kept the entire
start/finish area in coffee, among many other heroic things. They've got music
playing, van positioned to provide extra light, and Angela has organized the
drop bags in alphabetical and numeric order. Dang.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDEmv8UfKn-9Vp21FLZnCybmODstlPziYdVKDkLT8f4TmdKDrDaSwmThHgKRR0zWq2KPp7EX0nOHkgHC1j4kvaQ4NgH-ZbUVWy6iiiqW0XVGnVnCPwpsOtthKqI68xNt0cmxgg30I4dpo/s1600/IMG_2861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDEmv8UfKn-9Vp21FLZnCybmODstlPziYdVKDkLT8f4TmdKDrDaSwmThHgKRR0zWq2KPp7EX0nOHkgHC1j4kvaQ4NgH-ZbUVWy6iiiqW0XVGnVnCPwpsOtthKqI68xNt0cmxgg30I4dpo/s320/IMG_2861.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Angela and Chris showing off their masterpiece!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's after 5 pm now,
and the lead runners start coming through one by one. They're well attended by
their crews and have few needs. It's warm and sunny, and I'm eating a hot dog, catching
up with Angela, and laughing at her music mix, which is made entirely of songs
with titles that could be about running. My favorite is The Talking Heads'
"Road to Nowhere."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- This is my first time
at Finland, and I'm impressed: It's got <i>amenities</i>. A constructed picnic
shelter, electricity, running water (even a bathroom!), and -- wait for it --
wi-fi! Also a big parking lot, so crews and spectators are congregating here,
awaiting their runners.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSuc6BalcLJbuF9y7y-ETE6DvzLLagCkhWpPsE1X7tDy-C-M9BIEtA1O46u8tN-jOGoes8rNxlDvEYV3_9lrl7pgk_2XkqJwrd5IPRupY8kyizvTs_Z-U327oZgX1Iqw7dU6X7oX4-b_q/s1600/IMG_2863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSuc6BalcLJbuF9y7y-ETE6DvzLLagCkhWpPsE1X7tDy-C-M9BIEtA1O46u8tN-jOGoes8rNxlDvEYV3_9lrl7pgk_2XkqJwrd5IPRupY8kyizvTs_Z-U327oZgX1Iqw7dU6X7oX4-b_q/s320/IMG_2863.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even a playground!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I meet 2014 winner Adam's
mom, Vicki, and hear stories of when he was a toddler. I show pictures of my
kids to Bill, who's crewing. Kate, her sister, and her adorable niece and
nephew are here awaiting their runner. We all cheer and cowbell every runner
coming through.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's starting to get
busier. Janet G. picks up Janet H., and they're off before I can even ring a
cowbell. Susan Donnelly comes through and says hello, downs a vegan hot dog,
and heads off, all with the incredible focus and unflappability that I'm
learning is her hallmark. We're filling water bottles, pouring Coke and ginger
ale, handing out hot dogs, and ladling soup. The station is in full swing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- An isolated
thunderstorm passes just north us and the sky begins to darken in a spectacular
sunset. Travis's wife Steph texts me that he's running an hour or so behind. No
problem, there's plenty to be done here. She also sends word that Colleen's
runner, Rob, had just left the last aid station, hurting but moving forward. In
between helping runners find drop bags and distributing hot dogs, I eat some more
and make sure my gear is ready to run.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwPxDvj7MOzq3crOXkIWYx3epZ9at_TJ26GIHKvpDw2l1rQ3607AefVe-cjpHWMrEANSPHBmHRSTTRQZBCOvbIACSWNnRed3evbi4fgwtwlG5CayIkYxuVvigZU3KmvHg4YHcEdDoISls/s1600/IMG_2864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwPxDvj7MOzq3crOXkIWYx3epZ9at_TJ26GIHKvpDw2l1rQ3607AefVe-cjpHWMrEANSPHBmHRSTTRQZBCOvbIACSWNnRed3evbi4fgwtwlG5CayIkYxuVvigZU3KmvHg4YHcEdDoISls/s320/IMG_2864.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dramatic sunset, ominous skies.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- An inbound runner has
told his crew he was "peeing Dr. Pepper" at the last aid station. Dehydration?
Hematuria? Myoglobinuria? We don't know, but I'm concerned. He arrives a few
minutes later and I come over and say, "So, tell me about your pee."
I realize afterwards that perhaps I should have introduced myself first.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- He takes it in
stride, though, and assures me repeatedly that since then he's been drinking
more and it's cleared up. We discuss the importance of talking to an aid
station medic if it gets dark again or bloody. "I want you to finish the
race," I say, "but not to finish your kidneys." He agrees and
heads out.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Jason Husveth sits down. "How's it going?" I ask.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Good," he says, smiling beatifically.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Good?" the guy next to him says, incredulously.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Not great, but good," he replies, absolutely serene.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Rob is in. He finds
me and says, "I need a professional opinion. Am I dead yet?"<br /> I look him over thoughtfully. "You're moving around an awful lot. But I
don't have all my diagnostic tools out here. You'll just need to check with me
when you get to the finish line."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He grins and agrees.
He says he's hurting, with bad cramping early on, but he looks like he might be
rallying. I cowbell him and Colleen out onto the trail. Later, I learn that
they power-hike the next 25 miles, he rallies, and he blows the doors off his
final 25 miles to the finish, for a big course PR. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Another runner comes
in; he can't stop throwing up. His crew says, "We've done races with him
before and we just haven't seen this before." He's laying down in the
driver's seat of a car with his eyes closed. He tells me he's been throwing up
everything he takes in for a few hours, he hasn't been peeing much, no, he's
not hungry or thirsty, and yeah, maybe his mouth is a little dry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I bring over half a
ginger chew (my bag of Gin-Gins is almost gone, I notice) and tell him, "This
is made from real ginger. It's really good for nausea. Put it in the corner of
your mouth and just suck on it. I'll be back in 10 minutes and we'll see how it's
going." He nods.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I return and he's
out of the car, dry-heaving. So much for my sure-fire "psychology plus
ginger" approach to vomiting. I talk it over with AS captain Eric, who
turns out to have extensive, personal experience with mid-race nausea and
vomiting. He comes over to talk with the runner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- "You can go a
long way on no nutrition, if you want to," Eric tells him. "And
sometimes things eventually get better. You have to decide if you want
it." The runner nods and says he'll think about it, but he looks like he's
hurting. Later, I hear that he dropped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Eric tells me about
a race he did where, the last 15 or so miles, he took in nearly no calories due
to nasuea and vomiting. "You learn something from every race you do. Even
the bad ones. <i>Especially</i> the bad ones."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's getting late
now and though it's still warm, the breeze is picking up. I spot a runner sitting
in the picnic shelter, wrapped in a blanket and shivering uncontrollably. Craig
is vegetarian and our soup is not. Two people crewing for another runner make
him miso soup out of their own stash, while he downs two veggie hot dogs. I give
him one of my buffs (I've brought several) and persuade him to sit by the fire.
I end up leaving the aid station with my runner before he does, but when we see
him at the next aid station many hours later, he looks dramatically better. (He
even gives me back my buff!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Friday night/Saturday morning: Pacing, Finland to Crosby-Manitou (mile 62.9)</span></span></span></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's midnight and Travis
is finally in. After a good start to his race, he's been vomiting for the last
few miles and has bad nausea now. He drops into a chair and tells Steph and me,
"I'm a trainwreck." "That's okay," I respond, ready to bury him in optimism. "I love
trainwrecks."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Steph plies him with
an energy shake, a shirt change, and his trekking poles, while he slumps in the
chair and looks discouraged. "You're going to have your work cut out for
you," he tells me. "I can't keep anything down. I'm going really
slow. Make sure you pack warm clothes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I change into
running shoes (inadvertently leaving my pants and standing-around shoes at the
aid station and later leading to a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhaT7F7lMEY">"HONEY, WHERE ARE MY PANTS?!"</a> moment; luckily, they get returned with the drop bags), shoulder my pack,
loaded with water, spare clothes, and enough snacks for 10+ hours, and at the
last minute, wrap my windfleece jacket around my waist. After all, getting too
cold on the trail sucks. We're off, just before 12:30.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Travis is feeling bad
but still takes the time to thank me for pacing, apologize in advance for being
grumpy, and warn me that we're going to be power-hiking, not running. As we
enter the woods on a moderate, not-too-technical stretch, I'm happy to see that
the trail is nearly dry and that we're going at a good clip. It's 7.4 miles to
the next aid station, Sonju, with no crew access, then another 4.2 to
Crosby-Manitou, the next place we'll see Stephanie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Despite his warning
that he's not going to be much for conversation, we talk for the next hour or
two. It's magnificently, densely dark in the woods. Clouds obscure the
half-moon and our headlamps pick out reflective trail markers far ahead. In the
dark and quiet, smells are amplified: pine bark, damp ground, night air. Light
rain comes on and off, and we occasionally see lightning flashes and hear the
rumble of thunder, but always far away. I'm intensely happy to be on the trail,
and grateful to Travis for asking me to pace. "I would never be out here,
deep in the woods, in the middle of the night, doing this awesome thing, if you
hadn't invited me. THIS IS AWESOME." At mile 50+, I think he's skeptical,
but it's true.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I pull off the trail
and turn off my headlamp to pee while Travis waits on the trail. Just then,
Troy and his pacer Willow come by.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Willow: "Hi,
Travis! Where's Robyn?" [starts looking around with her headlamp]<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Me: "I'm peeing!
Don't shine your light over here!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her: "I've got
some Poo Pourri if you need it!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For the next 45
minutes, I ponder what the hell Poo Pourri is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Travis is still
fighting nausea and reluctant to try any food. Everything sounds awful. He's not throwing up, but he's not taking calories either. He
tries a sip of his "weasel juice" energy drink and feels worse.
Finally, he takes me up on my offer of a ginger chew. I give him half of one to
suck, hoping this will go better for him than the poor nauseated runner at
Finland. After five or ten minutes, just as I'm about to ask how it's going, he
develops painful hiccups that persist all the way to Sonju. I'm 0 for 2 on the ginger chews.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- "There's no
dropping allowed at Sonju, you know." (It's a remote aid station with no
crew access.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Yeah, I
know." The possibility is in the air. He's been considering it for a
while, even if I haven't let him say so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- As a light rain
picks up to a more steadily moderate level, we slow down a bit from our initial
pace to arrive in Sonju around 4:15 am. I've got high hopes that we can get
Travis reset and eating here. He sits down and is quickly asleep. I shoot the
breeze with the volunteers while eating soup and coffee. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- After 10 minutes, I
wake him up. His hiccups are gone, for the moment. He manages half a cup of ice water and two bites of pancake.
Then he stops and stares fixedly at the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Not good?"
I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Not good,"
he replies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Want to hang out
and let it settle, see if you can handle some more?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He considers, comes to
a decision. "No, let's just get outta here." He pushes up out of the
chair, sways for a moment, takes his poles, and we're out, in a light rain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's
"only" 4.2 miles to Crosby-Manitou. Travis has been suffering and not
eating now for over 4 hours and, though I'd love to take him all the way to
Sugarloaf (and have Steph take him all the way to the finish line), I'm
beginning to accept that dropping might be the right thing to do. The section
from Crosby-Manitou to Sugarloaf is 9.4 miles through some of the most
technical terrain of the entire course, beginning with the rocky and steep Manitou Gorge. It's
not a section you want to start in a worsening calorie deficit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- The rain increases
from light to moderate and then rather abuptly, it's pouring down. Travis puts
on his rain shell. I've got a wool shirt and a rain shell in my pack, but I'm
already wearing my windfleece jacket, which has a hood, so I decide to stick
with that. We pick up our pace as much as Travis can handle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Now the rain is
bucketing down and running into my face. Our feet, dry till now, are quickly
and irredeemably soaked, as the trail is transformed into a waterway, with
standing water alternating with ankle-deep mud and slippery rocks. I'm still in
front, and keep pausing to look back at Travis as we both laugh incredulously.
"Could this <i>be</i> any worse?" I exclaim. As if in response, it starts
raining harder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Sonju to
Crosby-Manitou is known for its crazy tree roots, and they don't disappoint.
We're hiking as fast as we can go while high-stepping over roots and going up
and down with the undulations of the trail. It's certainly cooling off, but
we're moving fast enough that we're both okay, for now. I think, but do not say
to Travis, that this sure feels like the weather gods are trying to persuade him to
definitely drop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- As the rain finally
begins to slacken, we hear the slam of a car door ahead, then another. We come
out to a road, a volunteer with a huge umbrella waves us ahead, and we pass the
"Crosby-Manitou State Park" sign. It's still a quarter-mile up the
gravel road, but the rain has slowed down and we know the end is in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Travis and I confer
one more time. Is he sure he wants to drop? It'll be light soon. We're under
the cutoff. He's sure. "It wouldn't be safe to go into the Gorge this
way." He's clearly running on fumes, and he's right. I agree.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwc2swkuGFrH9XETSD7YmokrCLKpht9Xw6oigJeW7CA_tDjX6hKLHZM6e95InjDLhUYjbsjANeHy-rfHCF9t6mHW9FPLOqYSvzQAMDzCLa_WTMijWx9Fa8QIiodmY9FG5NMQoRpxlEqHkU/s1600/trainwreck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwc2swkuGFrH9XETSD7YmokrCLKpht9Xw6oigJeW7CA_tDjX6hKLHZM6e95InjDLhUYjbsjANeHy-rfHCF9t6mHW9FPLOqYSvzQAMDzCLa_WTMijWx9Fa8QIiodmY9FG5NMQoRpxlEqHkU/s320/trainwreck.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">His image, not mine.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- At the aid station we
are greeted by Matt Patten, who exclaims, "Welcome to Crosby-Manitou,
where the food is hot and the coffee is too! Oh, wait, we're out of hot coffee.
Sorry." It's just before 6 a.m. and the sky is beginning to lighten. We
fight off volunteers' attempts to talk Travis out of dropping (it's their job,
after all), he lets Stephanie know, and she goes for the van. He collapses in a
chair while I stand by the fire. Now that I've stopped moving, I'm shivering uncontrollably.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- After a long enough
time to talk with other runners and pacers, Jim, Todd, Matt, and Maria -- and
to destroy the last pierogi and a few other things -- Steph's back with the
van. We load up, me in the heated front seat, Travis on a sleeping bag in the
back, and head for Lutsen. The rain has all but stopped, though the water and
mud on the trail impacts the runners for the rest of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Stephanie is a
rockstar. She's been up all night patching up her runner and hauling things
from one aid station to the next, and now she drives our sorry asses home. I
return the favor by falling asleep in mid-conversation with her. Sorry, Steph!
I try to reciprocate by offering them a shower at the volunteer condo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<h4>
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday morning: Sugarloaf (mile 72.3)</span></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- At 8 a.m. I'm
showered, in dry clothes, and have devoured a bag of Cheetos and a slice of
ham. (Clearly, I've moved into the "bad food choices" phase of
not-sleeping.) I leave the condo in search of coffee before I go to work at
Sugarloaf. The clouds are clearing and the sun is coming out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I wander to the
finish line looking for coffee, and instead find John Pitera, his wife Catherine, Kevin Langton
(who has dropped with cramping), and a few other volunteers. John offers me a hug, introduces me to his wife, and points me to the
coffee. He tells me he's going to run Superior in 2018. I can't wait. A hummingbird methodically strips every flower in a nearby bush of nectar. It is a tiny perfect moment. Refuelled, I head to Sugarloaf.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBgQkRAhU6_BdbCy7nR8etqrYuv47xs5-A0r0mmdATYbvIyZVclsA05oCPcqyEF3U1HE94S04zDKsqliNZ9DMPuMezVMNr-37mOuxcyRsOriZ5WDablhXFAUrOzquUXWiYf-zwMDbPNBg/s1600/fall+superior+by+kevin+l+balanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBgQkRAhU6_BdbCy7nR8etqrYuv47xs5-A0r0mmdATYbvIyZVclsA05oCPcqyEF3U1HE94S04zDKsqliNZ9DMPuMezVMNr-37mOuxcyRsOriZ5WDablhXFAUrOzquUXWiYf-zwMDbPNBg/s320/fall+superior+by+kevin+l+balanced.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kevin took a good picture of me!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Sugarloaf Aid
Station is at mile 72, and when I get there around 9 a.m., there's a steady
stream of 100 milers and the front of the 50-mile race. Jan O'Brien is AS
captain again and, after hugging me hello, immediately sends me over to check a
100 mile runner who's concerned she may have a stress fracture. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I'm glad to be back
in the thick of things. We peel off Katie's shoe and sock and I start
examining her foot. There's no tenderness when I palpate the bone, but when she
flexes and releases her big toe it hurts, and when she inverts her foot, it
hurts more. "Well," I say, "I think it's more likely a problem
with the tendon and soft tissue than the bone, so that's good. But it's always hard
to say how much harm you'll be doing by continuing." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> We talk around the
problem a little more. Then she mentions, "It doesn't hurt when I walk,
only when I run."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I break into a big grin.
"In that case, put your shoe back on, get out of the aid station, and <i>walk</i> to the finish! You can definitely get your 100 mile finish hiking.
You've got plenty of time." She grins back, puts on her shoe, and heads
out. She finishes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- I cruise around
looking for runners in need of help. In between, I shoot the breeze with Jan
and Joe and Loren and Rick and Eve and the other volunteers, eat about a half dozen of Joe's quarter-hamburgers
with bacon, and drink coffee. The sun's out now, a breeze is coming up, and it's
going to be another beautiful warm day. It's hard to remember being cold and
wet now.</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vaniply and psychology</span></span></span></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- A runner comes in and announces he's dropping. "Let's sit down and talk," I suggest. From his chair, he tells me he's got lethal chafing and his feet feel terrible. I'm not surprised; everyone's got macerated feet after the early-morning rain and the wet trails. We talk through his options: his crew could get dry shorts for him to change into at the next aid station. He could try yet another anti-chafing remedy (he's tried many already). He could find some sticks to use as trekking poles. . </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;">I kneel down by his chair and give what I'm starting to think of as the Aid Station Come-to-Jesus Talk:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "These are problems you can keep going with, but ultimately this is <i>your </i>show. This is a hundred mile race. We sign up for these because they're hard. And at some point in every race, you're going to reach a point where it's going to get hard, and you're going to have to decide if you want to finish. This is that point."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I leave him to come to his own decisions. He decides to drop.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- A spate of runners come in with wet, macerated feet. It's juicy out there. For a while, I'm handing out Vaniply ointment and bacon hamburgers, and searching drop bags for dry socks. I tell another aid station worker, "What I'm doing today is 90% Vaniply and psychology. And the other half is distributing hamburgers."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Jordan comes through, looking like a new man. "Remember two years ago at this aid station?" he asks. "When you brought me Cheetos?" I sure do. I told him then, "You look like a finisher." I tell him again. He does.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- A little after 10 a.m., Allan comes in and announces he's dropping. "It took me four hours to come through that last section!" he exclaims.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I intercept him and steer him to a chair. "What, have you got a bus to catch?" I ask. He starts laughing.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- He's been moving slowly, his toe hurts, he's got chafing, and -- most seriously -- he's been doing race math. "At the rate I'm going, there's no way I can make it to the cutoff at Oberg," he tells me.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"<i>Never </i>do race math!" I admonish him. "Sugarloaf Aid Station is a math-free zone." He laughs again.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- "Hey, as long as you're sitting here, how 'bout a hamburger? With bacon?"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Well, that sounds good."<br />"Ketchup?"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Yes, lots of ketchup."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I bring him two quarter burgers, bacon, lots of ketchup. He plows into it and I tell him, "You're eating like a finisher. Let's get you fixed and get out of here."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- He eventually agrees to take off his shoe and sock and look at his hurting toe. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"It hurts when I go downhill."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Well, yeah, I see a bruise near the end of your big toe. And your toenail's ugly as shit." We both laugh.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"You know," I say, "There are only three major descents left on this course."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Huh," he says, looking at his laminated elevation profile.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"If you can handle the pain on just three descents, you can finish this race."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;">He starts looking at his mileage chart. "Stop it!" I say. "No race math! Here, have another hamburger."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;">"I haven't finished a hundred this year," he tells me, eating a fourth quarter-burger.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;">"Then today's your day!" Maybe he's starting to believe, or maybe he's humoring me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;">- I refill his homebrewed nutrition from his drop bag. He puts Vaniply on his foot and slowly wriggles it back into the wet double layer of socks. Puts on his shoe. Slings his belt with dangling headlamps and a giant flashlight that looks like a lightsaber. (I may have called him "Jedi master of the Superior Trail Race.") Stands up, and</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;"> heads out of the aid station. I cowbell him like crazy and the whole aid station cheers. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday noon: Sugarloaf</span></span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- As cutoff time at 11:45 approaches, there's still a steady stream of runners coming into the aid station, mostly 50 milers. The sweep crew has gathered and we've given everyone in the station a five-minute warning. Four minutes later, Scott comes in. He's running the 100, and he sinks onto the grass. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Sweeps are about to head out," I tell him, "but can I get you something to go?"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I'm done," he says.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I look him in the eye. "You need to decide right now whether you're really done," I tell him.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I'm really done," he confirms. His calf got pulled and has been worsening. He's done.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- The sweeps head out and just a few minutes later, four 50 mile runners come in. Nobody seems to be prepared to tell them they've missed the cutoff, so I do it, as gently as possible. They aren't happy. They pull their timing chips off their bibs, discuss among themselves, and continue down the trail, no longer racers, but private citizens out for a trail run.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Bob comes in, among several other 50 milers. It was slow going out there, he said, but he didn't fall. I'm sad he's missed the cutoff, but delighted that he's looking cheerful and noninjured.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- As a dozen or more runners come in after the cutoff, it becomes clear that although some have crew or family who can give them a ride out, several have no way to get back to Lutsen. We're 2 miles from Highway 61, 20 or more from Lutsen, and there's no cell signal. I tell Bob I can give him a ride, then tell Dave and Lisa, other runners, the same thing, and finally decide it makes sense to take them back now, rather than wait till the aid station's broken down.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Five of us walk back to my car. "We're kind of muddy," one runner warns me. "That's okay," I say, "It's a rental!" We pack in and head down the road, telling stories of other runners and of the day on the trails.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- By the time I'm back at Sugarloaf around 1 p.m., everything but one table is taken down and they're loading the truck. I help with the final breakdown, though Jan, Joe, Eve, and other have done all the really hard work. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCSQdRKV6ebrazesvdzDdvK5j8o1O-_CyD9kiMpV5mmRm5PZ3r_DLayN3NqdUunxiozMF5BmkbOCFHjlAmwMzFZCW6yiAwLDTcr9yORhkv-GfFEB0Xdr3RoTAEUSF1OI3QYbWNgjNLo0T/s1600/fall+superior+AS+breakdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCSQdRKV6ebrazesvdzDdvK5j8o1O-_CyD9kiMpV5mmRm5PZ3r_DLayN3NqdUunxiozMF5BmkbOCFHjlAmwMzFZCW6yiAwLDTcr9yORhkv-GfFEB0Xdr3RoTAEUSF1OI3QYbWNgjNLo0T/s320/fall+superior+AS+breakdown.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The last of the drop bags.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Sugarloaf aid station is done for another year. Watching it transform from a tiny parking lot to a small busy city and back again never ceases to amaze me. By the time we're finished, only the trampled grass tells our story. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- There are two runners still on the course, and they trickle in over the next 30 minutes, followed by the sweeps. I'm heading back to Lutsen, so they again pile into my car. I hug Jan, Joe, and Eve, and hope we'll be together again next year for the party in the woods.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- It's time to go back to the finish line, to soak in the joy, and elation, and disappointment, and all the emotions of the day. It's time for a square meal and, eventually, for sleep. There's still lots that will happen this day, but my immersion in the meat and bones of the race has ended for now.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's okay. I'll be back. Superior gets a hold on you, a longing at unexpected times to be out in the mud, in the dark, in the woods. I'll be back.</span></span></div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-41083727705417228522016-09-08T12:30:00.000-07:002016-09-14T13:44:21.449-07:00More fun, more ice cream, more chain grease: Babes in Bikeland 2016 Race ReportI rode the <a href="http://babesinbikeland.com/">Babes in Bikeland</a> women/trans/femme alleycat bike race last weekend for the fifth time. It's the only organized bike event I do each year, and it's become one of my favorite late-summer events. It hits the sweet spot of competition, hilarity, community, and --at a $5 entry fee -- value. Every race has been memorable: <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/09/race-report-babes-in-bikeland-7.html">Three years ago</a>, it was in pouring rain. Two years ago, I won free beer for life from <a href="http://www.sidhebrew.com/">Sidhe Brewing</a> (!). Last year, with great conditions and hard riding, I posted my <a href="http://babesinbikeland.com/previous-years/babes-in-bikeland-9/">best finish</a>, just out of top 10 on the long course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwtxnvbVBEdDQZWnwd-LqR2VYr9sULRLGBgIxsr4H4FbpZEC3dBXWKiTMvmN0NF-3uhX39p01qpnc4l7vMRAS2gm606NN3pSY7vFWr52vmTnX09Rq1dhq2nzDs-2jWU1mvn2ds7Nejcdc/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+4+46+24+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwtxnvbVBEdDQZWnwd-LqR2VYr9sULRLGBgIxsr4H4FbpZEC3dBXWKiTMvmN0NF-3uhX39p01qpnc4l7vMRAS2gm606NN3pSY7vFWr52vmTnX09Rq1dhq2nzDs-2jWU1mvn2ds7Nejcdc/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+4+46+24+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory pre-race selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: center;">This year, I rode for the first time with a friend, Stephanie. We've run together at Endless Summer and at Afton, but this was her first Babes. The humid and warm weather prompted us to choose the short course (estimated 13 miles, compared to 25 in the long course). I'm pleased to report that we were entirely successful, despite mechanical failures, lost gear, and an impromptu ice cream stop. Here's the story.</span><br />
<h4>
<br />Pre-Race</h4>
We met up at Kenwood Park with 600+ of our best friends, an hour before race start. So many people! It was the 10th Babes and it was a big one. I hauled out my giant Minneapolis street map, survivor of two previous races, and we planned our route as the field around us filled up with riders, many in costume, and bikes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7oI757iEsy25kKxwd9vGaslEnnHt4rmsSMxIRwNPUvv6U-YclsnMzQ8FVfLfpRRd6dET6Rfatuoq4q_8x00qmyVA2Y6hBLjzwbE0EfpORhJvWlyglFEHXDcl1al0ZFuse-23d9cKtFur/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+3+55+31+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7oI757iEsy25kKxwd9vGaslEnnHt4rmsSMxIRwNPUvv6U-YclsnMzQ8FVfLfpRRd6dET6Rfatuoq4q_8x00qmyVA2Y6hBLjzwbE0EfpORhJvWlyglFEHXDcl1al0ZFuse-23d9cKtFur/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+3+55+31+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes and riders assembling. The<br />
sign-in line was long but it moved fast.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This year's manifest was cleverly designed -- the long and short courses had different checkpoints (four for the short course, five for the long course) to minimize crowds and make the courses distinctive, and then three common ones, including a mystery stop, to be announced at one of the other checkpoints.<br />
<br />
Our route planned, I made some ballpoint pen notes on my left forearm (why haul out the map?) and we were ready just as the organizers called the prerace meeting. After a 10-minute briefing and mosquito attack (yikes! the only place we needed bug spray was there), we were off.<br />
<br />
<h4>
On our way</h4>
Stephanie and I mounted up and headed for our first checkpoint at Bryant Park. It was great to start riding and feel the warm damp breeze. We rode south a dozen or so blocks, passing and being passed by small and large groups of riders. All evening long we would see Babes riders everywhere we went, and it was a great feeling of fellowship and joy to see so many amazing women on the roads.<br />
<br />
At Bryant, we tossed beanbags into tires and collected our first stamp. We were on our way!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRmxtLopSaTmAE361EvyLiPXqpmv_S8fTOV_AfbB7cwL7Zf_zqC_JFaEHvW6cLqUPQ6cmKMypcaErvquS53ObjJO05zRtMi0MwhKv1pYrsYEzaJvT5GVOYbuCDeQw6dHJRF-9kkryHOX9/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+23+22+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRmxtLopSaTmAE361EvyLiPXqpmv_S8fTOV_AfbB7cwL7Zf_zqC_JFaEHvW6cLqUPQ6cmKMypcaErvquS53ObjJO05zRtMi0MwhKv1pYrsYEzaJvT5GVOYbuCDeQw6dHJRF-9kkryHOX9/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+23+22+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Challenge level: Moderate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next stop was over in my neighborhood. We got on the Midtown Greenway and rode, catching up on each other's lives as we went. It was fun to bring Stephanie over the stunning Sabo footbridge (she'd never been on it) and onto familiar ground.<br />
<br />
Solcana Crossfit volunteers greeted us. "You can check in at the back. But careful -- THE FLOOR IS LAVA!" Awesome! We climbed over boxes and hopped from one platform to another to reach the back of the gym. (Then realized we'd left our manifests at the front, so we did it again!)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHzHdyOrplTZ2lUip1SG4hSR8vQzMVMBkpb49Pg1NivMbHqyq8n42NXN2v_-Q2DOXzd4RHK7WdpuYTxI28N0U7qdY9nL_BpMMSycCdfnKLxcKspPpTET58CgmjRewYD23o3TvNRHmabjH/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+47+05+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHzHdyOrplTZ2lUip1SG4hSR8vQzMVMBkpb49Pg1NivMbHqyq8n42NXN2v_-Q2DOXzd4RHK7WdpuYTxI28N0U7qdY9nL_BpMMSycCdfnKLxcKspPpTET58CgmjRewYD23o3TvNRHmabjH/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+47+05+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LAVA!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w9RVdcFIyqPYy-5XLxaa-J2NaqNMRuAg-6NXIBwarNCygNmTjTJQayS8SuBRFL1lWNnEoZskwA2KmtzesOChwYu9f8Hm2bsy7dp-nWVrg9zhvO0v1MyjWrD9mnNI-xwB2hxxgK_gJqI7/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+47+40+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w9RVdcFIyqPYy-5XLxaa-J2NaqNMRuAg-6NXIBwarNCygNmTjTJQayS8SuBRFL1lWNnEoZskwA2KmtzesOChwYu9f8Hm2bsy7dp-nWVrg9zhvO0v1MyjWrD9mnNI-xwB2hxxgK_gJqI7/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+5+47+40+PM.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My "forgot my manifest" face</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On to the next stop, we crossed the Washington Avenue bridge and made our way to the Oak Street Hub bike shop. They stamped our manifest and, for fun, I attempted a handstand.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufRa0WM4IaiEOcb12LsICil6PvK8TmVjaC4Pbk3UuP_o3aAuMffXSdRRjH3_8BIfDuB244kedh8Xxl7xmRmcU2WaDXkxM5VWtTEnwVrXFSDEHYVtRQRgJPce8SXyR3_GFegI0Dbly7_93/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+6+06+45+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufRa0WM4IaiEOcb12LsICil6PvK8TmVjaC4Pbk3UuP_o3aAuMffXSdRRjH3_8BIfDuB244kedh8Xxl7xmRmcU2WaDXkxM5VWtTEnwVrXFSDEHYVtRQRgJPce8SXyR3_GFegI0Dbly7_93/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+6+06+45+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephanie: "We're not taking any more pictures, 'cause<br />
no picture can possibly be greater than this one."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next we headed onto campus and down to the footbridge. This was a photo stop checkpoint, and we paused to admire the view and smile for the camera.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTImbcZLzgnn-eAzJTfXnBG-ZMHMbxisTdPrJ2DK3NPBDVxri3jRNOGWs9_jnqDBB0GZZL-LuVlTTYgZjrmDA4Nply1QBTHtUQUpa0KqyhVm6LLLkx2K9bgiTlMxTL3EvwQzPFhEYgw8G/s1600/Babes+in+Bikeland+10+by+Anna+Min+of+Min+Enterprises+Photography+LLC-131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTImbcZLzgnn-eAzJTfXnBG-ZMHMbxisTdPrJ2DK3NPBDVxri3jRNOGWs9_jnqDBB0GZZL-LuVlTTYgZjrmDA4Nply1QBTHtUQUpa0KqyhVm6LLLkx2K9bgiTlMxTL3EvwQzPFhEYgw8G/s320/Babes+in+Bikeland+10+by+Anna+Min+of+Min+Enterprises+Photography+LLC-131.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Min Enterprises</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Somewhere along here, we got the information about the secret stop. It was by the Convention Center, and we were supposed to pick up a piece of trash along the way to dispose of. We rode off the bridge watching for trash.<br />
<br />
Having gathered a pop-top lid and a crumpled bottle, we rode into downtown en route to the secret stop. Right past <a href="http://izzysicecream.com/">Izzy's Ice Cream</a>. It occurred to me that I wasn't riding to win it this year. And that I was a little hungry. "Hey, want to stop for ice cream?" We pulled over and locked up as another group of Babes riders in tie-dye shirts did the same. Into the crowded shop, through the fast moving line, and back out to enjoy the best mid race snack ever. (I had mint chocolate chip, Stephanie had raspberry sorbet.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFc_wdNsEK4OKpMguj7RlgvTpeRRB9kkimjLBvdattzgPlTuooXbbtCk43g1MazimBeo6YZq0lZ79kIs3W82DsI6XeLCA_7Fwl5jOgkq2LIOneDEGkQTz4q6vraTLGDK5GYbJ43Ct12QUB/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+6+37+56+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFc_wdNsEK4OKpMguj7RlgvTpeRRB9kkimjLBvdattzgPlTuooXbbtCk43g1MazimBeo6YZq0lZ79kIs3W82DsI6XeLCA_7Fwl5jOgkq2LIOneDEGkQTz4q6vraTLGDK5GYbJ43Ct12QUB/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+6+37+56+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHY HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Refreshed and feeling sassy, we pressed on to our next stop, the Convention Center plaza. We rode through downtown Minneapolis, enjoying the rush of warm summer air and feeling effortless. With a minimum of random-walking (and only a small amount of following other riders headed the same way), we found our way to the plaza and it GIANT, interactive, pedal-powered moose and deer sculptures!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04rXe_r_Yk7rrChukEsWX1m5hAPhcPL_KLtYB6wdoOtkLev0JGHVs_QwO7ypgkjHbXS3Iehdk4jEnpvZjmlwHCzpTBQ6gPe0qiju9fLWu6jfwhKDJtHG6CAT1trqGF2fz_29mw6JNN9YT/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+05+43+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04rXe_r_Yk7rrChukEsWX1m5hAPhcPL_KLtYB6wdoOtkLev0JGHVs_QwO7ypgkjHbXS3Iehdk4jEnpvZjmlwHCzpTBQ6gPe0qiju9fLWu6jfwhKDJtHG6CAT1trqGF2fz_29mw6JNN9YT/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+05+43+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GIANT BIKE POWERED MOOSE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFf0ViQfFG8RoRhw65HA4UJfUL8jCA7M7ypWHUZdqL6YUM7f5yEoeT1QSW9WPF59f2mibw_fTuAFCL-UY6SgcpPO_FugR06nsqRbDwfrPCK0qtb8z_5PUqtWswB_5h4yv-jN4T8rP96zK/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+06+24+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFf0ViQfFG8RoRhw65HA4UJfUL8jCA7M7ypWHUZdqL6YUM7f5yEoeT1QSW9WPF59f2mibw_fTuAFCL-UY6SgcpPO_FugR06nsqRbDwfrPCK0qtb8z_5PUqtWswB_5h4yv-jN4T8rP96zK/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+06+24+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Figure 2, Giant bike powered moose)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-ML5xHsjsJ_IIIC8sruaXQIxUA6d0Hr7W9e41LUD7MXkicNGGy189sWUHsqop8d5G8ftB-PzsupzCoqcI0ys4U315G-9JRWFWTJz4qPvLd6wYJs3TEgAecBlOoFdtKUcOyTmaqpB-u5M/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+05+57+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-ML5xHsjsJ_IIIC8sruaXQIxUA6d0Hr7W9e41LUD7MXkicNGGy189sWUHsqop8d5G8ftB-PzsupzCoqcI0ys4U315G-9JRWFWTJz4qPvLd6wYJs3TEgAecBlOoFdtKUcOyTmaqpB-u5M/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+05+57+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also rope-powered</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHx8HPhw2ongEzjs63E1RO6w2GsxFu0QWhVZ_f0hCi8QYCYKC_ckkTxkvIz6JHeVYHPi2gkYCMH4R7gtHYtM6kE13Ip7TdydOn26rNvxGvniMs3-HhO7LxiiBptbl52cEAwfYed_dGNLTi/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+06+35+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHx8HPhw2ongEzjs63E1RO6w2GsxFu0QWhVZ_f0hCi8QYCYKC_ckkTxkvIz6JHeVYHPi2gkYCMH4R7gtHYtM6kE13Ip7TdydOn26rNvxGvniMs3-HhO7LxiiBptbl52cEAwfYed_dGNLTi/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+06+35+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This bike is tiny!"<br />
"This is what it feels like to be tall!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On we went, toward Cherry Cycles in Loring Park. As we rode up the Loring Greenway, I noticed my back wheel wasn't turning well. Huh. I stopped and messed around with it. Didn't seem to be rubbing anything, just... didn't turn well. But hey, we were heading toward a bike shop, so I got back on and kept riding.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we entered Loring Park, the chain fell off. With minor effort and major chain grease on my fingers, I replaced it. Then Stephanie's chain fell off. "Whatever we're doing, let's stop doing it," she declared. I agreed heartily. We got back on our bikes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Halfway through Loring Park, my back wheel skewer broke and MY BACK WHEEL FELL OFF. I semi-gracefully dismounted to the sound of grievous mechanical badness, prompting the pedestrian in front of us (who had witnessed the chains-falling-off episode too) to turn around and comment, "I think there's something wrong with your bike."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks, dude. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were a block from Cherry Cycles. I picked up my bike and carried it in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The checkpoint volunteers and Cali, the owner, saw us coming and Cali met me in front, saying, "Need that looked at? I'll take it." With absolutely no drama, she carried it into the shop, mounted it on a stand, removed my back wheel and started diagnosing. It seemed to be a problem with the wheel hub. Cali offered a temporary fix and I gratefully accepted.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfKSPyT_iU9RZvphJAD4UBAhNyuxoqFgNYgBgNxQMqmJ1pJvQDD7JU-lWY_Ol5b3G-_x6EeOuls6OYN_tXlCkwkYIEIVx28VfJ7wso4QTnmC-UqgP6_V7AySVzy5zi7XmKVCI287_4tWX/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+25+56+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfKSPyT_iU9RZvphJAD4UBAhNyuxoqFgNYgBgNxQMqmJ1pJvQDD7JU-lWY_Ol5b3G-_x6EeOuls6OYN_tXlCkwkYIEIVx28VfJ7wso4QTnmC-UqgP6_V7AySVzy5zi7XmKVCI287_4tWX/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+25+56+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sick bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
While we were standing around in the shop watching her work magic on my wheel, I said, "By the way, my name's Robyn." Another woman, one of the tie-dye wearers we'd seen in Izzy's, had wandered in. "Hey, I'm Robyn too!"</div>
