tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74345019888446022972024-03-14T04:52:49.976-06:00The Running FalconRacing Through the WildernessJamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.comBlogger282125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-3049156280478501352021-11-01T06:27:00.002-06:002021-11-01T06:27:27.406-06:00Superior 50 Short Form Race Report<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am doing something unusual for this race: I am writing two race reports. The first report I wrote, and posted, was a fairly traditional race report: recounting the race itself and how I felt during the race. I want to take a different tack with this one, and write a shorter synopsis of the race, focusing more on my race goals and strategy. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1c15be23-7fff-56ce-4312-40f9b01df1de"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Goals and Objectives</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had one goal going into this race: finish. By that, I don’t mean “finish at all costs” or “finish even if it’s a bad idea,” I mean finish the race well by running within my abilities: controlling what I could control to make the run as successful as possible. I had tried the fifty mile difference several times before, ever since a guy I was running with on a frozen river said that, in his experience, the fifty is where ultramarathons really start to feel different than “just” a long marathon. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That said, I am still me. If I enter a race, I want to do fairly well. For me that means trying to finish in the top 10% of finishers (5% is preferable). I had some times in mind, but I used those more to scope out when my crew should plan to get to various aid stations than any firm time goals. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Strategy - Training</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I arranged my strategy around that one goal. Leading up to the race, I had nearly two years of some of the most consistent training of my life. The numbers aren’t eye-popping, but the training was both steady and focused and, if I do say so myself, well-executed, following a training plan I’d worked out myself using principles from both “The Happy Runner” and “Training Essentials for Ultrarunning.” In the months leading up to the race, I ran consistently high-for-me mileage, including five weeks in a row around my own top training mileage, with no real issues. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Three weeks out from the race, I went out for my longest training run - 22 miles out at Afton. I imagine most competitive ultra-marathoners don’t consider that very long for the longest training run of a cycle. But it works out to about three hours for me, which is where I want to be if I’m going to run truly long. I felt great the whole time, finishing with an 8:36 average pace, and feeling like I easily could have done more. The next day, I popped off a hard four-miler on legs that were tired, regardless of how they felt the day before. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My last workout before the race, just a week out, was a downhill session at Hyland Hills, running up the ski hills at an easy pace, then bombing down them to prep my legs for the downhills on the course (I only ever do one downhill workout. My legs get a lot of downhill on my normal training runs, so I don’t believe I need anything more). Ideally I would have placed this workout 10-14 days out from the event, giving my legs a little more time to recover, but the ideal rarely happens.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Strategy - Mental</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have had a bad patch in every single run or race longer than 25k. By “bad patch,” I mean a time where I have not only had to walk, but also had the voice in the back of my head start nagging at me to just quit now. I mean a patch where I questioned why I was out there: what was I even doing this for? I knew that, to finish this race, I would have to 1) be ready for a bad patch, but also 2) try to avoid that patch if possible. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Being ready for the bad patch was relatively straightforward: I’ve been there before. I know the difference between a bad patch that I can recover from and a race-ending issue. I know that if I’m able to push through the bad patch, focus on what I can control, and just keep moving forward, there will be a better patch on the other side. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I focused on goal two: avoiding the bad patch. I had a few strategies for this.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mantras</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know many, many athletes who use matras while racing for a simple reason: they work. I chose three for this race. For the first 22 miles (~40% of the race), I would repeat “relax and enjoy,” reminding myself that it was still early, and that I really was lucky to be out there. For the next 20 miles or so, I would repeat “get in it” or just “get in,” a phrase we used to use on my ultimate frisbee team in Scotland, reminding me to buckle down and get into the race itself. Finally, if needed, I’d use “gut it out,” to get through the last few miles, and any bad patches I may have. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Watch -</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I have a watch that gives me almost any data I want. Pace, heart race, cadence, time, distance - I can even hook up a power meter if I want. In practice, I rarely want to see all that in a race, so I set my watch up showing only two custom faces: one giving time of day, total elapsed time, and current cadence; and the other showing lap time and distance, total elapsed time and lap number. I chose never to see the whole distance I’d covered because 1) in the beginning, it’s just a reminder of how far you still have to go and 2) it’s not useful in my other strategy: thinking aid-station to aid station. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Compartmentalizing -</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The watch setup ties in with this: I broke the race up into chunks based on the location of aid stations. Each section between aid stations I treated as its own whole. I had a little cheat sheet with (short) descriptions of the trail conditions (elevation, etc), and on the flip side had a printed copy of the elevation profile for the race, all “laminated” using shipping tape. A common strategy in ultramarathons, in each section I concentrated solely on getting to the next aid station. This helped me keep from getting overwhelmed by the thought that I would be running 18 miles farther than I ever had in my life up until this day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Strategy - Physical</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Much of my physical strategy was taken care of before I ever started the race, in my training runs for the past two years. I did have a couple strategies around nutrition and the actual day-of running that played well. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nutrition and Hydration</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Over the past several years, I’ve developed a nutrition and hydration plan that works really well for me, giving me enough food intake and water intake while never overdoing it and still leaving room for adjustment on the fly. Every ten minutes, I take a drink (usually alternating water and sports drink depending on whether or not I’m eating). I’ll adjust amounts to thirst, but I (almost) always take a sip at ten minutes. On the 20, 40, and 00 minute marks, I’ll take 75-85 calories. For Superior, that was entirely in the form of Honey Stinger Chews and Waffles (each pack of one or the other is 150-160 calories, so I took half a portion every time). On the hour, since it was hot and humid for the North Shore in September, I’d take a salt tab. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Other Physical Details </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not much to say here. The usual ideas for ultras apply: walk any hill that’s too steep or long to run comfortably (there were lots of stairs on this course). New for me, I opted to use trekking poles for a few portions of the course (Carlton Peak and Moose Mountain). These climbs came late in the course and are both steep and technical, with large steps up and drops down. Having a crew meant that I could pick up and drop off the poles when necessary, so I didn’t have to carry them the whole race. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Implementation - Race Day</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a full race report, you can see my other write up. I wrote that oneas much for me as anybody else, but I did want to share how the race itself went and how I implemented, or didn’t implement, the strategies above. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In a nutshell, the race itself went really well, better than I ever could have hoped. I got to run the first three miles or so with a running friend of mine I met during the Hixon 50k in 2018. Unfortunately, he pulled up with a “popped” hamstring a few miles in and eventually had to drop, but it was a great way to spend the first miles in the dark. After he fell back, I caught up to a few runners who had taken wrong turns in the dark, and hitched themselves to my wagon for a time. It was nice to have the company, but after the second aid station, we split up and I was on my own for the rest of the race, save for the runners in the 50, and in the 100 and marathon who I passed along the way. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Relax and enjoy” worked so well in the first 20 miles that I decided to use it for my mantra the entire day. The other two were never necessary. And I truly did relax and enjoy the race until the last four miles or so. I took the opportunity to spot and identify mushrooms on the trail (for those who are interested: we passed hen of the woods, several types of boletes, both chanterelles and Jack o Lanterns, pheasant backs, and several LBMs of unknown varieties). When I spotted a particularly good view, I stopped to take a picture. And I just thoroughly enjoyed the experience or being out for a full day on a trail, sharing the joy and difficulty with the others on the course. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My fueling and hydration plan was extremely successful overall. Relatively early on in the race, I started taking a one-minute walk break every ten minutes while I ate and/or drank. I started the walk breaks after having some trouble with my footing a couple times (the SHT is notoriously technical much of the time), and kept it going because it seemed to work well for me. The only issue I had with nutrition was that, after 40 miles or so, I started to get tired of the options I had with me (three flavors of chews and two flavors of waffles) but nothing else seemed to work either. With a good squirt of water, I found I could still eat the waffles and gels, so I chose to stick with them, but in the future I’ll be looking for another food option. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To my surprise, I didn’t have the proverbial bad patch during this race. In fact, I felt better throughout the race than I have in any shorter ultra or marathon that I’ve run. I had a brief low period during the nearly 10-mile stretch between the second and third aid stations, but other than that, I felt remarkably good all day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Running downhill into the Temperance River aid station, one of the longest and steepest descents on the course, the outside of my right quad started to hurt a little, something that would nag me throughout the rest of the course. But at no point did I feel like it was easier to walk than it was to run (save for steepish uphills), so I just kept on running, taking my quick walk breaks every 10 minutes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was only when I reached the spring 50k course, between Sawbill and Oberg aid stations, that a marathoner mentioned I was in sixth place, shocking me out of my “relax and enjoy” headspace. I had no idea how far in front fifth place was, but the news gave me a mental boost. