Superior 100 – A race report

I believe people go to the trail for one of two reasons. They are either looking to spend time with God, or are looking to replace Him. I go for the former, and battle turning it into the latter.

The 100 mile bug first bit in 2012, when I helped crew my friend Steve A. to his first 100 mile finish at Kettle-Moraine 100. There was something unique about every step. Watching him struggle through to a finish was inspiring. And oh… the aid station food!!!

Superior had become an annual weekend for me. I would make the trip up to volunteer, pace, crew, and run the shorter distance races. I enjoyed being a part of the 100 miler, but had a tough time seeing myself on the trail.

In October of 2016, the conversations began to happen among a number of my friends. Joel, Kyle, Chris, and (a different) Steve all indicated that they would like to run this one. I realized that I had a year to prepare, and that I’d never be younger than I was now. It helped to know that I’d have 4 other friends to train with and encourage me. That crew grew to 5 as Mike found our group of Stillwater based runners. I trained through a program from Bryon Powell’s book “Relentless Forward Progress”.

I worked some races into the schedule, including a 50K in Idaho, Zumbro 50, and Voyageur 50 (another race I have volunteered at often, but had never run). I put a stellar crew together which included my wife Katie, brother Nait, and 100 mile veteran Steve A. I poured into the logistics of the race with pace spreadsheets, course descriptions, drop-bag check-lists, and everyone else’s race reports. The project manager in me came pouring out.

Going into race weekend, the song Magnify by We Are Messengers became my prayer:

Oh God be greater, than the worries in my life
Be stronger, than the weakness in my mind
Be louder, let your Glory come alive
Be magnified

Thursday:

With my bags packed, and van loaded, Katie and I picked up Nait and drove to Duluth to meet up with the gang for coffee and some last minute gear purchases. We grabbed dinner together before heading to packet pickup (I have never seen so many people order “just water” to drink).

Packet pickup at the Superior 100 is a fun place to be. I have been there often, but never as a runner. The chance to connect with friends (“Are you ready?”… “Too late now!”) is just as enjoyable as John Storkamp’s great race briefings. It took my entire crew to haul in all 11 drop bags, and get them filed in the right places. The crew at TC Running Company was kind enough to personally ship a case of Vespa via Brian Klug. I connected with him and got my stash.

I went back to the cabin, pinned on my bib and tried to sleep. When I wasn’t laying in bed awake, imaging the trail… I was asleep dreaming about the trail. This was it… go time!

Friday:

Katie and I got up early and took off for the starting line, an hour away at Gooseberry Falls State Park. Just like packet pickup, there was something surreal about being here for MY run this year. As I checked in, I pulled my sweats down to show my bib number. Cheri Storkamp managed to snap a great photo of me with my pants down, as my humor attempted to mask my anxiety.

I stepped off into the woods to do a little business before heading out on the trail. On my way, I stepped in a low spot and soaked my right foot in rain water. I knew we had a river crossing 5 miles into the course, so I took this in stride and counted in my DryMax socks to do their work.

After connecting with friends… and waiting… I was off.

The first few miles are on paved trail. It’s a great chance to connect with other runners, and find the appropriate place in the pack. As I’m prone to do, I found myself going out a little fast. I pulled back and found some veteran 100 miles to pace with through the first section.

As the pavement gave way to Superior’s signature singletrack trail, I ran past a parking lot where Katie had parked our van while she volunteered at the Split Rock aid station. I grabbed a handful of flowers (weeds) and put them under her windshield wipers. The flowers are still sitting in our van.

This year’s course featured a wet crossing of the Split Rock River. Idaho had prepared me for the river crossing, and running with wet feet. The crossing was being manned by Todd, Bob, Maria, and other familiar faces. They had a good route scouted out, and we were back on trail in no time.

The descent to the Split Rock Aid Station took us down a spur for about a half a mile. It was great to see so many familiar faces as I made my way down to the station (and back out). Katie was working the aid station, and I had her fill my water bottles. I knew that it would be against the rules to have her stash anything special for me, but I did take a few extra seconds to get a good kiss before heading back out. I don’t think it broke any rules, but it was definitely performance enhancing.

I knew from working Split Rock last year, that this next section was the longest between aid. Leaving with plenty of water was vital. It’s just over 10 miles to Beaver Bay. I had 2 UD bottles in my vest. I set out to not touch the 2nd bottle until after 5 miles on this section. I didn’t have enough water. I was dry about a mile and a half before Beaver Bay. I came across my friend Mike on the trail. He was volunteering and spectating this weekend. Mike has continued to battle some serious health issues, and was an inspiration on the trail. He asked how I was doing. When I pointed out that I was coming in dry, he offered me a drink of his water. His selflessness in the face of my rookie mistake was appreciated. This section also included a beaver pond crossing that was thigh deep for me (and I’m tall). As I waded through the cold water, my leg cramped up and I winced and grabbed it. As soon as I did, I noticed something moving in the trees… a course photographer had captured that crossing. I haven’t seen the resulting photo, but hope to soon.