<div>
"Wait a minute. Robyn... WITH A Y???"</div>
<div>
"Yes! You too???"</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1JgfUpwWu0uAMCtmxEQigwEa_uf3dgoFnf7vaEWhFG902r9Vbgxe8cAuY6L80cNY-6XsSBBZaFQlDO_yBg1RHpBzMpgfPAwudqrhAo-i0HZr2orKl6hylY4ZRpJvTxMTauB7x2uHZ6XG/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+30+00+PM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1JgfUpwWu0uAMCtmxEQigwEa_uf3dgoFnf7vaEWhFG902r9Vbgxe8cAuY6L80cNY-6XsSBBZaFQlDO_yBg1RHpBzMpgfPAwudqrhAo-i0HZr2orKl6hylY4ZRpJvTxMTauB7x2uHZ6XG/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+7+30+00+PM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robyns!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
20 minutes or so after arriving (and remembering to get my manifest stamped), Cali had repaired my bike hub "at least enough for tonight." We thanked her profusely and paid her for her time. We had one more checkpoint, and then it was a fast ride into downtown and the finish line.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the early twilight, we turned on our headlights and rolled out, leaving downtown and crossing the bridge to Bryn Mawr. On the bridge, Stephanie discovered she'd lost her bike pump. We stopped, looked, backtracked. It was nowhere to be found. Declaring it a casualty, and keeping an eye on the clock (it was now after 8 pm), we pressed on to the final checkpoint on Glenwood Avenue.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The checkpoint guys were friendly, funny, glad to share our chocolate, and glad to share their observations about the sketchy people they'd been watching going in and out of the convenience store across the street. "Maybe they just need... uh... prepaid phone cards," I suggested. "Nobody needs THAT many phone cards," the volunteer assured me. We thanked them and headed off to First Avenue and the finish line!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEwdyG6_LvGP7wXwR9ooVY5-0uDHTs9PFz2yKSYRW5t3_xWDQinuANBHloN3-hBkInP8cu4PN_a9bhkW8bZI7AKFLrJcZK_tqFrCVBzontsgDelJ0NFko9elKKuulXKol6r-SW78LgmO5/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+8+30+41+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEwdyG6_LvGP7wXwR9ooVY5-0uDHTs9PFz2yKSYRW5t3_xWDQinuANBHloN3-hBkInP8cu4PN_a9bhkW8bZI7AKFLrJcZK_tqFrCVBzontsgDelJ0NFko9elKKuulXKol6r-SW78LgmO5/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+8+30+41+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The completed manifest!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiret0ID3PWSi_OCjyStZ1pd6s628fzLQ4MziUq5Z45TCOXA0izKUKObMrjwNKc5kCFK47yRr0rJgycer8_Jy9FzT8ynE7kzMtLBcwpFrjjWLd2ePQV9dX0iMRpGLiOyc1uA7tso5aPHZQX/s1600/Photo+Aug+27%252C+8+27+21+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiret0ID3PWSi_OCjyStZ1pd6s628fzLQ4MziUq5Z45TCOXA0izKUKObMrjwNKc5kCFK47yRr0rJgycer8_Jy9FzT8ynE7kzMtLBcwpFrjjWLd2ePQV9dX0iMRpGLiOyc1uA7tso5aPHZQX/s320/Photo+Aug+27%252C+8+27+21+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rack after rack after rack of bikes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
First Avenue was a pretty great spot for an afterparty, with the DJ, music, and professionally MC'd awards ceremony making up for the fact that we had to pay for beer. That's a deal I will take! We got in the interminable line to buy food (Foxy Falafel and Cafe Racer were there) and were the last people to get dinner before they ran out. Score! A couple of beers and we were well content. We didn't win the bike raffle, but that was okay. We'd still had an awesome evening.<br />
<br />
Babes in Bikeland continues to be an amazing event, with a fantastic organizational and volunteer force. Thank you to the organizers for continuing to produce an even that creates community, fun, and laughter. I'll be back!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yay Babes!!!</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-35033966397826510422016-07-14T13:30:00.000-07:002016-07-14T13:30:29.686-07:00Afton 25K 2016 Race Report (or, "Hey Rand, you should do a trail race!")<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Rand and I both lift at the YWCA and our relationship is based on mutual respect, high regard, and of course talking smack to each other. In November, he mentions that he's been running more and putting up some good weekend mileage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I say what I say to anyone who sets me up with that kind of statement: "You should run a trail race with me." But to my (mild) surprise, he agrees, and we decide we'll do Afton. </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">It's nearby, it's midsummer so you can train in the heat and on the course, and there's an ultra (50K) and a "fun run" (25K) distance. </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">When it's time to put up or shut up and register in May, we pick the 25K. He's been running up to 16 miles at a crack, all road miles (with one trail run at Lebanon Hills in April). I want it to be a good experience, not a death march.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Race morning, we drive out to Afton together. Despite my efforts to get him back out on the trail again, life has intervened and we've run together exactly once. But his training times are similar to mine. "We gonna run this together?" I ask. "Sure, if you want to. You're the boss," he replies. "Okay, let's do it," I tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful morning at Afton. Photo: Rand R.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We get there early, pick up race swag (the shirt's pretty excellent this year), wander around. I introduce him to about 50 people. "This is Rand. It's his first trail run."<br />"His first trail *race*, or *run*?"<br />He replies: "Well, kind of both."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">John Pitera, who is working the merch table, has the best response. He looks Rand in the eye and says, "You are going to have an AMAZING time out there. After this, you'll never run roads again!"</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure what he's gotten into...</td></tr>
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<tr><td><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHrQmWbuqFnjHLLPE3jLIFcVonuc4zbbi2UfQ3wnlBzY3kos_cJknxwn3std5CaG8A0SWrXj-44fUwb23yU9i7vN6L2AQ_yTn9EJSQsYEa1hd2M0J_-1uNN3S53PN4ilI1Dufm87NGMFh/s320/afton+radn+pre+race.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">... but game for anything.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">John Storkamp counts down and we're off. It's the coolest weather I've ever seen for Afton -- start temps in the high 50's, headed for high 70's. It's a glorious day to be out and running.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We run easy up to the first big climb. Rand is a bit surprised when we, along with 90% of the runners around us, slow to a walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"We're walking all the big hills," I explain.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"You're the boss," he replies.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking the hills.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">There's abundant horse poop on the trail on this climb. Rand is following the road-runner's convention of yelling a warning about obstacles.<br />"POOP!" he yells whenever we pass some.<br />I take a different approach.<br />"Damn 50K runners!" I exclaim. "Can't they step off the trail?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mile 2: "Hey, is there a porta-potty somewhere on the course?"<br />"Um, there are a few pit toilets, first one's at about mile 5. But there's a beautiful dense woods right by the trail!"<br />"I, uh, think I can hold out for the bathroom."<br />"Okay, but seriously, the woods are good too. They smell better and make their own toilet paper!"<br />He is unimpressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">A short section across the prairie and a fast rocky descent into the Back 40 brings us to the first aid station.<br />"Hey Rand, do you have a fuelling plan?"<br />"No, I never eat while I'm running."<br />"Hmm. Well, you should have a bite of something at every aid station. Literally, just a bite is fine."<br />He obediently takes a banana, and makes a point of eating something at every aid station. There's no bonking and no barfing, so I'm calling it a win.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Back 40 loop flies by and we're climbing back up to the prairie.<br />"OOORAH! Hey, did you know I used to be a Marine drill seargeant?"<br />"Yeah, and how long ago was that?"<br />"Shut up."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Do you like my hat? It's new."<br />"It's a lovely shade of pink, Rand." (It is, in fact, fantastically hot pink.)<br />"I was going to wear my feather boa, but it's too hot."</span><br />"That would have been fabulous."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">Rand tells me his godson is joining the Navy. I tell him my favorite off-color joke. He likes it so much he calls him on the phone then and there, climbing back up to the Africa loop:<br />"Hey Peter! What's long and hard and full of seamen?"<br />"..."<br />"A submarine!"</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fabulous pink hat. Photo: Kevin Langton</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">Back on the prairie, we stop at the pit toilet. There's a little line of about 5 runners there. Every time one comes out, they describe, in graphic detail, how it smells inside. Rand's turn comes, he goes in, and emerges two minutes later looking a bit tramatized. Tells the next runner, "Whatever's going on in there, IT WASN'T ME."</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Kevin Langton</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #90949c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">The prairie loop wraps up with Rand telling me stories about the Marine Corps and more mutual bantering/insults.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">On the next descent, I get ahead of him, spread my arms out, and make airplane noises. I'm having an absurdly good time. I think he is too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Through the third aid station and we're heading for the next big hill.<br />"This one kind of sneaks up on you. It starts as a gentle hill, then gets steeper and steeper."<br />"Is this the steep part?"</span><br />"Not yet." We come around a corner and it rises sharply. "THAT'S the steep part. We're running till we get to that birch tree. Then we're walking."<br />That's what we do.<span style="color: #90949c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We're at the top of the hill and the sun is shining and you can see the river, Wisconsin, and infinity. "I love this part!" I exclaim. Running feels easy and everything is awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Back down, along the river road, and now we're climbing Campground Hill. I don't know if it's because Rand is feeling good or feeling bad, but he's decided that he's going to give everyone shit on the Campground Hill climb.<br />"Hey, you, yeah, you there who's half my age. I could run like that when I was 28, too!"<br />"Hey Rand," I tell him, "If you're feeling good enough to talk smack, we should go faster." And I push the pace, passing five runners on the steep hill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Hey, you're going too fast, come back here!"<br />I keep going. Another runner says, "What are you going to do with him?"<br />I grin. "I have small children. I know how to deal with them when they get whiny on the trail. You keep going, ignore them, and check behind you after a half mile or so."<br />Rand, feigning outrage, catches up to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"You know what the best part of Campground Hill is?" I ask as we start passing tents and campfires. "It smells like bacon!"</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGH56DBDXYfV1G_tKXQy6Pu5dOSMMeBLcrerGo-UgwWmtxg7ReaeAhZs5QP1qXqVJcM0mXLn-PhtsMsZiHl4_nrHlAIHON_A-NIGoPuW-RUFv5hVlYNtROSuNaTac8VOhmm5RNLROLqba8/s320/afton+midrace.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting a little silly here...</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">Down Campground Hill and through the penultimate aid station (where there is a full-bore party going on and I have to stop to hug a half dozen friends), and we're still feeling great.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">"We're going to finish this, aren't we?" he asks, sounding a little surprised.</span><br style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">"Oh <i>hell </i>yeah!" I tell him.</span><div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We're on the 1.5 mile railbed section now. It's straight, it's flat, and we're going to run the whole thing. We were chatty up till now, but now we're both a little quieter, focusing on translating breath to motion and movement to breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We finish the railbed section strong -- we've passed another four or five runners along the way -- and drop into a walk up Meat Grinder Hill. "I think that's the hardest part of the course," I tell him. "We did good."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">At the top of Meat Grinder, less than 4 miles from
the finish: "Do you think we could have done the 50K?"</span><br />
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"Absolutely," I say.
"It would hurt, but you could do it. And definitely if you got a few long training runs."<br />
"I want to do that next year," he says.<br />
Secretly, I grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We're through the last aid station (ice-cold sponges and
watermelon and more friends volunteering) and we're in the last 5k of
singletrack. "Woohooo!" I yell. This is so stinkin' fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving into the homestretch</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">'I'm starting to feel it," Rand tells me. </span></div>
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"You better be feeling it," I reply, "or we went out too
slow!" He's still hanging with me, so I push the pace, just a tiny bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Must have pushed it a tiny bit too much, because with 2 miles to
go, he hits a rock and goes down. But, he tucks, rolls, and is back up on his
feet with only a few smears of dirt to show for it.<br />
"Nice trick!" I tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then, a few dozen yards later, he does it again, this time grabbing a tree and swinging 270 degrees around it to catch himself.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">A runner ahead of us asks if he's okay.<br />
"I'm fine," he says.<br />
"He does all his own stunts," I add.<br />
Since it's late in the race and my brain is getting silly, I elaborate.<br />
"Actually, he's my stunt double. I run, he does the falls. People often
mistake us for each other, since we're so similar in our build and dress
style."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We pass a few more runners on the last hill I've dubbed
"Kick in the Teeth." We're up on the prairies and in the home
stretch.<br />
"I'm feeling it now," he says.<br />
"We're almost there. Get up here and run it in next to me," I say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">"See that banner that says, 'Finish'?"<br />
"Is that the finish line?"<br />
"Yes, it is."<br />
We kick it in and cross the finish line together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We collect our finisher's medals, wander around, eat food. I
introduce him to a few dozen more people. We get into a long conversation, over
burgers, about the advantages of blowing snot rockets and the joy of peeing in
the woods. We exchange sweaty hugs with lots of people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">On the drive home, he asks, "Are you doing any other trail
races this year?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two days later, he asks for the link to Icebox 480. And sends me a note. "I did enjoy Afton, I wish I'd done the
whole enchilada [50K]."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have created another trail runner. My work here is done.</span></div>
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<tr><td><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHrQmWbuqFnjHLLPE3jLIFcVonuc4zbbi2UfQ3wnlBzY3kos_cJknxwn3std5CaG8A0SWrXj-44fUwb23yU9i7vN6L2AQ_yTn9EJSQsYEa1hd2M0J_-1uNN3S53PN4ilI1Dufm87NGMFh/s320/afton+radn+pre+race.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Congratulations, Rand!</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-50532068199804748482016-07-05T09:55:00.000-07:002016-07-05T09:55:44.695-07:0034 Miles In Time For Dinner: FANS 2016 Pacing Report<h4>
Everything she loves about trail racing</h4>
Mom came out to run the FANS 12 Hour race in June for the second year in a row. She'd originally heard about the race from Amy at Icebox, and was instantly attracted by the format: a 2.1 mile, looped, gravel and pavement course around Lake Snelling in Minneapolis. As far as I can tell, it was everything she loves about trail racing (great company, great scenery, great aid station support, soft running surface) with none of the downsides (hills, technical trail, getting lost, being alone).<br />
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Last year, she'd come at the tail end of a 100+ mile hiking week in Scotland, and with a sore Achilles. She switched to the 12 walk, put on her hiking boots, and threw down 31 miles in just over 10 hours for her first ultra distance ever, looking totally unflappable the entire time. Afterwards, we changed shoes, waved goodbye to her personal lap counter, and ate a table-load of food at Brasa.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yt38ZMc4S1K7u3VEsh8r_50divGEbca2FED-BDSe0LL0jYuvWbSHtjD3K_nwEmHtjnBCfAHTLhzZwe8teJ98EV5TX3yS1JvnuVMOK3i2PTyJK5_ovsriojJXBMh6e4c00MnI_duWVcrB/s1600/FANS+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yt38ZMc4S1K7u3VEsh8r_50divGEbca2FED-BDSe0LL0jYuvWbSHtjD3K_nwEmHtjnBCfAHTLhzZwe8teJ98EV5TX3yS1JvnuVMOK3i2PTyJK5_ovsriojJXBMh6e4c00MnI_duWVcrB/s320/FANS+3.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Getting it done last year, in hiking boots.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98kU1cisEjE47mUQ-z4qP-2ljSe-GE0LVxnG5N6huPWcOz9Az618NjgFjsu5cuUq1ecsYzuaL_vuWZECuewc6RpNawVriJMKQTVlqvXrVIqK4pyv6jfIozpB1K_kxobiw9Y45VHif_fio/s1600/FANS+mom+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98kU1cisEjE47mUQ-z4qP-2ljSe-GE0LVxnG5N6huPWcOz9Az618NjgFjsu5cuUq1ecsYzuaL_vuWZECuewc6RpNawVriJMKQTVlqvXrVIqK4pyv6jfIozpB1K_kxobiw9Y45VHif_fio/s320/FANS+mom+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Yup, 50K.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkmOU07QPSw2wsIxeeMp_1enPfRtODM6WGRThzYmIX4-wGCuO0HiNfr1-mft4aVm1DnPvxuTwc_GFNQBLcIz4uwpkacUp9zzbn7UNlVjtk3_AnI405ljy9FmdS3gmEggy2towCnxfc9GJ/s1600/FANS+4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkmOU07QPSw2wsIxeeMp_1enPfRtODM6WGRThzYmIX4-wGCuO0HiNfr1-mft4aVm1DnPvxuTwc_GFNQBLcIz4uwpkacUp9zzbn7UNlVjtk3_AnI405ljy9FmdS3gmEggy2towCnxfc9GJ/s320/FANS+4.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
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<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">She liked it so much she decided to do it again, but this time in running shoes. </span></h4>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
One more time, but in running shoes</h4>
We arrived at Lake Snelling 45 minutes before race start, with bags laden with delicious snacks, extra socks and spare shoes, and, as the forecast was predicting possible stormy weather, some dry shirts. Much to my amusement, Mom also packed her umbrella.</div>
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"You're going to look ridiculous carrying an umbrella on the race course," I suggested.</div>
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"I'm going to look <i>dry</i>, you mean, " she retorted.</div>
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We ditched our gear in the "Tent for the Tentless," met Mom's personal lap counter, John, and made the rounds, greeting lots of friends who had come to run or to support.</div>
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A few minutes before 8 a.m., we lined up for the pre-race briefing. It was fun to see the many FANS runners who have come out for the event for years or decades, some with over 1000 cumulative FANS miles under their belts. It's a race that draws a unique crowd -- lots of veteran runners, people looking for a long summertime training run, and a sprinkling of younger, speedy people out to see what they can do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFl0tac3-B8h2IedmU4mAQN2LtiZYuC1jiVoGRv7fEaTvdNmIstFNjESFgwj5K6fsZQJnCFL4tWUEgsipT71CVleCLgSwolQ_pFoYk2hCUcpWBOBTcs2NKwov8aZt2W7yR1HDhWYqEUNS/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+54+25+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFl0tac3-B8h2IedmU4mAQN2LtiZYuC1jiVoGRv7fEaTvdNmIstFNjESFgwj5K6fsZQJnCFL4tWUEgsipT71CVleCLgSwolQ_pFoYk2hCUcpWBOBTcs2NKwov8aZt2W7yR1HDhWYqEUNS/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+54+25+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy, sparkly as ever, and Doug, King of FANS</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amy was there to burn up the course in the 12 hour. Shawn wanted a long training run before Bighorn 100. Doug was defending his title from last year. Cheri was running for the first time. Steve wanted 100 miles, and Radek was race walking but thought he could get 80-100 miles as well. It was great to see so many friends ready to take on the day (and night), and whatever it brought.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzO3ARvrJ8QwNdiTO65M6ckbBjlh697A_GvEKh2aoL2UbSfrxdjzMgptEM66Qs6FXqMVQtldnHO5UFgl1hypSednzfRZRyImHYO7GPu5b-weWQ4T6b6vRkEgAQ8Pif8uYoKPoCxvmwZT0/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+56+05+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzO3ARvrJ8QwNdiTO65M6ckbBjlh697A_GvEKh2aoL2UbSfrxdjzMgptEM66Qs6FXqMVQtldnHO5UFgl1hypSednzfRZRyImHYO7GPu5b-weWQ4T6b6vRkEgAQ8Pif8uYoKPoCxvmwZT0/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+56+05+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radek was Mom's personal lap counter last year!</td></tr>
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<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdUGNDnrjCaElS7fRaD0ylQEevOCu87x9fvJlLRpuFxqQO6DAbAW9Fu9Cyvojo9devp2HFH_9QXOFeVNuZZhZ3-DUZ2UAbTMcqnD7lax-cbKs8t4UvSU3jbfK65DnxZcZwlKhfH_vb-6X/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+56+12+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdUGNDnrjCaElS7fRaD0ylQEevOCu87x9fvJlLRpuFxqQO6DAbAW9Fu9Cyvojo9devp2HFH_9QXOFeVNuZZhZ3-DUZ2UAbTMcqnD7lax-cbKs8t4UvSU3jbfK65DnxZcZwlKhfH_vb-6X/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+56+12+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terry, ready for a big day</td></tr>
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</div>
<div>
The director counted down and we started off, first on a short out-and-back section to make the loops add up to exactly 100 miles, then off on the regular loop.<br />
<br />
The day was temperate and sunshine alternated with clouds as we started out. We waved and cheered at everyone on the out-and-back, then settled into an easy run/walk patter around the lake. The trail around the lake gradually revealed itself: paved trail through the tent village, a change to gravel road as the trail climbed a small incline that seemed to grow with every lap, then a long shaded winding section through woods and beside the lake before emerging into bright sunlight. Around the corner, past Bob's aid station (maybe it had a other name, but this year, it truly was Bob's: he furnished the music, the signs, the positive energy, and he was out there the whole 24 hours!). Then along the side of the road, down a little slope to the lakeside, and back to the lap counters' tent and start/finish for one loop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusdTdodAH9q40yrUVnBzUPAGeFacoNDjB7IrP641vnTdZiG_-Bml5uY4Q_hg4EqJOvIWWivO7EqlnYgZT3pIAqD4V7ut3mKsOHu7qbnMcYXDHbte_jTxpo5cYSuqhtwpi0gKQlCU4CTgb/s1600/13393912_1401258299899814_3198588116061133318_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusdTdodAH9q40yrUVnBzUPAGeFacoNDjB7IrP641vnTdZiG_-Bml5uY4Q_hg4EqJOvIWWivO7EqlnYgZT3pIAqD4V7ut3mKsOHu7qbnMcYXDHbte_jTxpo5cYSuqhtwpi0gKQlCU4CTgb/s320/13393912_1401258299899814_3198588116061133318_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob and I showing off our now-repaired elbows. I broke mine a <br />few years back at Zumbro; he dislocated his during a trail run. </td></tr>
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Mom and I ran easily for a couple of laps. Last year I'd pushed her to eat early and I think I pushed too hard; this year, she just picked out one snack per loop and kept drinking water, and that was good enough for me. I didn't realize until late in the race that she was picking something different on every loop, but I think the variety kept her eating even when she got tired near the end. FANS really delivers on the great aid station variety, rotating in different foods as the day and night go on.<br />
<br />
It began to heat up a bit, though it never got too hot. We put on sunblock. (Mom's smelled like a strawberry daiquiri.) After two laps or so, we broke from our rigid run-3-walk-1 schedule and walked the sunny parts of the course, saving the running for the shade.</div>
<div>
<br />
We finished the third lap, clocking something around 9 miles. "I think I'm done running for now," Mom said. "Let's walk for a while and see how it goes."<br />
<br />
We were both thrilled at how things were going. Her longest run at home this summer had been maybe 7 miles, and we agreed that 9 miles of happy painless running was a huge victory, and a great start to the day.<br />
<br />
We continued on, talking briefly with other runners as they passed us or we passed them. People stopped by to visit or run a few laps. I was especially excited to see the radiantly pregnant Arika at the TTFU tent, and had to run to catch up with Mom after stopping to chat. Todd was there supporting several runners, and Sheila was crewing Terry.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oM0zx4axhPZFjs8r4EXR5ebDEMQ43uIztXthjLnW8QTTTRhzajnPVVbNyVTouz1Yp49aBZ0AU_-3F7Tzx5oRh_7nBdepktgd3-NVfsIJcClLjaRxavICbsEhaa-EaqPZprLJSeVlURQs/s1600/Arika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oM0zx4axhPZFjs8r4EXR5ebDEMQ43uIztXthjLnW8QTTTRhzajnPVVbNyVTouz1Yp49aBZ0AU_-3F7Tzx5oRh_7nBdepktgd3-NVfsIJcClLjaRxavICbsEhaa-EaqPZprLJSeVlURQs/s320/Arika.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look excited because I just spotted Arika!</td></tr>
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Around lap 4 or 5, we spotted Steve Quick at Bob's aid station, and he joined us for two or three laps.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW95rEYIIP_tF0jZD5KmGp-ki5eRws19YjJeFt27svQhyphenhyphenV5Y3y7qgRB0hwwIPC8hwW8zkd9b7-2CV6FiIJmOesq7kM5YrWagCbadBo43Rf-9YqzHm3HfOUFsWTvdE1-oxNMtkvQnWH3ll/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+11+38+21+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW95rEYIIP_tF0jZD5KmGp-ki5eRws19YjJeFt27svQhyphenhyphenV5Y3y7qgRB0hwwIPC8hwW8zkd9b7-2CV6FiIJmOesq7kM5YrWagCbadBo43Rf-9YqzHm3HfOUFsWTvdE1-oxNMtkvQnWH3ll/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+11+38+21+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob is dancing for us, and Steve is actually<br />wearing pants, despite appearances</td></tr>
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Steve was great company, a raconteur with a ready supply of stories. The miles ticked by as he stuck with us and we entertained each other. Throughout, Mom just kept walking, briskly, inexorably, letting me gather snacks and supplies so that she could keep moving.<br />
<br />
It was past <span style="text-align: center;">noon now and Mom was beginning to crave real food. We stopped briefly for quinoa salad I'd packed, which tasted fresh and tasty, and bemoaned the lack of PB&J sandwiches at a the aid station.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaQg0h8sgcyrVrTPOPDEYs5bvW0u_mbOOrt5zU1H8mWiZo1N67eKZWwSCNfAsXc65J0n9oxj66XNs5GcN9DF-JV3gZMNn2DTOlrUKB_LhwDQqkGt6hrHTxXJCdaTI-B2h7eCXEseay3v4/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+11+50+02+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaQg0h8sgcyrVrTPOPDEYs5bvW0u_mbOOrt5zU1H8mWiZo1N67eKZWwSCNfAsXc65J0n9oxj66XNs5GcN9DF-JV3gZMNn2DTOlrUKB_LhwDQqkGt6hrHTxXJCdaTI-B2h7eCXEseay3v4/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+11+50+02+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The accordion players came out again this year!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSwfp8wVqfohvJCOxoSO45yKQogSTepfnElsDO25zIgWGKe8Otm_QRat4x12kgBW1ijPxI1_QA8Z_yQsjOyGMJPtwDAvpYIXRcBFgv_FGfrRRA1rxBtIAVWbim1zLOziNggbvPo6_GUc_/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+49+00+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSwfp8wVqfohvJCOxoSO45yKQogSTepfnElsDO25zIgWGKe8Otm_QRat4x12kgBW1ijPxI1_QA8Z_yQsjOyGMJPtwDAvpYIXRcBFgv_FGfrRRA1rxBtIAVWbim1zLOziNggbvPo6_GUc_/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+49+00+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their sign cracks me up. It makes it sound like<br />a disease or a natural disaster or something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Early in the afternoon, Janet came out to keep us company. She was fantastic company, and ended up doing <i>seven</i> (!) laps with Mom. It was her first event after a very difficult through-hike of the Border Route Trail in northern Minnesota, and she kept us entertained with hair-raising stories of epic blowdowns, terrible weather, and horrific blisters. Mom kept right up, telling her about Boundary Waters canoeing expeditions. It was fun to have a new person to talk to, and I'd been looking forward to hearing more about the BRT trip. And our walking pace seemed to suit Janet just fine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We made a quick stop to re-tape Mom's feet and grab some more quinoa salad. Cheri was in the first aid tent getting some gnarly blisters taken care of. She was so solid at this race, and got 46.5 miles in 12 hours! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Around 2 o'clock, Chris and the boys came down to join us for a lap. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSsMIoauhZrJD_FFB8X3W5pPJrRFkRX3Tm-VqJ5OfBPKSA1SuWDOaxF44o88ELApXCErLAkWvXIktWy_xGtWZxu_5hnJBjsVCadYhCyCGcu5bL30d8Y4CJZVH4Z8Ul0sN2o8FzHMNtwJk/s1600/13339475_1401264019899242_4022280436184428328_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSsMIoauhZrJD_FFB8X3W5pPJrRFkRX3Tm-VqJ5OfBPKSA1SuWDOaxF44o88ELApXCErLAkWvXIktWy_xGtWZxu_5hnJBjsVCadYhCyCGcu5bL30d8Y4CJZVH4Z8Ul0sN2o8FzHMNtwJk/s320/13339475_1401264019899242_4022280436184428328_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the best picture I could get...</td></tr>
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<div>
We had a great time showing them the trail around the lake, the boys bounced back and forth, and William found a stick to wave. (Of course.) It was a great lift to see the boys. I'm pretty sure Karl would have done at least one more lap, and possibly two or three! After a lap with the boys, I took off to shuffle cars so that we'd have transportation at the end of the day. Mom and Janet kept going.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Showers and breeze moved through over the afternoon, and I turned my windshield wipers on and off, and took my sunglasses on and off, repeatedly on my drive. Back at the course, the racers had little bouts of rain but nothing serious. Mom's umbrella remained packed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got back in the late afternoon. The lap counters told me Mom had been through 20 minutes ago, so I decided to catch her by going the other way. I jogged the loop backward, which was a fun chance to see <i>lots </i>of runners. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shawn had rallied after going through a tough spell. Amy still looked great. Radek was race-walking the heck out of the course. Doug was absolutely rock-steady, smiling, and cranking out the miles, on his way to another win (first man -- he was beaten by Courtney, who set the new women's record, 135.7 miles!). Steve had acquired a whole entourage of friends and supporters, including Kevin. He got his 100 miles. (Kevin ran FANS 24 hour last year and got 70. He also wrote one of the funniest and most moving <a href="http://mynameiskevinchem.tumblr.com/post/121513221545/fans-24-hour-race-report-imagine-how-this-would#121513221545">race reports </a>I've seen in a while. Go check it out. When I asked him if he was running it this year, he told me, "HELL NO. That was the most awful thing I've ever done.") </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I caught up with Mom and Janet near Bob's aid station, as they finished up lap 13. Wow! We were in the homestretch now, with only one more lap to the 50K mark. Mom was still crushing it, moving along at a steady, unstoppable speed. Every time I stopped to get food for her or fill her water bottle, I had to run to catch up. We cruised through lap 14, as she glanced at her watch. "I want to beat last year's time!" she said. Last year she'd hit the 50K mark in just over 10 hours. Today, she got there in 9:35.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"50K here!" I yelled to the lap counters. They rang the cowbell and we cheered.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"One more?" I asked her. "New distance PR?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh, okay," she agreed. And off we went again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our final lap felt like a celebration. We stopped for pictures.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYaUPvTPoLgLcYy2xsImGrNN2WSSMe_NNYPLouRzeR93ApBjV_WtLyETvgGvHS3X2IHJ0LvdvUT1PLqBw0N-oSdM1lO0wF_x91Qsg0LyRoqHkeujg5H_U8DqQP4gG5w7bd86FquIobKNm/s1600/13330876_1401259269899717_2764219667469627489_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYaUPvTPoLgLcYy2xsImGrNN2WSSMe_NNYPLouRzeR93ApBjV_WtLyETvgGvHS3X2IHJ0LvdvUT1PLqBw0N-oSdM1lO0wF_x91Qsg0LyRoqHkeujg5H_U8DqQP4gG5w7bd86FquIobKNm/s320/13330876_1401259269899717_2764219667469627489_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's still smiling!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We thanked volunteers, especially the unstoppable Bob. We bragged about Mom's distance PR to runners who passed us and who we passed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Soon, we were coming back to the start/finish one last time. "I can't think of any reason to do any more," Mom said. "Let's go get some dinner!" It was a little before 7 p.m. Dinner sounded good to all of us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We got a few victory pictures...</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU03XEELvUcgt4zJyukovocD297n9uWskmEXvuh2cN04wgb3nKEGYQBBeBWU0mdvXOQiXN6hNoffcK_bPgETNp5fvz-Z_Cv1StWYopMkN1YBTeYuETbdstLu-U9XXEy9Fa0A1YrpoRSdN/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+6+23+45+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU03XEELvUcgt4zJyukovocD297n9uWskmEXvuh2cN04wgb3nKEGYQBBeBWU0mdvXOQiXN6hNoffcK_bPgETNp5fvz-Z_Cv1StWYopMkN1YBTeYuETbdstLu-U9XXEy9Fa0A1YrpoRSdN/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+6+23+45+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">15 laps!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQBJRq8tfXGzNq17BIdnSSU1J-P92sap4MlQobFC7wDZGdf63l2Z7jdEGDaz0clZX3HLfuQf7QpjyJDSCYqFPZsKuO8SYfPM-ozERGXYE-VDNP1MCjaTFDXxT6I_FphwQmK1s5EW_62hcV/s1600/34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQBJRq8tfXGzNq17BIdnSSU1J-P92sap4MlQobFC7wDZGdf63l2Z7jdEGDaz0clZX3HLfuQf7QpjyJDSCYqFPZsKuO8SYfPM-ozERGXYE-VDNP1MCjaTFDXxT6I_FphwQmK1s5EW_62hcV/s320/34.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">34 miles, all smiles!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
... and headed off to Brasa with Janet to eat ALL THE THINGS.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
A good day</h4>
<div>
I joke about Mom's motivation for coming to these events. I claim it's 10% race, 50% seeing grandchildren, and 40% dinner at Brasa. But whatever the proportions, I know that for me, it's all about a chance to spend time with her, doing something that's a little out of our comfort zone, a little bit more difficult than we ordinarily do, a high-water mark that we can look back at and say, "I did that."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm grateful to have a parent, a friend, a partner-in-adventures who's willing to come and try crazy things with me. Thanks, Mom. Let's do it again soon.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaOh2dqni0RUPLEIlntOIwtXO28I-inZkjORfHbcwFY4Zp-b3zHZ6Rhowq-7BkknkdOzvx881gvc50xSRDB8zCFzCJM7ET0CljoYRJJrMd5FJPTkMkMnDfzF_c1LutGxZ3eq6JmFKZfcK/s1600/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+13+25+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaOh2dqni0RUPLEIlntOIwtXO28I-inZkjORfHbcwFY4Zp-b3zHZ6Rhowq-7BkknkdOzvx881gvc50xSRDB8zCFzCJM7ET0CljoYRJJrMd5FJPTkMkMnDfzF_c1LutGxZ3eq6JmFKZfcK/s320/Photo+Jun+04%252C+7+13+25+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love you, Mom!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-35053581616511728842016-05-24T07:10:00.000-07:002016-05-24T09:44:29.683-07:00A Warm One: Spring Superior 50K 2016 Race Report<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and</div>
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exclaim or murmur or think at some point,</div>
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<b><i>"If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."</i></b></div>
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- Kurt Vonnegut</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the starting line, experiencing that moment<br />
of limitless possibility when anything could happen</td></tr>
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I ran the Spring Superior 50k for the fourth time this weekend. It's always a special weekend -- the first trip of the year to the North Shore, a trail family reunion on the Superior Hiking Trail, and it's my ultra-versary: in 2013, this was my first ultramarathon. I've run some miles and more than a few other ultras since then, but Spring Superior will always have a special place in my heart.<br />
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I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of performance this year. I'd run this one faster each year, with finishing times of 8:00 in 2013, then <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/05/sunshine-mud-and-euphoria-on-trails.html">7:41 in 2014</a>, then <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/05/in-beauty-may-i-walk-spring-superior.html">7:29 last year</a>, and wondered if I could do it again. On other hand, although I'd gotten a few really solid training weeks in this spring, injuries had limited my training volume for part of the season so far. However, most of those seemed to have damped down, though, and my only worry now was pain in my right medial calf thanks to a race-week hill workout with Jon. I rested it, massaged it, and tried not to worry about it.</div>
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On Friday morning, I packed up my race gear (so much less packing than <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/04/zumbro-17-mile-race-report-2016.html">Zumbro</a>! No headlamps, no sub-freezing gear, no camping gear, no giant cooler of food!) and headed north with Amy and Lynnea.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lumbering our way northward. Photo: Random guy with a baby</td></tr>
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At Lutsen, I checked in and met up with my roommates for the weekend, Janet and Dawn. It was sunny and surprisingly warm, and it was easy to believe tomorrow's forecast of temperatures in the high 60's. (In fact, it ended up much warmer than that!).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory Moose Mountain selfie.</td></tr>
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After dinner, we headed to bed pretty quickly and our lights were out by 8:45. With a 5:15 wake-up time, this race felt downright luxurious!<br />
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Race morning dawns clear and sunny, and we're all awake before the alarm. I get dressed, tape my calf and hope it'll behave, drink coffee, and eat my rice, chicken, and peas. I'm a little jittery, but it's coming through as happy excitement, rather than anxiety. It's a race day feeling. There's nothing else quite like it.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">By 7 am race start,
it's sunny and already pushing 50. I am feeling better and better about my choice of
tank top instead of T-shirt, SWAP trucker hat, sunglasses, and sunblock before
the race start.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However, I regret
forgetting to bring a buff to wipe off sweat. I always forget the buff.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I remember the
fake knuckle tattoos, so it's all good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-eNyHooAwBnEAo77QJ2q3amN-c8rkWglgW6L7EaWsFI_3MsedY4-yAJq4Ur8Yn2DNLXhWxqANv5GHXaY_UlfTtUZuxbE4jw8TqqMLMRNsQK8cFSYvK2rg20DmBipYdhFxKW08NaVedmM/s1600/Storkamp+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-eNyHooAwBnEAo77QJ2q3amN-c8rkWglgW6L7EaWsFI_3MsedY4-yAJq4Ur8Yn2DNLXhWxqANv5GHXaY_UlfTtUZuxbE4jw8TqqMLMRNsQK8cFSYvK2rg20DmBipYdhFxKW08NaVedmM/s320/Storkamp+1.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gonna be a good day!<br />
Photo: John Storkamp</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I spot John Storkamp
before the start and he snaps the picture. "Second year in a row," he
says. "In 30 years, you'll have 30 of these pictures!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I do a few lunges to
warm up, and Janet asks if I'm going do to burpees. I do one and ask her if
she's going to do hill repeats. She declines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Waiting at the
starting line, I stop worrying about sore calf muscles, heat, and 50 kilometers
of gnarly trail, and start to get genuinely excited. I snap giddy smiling
pictures of friends and bounce around, just a little.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">John publicly
embarrasses a few people who didn't check in this morning, and makes some quick
pre-race announcements. "The trails are mostly dry, except for a few low
spots. Even a little... crunchy." The crowd goes nuts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With a countdown from
five, it's "GO!" and we're off up the ski hill road. I'm running with
Gregg, who's out for his first ultra, and we're discussing nutrition, pace, and
moderation. Clearly I'm not persuasive because he blasts ahead after the first
mile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVQVuNDgJcefb8TyVwMQxtGWiQlAcfJaIuYnYi7qdx51kFBsL94xvB0_KRoRMkg-cBXN0yZ2vrx8OdHrjwGSAAFPkxKF3nEVADSJ8dtcMQg7PNHsECK06R17LB6r_jHNqOQ5wpr6oyDIm/s1600/mike+wheeler+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVQVuNDgJcefb8TyVwMQxtGWiQlAcfJaIuYnYi7qdx51kFBsL94xvB0_KRoRMkg-cBXN0yZ2vrx8OdHrjwGSAAFPkxKF3nEVADSJ8dtcMQg7PNHsECK06R17LB6r_jHNqOQ5wpr6oyDIm/s320/mike+wheeler+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race start! Photo: Mike Wheeler</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3IQD90F2TLA_b_BIkyyQw9Tp2HxVbrx0pJHk7-nCytAOvCuuvsifG0NJUpqPOFeLFp47Qje-IKlkyjdEXrR3npR4bQ0cXitsQ_heKadRwOEz8d4r9edJrSVaF1VpZSQY9lI3uoSUhZ_3/s1600/Langton+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3IQD90F2TLA_b_BIkyyQw9Tp2HxVbrx0pJHk7-nCytAOvCuuvsifG0NJUpqPOFeLFp47Qje-IKlkyjdEXrR3npR4bQ0cXitsQ_heKadRwOEz8d4r9edJrSVaF1VpZSQY9lI3uoSUhZ_3/s320/Langton+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outbound across the Poplar River. Photo: Kevin Langton</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To my surprise, I
catch and pass Janet, who's normally going my pace or a bit slower. We play
back-and-forth the whole day before finishing the race together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #1d2129; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first climb up
Moose Mountain passes quickly. The sun is getting strong but it's still cool,
it's not humid, and there's a light breeze. I raise my arms and yell "WOOO!"