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Turns out he wasn’t that far ahead. I caught up to fifth place in the next aid station, but chose not to pass him immediately. I waited to take one of my walk breaks first, then ran past him. He had apparently been having some difficulties, and taken a long break at one aid station. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I motored up Moose Mountain, using my trekking poles to good effect and passing marathoners left and right. It was only at the very end, on the hellishly shallow grade up Mystery Mountain (seriously, it’s a runnable grade some 49 miles into a 52 mile race) that it started to get harder to will myself to run after each walk break. Had I known through here that I was only 10 minutes out of fourth place, I wonder if I might have pushed harder, but I didn’t know. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a final boost, around mile 50, Amanda “Smashem” Basham popped out on the trail in front of me, cheering the runners on. And with that encouragement, I pushed on to the finish, clocking an 8:36 last mile - my fastest of the day - to finish in 10 hours, 43 minutes, 45 seconds. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Afterwards</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Despite how great my legs felt (relatively speaking) the entire race, I nonetheless couldn’t walk easily once I finished. I went straight from feeling like I could keep going for . . . well forever, to having difficulty walking down stairs. I guess that’s a “welcome to ultra” moment. My breakdown, an emotional reaction that I get after every large race, was pretty short this race. Overall, I just felt satisfied. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I may end up writing a third post based on this race, with overall thoughts from this race, but I’ll put a few here. I want to give a huge thank you to everybody involved in this race. Thanks to my crew for being out there for me all day, and only seeing me for a few minutes during the race. Thanks to all the volunteers (the race had a 3-1 runner-volunteer ratio this year) for making this race possible. And thank you most of all to John and Cheri for working tirelessly to navigate Covid and a freaking wildfire in the weeks leading up to the race, and yet putting on a smooth, wonderful event as always. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And of course, I am already plotting the next adventure(s).</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-35882936833986118032021-10-09T07:01:00.021-06:002021-10-10T06:46:20.424-06:00Superior 50 Long Form Race Report<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Four weeks ago today, I successfully completed my first 50(+) mile race at the 2021 fall Superior trail races. I had tried the distance twice before, in a race and on my own, but both times pulled out after 34 miles (about the longest I’ve ever run). This time, my goals were different: I just wanted to finish, and feel good doing so. I succeeded beyond anything I expected. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b0744f4c-7fff-65d3-897a-7ccab9dde062" style="font-family: arial;"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I write this introduction four weeks after the race, my legs are still a little flat, but I am, perhaps inevitably, already plotting my next few long efforts. </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Background:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This race was a long time coming. The 2020 Superior 50 miler, had it happened, would have been my first goal race since 2018. I ran a few short races in 2019, but nothing that I would call a “focus” race. Then, of course, the 2020 race did not happen due to the pandemic. In all honesty, that cancellation was probably the best thing that could have happened to me: it allowed me another full year of focused, uninterrupted training. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That the race happened at all was not a given: just when John, the race director, was relatively assured that the race would happen despite the pandemic, a large wildfire sparked near the start line of the 50 mile race. For several weeks leading up to the race on September 11, all the campsites on the Superior Hiking Trail were closed. The air quality bounced from ok to “Unhealthy for Everybody,” sometimes several times a day. The forest-service appropriated the start line area of the 50 mile race as their headquarters and campground. It looked like, despite John’s efforts, the race would be cancelled a second year in a row. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had all but given up on the race happening at all when, with the help of some well-timed rain, the firefighter succeeded in building containment lines around the fire. John worked tirelessly to make sure the race could happen in a safe way, and only cleared us to run when the agencies involved were not only ok with the race happening, but encouraged him to put it on. So a huge thank you goes out to John and his wife Cheri for always putting so much of themselves into these races. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Lead Up:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The lead up to this race, at least for me, was a little difficult. September is always a busy time at work for me, and this week was no exception. Work did not want to let me go on Friday afternoon, and my wife and I ended up leaving the Twin Cities about half an hour later than I would have liked. Fortunately the drive to Duluth went smoothly, and we were able to stop for a sit-down dinner at the Corktown Deli before dropping my wife with my parents (this let her skip my 2:30 AM wakeup call the next morning: a good decision for both of us). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The drive from Duluth to Lutsen also went smoothly, and I rolled into Caribou Highlands for check-in at 7:30, a full half-hour before it closed. Checked in and with my drop bags deposited, it was on to Cascade River State Park to set up my tent (I was lucky enough to snag a campsite less than two weeks in advance, unheard of for the north shore in the fall), have a second dinner, and settle in for whatever sleep I could get before the 2:30 alarm. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Interlude)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wake up to distant “woos” and the sound of “Ice Ice Baby” blaring through the trees. There’s a wedding reception going on at the lodge near the Cascade River. Unfortunate, but at the same time I find it somewhat hilarious. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I check my phone: 12:00AM. Confused, I check my watch: 11:00PM. My phone thinks it’s in Canada. The reception turns out to be a blessing in disguise. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eventually, after “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive” and “Funky Comatina,” I drift to sleep to the dulcet sounds of “Hammertime.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQPYU6DeM43QYV4zd2_lakuALOz9Nzz62Jl8nRcRjGA05F1NE7-blXdEUaOepMWL1Uky2TrBPd6IMVcsIjPsVgxbmaUVbXJOogCnKUAoI8tlOv1FADqjggvkYkiVyF9QEGRjC2nPtfUc/s2048/Sup50+-+1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQPYU6DeM43QYV4zd2_lakuALOz9Nzz62Jl8nRcRjGA05F1NE7-blXdEUaOepMWL1Uky2TrBPd6IMVcsIjPsVgxbmaUVbXJOogCnKUAoI8tlOv1FADqjggvkYkiVyF9QEGRjC2nPtfUc/s320/Sup50+-+1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Race Morning</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2:30, of course, came far too early. I had managed maybe four hours of restless sleep, at most. Even so, I get up, start my coffee, make my breakfast (a peanut butter and avocado sandwich), and strikecamp in what feels like record time, glad that the forecast rain never materialized. Then it was back to Caribou Highlands at Lutsen to pick up the shuttle to the race start. The shuttle ride, all 45 minutes of it, passed in relative quiet, a remarkable occurrence for a bunch of trail runners about to embark on an ultra: normally you can’t shut us up. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The start line was a lower-key affair than usual. Since the Forest Service was using the normal start area as a headquarters, we gathered in a nearby parking lot for the race start. The upside of being in a parking lot instead of a building: the stars. Living in the Cities, sometimes I forget just how stunning the stars can be out away from the lights. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During the pre-race briefing, I found my friend Tim O - Tim is 6’5” and easy to spot - and another, familiar looking tall runner and joined them in cheering (quietly) for the start of the race. With Tim’s quick quip of “this is the start line for the 5k, right?” we were off. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section one: Finland to Sonju Road - An Acquaintance and a Few Lost Souls</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The race started up a paved road for a quarter mile before jogging left onto a logging road. After talking with Tim for a minute or so, I decided I could go a little faster, and ended up running side by side with the taller runner, chatting for a bit before he said “Wait, are you Jamie Falk?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The taller runner, it turns out, was Paul, a runner I met and ran with during the mudfest that was the Hixon 50k in 2018. I’d followed him on Strava ever since, and had actually predicted my own estimated splits and overall time based on his. I guess that was a good choice, as we were now running the same pace in the race itself. And it’s lucky for me that we were, because he caught me as I missed the turnoff from logging road to single track in the dark.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Paul and I ran and talked for a mile or two. He was recovering from meniscus surgery, so wasn’t expecting a lot from the day. I was hoping to finish my first fifty miler, and had two goals: finish the race, and relax and enjoy the experience. Running with another person who was keeping the same pace I was could only help with both of those goals. Unfortunately, after a couple miles, Paul pulled up suddenly and told me to go on ahead, so I ran into the pre-dawn darkness of the Superior Hiking Trail on my own. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Running a trail alone in the darkness is an entirely different experience than running in the daylight. In the darkness, sounds seem sharper, , and your whole world narrows to the few square feet of trail illuminated by your headlight. It is one of my favorite running situations, and one I get to indulge in far too infrequently. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wasn’t alone for very long, though. I kept hearing voices up the trail, and within a couple miles, I caught up with two other runners, just making their way back to the trail from a wrong turn. They fell in line behind me and a couple minutes later, we nearly ran into another runner coming back along the trail. As it turns out, he had also missed the turn off the logging trail onto the single track, but had continued on much farther than I had, and already had run seven miles to our five. All four of us trooped into the first aid station together. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Time elapsed: 1:14:29, Section time: 1:14:29, Time in Aid: 43s)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Two: Sonju to Crosby-Manitou - Leading a Pack</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">None of us spent long at the first aid station. I grabbed my drop bag (easily visible with the bright orange duct tape showing my name), topped up my water bottles and led the pack back to the SHT. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was starting to get light by this point, with sunrise at 6:45AM, an hour and a half into the race, and I started to notice, and point out, mushrooms on the trail. Through this one section, I saw several types of bollettes, a few chanterelles, both edible, and the chanterelle's deadly look alike the Jack o'Lantern mushroom, as well as a large array of non-edible varieties. I am unsure what my companions thought of this practice, but with such a variety fruiting, I could not resist. Indeed, I had to work hard to avoid the temptation to stop and take pictures of all the mushrooms</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Halfway through this section, one of the runners behind me, the one who had missed the turnoff to the SHT (wearing a red High Country plaid shirt and using trekking poles) decided I was moving too slowly for his liking, and passed the group. Shortly after that, the sunrise broke through the trees. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJt5LlDZK5RrzJsVuzu1WNKjBOo7pIY7fAj-hK5GJCEdCJ1oJd1mBvawl3b3UGHmb8rk5JirylkSWuca9TBlrQoJvFTLC2y4H3hjW1bmV9ullYfYz10I_-UQFDBc7hTEn4vAE3hCKiyI/s2048/Sup50+-+3.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJt5LlDZK5RrzJsVuzu1WNKjBOo7pIY7fAj-hK5GJCEdCJ1oJd1mBvawl3b3UGHmb8rk5JirylkSWuca9TBlrQoJvFTLC2y4H3hjW1bmV9ullYfYz10I_-UQFDBc7hTEn4vAE3hCKiyI/s320/Sup50+-+3.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was here that we came across our first hundred-miler of the day: my friend Bill. He had been trying for yet another hundred mile finish, but was clearly in some distress when we caught up to him. When I realized who it was, I stopped, letting the two other runners go by, and gave him a quick fist bump and a few words of encouragement. (I would later learn that he was having some serious back trouble at this point, but was shocked that I would stop to say hi in the middle of what was clearly already a good race for me.)</span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This allowed the other two runners to get ahead of me just a bit, a fact that gave me some relief as it allowed me to sit back and run my own race at my own pace. It also gave me a chance to take a picture of the sunrise as we made our way into the second aid station. Allowing myself to stop and take pictures of particularly beautiful views was part of my strategy to keep to my mantra “relax and enjoy.” Stopping to give Bill a fist bump was another part. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last part of the route to the aid station was along a gravel road, heading nearly due east. This gave me the chance to take a picture of the sunrise. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 45:51, Time in Aid: 27s)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Three: Crosby-Manitou to Sugarloaf - Running Ahead of Schedule</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I realized at this aid station that I was already running far ahead of my predicted splits. In fact, if I continued running so quickly, I risked missing my crew entirely at the next aid station. They planned to get there around 9AM for my expected arrival no earlier than 9:30, and I was on track to get there at 9 on the dot. Regardless, I took very little time in aid, grabbing my drop bag and filling an extra water bottle for what I knew would be the longest stretch of trail for the day. The extra water bottle, unfortunately, slipped straight through the front left pocket on my vest (a defect I hadn’t noticed until now), and I was left carrying it in my hand until I drained it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were now in Crosby-Manitou State Park, familiar territory to me for the first time of the day, and for the only time until we reached Carlton Peak. My dad and I had gone backpacking here some 20+ years ago, and the trails were just as steep, rocky, and root-covered as I remembered. In what would be a theme for the day, I found myself thinking two thoughts over and over: first, the trail was often steep and technical; second, the climbs on this trail were universally short. I cut my teeth trail racing in Colorado, and even the longest climbs on the Superior course (the climbs up Carlton Peak and Moose Mountain) are short compared to even the shorter climbs in Colorado races. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Crosby-Manitou, another (new) runner caught up to me. As usual, I could hear him before I saw him, particularly an exclamation of “isn’t this bullshit” on a particularly steep climb (my unsaid thought in response was “did you sign up for the same race I did?”), and noticed that he was not at all hesitant to drop into a power hike in the steep and/or technical sections, but quickly reverted to a run in whenever it got smooth and/or level again. I opted to emulate him, and while he overtook me for a few minutes, I quickly re-passed him and didn’t see him again all day. <br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaltR7XHltCelA9tmoJC2WXzK0IY_tU7TAZbfIFlo2geC-imchmbV4FsGOKxjcrBQNblxn_3utP8405JRKH2ZEDgHPL0Dc02L_PVeJ3iI4GKV3oSfA2rDaoLGr6b1hRPmSkVvb30foIog/s2048/Sup50+-+5.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaltR7XHltCelA9tmoJC2WXzK0IY_tU7TAZbfIFlo2geC-imchmbV4FsGOKxjcrBQNblxn_3utP8405JRKH2ZEDgHPL0Dc02L_PVeJ3iI4GKV3oSfA2rDaoLGr6b1hRPmSkVvb30foIog/s320/Sup50+-+5.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This section also saw my mental low point of the race. In part, it was a response to talking with the other runner, checking in on how we were feeling. He said he was awful except for his legs, which felt great. I, in turn, was feeling great except for my legs, which, while not awful, were not feeling as good as I had hoped less than 20 miles into the race. I also noticed some hot spots flaring up along the insteps of each foot. I had glued my insoles to the bottoms of my shoes, having had too much experience with Altra insoles riding up to the toes (including one memorable instance when I had to remove them and run 20 miles without any insoles at all), but glueing them to the sole of the shoe had left just a tiny gap between the insole and the shoe body, and this was now rubbing against my foot uncomfortably. My only question was whether to change socks and possibly shoes at the next aid station or at the following station (the halfway point of the race).</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Looking at my watch, I realized again it might be a moot point: I was still far, far ahead of my predicted pace. I was on pace to come into Sugarloaf between 9:00 and 9:05. Sure enough, when I ran into the aid station just after 9AM, my crew (my wife and my parents) had not arrived yet. I grabbed my drop bag, filled my bottles (one nuun, one water), and wandered around trying to think how to signal to my crew that I’d already been there. I had settled on describing my father (“6’4”, white hair and beard, looks like me”) to a helpful volunteer (as opposed to the other kind, of which there are none in this race), when I spotted my wife and mother walking down the road towards me. I flagged them down, let them know that I would probably want to change socks and/or shoes at the next aid, and took off down the trail again. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 1:50:36, Time in Aid: 4:40)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Four: Sugarloaf to Cramer - Settling In</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Off again, I again noticed something that I had found happening the previous section: while I was starting to feel the fact that we’d already been running for more than four hours, and my right quad was a little sore, I wasn’t cramping at all, and running felt better than walking did. This would remain true throughout the race, at least until they both felt equally difficult at the end of the race. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I ran most of the time, and every ten minutes took a quick walk break while I took a drink (at the 10, 30, and 50 minutes after the race hour) or took in some food (at 20, 40 and the hour). This drinking/nutrition pattern has worked well for me for several years now, as long as I adjust how much water I take in depending on the temperature. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Using this pattern, I soon came up behind another runner in blue, whom I hadn’t seen yet. Spencer had been running well but had cramping issues. It was his first fifty, having run the Moose Mountain Marathon when it was last held in 2019, but he seemed to be doing pretty well. I ran with him for a few minutes, glad of the chance to talk, before running along ahead again. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It wasn’t long before I came up behind another runner: the same one who had missed the logging road turnoff at the beginning of the race. He said he was cramping badly and suffering, so I offered a salt tab (which he refused). Seconds after I passed him, he fell over a root, and I ran back to check on him, leaving him with a salt tab after he assured me he could keep moving. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This whole section I was moving well, so inevitably I took an unexpected and abrupt fall on the smoothest, easiest section of trail. Parkour training kicked in, and I turned it into a perfect shoulder roll, and ended up springing back up on my feet none the worse for wear, with all my food and bottles accounted for. Naturally, I only fall like this when I am completely alone. When somebody else is watching, I inevitably fall flat on my face. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Soon, it seemed, I was cruising down a smooth trail into the Cramer Aid station and my first real crew stop of the day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 1:05:14, Time in Aid: 5:39)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Five: Cramer to Temperance - Wait, it’s Fall?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This aid station was the longest stop of the day. I opted to change into thicker socks, in an effort to avoid blisters, but keep the same shoes, as they were feeling good other than that minor hot spot on each instep. I had no blisters yet, and figured if they started in the next 12 miles, I could take care of them at the next crew stop (there is no crew access at Temperance for 50 milers). So after again grabbing a third water bottle and my trekking poles (for the climb up Carlton), and saying a quick “thank you” to my crew and the aid station volunteers,I took off down the trail. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The new socks made an immediate difference, and with feet feeling good again, I cruised along for a few miles before hitting the Cross River trail section. While a beautiful section of trail along the river, this was also a series of short, highly technical ups and downs l, and it slowed me down. I was now 6 hours and 50kinto the race, but to my surprise I still felt about as good as I had ten or fifteen miles earlier. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The hundred milers were appearing ahead of me regularly now, and I developed a system for passing. I would run up behind and match their pace, letting them know I was there and that, whenever the trail allowed it, I would pass them. Most still insisted on stepping aside for me, but if the runner didn’t want to stop and step off the trail, this let them keep moving forward (“relentless forward progress”). With quick “thanks” and “you’re awesome,” I would move on down (or up) the trail. I saw several faces I recognized, some of whom recognized me back, and I was again reminded just how small and tight-knit the trail running community in this state is. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my opinion, this is one of the most beautiful sections of the course. After climbing out of the Cross River gorge, you run for a mile along a ridgeline before dropping into Temperance. This is one of the few areas of the course where you regularly get clear views out over Lake Superior, and the fall colors out (already) were simply stunning. I did stop and take a landscape and a selfie, because why not?