I came into Beaver Bay, and was excited to see my crew for the first time.  Ed and Michael, and Tisha, who were crewing my other friends, had stuck around to say “hi” as well. That meant a lot. Ahead of the race, I bought my crew matching trucker caps. The red hats made them easy to spot in the crowd (but I suppose also made them look like some serious Trump supporters…). Steve had gone back to the cabin to get a pair of shoes I had forgotten. Nait filled my bottles, and Katie made sure I was fed. The homemade cookies at Beaver Bay were incredible!

The next section to Silver Bay was a shorter section. I don’t remember a lot of the specifics, but I really enjoyed it. At Silver Bay, my crew made sure I didn’t make the water mistake again. They stuffed 2 extra bottles in the back of my UD vest. I used them. I got some encouragement from Reid and Alex, who were crewing my friend Rolf. These guys have been around since my first 50K, and it meant the world to get their encouragement as race veterans.

The section from Silver Bay to Tettagouche is a challenging section, but one of my favorites. The trails are well travelled, and in great shape. The overlooks are stunning. It’s long, but I thoroughly enjoyed this part of the trail. I came into Tettagouche Aid Station with a big smile on my face. I had grabbed a small light and a light jacket at the last aid station, but at this stop, I picked up my night kit as the sun would go down before I hit County Rd 6.

This section went fairly well, but I started to get very tired in the last few miles through Wolf Ridge. My body was trying to tell me it was bed time, and the 12+ hours on my feet weren’t helping the situation. I don’t remember arriving at the County Rd 6 aid station. My crew says I walked right past them. They finally got my attention, and took me to my stuff, where I laid down. As they tried to get some food in me, I started shaking and was not focused. They covered me with blankets, and put some warm soup in me. Jamison, the aid station captain and UMTR friend came over a few times to check on me. I finally got up to leave, but Steve and the rest of the crew stopped me. “I don’t feel comfortable sending you out like this”, he said. “I’d like you to come back and run another day”. From him, this was serious. He knows the lows that come during these things, but he was seeing something else. I had been there almost 45 minutes, and the cutoff was starting to loom. “Sweeps or Medics” I said. Reminding them that I said only the course cutoffs, or a serious medical issue, could take me off the course.

“You’re back”, Steve said. He later said, something completely changed. I was lucid, and ready to run. I had my hands on my safety pins, ready to turn in my bib, but the crew got me back on the trail with Katie pacing me. Next stop, Finland.

Saturday:

On the way to Finland, the lows hit again. I was having a hard time staying on the trail, and Katie had to keep me awake. A mile out of the aid station, I confessed to Katie that I was going to need to drop at Finland. “It’s just not safe… being out like this”. “Absolutely you can drop… that is a wonderful idea… and the van is nice and warm”. That’s what I heard her say… it turns out she said nothing of the sort. What she REALLY said was “We’ll make that call when we get there”.

It was also during this section that Katie let me know that Chris and Steve O. had had to drop due to medical issues. That made dropping seem even more approachable.

I sat down in Finland and told my crew “I think I need to be done now”. Steve encouraged me to spend 10 minutes sitting by the fire. Other than County Rd. 6, I had been doing a great job of keeping all of my aid station visits under 10 minutes. Sitting across the fire from me, Ben was going through the same thing with his crew. I first met Ben over 20 years ago, when we worked at the same camp. But we’ve only recently reconnected over the trails. He said he was having a rough time. I asked him if he was calling it quits. “Nope”, he said, “I’m a glutton for punishment”. He got up, and took off with his crew. I later came across his pacers at an aid station, and it sounds like he had completely turned his race around. Ben finished later that evening, and got his second Superior star.

As I sat by the fire, race director John Storkamp, came over and gave me a fist bump “The real King Carl”. I have no idea what the nickname means, but it’s become his name for me and I’ll embrace it. If you ever wonder what the RD is doing in the middle of the night while the runners are out… he’s setting up flags for the start of the next race.

As the 2am cutoff began to loom, my crew pushed me out of the aid station. “Sweeps or Medics” Nait reminded me. “Sweeps or Medics”. Steve handed me a water bottle filled with Coke. (I later mused that the water bottle looked just like one my girls had left in the minivan about 3 weeks ago. My crew looked a little sheepish about it. I don’t know if bacteria could help my race, but it sure didn’t hurt it.)