as we crest the first big climb. It's a glorious day. What could be better than
being here, doing this awesome thing?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">The trails are in unbelievable shape. No mud, even in the
places that are always muddy. They're even a little dusty and slippery in places.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I run in a little train with Janet and Ben and some others
for quite a ways along here. We're having fun and moving well. Things feel
exactly the way they should in the first few miles of an ultra. My calf is
quiet. All is well.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">There's a little more trail than I remember heading into the
Oberg aid station, but we get there 5 minutes ahead of my last year's time. I'm
pleased. Janet is a bit apprehensive. "My strategy so far has been 'RRR'
-- 'Run Robyn's Race!'" she exclaims. I'm glad to have her company,
though.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgHrH_MNuKPYnBkAt11CT_uPl7yLnm3aa7sBz0_CfYDccBlw43ZBCAPd4OG_L8X0Ulboy4zA-LxBL970gcMFVMXHXQTB45oP6UOZWOTnbWQGdkxP-gBkoo8vauvIH2-Y_PLBX-k_tyJKo/s1600/Rowe+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgHrH_MNuKPYnBkAt11CT_uPl7yLnm3aa7sBz0_CfYDccBlw43ZBCAPd4OG_L8X0Ulboy4zA-LxBL970gcMFVMXHXQTB45oP6UOZWOTnbWQGdkxP-gBkoo8vauvIH2-Y_PLBX-k_tyJKo/s320/Rowe+1.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving the descent into Oberg.<br />
Photo: Todd Rowe</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">At Oberg, I consider that I'm going to be drinking a <i>lot </i>today, and ask the volunteers (hi, Sam!) to fill my hydration pack with Heed instead of water. I grab some Endurolytes
and salted potatoes. It's heating up. Janet and I head out together.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Oberg to Sawbill is 4.5 miles but has fewer landmarks so it
feels long. There are lots of runnable sections, especially with the dry
trails. I run the flats and downhills, admiring the blooming flowers (many more than usual! Spring came early this year) and the
still, reflective water of the beaver pond.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">By halfway through this section my skin feels hot and I'm
fantasizing about ice. The breeze seems to have died along this section and
it's really warm now (I later heard close to 80 degrees.) I'm still eating and
drinking fine, but feel like going much faster would do Bad Things to my gut.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Front runners start passing me on their return leg. I cheer
them on as they come. Mike Borst is once again killing it out there, running at
least 7 minutes ahead of second place. He finishes the 50K in sub-4 hours.
Awesome. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I roll into Sawbill, don't recall what time. A volunteer has
a portable camp shower set up and is spraying runners down. He does my back and
neck and I whoop at the shock of the cool water. <br />
"That is AMAZING!" I exclaim. "Did you think of that?"<br />
"No, the guy over there in the blue shirt did."<br />
I go over to the the guy in the blue shirt. "Was the shower your
idea?" He nods. I give him a sweaty, disgusting hug. "I LOVE YOU,
MAN!" I tell him.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Volunteers put ice in my hydration pack and ice in my hat. I put on more sunblock, slam some water and another salty potato, and head for Carlton Peak and the
turnaround.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">It's hot heading up Carlton, but on one side we catch both
shade and a breeze, and I revive as I power-hike up. Then, around a corner,
it's back in the sun and the breeze is gone. I'm grateful for ice-cold Heed and
ice in my hat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I do like the climb up Carlton. It's steep and rocky and I
exclaim, "Now we're getting somewhere!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We top out and I yell, "Woohoo!" I hear an
answering whoop ahead. Around a couple of trees and there's my friend Kevin, ultrarunner,
writer, and human being extraordinaire, volunteering at the turnaround.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I eye his outfit -- a long gray wig, headband,
stars-and-stripes tank top, and jean shorts two sizes too small. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Where on
earth did you get those shorts?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Ragstock," he answers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"They shouldn't have sold them to you," I proclaim. "I think
there's a law."</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNYyiyLK5nCeRNH9HwYtj3BpZAfCDiHacY8SbAbCYaHT9ZB01CnmkFqtKt9-4j-BNW1EWCk2kIZeONmHROMDW3sRlqM5jh_kpIHggnrev3V7TiL0eUIpiHQ4DmvbIflhd1TbeEUcKtg2O/s1600/rr+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNYyiyLK5nCeRNH9HwYtj3BpZAfCDiHacY8SbAbCYaHT9ZB01CnmkFqtKt9-4j-BNW1EWCk2kIZeONmHROMDW3sRlqM5jh_kpIHggnrev3V7TiL0eUIpiHQ4DmvbIflhd1TbeEUcKtg2O/s320/rr+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, we're glamorous.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQZJgkfJvQLQ-bKVK9CaQx4LHmhiGl_8wsddPBRUfgNZbz7uo__yFwN13ODOESKNzPgiKrPCbPHnrZveyNkuJHExcjD7BQm-H00n8ca2le3xhtFe-vEinEYHgzHyVJ38OanJAUmv3TgV7/s1600/kevin+on+carlton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQZJgkfJvQLQ-bKVK9CaQx4LHmhiGl_8wsddPBRUfgNZbz7uo__yFwN13ODOESKNzPgiKrPCbPHnrZveyNkuJHExcjD7BQm-H00n8ca2le3xhtFe-vEinEYHgzHyVJ38OanJAUmv3TgV7/s320/kevin+on+carlton.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">This is what he was wearing. Avert your eyes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Janet tops out a little behind me and we snap some pictures
and admire the view to infinity off the peak. It's a glorious day, despite the
heat. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sohla3jpobQYPufXwmSs2iQjt7pe5VknowvqXoAueXsN3AjB37uzJuXGBAqnTGl2lroJRvvX_qbH1gUX1W6TX5zEhciBXd-mncPLsdhi3kwx7jg8u7OhaPrdN4zFTOEKtEUfEAQ3Ny3I/s1600/Langton+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sohla3jpobQYPufXwmSs2iQjt7pe5VknowvqXoAueXsN3AjB37uzJuXGBAqnTGl2lroJRvvX_qbH1gUX1W6TX5zEhciBXd-mncPLsdhi3kwx7jg8u7OhaPrdN4zFTOEKtEUfEAQ3Ny3I/s320/Langton+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Carlton Peak.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I offer Kevin some of my sunblock and we head back down with a final
"Woohoo!" It's a little less than 4 hours into the race.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">The descent is steep and dusty, and I cheer on runners who
are still climbing up, as well as a backpacking group that looks terribly hot
with their full packs and long pants. On the descent, my calf, which has been
quiet all day so far, begins to ache a bit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Back into Sawbill, well ahead of the cutoff. I consider the
state of my calf and decide that it can certainly handle the next section,
which has no big climbs or descents to speak of. With my pack topped off and
fresh ice in my hat, I head out, again just a bit ahead of Janet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Salt has crusted on my face from sweating in the dry breeze. The ice in my hat melts and drips into my eye, and the mix of sweat and sunblock stings. Eventually it gets better, and I'm grateful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Sawbill to Oberg still feels long, but whether it's the ice
in my pack and hat, or whether it's a turn in the weather, I've got a bit of a
lift now. There's a little bit of breeze and though I'm still not going as fast as
I'd hoped, I'm moving a little better now. I eat Clif beet-ginger and
mango-banana puree and Shot Bloks and move along, hiking mostly, running some.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYADHj4zVviMAQ8ADK6r7zHnLfpuqT5nXZt3puocHdgwwis5y1AmSR0DKSmbC4neJL-OVn2YBGZJ68jrNS52ZZEturylqrs0nLWnzRmKsuWuBkkWtuB8xROHvNDhtiMR1-ne8IwT9JcG9/s1600/Langton+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYADHj4zVviMAQ8ADK6r7zHnLfpuqT5nXZt3puocHdgwwis5y1AmSR0DKSmbC4neJL-OVn2YBGZJ68jrNS52ZZEturylqrs0nLWnzRmKsuWuBkkWtuB8xROHvNDhtiMR1-ne8IwT9JcG9/s320/Langton+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling the heat. Photo: Kevin Langton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I pass Jamison, who's slowing down in the heat. I wish him
luck. "Don't do anything too stupid," I tell him. "Remember,
it's only May. You've got all summer to be stupid. Don't use it all up
now!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I pass Stu, who wants to know if there's going to be pie at
the end of this run, like the one we did at Afton a few weeks ago. "That's
an awesome idea!" I exclaim. "Next time we're bringing pie!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">(Hours later, he finishes a few minutes behind me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">As he
crosses the line, I ask him, "Where's the pie?!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"I thought YOU
had the pie!" he replies. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Darn it, I thought YOU did!" I
answer. His family laughs at us.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I pass another runner -- Ryan? Don't recall. We talk a bit.
It's his first ultra. "Enjoy it," I start to tell him. But we're both
suffering in the heat on the trail, and that doesn't seem quite right. <br />
I think of an analogy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Wait," I say. "Do you have kids?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Yeah," he says. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"You know how people tell you, 'Enjoy every
minute!' and you're like, 'Fuck you'?" (Huh, I think, that came out a
little blunt. But he says, "Yeah...") </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I continue, "It's kind of
like that. But it's got its moments."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I'm getting tired and my calf is getting worse as I come
into the last section before Oberg aid station. I had passed Nicolle earlier
and now she passes me back. Not long after that, half a mile before the aid
station, I hear a cry of pain. Around the bend, Nicolle is sitting down and
holding her ankle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">She's rolled it and heard a 'pop.' After we ascertain she's
otherwise okay, I look around and find a couple of stout sticks for her to use
as trekking poles. She stands up and tries it out. It's obviously very painful
but she manages a few steps and looks like she can hike out if she takes it
slow. Another runner has caught up to us and hikes with her while I run ahead
to the aid station to let them know she's coming in with an injury.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I get to Oberg at about the 6 hour mark and let the crew
there know that there's an injured runner not far up the trail. Then, while the
excellent volunteers drape ice-cold towels around my neck and fill my hydration
pack, I sit down under an awning and take a stab at dealing with my own injured
calf, which is now causing enough pain that I'm thinking of dropping here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">A volunteer hands me a cold can of soda to use as a roller.
As I roll it up and down my leg, another runner drops into a chair beside me.
"You know," I say conversationally, "this really is a ridiculous
hobby. When you find yourself sitting in a gravel parking lot in the woods
rolling a can of Diet Code Red Mountain Dew on your leg, you really have to
question your life choices." He agrees.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Nicolle hobbles in and joins our little group of overheated,
hurting runners. After briefly considering hiking it in, she wisely decides to
drop here instead. I repeat my line about not using up all the stupid now. I
may be trying to convince myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Janet comes in and is surprised I'm still here. I still
haven't decided whether to continue, but the rolling and some half-assed
homebrew ART on my calf have it feeling better and I've cooled off sitting in
the shade. The volunteers have filled my pack and fed me oranges. There's still
10 minutes till the 6:30 cutoff. "Are you going to finish?" she asks.
"What the hell. Sure, I'll run it in with you," I reply. I feel good
enough to jog out of the aid station, the volunteers whooping and cheering us
out onto the trail.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"> We're mostly
power-hiking this final 7+ mile section but occasionally break into a jog.
Janet can outpace me on the downhills, which I'm taking cautiously, but I'm
still climbing faster than her, so we're pretty evenly matched. We cover the
runnable section leading to the Moose Mountain climb. Hardly anyone is on the
trails with us -- we figure most people are ahead of us, or have dropped. But
we're going to finish this thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We climb the steep "Stairway to Heaven" up the
back of Moose Mountain and remind ourselves that </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">there's only one more big
climb to go. We manage a little running on the top and enjoy a breath of breezy
air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">On the descent, we pass Greg, who's sitting by the trail.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"How ya doing?" I ask.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Fine."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I eye him more closely. He doesn't look bad, but he's just... sitting there. I'm a bit concerned. "How ya doing?" I repeat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"I just checked my blood sugar and it was low, so I ate something and I'm waiting for my blood sugar to come back up," he replies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">"Awesome." I breath a sign of relief that he's apparently not quietly having a heart attack. "Need any extra fuel? Need some water?" No, he says, he's good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We wish him luck and continue on. I'm happy to see him cross the finish line not long after us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">A steep descent and trip through the usually-wet valley
brings us to the switchbacks up Mystery Mountain. Up we go, passing another
runner or two along the way. We're swarmed by little gnats that try to get into our eyes, and buzzing flies in our ears. But we're glad there are no mosquitos. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">I share my Roctane gels with Janet. "These
are magic," I assure her. "They've got branched-chain amino acids and science-y shit in them. We're getting there, step by step."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We're on Mystery Mountain now, watching for the next
landmark, the campground that marks the point at which it's all downhill.
Around one bend, we can hear music and voices from the finish line, far below
us. At last we're at the campground.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-IdA7iYEkJjmg8OjFvwGM3c7NM7JDo6TbtCs4akSvMBL1vMd1yvEDZ9XK0xc58jpKDLAsG_7mcBVS0nUBJDwFPQb_VbDuO_xNRGbg-BT4zG_tI7gmRgIZgtoYbgxKSzImnyECbGcZC82/s1600/rr+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-IdA7iYEkJjmg8OjFvwGM3c7NM7JDo6TbtCs4akSvMBL1vMd1yvEDZ9XK0xc58jpKDLAsG_7mcBVS0nUBJDwFPQb_VbDuO_xNRGbg-BT4zG_tI7gmRgIZgtoYbgxKSzImnyECbGcZC82/s320/rr+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad to be nearing the end!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">It's a long descent down blessedly dry trails now. We're
past the 8 hour mark, but we're getting this thing done. The air begins to cool
and at last we hear the Poplar River.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We follow the river down and down, and suddenly, there's the
bridge. We're almost there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We cross the bridge, hit the last little bump up, and we're
on the gravel road. We start to run. We're going to run it all the way in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">We keep up our run. It's slow, but it's a run. From the
gravel to the pavement. Under the gondola. To the end of the line of cones.
Turn off the road and around the buildings. A few people cheer as we run by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">Around the pool, and Janet speeds up. I hustle to match her
pace and we cross the mat together in 8:37, all smiles. It's not the race
either of us expected, but it's a 50K finish and we're elated to be here, to be
alive, to be among friends and noise and music.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;">It's a good day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvofsJQ0dA9mR_M5nHYrnQz03VXbuLBsO7zF34BRy3yp44TbKabp5ym4R6A8JDQKfkaWT9UM-I-5dfQdeHMsgZlKZ2KJcQ0vqPtHr3Ra_Lp7JjNnjEhB7clPGyhgRMsPTJuBn8vSQ__Qz/s1600/rr+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvofsJQ0dA9mR_M5nHYrnQz03VXbuLBsO7zF34BRy3yp44TbKabp5ym4R6A8JDQKfkaWT9UM-I-5dfQdeHMsgZlKZ2KJcQ0vqPtHr3Ra_Lp7JjNnjEhB7clPGyhgRMsPTJuBn8vSQ__Qz/s320/rr+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Pitera and me. He's one of the guys who makes the<br />
magic happen at every Rocksteady race.<br />
Before the start of this one, he said, "When you finish,<br />
I want to be the one who gives you your medal."<br />
So he did.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This wasn't the race I expected. But when you're out on the trails all day, sometimes things don't go as planned. It was a day for heat training, for running the miles and hiking the miles and climbing the climbs, for the people and stories along the way that make these things memorable. It was a day for learning to adapt and accept what the conditions and the weather and my body brought.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Any day you can run 50K is a pretty awesome day. This one was no exception.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks to the amazing volunteers at this event who took care of us all, sometimes literally waiting on us hand and foot. Thank you, John and Cheri, for continuing a joyful, life-affirming tradition. Thank you, all my friends who ran with me along the way, for a little distance or a long one. It is a delight and an honor to do these things with you.</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-74080968814994488032016-04-14T13:49:00.000-07:002016-05-02T07:56:54.489-07:00Zumbro 17 Mile Race Report, 2016 (Redemption and Sunshine)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Zumbro. It's complicated. It's bitter cold and gentle spring. Rain and hail and a little snow. Bad sleep, campfire smoke, nervous anticipation, too much coffee, bacon-and-egg quesadillas that taste like manna. It's my fourth time back, my third race, my second finish, my first really good Zumbro run. Here's the story.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="clear: both;">
The Fun Run</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I signed up for the 17 miler this winter and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. No pressure to train for a 50 miler over the winter months, a chance to heal some nagging peroneal tendon pain, time and space to volunteer before and after, and the prospect of, as I wrote at the time, "just running one loop of that crazy course as fast as I can."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
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Winter training was relatively low mileage as my peroneal and other things kept flaring up, but I got in lots of 2 hour runs and a few 3 hour ones, cross-trained a lot, and figured that and my knowledge of the course would carry me through. I ran a weekly stair climbing workout that my <a href="http://someworkallplay.blogspot.com/">coach </a>and I dubbed #stairsforbreakfast, and hoped that would give me a boost climbing and descending Zumbro's many bluffs.</div>
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My goals for this race were pretty simple:</div>
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1. Finish the race without needing medical attention. (This would be a first for me; in 2013 <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/running-with-broken-elbow-or-its-just.html">I broke my olecranon </a>at mile 2; in 2014 I <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/04/race-report-zumbro-midnight-50-miler.html">DNF'd at mile 33</a> with hypothermia).</div>
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2. Run all the runnable parts, keep fairly even splits, and be proud of how I ran on every section. (Last year, <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html">when pacing</a>, I'd been struck by how runnable this course is in large sections, and had been longing to get out and really run it).</div>
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3. Finish in under 4 hours. (My finish time in 2013, with a broken elbow, was 4:35.)</div>
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A Cold One</h4>
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I spend the Friday of race weekend <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2016/04/zumbro-2016-cold-one-friday-volunteer.html">working at an aid station</a> for the 100 mile race. It was cold, very windy, and snowed hard off and on. I was very glad to have a motel room, a hot shower, and a hot dinner... and worried about the 100 and 50 milers out in the dropping temperatures (it got down to 17 degrees on the course and runners' hydration packs froze). </div>
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Saturday morning dawned sunny and cold, but the wind had finally died down and it promised to be a glorious day for a run. I had a breakfast of rice, chicken, and peas with cold brew coffee, and headed back to the start/finish area to see what had happened during the night.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLECe78JaFRwMf7hpSFItMcUwCd-jZWmx9o8Py5rbDa-5vB8HHi7bQAkdEHD-3quDyRJGYLcFcmIGZUVCIMemL-txmYJCN9sZEM_yX9bKXmiUiP_3J0YhJ2HQ_lbupkblGpSOgyjO0B0d8/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+6+17+26+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLECe78JaFRwMf7hpSFItMcUwCd-jZWmx9o8Py5rbDa-5vB8HHi7bQAkdEHD-3quDyRJGYLcFcmIGZUVCIMemL-txmYJCN9sZEM_yX9bKXmiUiP_3J0YhJ2HQ_lbupkblGpSOgyjO0B0d8/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+6+17+26+AM.png" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AW YISSSSS</td></tr>
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The start/finish area had the kind of low-level buzz of energy you see at these events. Runners came in on their next to last lap and headed out on their last one. Occasionally, a 100 miler finished, to massive cheers and cowbelling. I got updates on how friends were doing out there: Rob had taken second in the 100! Wendi had dropped after 67 miles. Kevin Chem was still out there getting it done! Janet was out on her second lap of the 50! Lots of great achievements and, Lisa and Joy told me, not too much hypothermia. Great news. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Jj8PVo1p5ZteH8Fenezpze9_yxflOzjI6sD5o8u27JmelJr637Ho78UCzG1037G6gl-02Cdk4cNkWe3ap0ADag726Lrc04uqkVte98jopEfyWt_QBO_JLayCfttlABBAQd7kIZC4awFT/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+56+22+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Jj8PVo1p5ZteH8Fenezpze9_yxflOzjI6sD5o8u27JmelJr637Ho78UCzG1037G6gl-02Cdk4cNkWe3ap0ADag726Lrc04uqkVte98jopEfyWt_QBO_JLayCfttlABBAQd7kIZC4awFT/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+56+22+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob, post 100 miles, cheering on everyone else now</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgPZpAAPI29aE1DhAX6ap4U1RXZksfYB6g_2nq3svVjVyEV0ggVKqRPkWHzPMKG3l8Pr6okE1RCgBCmAkqbKB0cNW1gzuQE5UimV76EvSMTId2pYQW7B98YQ2eHOQ2ncQM4xkqlyclVEJ/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+11+19+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgPZpAAPI29aE1DhAX6ap4U1RXZksfYB6g_2nq3svVjVyEV0ggVKqRPkWHzPMKG3l8Pr6okE1RCgBCmAkqbKB0cNW1gzuQE5UimV76EvSMTId2pYQW7B98YQ2eHOQ2ncQM4xkqlyclVEJ/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+11+19+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Jim and his YUUUUGE mittens. You know it's<br />
dire when people break out the Arrowhead gear.</td></tr>
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An unexpected delight was meeting up with Mike at the start/finish. He'd been sick, I hadn't seen him since November, and I was so glad he'd made it down to Zumbro!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9i5BulyySBvCfx8TxgdEzZi_hyphenhyphencNDAC7zMbIXGcBpMBQf7DT5Jji_7l332MQrQqbsWfYVgELhOuxUhxKYcWIUAM8-fojgp3niHHmjBZf8OnTA8gbnaIF16RGr4lnnNh-cFrCGr6Qf_GL/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+00+34+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9i5BulyySBvCfx8TxgdEzZi_hyphenhyphencNDAC7zMbIXGcBpMBQf7DT5Jji_7l332MQrQqbsWfYVgELhOuxUhxKYcWIUAM8-fojgp3niHHmjBZf8OnTA8gbnaIF16RGr4lnnNh-cFrCGr6Qf_GL/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+00+34+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Mike, Cheri</td></tr>
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The time came to line up for the 17 mile and I listened to John's pre-race briefing with half an ear, looking for friends in the crowd. He noted that the race would start on a gravel road instead of singletrack to reduce congestion, did a quick countdown, and off we went, following him on a four wheeler.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYbSAeyde0BwN1sevL4ed2DOVtTTduBCvBDJBlrCcgzCFrQiciVDx7f3KvSSae_0JWb6bd1STyqy8U7ieCC3tTK6mpBXmitFLnZAMNONIwMs5_cFJe21JPFmgOXv2TXPWoyR-kuSzW412/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+57+27+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYbSAeyde0BwN1sevL4ed2DOVtTTduBCvBDJBlrCcgzCFrQiciVDx7f3KvSSae_0JWb6bd1STyqy8U7ieCC3tTK6mpBXmitFLnZAMNONIwMs5_cFJe21JPFmgOXv2TXPWoyR-kuSzW412/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+8+57+27+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flags are on the left, pick up your trash, be nice to the people with <br />
pink ribbons on their packs; they've been out here for a while already</td></tr>
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<h4 style="clear: both;">
Start to AS 1</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2G-o3fNsjPAiaC1mWBrDwgPWM6flJ0etNa0UPWr-6GtynkFgWcdyKTQ0iBMCzuv5-bBcSF19JGJ_B6tLIIbzpiObwTMHdwIEI3sADsWP-tJDI8Mgn-5ypciwRgDJaSNQxJ5utnhyleDa/s1600/Zumbro+start+Dave+Shannon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2G-o3fNsjPAiaC1mWBrDwgPWM6flJ0etNa0UPWr-6GtynkFgWcdyKTQ0iBMCzuv5-bBcSF19JGJ_B6tLIIbzpiObwTMHdwIEI3sADsWP-tJDI8Mgn-5ypciwRgDJaSNQxJ5utnhyleDa/s320/Zumbro+start+Dave+Shannon.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">17 mile start! Photo by David Shannon </td></tr>
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The loop starts with a 300-foot climb to the top of the bluffs; for the 17 mile it was a gravel road leading to the steeper, rocky doubletrack climb. This was a great re-route that avoided the "conga line" on the singletrack that I'd seen in previous years. Before I knew it, we were at the ridge, with beautiful views of the river valley and the campground below. I stopped for a quick picture, enjoying the bright sunshine. After yesterday's wind, the light breeze felt like a caress.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgD0ySEzEv34xxcQtnO_gLgCybKPrYRmpY-9NA-BftEKyHzw6yd-Wm_Pd_hayoAtfANrCmq1nNtr02IjtDymiImKPcYASZduEjY03pUd8itHYMISvEFtvWQXtd1rRHHETH1wZro90x8p4/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+9+13+27+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgD0ySEzEv34xxcQtnO_gLgCybKPrYRmpY-9NA-BftEKyHzw6yd-Wm_Pd_hayoAtfANrCmq1nNtr02IjtDymiImKPcYASZduEjY03pUd8itHYMISvEFtvWQXtd1rRHHETH1wZro90x8p4/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+9+13+27+AM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue skies and sunshine!</td></tr>
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As we came through the "hobbit forest", the level stand of pine trees at the top of the ridge, I chatted with Janelle and Aurora "the indigenous ladies," who had introduced themselves at Wild Duluth, where we had passed each other about a dozen times in the final half of the race. It was fun to see them again and to be running on soft trails, in a beautiful place, once again. I slowed to a walk to talk to a couple of 50 milers, and that helped me keep my heart rate down and get my breath back after climbing.<br />
<br />
After a steep rocky downhill and some additional doubletrack, I was shocked at how quickly we rolled into the first aid station, at about the 3 mile mark. I was really happy with how I'd run the first leg of the course, and ready to take on the rest.<br />
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AS 1 to AS2</h4>
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I was right in the middle of a pack, and the aid station was crazy busy. I gave Matt Patten, who was volunteering, a quick hug, and skipped the rest of the aid station. It was only mile 3, I had plenty of food and water, and I'd seen enough aid station food volunteering the day before. No need to stop!</div>
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At 4.3 miles, the AS 1 to AS 2 segment is the longest, and from previous years I recalled it feeling longer than it actually is. After crossing the Zumbro river, there are long sections on forest roads and doubletrack, a wide tour around a field, and toward the end, a very steep climb that I always seem to forget about until it's upon me.</div>
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This time, though, I resolved to be strong throughout the whole section and run whatever I could of it. Along the way, I ran with Derek, who was doing the 17 mile but also looking for his wife, Teri, out on the final loop of her first 100 mile race. "Not bad for a 55 year old woman," he bragged to me. "She gets up at 4, goes to the gym, and lifts weights!" His excitement for her and his pride were deeply moving. When he caught up to her, I told her, "I can't wait to see you cross the finish line. I'll be there, screaming my head off." Six hours later, they crossed hand in hand. I screamed my head off for them.</div>
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The steep, rocky climb was as steep and rocky as I remembered from pacing Jordan. As I passed a few runners struggling up it, I remembered that we had stopped about nine times along the way last time so that he could catch his breath.</div>
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The trails were in fantastic shape, with very little mud. In sunlit areas, the top layer of frozen mud was beginning to melt and was a little slippery, though. At one point, my foot slid out sideways and I stumbled to catch myself. I called back to the runner behind me, "Don't do that." She laughed. We negotiated the steep not-really-a-trail down to the road, and I ran into AS 2, still smiling and feeling great.</div>
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AS 2 to AS 3</h4>
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I had been eating Shot Bloks and Larabars and was still good for snacks and water, so I just grabbed a few Endurolytes and ran out of AS 2 toward Picnic Rock. This section starts with another steep climb. As I powered up it, cautiously passing a few hundred milers and matching pace with a strong 50 miler, I thought, "This is the best I've ever felt on this climb!" Big credit to #stairsforbreakfast for that one. I'm not sure how my colleagues at the hospital felt about seeing me running up and down the 9-story stairwell every Tuesday all winter, but on Saturday, it paid off.</div>
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I think it also helped going downhill -- and on a loop course with 3100 feet of up, there were 3100 feet of down too. There was plenty of it descending from Picnic Rock, much on rugged rocky singletrack that was a tiny bit muddy. </div>
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Along here, and on the long, more runnable sections, I was starting to feel tired. The last section before AS 3, through the sand coulees and over the "sandy bumps," felt long and I wondered whether I'd gone out too hard. I consoled myself with the thought that after AS 3, I had a long climb and could walk then. </div>
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I ran into AS 3 getting a little tired, but still happy with how I was performing. I was more than halfway done! I think at this point my split was about 2:20, which worked out to 14-minute miles.</div>
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AS 3 to AS 4 </h4>
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I paused only to throw out some trash I'd picked up on the trail, and headed out on the penultimate leg. A long climb led up to the ridge, and when I paused at the top for a victorious picture, I discovered my phone battery was dead. Alas! Nothing to do but to run.</div>
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Somewhere up here I got a second wind, and started feeling the fatigue drop away. I passed several hundred milers, always trying to go wide around them and their pacers and cheering them on. The trail at the ridge top undulates a bit, with a surprising little final climb before a level section. </div>
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It was along here that I came upon John, on his final loop of the 100. He was limping, leaning on a stick, and in obvious pain. He had pulled or cramped a groin muscle and was having pain at every step. Despite this, he was moving all right and eating and drinking. I encouraged him to take it one step at a time, but I was concerned for how he'd do descending Ant Hill. I was so glad to learn later that David Shannon helped him down Ant Hill (it took them an hour to get down). A few hours later, he limped through the finish line, completing his first 100. It didn't go the way he had planned, but he showed incredible grit and determination to make it work. </div>
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My descent down Ant Hill was un-dramatic, and in fact was kind of fun. The trail was dry, the rocks were loose, the hill was steep. I was still running well. As I came off the steepest section of the descent, before the road, I had a great surprise -- David and Mike Madden were hiking out on the trail, taking pictures and cheering! I stopped for a few minutes to chat and get another Mike hug.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66C02_b6SEn1aKrw9u9_Dy_nm-CfTANW5d5hRX4LYe6AVsjDeMbN_Dw_MIFE1o1KPtqYQoqd5912mLnT2w32vCak6X3_4vxQiG5PNzZxH9tf4dgcMgDW1rmVUahydPabV2RSXfSmjBxne/s1600/Zumbro+with+Mike+2+David+Shannon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66C02_b6SEn1aKrw9u9_Dy_nm-CfTANW5d5hRX4LYe6AVsjDeMbN_Dw_MIFE1o1KPtqYQoqd5912mLnT2w32vCak6X3_4vxQiG5PNzZxH9tf4dgcMgDW1rmVUahydPabV2RSXfSmjBxne/s320/Zumbro+with+Mike+2+David+Shannon.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B8MnuEDKPXmBieahXJ3k4KXowRcgNVa8ZfTwhkhz_Jzsmq28eWDZQAiRWpA_BQzWKeN3BdR5htMe-RsliSbm54XtRQOww3ON_V7gupCzWNQmE1BVuwV7o0FyFp-R3ivfxLAT6I_44_fw/s1600/Zumbro+with+Mike+David+Shannon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B8MnuEDKPXmBieahXJ3k4KXowRcgNVa8ZfTwhkhz_Jzsmq28eWDZQAiRWpA_BQzWKeN3BdR5htMe-RsliSbm54XtRQOww3ON_V7gupCzWNQmE1BVuwV7o0FyFp-R3ivfxLAT6I_44_fw/s320/Zumbro+with+Mike+David+Shannon.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photos by David Shannon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My spirits lifted, I reached the gravel road.<br />