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkDLPpIJeRTCcNm6qIc6HeIN3Dt2RZ9mk95kNZCdgKz0T-kqYFIjUckHN-rrpgYpOgrSw77Cq0PGq3WCI51zjWrsOgX3JVbiIF5vIF81hVf1-8Zo7bqZs0a6beugs-iPKcidnIIh-4Rg/s2048/Sup50+-+6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkDLPpIJeRTCcNm6qIc6HeIN3Dt2RZ9mk95kNZCdgKz0T-kqYFIjUckHN-rrpgYpOgrSw77Cq0PGq3WCI51zjWrsOgX3JVbiIF5vIF81hVf1-8Zo7bqZs0a6beugs-iPKcidnIIh-4Rg/s320/Sup50+-+6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>The descent into Tettegouche was a blast. While my right quad was definitely sore by this point, I was able to run smoothly down into the aid station, passing several more 100 milers and their pacers as I did so. And at the same time, I approached familiar yet unfamiliar territory. Familiar, because I was approaching the spring 50k course, unfamiliar, because at the aid station I equaled the farthest distance I had ever run, with 18 miles and the three biggest climbs of the course in front of me. </span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But at least I knew what I was in for.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 1:26:58, Time in Aid: 3:04)</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Six: Temperance to Sawbill - Up and Over</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With no crew access at the Temperance station, I moved through a little more quickly. I was anxious to get out and on my way up Carlton, but first I had to run along the heavily-trafficked trail along the Temperance River. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After running on my own for so much of the day, 6 ½ hours at this point, it was strange to suddenly be among people not part of the race, hiking, chatting, and playing in the (low) river. By and large, as people are, they were pleasant and polite, stepping out of the way and saying “nice job.” Some asked questions (“How far have you gone?” being a common one. “Is there a race?” being another). Most just offered an encouraging word and stepped to the side of the trail. As I said, it was a strange slice of normal life, equal parts jarring and comforting. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then the course turned northeast and up again, towards Carlton Peak. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had been secretly dreading this section. I had heard horror stories from other, more experienced Superior runners about how long and difficult the climb was. I’d even grabbed my trekking poles just for this section. So I was somewhat surprised by how mellow the first mile and a half of the climb really was: mostly runnable even in the second half of a 50 miler. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the steep section finally hit, I was glad of the trekking poles. While I would have been fine without them, the extra two points of contact made me more sure-footed and I’m sure made me faster overall. But I was shocked by how short the climb seemed, and how quickly it was over. The two steepest sections of the climb lasted maybe a half mile total, gaining about 500 feet over that distance. Steep, yes, but also short. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My perceptions may be skewed by cutting my trail running teeth in Colorado. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nonetheless, Carlton passed quickly and without incident, up or down (though my right quad was really quite sore by this point), and I cruised into the aid station to see my crew again. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumv91YNzwVYb2CnajO31MB53stcD2XUuQnuiHtoX6rYCbthMkATMAxNJ1To4LrevhW5J3q6PFJZ56m4N2yeFJKF31qDcUsV9DMbYtbQqFhM8y5CMOPfD5N4TngWEttKVaSlpDgbZlbSg/s2048/Sup50+-+9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumv91YNzwVYb2CnajO31MB53stcD2XUuQnuiHtoX6rYCbthMkATMAxNJ1To4LrevhW5J3q6PFJZ56m4N2yeFJKF31qDcUsV9DMbYtbQqFhM8y5CMOPfD5N4TngWEttKVaSlpDgbZlbSg/s320/Sup50+-+9.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 1:12:39, Time in Aid: 4:57)</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Seven: Sawbill to Oberg - Familiar Territory</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This aid station came with an issue: until this point, I had been eating well. Every twenty minutes, I’d shovel down either half a Honey Stinger waffle or half a bag of Honey Stinger Chews (thank you to Honey Stinger: as a member of the hive I get a discount on these). It was working well, and keeping my energy levels consistent, but I was starting to get tired of the sweetness. I was willing to try other options. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the aid, I tried the new Honey Stinger hydration mix, but that nearly made me throw up. Beef jerky (another fallback) wasn’t going to do it. I grabbed a few options from the aid station, and decided that if I was unable to eat anything else, I could reasonably expect at least one of them to go down. In the meantime, I opted, unappetizing as it was, to continue with what had worked so far. While it wasn’t appetizing any more, it was at least keeping me moving well. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remembered this section being relatively flat during the 50k, and was mostly correct. There were three smaller climbs, again mostly runnable, and I generally stuck to my “run 9, walk 1 while eating and/or drinking” routine.This section provided a new bonus: I regularly passed the back of the marathon pack, each of whom gave me a mental boost and verbal encouragement. One of the marathoners mentioned that I was in sixth place, the first time I’d known where I was in the pack all day. I was surprised to be so far up in the pack, but I knew I had been running well all day, and would be in the top ten or so most years. At this point, I hadn’t seen another 50 miler in nearly 20 miles, so also wasn’t expecting to change positions again in the race . . . </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Illustrating just how well this run was going: I ran this section two minutes faster than I ran the same section in the Superior 50k in 2014, when I placed 11th. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqz3F4J7WzfasbyjmbfK2I433NqOeKt7DYyTAOaDawOVlTPYo47dYFa3NsTsO4N1xCKeFVjQsvwgP3sBxAQwgvA4OY8P7H3lKIyY6ze-lW5JCrpcmf3IZ-p4wrmDfAWBHBvSPecH15Zs/s2048/Sup50+-+10.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqz3F4J7WzfasbyjmbfK2I433NqOeKt7DYyTAOaDawOVlTPYo47dYFa3NsTsO4N1xCKeFVjQsvwgP3sBxAQwgvA4OY8P7H3lKIyY6ze-lW5JCrpcmf3IZ-p4wrmDfAWBHBvSPecH15Zs/s320/Sup50+-+10.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Section time: 1:09:18, Time in Aid: 3:21)</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Section Eight: Oberg to Finish - Bringing it Home </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This aid station was the least smooth for me and my crew. I had intended to take my third water bottle on this section, but somewhere between the last station and this one, it was misplaced. Chalk it up to experience: I did not make it clear that I would want that bottle again, nor did I bring an extra water bottle for such an occasion. I’ll know for next time. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fortunately, it was the last aid station, with seven miles to go, and I knew that even if I ran out of water I would finish the race. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now I had an added motivation: I could see the fifth place runner walking out of the aid station as I was grabbing the last of my gear for this section. The finish was tangible, if three climbs away, but the runner ahead of me was literally within sight, and didn’t look to be moving well. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This marked the first time in the race I allowed myself to do two things. The first was to use some honest race tactics. Knowing I was just behind the fifth place runner, I took time to prepare my pass. I hit a walk break, had a drink of water, then surged past him between Oberg and Moose Mountain. There’s nothing quite so demoralizing as a competitor breezing by you in the last stage of a race, even if you know they are just putting on a good show for you. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Second, I allowed myself to think about the finish. All day, the only distance in my mind, and on my watch, was the distance to the next aid station. But barring sudden injury, there was no chance I was going to fail at this point. With that in mind, I put in a good pace up Moose Mountain, trekking poles helping me push up and over the top, passing marathoners the whole way.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Down Moose, and the quads were really feeling it now, but I knew there was actually relatively little climbing and descending to go before the finish. Mystery Mountain, as I was now viscerally reminded, was a relatively shallow slope, and while I was having a harder time willing myself to run again whenever I took a walk break (now just washing waffles down with a squirt of water), running itself still felt pretty decent. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the “top” of Mystery, Amanda “Smashem” Basham made an appearance, cheering us on, which gave the final boost I needed to really push well on the long into the finish. The last mile, as I had hoped, was the fastest of the day in 8:36, and my form in the finish chute looked pretty dang good for mile 53, if I do say so myself. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PQTQQqXDcWRbie0a_0Rt6HpyIfk4I8uiw5v0u8LsniEiejqHQzI7uQr94cWEHYzJM1ay2APr2YXG0haNZNUYg9q8165qaje9xVmBuWFmjDSxDiNskwN7gS62IujqKk4ErpXzQaRQ9PM/s2048/Sup50+-+11.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="Mile 53" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PQTQQqXDcWRbie0a_0Rt6HpyIfk4I8uiw5v0u8LsniEiejqHQzI7uQr94cWEHYzJM1ay2APr2YXG0haNZNUYg9q8165qaje9xVmBuWFmjDSxDiNskwN7gS62IujqKk4ErpXzQaRQ9PM/w320-h240/Sup50+-+11.jpeg" title="Mile 53" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you to my crew for shepherding me through the aid stations and taking care of me afterwards. Thanks to all the volunteers (1 volunteer for every 3 runners) who made the race run smoothly. Thanks to Honey Stinger for welcoming me to the Hive. And most of all, thanks to John and Cheri for putting on the race despite all the difficulties involved this year.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-21900111644439799202019-03-03T15:27:00.001-07:002019-03-03T15:27:24.910-07:00Thoughts on the Run #3: Fountain CaveOn my long run the other day, I ran past a historical marker. You know, the ones that are heralded by green or brown signs across the small highways of the United States. The ones most people pass by without a second thought.<br /><br />In fact, I have run by this plaque several times in the past without stopping. This time, though, I caught the title of the plaque out of the corner of my eye: "Fountain Cave." I find caves fascinating, so I turned off the bike path to give it a look.<br />
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Apparently, just downstream from the marker, there used to be a cave with a stream pouring out of it. In its time, it was one of the more famous landmarks along that stretch of the MIssissippi. Back in the early 1800s, it was popular with explorers, several of whom wrote about it in their journals. Travelers and tourists used to stop there on their travels up and down the River. The sculpted sandstone cliffs were said to be beautiful.<br />
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It was also the site of the first permanent (meaning, I assume, white, European) structure in St Paul. In the 1830s, a cast-off from Fort Snelling, just upriver, built -- what else -- a saloon there. Later on, there was even a small refugee settlement on site.<br />
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Why, then, I wondered, had I never seen or heard of Fountain Cave? I have explored most of the length of both banks of the Mississippi over the past 5 years, and this is just the sort of feature that I would find fascinating. My favorite spot along the river is actually just upriver from the marker: a small slot canyon carved into the sandstone bluffs.<br />