As we stepped back on the trail, I told Steve, I need to quit. It’s actually the first time I used those words. He wouldn’t have them. He said “Let’s do one more mile. We can turn around if we need to”.  His trail wisdom pushed me to create my own trail wisdom. Within a mile, I was wide awake, and back up to pace again. I was moving, and I didn’t quit.

That section of trail gradually became filled with the legendary roots of the Sonju section, and I knew I was about to be in for a treat. The Sonju Aid Station is only accessible to the volunteers and runners. Crews are not allowed there. They do the aid station up right. I feel bad for anyone who came into Sonju in daylight. They missed out on a light show treat. I sat down by the fire and repacked my bag, as Steve grabbed some nutrition. “How is it going?” Maria asked. “I made the difficult decision to drop at Finland”, I said. She looked confused until I pointed at Steve. “But this jerk wouldn’t let me”.

I had a half a hamburger at this aid station. The patty was dry, and tough, and THE BEST DARN HAMBURGER I’VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE!! The real food is something I need to be better about taking in. My stomach can only take so much Ensure and Hammer.

We got out of the aid station, and took the relatively short 5 mile journey to Crosby Manitou Aid Station. At Crosby, I ran into Lisa, and her crew. Lisa was running into some issues, but her crew got her back out on the trail. It was encouraging to that these things are somewhat normal. It was also at Crosby, that the first 50 milers flew by.

Steve and I took off to Sugarloaf. This section is a bit longer, and has some decent climbs early. My pace was starting to lag, on tired feet. I’m good at getting up hills quickly, but the power that I had a few hours ago, was starting to go away. This course can beat up even the biggest quads.

“I’ve been doing some math” said Steve. “We’ll clear Sugarloaf by more than an hour, but then things are going to get tough”. We calculated the pace I needed to keep to hit the Cramer Road Aid Station cutoff. I hadn’t kept that pace since Friday evening. Trying to hit it would be a “Hail Mary” pass, but it was a pass I could take.  Plus, Nait hadn’t been on the trail yet, and this was his place to pick me up. I had to at least get him out for a section.

With a couple of miles to go, I pulled over to do a stomach reset. I won’t go into details, but it’s not a pleasant thing to come across. Right then, a group of 50 milers climbed the hill. Alex was among them, and he gave me some encouraging words, and an empathetic look.

As we got to Sugarloaf, Katie was a quarter mile out of the aid station. “Your cousin Martha is here!” she said. Martha (my Dad’s cousin), and her husband Peter, were in the area and had been tracking my progress. On their way home, they recognized Sugarloaf Road, and decided to wait to see me there. They had been waiting well over an hour. I got choked up (as I’m prone to do on these things). It meant so much to see them. My crew also surprised me with a clean pair of socks I didn’t know I had. Nait and I got out of the aid station and took off for Cramer.

We got to Cramer 5 minutes after the cutoff.

I had told Nait to just keep acting like we’re going through. I didn’t think there was grace on the cutoffs… but I’d let someone else tell me I was done. I wasn’t going to make that call for myself.

“Great run” the aid station captain said, “but you missed the cutoff”. After 77.9 miles, and 29:45… My day was over.

I had my first DNF.

At mile 50, I decided to quit, but my friends helped me find something I didn’t know I had. They helped me find another 28 miles. They made the difference between “I quit”, and “I was cut”. I would have had no pride in the former. I can live with the latter.

Again?

This was a chance to learn some lessons. I believe the race would have been different if I hadn’t spent an extra hour at aid stations dealing with fatigue. I need to remember that that passes. I need to handle that better. I now have the experience to help me get through that.

I feel like I was too close to a finish to not do this again. I don’t know if I will do it in 2018, or 2019, but I know I’ll try this again.

Reid reminded me, “This weekend is a celebration of the transformation that has taken place over the past year”.  That is true. The weekend was meaningful, but the real value has been in what a year of training has done to me physically and spiritually.

I told Katie I might look at doing the Kettle-Moraine 100 next year.

“You don’t want a 100 mile finish,” she said. “You want THIS 100 mile finish”.

Epilogue:

My parents wanted to be here for this weekend, but they were not able to. I later learned that my entire family, and many friends, were tracking me online. I have done enough trail running, that I assumed this would be no big deal to any one else. But they all seemed to realize that this was something special.

About 5 days after the race, I received a package from my father. He had custom ordered stickers with my new longest distance. 77.9 miles.

I am not one to put a distance sticker on my car anymore, but I will put this one on my car. It’s a reminder of this journey, of my shortcomings, and of unfinished business.