<br />
Oh, the gravel road. It's less than 1.5 miles, flat, and nearly straight. As I started on it, I remarked, partly to myself and partly to a nearby runner (who turned out to be Dan, and ended up running much of the rest of the race with me), "This is the sixth time I've done this road over four years. The only time I ever ran the whole thing was during a thunderstorm, trying to stave off hypothermia. Today, I am going to run the whole road. I am going to do it slowly, but I am going to do it."<br />
<br />
With that intention stated, I put on my sunglasses against the strengthening sunlight, set an easy pace, and focused on maintaining a quick light cadence with my feet, something I've been working on recently. I kept telling myself, "Be patient." I focused on breathing. I talked with Dan. The distance dropped away, not rapidly, but steadily. Bicycles passed us, and a 4-wheeler. I kept my effort steady. And soon enough, the bridge appeared, and the aid station, and we'd run the whole thing. I couldn't have been more pleased.<br />
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<h4>
AS4 to Finish</h4>
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I didn't stop. No need to. I headed right out on the final leg. It was only 2.7 miles. No major climbs or descents. Time to go.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TqYwEBKlXSLYHJ_R69aDvp9Kvtgd0f1Xx9f7JmPGvwlnTjexNBacRhA934LgPqr3LE0xnCZfVsFFR3yQMzq7TmWAYBG-EN49LVWnWka39fuXaYr_dDBuCoGQr9DDQUKofexWepsPwyH-/s1600/Zumbro+Kelly+Doyle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TqYwEBKlXSLYHJ_R69aDvp9Kvtgd0f1Xx9f7JmPGvwlnTjexNBacRhA934LgPqr3LE0xnCZfVsFFR3yQMzq7TmWAYBG-EN49LVWnWka39fuXaYr_dDBuCoGQr9DDQUKofexWepsPwyH-/s320/Zumbro+Kelly+Doyle.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fake-running for the camera. Photo: Kelly Doyle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The trails were still dry and beautiful, even the sections that <i>always </i>have mud. I took a Roctane gel and reminded myself that this was the final stretch. I could run it all. I <i>would </i>run it all.<br />
<br />
The trail wound through the woods, the doubletrack section longer than I recalled. Eventually we hit the side singletrack trail and it dropped down onto the road. The road is almost back at the campsite.<br />
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<div>
I was once again running with Dan. We passed another runner, who had slowed to a walk, and I encouraged him to run with us. "We're not going fast. Just slow and steady. Run it in with us!" He did for a ways, and then we picked up another runner. As we emerged at the campground, three of us ran it in, one after another. </div>
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Familiar faces cheering me in: Brian Klug, and then Sara Welle. Speeding up. Flags, the timing mat, across the line. Wooden "medal" on a rope around my neck. Deep breaths. I glanced at my watch. 3:39. Wow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Hgy1RXjmjIkf44KponYde-Svmnyn_KYmdSTxw6G36Xeest1AYGzyFefRP8mSYb2B01x6jE-5POXcZRUmIaFJDQA9wPaGvLJFy21t6fH7tY5LyQfAWkAoxgnRToyH9oaG9py-mtq3a_1Z/s1600/finish+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Hgy1RXjmjIkf44KponYde-Svmnyn_KYmdSTxw6G36Xeest1AYGzyFefRP8mSYb2B01x6jE-5POXcZRUmIaFJDQA9wPaGvLJFy21t6fH7tY5LyQfAWkAoxgnRToyH9oaG9py-mtq3a_1Z/s320/finish+line.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy at the finish line. Photo: Eric Hadtrath</td></tr>
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<h4>
I Did So Good</h4>
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I looked at my time again, and laughed and cried a little. I'd done exactly what I had set out to do. Jason Tintes spotted me and asked, "How was your race?" "Jason," I said, "<i>I did so good.</i>" He laughed a little as I counted off on my fingers: "I finished without needing medical attention. I ran every section I wanted to run. I negative split. And I crushed my previous time by 55 minutes. Now we know how much time a broken arm takes! 55 minutes. <i>SCIENCE</i>."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77it9IqP_9vBZcmxr0ygkPkVq3uuIpuINE9v0msxWIfN9duAQW7bpc0c7O5wibNH1aJSqtelDBaoZTkgeJKh1Zl-RozdyyQ6ixb9Tyn3rC-zSxuCpcIIeeCUkwBSwu-Wk-3ikJQm8Nsln/s1600/Zumbro+post+race+Todd+Rowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77it9IqP_9vBZcmxr0ygkPkVq3uuIpuINE9v0msxWIfN9duAQW7bpc0c7O5wibNH1aJSqtelDBaoZTkgeJKh1Zl-RozdyyQ6ixb9Tyn3rC-zSxuCpcIIeeCUkwBSwu-Wk-3ikJQm8Nsln/s320/Zumbro+post+race+Todd+Rowe.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post race, cheering in runners<br />
Photo by Todd Rowe</td></tr>
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After devouring some hot bacon and eggs, I spent the afternoon helping pack up the race. I consolidated bins, carried stuff to the truck, collapsed tents. Every time we heard a cowbell, we'd look up and cheer in another 100 miler, 50 miler, 17 miler. I got to see a lot of beautiful finishes. Teri and Derek came in together. Kevin Chem finished, to crazy cheering and his own theme song. Steph Thiede finished her first 50, well ahead of Travis, who had a rough day and finished anyway. Jamison did his 50, and so did Joe Lang, and so did Janet. John made it in. Shannon got her 100. And then, with just two minutes remaining to the 6 pm cutoff, Sally and Sree came over the line to complete their 50 and 100 miles, respectively. They laughed (and maybe cried a little) about how they'd pushed each other to finish under the cutoff. With all the runners in, we literally rolled up the finish line and packed it away with the rest of the race.</div>
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<h4>
Something Special</h4>
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There's nothing quite like Zumbro. The crazy weather, the sense of shared purpose, the interminable waiting and the sudden hurrying, the highs and lows... somehow, they all come together to forge friendships and memories. Thank you, John and Cheri, for putting on the best party in the woods ever. See you soon!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7DsVL049q6l6COdWBPIam-8sfmmHdBBzxqgJbuLVUpQnjGsdVXt3B3kGbh1m7RPrDMOCjNqMSIYacXCBb6d1Ub1VVx6d-jc_LjnwLdH_KQZ4unyNZRGGAqSO8od6QmkwypLDlG75equN/s1600/Photo+Apr+09%252C+4+48+41+PM+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7DsVL049q6l6COdWBPIam-8sfmmHdBBzxqgJbuLVUpQnjGsdVXt3B3kGbh1m7RPrDMOCjNqMSIYacXCBb6d1Ub1VVx6d-jc_LjnwLdH_KQZ4unyNZRGGAqSO8od6QmkwypLDlG75equN/s320/Photo+Apr+09%252C+4+48+41+PM+%25281%2529.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheri, finally getting warm</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSrOvA-WSidd72mDA2YBxLlB4ksLOl-2KT5OUsaiteLbZfRjBJNUjUNYqWIEX9Ps4APmBna8SWjFbwnqVQZcwKptdGg6ld73GtuRQClvbOhdMYpprLglDxDJG8-IkahVTRfqyOvR4KmWz/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+57+00+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSrOvA-WSidd72mDA2YBxLlB4ksLOl-2KT5OUsaiteLbZfRjBJNUjUNYqWIEX9Ps4APmBna8SWjFbwnqVQZcwKptdGg6ld73GtuRQClvbOhdMYpprLglDxDJG8-IkahVTRfqyOvR4KmWz/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+57+00+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John, making the magic happen</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-14805051507655252832016-04-13T14:02:00.001-07:002016-04-13T14:31:43.422-07:00Zumbro 2016 (The Cold One): Friday Volunteer Report<h4 style="clear: both;">
Prologue</h4>
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Zumbro, I can't quit you.</div>
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In 2013, you were my first long trail race. There was snow, there was ice, <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/running-with-broken-elbow-or-its-just.html">there were broken bones</a>. But what I've been remembering recently was that it was also my first encounter with trail- and ultrarunners.</div>
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That year, I got to the starting line 90 minutes early and decided to get some extra miles in before the race, so I ran the first two miles or so of the course, then decided it was time to turn around and come back. I turned around and started back along the trail -- the wrong way. </div>
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A runner with a 100-mile bib and a pair of trekking poles came up the path. Concern crossed his face. "You're going the wrong way. Are you okay?" Surprised and a bit embarrassed, I told him, "I'm fine." I was a little awed that, after 22 hours on his feet, he had the presence of mind and concern to ask how I was.</div>
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A hundred feet later, I met another one. "Are you all right? You're going the wrong way!" "Yes, I'm fine, I'm not in the race," I explained, probably incoherently. I resisted the urge to ask, "Are <i>you </i>okay? You're the one running a hundred miles!"</div>
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All the way back to the camp, I met runners who, many miles into their own race, inquired about mine. It was the first hint that there was something... <i>different.</i>.. about this community. It was a clue that this was something special.</div>
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I <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/04/race-report-zumbro-midnight-50-miler.html">volunteered the following year</a>, my first experience in the care and feeding of 100 milers. I learned Runner Psychology 101 from Joe Hegman, and the First Rule Of 100 Mile Aid from John Gustafson ("Always lie to 100 milers.") Last year I went all in, with two and a half days of Zumbro <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html">volunteering and pacing</a>. By now? It's a tradition. I signed up to volunteer and run the 17 mile "fun run", cleared my work calendar, and made my plans.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifry7E5HEXKLy1kGNhpZyit6Oj9qQZTuRezOeLo7MfoGD8zSPsRJbLUm3h1DfMEwfc7XbKiT7MeBqCXMKi1X_OlBv4YnE_phE5T29KTuMlsigRHTX09dUqIKfB9rpjASFPL_khcn_gWi75/s1600/zumbro+rowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifry7E5HEXKLy1kGNhpZyit6Oj9qQZTuRezOeLo7MfoGD8zSPsRJbLUm3h1DfMEwfc7XbKiT7MeBqCXMKi1X_OlBv4YnE_phE5T29KTuMlsigRHTX09dUqIKfB9rpjASFPL_khcn_gWi75/s320/zumbro+rowe.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AS 2/3 last year. Photo by Todd Rowe</td></tr>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Preparation</h4>
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Thursday night: Packing. Shorts, tights, three wool shirts, sunglasses, three jackets, four pairs of mittens and gloves, three pairs of shoes. Check the weather forecast and add in a down jacket and insulated skirt. Who knows? It's Zumbro.</div>
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Friday morning: I'm on the road a bit before six, stopping off to pick up Ryan, who is carpooling down. We miss a few turns here and there, but make decent time, and roll into the campground ten minutes before the 100 mile start at 8 am. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRelI_k_K5x0UZYaZWN_OiUci205qAySyLYSvCdxnl7v1koj3h0dAM_TzInZtP4JTOYzg1mrpzFLklWawAcinhgVkOHQVRPbMlSu4wnUEPvX8OvvQ9-ZbopG_FxI21yyu-8lkOoX4TFZ_H/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+7+56+23+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRelI_k_K5x0UZYaZWN_OiUci205qAySyLYSvCdxnl7v1koj3h0dAM_TzInZtP4JTOYzg1mrpzFLklWawAcinhgVkOHQVRPbMlSu4wnUEPvX8OvvQ9-ZbopG_FxI21yyu-8lkOoX4TFZ_H/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+7+56+23+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100 mile pre-race briefing!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jOy0Vwgol1n4Lvl-LmBOByl8Mw0YiccR0Ge4MqmX2kh0Nv7rVixk19zZioCkc8wA-gvk1M7Ytmli_SfvFB6eDHYAXKBVf1Nmm3ckyPzCyF74XtiBKuC0UA2VkJDOlM0br1Rl4gxrOGeD/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+7+56+06+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jOy0Vwgol1n4Lvl-LmBOByl8Mw0YiccR0Ge4MqmX2kh0Nv7rVixk19zZioCkc8wA-gvk1M7Ytmli_SfvFB6eDHYAXKBVf1Nmm3ckyPzCyF74XtiBKuC0UA2VkJDOlM0br1Rl4gxrOGeD/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+7+56+06+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flags are on your left, tell someone if you drop,<br />
for God's sake wear a coat tonight, it's gonna be a cold one.</td></tr>
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It's a cloudy, breezy, cool morning. I wander through the crowd of 75 hundred-mile runners, taking photos and distributing hugs. Lots of friends running this one. Everyone looks eager and a little anxious... everyone except John Taylor and Susan Donnelly, who are in the back looking like this is another day at the office. Considering they've each got more Zumbro finishes than anyone else there (and Susan more than anyone, period), maybe it is.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwnBxGXyoGechUrk5Ia3eZsderShgOuB2klHS4FR3qaB2dSwBbXiHN2OI7g_BKKMYcEx-cyt6L7O4_Rz1nJ3w4aGSiae_TkK43lKD2O8IrfOwoMdrr2tBwaSeORLkSBgnvNQazCPdnLF3/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+07+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwnBxGXyoGechUrk5Ia3eZsderShgOuB2klHS4FR3qaB2dSwBbXiHN2OI7g_BKKMYcEx-cyt6L7O4_Rz1nJ3w4aGSiae_TkK43lKD2O8IrfOwoMdrr2tBwaSeORLkSBgnvNQazCPdnLF3/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+07+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin, and a Rob photobomb</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObvGp0iYjbo229Hry8y5Fi2c0wYNzPs1Ag-XGZ-LcEwmGteVgf_FK2DFpUuHsmhxTGupF6fhhP8XSeOI6-gsZs_yrMdYOzX9Xz9vgpegYH1v-VfV91BHC7d4wEcB2bAZxeibdgEXeVirO/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+38+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObvGp0iYjbo229Hry8y5Fi2c0wYNzPs1Ag-XGZ-LcEwmGteVgf_FK2DFpUuHsmhxTGupF6fhhP8XSeOI6-gsZs_yrMdYOzX9Xz9vgpegYH1v-VfV91BHC7d4wEcB2bAZxeibdgEXeVirO/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+38+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Alan, ready to get this party started</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjzVJtHbhEWcackdxslukjr4rxbzNbp_zD3y55cqFAyU0ReOfE0klqtSS5f-yA4Bzz92pb2CmVphmXiWxSz70fSycENq_Ew6Pll2tyOw3aYRVg786S0hku-3tpWyS3jA5XV9YpJy8bzPw/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+30+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjzVJtHbhEWcackdxslukjr4rxbzNbp_zD3y55cqFAyU0ReOfE0klqtSS5f-yA4Bzz92pb2CmVphmXiWxSz70fSycENq_Ew6Pll2tyOw3aYRVg786S0hku-3tpWyS3jA5XV9YpJy8bzPw/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+30+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Dale looking happy and excited</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1P_lOwwepjerdNXZyN5Nd94cu8_AkmsVdgoN85ZDef3NTZi3KmTKkkrqR46w_nGSNO9J1R1_v5S9C7qL18zcHWZaz77ePtAZIj1LOmUgLip01-N7IGLORDRRLUz0FCB-ZSSXgc4ZcJWX4/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+43+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1P_lOwwepjerdNXZyN5Nd94cu8_AkmsVdgoN85ZDef3NTZi3KmTKkkrqR46w_nGSNO9J1R1_v5S9C7qL18zcHWZaz77ePtAZIj1LOmUgLip01-N7IGLORDRRLUz0FCB-ZSSXgc4ZcJWX4/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+8+01+43+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">If Dale was excited, I'm not sure<br />
there's a word for <i>what </i>Chris is...</td></tr>
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John Storkamp wraps up his briefing and with little ceremony and no warning, begins to count down from five. Four... Three... Two... One... and the race begins. Crew, family, and volunteers cheer our heads off as they set off at an easy run.</div>
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Ryan, Lin, and Bob squeeze into my subcompact rental car to ride out to the aid stations. Bob gets shotgun since he's still in an arm brace, from a spectacular elbow-dislocating fall two weeks ago.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwGpetTWEr9VwFj2H7VW04sIF0nLL8-C6g3mgEkM-4Wv4NHeIZfra34cY8-615yoDud0ptOyqhXR_i7Y0l_pGle7Yq-ABmOr_2HBfE1I43KHWSug5ccK_M4lVEefX0mVw0DBjR3_lpsfy/s1600/bobs+robo+arm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwGpetTWEr9VwFj2H7VW04sIF0nLL8-C6g3mgEkM-4Wv4NHeIZfra34cY8-615yoDud0ptOyqhXR_i7Y0l_pGle7Yq-ABmOr_2HBfE1I43KHWSug5ccK_M4lVEefX0mVw0DBjR3_lpsfy/s320/bobs+robo+arm.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob's robo-arm! (photo by Erik Lindstrom)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNvDrrLLlzUHreB4poiz9oo43Djvft7hJo1atqWkEMBuTHX-K_Ol5oIyX_vKozWZxUBBoYvmm5JZLhgAmPp1L87a7nlmU1LkqNEO2DuM9eNtBidLftUa0kOvgA7JgtbJGUgaf83vurKet/s1600/Superior+50K+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNvDrrLLlzUHreB4poiz9oo43Djvft7hJo1atqWkEMBuTHX-K_Ol5oIyX_vKozWZxUBBoYvmm5JZLhgAmPp1L87a7nlmU1LkqNEO2DuM9eNtBidLftUa0kOvgA7JgtbJGUgaf83vurKet/s320/Superior+50K+cropped.jpg" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Flashback to me in 2013. Bob, you need a sticker!)</td></tr>
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Since nobody jammed in the back seat can actually feel their legs, it's a lucky thing it's a short ride. We park at AS 1/4 and start out to our more remote aid station a mile further up the race course and down a shortcut. The trails are as dry as I've ever seen them, and in great shape. The first two dozen runners pass us in twos and threes and we cheer wildly for them, yelling helpful things like, "You're looking good!" and "Now's the time to make your move!"</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Aid Stationing</h4>
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At AS 2/3, setup is underway and there's already hot coffee. Kate is the aid station captain, and she knows her stuff: Not only does she do introductions and delegate tasks, but she reminds everyone about hand hygiene and knife safety, and tasks a couple of people with making sure we all get our race t-shirts. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTBfJDmgvqAS5vGPyaDGibCoerb5ZuoS8hMxj-BKLfdDy1hozkQgdZB1i4NPV3lBnRtYcL06vsyjvs5KLyH_2e2JgEGUmdI_-_schbhT70Qlm1rS3dyle3E0OT3qhei_liVb1YnFy2XSt/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+5+56+34+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTBfJDmgvqAS5vGPyaDGibCoerb5ZuoS8hMxj-BKLfdDy1hozkQgdZB1i4NPV3lBnRtYcL06vsyjvs5KLyH_2e2JgEGUmdI_-_schbhT70Qlm1rS3dyle3E0OT3qhei_liVb1YnFy2XSt/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+5+56+34+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate! (And, why, yes, our aid station did have a lot<br />
of coffee. Why do you ask?)</td></tr>
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I'm the grillmaster, making soup and quesadillas on the propane camp stove. While I set up the stove and search through the dozens of bins for the lighter, others make PB&J sandwiches, cut up oranges and bananas, put out food, and mix Heed. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZCVojoYLy7_iTCR_YZxzwQMbafltK1n2MqmqYp9qQxsNBZj5BQlXBsMmhC5DF1MIZfaZjfgCP_pSS5oy9CBohvMp9GBr-gQUvhl-s-h08dez83Eza-q5ZXEc_YOXDH-MWpDu8LztJj6L/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+17+12+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZCVojoYLy7_iTCR_YZxzwQMbafltK1n2MqmqYp9qQxsNBZj5BQlXBsMmhC5DF1MIZfaZjfgCP_pSS5oy9CBohvMp9GBr-gQUvhl-s-h08dez83Eza-q5ZXEc_YOXDH-MWpDu8LztJj6L/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+17+12+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can someone confirm there are 64 ounces in a gallon?"<br />
"There are 128." [Frantic math-doing ensues] "Umm..."<br />
"Yeah, don't try to do math. Throw in half a container, then taste it."</td></tr>
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It's in the 30's and breezy. Gusts of wind ripple the tent and the light folding tables. Kate tells me, "When we got here this morning, the tent was completely blown over. We had to roll it over the right way, veeeeeery carefully. It looked like a baby giraffe learning to stand up." The HAM radio guys mess around with their tent, eventually partially collapsing two of its legs to make it more windproof.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN0yTvTRZ0n_MV7qFmNUSYJshFq2mfhNCy2ARdlxsZ-M3t48NfHTsO32a-To4CXXm1ggA5rjLn4U4qg4KwhyphenhypheneWuVbPQPojC5eEI4fdHB8Ort5_6h4eH2HsHXCN0oU9Ijemzb1pYAJhl6j/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+11+56+24+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN0yTvTRZ0n_MV7qFmNUSYJshFq2mfhNCy2ARdlxsZ-M3t48NfHTsO32a-To4CXXm1ggA5rjLn4U4qg4KwhyphenhypheneWuVbPQPojC5eEI4fdHB8Ort5_6h4eH2HsHXCN0oU9Ijemzb1pYAJhl6j/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+11+56+24+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AS 2. In the background, AS 3. It's like magic!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time things are more or less set up, the first runners are coming through. We cowbell, cheer, and fill water bottles, though nobody needs much of anything on their first trip through at mile 7 of the race. I get a few runner photos, but mostly I'm cooking soup and firing up quesadillas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhyphenhyphenKACtBsHIh8eHBX_VcdxTEQonwVRuwUxmZdjoFqi9pJTRYOz02gLNMmReUDSOaeyW2J4ZSuel0QNtmEJPgmmNpozVZOT1lkY-zkWeeKCL5hPg-vRkumtb_U16SiQCggItnzcO8NPDzU/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+36+49+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhyphenhyphenKACtBsHIh8eHBX_VcdxTEQonwVRuwUxmZdjoFqi9pJTRYOz02gLNMmReUDSOaeyW2J4ZSuel0QNtmEJPgmmNpozVZOT1lkY-zkWeeKCL5hPg-vRkumtb_U16SiQCggItnzcO8NPDzU/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+36+49+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris and I are wearing matching 2013 Zumbro<br />
shirts, 'cause we're cool people.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU3YgVYLea3-il2UxAiHD9qVWCi2UPv8z8vaG2V2JSSuOFRO648s5pwE2Xlpv7s6x4WWmPYbL9mFsU4YKdQHksHRuEI6QM_AcIHI8imqjt20KqlRDb25InoN8roTiAU2N23Y25AQ2SEPl/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+57+00+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU3YgVYLea3-il2UxAiHD9qVWCi2UPv8z8vaG2V2JSSuOFRO648s5pwE2Xlpv7s6x4WWmPYbL9mFsU4YKdQHksHRuEI6QM_AcIHI8imqjt20KqlRDb25InoN8roTiAU2N23Y25AQ2SEPl/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+9+57+00+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John stops by, making sure everything's going smoothly.</td></tr>
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<div>
Larry Peterson, founder and godfather of the Zumbro race, wanders over somewhere around this point. We had met at last year's race. We joke about the greatly improved trail conditions this year, the ease of starting the fire, and the snow. Rob comes into AS 3 on his second loop and I introduce them. It's great to see everyone's reaction when I mention Rob's Arrowhead 135 finish this winter. It's cool to see old and new Zumbro runners talking together.<br />
<br />
The wind is picking up and snow swirls around, alternating with not-quite-sunbreaks. At times, the snow is heavy enough that visibility is low, and a bit even accumulates on the ground. We're in a little valley, so rather than constant wind, we've got gusts, coming from any direction. The bonfire smoke whips around and I stamp out little grass fires at the edge of the fire circle.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOfJNz9wh4Q6bqNfkpEHv7No55RENNEgSs-4WhDke6L8FWwk-wdCgNpZsRbnIIfYSVSEKLA7XxuAxMaV0Y1WnrZunE_RNCub93SjLUSc2TcnY8gg3NynpZ8NqQhFlNFfuSY3HclG4CSmW/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+11+56+15+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOfJNz9wh4Q6bqNfkpEHv7No55RENNEgSs-4WhDke6L8FWwk-wdCgNpZsRbnIIfYSVSEKLA7XxuAxMaV0Y1WnrZunE_RNCub93SjLUSc2TcnY8gg3NynpZ8NqQhFlNFfuSY3HclG4CSmW/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+11+56+15+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow! Not just a little, either.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHVcKtzvC04g2FGjyOaFJJCP3uVcpORbX8gCTGYhknsZ-4Is1oivKLAI8IAVPcT6Bgxpef-RcB4dOn1U3Rh_s0w4pmZKlVofuZ5Q7clcnwucyIxuX2X5YA4kM_e5V-HecHcXJRNtFebxQ/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+3+26+48+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHVcKtzvC04g2FGjyOaFJJCP3uVcpORbX8gCTGYhknsZ-4Is1oivKLAI8IAVPcT6Bgxpef-RcB4dOn1U3Rh_s0w4pmZKlVofuZ5Q7clcnwucyIxuX2X5YA4kM_e5V-HecHcXJRNtFebxQ/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+3+26+48+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ryan knows the right way to dress for aid stationing:<br />
Down coat, warm shoes... and a shark suit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By now, most runners are through their first loop and, after a bit of a lull, we begin to see them coming through for the second time. We're keeping warm with a combination of winter-weight clothing, standing next to the fire, and impromptu dance parties. Despite the cold temperatures, wind, and snow, most runners still look pretty comfortable.<br />
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_INyDW3zsRybihUfHW0dSBCsNRZEO4mB8OHFACQUKL5wLXr7y6lWe-CuV9xerbxAnWEGCz0JC5Fwk7NoW1BWOJlIQkUDS1iDPgTQrxZyEHwC2JgQRhXlAz6d8ruqhGBsR-0J9SFnPKOyH/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+1+54+26+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_INyDW3zsRybihUfHW0dSBCsNRZEO4mB8OHFACQUKL5wLXr7y6lWe-CuV9xerbxAnWEGCz0JC5Fwk7NoW1BWOJlIQkUDS1iDPgTQrxZyEHwC2JgQRhXlAz6d8ruqhGBsR-0J9SFnPKOyH/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+1+54+26+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin, <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">who volunteered Superior with me</a>,<br />
killing it on the way to his first 100 finish</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2C2GOTfgOtn0Kvd2Xuhyphenhyphen4rqXhY0zm8168aCJM3Mu-ewAhCckp6ZVblq9Jy2YJhZpHJkCaJt7xD23bmZ68DxVMgw4DbC-670oSTwBv-Ij8G2A1lydn7qa0BE3yWengLtgZ3KZ9gHbR6d7p/s1600/Photo+Apr+08%252C+10+34+37+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2C2GOTfgOtn0Kvd2Xuhyphenhyphen4rqXhY0zm8168aCJM3Mu-ewAhCckp6ZVblq9Jy2YJhZpHJkCaJt7xD23bmZ68DxVMgw4DbC-670oSTwBv-Ij8G2A1lydn7qa0BE3yWengLtgZ3KZ9gHbR6d7p/s320/Photo+Apr+08%252C+10+34+37+AM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Jordan, </span><a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html" style="font-size: 12.8px;">who I paced at this race last year</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">was having a rough<br />time, but Lin did everything she could to help him out</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rob looks ridiculously comfortable and happy as he moves up into third place. John Schreier stops and massages his quads, and his first-time crew (who may have had no idea what they were signing up for) jump into action. Wendi moves through each time with no drama, looking like the Zumbro pro she is (with the tattoo to prove it). Erich tells us about a poorly marked section of trail, and Ryan heads out to fix it. Kevin Chem makes jokes about his sponsors. Kevin Langton greets us each time with a "woo hoo!" John Taylor comes through looking steady as a metronome, smiles calmly, and breezes away again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I offered runners "life-affirming quesadillas," discovering along the way that keeping them on the stove is the only way to keep them warm. As morning turns to afternoon, we began to do a more brisk business in hot soup and hot coffee.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
Windy afternoon</h4>
<div>
The wind keeps buffeting us from different directions. We anchor things down with water jugs and big rocks. Despite this, in the early afternoon, a strong gust lifts the tent off the ground, knocks over two tables, and blows the camp stove onto the ground, along with a half-gallon of hot soup. It lands inches from my feet and I am astonished and grateful not to be scalded, or even wet from it. We manage to reassemble our aid station (though a few runners are crestfallen to come through and find no hot food) and tie everything down to even more heavy objects. Word comes in from the HAM radio operators that AS 1/4, which is on the river, has winds so strong they've had to take their tents down.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Runners are coming through on their third loop by midafternoon, and a few are beginning to look like they're suffering. The second-place runner sits down at AS 2 and says, "I'm having trouble eating." We discuss it. He's been drinking well, stomach feels full, food doesn't feel good, though a banana at the last aid station was okay.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I make him a peanut-butter banana with a pinch of salt on top. "Try this," I suggest, "and try drinking *less* on the next little section. You'll be back here in 2.7 miles, and then you can see if that's working."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
About a half hour later, he's back at AS 3. "How'd it go?" I ask. "I feel much better now!" he tells me, and runs off. I do a brief version of my "I fixed a runner!" dance before getting back to work.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By early evening, the temperature is dropping again (it hit the low 40s, now it's back around freezing). Lisa and Joy, the race medics, bring out an extra bin of blankets and tarps to help warm up any runners who drop during the night. The mercury is predicted to hit the high teens tonight, and the wind is still coming in strong gusts. You can tell runners are starting to cool off; almost everyone wants a cup of soup now as they come into the aid station, and the life-affirming quesadillas are still popular.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
Handing it over</h4>
<div>
We all give a cheer when, around 5:30, the overnight volunteer team arrives, carrying winter camping gear and armloads of eggs, bacon, and pancake mix. Dan Harke is leading this crew and they are amazing, pulling both the overnight and Saturday shifts. We hand off our work to them, explaining why there are large rocks on the tables and why all the water bottles have been pressed into service as tent weights. They're cheerful, energetic, and ready to make our aid station into a runners' oasis. When Ryan and I leave around 6, it's in good hands.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we head out of the little coulee toward the car and civilization, the wind picks up and blows in our faces. Jordan comes up the trail; he's dropping with uncontrollable asthma. We cheer on the occasional runner, heading up the trail and heading into the night. It's not my first 100-mile volunteering experience, but it always amazes me, seeing what determined, prepared people can do when they really want it.</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-28011693541416331712015-12-09T11:39:00.000-08:002015-12-09T11:39:29.260-08:00The Fun Run Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
With the completion of <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/11/fun-in-november-sun-icebox-480-2015.html">Icebox</a>, my official, somewhat abbreviated, 2015 racing season came to a close. Now we're in the full swing of one of my favorite seasons of the running calendar, the Fatass and Fun Run season. A time to enjoy easy-paced running with friends, frequently followed by (or incorporating) fantastic food and a lot of laughter. It's a great time to run with friends from the front of the pack, the back of the pack, or not in the pack at all because of incompatible race schedules. </div>
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So far, it's been a good one. </div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Upper Midwest Trail Runners Fatass</h4>
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The season kicked off the weekend after Icebox with the UMTR banquet and fatass runs. The morning of the banquet, we held 5K, 10K, and 20K fatass runs at Lebanon Hills, finishing at the picnic area with hot drinks. </div>
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I led the 10K route around the park at a "no runner left behind" pace. It was great to catch up with some old friends and meet some new ones. We hit some of the Lebanon Hills highlights, going up Touch-A-Butt, down the deer trail, and staying on as much singletrack as we could find. It was fun running into the 20K group, led by Janet. ("I'm leading from behind," she explained, as they all took off in front of her.) </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivVdZBoqJnkqldo_Yh6u2bnmU9da3m5Lngr0ebsR-NpD4T_LY3czFAzGuV_NlQlSWA3_MkODBqhyxxYQB5a1QzgQA_RJSdlsCg8HEC9l7Y4ZdjBeHOHCYmiLXmtPzLv3zaDMz8rtfIsAGN/s1600/umtr+fa+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivVdZBoqJnkqldo_Yh6u2bnmU9da3m5Lngr0ebsR-NpD4T_LY3czFAzGuV_NlQlSWA3_MkODBqhyxxYQB5a1QzgQA_RJSdlsCg8HEC9l7Y4ZdjBeHOHCYmiLXmtPzLv3zaDMz8rtfIsAGN/s320/umtr+fa+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks, Samantha, Lisa, Eric, Rick, and Radek!</td></tr>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Afton Volunteer Fatass</h4>
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The following weekend was John Storkamp's annual Afton fatass and potluck, open to volunteers from any of his <a href="http://www.rocksteadyrunning.com/">Rocksteady Running </a>races or any of the other local trail races. The last two years, it had been a "meet up at 7 or 10, run a loop on the Afton course, then potluck at noon" affair. But this year, John reverted to the classic "Buzzard's Bluff" group run format. His invitation said "this year's format TBD... blood and/or swimming possible with a chance of some running thrown in for good measure." Mention was made of bushwhacking, opportunities for clothing ruination, and general good times. </div>
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Saturday before Thanksgiving dawned cold -- 20 degrees starting temperature -- but still no snow. A couple dozen of us took off from the visitor center and immediately plunged into the dense woods, pushing through buckthorn on deer trails. Soon, the little group I was running/hiking with was off trail altogether and bushwhacking through the November woods.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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We caught up with everyone else by a ruined fireplace in the woods.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDtqAjCyG5I50SGhUzBaT2JrUXWQKrlrUQkPJthsGx1Hit78ZlhyAEzVkTop3xImrOSDIQwgs8_wtTKrUI0fq_ablc_RcvtoXFvwKzo2FAkZyBZKjU6CHhvTAAZoNmOdOzOlkF9Ct7A46/s1600/afton+fa+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDtqAjCyG5I50SGhUzBaT2JrUXWQKrlrUQkPJthsGx1Hit78ZlhyAEzVkTop3xImrOSDIQwgs8_wtTKrUI0fq_ablc_RcvtoXFvwKzo2FAkZyBZKjU6CHhvTAAZoNmOdOzOlkF9Ct7A46/s320/afton+fa+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheila, Jamison, and a whole bunch more </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7FuRcC5G6XxNCSj-lXDeC3kpoEnwVIauJz0KUku7Vf8YbY5fBM3iQkuGo1BuhzstmjSaNLmKHSCylGDT1TKnsqy2F6T3YfRBvrCmiBEdjFV2EJKB0FvcgSL3oyJsQHuxJPLIM3kiNv1z/s1600/afton+fa+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7FuRcC5G6XxNCSj-lXDeC3kpoEnwVIauJz0KUku7Vf8YbY5fBM3iQkuGo1BuhzstmjSaNLmKHSCylGDT1TKnsqy2F6T3YfRBvrCmiBEdjFV2EJKB0FvcgSL3oyJsQHuxJPLIM3kiNv1z/s320/afton+fa+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Listening to readings from John's very important book.</td></tr>