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The cave doesn't exist any more: they filled it in to build the highway.<br />
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Go figure.<br />
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And that made me wonder: what does it say about us as a species that we have historically been so willing to destroy natural wonders for the sake of our own projects? Why were we so willing to flood Glenwoond Canyon for the sake of a reservoir? Why, on a smaller scale, did we fill in a natural wonder of Minnesota for the sake of a highway?<br />
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Why do we so often, to quote the song, pave paradise to put up a parking lot?Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-47849304044473973252019-01-29T20:40:00.000-07:002019-01-29T20:40:07.393-07:00Thoughts on the Run, Post 2: Noise
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<span class="s1"><b>Noise</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I live in a fairy middle-sized city —a quarter million people or so — in a reasonably-sized metro area — 3-4 million people. I enjoy many aspects of city life: concerts, museums, shopping, dining; all the advantages you get by simply having a large population of people in a small area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">There are parts of city life I really dislike, of course: all the straight lines, the constant presence of people, traffic, the lack of natural areas (even though we are relatively blessed in the Twin Cities). Mostly, though I dislike the noise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Noise has been difficult for me my entire life. When I was a child, they extended the freeway in my hometown to the point where it ends now: four blocks from my house. Suddenly, I had to deal with something I’d never really thought about before: traffic noise. I remember lying in bed in the summer, the window open — nobody in Duluth had AC, because Lake Superior served us better than any AC unit ever could —unable to fall asleep because of what seemed to me excessive traffic noise.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I would later learn that “excessive noise” is a relative term.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I live in a city now. Not a very noisy city, in the grand scheme of things, but a city nonetheless. St Paul mostly shuts down after around 9PM on the weekdays, and 11PM on the weekends. Even so, there is constant traffic on the street outside our apartment. We are on an emergency route, so we get the addition of sirens Dopplering by our windows at odd times of the night. People talk and yell, sober or otherwise, and I am a light sleeper: I wake up every peep.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the other end of the spectrum, I went to college with people from NYC who had the opposite problem: they had difficulty sleeping in the quiet of the middle of nowhere, Maine. Many of them could not sleep without a TV or a noise generator in the background, because they had grown up with the constant sound of the City that Never Sleeps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The ubiquity of noise was driven home to me viscerally the other day. I went for my normal run on a day when I was particularly stressed. When I feel stressed, my run tends to take me down to the Mississippi. Growing up in Duluth as I did, the mere presence of water has always calmed me down.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">There is one particular spot on the river where I stop whenever I pass it on my run. It’s a spot where barges dock in the summer, just downstream from an old grain elevator. We had just gone through a cold snap, and the river was partially frozen, blocks of ice floating downstream and crunching into each other.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I sat and listened to the ice crunch for a while, but the sounds of the city — the traffic on the road behind me, the constant “beep beep beep” of construction vehicles backing up, the sirens of the occasional ambulance — kept intruding, and I couldn’t help but think that all this noise cannot be good for us. The constant stimulation, the incessant background hum.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Even the Boundary Waters, far from the sounds of any city, lie underneath an international flight path.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I don’t know of a solution, but as I sat there on the bank of the river that day, I longed for a moment of quiet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-60206351462573325182019-01-13T17:15:00.002-07:002019-01-13T17:15:56.770-07:00Thoughts on the Run, Week 1
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<span class="s1">I have often said, to just about anyone who would listen, that “the best way to get to know a place is to run it.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I said this, believing it to be true. I espoused this. I tried to live this, and thought I was doing so. When I travel to a new city, I run it, sure in the knowledge that I will thereby be getting to know the place better than I would any other way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have lived in my current neighborhood for more than four years, running locally the whole time. I felt confident saying that, based on my own maxim, I knew this neighborhood.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But I have a confession to make: I was completely full of it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I know this now because I recently took up a challenge, posed by Rickey Gates, to run every single street in my neighborhood.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">After running more than 40 miles of streets and sidewalks, all within a mile and a half of my apartment, I can tell you that I did not know this neighborhood anywhere near as well as I had thought. Before this challenge, I had probably run less than 25% of these streets in four years. And these are the streets that, according to my own saying, I should know better than anybody.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the process of running every single street I found, among other things, a house that looks like it was transported straight from an English village, a row of mansions overlooking a homeless encampment, more Little Free Libraries than I could have imagined, and a Calvin and Hobbes mural painted on a garage door. I saw eagles, red-tailed hawks, and a fox. I found new allies, through, and dead-ends mere blocks from my front door. And I ran by more than a dozen churches.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So does my theory that the best way to get to know a place is to run it hold true?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">Maybe it does, but you have to run a place with intention.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;"> </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-63087003505190773112019-01-06T19:27:00.001-07:002019-01-06T19:27:26.178-07:00Thoughts on the Run
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<span class="s1">I am a runner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">People who know me well at all tend to be aware of this. Casual acquaintances tend to be aware of this. The elderly gentleman I run past several times a week no doubt is aware of this. When first learning about my “runner-ness,” there are a few questions that<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>inevitably arise. One of the most common is “what do you think about when you’re running?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">To quote Quenton Cassidy, protagonist of the novel novel “Once a Runner,” I often answer “quantum physics.” As he said, it’s as good an answer as any, and for me, it has occasionally been the literal truth. In college, whenever I was stuck banging my head against a particularly difficult physics problem set or take-home exam, I would actually go for a run. More often than not, I would come home to find the solution floating in my mind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The truth is, on my easy runs, I think about anything and everything. During harder runs, as well as races, I think about the run or the race. I simply don’t have the mental space to think about anything else. But more than two thirds of my runs are easy, and my mind is free to wander.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have often thought that most of my more interesting ideas seem to occur when I’m running. More often than not, I don’t fully recall these meandering thoughts when I get back and return to my daily, non-running life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Lately, however, I have worked hard to write more regularly, in a more focused way. I confess I have had this intention many times: I have started and made significant headway on several books, novels and nonfiction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Never having been able to finish one of these longer works, I decided this time through to try to write shorter, more focused pieces. This is my attempt to do so.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Each day, I run.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Each day, my mind runs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And now, each day, when I return from my run, I write down a brief phrase or two that represents some of the thoughts that passed through my head during the day’s run. Later on that day, I use these phrases as a cue to jog my memory (apologies for the horrific pun) and expand on it, writing out long hand. If I deem it worthy, I will later edit it, type it out on the computer, edit it again, and post it here.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Welcome to Thoughts on the Run.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-14466383756494910452018-11-24T08:19:00.002-07:002018-11-24T08:31:07.449-07:00A Tale of Two Ultras<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1">A few weeks ago, coming off the high of a good long run and my first 50 mile week in years, I made what may have been an ill-advised choice: I signed up for a 50k and an 8-hour race a mere week apart.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Or, as another runner so appropriately phrased it: “We’re ultrarunners. We don’t make good decisions.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I will say in my defense that my goal race (Wild Duluth) had not worked out. I was going to be in another state that day. So I eyed the Hixon 50k, which was the following weekend, as a replacement race. I had just put in one of the better training blocks of my life, running both faster and farther than I had in years, and I didn’t want to waste my fitness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But then, I didn’t want to miss the Icebox 480, the unofficial end to the midwest ultra calendar, either. It’s always a fun day, and the 7 mile loop really allows you to see more people than you might think. Plus, I could drop out at any time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And a lot of my trail running friends were planning to be there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So yes, I had my justifications. The fact remained that I had never done anything remotely like running (potentially) two ultras within seven days of each other. Hixon being on a Sunday, I would only have five full days of rest between the two races.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Naturally, a few days after signing up for these races, I tweaked my ankle during what would have been my last real pre-race tempo run.