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We wound through the woods some more, on trails I'd never seen, stopping every so often for re-grouping and tomfoolery. The sun came out and despite the cool start, it was comfortable going.<div>
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<div>
We came down a bouldery descent and found ourselves on the river trail, right by the Meat Grinder. John organized sprints up the flat railbed trail.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC4LAW0Xt4GjdtDuSFLJB2gjEvt_Oqjd8AhZKrZCvyToM6grej9yuDtueJO2NtMREFVD85mtMniNkaZkUeL21ZvJdw0H3q48mmcCsb3yoz0zb60ruLoK7iRvDK2-d-7-2uoaLkMdPJwsKC/s1600/afton+fa+todd+rowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC4LAW0Xt4GjdtDuSFLJB2gjEvt_Oqjd8AhZKrZCvyToM6grej9yuDtueJO2NtMREFVD85mtMniNkaZkUeL21ZvJdw0H3q48mmcCsb3yoz0zb60ruLoK7iRvDK2-d-7-2uoaLkMdPJwsKC/s320/afton+fa+todd+rowe.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John, Kevin, and some other fast dudes. Look at those smiles!<br />(photo credit: Todd Rowe)</td></tr>
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<div>
Back up the Meat Grinder, around to the Snowshoe Loop, where we again quickly went off-trail and down a creek bed...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AI1j5N5imvFtZjRxEcHM0KjBxh85o9cpXszOdpYurVrMFOW_KuzElrIvFk1x6FUN6-gZJ1XbtKvdkE8DED6lQoZqp89L7jyGLrswO0g8_bbY_f-KOobk_6N3qcJOEu0vzHkfgKZaOjOl/s1600/afton+fa+karlene+apelt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AI1j5N5imvFtZjRxEcHM0KjBxh85o9cpXszOdpYurVrMFOW_KuzElrIvFk1x6FUN6-gZJ1XbtKvdkE8DED6lQoZqp89L7jyGLrswO0g8_bbY_f-KOobk_6N3qcJOEu0vzHkfgKZaOjOl/s320/afton+fa+karlene+apelt.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: Karlene Apelt</td></tr>
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<div>
... tried some bad parkour, and made and an aid station stop under the road bridge with snacks, sparkling juice, and a rock-throwing contest. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquX_xyVoB2X83HdfXNWqxSJ7pU93-pHaQ_wSn4u-6Uvld5lH7mbadFccIvL9aqqqTdGq9JpKV3pLy4_uzhjSXpwAQBiGgjMh5ItNgoltkDb6IyWVoVy9HH9Znx1xMdbJ4Tf7Z2xsNBqdR/s1600/afton+fa+karlene+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquX_xyVoB2X83HdfXNWqxSJ7pU93-pHaQ_wSn4u-6Uvld5lH7mbadFccIvL9aqqqTdGq9JpKV3pLy4_uzhjSXpwAQBiGgjMh5ItNgoltkDb6IyWVoVy9HH9Znx1xMdbJ4Tf7Z2xsNBqdR/s320/afton+fa+karlene+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then, a little rock climbing! (Karlene Apelt)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiH7KjgM6zB1E8AI7HZw8EVvwfqymbUkzEDHtNkcsJbWlau_31b43yAiY5yUz9XZlqrYNkLxWIff1ZtKFCsqDxHkEKCGAsNFtRpcbfbLSuBjKYSACtXnIpCqDFBr-4zN9n_yswI3o7eTGx/s1600/afton+fa+todd+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiH7KjgM6zB1E8AI7HZw8EVvwfqymbUkzEDHtNkcsJbWlau_31b43yAiY5yUz9XZlqrYNkLxWIff1ZtKFCsqDxHkEKCGAsNFtRpcbfbLSuBjKYSACtXnIpCqDFBr-4zN9n_yswI3o7eTGx/s320/afton+fa+todd+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mostly class IV scramble with a couple of class V moves.<br />Or you could do what John did, and just run up the<br />vertical slope next to the rocks. (Todd Rowe)</td></tr>
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</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0F3_Kmzt72vubD3ALMXZ7FE7qz3zjTZGwS8RuZwuuErJIq9Y8SjDxwuCZvIZwRKqahzGvh2Ic1mTaV7anLLTLfK_AJaAHVQifk32Hi2Tvuzmu62LtbjQKR1igRgeXAqJ1Weu9V1qH04f/s1600/afton+fa+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0F3_Kmzt72vubD3ALMXZ7FE7qz3zjTZGwS8RuZwuuErJIq9Y8SjDxwuCZvIZwRKqahzGvh2Ic1mTaV7anLLTLfK_AJaAHVQifk32Hi2Tvuzmu62LtbjQKR1igRgeXAqJ1Weu9V1qH04f/s320/afton+fa+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in here was the "photo booth". </td></tr>
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<div>
We looped back past the Visitor Center, then skirted around the Africa Loop on narrow singletrack, with great views of Afton Alps' snow-making operation. Ended up at the Back 40 where the group split between the folks doing the "VO2max workout" (Kevin later told me it involved a sprint straight up a steep bank) and the rest of us. We climbed back up to the prairie and ran in the sunshine, talking as we went.<br /><br />
With a loop out to Campground Hill to see the new trail under construction and three hours or so on the clock, the fatass was over and it was time to eat. Lots of folks at the potluck who ran earlier, later, or different.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhmvXMRuvvtXDhIQ0Ayj8DPes48tGVlgoxEfrjnLzzDsNyGNL8goym0VPgSNX_VbeGGxOgl5gtTfmJLrhBmI-YaIL6zhzTO7Ro4zydONBbN3sFRSFgRpzkz4HRU11vMLukVJjB9AIPnyd/s1600/afton+fa+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhmvXMRuvvtXDhIQ0Ayj8DPes48tGVlgoxEfrjnLzzDsNyGNL8goym0VPgSNX_VbeGGxOgl5gtTfmJLrhBmI-YaIL6zhzTO7Ro4zydONBbN3sFRSFgRpzkz4HRU11vMLukVJjB9AIPnyd/s320/afton+fa+2.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Including Rob, who had just completed the first <br />ever Afton 100K. FOUR freaking loops!</td></tr>
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The highlight of the potluck was talking with runners and volunteers who've been doing this stuff for a long time. It was great to talk to John Horns, Steve Quick, and Loren and Pam Albin. Every year, I come away from this event with a better sense of where the Minnesota trail running scene has been, where it's headed, and where I belong in it. Thanks, John, for catalyzing such an amazing multigenerational running community.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thanksgiving</h4>
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Never did this one before. Edward and Alicia Sandor issued a general invitation to their Thanksgiving morning fun run, and my schedule was open. Why not?</div>
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Nine of us headed out from their Uptown/Lowry Hill neighborhood and quickly found ourselves on trails I'd never seen, right in Minneapolis.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2M5xkDGZfY9l2z6VrMYnRO1cD9Gf5rfHZ9BJI6D-fp67o38uFXMbu8hnGOljfwQzyOy_Lwt08uF5wPzaYDnxdVPfjnQeWP4ZzYvD8Djm1-Kd2I6OjJ6xj31DOOHCX6fOCh1zaEupp12PI/s1600/thanksgiving+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2M5xkDGZfY9l2z6VrMYnRO1cD9Gf5rfHZ9BJI6D-fp67o38uFXMbu8hnGOljfwQzyOy_Lwt08uF5wPzaYDnxdVPfjnQeWP4ZzYvD8Djm1-Kd2I6OjJ6xj31DOOHCX6fOCh1zaEupp12PI/s320/thanksgiving+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Cedar Lake? Some body of water or another.<br />Woods. Dirt. It's all good.</td></tr>
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We ended up on the trails by Cedar Lake and the Luce Line, and from there meandered up to Theorodore Wirth Park. As we set out on Wirth trails, the light rain turned to light snow. By the time we'd run the cross-country ski trails around the wildflower garden, there was a light coating on the ground.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFtclpw7X37vZ1KashgbKwF2oxxdb8vFTupR2vXa9phGirvBWr7dL-wvFI0WVjrxwP1jj-dMupZ-HwpIAj8i0-oz0j63Djgu1GXoBv0VpPfm5KIqOLD-AN-229yp1-TUJ6QfJix8g166X/s1600/thanksgiving+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFtclpw7X37vZ1KashgbKwF2oxxdb8vFTupR2vXa9phGirvBWr7dL-wvFI0WVjrxwP1jj-dMupZ-HwpIAj8i0-oz0j63Djgu1GXoBv0VpPfm5KIqOLD-AN-229yp1-TUJ6QfJix8g166X/s320/thanksgiving+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edward, Bob, Scott, me, SNOW!</td></tr>
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I got thrashed on the XC trails, then pushed to keep up on the secret singletrack running along the rail lines. Snow was falling. I was starting to get hungry. Two hours and about 10 miles later, we were back at the Sandors' and drinking hot coffee. It was a perfect way to start Thanksgiving Day.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Donut Day Fun Runs</h4>
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An <a href="http://jordanhanlon.com/donut-day-25k/">organized loop run </a>around Minneapolis, stopping at donut shops along the way? Pure genius, courtesy of Jordan Hanlon. I've done this one <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/12/taking-off-season.html">before</a>, twice, and was looking forward to doing it again.</div>
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Unlike other years I've donutted, the weather was warm. (In 2013, our starting temperature was -11F; this year, it was 32, rising to the 40s!) A half dozen of us met at 7 for a pre-donut out-and-back along Minnehaha Parkway, then regrouped at 8 for a couple of laps around Nokomis. At 9, we gathered for the official run.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k9G4jJQEQPkMg1Ku_Z2omumY9zErTzthFPSdetv3YX-VxQrh9XJ_lmwg2szgIz8AJqDMWnbknQ9Qc9o63A_qH7LKqEWFlCQWa4Ar2C0JeFDbBwnP_9KgzHtBFFVUIPjWEeQi51oSxbQb/s1600/donut+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k9G4jJQEQPkMg1Ku_Z2omumY9zErTzthFPSdetv3YX-VxQrh9XJ_lmwg2szgIz8AJqDMWnbknQ9Qc9o63A_qH7LKqEWFlCQWa4Ar2C0JeFDbBwnP_9KgzHtBFFVUIPjWEeQi51oSxbQb/s320/donut+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BJ, Hadley, and a photobomb.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVb-CXfaK9WfcBtoakvVnVdPVH6rmvDn-Hrw1WQgLIhyAVUE3oP7prIIjoL59yXsLbm7Bo-8H3uKu7ambv2m7aOObksZdDGF4j2amOlqPCtcm3hXjWRpHUTu0d_HQokixmjQxjQc6oL9KZ/s1600/donut+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVb-CXfaK9WfcBtoakvVnVdPVH6rmvDn-Hrw1WQgLIhyAVUE3oP7prIIjoL59yXsLbm7Bo-8H3uKu7ambv2m7aOObksZdDGF4j2amOlqPCtcm3hXjWRpHUTu0d_HQokixmjQxjQc6oL9KZ/s320/donut+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photobombers, unmasked. Steve and Bob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnzjaW9THG65A5d-Q7mVruUmZGXgp3AK5iFqKXP8eu2vhoHJl2-u0pchQkHGe5hMArHEqAhutuRCTLH-Vddi7OyQjBmQ-hZnY7wn-0KoTRMbUcQJLVoI7gPA57-K2Cx2yjq3Cxb9Qyi6q/s1600/donut+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnzjaW9THG65A5d-Q7mVruUmZGXgp3AK5iFqKXP8eu2vhoHJl2-u0pchQkHGe5hMArHEqAhutuRCTLH-Vddi7OyQjBmQ-hZnY7wn-0KoTRMbUcQJLVoI7gPA57-K2Cx2yjq3Cxb9Qyi6q/s320/donut+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John talking with donut mastermind Jordan</td></tr>
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I wanted to be home by 11, so again opted for the 5 mile/2 donut shop route. I ran it with Janet...<br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GsEmmvV3IClvC0pSKvDi5eNxFoGo5zRZIIopQRaWNAJmPwa9LNvyUcF8KATlkN8Z0K3n64LM-fWo1pyY4Fi3h6WG-pQJ5WnSB93nSew22tTjUP36Xztas3GJRbtwvHUZiOJKeeS1cPy6/s1600/donut+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GsEmmvV3IClvC0pSKvDi5eNxFoGo5zRZIIopQRaWNAJmPwa9LNvyUcF8KATlkN8Z0K3n64LM-fWo1pyY4Fi3h6WG-pQJ5WnSB93nSew22tTjUP36Xztas3GJRbtwvHUZiOJKeeS1cPy6/s320/donut+2.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warmed up with pre-donut miles,<br />and ready for some donuts!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eqsqtmDnhuyxGSxM7IfDbNOphhU4_-ClSe131AUB70CV4ViiIiZSmAsdCzOGpIR24htRz3VIZh7W23JauKyeSrbAq94-JhxJ_0Zbo76raGUes_q-PpSpbmIf9A3eEyj2Yla_PIUBZwoR/s1600/donut+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eqsqtmDnhuyxGSxM7IfDbNOphhU4_-ClSe131AUB70CV4ViiIiZSmAsdCzOGpIR24htRz3VIZh7W23JauKyeSrbAq94-JhxJ_0Zbo76raGUes_q-PpSpbmIf9A3eEyj2Yla_PIUBZwoR/s320/donut+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and with Mike.</td></tr>
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We enjoyed fantastic donuts and coffee on the house at Mel-O-Glaze, skipped A Baker's Wife, pleading long lines and donut overload, and the miles flew by. Jordan raised money for <a href="http://treehouseyouth.org/">TreeHouse Youth</a> and organized a canned goods drive for the Little Kitchen Food Shelf. Thank you, Jordan! Awesome event and I'm glad we could do some good.</div>
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<br /><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Burroughs Family Fun Run</h4>
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K's school does a Family Fun Run every year in their PE class. It's a continuous long run -- in kindergarten, 20 minutes; first graders do 25 minutes, and so on to 45 minutes in 5th grade. The kids train for it every week and learn about pacing. During the run, in the gym, the teachers play music, turn on laser lights and a disco mirrorball, invite "special guests" (teachers), and generally make it super fun. It's a little like <a href="http://fans24hour.org/">FANS</a> for 7 year olds.</div>
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Yesterday, K and I ran 25 minutes (61.5 laps in the gym -- we counted!). We held hands, high-fived a lot, sped up in the last 5 minutes, and generally had an awesome time.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6tm_Uw729M0hrNy4JsR-OMwUpM77jQatnOCQWmJdHXdolDv70PdKSNByG3Ez8xrYqyI629WFwr-p8BWFHTu-CU4zMsR9cdaXUBQubpyb5N-FLkp8K4adu_H8TU84q-bpm2p8jnQtbjcs/s1600/burroughs+family+fun+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6tm_Uw729M0hrNy4JsR-OMwUpM77jQatnOCQWmJdHXdolDv70PdKSNByG3Ez8xrYqyI629WFwr-p8BWFHTu-CU4zMsR9cdaXUBQubpyb5N-FLkp8K4adu_H8TU84q-bpm2p8jnQtbjcs/s320/burroughs+family+fun+run.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super proud of this guy.</td></tr>
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<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
'Tis the Season</h4>
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Here's to a great running year nearly past, and to a great year to come. Peace and joy to you all, and enjoy your season.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just had to put this one in again :-)</td></tr>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-31678987421020543082015-11-20T09:01:00.000-08:002015-11-20T09:05:09.121-08:00Fun in the November Sun: Icebox 480 2015 Race Report<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The Icebox Fan Club</h4>
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Mom and I are charter members of the <a href="http://icebox480.com/">Icebox 480</a> fan club. She visited me from Vermont to run the race in its <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/11/race-report-icebox-480-2013.html">inaugural year</a> (2013), and got 18+ miles on its singletrack trails. I got 50K and my first pacing experience. Last year, we were a few miles into our second loop when she fell and broke a rib, cutting the day short. But we still made it to the ceremonial post-race feast at <a href="http://brasa.us/">Brasa</a>, and her rib healed by spring, so we call it a win.</div>
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This year, Mom had already come to town for one timed race -- the <a href="http://www.fans24hour.org/">FANS 12 hour</a> -- where she got her first 50K, walking in hiking boots. It's hard to describe how proud I was of her then and now. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYIhHaxuvVEBxF1KJ60vdWBSchfzuWaOIBEUEskfce65Ow8sQ58L1vk2gPb1m2yT7uETDdtD462Ql8b88YA1IkFQXWHPNbipY7ep0DGeeJYaOhAtiFAQ2BLw2fbjyfxKSw9sbRfOt8Wvq/s1600/FANS+mom+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYIhHaxuvVEBxF1KJ60vdWBSchfzuWaOIBEUEskfce65Ow8sQ58L1vk2gPb1m2yT7uETDdtD462Ql8b88YA1IkFQXWHPNbipY7ep0DGeeJYaOhAtiFAQ2BLw2fbjyfxKSw9sbRfOt8Wvq/s320/FANS+mom+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a 5-0!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6_syqxRyzhLWBoGyhlfYs2njHluyuQZHZMAFZazBNtsCLQf-JHraOQDpKWwrEZn7FL7PCPRVM_LbM-fnovtAZOthtomxJZKEhZv-CcHkJvOV7Jg7zwZ-v0pv5i7jE_nIVZSi6mubhNoq/s1600/FANS+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6_syqxRyzhLWBoGyhlfYs2njHluyuQZHZMAFZazBNtsCLQf-JHraOQDpKWwrEZn7FL7PCPRVM_LbM-fnovtAZOthtomxJZKEhZv-CcHkJvOV7Jg7zwZ-v0pv5i7jE_nIVZSi6mubhNoq/s320/FANS+3.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, she did 50K in hiking boots. <br />
LIKE A BOSS.</td></tr>
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When she told me she was up for Icebox again, I was thrilled.<br />
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<h4>
Plans, Goals, and Taking What the Day Gives</h4>
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I'd been trying to recover from knee trouble in the three weeks following <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/10/race-report-2015-wild-duluth-50k.html">Wild Duluth</a>. I'd run 7 very easy miles with <a href="http://seejanetrun.blogspot.com/">Janet</a> at her first 50 mile finish at <a href="http://surfthemurph.org/">Surf the Murph</a> two weeks previously, then run into trouble (literally) the previous weekend on a training run with recurrence of the same pain. But by the Thursday before race day, with some barefoot running, things seemed okay. I notified <a href="http://someworkallplay.blogspot.com/">my coach</a> of my race plan:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgcvaLjO6O9PEuGkykI6dP7iR56HrqKfIahlNmt_afIV5vaJ2nXoB_Bc97FhngiJsp1eo9GBYiGfafXiibNvl5GdrFSkOKYdLCKZnwMCLcK_9Lt8KVTYWoK0oVt6ChdT0WG8dCLPvtQ2C/s1600/screenshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgcvaLjO6O9PEuGkykI6dP7iR56HrqKfIahlNmt_afIV5vaJ2nXoB_Bc97FhngiJsp1eo9GBYiGfafXiibNvl5GdrFSkOKYdLCKZnwMCLcK_9Lt8KVTYWoK0oVt6ChdT0WG8dCLPvtQ2C/s320/screenshot.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Screenshot cropped to remove coach's<br />
encouraging but... <i>colorful</i>... comments.) </td></tr>
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Mom's plans were even more dialed-back than mine: She wanted to hike a couple of loops, see how things went, and, of course, Brasa.</div>
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We arrived at Whitetail Ridge with plenty of time to spare and enjoyed a spectacular sunrise...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fxdYXxKZuqP6WDMv-6ZUKojZhpjspUoX50CjojtJH1xWsqgWoKxOOfuyvCAOawjGvzOgoYY6OkQDxSQzu4fSthnoJ3aZJFUUP62U_UuAY3lehvpE6wZYWxx0mGjOLo4YXvkGV5FnBe3G/s1600/icebox+sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fxdYXxKZuqP6WDMv-6ZUKojZhpjspUoX50CjojtJH1xWsqgWoKxOOfuyvCAOawjGvzOgoYY6OkQDxSQzu4fSthnoJ3aZJFUUP62U_UuAY3lehvpE6wZYWxx0mGjOLo4YXvkGV5FnBe3G/s320/icebox+sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow.</td></tr>
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... and caught up with friends. One of my favorite things about this race is its timing: It's at the end of the fall trail racing season, and so for many runners, it's a low-pressure, see-how-things-go "fun run". It was great being able to introduce Mom to some of my favorite runners, including <a href="http://kevinlangton.blogspot.com/">Kevin</a>, <a href="http://julieberg.blogspot.com/">Julie</a>, and Janet and Mike Hausken. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1up-skGpBHKURxU-ZHkspc9raKdXZesQ0KhnIC-h6ARHkU8s9zm96wkBHStRX6KmL_ncUq9GTPycR7eyeonrdxpE4rUwSfLQu30-ErkpdqzFqZB6bz0FzuJUixG_3Kf-A0hAdJ8CDq0c/s1600/icebox+together.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1up-skGpBHKURxU-ZHkspc9raKdXZesQ0KhnIC-h6ARHkU8s9zm96wkBHStRX6KmL_ncUq9GTPycR7eyeonrdxpE4rUwSfLQu30-ErkpdqzFqZB6bz0FzuJUixG_3Kf-A0hAdJ8CDq0c/s320/icebox+together.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for a day in the woods!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjQhObyFugIGyqYkEZV2Z5sftg0af0n-skB0Ppqqr_lR2C_qvxsnFE_PSVal7HXRaEbTv5Rcg4hBjNsqv8D4LrSBk_id729CRn3vvw47rKCX5LHYO8GAoOSmnaoXUc0TijuCqiaMa77-8/s1600/icebox+prerace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjQhObyFugIGyqYkEZV2Z5sftg0af0n-skB0Ppqqr_lR2C_qvxsnFE_PSVal7HXRaEbTv5Rcg4hBjNsqv8D4LrSBk_id729CRn3vvw47rKCX5LHYO8GAoOSmnaoXUc0TijuCqiaMa77-8/s320/icebox+prerace.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dramatic lighting at the race start</td></tr>
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<h4>
Loop 1: Warming Up, Taking Stock</h4>
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Chris the race director made a few announcements, counted down, and we were off, following, as usual, a guy in a red union suit riding a fatbike. Why not?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFARVLYrO74XLpzN0Rr_5O9zUnvYARBNB6FgD3F-eBWQeWSEUMORaK1wfBv-RMQTRQgyX1TRPouzO6Zg9ycID0s9dkbGfE-raiPseVFRkq6d92f-2aqI7xkY2L27q_bbES0N50VsVfJwk/s1600/icebox+running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFARVLYrO74XLpzN0Rr_5O9zUnvYARBNB6FgD3F-eBWQeWSEUMORaK1wfBv-RMQTRQgyX1TRPouzO6Zg9ycID0s9dkbGfE-raiPseVFRkq6d92f-2aqI7xkY2L27q_bbES0N50VsVfJwk/s320/icebox+running.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Shawn Severson, who came to run,<br />
not realizing there's no race-day registration, and <br />
decided to stick around and take pictures. Thank you! </td></tr>
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Mom was with the walkers in the back, and I seeded myself near the back as well, settling into a very laid-back run. I'd kinesiotaped my peroneal and posterior tibialis tendons and, at the last minute, put on an older pair of trail shoes, and so far everything felt great. I was planning on 15-ish minute miles.<br />
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I let people pass me, judging that, this time anyway, running my own pace was more important than conversation. Soon I was running mostly by myself, warming up in the growing sunshine, enjoying the dry and mostly clear trail (I did spot Leaf Blower Guy later in the loop!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3oWxsGsSP2xU9_-5rHOM-4XLCFbpXEEflsd3mnMyRadMs8Xyiv6jUXYbxCLcIYIYtVHTvzWNu0fB713rzc_m8PhPODjlWTflgzYo09DxjStCRQ-ZjBdqjbFhlyTRej2fr5ehOSvAGHEd/s1600/icebox+trail+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3oWxsGsSP2xU9_-5rHOM-4XLCFbpXEEflsd3mnMyRadMs8Xyiv6jUXYbxCLcIYIYtVHTvzWNu0fB713rzc_m8PhPODjlWTflgzYo09DxjStCRQ-ZjBdqjbFhlyTRej2fr5ehOSvAGHEd/s320/icebox+trail+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bare trees and bare trails -- conditions were perfect!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJWKFz8iCvUIYMBgd7NeSvqDDjlZB2VR8loRr7xmm_q9x3XANobFY2ySxv8U8b1Idg7iacLwX8bA_AhmAhl41SDdOxJOJmJg5m32Fm0jRxobSh6XKOebMk-0PDE_VXvqlgo_DruBtz4CD/s1600/icebox+wally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJWKFz8iCvUIYMBgd7NeSvqDDjlZB2VR8loRr7xmm_q9x3XANobFY2ySxv8U8b1Idg7iacLwX8bA_AhmAhl41SDdOxJOJmJg5m32Fm0jRxobSh6XKOebMk-0PDE_VXvqlgo_DruBtz4CD/s320/icebox+wally.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ran for a bit with Wally from Wild Duluth.<br />
Fun to see him again, with both of us feeling better!</td></tr>
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The trail curves and recurves back on itself, and at one point I spotted Mom a switchback or two down from me. We yelled greetings and encouragement at each other, and continued on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O8v_tmHWNv424pyrt8Ful4IciBgtY6S0rWR-Qvy4X8Sk52mdKBmHQSqVVU0OCIDbfNRK8oMASaUHq0RnS6j6M7ac-JyhKvonDBS4XvtEldQ3EELpLjrWkue4NWjCUBgsZPd35CWqyNmE/s1600/icebox+mom+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O8v_tmHWNv424pyrt8Ful4IciBgtY6S0rWR-Qvy4X8Sk52mdKBmHQSqVVU0OCIDbfNRK8oMASaUHq0RnS6j6M7ac-JyhKvonDBS4XvtEldQ3EELpLjrWkue4NWjCUBgsZPd35CWqyNmE/s320/icebox+mom+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go Mom go!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F6LB3pcnyX_rgXsS2SmOPFnZk6n27N1BlA-MSdfcH7wkwIYT8ZW6qMzeWIPLQRDkKDdwUp1PCgo6AcrViIzFSpk4i5ADxBLMvPjEhZ9Ywj7gTzaM3-cqebBo2m1BneLef-sX5fyoGZuq/s1600/icebox+trail+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F6LB3pcnyX_rgXsS2SmOPFnZk6n27N1BlA-MSdfcH7wkwIYT8ZW6qMzeWIPLQRDkKDdwUp1PCgo6AcrViIzFSpk4i5ADxBLMvPjEhZ9Ywj7gTzaM3-cqebBo2m1BneLef-sX5fyoGZuq/s320/icebox+trail+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sections along the open fields were greener than in some years.</td></tr>
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The second aid station was between miles 4 and 5. I was surprisingly hungry when I got there, and one of the volunteers offered me cheese curds. Delicious! I told them, "Say hi to my mom when she comes through!" and headed out.</div>
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It was a beautiful sunny day, and the miles were just ticking along.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwyTWpkfhWOH3U6KSBkzfCo6X_YFlUp7axr2k_PWIVSduXYPA1c4vXM-dqPalo4k3bJbGCmO827ktJhXPy3SeecaSXryTqQVlg1v0FL_rzUMN6cg32Yo7iGRR_yvAiGKjAfhGcLzOffFM/s1600/icebox+trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwyTWpkfhWOH3U6KSBkzfCo6X_YFlUp7axr2k_PWIVSduXYPA1c4vXM-dqPalo4k3bJbGCmO827ktJhXPy3SeecaSXryTqQVlg1v0FL_rzUMN6cg32Yo7iGRR_yvAiGKjAfhGcLzOffFM/s320/icebox+trail.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crazy curving track in the last few miles...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aeHU42bOKmvTWNZhYWWf66UMkKtCz0_6rDGyxRNVByk6CjjQNZ98WzKqEiI3reACbJW64Ka9It-p2qAYps6UhTqBRHrK11O56adWQtPtWr41QtwYOLifHAKNm1tIjzRbZ4REiSI49oFl/s1600/icebox+selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aeHU42bOKmvTWNZhYWWf66UMkKtCz0_6rDGyxRNVByk6CjjQNZ98WzKqEiI3reACbJW64Ka9It-p2qAYps6UhTqBRHrK11O56adWQtPtWr41QtwYOLifHAKNm1tIjzRbZ4REiSI49oFl/s320/icebox+selfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Happy on the trail!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXVHxRLxDTeJVfgzy_m58ERRu8Rmv1iSe8kxYXMcIcca3t6ZYffwD3-LLYAQulUsbdMQyDDepFBZF1b9Xu7qo5CGu2uIP-KTqWzs3tH1ugx6pVvOFNIEUsH1U992wEX0EReS5reX717be/s1600/icebox+trail+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXVHxRLxDTeJVfgzy_m58ERRu8Rmv1iSe8kxYXMcIcca3t6ZYffwD3-LLYAQulUsbdMQyDDepFBZF1b9Xu7qo5CGu2uIP-KTqWzs3tH1ugx6pVvOFNIEUsH1U992wEX0EReS5reX717be/s320/icebox+trail+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and the final straightaway into the start/finish!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA-zgeq2OCiMq0fksANYYewXDqICuJO0faMs35JMQVGJ4F-XziBtr6PNoopQpN9Om_nJ1Z7-52gOY6RDy4NEJPUmqxvdG-zUPSuMKnLY7QKGGPjMrUgJIQAqJWX88tmF3kbEJrKi187_8/s1600/icebox+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA-zgeq2OCiMq0fksANYYewXDqICuJO0faMs35JMQVGJ4F-XziBtr6PNoopQpN9Om_nJ1Z7-52gOY6RDy4NEJPUmqxvdG-zUPSuMKnLY7QKGGPjMrUgJIQAqJWX88tmF3kbEJrKi187_8/s320/icebox+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loop 1: Complete!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
Loop 2: Too Good To Walk</h4>
I dropped my jacket off, grabbed another Beard Brothers bar (not bad; like a Larabar with chia seeds), got some bananas and Heed, and headed back out. My plan, as written, was to walk this one. But everything felt good. I broke into a jog not far out of the aid station and decided I could alternate walking and running.<br />
<br />
Some of the speedier runners were lapping me now, but there was plenty of room in most places to step off the trail and let them past. At the top of the hill at mile 1, I stopped to bang on a barrel with a little girl. (On the same hill on loop 1, I'd stopped to joke around with Jenny, who was volunteering.) It was nice to feel unhurried but still purposeful.<br />
<br />
It was warming up and I was down to my base layer. The woods smelled like dry sweet leaves, and it was windy at the top of the ridge, calm at the bottom. The miles ticked by as I thought of nothing in particular, breathed the November air, and loved being there.<br />
<br />
There's a bike trail along the route called "Joyride". Every time I passed the sign for it, I made a point of smiling and thinking about joy. It wasn't hard.<br />
<br />
At the second aid station, the volunteers told me, "We saw your Mom! We told her you say hi!"<br />
<br />
I was still feeling great, and still working on holding back a bit, when I jogged into the start finish to complete the second loop. I was pleased to see that I'd been running pretty consistent 14-minute miles on loop 1, and 15-minute miles on loop 2, and everything still felt great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnL4Da2qGIVWNLFU6nw6HuBoD4CpkjR-H3tbXsjiVDD2mTt1zWjUx6kUC5lu4lL-9Oxj8L63uK5GO0503jqvgyMRR2TTuwAC6d4mHfN-9HpMB2b39NXd3sVEpVvyxJWnlvEr6m2RPtrPs/s1600/icebox+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnL4Da2qGIVWNLFU6nw6HuBoD4CpkjR-H3tbXsjiVDD2mTt1zWjUx6kUC5lu4lL-9Oxj8L63uK5GO0503jqvgyMRR2TTuwAC6d4mHfN-9HpMB2b39NXd3sVEpVvyxJWnlvEr6m2RPtrPs/s320/icebox+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loop 2: Complete!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
Loop 2.7-ish: Knowing When To Hold 'Em and When To Fold 'Em</h4>
</div>
<div>
We were 3.5 hours or so into the race, and I'd decided I wanted to try and find Mom and spend some time on the trail with her. We'd both been noncommittal about how long we were really going to go, and I didn't want to miss getting at least a few miles together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The volunteer tallying miles told me she'd left on her second loop about 25 minutes before I came in. This changed my plan -- I'd originally been considering running the loop backwards to catch her, but it seemed she was closer to the start than to the finish. I ate some chicken cold cuts and potatoes (a combination that rocked my world, at that particular moment), and considered. Finding her was more important to me than getting credit for a complete third loop. I headed straight up the hill, cutting off the first mile of the course, so that I could catch her sooner, and started running.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think I actually did my third [partial unofficial] loop at a faster pace than either of the first two. I had a goal, and my knee and ankle felt fine, and so I ran. Still not fast, but steadily.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>It was great.</i> The first two loops had been fun, but this was awesome. I felt purposeful, and happy, and warm, and a little hungry, and I was going to find Mom somewhere on the trail.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I spotted her a bit after mile 4 but before the second aid station; she was on a section of trail after the second aid station. I cut across a small section of woods and we hugged and continued on. Mom had been doing great; she said that around mile 8, in particular, she felt terrific and thought about going further than she had planned.<br />
<br />
She told me people kept passing her saying, "Hello, Robyn's Mom!"<br />
<br />
We walked and talked for a mile and a half, heading into the last mile long section of trail before the finish. As we started down a long switchbacked hill, though, her knee started to bother her. It's been a season-long injury spot for her, and we were both delighted and astonished that it had held off for 13 miles of happy hiking. At the bottom of the hill, I pointed out a section of trail leading straight back to the start/finish. "Want to cut the trail?" I asked her. "You mean that's the end, right there?" she asked. "Yep, or we could stay on the course and it's about a mile." She decided she didn't care about her official tally either, and that walking on her knee, now that it hurt, didn't seem like a good idea. Without hesitating, we stepped over to the final stretch and came into the start/finish.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupiTjVO8eTrqls9eZKvw679ZUGPWoqI7kaZbzOKyiFb0kO9nXNiUBZCzcGbNkMVIM5cYPIjPt4boA4nh6l6X5lf0BbBwPztVvXQzaqJN-GeF9_d1a-IrzZ5OC-vtIRIjzFGQDS_aqsqky/s1600/icebox+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupiTjVO8eTrqls9eZKvw679ZUGPWoqI7kaZbzOKyiFb0kO9nXNiUBZCzcGbNkMVIM5cYPIjPt4boA4nh6l6X5lf0BbBwPztVvXQzaqJN-GeF9_d1a-IrzZ5OC-vtIRIjzFGQDS_aqsqky/s320/icebox+mom.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1.75 loops: Complete!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h4>
An Early Finish, But A Good One</h4>
Mom had knocked down 13 miles, and I guesstimated that I had enjoyed 18 pain free miles. It was about 1:30 pm. We got cups of hot noodles and broth from Lisa (GENIUS idea, by the way, cooking the noodles separate from the broth! I am totally stealing that for my next aid station), and loitered around the bonfire, catching up with more friends. I briefly considered doing a few short loops -- I was having so much fun! Nothing hurt! -- but concluded that there was very little potential upside to that plan, and a lot of ways it could be regrettable. Without too many regrets, I handed my race number in and thanked Chris for organizing another awesome Icebox 480.<br />
<br />
Icebox 480 continues to be an outstanding race. The timed trail race format is nearly unique to the region, and this format and the timing of the race in November gives it a laid-back, fun vibe that differs from other races I love. Finally, it's only 45 minutes from the Twin Cities, it's over by midafternoon, and you can buy New Glarus beer on your way home. What's not to like?<br />
<br />
We'll be back again next year. After all, we're Icebox regulars!<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1up-skGpBHKURxU-ZHkspc9raKdXZesQ0KhnIC-h6ARHkU8s9zm96wkBHStRX6KmL_ncUq9GTPycR7eyeonrdxpE4rUwSfLQu30-ErkpdqzFqZB6bz0FzuJUixG_3Kf-A0hAdJ8CDq0c/s1600/icebox+together.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1up-skGpBHKURxU-ZHkspc9raKdXZesQ0KhnIC-h6ARHkU8s9zm96wkBHStRX6KmL_ncUq9GTPycR7eyeonrdxpE4rUwSfLQu30-ErkpdqzFqZB6bz0FzuJUixG_3Kf-A0hAdJ8CDq0c/s320/icebox+together.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">See you all next year!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-61172344980606535972015-10-23T09:09:00.002-07:002015-10-23T09:09:13.780-07:00Race report: 2015 Wild Duluth 50K<h4>
Executive summary</h4>
<div>
Any day you can go 50K on a beautiful trails in crisp fall weather is a good day. Wild Duluth didn't go as expected, with some knee/calf pain flaring up around the halfway point, making the downhills difficult. I was ready to drop at mile 22, and maybe should have. But it was a beautiful sunny day, and I was hours ahead of the cutoff. I hiked it in for a new personal worst 50K time of 10:07. I kind of figure you only get so many days of sunshine, great views, and spending trail time with old and new friends. Why not soak it in?</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYk9F9wexhHL-KPrr2rtH4Zlz0hScqpMCIbfSBxeepm-xcWmbll9oCFSjW4Gmz2B8Dj7EQ9-KJ26ZGdrZOuCXoPLzEW5ah0QKxWv65RbSYfWvE7OK_cNe8RWKQyWdoZiFgoDRpt3SUUv-/s1600/WD50+enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYk9F9wexhHL-KPrr2rtH4Zlz0hScqpMCIbfSBxeepm-xcWmbll9oCFSjW4Gmz2B8Dj7EQ9-KJ26ZGdrZOuCXoPLzEW5ah0QKxWv65RbSYfWvE7OK_cNe8RWKQyWdoZiFgoDRpt3SUUv-/s400/WD50+enhanced.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, guess I finished! Photo by Shane Olson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
Prologue</h4>
</div>
<div>
<a href="http://wildduluthraces.blogspot.com/">Wild Duluth</a> is an awesome race, whether you want a tough run on challenging terrain, or just a late-season jaunt through some incredible autumn North Shore scenery. There's a burly out-and-back 100K, the 50K is point-to-point on the same route, and the "fun run" is called the "Harder'n He!! Half Marathon", and lives up to its name. The terrain, mostly along the Duluth section of the <a href="http://shta.org/">Superior Hiking Trail</a>, is leafy, rooty, rocky, and mostly singletrack. The elevation changes aren't massive -- this year's 50K gained and lost about 3690 ft -- but there are some memorable climbs and descents. Many local runners have logged their "personal worst" 50K times here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two years ago, Wild Duluth was my <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/10/race-report-wild-duluth-50k.html">second 50K</a>. I loved the low-key vibe, the crisp cool weather, and the sweeping views of Lake Superior. I was excited to be back this year, especially after a summer of battling knee issues that probably began at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/05/in-beauty-may-i-walk-spring-superior.html">Spring Superior</a> (or possibly even <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html">Zumbro</a>). Things finally felt back to normal, and I'd gotten in a couple of good 3- to 4-hour training runs, including one up on the Superior Hiking Trail at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">Fall Superior</a>. I still felt a bit undertrained, but I was well rested and felt healthy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Race morning dawned with the first frost of the year in the Twin Cities. The forecast was for a chilly start, but clear skies suggested the weather would warm quickly. I was up at 2:30 a.m., and out the door by 3:40 to catch the 7:00 shuttle from the finish line. (Once again, this was barely enough time after stopping for gas... but at least this time I knew where the shuttle stop was, which made for much less panic at 6:58.) The 100K runners had already started their out and back journey in the 6 a.m. chill and darkness.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two schoolbuses with heaters turned up to "greenhouse" transported us out to the 50K start at Chambers Grove. I hung out by the playground, lined up for the porta-potties, and ran into some old friends.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9e5P7q2-MnzuTWPtiW1R1UKnm9wOhWDmyO0TLbSPn8rswyRxVSZob0ZOUafEHLrP-F6DRHE_hv5NJix-DPlM9J0NbaS8en3hS1Yeyad_cqkSc2mvQBFkVkobbNJ0F8vXkg4_ZD-YkOvHs/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9e5P7q2-MnzuTWPtiW1R1UKnm9wOhWDmyO0TLbSPn8rswyRxVSZob0ZOUafEHLrP-F6DRHE_hv5NJix-DPlM9J0NbaS8en3hS1Yeyad_cqkSc2mvQBFkVkobbNJ0F8vXkg4_ZD-YkOvHs/s320/IMG_1436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin (of <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">Sugarloaf aid station fame</a>)! He had an awesome race.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRXJhcM7D3NxJFTvQ9gqdo31HheslQM-f_oW69rATky66ume9o9JUuHcFWR-Gku-Mr5b0_-GFXzC1jGT9uWAdU5Cd1aM5Upcn4lQeTqce01rITSw7-6uCQ1KhDx5hQ-AkHOPT1eVhmjOSL/s1600/IMG_1438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRXJhcM7D3NxJFTvQ9gqdo31HheslQM-f_oW69rATky66ume9o9JUuHcFWR-Gku-Mr5b0_-GFXzC1jGT9uWAdU5Cd1aM5Upcn4lQeTqce01rITSw7-6uCQ1KhDx5hQ-AkHOPT1eVhmjOSL/s320/IMG_1438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike, looking ready to rumble.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sun was already up and brilliant by the time we lined up for the race start. I dropped my jacket off and knew I'd be shedding my gloves, hat, and wool shirt soon. The race director gave a few final instructions (follow the pink ribbons, follow the SHT blazes, if they disagree the blazes win), we counted down, and we were off. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3cgbaTYgpA7FNIjanUi-uDzEdrNRXwqJeFbGB6CfTQlH5ula6_vn2wDuqSDgCc2By3LCs37dJWfqxl9l9Ih7tnSiAm9CM-JA0iUhgmOeVdhpuFmrqSN9Z579jQ17mXV3t4XeJ7BHvkKw/s1600/IMG_1439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3cgbaTYgpA7FNIjanUi-uDzEdrNRXwqJeFbGB6CfTQlH5ula6_vn2wDuqSDgCc2By3LCs37dJWfqxl9l9Ih7tnSiAm9CM-JA0iUhgmOeVdhpuFmrqSN9Z579jQ17mXV3t4XeJ7BHvkKw/s320/IMG_1439.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truck beds: Almost as good as stepladders.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h4>
Start to Grand Portage (5.4 miles)</h4>
The initial part of the course was different from two years ago, and I didn't recognize anything until I got to Ely's Peak around mile 12, though there may have been some overlap before that. The first 4 or 5 miles were on a beautiful section of bike singletrack that weaved through the woods and around ravines. It reminded me quite a bit of the Theodore Wirth bike trails, where I did a lot of my training this summer, and I worked on finding a rhythm that was efficient but sustainable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vI3UfusCl0F1Ry2xPRJ0sGfRW19UVLP5cdvq2_gQvyD3oEZQiJu5jibayFt_QRYZMiZYXvldBdoIJrs91CEHyaQx8EIyNk6_ztdTny44gjdh7NX0dV_3vbuMHdF1NK2tUSlPqoWo79h8/s1600/IMG_1440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vI3UfusCl0F1Ry2xPRJ0sGfRW19UVLP5cdvq2_gQvyD3oEZQiJu5jibayFt_QRYZMiZYXvldBdoIJrs91CEHyaQx8EIyNk6_ztdTny44gjdh7NX0dV_3vbuMHdF1NK2tUSlPqoWo79h8/s320/IMG_1440.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving so fast we're a blur! Or the <br />trees are a blur! Or, um, something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Despite the rapid transition onto singletrack after about 1/4 mile on pavement, there wasn't much of a "conga line" effect on the trail, and I pretty quickly found myself running in small groups of three or four. I ran for a bit with Mike, and for a longer time with Andrew Sandor and his dad. After stopping to pull off all my extra layers, I was alone on the trail, and that was nice too. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbbzL0lINJRBqusZW_qyf3gOpSCSrl-TJSMZD35FFsKhJEnh6X-uLt_qLAuiqd5qM9SkOuH2dsRxq0BnfDZizvqRAkss4zkNR477teoUyeYp4VIze75oMyZ2LDZxtxurr-dNlss7KEuhA/s1600/IMG_1443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbbzL0lINJRBqusZW_qyf3gOpSCSrl-TJSMZD35FFsKhJEnh6X-uLt_qLAuiqd5qM9SkOuH2dsRxq0BnfDZizvqRAkss4zkNR477teoUyeYp4VIze75oMyZ2LDZxtxurr-dNlss7KEuhA/s320/IMG_1443.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the end of the bike trail, there's short section on <br />ATV trail and logging road, then a steep climb up...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihI8MHPhju9n13oeGAbwIwDAxZJiAJLnRiM0ISz-OFpOxa5e6KUBZ79lyiNrH7P5gq_I-dLUGyu-mck3axH8xF_eOoKlFkGhDdrWM6_rQm6qwbR1srTpyWlt_jT9rjbNeSfH36EdrI16n6/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihI8MHPhju9n13oeGAbwIwDAxZJiAJLnRiM0ISz-OFpOxa5e6KUBZ79lyiNrH7P5gq_I-dLUGyu-mck3axH8xF_eOoKlFkGhDdrWM6_rQm6qwbR1srTpyWlt_jT9rjbNeSfH36EdrI16n6/s320/IMG_1444.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And... Look!!! The Powerlines!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Powerlines were an unexpected and entertaining section of this first leg. It was fun to see how different they looked and felt in the cool fall, compared to <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/08/voyageur-50-mile-2014-race-report.html">midsummer at Voyageur</a>. We only saw a little short section of them, though, before rolling into the first aid station.<br />
<br />
(Funny story here: Right at the beginning of the Powerlines, I stepped off the trail to pee. Started down the first hill and realized I'd left my phone behind. As I turned around and went back up, the awesome runners behind me asked what was wrong, and actually stopped and dialed my number so I could more easily find it. Thank you!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu86NoYG8OgPTJaYLPMtpdUxNPCzZHiQbE01m14-T2bGFtEkUuSEE5PW-A2_bAPNXRfuEwrJSxcd-IEmCzvEDCwtSgQNKz58RiO9K_h4vxldYSFFG7lpWKXKeqf2zItfJ5Cwd-TiCRkRhb/s1600/IMG_1445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu86NoYG8OgPTJaYLPMtpdUxNPCzZHiQbE01m14-T2bGFtEkUuSEE5PW-A2_bAPNXRfuEwrJSxcd-IEmCzvEDCwtSgQNKz58RiO9K_h4vxldYSFFG7lpWKXKeqf2zItfJ5Cwd-TiCRkRhb/s320/IMG_1445.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ridiculously steep, and brilliant blue skies.<br />So awesome.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISlWPPOUlEyL24m224FVfLa2EAtEJjCgAIv88a_JRQEVkcwgzLfdkJNu5CdxJDf0b6tLyTgWqn5sIPGhp6AHL-W1AAfL5RYDe8YB42jMSnnfPeUEtnC79sO9cgNwgC6-4pwtrLNiePLHB/s1600/IMG_1446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISlWPPOUlEyL24m224FVfLa2EAtEJjCgAIv88a_JRQEVkcwgzLfdkJNu5CdxJDf0b6tLyTgWqn5sIPGhp6AHL-W1AAfL5RYDe8YB42jMSnnfPeUEtnC79sO9cgNwgC6-4pwtrLNiePLHB/s320/IMG_1446.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<h4>
Grand Portage to Munger Aid Station (11 miles)</h4>
Grand Portage was a quick stop ("Hi! Thanks for being here! Do you have salty potatoes?" "No, sorry." "Oh well, I'll take some potato chips. Thanks!"), and I was off on the next section. I don't recall much about it -- runnable trail, for the most part, with a few climbs to slow me down. In lots of sections, the ground was carpeted with yellow leaves, and with no wind to speak of, the trail seemed hushed and blanketed. There was a nice section through mature white pines, where the ground was covered with sharp-smelling red needles.<br />
<br />
Along one of the yellow-carpeted sections, I had my only course-following problem of the day -- I stepped over some sticks and logs and continued straight where the course branched to the left. A runner behind me yelled that I was off course, and I re-oriented and found the course again easily. But a couple of runners were coming back along the trail I'd mistakenly taken. "Is the aid station around here somewhere?" one asked. "You mean the FIRST aid station?" "Yes, I got lost and haven't been to it yet," she replied. Uh-oh, she'd gotten significantly off-course, I thought. "It's back there," I pointed, "about 10 minutes' run from here." She thanked me and headed back along the trail.<br />
<br />
I was amazed to see a couple of the lead 100K runners blaze by on this leg. First John Storkamp came cruising by, looking remarkably fresh, then the eventual winner, Garrett Peltonen, just 4 minutes behind him. I didn't see any more 100K runners for a long time after that -- they were way out in front.<br />
<br />
At some point, I tripped on a rock or stick hidden by leaves and fell full length and rolled, but I landed in leaves, the dirt brushed off, and nothing major seemed to be hurt. I was a little more anxious than usual that at some point, my relatively light training was going to catch up with me in the form of an injury or just bonking, but I focused on eating (Larabars and Shot Bloks), drinking, and enjoying the day.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Munger to Magney-Snively to Spirit Mountain (17.3 miles):</h4>
<div>
Munger Aid station was staffed by super friendly, helpful volunteers, who deftly filled my hydration pack, offered me food (potatoes this time, still no salt), and raised an eyebrow when I asked for six Endurolytes but cheerfully gave them to me. I felt more tired than I should have at 11 miles, but I was ready to keep going.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The next section included some of my favorite terrain: Ely's Peak. After following an SHT detour along an old railbed, it felt good to get onto the rock and start power-hiking up. I was feeling stronger climbing than I was running on level ground. Lots of 100K runners streamed by, on their way down.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CMYNsM5x74Ha2eyuzfzwRs59yK61khPkuTcRrSoWGytT2jtFAWoIuPVQIPAQO-GfNc-fKqqFE5jkGRPZNQvnAyfFOZBduqJfIToKqnjPVywAluNlFHCJhLcjTlpfiC6x5TFFydiolvVL/s1600/IMG_1450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CMYNsM5x74Ha2eyuzfzwRs59yK61khPkuTcRrSoWGytT2jtFAWoIuPVQIPAQO-GfNc-fKqqFE5jkGRPZNQvnAyfFOZBduqJfIToKqnjPVywAluNlFHCJhLcjTlpfiC6x5TFFydiolvVL/s320/IMG_1450.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The climb up Ely's Peak. Beautiful!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the top, the trail traverses along rocks for a long way. I backtracked once, after not seeing any markers or blazes for a long time, but I was indeed on the trail. I continued along.<br />
<br />
At some point in this leg of the race, I began to develop pain in my left lateral posterior calf and knee. It was a similar spot to where I'd had trouble previously, and in fact I'd kinesiotaped my left peroneal tendon to head off any trouble from it. Despite this, and despite a week of fairly steep tapering, it seemed to be becoming a problem, worse going downhill than up.<br />
<br />
By the time I arrived at Magney-Snively aid station at mile 15.3, I was getting worried. I had been mostly power-hiking for the last mile or two, which seemed to help, but I was only at the halfway point and didn't want to do any harm. <br /><br />Samantha was volunteering there. I told her, "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to finish. I might drop at Spirit Mountain." (It was just 2 miles further down the trail). Samantha considered. "Well," she said, "You know, the cutoff isn't until midnight. The weather is great -- you're not going to overheat, and you're not going to get hypothermic. You could keep going and see what happens."<br />
<br />
(Side note: Samantha finished her first Superior 100 this fall, the last 25 miles of it on a torn meniscus. "But the tear is in a good place!" she told me. "It's got circulation. It's healing!" This is a woman who knows something about keeping going.)<br />
<br />
Well, it was only midday, and I did feel better after stopping and stretching out for a while at the aid station. It was two downhill miles to Spirit Mountain. I decided to re-frame the day as an "outside all day" <a href="http://trailrunnermag.com/training/trail-tips/1941-break-through-the-wall">training run-followed-by-hike</a> (an idea courtesy of my coach, David Roche). At Spirit Mountain, I'd see how things were going, and make a decision there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiW-trKeF9YNnjPh9PtQb5RlIUxx6wo7nJJqZz5UD7UuPoWZGS2v__6amdIKyB0kXyAJYZAShKZes1dfVYA4WwTD-16i1cKt4EYh5n-ZWJv_yTDvjTwch2UgzI1H2pBnUfI5QFaIFtlXMO/s1600/IMG_1451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiW-trKeF9YNnjPh9PtQb5RlIUxx6wo7nJJqZz5UD7UuPoWZGS2v__6amdIKyB0kXyAJYZAShKZes1dfVYA4WwTD-16i1cKt4EYh5n-ZWJv_yTDvjTwch2UgzI1H2pBnUfI5QFaIFtlXMO/s320/IMG_1451.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views of Lake Superior began to unfold. Just as<br />breathtaking as I remembered them. And that sky! Wow.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1hAjmW6bufZIXW6VxsbM_k00y2kBxgSLtiinIKGdgqC_5SsJjqxgr9cdM-ZBkqyMMiMuUSEA58c8-N8824ISvwWd_2QMlc8CvIuEDRXi88u0Qsfzpi5CtUzIU8xXqRpCPh9Aeh9hSpDq/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1hAjmW6bufZIXW6VxsbM_k00y2kBxgSLtiinIKGdgqC_5SsJjqxgr9cdM-ZBkqyMMiMuUSEA58c8-N8824ISvwWd_2QMlc8CvIuEDRXi88u0Qsfzpi5CtUzIU8xXqRpCPh9Aeh9hSpDq/s320/IMG_1452.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any day in a place like this is a good day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I power-hiked to Spirit Mountain, making decent time on the short leg and feeling okay. Maybe it was a mistake, I thought, but I'll give the next section, with the next-to-last sustained downhill, a shot. I ate some amazing homemade potato soup at Spirit Mountain, made sure I had enough food and water to carry me through a longer section, and headed out.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Spirit Mountain to Highland/Getchell Road (22.2 miles)</h4>
This section is long. Not so much in miles (4.9), but in terrain -- it's the latter 3/4 of the "W" in the course profile. I recalled from my last Wild Duluth that it goes and goes, and somehow that made it easier and less worrisome this time.<br />
<br />
There's a steep climb up a staircase, and more climbing through sweet-scented yellow woods. There's a long descent along a beautiful creek (Knowlton Creek, according to the course description), then a crossing and a climb back up. There are sections through Duluth neighborhoods. There are parts where you begin to wonder whether you missed the aid station (even though you know it's still ahead.) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBq7lFNyrpQzNDwqwCdWNB6m40tEijdSDDaFj8m_cv_M7abXJPTUporaUze8nfUn1JYwfRqbklb4q42H06NG8sfaoTW08oJvzn3DzpUauitjkziyGp779Xi8s6ltApQYFPYQrGM7GYqpW/s1600/IMG_1453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBq7lFNyrpQzNDwqwCdWNB6m40tEijdSDDaFj8m_cv_M7abXJPTUporaUze8nfUn1JYwfRqbklb4q42H06NG8sfaoTW08oJvzn3DzpUauitjkziyGp779Xi8s6ltApQYFPYQrGM7GYqpW/s320/IMG_1453.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the middle of the woods, there are random pipelines<br />and road bridges, a reminder you're nearing Duluth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I met up with Eric, who was making Wild Duluth his first trail race. "I live right on the trail in Duluth," he told me. "This section is my standard training run!" He was doing great. We hiked together for a long ways, enjoying the unfolding views and not-quite-enjoying the proximity to the highway. Then, at a highway underpass, he decided to run it in. Great race, Eric! I enjoyed your company.<br />
<br />
My knee/calf was fine while power-hiking on level ground and uphills. In fact, I was passing people! But going downhill was steadily getting more painful.<br />
<br />
I hit a short downhill right before Highland/Getchell Road aid station and realized that I wasn't having fun, on that part anyway. I pulled into the aid station with that thought in mind.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Highland/Getchell Road: Should I Stay Or Should I Go?</h4>
"I have to drop," I told Marcus, who was volunteering at Highland/Getchell Road. He asked me what was going on, and I reviewed my ongoing leg troubles and worries. He reiterated what Samantha had said -- I was many hours ahead of the cutoff. The weather was good. He didn't seem to be trying to talk me out of dropping, but he wanted to give me a chance to think it over.<br />
<br />
"Sounds kind of like the problem I had at Superior this year," he commented. He'd dropped from the Superior 100 at mile 50 with calf and shin problems. "You know," he said, "I came into Finland and said, 'I'm dropping', and my crew didn't even try to talk me out of it. They were just like, 'Okay!', and told the volunteers, and before I knew it, I was in the truck headed home going 'What just happened?' They didn't even make me try to hike to the next aid station."<br />
<br />
We talked some more. Runners came and went. I was still standing up, eating food, had refilled my water bladder. Marcus said, "You know, I ran into trouble at Wild Duluth once and hiked the whole second half of it. You can definitely finish that way."<br />
<br />
I looked up at the next section of trail. The afternoon sun was shining. The air was the perfect temperature. It was still a beautiful day. I wavered.<br />
<br />
"You know, I'm fine on the level sections and the uphills. It's just the downhills that are hurting."<br />
"The next section is pretty level, no big downhills," Marcus said helpfully.<br />
"Yeah, but the last 3 miles are all downhill," I pointed out.<br />"No, it's only actually about a mile downhill. From Enger Park to the waterfront is only a mile."<br />
"Really?"<br />
"Really."<br />
<br />
Well, shoot. I realized I really didn't want to be done for the day, not yet. I'd been standing around for at least 15 minutes, maybe 20. How would things feel after that rest? I did a brief experimental hike back down the trail the way I'd come. Not all that bad. If it was only one more mile of downhill...<br />
<br />
"Okay, I'm going to give it a shot," I said. Not sure whether it was a good idea or not, I grabbed a last handful of potato chips and headed out.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Highland/Getchell Road to North 24th Ave (mile 27.9)</h4>
As promised, the trail along here was runnable (or hikeable), with little ups and downs, but nothing big. I was fully into the power-hike now and enjoyed the feeling of purposeful movement. I felt like I could keep doing this all day (which is basically what I did). As the trail drew close to Duluth, the views just got more amazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RUG6pAH7QKyr5HLZHNlpn4tJWuPAllxs7chzu0zao87GY-3CZN5Z9IjrQ5yt6zwy3N7bVLbzoF41p_otzQd3YUzlfismt1qIsq8ZztsH-TfBAJgrqw7A3pZjN-LLCKIbKRXZjcjtzrZ3/s1600/IMG_1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RUG6pAH7QKyr5HLZHNlpn4tJWuPAllxs7chzu0zao87GY-3CZN5Z9IjrQ5yt6zwy3N7bVLbzoF41p_otzQd3YUzlfismt1qIsq8ZztsH-TfBAJgrqw7A3pZjN-LLCKIbKRXZjcjtzrZ3/s320/IMG_1455.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why Wild Duluth is one of my favorites: Exhibit A.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I rolled into the final aid station knowing that I could finish the race. They had a bonfire, and grilled cheese sandwiches, and the fire felt good despite the day's sunshine. I ate grilled cheese, drank Coke, joked around, and generally wasted far more time than usual, wanting to give my leg a rest before the final section, with its descent. An aid station volunteer said, "You're going on, then?" "Yes," I said. "Good," he replied, "You look too good to stop now."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
North 24th Ave to Finish (mile 31)</h4>
<div>
I was nine hours in and ready to be done. On the hike out, I overtook Wally, who I'd met earlier on the trail. He was having some back pain, but he was hiking it in too. We joined up and finished the race together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After doing much of the race on my own, aside from some short conversations along the way, it was nice to have someone to share the last miles with. We were both hurting, and we were both delighted to see the last few miles fly by once we started talking. "Is that Enger Park already?" I asked, shocked and delighted. It certainly was. We passed the Peace Bell (we could hear people ringing it almost all the way down), and began the steep descent.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It hurt, but it was manageable. We took a wrong turn on one of the roads and backtracked. We kept going, Lake Superior drawing closer and closer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At last, we were down at lake level, and it was just a level hike along the railroad and around the park to the finish. We passed friends in the parking lot who'd already finished, and I joked about going out for pizza and a beer, and <i>then </i>finishing the race. After all, cutoff wasn't until midnight! We came around the corner and saw the clock just ticking over to 10 hours. We crossed the line at the same time.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3lftQqA6d-SXlNLP1NmpEihyphenhyphenCZV6Ah9udakFLgXq_-gConO4znTpNjSiPCa57TPvkDsqYNqVyG7bo78h4NPJUFvTWh0SyhQYkQfuaVNr4-c-blgfN40iF2Z5FCy717Z79sR9kmuVwqGV/s1600/WD50+enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3lftQqA6d-SXlNLP1NmpEihyphenhyphenCZV6Ah9udakFLgXq_-gConO4znTpNjSiPCa57TPvkDsqYNqVyG7bo78h4NPJUFvTWh0SyhQYkQfuaVNr4-c-blgfN40iF2Z5FCy717Z79sR9kmuVwqGV/s400/WD50+enhanced.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa called to me, "I thought you had dropped!"<br />Photo: Shane Olson</td></tr>
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<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFf1Rv_Xz1yVJ_x3B-SOKu-FFh54l_N1QVSU__fPlQNK4NGmSTeJHQOl7iR3qDfuc8DpXpbZ3rRPBlNfgnUIJCVgxlVWHQVbauH8WO3mf4GtCukJj3hJzRtUPY54gLcb6UnWr0WJE0ieR/s1600/WD50+enhanced+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFf1Rv_Xz1yVJ_x3B-SOKu-FFh54l_N1QVSU__fPlQNK4NGmSTeJHQOl7iR3qDfuc8DpXpbZ3rRPBlNfgnUIJCVgxlVWHQVbauH8WO3mf4GtCukJj3hJzRtUPY54gLcb6UnWr0WJE0ieR/s320/WD50+enhanced+2.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to be here. Photo: Shane Olson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjPbGTA0QHS3c9VppgcaUG_vrBfCirMdAWnB7Ku_9f7RcB3aD6Odv_8vKpJ3jHAHMN_h3U2hKjhWgAL2J3ptqQCig3gJzeSXLM4u06t78DDXY0NMnQsFjbNFu_fddfxlANAkAYS1YC6SB/s1600/WD3+enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjPbGTA0QHS3c9VppgcaUG_vrBfCirMdAWnB7Ku_9f7RcB3aD6Odv_8vKpJ3jHAHMN_h3U2hKjhWgAL2J3ptqQCig3gJzeSXLM4u06t78DDXY0NMnQsFjbNFu_fddfxlANAkAYS1YC6SB/s320/WD3+enhanced.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanking Wally for his company. Photo: Shane Olson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was great to see so many people at the finish line, and many more inside enjoying post-race snacks. With finish times stretched out over 12 hours, I was impressed by how many people stuck around to cheer in friends and strangers. Lisa finished the 50K in good time and good style, after a season of injury. Doug did it as his second 50K, and Maria as her first post-injury ultra finish. Lots of triumphs, lots of personal-worst times, and lots of us had both. </div>
<div>
<br /><h4>
Reflections</h4>
</div>
<div>
I love this race. I'm glad I started. I think I didn't do too much harm by finishing; I guess we'll see. (As Maria said, "You'll know in a few weeks!").</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All the volunteers deserve a special thanks. It was a chilly day to stand around and they did great work taking care of us. Special thanks to Samantha and Marcus, for gently but persistently suggesting that I could, in fact finish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some things went very well for me in this race:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>Nutrition. </b>Larabars, Shot Bloks, and Gu gels seem to be a good combination for me, for the most part. (Black cherry Shot Bloks are way too sweet and cherry-lime Roctane tastes like Carmex, but otherwise I was good.)</li>
<li><b>Feet. </b>I tried something new on race day and wore Smartwool toe socks with my usual Peregrines, and had zero foot problems.</li>
<li><b>Gear. </b>My Nathan Intensity pack continues to be spot-on, and my awesome new <a href="http://inknburn.com/">INKnBURN</a> kit looked good even after several falls in the dirt. The new skirt did not shift, chafe, ride up, or do anything but stay put and look awesome. </li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some things to work on before the next race:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>My left leg</b>, obviously. I'll start with rest, stretching, and ART, and see where that takes me. Since the race, I have had no pain with walking, mild tightness with easy running, but nothing like what was going on race day.</li>
<li><b>Hand swelling. </b>This became significant by the end of the race, and I had similar problems at other races in the last couple years (notably Zumbro) -- perhaps cool weather makes it worse? It's possible I'm overhydrating or not taking enough salt with my water. I need to figure this out.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hiking in with Wally was inspiring. He's 69, and is already looking forward to doing this again next year. I want to be out here, doing this and loving it, many years from now. There's enough beauty, joy, pain, excitement, and memories on these trails for a lifetime.</div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-79086672136188461752015-09-22T11:55:00.001-07:002015-09-22T11:55:51.383-07:00Making the magic happen: How volunteering, pacing, and crewing can make you a better runner<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06oeWAcgVAcB13eXzVBRLggmunAqSKMHqKxtRstBep3YEE1BIwsWW9QgXtplKyFeFswSvAozU6E2TtNCBI6ePHxHlcGv3hCv6ydABqfx79IqJ879o46MbdROivjTLa7EVDWARPslP5sTU/s1600/FANS+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06oeWAcgVAcB13eXzVBRLggmunAqSKMHqKxtRstBep3YEE1BIwsWW9QgXtplKyFeFswSvAozU6E2TtNCBI6ePHxHlcGv3hCv6ydABqfx79IqJ879o46MbdROivjTLa7EVDWARPslP5sTU/s320/FANS+3.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Pacing my Mom to her first 50K at FANS 12 hour!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>This is a piece I originally wrote for the <a href="http://www.inknburnblog.com/?p=787">INKnBURN blog</a>. Excited about volunteering after reading this? <a href="http://wildduluthraces.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-race-volunteers-needed.html">Wild Duluth</a> and <a href="http://surfthemurph.org/Volunteers.aspx">Surf the Murph</a> are still looking for volunteers this year!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Volunteering, pacing, and crewing. We all know they're critical components of any ultramarathon -- and volunteering is critical to any race of any distance. Doing them is certainly good "karma". But more than that, I'm convinced that spending time on the "other side of the table" can help make you a better runner. Here are five ways I've benefited from spending hours at races <i>without </i>a number pinned to my shorts.</div>
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<h4 style="clear: both;">
1. Dip a toe into the world of trail and ultrarunning.</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Considering signing up for a first trail race, or a new distance? Volunteering, pacing, and crewing are all opportunities to learn what you're in for. It's difficult to imagine what it's like to run all night, run xx (or <i>xxx</i>) miles, or run when you've already been running for many hours. But spend time at the <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">mile 72</a> <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">aid station</a>, or <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-100-mile-pacing-report.html">pace a runner</a> from mile 85 to the finish, and -- BAM! -- a quick education. It's not the same as running all those miles yourself, but spending time helping those who <i>are </i>running all those miles is a great way to begin getting a clearer picture of what it's like, and what it takes.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkHYSnG4QHqmz2e25-A2ssTkLuj5_agY2tlI4Erj7iUmurxQsXc03ecH84R6h9pq404X4xJOJ2cFEALXgXZq7qwmeFncWLUbEvVoCsuSN_lcI1VNkLIKSraXWNnXGogzCi7EH_2zv1-TQ/s1600/Superior+Fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkHYSnG4QHqmz2e25-A2ssTkLuj5_agY2tlI4Erj7iUmurxQsXc03ecH84R6h9pq404X4xJOJ2cFEALXgXZq7qwmeFncWLUbEvVoCsuSN_lcI1VNkLIKSraXWNnXGogzCi7EH_2zv1-TQ/s320/Superior+Fall.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much more excited than my runner at mile 85 of<br />
<a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-100-mile-pacing-report.html">last year's Superior 100</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="clear: both;">
2. Give back to the running community.</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Okay, it's the obvious reason to volunteer, right? Maybe it even sounds trite. But look deeper. First of all, when you work an aid station or pace a runner, you're helping people who share your interests, goals, and values. Friends and potential friends. Second, volunteering/pacing/crewing models the actions and ideas that make our running community positive, supportive, and fun. (Check out this <a href="http://www.ultrarunning.com/featured/modeling-values-in-the-ultrarunning-community/">recent Ultrarunning article</a> for a nice articulation of this idea). Finally, your mere presence can provide a huge lift. What's better than running into an aid station, deep into a difficult race, and seeing familiar faces behind the table? An encouraging word from a friend can be as much a lift as a slice of ice-cold watermelon. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfokHQVfUfjI8JKhrxq0-I23PhPG38fwdNRajYsIbB49aVMMRwoP1-xHJ0KJqTKPWAO_i98uc_rL8Ouv3H-Wcu3rfsAnYXbm5tLFbd1IaWzXwtbZjL7MbM8MYzd1koscjZrzz5WOHnXkwL/s1600/IMG_1083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfokHQVfUfjI8JKhrxq0-I23PhPG38fwdNRajYsIbB49aVMMRwoP1-xHJ0KJqTKPWAO_i98uc_rL8Ouv3H-Wcu3rfsAnYXbm5tLFbd1IaWzXwtbZjL7MbM8MYzd1koscjZrzz5WOHnXkwL/s320/IMG_1083.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The volunteers at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/08/voyageur-50-mile-2014-race-report.html">Voyageur</a> last summer absolutely made my race!<br />
Yay for Stephanie, Amy, and Maria!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0mZPLTtsDnzPRLne5wdAo6w6Wk8_MI_G-9I8KexaQgVcZJrjxaYhnKoX4ve-ZJkcIn5IcGpfdpKMOBLf8cYL81B8Chzk1GKmbp8MdHR4DmAbFc9T8-XlBaSJ4CnhwaoDB0jbrZVs7EwZ/s1600/Endless+summer+crop+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0mZPLTtsDnzPRLne5wdAo6w6Wk8_MI_G-9I8KexaQgVcZJrjxaYhnKoX4ve-ZJkcIn5IcGpfdpKMOBLf8cYL81B8Chzk1GKmbp8MdHR4DmAbFc9T8-XlBaSJ4CnhwaoDB0jbrZVs7EwZ/s320/Endless+summer+crop+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">It's an open secret that my kids volunteer with me at the <br /><a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/race-report-endless-summer-trail-series.html">Endless Summer Trail Races</a> just for the free Coke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
3. Quality time.</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Time spent on the trail with another runner passes in a different way from time spent anywhere else... or so it seems in the middle of the night, while navigating rocky trails or the emotional ups and downs of 24 hours of running. It might not be what you expect: lots of talking, no talking at all, laughter, silence, inexplicable highs and intractable lows. But however it plays out, it's an amazing shared experience. And whether you're pacing a 5K or a 100 mile race, there's a thrill to crossing the finish line with your runner, especially if you can do it with a shared smile. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRx5HqJ3K9BN5UQp_nemlbokFrXl_7r5o7FjhwnZGosquNWIF7Z23BYb4KXdGZbgh_31Bxegkgu44Qu-yGekmXQDLUJdCesqVGc7I4BrSwZC3Wt7iuh5rGUzOKUdevYUwv-mBwVtUes09k/s1600/twin+lights+high+five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRx5HqJ3K9BN5UQp_nemlbokFrXl_7r5o7FjhwnZGosquNWIF7Z23BYb4KXdGZbgh_31Bxegkgu44Qu-yGekmXQDLUJdCesqVGc7I4BrSwZC3Wt7iuh5rGUzOKUdevYUwv-mBwVtUes09k/s320/twin+lights+high+five.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and I on our way to a <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/05/race-report-twin-lights-half-marathon.html">half marathon PR</a>...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8S8C1ji8LbrSKThU3yQGhF2532knd_2wUUHPW5lTdvtdYWKh4davthgdlRwPMhr4eYZLrb_eS_qEh6_PHbvVIF1fIPF4YxKphTyFa8Y_1Zlt2wKLZB3PwveeXkzQDX6-XMuqaVEHSsoQ7/s1600/Icebox+R-J+Todd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8S8C1ji8LbrSKThU3yQGhF2532knd_2wUUHPW5lTdvtdYWKh4davthgdlRwPMhr4eYZLrb_eS_qEh6_PHbvVIF1fIPF4YxKphTyFa8Y_1Zlt2wKLZB3PwveeXkzQDX6-XMuqaVEHSsoQ7/s1600/Icebox+R-J+Todd.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">... and Janet and I getting 50K done at <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/11/race-report-icebox-480-2013.html">Icebox 480</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="clear: both;">
4. Be part of the running community even when you're injured.</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
When you're injured, missing out on connecting with friends at weekend runs and races can hurt as much as your plantar fascia. It's easy to feel isolated from the running community and quietly withdraw until you're back on the trails. Volunteering and crewing are opportunities to be in the running community, whether or not you can run a step. Working an aid station or crewing a runner is a way to stay engaged, excited, and connected.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKhYjI4rdsVAhr3v5F4L56o1v-OgFqitGNbNk56ptGbc9UN1ViWYdkXXF3MDC3duDD-II7_lh76kkNQ2-tJj7HtukwDIxp33sU6sfw8ngBR_MuDjiYwOabKsfWK99RuRoMa8LyBG8pFSQ/s1600/IMG_0996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKhYjI4rdsVAhr3v5F4L56o1v-OgFqitGNbNk56ptGbc9UN1ViWYdkXXF3MDC3duDD-II7_lh76kkNQ2-tJj7HtukwDIxp33sU6sfw8ngBR_MuDjiYwOabKsfWK99RuRoMa8LyBG8pFSQ/s320/IMG_0996.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irresistably delicious aid station food at Superior 100.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGYGGaD8QBDAs7Yu0zXIl7A00CAsL48Kgged4-9g6rkfF8prRMCTp2WyS6bKBqy4YK1Nj6BySDmJlfh_ytPVaPDud3Zmxbr_WmV0BWmHXmn7fvgbtCM6NBupOTkJYy9PXd6fg0Ly2blja/s1600/Fall+Superior+0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGYGGaD8QBDAs7Yu0zXIl7A00CAsL48Kgged4-9g6rkfF8prRMCTp2WyS6bKBqy4YK1Nj6BySDmJlfh_ytPVaPDud3Zmxbr_WmV0BWmHXmn7fvgbtCM6NBupOTkJYy9PXd6fg0Ly2blja/s320/Fall+Superior+0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">It looks even better in the dark!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