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At first, that seemed like awful timing, but I quickly realized that it might have been the best possible time to have such a minor injury. I had already gotten through my hardest training block and my biggest mileage. I was just over two weeks out from my first race, and all my substantive training was already behind me. As long as I was smart and didn’t push my ankle too hard, too quickly, the forced taper that little niggling pain started might just be the best thing to happen to me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I took four days completely off running, foregoing my last longish run, and two other runs besides. I came back that fifth day, on a trip to Madison with my wife, with zero pain. Over the next week, my ankle twinged a couple times but never hurt in any serious way. I proceeded into the land of taper tantrums and over-thinking my gear.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Hixon 50k</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">What can I say about this race? I controlled what I could control, and those aspects of the race went well. And what I couldn’t control, I managed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I treated HIxon as a goal race, meaning primarily that I obsessed over this race to the detriment, or possibly the benefit, of the Icebox. As race day approached, and the weather forecast stayed the same (rainy and windy, with temperatures between 40 and 50 degrees), I went back and forth repeatedly on what to wear.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I decided on a long sleeved New Balance cooling shirt, my capri tights, light gloves, my UMTR buff, and my normal socks and shoes. On top of that, at least for the first part of the race, I would wear my Altra StashJack, the one with the fully open back that’s designed to accommodate a vest. I would be wearing a waist belt, but I figured that the open back would allow better ventilation and keep me from overheating.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I took the race out at a pretty decent clip, but not crazy fast. As usual, I found myself in the not-quite-lead group: two runners took off, and I stayed with the next group for a while. I wanted to run within myself for the first lap, and then see where I was during the second. “Composure, Confidence, Compete.” was my mantra for the day, courtesy of an iRunFar column.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">With that in mind, I ran much of the first lap with two other runners, chatting about work, about the course, and just about anything else that came to mind. They would drop me a bit on the hills, I would catch up on the flats and downhills. I saw no reason to push the hills on lap one.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I went through the first of two 25k laps in 2:30 on the nose, feeling good and ready for lap two.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Around mile three, I started to feel water running down my back that was more than the rain could account for. I reached for my bottles and, sure enough, the cap had come off of one of my two 10oz water bottles. I’d be stuck with half the water I had planned for during the remainder of the race. Not a huge deal, with the frequency of aid stations on the course, but it meant I ran out of water a couple times on the second lap.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At about the same point in the race, I realized just how wet the trail was. So far, I was still in the top 10 runners, and the trail was in good shape. But there were more than 100 50k runners behind me, and another 350 25k runners would star an hour the 50k. The second loop, I knew, would be a muddy mess.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And so it was. Within the first half mile of the second loop, I had almost fallen twice and I was running almost two minutes per mile slower than my first loop pace. I realized, though, that the rest of the field would be similarly affected, and sure enough, I came close to holding my position in lap two (passed one person, and was passed by two).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Finally, around mile 22, my watch, now four years old and used almost every day, gave a resigned beep and asked me to “please recharge.” I would run the rest of the race with no GPS data, time-of-day only.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Ah well, not that important in the grand scheme of things. I knew generally what the mileage was, and I knew we had started at 7:40AM, so no problems there. All I needed was to keep drinking every ten minutes, and eating my 80 calories every 20.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I came through the second loop and finished the race in around 5:39 elapsed, 11th place over all. That’s good enough for my best place in a 50k. It’s half an hour off my best time, and not the time I had hoped for going into the day, but it was a solid effort and I felt satisfied.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Between Races</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I felt better than I expected after my 50k. I was tired, sure, but I did not experience the same beat-down, I-don’t-want-to-run feeling I often have after other, similarly long efforts. I credit my training for that difference.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nevertheless, I only ran once in the five days between Hixon and Icebox. I wanted to run at least once, since that would give me an indication of how I was recovering, but I didn’t want to let myself push the pace at all, so I ran with the Thirsty Thursdays at Theo group. Every Thursday, they run around five miles around Theo Wirth park in Minneapolis, taking about an hour to do so, and follow that up with a beer or two at Utepils.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My legs felt tired, but not beat up, giving me more confidence going into Icebox.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had a few goals for Icebox. First and foremost: have fun. Icebox is the unofficial end of the trail racing season in the Twin Cities area, and it tends to be as much of a party in the woods as a race. I wanted to treat it as such. Second: I wanted to run an ultra-distance. With the approximately seven mile loop, that would be a minimum of four loops. However, and third, I didn’t want to push too hard. I wasn’t sure how my body would react, so I told myself to do whatever I could on the day, and not worry too much about time or distance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Icebox 480</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Despite forecasts of light rain, Saturday dawned dry and chilly (35 degrees or so) as I drove the 30 minutes from my door to Whitetail Ridge in River Falls. In other words: it was perfect trail racing weather. I got to the start area about 30 minutes before the race was supposed to start, collected my trucker hat, and set up my drop box in the start/finish/lap area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I was taking this race much less seriously than the Hixon, so I decided to just go out with a group and see how I felt after each lap.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first lap I shared with what must have been the second group of guys (the lead group went out far faster than I wanted to), and the lead woman. I knew a couple people in the group already, so the lap was almost exactly what I hoped for: an easy-ish run in a beautiful area with some friends. Even feeling relatively easy, though, we went through the first ~6.8 mile lap in under an hour. I had thought ~1:05 per lap would be an easy, sustainable pace for me. But my legs wanted to go for hour pace, so that’s what I ran.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I say the pace was easy, but that’s not quite accurate. At no point during the day did my legs feel good. From the first few steps, I could tell viscerally that I had raced a difficult 50k the week before and that I was not fully recovered. Despite that, I found that I was still able to travel at a good clip. I had less power on the uphills than I often did, but the only hill I walked during the whole race was the steepest hill on the course, at the one mile mark. I decided before I started the run that I would always walk the steeper part of that hill, and I stuck to my plan.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I noticed something else in laps one through three as well: I am not sure why, but I was much stronger relative to other runners in the second half of the lap than the first. I would consistently catch people about 40-50 minutes into my hour-long laps (and laps 1-3 were all just under an hour, not counting my stops at the beginning/end to use the restroom, top off my water bottle, and grab some more calories), and would remain ahead of them until the start/finish area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Laps two and three were much like the first. My legs never felt good, exactly, but I could keep a good pace regardless. While the pack I ran with the first loop quickly disintegrated on the second, I started to catch and lap slower runners on these loops, each time getting a little mental boost from interacting with them. I continued with my very successful fueling strategy (drink at least once every 10 minutes, eat 80 calories every 20), and had comfortably settled into the day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I briefly considered calling it a day at three laps, but opted to head out on lap four any way, knowing that I had enough in me to finish that, at least. Lap four was a different beast. I was really feeling the fatigue now, both from the day but more, I think, from the previous Sunday. I took one spill in the Hixon that just mildly torqued my left knee, and that started to make itself known late in lap three. I slowed down considerably on lap four, opting to walk while I ate instead of running.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Mentally, I was still there and thinking that I might do lap five and see whether I might be up for more after that. Again, though, I had already decided that I would pull the plug when the day ceased to be fun. This was not a goal race for me, just a chance to see what I could do. Simply put: I was ready to have fun, but not to enter the pain cave.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So when I pulled into the start/finish area again after 1:15, almost 15 minutes slower than my prior laps, I checked in with myself. My form had started slipping (inevitably). My knee was hurting (see above form note). I had run around 28 miles, a week after racing 31.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I gave myself some time to change my mind, and even called my parents about my brother’s birthday present. After that assessment, though, I decided that this was not the day to try and break my own distance record, but a day to celebrate just how well my training had gone this cycle, and look ahead to what I am sure will be a remarkable 2019.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Self Assessment:</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In all, I’d raced nearly 60 miles over two weekends, separated by just five days. That’s something I would not have even considered a couple years ago. More importantly, I finished the season without the malaise that sometimes settles in: there was no voice in my head saying I just didn’t want to run any more.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Two weeks out from Icebox, I ran the UMTR Fall Fatass Frolic yesterday: 9.3 miles in 1:06 and change. I also bought a skate-ski setup, something I have meant to do for years. And this week, I think I might just start my own local version of Rickey Gates’s “every single street” challenge.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Also, somebody did the Border Route in 25 hours, and I think I want to lower that mark.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-63040383683378126742018-11-18T17:34:00.001-07:002018-11-18T17:34:20.889-07:00Barriers