5. Vicarious thrills.</h4>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The Western States lottery only accepts 400 runners per year. Want to run that course? If your number doesn't come up, your best chance might be to pace a lucky friend. Along similar lines: I've got no plans to run 100 miles at this time. But I want to understand more about what it's like. Short of signing up for a race, what better way is there to learn more than to support a runner who's living the dream? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ultramarathoners often say that as your time on the course lengthens, the highs get higher and the lows get lower. But in my still-young pacing career, I can say that it was still a pretty amazing high running out of <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-100-mile-pacing-report.html">this aid station</a>...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM2IJYOITr9Cs9occQf20dLAlvihbYb3MhupfRCE4TV-nfsvLiZuARwSbDXFxdgZZvvmtwMrFvN9hd4S2ZSPVrBHUtKGrEaUTd2JJqGRLp9tyGmYAgTOKLtrLX3R5l96BNRVoNmZCT31s/s1600/IMG_1002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM2IJYOITr9Cs9occQf20dLAlvihbYb3MhupfRCE4TV-nfsvLiZuARwSbDXFxdgZZvvmtwMrFvN9hd4S2ZSPVrBHUtKGrEaUTd2JJqGRLp9tyGmYAgTOKLtrLX3R5l96BNRVoNmZCT31s/s320/IMG_1002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last stop before the finish at Superior 100!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
... and finishing the last technical climb of <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html">Zumbro 100 with this guy</a>:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_NtRa154siq9h-9N334VDsrc1vXh18GMEJ8YxiBAr6Jyy4Lqutl6458O6-hSM2YOa4sm7zEHlgfIYD_QdPtCCyWSAjCtr3f_6twmRlYDdKdwaYUAPI7pTBBvgNOWbEmSVgLsaYVS-Y4w/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_NtRa154siq9h-9N334VDsrc1vXh18GMEJ8YxiBAr6Jyy4Lqutl6458O6-hSM2YOa4sm7zEHlgfIYD_QdPtCCyWSAjCtr3f_6twmRlYDdKdwaYUAPI7pTBBvgNOWbEmSVgLsaYVS-Y4w/s320/IMG_1469.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad picture, happy runners</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the feeling of bringing my runners into the finish line? I'm sure running 100 myself would be amazing... but the contact high was still pretty awesome.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
The bottom line</h4>
<div>
Looking for a chance to make a fellow runner's dreams come true? Think about opportunities for volunteering, crewing, and pacing. Not only will it make you a better runner, it just might make you a better, happier person.</div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LQWnUx0fE8gLju-ruP6cZb_o3mrGKDQW9pabpe3AFyHnSXyKpyQ8GyjIRCyH8vF7M71AmsS72NDml-rx89hvhkCBWn7x9lTm7lVjj1TONaZSm9eQr_ldubR7ZZwhI4yJpCwIlbIbsFoY/s1600/storkamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LQWnUx0fE8gLju-ruP6cZb_o3mrGKDQW9pabpe3AFyHnSXyKpyQ8GyjIRCyH8vF7M71AmsS72NDml-rx89hvhkCBWn7x9lTm7lVjj1TONaZSm9eQr_ldubR7ZZwhI4yJpCwIlbIbsFoY/s640/storkamp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-14711816373008693292015-09-14T17:34:00.000-07:002015-09-14T17:34:56.169-07:002015 Superior Fall 100, 50, and Marathon: Volunteer ReportThis weekend was the <a href="http://fall.superiortrailraces.com/">Superior Fall </a>100 mile, 50 mile, and Moose Mountain Marathon trail races, on the North Shore of Minnesota. It's one of the highlights of the local running calendar: point-to-point races on the Superior Hiking trail, almost 100% singletrack.<br />
<br />
I'd been planning all season to volunteer and maybe pace this one again. I had an amazing time doing just that last year (reports <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">here</a> and <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-100-mile-pacing-report.html">here</a>), and I knew I wanted to be part of the biggest race of the season again, one way or another. But I've spent much of the summer recovering from a hamstring/knee injury that dates all the way back to <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/05/in-beauty-may-i-walk-spring-superior.html">Spring Superior 50k</a>, and while my running has been going well lately, I'm not quite back in ultra-shape. I was going to pace Arika, but when she decided not to start the 100, I didn't seek out another runner to pace, and instead just upped my volunteer commitment. I ended up working two aid stations, from Friday afternoon into Saturday afternoon.<br />
<br />
Here is my recap of 21 hours of volunteering.<br />
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<h4>
County Road 6 (Friday, 3:30-11 pm)</h4>
<div>
- Arrive at my first aid station, at mile 43, carrying two extra jackets, a headlamp, and a Burrito Union burrito the size of my head. The aid station captain is Leslie, a previous year's top five finisher, an engineer, and an all-around excellent person. She's already got the place jamming.</div>
<div>
- A runner comes in after a fall on the trail with a bleeding gouge in his hand. Lisa, a nurse and ultramarathoner with vast race medical experience, hauls out her field kit, which is comprehensive enough to perform minor abdominal surgery or deliver a baby. She rather gleefully announces that she's never used the sterile saline wash before. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyosBiNtfN1p3ogXIgqQbA6ZutODakfg8G2mAlXWQop1FYEHxi5unwid0mddWW4gOa271d_Tc-6FcruVkFGGbHaXgyoJGYTi9mHm3r7kR8XzzjI7kG-9KqVFzlHMveEt3wGaJzlcXXDU3a/s1600/IMG_1298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyosBiNtfN1p3ogXIgqQbA6ZutODakfg8G2mAlXWQop1FYEHxi5unwid0mddWW4gOa271d_Tc-6FcruVkFGGbHaXgyoJGYTi9mHm3r7kR8XzzjI7kG-9KqVFzlHMveEt3wGaJzlcXXDU3a/s320/IMG_1298.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of crews and pacers awaiting their runners.<br />
There was a bit of a party vibe.</td></tr>
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- We fill hydration packs, hand out PB&J, make quesadillas. A few runners drop with injuries. One or two who probably should drop decide not to and gimp off onto the next 7.7 mile section of trail.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6a1DMh2B0kteWiMdKIN2uAr8GlbJladYF00SmuqluJrQr-9E8Vf-2khRExw1D8BX88WMKzql1_LwrDkGsOlV7_Is4v_HW-TODAypY6tPmMjLawC07If1VF5sb3-wZuTl5Gu1_V15Qyz3R/s1600/IMG_1295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6a1DMh2B0kteWiMdKIN2uAr8GlbJladYF00SmuqluJrQr-9E8Vf-2khRExw1D8BX88WMKzql1_LwrDkGsOlV7_Is4v_HW-TODAypY6tPmMjLawC07If1VF5sb3-wZuTl5Gu1_V15Qyz3R/s320/IMG_1295.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The clouds cleared and we got an hour of beautiful sunshine. </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzV0_sT8W6TUgWR9BWt3h6Ou-xNspTKTA4KyfpRn6klVoUwFG8f2pOPq9z7pU1VsKBXPKWrVzQFBc268dENLBajrSeoRb-m3VZIiCn9AMeDGLl-YRMxjZarejGqtat0Q-Wmv8dqZKwF0g5/s1600/IMG_1297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzV0_sT8W6TUgWR9BWt3h6Ou-xNspTKTA4KyfpRn6klVoUwFG8f2pOPq9z7pU1VsKBXPKWrVzQFBc268dENLBajrSeoRb-m3VZIiCn9AMeDGLl-YRMxjZarejGqtat0Q-Wmv8dqZKwF0g5/s320/IMG_1297.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Even the random roadside sloughs are beautiful around here.</td></tr>
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- The sun sets and we all start piling on more layers. The temperature is headed into the high 30s overnight. A runner tells us about an injured runner three miles up the trail, moving slow and getting cold. One of his crew heads up the trail with a jacket and a blanket.<br />
<div>
- "I've been peeing blood," a runner tells us. After discussing with our race medic, we sit him down and push beverages to see if rest and hydration will clear things up. After an hour and a half, things aren't clearing up and he reluctantly drops out of the race.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-BwvbqA8JNr9wlH8P-NBsoQdQRyls93H5PW_bCl1N3LtlmI8rQOYlT5iWEQj65fcMjmkJIDgU6WtrsE5NkmEJzIiqmYOn4oPTudJL6M0yVQJtApsT39ANxVE9j3H-c3qTqw2NtpkpnqO/s1600/Fall+Superior+0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-BwvbqA8JNr9wlH8P-NBsoQdQRyls93H5PW_bCl1N3LtlmI8rQOYlT5iWEQj65fcMjmkJIDgU6WtrsE5NkmEJzIiqmYOn4oPTudJL6M0yVQJtApsT39ANxVE9j3H-c3qTqw2NtpkpnqO/s320/Fall+Superior+0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun is down, but the aid station is rocking!</td></tr>
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- Bill comes in, collapses into a chair, and refuses to move. He's had problems with salt balance leading first to GI distress, then to cramps. Lisa, his crew, his pacer (who is a psychiatrist), and I all work on persuading him to get out of his chair and onto the trail. He is having none of it.<br />
- We tell him, "Your pacer is a doctor. You'll be in great hands!"<br />
- (I turn to him and say, "Psychiatrist? I'm a pathologist!" We shake hands. Lisa rolls her eyes and says, "So I really AM the most qualified person here, aren't I?" Without hesitating, we both reply, "OH YES.")<br />
- I leave Bill to his crew and go make some more PB&Js. When I next look over, he's on his feet and heading for the trail with his pacer. His crew can't quite believe it either. We all congratulate ourselves vigorously.<br />
- Susan Donnelly strides into the aid station, working on her FIFTEENTH! Superior 100 finish. She's a legend.<br />
- She browses the food table. "Quesadilla?" I offer.<br />
"Vegan-ish," she demurs.<br />
"We've got some vegan soup," I tell her. "Made with real vegans," I add. She snorts. "Organic, free-range vegans!"<br />
She's playing along. "Where do you get the vegans from?"<br />
"We just use the ones who hang around at the aid station too long," I tell her. Leslie the aid station captain adds, "You've got three minutes!"<br />
- The aid station is winding down as we approach cutoff time. I spend a little time with Rick, who is dropping with persistent vomiting. I help pack things up and take down tents and tables. At 11 pm I say goodbye to the crew and head to my next aid station.<br />
- On the walk to the car, there are thousands of stars, anad a streak of faint green Norther Lights paints one quadrant of the sky. It is breathtaking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsjaZIZmCom2NOU6RjDwmYufCB_7xUfqVsYdrtpK3v40Bx_OvI8VooT-5_tYHrydPZhSZVFwMP7GMxtf4CqaK0cCK30k2IA37pDBOQENYNUwckeYekJP4sj6PU7-dLHkgxcWZQFJk8bec/s1600/fall+superior+northern+lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsjaZIZmCom2NOU6RjDwmYufCB_7xUfqVsYdrtpK3v40Bx_OvI8VooT-5_tYHrydPZhSZVFwMP7GMxtf4CqaK0cCK30k2IA37pDBOQENYNUwckeYekJP4sj6PU7-dLHkgxcWZQFJk8bec/s320/fall+superior+northern+lights.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runner headed into Finland aid station.<br />
Credit: Kelly Doyle</td></tr>
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<h4>
Sugarloaf, night (Friday, 11:30 pm - Saturday, sunrise)</h4>
<div>
- Sugarloaf aid station is at mile 72. By the time I arrive, the two front runners are hours further on, but nobody else has come through yet. (The winner ends up crushing the course record by a 90 minute margin.) It's near midnight now, and crews are quietly talking or sleeping. It's quiet and mellow after County Road 6.</div>
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- The early runners through here are generally fast, feeling good, and well crewed. I get a two hour nap in aid station captains Jan and Joe's tent, emerge around 3 am, and start alternating black coffee and bacon. After a couple rounds of this, I am ready for anything.<br />
- Temperatures are down to the high 30s and I'm barely keeping warm in two wool shirts, two jackets, and a wool hat. Kevin is volunteering here with me and burrows under a blanket when he's not busy. It's not his first aid station rodeo, but it's his first overnight gig. He's 17 and has been running ultras for two years. I invited him up because I thought he'd be great company, and so that he could see how much of the world there is beyond high school. He is rising to the occasion and is a great addition to the aid station.<br />
- There's no medical person at this aid station, so I cruise around and look for runners with a thousand yard stare, or who come in and look blankly at the food, mumbling, "Nothing looks good," or the ones whose water bottles are still ominously full after 9.4 very difficult miles from the last aid station. We have terse, bluntly worded conversations about puking, pooping, cramping, and bloating. I push hot soup, bananas, and reassurance.<br />
- A runner comes in wearing a tank top and armwarmers. He's cold, and his extra clothes are at the next aid station, 5.7 miles up the way. I hand him one of my buffs to wear around his neck, and say, "Just leave it by the drop bags at the finish line." Incredibly, that's where I find it, 18 hours later.<br />
- Shawn stumbles in and announces, "I'm very sleepy. I fell asleep on the trail. I think I need a nap." I lay out my Thermarest pad and a blanket. She burrows in and I set my watch for 15 minutes. Then, another 10. Finally, I return with a cup of coffee and a pep talk about the effect of sunlight on cortisol levels. (She's a doctor, the sun is rising, I don't know, it made sense when I was doing it.) She gets up and head out with no further problems.<br />
- I explain to Kevin the difference between civil twilight, nautical twilight, and astronomical twilight. He accuses me of making it up. I point out that it's now civil twilight regardless. We all begin to warm up and awaken as the sun rises.<br />
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<h4>
Sugarloaf, day (Friday, sunrise - 1 pm)</h4>
- I glance over by the bonfire and see a runner huddled in a blanket. H has developed worsening fogging of her vision over the last few miles, and removing her contacts and flushing her eyes hasn't helped. Her husband and pacer is helping her problem solve, but she's understandably worried.<br />
- After getting some details from her (no pain, no headache, photosensitive), I suggest she face away from the sun, put on sunglasses, and rest her eyes, while she keeps warm and eats. It could be <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25728559">ultramarathon-related visual impairment</a>, which is benign and reversible, but I want a medic's opinion. Our ham radio operator gets on on the wire and we discuss. She recommends that H drop.<br />
- H has been listening to this conversation. I tell her, "You're still three hours ahead of the cutoff. You don't have to decide yet. Why don't you hang out a bit and see if it gets better?" I'm really sad for her. It's a sucky reason to drop, when everything else feels good. I tell her she's doing everything she can right now to fix it. Her vision clears a little over the next hours, but not enough, and she drops. Later, at the finish line, she tells me it resolved about six hours after she stopped. She'll be back. She's very strong.<br />
- Another runner huddled in a chair. "What's going on?" I ask. J tells me, "I'm really nauseous and I'm going really, really slow." (It's still three hours before cutoff).<br />
- "We're going to fix you," I tell him. I learned from Joe Hegman that nausea can be worsened by anxiety, and that it can be a vicious cycle. Being calm can sometimes make a huge difference. "First thing I'm going to do is bring you some ginger candy. Take just half of one. Chew on that. i'll be back in a minute."<br />
- (The bag of Gin-Gins I brought and put on the table is going fast. I grab three.)<br />
- A few minutes later, he's looking a little better. "Okay, now you need something that can sit well in your stomach. Can I make you a peanut butter banana?" He thinks that sounds all right. I hand him the extra ginger candies for later.<br />
- After the banana, he looks nearly human again. "If that's working for you, remember, they can make that for you at any aid station. That can be your secret fuel today. You look good. (He does.) Ready to go?" In fact, he is. He heads out, looking strong. I punch the air and announce, to nobody in particular, "I LOVE fixing runners!" Hours later, I'm at the finish line when he comes in, still looking strong.<br />
- Susan comes through again, still looking like she's out for an easy jog. I introduce her to Kevin. She says, "I wish I'd known about ultramarathons when I was 17."<br />
- We're running low on Styrofoam cups; everyone has wanted hot soup and hot coffee. On the other hand, absolutely nobody is eating the Mike & Ikes. I begin to suspect our race director bought them to generate leftovers for himself.<br />
- We get word that Bill dropped at the next aid station after his miraculous escape from County Road 6. I'm glad he got the chance to get in 50 miles, but I wish it had gone differently.<br />
- As the sun rises, it rapidly warms up and we begin shedding layers. We all quickly go from completely bundled up to short sleeves in 60 degree sunshine. I eventually remember to put on sunblock. We even hand out ice to a few runners. The soup sits, suddenly unwanted.<br />
- Around 9:30 am, the first 50 mile runners come through. The tempo of the aid station changes suddenly. It's been very mellow, with slow moving, tired 100 milers. By comparison, the 50 mile leaders look like clean, well dressed gazelles.<br />
- My friend Mike comes in among the 50 milers. He's doing well today, if a bit slower than he wanted. After food and water refills, he asks for some lube. I squeeze Vaniply ointment onto his fingers. Without missing a beat, he shoves his hand down his pants to apply it. All I say is, "Don't look at me when you're doing that!"<br />
- As cutoff time approaches, word comes up that there are a couple of injured runners on the trail coming our way. Our friend Bob has fallen and possibly broken a few ribs, and a woman has fallen and hurt her shoulder. We briefly imagine the trail strewn with bodies of the fallen. It's kind of funny, on two hours of sleep.<br />
- All the 100 milers have passed us now. The last 50 milers come through and we troubleshoot nausea, cramps, injuries, and just plain moving slow. But everyone wants to keep going. I feed peanut butter bananas to anyone who looks like they need something extra.<br />
- Two minutes before the cutoff, Bob shambles into the aid station. Kevin marches him to a chair, sits him down, and starts filling his hydration pack. He's walking decently, breathing and talking okay, I notice.<br />
- "I fell. It hurts to breathe. I threw out my back. I can't keep doing this," he tells me.<br />
"Bob," I tell him, "broken bones are, in fact, one of the very few legitimate reasons you're allowed to drop at my aid station. On the other hand, you probably won't make things worse if you keep going. So you need to decide."<br />
"I don't think I can make the cutoff," he says, as I put an ice bag on his back and he dives into a plate of bananas and cookies.<br />
"You're hiking really well. You trained for this. If you want to, you can hike all the way to the finish and get your 50 miles." He looks doubtful. "Bob," I go on, "You fell a mile after the last aid station. But you kept walking this way instead of going back. What were you thinking then?"<br />
"I was thinking I wanted to keep going if I had any chance."<br />
"What are you thinking now?"<br />
"I don't know. This is hard."<br />
- Without much further discussion, Kevin comes over and says, "Time to go." And damned if Bob doesn't stand up (on the second try), put on his pack, and start for the trail.<br />
- At the last minute, Kevin says, "Um, maybe I'll go with him for a ways. To make sure he's OK." He takes off in his street shoes, without any food, water, or gear. I later learn he goes the entire 5.7 miles to the next aid station, jogging to keep up with Bob's very effective speed-hike, then turns around and comes back to get his car.<br />
- (I later accuse him of leaving partly for altruistic reasons, and partly to avoid aid-station teardown and cleanup. He doesn't deny it.)<br />
- Bob makes it to the last aid station at mile 43, five minutes ahead of the cutoff. He's endured several additional falls and now has persistent dizziness and light-headedness. He drops at mile 43. We're impressed, especially when we learn it's his first run ever on the Superior Hiking Trail.<br />
- 20 minutes after cutoff, the runner with the injured shoulder is in, accompanied by another runner who gave up his race to help her. "Thank you," I tell him. "That was a good thing you did." He tells me, "It was the right thing," but I think he's pleased to have it acknowledged.<br />
- There are still four 50 mile runners on the course. They trickle in, the last arriving over an hour after the cutoff. We break down the aid station, bu keep a few drinks and snacks out for them and the trail sweeps. One runner sites down in the shade and declines offers of food, saying "I don't deserve it." I carry over a plate of cookies and inform him that that's bullshit. I don't leave till he's taken some.<br />
- At last we're done and the supply ruck has taken our aid station. What was a thriving little oasis in the woods is once again just a wide spot in a gravel road. It's fantastic and weird and I love it.<br />
- I change into running gear and head out for a solo long run. It's time to decompress, before a shower, the finish line, and a very, very good night's sleep.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll be back soon, North Shore!</td></tr>
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THE END<br />
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-21728581008613359402015-05-24T15:08:00.000-07:002015-05-26T08:06:58.715-07:00In Beauty May I Walk: Spring Superior 50K 2015 Race Report<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I will arise and go now, for always night and day</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I hear it in the deep heart's core.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- William Butler Yeats, "The Lake Isle of Innisfree"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Game face ON.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Executive summary: 50K in 7:29:13, a 12 minute course PR on a slow muddy course (the median finish time was 10 min slower than last year). I was third masters woman (of 10). I went out too fast, held on until the last leg, stayed in the race the whole time, ran this one as well as I could. I'm very, very happy.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://spring.superiortrailraces.com/">Spring Superior</a>. It's a special race. I did my<a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/running-with-broken-elbow-or-its-just.html"> first 50K</a> here two years ago. It was my first introduction to the Superior Hiking Trail, the site of a beautiful race <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/05/sunshine-mud-and-euphoria-on-trails.html">last year</a> that kicked off an amazing season, and Fall Superior was a great way to bookend that season with some intense <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html">volunteering</a> and <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/09/superior-100-mile-pacing-report.html">pacing</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This year, after managing to register for the race, which was in incredible demand (there's a lottery next year), I had big plans. I'd had some good training in the months leading up, starting with my <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/01/40k-for-40-years.html">40th birthday 40K</a> and including a 34-mile, 13 hour slow and steady <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/04/60-hours-at-zumbro-2015-volunteer-and.html">pacing gig at Zumbro</a> and a recent loop at Afton (25K) that I managed to turn around and run well, despite a rough start. On the other side of the endurance vs. speed spectrum, I had just run a 5K PR (25:12) the previous weekend, coming in second woman in a small, laid-back field. I didn't have a lot of really big long runs heading into this, but I'd managed some quality running, some stairs and strength work, and -- a race week hip flexor freakout aside -- I was uninjured and ready to run.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In 2013, I ran this race in 8:00:18. In 2014, my time was 7:41:15, feeling great and with a few bonus miles on Mount Levaux. This year, my goals were big. I figured if the trail was in good condition and I had a great day, I could go under 7 hours. McMillan claimed, based on my recent Afton loop, that I could run a 7:15, so that was my B goal. My C goal was to PR the course, and my final goal was to finish, have a joyful day, and soak up the beauty of the North Shore.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On Friday morning, I packed my gear (so much less than Zumbro! I kept thinking I was forgetting something. I didn't) and headed north.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-B-P1RffWW7Y4YzIOSrgLkJqAkzhTq_kJWDi-WDqgRJJiuHwD5C7RhLwVbnOgUaQ-Gpzqv4HltmHrUVPQ3O3x6nXNmNi96kBsPczchb5IwCmp0DphEw_GQCeBbRMyvjpm_cNbOG6sZoId/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-B-P1RffWW7Y4YzIOSrgLkJqAkzhTq_kJWDi-WDqgRJJiuHwD5C7RhLwVbnOgUaQ-Gpzqv4HltmHrUVPQ3O3x6nXNmNi96kBsPczchb5IwCmp0DphEw_GQCeBbRMyvjpm_cNbOG6sZoId/s320/Picture1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The first glimpse of Highway 61 in Duluth!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It was a gloomy, foggy day. I knew the forecast was for at least partial clearing the next day, but it was still a surprise to feel the temperature drop 20 degrees as I hit the North Shore.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The drive up Highway 61 seemed different after working the Fall Superior race. Every waypost between Gooseberry Falls and Lutsen made me think of a milestone along the 100 mile course. I'm not even considering running it at this time, but somehow its landmarks have still found their way into my consciousness.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">I arrived at Lutsen slightly bug-eyed after four hours in the car, and picked up my race number, running into lots of friends who had come to race, volunteer, or spectate and support. John and Cheri Storkamp, the race directors, had settled in at a corner table, watching their well-oiled machine run. I came over to say hello and John wanted to know whether I was looking forward to another bonus summit of Mount Levaux. I replied that it was an integral part of my plan to negative-split the course.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">While waiting for a table for dinner, I ran into <a href="http://dalesblogaboutnothing.blogspot.com/">Dale</a> and Scott, the irrepressible Manitobans. If I was bug-eyed after driving four hours, they were stir-crazy following ten hours of driving, and ready to race. They were great company at dinner. By eight, though, I was ready to find my room, get things organized, and get some sleep.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My alarm sounded at a very civilized 5 a.m.; I had already been awake a few times wondering whether I'd remembered to set it. Breakfast, too many layers of clothes, packed up, and headed to the starting line.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, and one more pre-race preparation:</span></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCTuSEE8zofdyn0Zlz2mAq3bht-Wa2ehQPZLjzhaolD0leK9XNjvm24HGo6okUTlclmzd92CWfltIRWpdfIAQouElOPckctFmEKqTYpqxF20Xxg4gInDsKLc2xftw8qsBhzAcKZI-Phc8/s1600/superior+knuckles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCTuSEE8zofdyn0Zlz2mAq3bht-Wa2ehQPZLjzhaolD0leK9XNjvm24HGo6okUTlclmzd92CWfltIRWpdfIAQouElOPckctFmEKqTYpqxF20Xxg4gInDsKLc2xftw8qsBhzAcKZI-Phc8/s320/superior+knuckles.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Because fake knuckle tattoos are cool!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo credit: John Storkamp</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">At the starting line, the sky was a cloudless blue and whatever the weather report said, it looked like it would be a warm, sunny day. I shed an outer layer and took the obligatory INKnBURN pre-race photo with the excellent <a href="http://kevinlangton.blogspot.com/">Kevin Langton</a>. Circulated around and said hello to lots more friends, until it was time to start.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53Cat_LWRyYKBCRh2JIQqJNyfS4EYW9RDxclWIpMVJjhH2cTQo5dQKZqL80MTj520V5zXv7ad0SS6YmVXF3nFtDYAbY22zg49pfmzIn4K-pr9VW47Y-9tz1_VZfvq8ZPco4kprd4C0Q04/s1600/start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53Cat_LWRyYKBCRh2JIQqJNyfS4EYW9RDxclWIpMVJjhH2cTQo5dQKZqL80MTj520V5zXv7ad0SS6YmVXF3nFtDYAbY22zg49pfmzIn4K-pr9VW47Y-9tz1_VZfvq8ZPco4kprd4C0Q04/s320/start.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Our feet are so clean! That didn't last.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo credit: Lisa Langton</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KgoxSwmXhdCpFOYQ_8GSHJrr5RT3cwWa62i0ZxgV-v3OPajxXNqIim-1Dd-x3_yb7dRmVRyrz1GbQGRdH6WDZdqj6ZNgWvQB_zCWDHl4ReBS7q8JvNExob5yitV-SG4Swbelj1rxOMpz/s320/IMG_1477.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Awaiting the start</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KgoxSwmXhdCpFOYQ_8GSHJrr5RT3cwWa62i0ZxgV-v3OPajxXNqIim-1Dd-x3_yb7dRmVRyrz1GbQGRdH6WDZdqj6ZNgWvQB_zCWDHl4ReBS7q8JvNExob5yitV-SG4Swbelj1rxOMpz/s1600/IMG_1477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwT-NUHnnNSQ8xiUCoB4FPTi-da_OPce24Weg_ZqXdWelq_v2foQo-J66iC7o0ksuYrrGpMr_GO2zuJ8GbKwozNPYNt-7Afr7RZ4Jh2dHhigT1lCtUHdrggwwSmA-eukqof-hP6Y-zAtD/s1600/IMG_1478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwT-NUHnnNSQ8xiUCoB4FPTi-da_OPce24Weg_ZqXdWelq_v2foQo-J66iC7o0ksuYrrGpMr_GO2zuJ8GbKwozNPYNt-7Afr7RZ4Jh2dHhigT1lCtUHdrggwwSmA-eukqof-hP6Y-zAtD/s320/IMG_1478.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">What's a race director without his stepladder?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Up on the ladder, John made the customary race-morning announcements, encouraged people to just go through the mud instead of around it ("your feet will be soaked in the first few minutes anyway"), and counted down. And off we went.</span></div>
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<h4 style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Start to Oberg: 7.75 miles, 1:35 minutes (or, Possibly Regrettable Fun)</span></h4>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif9Z_TFuR7-BRxTZILT92W2Xf1Nh-zc0m5utHAtQVv4Ek7NKMYzdOW89wVC_S3IehW8o2bB2QETVmxWvkQoj9QlsgnGo0ecv8WYaM46RqRM0BBZGYIVc2twxdt9jQjcsMA2H-uqWMOd9Kk/s1600/superior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif9Z_TFuR7-BRxTZILT92W2Xf1Nh-zc0m5utHAtQVv4Ek7NKMYzdOW89wVC_S3IehW8o2bB2QETVmxWvkQoj9QlsgnGo0ecv8WYaM46RqRM0BBZGYIVc2twxdt9jQjcsMA2H-uqWMOd9Kk/s320/superior.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo credit: Todd Rowe</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">One of my goals for this race was to avoid the conga line up Mystery Mountain this year, a project which entailed going out a bit faster than usual. I'd been trying to prepare mentally (and physically) to run, not jog, up the paved road and gravel road to get closer to the front of the line that would stretch, single-file, all the way up the singletrack for the first mile or two. I was pretty successful. On the singletrack, I found myself in a line of people moving efficiently, going straight through the mud -- which was already ankle deep in places -- and moving well.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Perhaps a bit too well. Now that I was moving with the faster kids, I didn't want to slow down the line. In contrast to previous times I've run Superior, I was a little hashed getting to the summit of Mystery, and a little more so at the top of Moose. But, on the other hand, it was fun to be moving a little too fast, the sun was shining, the company was good, and I was a little curious to see how it would all turn out. So on I went, maybe a little too fast.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">At the top of Mystery Mountain, there's a bend in the trail and you come out to the first view of the saddle and Moose Mountain. The runner ahead of me threw his arms out in an expression of pure joy at the sight. I knew how he felt. "Nature therapy!" I exclaimed. "The doctor is IN!" </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">It was a beautiful morning. In contrast to last year, the snow was long gone and spring was well underway on the Superior Hiking Trail. Leaves were budding and flowers were blooming. The air smelled damp, but later as the day went on, areas smelled of warm pine needles, crushed wild onions, water and wet rocks. I could feel my mind relaxing and moving into ultramarathoning headspace. I was blessed to have a whole day to spend here, in the woods, with good people, experiencing this amazing place. What a good day to be alive.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Leading the train.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo credit: Todd Rowe</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Coming along the top of Moose Mountain, I led a little train of people that eventually caught up to the next train ahead. Another mile, and suddenly it was the steep technical descent down Moose. The train broke up as the faster people passed the cautious ones, and the really fast bombed past us all. I'm not bad at downhilling; I took it pretty aggressively. (My quads were screaming for four days afterwards). Then some shockingly muddy sections, a gradual uphill I didn't recall and that hardly seemed necessary, and suddenly we popped out at Oberg aid station. I had been aiming for a 1:45 first segment; my watch said 1:35.</span></div>
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<h4 style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Oberg to Carlton Peak turnaround: 7.75 miles, 2:00 (or, Everyone Loves a Mud Run)</span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I went through Oberg fast, stopping only to drop off some extra layers and grab a handful of Endurolytes to supplement the S-Caps I was carrying. It was a warm day, and I was trying to be aggressive with the electrolytes since I had some cramping and hand swelling at Zumbro and wanted to avoid that. Off on the next leg, about 5 miles to Sawbill.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">In theory, this section should be very runnable. It's got a few steep sections but is mostly rolling hills and flats, without anything technical. However, every time I've been through it (and this was trips #6 and 7), there's mud. No big deal, I figured this time, I know about the mud and I'm prepared to plow right through it. Problem was, it was deep enough, and unpredictable enough (am I stepping into an inch deep puddle, or one that will come up to my shin?), that it was tough to run through. I was glad I'd been snowshoe racing this winter -- the motion and the muscles were surprisingly similar.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I plowed through mud, ran the runnable dry sections, plowed through mud, repeated. I met some great friendly people along this section and ran with them for a while. I kept eating -- Larabars were great, my black cherry Shot Bloks were way too sweet, gels were sitting pretty well -- and throwing back Endurolytes with my water.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The Mount Levaux spur trail was marked with about nine flags and a pile of brush to block the trail. As I told John afterwards, "I wanted to take it. Really! But it was SO WELL MARKED, I just couldn't bring myself to do it."</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqD-IsJjZkQbAbg9CGno5qEOhXIuyLZ2LINyGO4qAQkHRZBbSEKMl-M0J7n87c1Q8sPTSYOxH9cE-r7KnkENzfeBCmvD9s2wRVBOtxHXJzcnCGjOq3zQ6J637tVuBi16UNlUCfY28Oheo/s1600/IMG_1484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqD-IsJjZkQbAbg9CGno5qEOhXIuyLZ2LINyGO4qAQkHRZBbSEKMl-M0J7n87c1Q8sPTSYOxH9cE-r7KnkENzfeBCmvD9s2wRVBOtxHXJzcnCGjOq3zQ6J637tVuBi16UNlUCfY28Oheo/s320/IMG_1484.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Mount Levaux spur trail. No bonus miles today!</span></td></tr>