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<span class="s1">Barriers are funny things, particularly when they are mental barriers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">For the entire time I’ve been running, or at least, the time I’ve been keeping track of mileage, the 50 mile week has seemed like both a major barrier and a major breakthrough point. There is no reason that 50 miles should hold such esteem in my mind. 49 miles, seven miles each day, might make more sense from an aesthetic perspective, but from a training perspective there is no real reason that 50 miles is any different than 45 or 55.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nevertheless, it has always been firm in my mind as an almost mythic barrier. I have flirted with 50 mile weeks fairly regularly. I often surpass 40 in my training. Somewhat less often, I start to hit around 45 miles per week, usually in the lead up to an ultra. Rarely, though, have I hit 50 miles in the span of a week (I define a week as Monday-Sunday).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The very few times I’ve reached that point in my training, though, there was no real momentous occasion to it. The 50 mile mark almost seemed to sneak up on me and pass me by.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">That is exactly what happened to me this past weekend. I had run 46 miles the week before, a total that was somewhat unexpected to begin with. I actually ran a good six miles shorter than I expected on my normal Saturday long run, after waking up and feeling tired and uninspired by trail running. To my surprise, after a leisurely 12 on Saturday, I got up on Sunday and ran a fast eight to close out the week on a high note.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This past week,I got a good start. After resting Monday, a day I take off religiously, I hit eight miles on Tuesday, complete with my fastest non-race mile in three or four years sandwiched in the middle of a steady-state run. Wednesday was easy and short. Thursday, I ran twice: six miles fast in the morning, and five and a half in the evening at a slow pace. (Thursday evenings I have started running trails with a couple different groups, which allows me both to socialize and to get some easy trail miles in when I normally would not). Friday was again easy and short.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I went into the weekend with 27.5 miles on my legs, and no thought of hitting 50 for the week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Saturday, though my legs were still carrying a good bit of fatigue from the week, I ran a solid 16 miles out at Afton State Park. I stopped often, taking pictures of any mushrooms or fungi I saw, and chatting with the other runners sharing the trail on what was, after all, a gorgeous morning for a run. I even managed to pick up the pace for the last three miles back to the car. That was 43.5 for the week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunday, I still had no intention of hitting 50 for the week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But Sunday was Twin Cities Marathon day, and I ran around spectating. Soon enough, my watch said four for the morning, and my legs and brain said “why not?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So I kept running until I hit just about seven miles. And the mythic (in my mind) barrier was broken.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the grand scheme of things, obviously. 50 is just another number. But the mere act of running that much in a week has done wonders for my own confidence in my training. More than that, the relative ease with which it happened (there was no special scheduling, no particular addition of miles or runs), and the two relatively low-mileage days in the middle make me think I could do it again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And maybe do even more.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-10635971470611928692018-06-26T17:09:00.000-06:002018-06-26T17:09:54.181-06:00Flow on the Border Route
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<span class="s1">I have a problem.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s the night before I’m going to try to complete the Border Route Trail, a 65 mile wilderness trail across the north woods of Minnesota and through the BWCA, in a day. I drove up from the Twin Cities today, and between Memorial Day traffic and road construction, it took me an extra hour and a lot more frustration and energy than I anticipated. Then I got to Grand Marais, where my wife and I were meeting up with the rest of my crew (my family), in the middle of a bike race. <br />
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It’s not surprising, then, that I don’t feel that I am in the right headspace for a long day on a relatively unknown, and notoriously difficult, trail tomorrow.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have a plan for it, though. Over dinner at the Gunflint Lodge, while I let my parents and wife hold up the conversation, I retreat into my own head, repeating over and over again in my head “Take what the trail gives you.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I continue that mantra throughout the next few hours as we get the last details in order and organize all the gear for the next day. I keep the phrase rolling through my head as I tossed and turned throughout the (short) night, even as my brain shows me, in vivid detail, all the ways that my run might go wrong (would undoubtably go wrong, as my tired brain would have me believe).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fast forward a few hours. It’s 9:00AM. I last saw my crew over an hour ago, 11 miles into my day, and I’m now several miles into the BWCA. It’s been four and a half hours since I started my run, and I’m starting to record some thoughts on my GoPro.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I can hear the surprise in my voice later when I say “I’m now 41/2 hours into my run. Funny, it doesn’t feel that long.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And it didn’t. Clearly, despite the day before and the limited sleep, I got into the right headspace, and I credit my resolution to “take what the trail gives [me]”, and then to stick with that mantra even when the trail wasn’t giving me the pace I wanted.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At that point, though, 4.5 hours and some 16 (plus one accidental extra) miles into my run, the trail was giving me what I wanted: sub-15 minute pace while I was running. The navigation was not too difficult, for the most part, but it required my constant attention, both to keep on the trail and to keep from injuring myself. The trail itself told me when it was safe to run, and when I was better off walking.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The one time I stopped to what the trail was telling me, I put my foot into a hole left by the dislodged roots of a deadfall, and nearly put an end to my attempt. But even that only shook me out of my groove for a matter of moments.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Simply put, at this point in the day, I was flowing. Time passed easily, and the miles passed smoothly under my feet as I alternated between walking when necessary and running when possible.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have never had a flow experience last so long before. For a good three hours, maybe more, I moved steadily forward, time passing without much note taken, and making steady progress. I was even making up time on my “slow” splits, despite the technical nature of the “trail.” And even though I had gotten only a few hours of sleep, gotten up at 3:30, and been on the trail for some six hours now, I felt easy and strong, and more than anything, simply happy to be out in such a beautiful area on a gorgeous, if warm, spring day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then came the alders. My experience of time reversed in an instant. From hours passing like minutes, the minutes started to feel like hours as I had to force my way through the intertwined branches of these blasted shrubs. My attitude soured in an instant, and I fell behind my splits for the first time all day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">After the section with the alders, I never really got back into a flow state. I kept tabs on my pace, and despite feeling pretty solid and being in a good mental space, I was still slipping back on my goal pace. Not by much (I ended up averaging 18:40 pace, and my cutoffs were at 18 minute pace), but it was enough for me to realize that I was not going to make my self-imposed cutoffs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And I was ok with that. But I did get into my head “my crew will be worried.” So I didn’t slow down at all, and in fact ran my fastest pace since Magnetic Rock at mile 33 or so. This was a section of portage, so it was a much nicer, smoother trail than any other section I’d run that day, but I was still pleased that I could run well with so many difficult miles under my belt.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have never slipped into flow states that easily before, or for that long. I credit being as ready as I could be physically for the challenge (thanks to <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Training-Essentials-Ultrarunning-Ultramarathon-Performance/dp/1937715450/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1530054322&sr=1-1&keywords=training+for+ultra+running">this book</a>), and for a few mental tricks and techniques I learned from this one.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now, after the BRT, I finally picked up a book on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Running-Flow-Mihaly-Csikszentmihalyi/dp/1492535729/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1530054576&sr=1-1&keywords=running+flow">flow</a>, and have been reading it (slowly). Much of it confirms what I already know, but I highly recommend it, and hope to use it coaching my own athletes, once I get that going.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-33491606428350582832018-06-17T07:45:00.002-06:002018-06-17T07:45:36.049-06:00Border Route: Technical Post
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<span class="s1"><b>Border Route Report</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In my prior post, I went through my impressions of the Border Route itself, hopefully giving an idea of what the trail is like, and what it was like to be out on a trail of that length and difficulty while trying at the same time to move quickly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>For this post, I want to dial in what I learned from this run: what went well, and what can be improved.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Food/fuel:</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">For a long time in ultras, I had trouble nailing down my fueling scheme. I would usually end up eating too little, and bonk. Or my stomach would reject the food, usually starting after three hours or so.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At Zumbro, I learned a few things: I knew beforehand that I was not able to just eat gels or chews and be able to finish an ultra in good condition. At Zumbro, I learned three additional things: I could not eat just sweet food (gels, chews, and stroopwaffles), and I needed a variety of food (salty, sweet, formulated, real, etc . . ). <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">For the Border Route, then, I packed a wide variety of food in my bag. Payday bars were a particular favorite, being both salty and sweet, as well as fat- and carbohydrate-rich. I ate some gels, some waffles, and some home-made favorites (pinole bites with matcha are fantastic). I added to that some beef jerky and dried mango, two stalwarts I’ve previously used for long days in the mountains.