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</div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Through a deep mud patch and, with a sucking sound, my heel popped out of my shoe. Rats! I pulled off the trail and laboriously began peeling back a mud-soaked <a href="http://www.dirtygirlgaiters.com/">Dirty Girl</a> gaiter, then untying my lace. Suddenly, my hamstring cramped and I shot back up again, dancing around and trying to unkink the muscle. It relented and I cautiously returned to a kneel to put my shoe to rights. I wiped my hands off on some handy nearby plant life, threw down a few more Endurolytes, and continued on.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The front runners began coming back through, but I was further along than in previous years when I started seeing them. I could tell that I was going faster than I had before, and it was a good feeling. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I pulled into the Sawbill aid station still feeling good, and stopped long enough to refill my hydration pack and put some sunblock on my face -- the sun was getting bright! As it turned out, I got some sunburn on my upper arms. I was glad I'd worn a short-sleeve shirt and not a tank top, just from a sun protection standpoint.</span></div>
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<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Todd was at Sawbill (and had been on the trail earlier, taking pictures.) He helpfully kicked me out of the aid station, almost before I had time to grab a salted potato and some Endurolytes, and I was off to Carlton Peak and the turnaround.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">If the Oberg to Sawbill trail is long, muddy, and largely featureless, the short 2.25 miles to Carlton Peak are the opposite. The trail was gratifyingly dry -- my feet almost dried out! -- but quickly transitioned from flat boardwalks to the steep rocky climb. I welcomed the opportunity to power-hike instead of run and moved pretty efficiently. Before I knew it, I was at the top of the peak, shaking Charlie Hubbard's hand and taking a sip of cold beer. The sun was shining and a blanket of fog lay over Lake Superior. It was an incredible spring morning. I paused to breathe it in. This moment, at the turnaround, was something I'd been thinking of all year long.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-57Po_6FgChv3TooOS7eiFIEkc-ge31QVlcUFRhNhxzCzjkgxjVEBZnnpx9HoNtQH_5UPBjziLinqLH1NT1Lh3P7QJKy_jwRsO8W50I59O2khN-LS_yFyBOMO8VUfvLQ3TatG5_-yi-qv/s1600/IMG_1480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-57Po_6FgChv3TooOS7eiFIEkc-ge31QVlcUFRhNhxzCzjkgxjVEBZnnpx9HoNtQH_5UPBjziLinqLH1NT1Lh3P7QJKy_jwRsO8W50I59O2khN-LS_yFyBOMO8VUfvLQ3TatG5_-yi-qv/s320/IMG_1480.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Carlton Peak.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo credit: Charlie Hubbard</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Turnaround to Oberg: 7.75 miles, 2:00 (or, Moving Along) </span></h4>
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<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I looked at my watch as I headed down Carlton Peak. 3:35 on the clock, and I was feeling good. Could I get in under 7 hours? Maybe. I felt optimistic I could beat 7:15. I descended as efficiently as I could, cheering on lots of runners who were still climbing. My left outer knee began to ache, a spot that had given me trouble a few weeks ago. But it wasn't bad, and it wasn't getting much worse.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Back through Sawbill aid station. Todd was still there, practising his best aid-station bedside manner. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Hey, how much time I got till the cutoff?" I asked him. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Only 55 minutes. Get out of here," he replied. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Wait, I need some Heed!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"You can drink Heed at the NEXT aid station! You're not getting any closer to Oberg standing around here chitchatting!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I turned to another volunteer. "Hey! The mean aid station worker is making me leave!" Once she saw that we were both laughing, she relaxed. I ran out of Sawbill with a grin on my face.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Sawbill to Oberg section was muddier than before. There were sections where I'm pretty sure the trail was tracking along a streambed, and others with long, long stretches of muddy standing water.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPBYnre3fWvKMv39GEtP2KBOG_EyOLy0u3x8lirQJfQ79MJ3JwgcKICxbzpuQvOd1Xl3MvBR-ino-rbitVuq8gGw84pvrz5fShJVPzLjcGI9q2lg1x-FPbFrce6fcJ85lN4JwJNPthAQ2/s1600/superior+mud+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPBYnre3fWvKMv39GEtP2KBOG_EyOLy0u3x8lirQJfQ79MJ3JwgcKICxbzpuQvOd1Xl3MvBR-ino-rbitVuq8gGw84pvrz5fShJVPzLjcGI9q2lg1x-FPbFrce6fcJ85lN4JwJNPthAQ2/s320/superior+mud+crop.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Mmm, juicy.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIGuR1mdoJl-68YWzU0wRx1jIbOvsD31ECmZEcd_WfSAI2jVRwiLkHR3f7yGxPDHivAVvGBq4jLLMpJnMPlZckc37aHX2h2FyD57csvQcBQiTVf64lT7KN6btqdNHL8OEoqxj_C_3FLDH/s1600/muddy+feet+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIGuR1mdoJl-68YWzU0wRx1jIbOvsD31ECmZEcd_WfSAI2jVRwiLkHR3f7yGxPDHivAVvGBq4jLLMpJnMPlZckc37aHX2h2FyD57csvQcBQiTVf64lT7KN6btqdNHL8OEoqxj_C_3FLDH/s320/muddy+feet+crop.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I wore my new gaiters! Can you tell??</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lots of things happen on a long run, but sometimes despite this there's not much to tell. I felt good; I felt tired. I ate a packet of chocolate hazelnut butter, then decided that wasn't exactly what I had wanted. My knee was a little achy, but my hip didn't bother me at all, and I was grateful. I remembered how this section of trail had looked last fall when I came through with Travis. I talked to other runners. I composed this race report in my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The miles ticked by. Nothing felt too difficult, but I didn't feel like I could go any faster. I didn't feel like I needed to. I was spending the day in the woods, my mind was right, my body was good. It was good.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h4 style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oberg to finish: 1:55 (or, A Little Bit Slower And A Little Bit Worse)</span></span></h4>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I ran into Oberg feeling tired, but hopeful. I didn't think I could make it back in the blazing 1:35 I had come out in, but I was still hoping for a 7:15 overall time. I dropped a few final layers off for my drop bag, said hello to the excellent Kevin and Jordan, who were volunteering, drank more Heed and a little Coke, and set off.</span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I'd broken this leg into several segments in my mind: The runnable but muddy section up to Moose Mountain. The steep climb up Moose. The saddle between Moose and Mystery. And the descent from Mystery to the finish. It was nice to be on a section I knew well, and it was good to know that I was on the way home.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The first section was runnable, but I could tell I was getting tired. Last year, I'd had incredible energy in this section and passed dozens of people. This time, I was still occasionally passing people, but I could tell my faster early running had taken some out of me. I started up Moose Mountain and ate the first of the two Roctane gels I keep as my race-end secret weapons. It gave me a physical and mental lift, and I moved steadily, staying in the moment the whole time. Along this section, I passed a few 25K runners, including one who had stopped part way up Moose Mountain and was doing something on his phone! "Updating Facebook?" I asked, jokingly. "Yep," he replied. "'On Moose Mountain. Send help.'" I suggested, and I kept going, with a word of encouragement.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I crested Moose and tried to run the very runnable rocky section at the top, but I was taking more walk breaks. My knee began to bother me more on the steep descent, and I couldn't run as the pain in my outer knee and the back of the knee was clearly worse when I did. With five miles left, it made more sense to finish than to go back, and it didn't hurt badly enough for me to consider doing otherwise. But it was certainly more painful in this section. The muscles still felt like they were on the verge of cramping, but never quite got there. Thank goodness. I fantasized about hosing my feet off at the finish, and about being done. I hiked the switchbacks up the back of Mystery, and felt better going uphill.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Somewhere near the top of Mystery, I hooked up with Kamie, who was also finishing the 50K. We worked well together, running the runnable sections and keeping each other motivated. We started passing lots of 25K runners, trying to cheer on everyone we passed. My knee began to feel better.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Along the top of Mystery. Another little descent and climb. Then, the campground that marks the last of the climbing, and the beginning of a steady, rocky descent all the way to the Poplar River. Around this point, you can actually hear the cheering and music from the finish line, and even through it's still a few miles away, you begin to feel like you're coming home.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The trail descends and you can hear the Poplar River long before you see it. The air cools down. The mud is deep and boards placed across it are slippery. But it's hard to care at this point; you're almost there.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cross the Poplar River bridge. One last little uphill; was that really necessary? The gravel road. The paved road. Kamie and I speed up, then halfway down the paved road I realize I can't keep the pace and wave her ahead. Keep going, keep moving forward.</span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuO0URHVod_vD2etN-m8WSBhl68BfT6MoUDFSeh7ePgOydxBkcEBJwqnWDMmzqTRpYQ7BIuZzbHgTS9VhRAEF02woWw_JxwXpRqQ5SVDf30y9QGfPYDOktX23sg9ZqLv7tIWeR09v-RfN/s1600/superior+finish+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuO0URHVod_vD2etN-m8WSBhl68BfT6MoUDFSeh7ePgOydxBkcEBJwqnWDMmzqTRpYQ7BIuZzbHgTS9VhRAEF02woWw_JxwXpRqQ5SVDf30y9QGfPYDOktX23sg9ZqLv7tIWeR09v-RfN/s320/superior+finish+line.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting it done at the finish line.<br />
Photo credit: Arielle Anderson</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Off the pavement, over the dirt and grass, around the pool, and there's the clock: 7:29! Run it in. Stop, deep breaths, hands on knees, amazed to be here and alive and finished and, suddenly, in another world, one with people, music, running water, hot food, no need to keep moving.</span></div>
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</span><br />
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Final reflections</span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I finished and drove home, I was a little disappointed with my finish time. Looking at my splits, it was clear I'd been on track for at least my 7:15 goal till I slowed way down on the last leg. As the week went by, though, I began feeling better and better about my performance. The median finish time this year was 10 min slower than last year, possibly due to mud, and 25 min slower among the women. I was on track until the last section and stayed mentally with it almost the entire time. And I was SORE after this race, in a way that I normally am not after a trail 50K. Like, Lamaze-breathing-on-the-stairs levels of quad soreness. My knee still hurts, though it's much improved. I gave this one a lot of effort. I could have paced it a little smarter, and perhaps run the second half harder if I'd been able to keep the muscle cramping away more effectively. But I'm pretty content with how it went.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I've given a lot of thought recently to what it is that I get out of a run like this. I've decided it's very simple -- it's an entire day, set aside and cordoned off, when my only goal is to get from <i>here </i>to <i>there</i>. In a life that can be complicated and difficult and involve many different threads of thought all at once, it's a chance to clear your mind, focus on a single goal, find a rhythm between breathing and movement and nothing else.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We've been reading a lot of poetry with the kids recently. I ran across this one in Caroline Kennedy's <i>Poems to Learn by Heart</i>, and later saw it in this excellent <a href="http://clydeologist.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-grand-slam-of-ultrarunning.html">ultrarunning blog</a>. It's a Navajo prayer, and it evokes a lot of what I get from a day in the woods. I'll finish this overly long race report with it: </span><br />
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In Beauty May I Walk (from the Navajo; translated by Jerome K Rothenberg)</span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In beauty may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">All day long may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Through the returning seasons may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Beautifully I will possess again</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Beautifully birds</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Beautifully joyful birds</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the trail marked with pollen may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With dew about my feet may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With beauty may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With beauty before me may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With beauty behind me may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With beauty above me may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With beauty all around me may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> may I walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is finished in beauty</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is finished in beauty</span></div>
Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8542189740662270002.post-18973255455291180222015-04-20T19:56:00.002-07:002015-04-21T04:23:37.636-07:0060 hours at Zumbro 2015 (volunteer and pacing report)<div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the best things about being between jobs this spring was the chance to spend a few days volunteering and pacing at <a href="http://www.zumbro100.com/">Zumbro Endurance Runs</a>, the Minnesota ultrarunners' annual April rite of spring. With a 17, a 50, and a 100 mile race, 580 runners, and well over 100 volunteers, it's a big production. The terrain on the 17-mile loop has something for everyone: steep climbs, technical descents, ankle-deep sand, and miles of shoe-sucking mud. The weather can be hot and sunny, below freezing, thunderstorms, snow showers... and sometimes all of the above. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's got a special place in my heart as the race I still haven't quite gotten a handle on. Two years ago, I <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2013/06/running-with-broken-elbow-or-its-just.html">broke my elbow</a> at mile 2 of the 17 miler, my first long trail race. I finished with a smile, but still wanted redemption. Last year, I attempted the midnight 50 miler and <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2014/04/race-report-zumbro-midnight-50-miler.html">DNF'd with hypothermia</a> at mile 34 in a thunderstorm. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This year, I wanted to volunteer for a few days and see more of the work behind the scenes, and then I jumped on the opportunity to pace. I did laps 5 and 6 of the 100 mile with Jordan, a runner I've admired and respected for his grit and determination during the <a href="http://www.umtr.net/trail-series/gnarly-bandit-ultra-series/">Gnarly Bandit </a>series last year.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">60 hours is too much to cover in a linear manner, so here's two and a half days of Zumbro, in fragments, impressions, and moments:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wednesday night</span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Look at the weather forecast, throw up hands, pack everything I own. Three pairs of mittens, four pairs of shoes, four buffs, two raincoats, shorts, wool hat, sunblock. Who knows? It's Zumbro.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Thursday</span></h4>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Drive down Thursday morning under ominous clouds. But the rain is only beginning to get started when I arrive early at the start/finish, so a quick jog up the trail. The mud is already getting a little juicy...</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Race director and a half dozen volunteers trickle in and we admire each other's raingear. There is some scouting around for a place to park the truck that isn't underwater. We eventually begin unloading gear in steady, cold rain. Pair of mittens #1 and shoes #1 are soaked.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Cheri appears with a carload of sandwiches, Doritos, and amazing cookies. She teaches us how to work the coffeemaker. Life is getting better.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Change mittens, hang banners, string a mile or two of Christmas lights, set up for cookout, at some point the rain stops. Hurrah!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- More volunteers show up, bringing new energy to the undertaking.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- 100 mile runners start showing up to check in. And it starts raining again. Hurrah!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Around 7 pm, with the cookout beginning to wind down, head to Lake City to enjoy a warm, dry motel bed. Double hurrah!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Friday</span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Somehow, the rain has changed to ice pellets overnight. Congratulate self for choice of motel over camping. Scrape ice off the car before heading back to Zumbro. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- 100 mile race start is a magical thing. The ground is icy but the rain/whatever has stopped. John makes his ceremonial speech from atop the ladder, counts down, and the runners are off!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- I make the drive to Aid Station 1/4 and prepare to walk the mile or so to AS 2/3, where I am volunteering. I share the walk with Ciersten, who is crewing for Andrew, a first-time hundred miler. We are passed by a steady trickle of runners. Everyone looks happy to be on the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- AS 2/3 is already rocking, with Lin, Rob, Jonathan, and John in the house. Probably some other people too. It's a little blurry, sorry, guys. We make PB&Js and gummi bear shots, pour drinks, search fruitlessly for coffee filters and butter.</span></div>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUSppkKuGe9Pms-Uvey8Pae_cCEPsun_iW6_FQgBe_oyk24A8rFqb8WUK6icibPTO-9tHCbivGw4mrWlrIRp2nMsOBSDNfOLUYzJ1uAad9UEo9hvdd7Wo487YqToFG1c6cnnG7Z5kinOF/s1600/IMG_1440.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Not only did Rob have the best hat, but HE BROUGHT US BACON.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3EJGtTGB4xmvaMQ_G8LpG4l0acCZXb0xx0kSIgzOuBy-6nt1tFLU1OO0P38DnmPEAL_i_3smgtXgbh2YvNV8-h5RmGT7rYQ4AF8timYorwYzF7df_nDS1dsL3fDnIdcvrMxgvXHRdx2K/s1600/IMG_1434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3EJGtTGB4xmvaMQ_G8LpG4l0acCZXb0xx0kSIgzOuBy-6nt1tFLU1OO0P38DnmPEAL_i_3smgtXgbh2YvNV8-h5RmGT7rYQ4AF8timYorwYzF7df_nDS1dsL3fDnIdcvrMxgvXHRdx2K/s1600/IMG_1434.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lin, aid stationing LIKE A BOSS.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LWzDRHUIj80QhdfWRH1mHl0xFbl7icEMo1QvWzemby4ddFlRu3jfxSellrFduI9RduoVJqLURQTdQ8tKJPFFZwm0hFM5oJooZoPhLupOGOARFTnlMHy3yiqt5lwAB9Wp1FWHUCj096rL/s1600/IMG_1431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LWzDRHUIj80QhdfWRH1mHl0xFbl7icEMo1QvWzemby4ddFlRu3jfxSellrFduI9RduoVJqLURQTdQ8tKJPFFZwm0hFM5oJooZoPhLupOGOARFTnlMHy3yiqt5lwAB9Wp1FWHUCj096rL/s1600/IMG_1431.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So well organized, before the runners arrived and ruined it all.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc01XoQYxUzDHupyGHLJ9uHc7Zj_e3UDPvHt579W6SFE60J9qxPEXnmOfFV1hWGFxanx6oPvwZj1LdsjwGPAL3E6IrwihjQKQqCkJXZKBJaP38F96QG9FKwvKw-io9S-KHZUS4Ebr4Hj5D/s1600/IMG_1433.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jonathan, volunteer and Western States runner</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Runners are coming through steadily and everyone's looking good. We attempt to start a bonfire with wet, wet wood. The race directors and Larry Pederson show up in time to help. </span><br />
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHSnGdRYvbsAp8lfjmlez2yX5iE9ZQhLP97j7Ig0VoY8kZzd6Rei8nqFGMUAAJFIo6WRoOrKWNuZYFhTrGIfzyYYQZ0BFkb-iDsDnJ68c59dNpIb-pq4CyML28EYKpfA84u9GpNf0grGq/s1600/IMG_1435.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Somehow, Zumbro always happens on Cherie's birthday weekend.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK48rVXOhyphenhyphennz5vjAEAqiL7lSiqJZ_J-pICeXlsTsbzAfMNKuFB4LxTBeJlH7JvoCTQ9Cx55R1JpLE8RE6lpibuXIDKwp8Lntu21BFYqklyXbZtl_Bok6ZXeglTPuNjG1ioJazejxV8HiJ5/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">John and the wet woodpile</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK48rVXOhyphenhyphennz5vjAEAqiL7lSiqJZ_J-pICeXlsTsbzAfMNKuFB4LxTBeJlH7JvoCTQ9Cx55R1JpLE8RE6lpibuXIDKwp8Lntu21BFYqklyXbZtl_Bok6ZXeglTPuNjG1ioJazejxV8HiJ5/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaf322CdJYCXn6V0x13HchunJ76cAYi61CsI04Ue6QDKxEfkzIQUmYurNcwzADmtye7nT6q1LOI5Pv3fk2iM5fshaMftfzs4OWpkxFEwQE1B63wdoC8DnNk7ofpzEc_MlMpTezNGvRk73/s1600/IMG_1442.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Larry Pedersen, father of the Zumbro race showing us how it's done</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaf322CdJYCXn6V0x13HchunJ76cAYi61CsI04Ue6QDKxEfkzIQUmYurNcwzADmtye7nT6q1LOI5Pv3fk2iM5fshaMftfzs4OWpkxFEwQE1B63wdoC8DnNk7ofpzEc_MlMpTezNGvRk73/s1600/IMG_1442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Julie Berg, aid station captain, runner extraordinaire, and all-around cool person, arrives.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- A couple of runners stick around long enough to be photographed.</span><br />
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QAVjixb6bTqttXnk4ZcUyYsu-30RX4wOp1Y2U_eh8FF0Farv2oqPX885ZMHxRExkQNYNBHJraCm-veoN5rMaw1us4q912lQMuvgKHn67oU25N9Z0S0BjwnItlOYSQ2iZoh8QZNi50dSn/s1600/IMG_1438.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Rick, running for Aaron Buffington. The running community misses him.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBXmPHhpWC7pJeYK3vYPEl7MnhxyoktePvjympIV8Vslbp5yYR7PVNkQMWE3ZK1szJ44OeCe85Vv1X7ezJ517iW6wnRc3DMjanpm1-f8DRJQ-LX-yEcrI7VrSlFU-j68T1ROZEczjtKQR/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Jordan and John.</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBXmPHhpWC7pJeYK3vYPEl7MnhxyoktePvjympIV8Vslbp5yYR7PVNkQMWE3ZK1szJ44OeCe85Vv1X7ezJ517iW6wnRc3DMjanpm1-f8DRJQ-LX-yEcrI7VrSlFU-j68T1ROZEczjtKQR/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- It rains for an hour. I heard it snowed in the higher elevations.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Eventually the rain stops and I decide to get serious about starting the fire. Spend an hour slowly feeding it fuel and drying wood until it's actually going. This is my major achievement of the day.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7evT8kIDuwkARh0PDNAJ29PyPF-4cqu1NpcjR-vtM1LKFFB6U2uWFoKvAi4DMWK7aj4IuZ33u4XViNiFh08aZx1rN_nFiUR8GzgOih-XE8XGHtnSkKTPHIGZnP6rySfEz6KllqwamqxPZ/s1600/zumbro+rowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7evT8kIDuwkARh0PDNAJ29PyPF-4cqu1NpcjR-vtM1LKFFB6U2uWFoKvAi4DMWK7aj4IuZ33u4XViNiFh08aZx1rN_nFiUR8GzgOih-XE8XGHtnSkKTPHIGZnP6rySfEz6KllqwamqxPZ/s1600/zumbro+rowe.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Credit: Todd Rowe</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- The aid station is going strong. Runners have come through the rain and still look good. Eventually the sun breaks through and the air warms. It's past 4 pm, and I'm ready to go get some rest so I can pace.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
Friday night into Saturday</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Check where my runner is. Attempt to do math. Set alarm for 12:30 a.m. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Attempt to sleep in car. First it's too warm and bright, then it cools off. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Turns out the car is actually not quite big enough to stretch out in. I'll know better next time.<br style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Dude in car next to mine is playing NPR. Loudly. I want to kill him.</span><br style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Wake up at alarm</span><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">. Check with ham radio guys. Runner is still 12 miles out. Dammit. Re-set alarm.</span><br style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Wake up at 2 a.m. </span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Check with ham radio guys.</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Runner is still 7 miles out. Dammit. Decide to stay up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Stand by fire, drink coffee, eat rice and chicken I packed, commiserate with other pacers wondering where their tired 100 mile runners are. Bob Coolidge and Janet are good company.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Return to car and put on some more layers. The sky has cleared, and 32 degrees is cold when you're not moving!<br />- Runner shambles in, having been paced by Linnea. She did an amazing job, but they're both cold. He warms up, eats Cheetos and soup, adds layers. 4:30 am. Let's go!<br />- Aaaaaaaand.... we're walking. It's a decent pace and there's a bit of running here and there, but, as Jordan had warned me, it's not going to be speedy.<br />- Every star in the universe is up in that sky. Half moon has risen. It's an amazing night to be out on the trail. I make Jordan stop at the top of the ridge to take it in for a minute. It's possible I get more from this moment than he does.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Mile 74 or so: The first light appears in the sky. The first birdsong of the morning. </span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Incredible sunrise, mist pooling in the valleys. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQ0s-jmaE-ElRE36-2ECyTmqS1kydqQi36PIEb9ErnekNhnk2juB6AYoyodTdWuU4egOygRqF6KY0H-gdmEU-ePwqoKPBmN_up6OK85GLpddQ-rPCKf2Q8DVoGZ7yeHVFy575nb3c6FMd/s1600/IMG_1448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQ0s-jmaE-ElRE36-2ECyTmqS1kydqQi36PIEb9ErnekNhnk2juB6AYoyodTdWuU4egOygRqF6KY0H-gdmEU-ePwqoKPBmN_up6OK85GLpddQ-rPCKf2Q8DVoGZ7yeHVFy575nb3c6FMd/s1600/IMG_1448.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">What a morning!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Mud from yesterday's rain is drying as we go, and the trail is getting steadily better. We continue to hike and sometimes run through the loop. Jordan is moving well and the sunrise gives him new energy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- At some point, we're no longer freezing, and even shed some layers.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXaRRlKl2T17GIzVOub4Aod9cVaQz9SCz-6hT-pddv8dE0VdyVL1S1HQCqxX8YF5AZgAXwyNHlNutXm5vBB0NsEawKPYNzrgAkzE0nCcVU-bAaHfAaCTekck3vh3URSFe1G5cNdij72I6a/s1600/IMG_1451.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Loop 5, into AS 2 and feeling good with the new day!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- Mile 80: inbound aid station 4 just as hundreds of 17 mile runners are coming through outbound AS 1. They are wearing bright, clean clothing and smell like soap and toothpaste. They look impossibly well rested.<br />- Aid station volunteer shakes his head: "One of the 17 milers just asked for 'a half cup of two-thirds HEED, one-third water'. AT MILE THREE."</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivARiVN6GN9-8uNm0kQlxQdvArMHbro9MjsOtOpsD9ZCrtB_Q2tN_LvCrzreC6iMRkMvWz_4prFLZfu2O_lCw070PgJTPZtJYnQJ1dEsPJYyY_dVSSSXydp4vuKHYZoh9NKRpHbf_OQ5L2/s1600/IMG_1456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivARiVN6GN9-8uNm0kQlxQdvArMHbro9MjsOtOpsD9ZCrtB_Q2tN_LvCrzreC6iMRkMvWz_4prFLZfu2O_lCw070PgJTPZtJYnQJ1dEsPJYyY_dVSSSXydp4vuKHYZoh9NKRpHbf_OQ5L2/s1600/IMG_1456.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5Ro7RwVmv0eMhqJlfLaOKgiAxQ5_8k74kyU1xqoOpdMS-CopQHSJxGccO9DQU8HLoeivnePkq0fp1BI18nsPSFZ2v_0e1mNpWcpldFpIhhEc20C0mOFmd0o8haQb1n3G5kpMCJ5l3h-K/s1600/IMG_1457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5Ro7RwVmv0eMhqJlfLaOKgiAxQ5_8k74kyU1xqoOpdMS-CopQHSJxGccO9DQU8HLoeivnePkq0fp1BI18nsPSFZ2v_0e1mNpWcpldFpIhhEc20C0mOFmd0o8haQb1n3G5kpMCJ5l3h-K/s1600/IMG_1457.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; text-align: center;">- Mile 83: Back at the start/finish of the looped course. Sheila, who is volunteering, brings me a bacon and egg burrito. It tastes like manna from heaven. I strip off my tights and change socks as fast as I can, but Jordan's still out ahead of me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; text-align: center;">- The sky is blue, the birds are singing, the sun is shining. Suddenly, it's spring at Zumbro.</span></div>
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<tr><td><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdUp4y1NOk6V0lRPTNnWHEyyZTFm20-mRKfPnc0GV9q_6kqEFddp2ZWMs0BQFx8GoNvhWEwi7Ao_nLBaQ5vJWn6ygLZ1bDDP_QG4HB9n2LlTTXA16E5wrGLBtkfUDLey67NQeryqh_NWg1/s1600/IMG_1462.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">The start/finish from the first climb. I missed seeing this sight last year!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQBBAM3qeSh8kMvNZERwuziyckpYKV8252GkqlqKfMpwwx1rbJpz5ESl01MnEGyktAdi9zkmJ4sBUVkp2ihRhIwhH4Kf0KHa2WfufHplFPE61TP8U0qR7_FJeWejQTQVCLdQt7PnwUv3C/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQBBAM3qeSh8kMvNZERwuziyckpYKV8252GkqlqKfMpwwx1rbJpz5ESl01MnEGyktAdi9zkmJ4sBUVkp2ihRhIwhH4Kf0KHa2WfufHplFPE61TP8U0qR7_FJeWejQTQVCLdQt7PnwUv3C/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">- </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16.0799999237061px;">Mile 87: Lisa is the aid station medic here, and she's a little concerned. "Is he drinking?" "Yes," I say, "he's been sipping from that bottle." She shakes the bottle; it's nearly full. She eyes my runner critically. "Are you drinking, or are you fake drinking?"</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> He is noncommital.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- Eventually, she shrugs and tells me, "you can walk him to the next aid station."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- One of the aid station volunteers gives Jordan his own personal Red Bull. Jordan drinks half of it and, amazingly, RUNS out of the aid station. Me: "You look great!" Him: "Red Bull gives you wiiiings!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- Mile 91. We're in a darker place now. My runner is cranky. "We're going, like, one mile an hour." We roll into AS 2 and Julie Berg looks him over. "I see he's at the rebellious stage." She feeds him her homemade Oreo brownies. He revives enough to move on.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- We complete the last big climb. Jordan is all smiles. The view from the ridge is amazing.</span></div>
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<tr><td><span style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMslo0lcTvpceTCi51h77Wwm4g6xHW02rH5v_a2FxetWgkJpjKmU4ULfTupqE707a4mw-_mEjS50DClmgm81gYWhevI9YwxoCmNa_f_jFbU11Manozbbrs3TJ8HSbisyfOuMAKfrBMPu8/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">"We're pretty awesome." "Yup. We're kind of a big deal."</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">- Last <span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">technical descent. We are passed by another 100 miler, paced by Wayne. I envy their blistering 16 min/mile pace.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mile 97: Jordan is moving along at a zombie like shamble. When we stop at the final aid station, he's jittery and isn't talking much. He downs the rest of the Red Bull they've kept for him and mumbles, "Let's go!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mile 99: We hit the final dirt road. Jordan, who has been largely noncommunicative for the last hour, looks surprised. "This is the dirt road. We're almost there!"</span></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHm26G_9sUkp0Clr8Dg82AIOhMtMwHEOT6fCBy6KmJl7mH2lhn1EeMbTjvaPVSpYCPm9iIoV9sJHDPirpy0cTuoD2VJU3vK9aYdm019P4ffhwv_cbdWPRpZBE1FyE2U89FRBpRRV-9F9h3/s1600/IMG_1471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHm26G_9sUkp0Clr8Dg82AIOhMtMwHEOT6fCBy6KmJl7mH2lhn1EeMbTjvaPVSpYCPm9iIoV9sJHDPirpy0cTuoD2VJU3vK9aYdm019P4ffhwv_cbdWPRpZBE1FyE2U89FRBpRRV-9F9h3/s1600/IMG_1471.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="background-color: white;">The dirt road!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">- <span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As we've arranged, I run ahead to the finish line and video his finish. In the last hundred feet, he breaks into an antalgic run. He is beaming. He finishes, looking better than he has in hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- I</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> stop moving and realize I've been on my feet for 13 hours. I stagger around, take off my shoes, and change clothes. I'm shaking and am not much for conversation myself until I eat a whole bunch of food.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- By the time I return from my car, Jordan has left (his ride was ready to go). The race is shutting down. I hear an owl at the edge of the campground asking, "Who cooks for you?" </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">- It's time to go. See you next year, Zumbro. I can't wait to see what will happen next. </span></div>
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Robynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14582049406998358870noreply@blogger.com2