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Salt and Pepper Kettle Chips were not as successful. They did not go down well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I also learned from Zumbro how much food I need: somewhere north of 250 calories per hour. I opted to eat on the half hour, unless it was a Payday bar (240 calories). I had parceled all my snacks into 125-150 calorie bundles just for that reason, and it worked like a charm. I ate two or three payday bars, and whatever else I felt like eating at the half hour, keeping a good mix going.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I carried 4000 calories in my pack for the wilderness section of the trail. I wanted to have enough for the full 42 miles, in case something went wrong and I couldn’t meet my crew at the Clearwater Lake campsite. As it turns out, that’s where I left the trail. But I have no regrets about taking that much food.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Food: dialed in.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Hydration</b>:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Hydration went really well, despite the fact that it was 85 degrees in Northern Minnesota in May. I certainly did not expect that when planning the run and choosing the date.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I generally drink to thirst, and I followed that method this time as well. Usually, that works out to a good sip every 10 minutes or so, and this day was no different<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The BRT has an added issue: after the first section, I would only get aid at the 32 and 52 mile marks. I needed a good, light, water filter (details on that to come later). I decided that I would take a full 70oz reservoir of water, and a single, collapsable 500mL (about 17oz) bottle. It being the Boundary Waters, after all, there were regular water crossings. My plan was to filter a full water bottle at every water crossing, and drink first from the bottle, and secondly from the reservoir once the bottle was dry.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">With the expected heat, I made one change: every other bottle, I added a Nuun tablet after filtering.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The plan worked almost incredibly well. I felt clear headed and hydrated the entire time, drinking when I needed to, and never being over or under hydrated that I can tell. I ran out of water in the reservoir within a mile of the Clearwater campsite, and my dad and my wife, who were out there waiting for me, confirmed that I was clearheaded and coherent, and had I not arrived 20 minutes later than my cutoffs they would have sent me on my way with no qualms.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Pacing and Navigation:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had the goal of moving at about 15 minute mile pace, or about four miles per hour. I figured I would run nine minutes, then walk one minute throughout the day, letting me recover on the run.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">After the first four miles, I realized I didn’t need to bother with that schedule. I had resolved to “take what the trail gives me,” and I did. That meant much of the time I was actually unable to run. In some places the trail was too steep, in other places too technical.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The phrase “too technical to run” has a different meaning on a wilderness trail than in a race situation. On the Border Route, I was on my own, not knowing when I might next see somebody, should I hurt myself and be forced to stop and seek/await help. I had my tracker, with an SOS feature, but that was an absolute last resort: if I had cause to use that, it would mean I had failed utterly. So I took a cautious approach, running when I could, and walking when there was any question.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">This meant I ran much less than I was hoping to. I averaged a little under 17 minute miles for the 35 miles I ran. But I had to backtrack twice out on the trail. While moving, I was able to average a little better than the four miles per hour I was hoping for, but the water breaks and the backtracking took its toll, and I slipped below 18 minute miles “real” time, which was my cutoff speed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Navigation generally went well. The trail was generally easy to follow, save for a couple sections at the beginning (when I had a second set of eyes to help me navigate) and one section in the middle, crossing a ridge on exposed bedrock. It helps that there are few other trails out there, and this one has the brush cleared to either side somewhat regularly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Gear:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gear I feel like I really had dialed down.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shoes: Altra Superiors. I wore the same pair all 35 miles. I love the feel of these shoes, and they have enough cushion to keep my feet happy, and enough ground feel that I don’t need to worry too much about rolling my ankle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Socks: Injinji NuWools. These got sopping wet in the morning dew, and never dried out. Looking back, this is the one thing I might have changed. I didn’t have enough pairs of socks to feel I could swap them out at the 11 mile mark. In the future, I would bring a couple extra pairs, and maybe keep one pair in my pack. My feet were in rough shape at mile 35, and that was the one thing (other than the cutoff) that might have kept me from continuing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gaiters: worthwhile. I used the Altra Trail Gaiters. They kept extra junk out of my shoes that might otherwise have slowed me down.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shorts: The North Face Long Haul (I believe). The pockets in the waistband held my compass and a little extra food. The longer brief underneath kept any chafing from starting. The downside is that this run apparently was the last straw for this pair, as one of the seams died. I may try to repair these.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shirt: Long Sleeve New Balance. This technical shirt is supposed to keep you cool when you sweat. The long sleeves meant I didn’t have to put on extra sunscreen or bug spray, which meant shorter stops.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Hat: Ultimate Direction freebie.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gloves: yep, I wore bike gloves. I didn’t use my trekking poles, which meant I didn’t need them to prevent blisters, but I liked having them in any case. As the Speedgoat says, it’s always good to protect your hands. I only fell once, but the leather/gel combo of the bike gloves meant my hand was protected.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Vest: Ultimate Direction Hardrocker 2017 vest. This was a key piece of gear for me. After Zumbro, I realized that neither vest I had (the Patagonia Forerunner 10L and the UD AK Race Vest V2) would work for the wilderness section of trail. The AK was not big enough, and the Forerunner did not have a front pocket large enough for the Garmin InReach (more on that later). This vest, however, was perfect. It fit all the gear I needed (see below), all the food I needed, and a full reservoir. All told, it was around 10 pounds fully loaded with food and water, and it had almost zero bounce at that weight. The plethora of pockets meant all my necessities (primarily food) were within easy reach without taking the pack off. And over the 7 or so hours that I wore the vest, I didn’t get any hot spots or pain from it. All in all, I wish it weren’t a limited-run vest (do you hear me Justin?).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">GPS/Navigation: I wore my typical Suunto Ambit2 for this one, set at its most battery-friendly GPS settings (read: not very accurate, it was 3.3 miles off from my InReach). I had a Garmin InReach Explorer+ for my GPS tracker and Sat Messenger. I opted for this over the SPOT for tracking because it gave me the option of sending messages as needed. I utilized that twice, once to let my Pacer know I was 10 miles into the wilderness section, and once to let my crew know that I had pulled out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">For actual navigation, though, I used a map and a compass.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Filter: MSR TrailShot. I cannot say enough good things about this filter. It’s quick, easy, and convenient. No bending over (unlike the Lifestraw). No clunky bottle (unlike Sawyer). You just point the nozzle at your bottle, let the tail end fall into the water source, and squeeze. It took ~2 minutes from the time I stopped at a water source to the time I had my water bottle filled and was on my way again. The trailshot is heavier than either the Lifestraw or the Sawyer, but I think the 2 ounces is worth it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Other Assorted Gear: I had some backup, emergency equipment: merino wool shirt from the now-defunct GoLite (though I hear they are coming back under new ownership, the old owners having started MyTrail), Patagonia Houdini jacket, SOL emergency bivy, blister/first aid “kit” (including duct tape, of course), Victorinox Classic knife, mini LED flashlight (I wore a Petzel AcTik for the few minutes I needed a headlamp first thing in the emorning). All that was for the very unlikely situation that I was forced to bivy for the night in the BWCA.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">As I said, I don’t regret bringing any of the gear. I debated trekking poles, but honestly the hills were either shallow, or few and far enough between that I didn’t feel the need.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Again, despite not actually succeeding in the overarching goal, I consider this trip a success: I moved well for the conditions, nailed my fuel and hydration, and stayed generally positive.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And I made the right call, I believe, in stopping, regardless of how I felt physically.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-81361307009954850132018-06-10T10:36:00.001-06:002018-06-10T10:36:58.051-06:00You're a Different Person Up Here: Impressions of the Border Route Trail
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<span class="s1">“You’re like a different person up here.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You and your dad: you’re both so much more relaxed in the Boundary Waters.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You are in your element.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">(apocryphal, but I trust the source) “Jame is so different in the Boundary Waters. He just seems . . . lighter.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Before I started out on the Border Route Trail, I wondered how I would feel, being on my own in the wilderness. I knew the trail was gnarly, and I knew that I would be out there for a long, long time without much contact with anybody else. I have experienced moments on the trails before, in Colorado particularly, when I knew I was alone, and my mind played tricks on me. Little noises made me jump. My imagination gave me images of a mountain lion pouncing, or me breaking an ankle and being stuck.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So I was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable I felt on the “trail” now passing, slowly but steadily, beneath my feet. <br />
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In a way, the Boundary Waters is where I am most at home. And so, as people have done from time immemorial, I feel happy and proud to be fighting for it in my own small way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>At Home on the Edge of Things: Impressions of the Border Route</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre Dawn on the BRT</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">I don’t feel like I could do full justification to my 10 hours on the BRT if I tried to do a traditional trip report format. Instead, I will try to convey, as much as I can, the impressions that I remember, those that stick most vividly in my mind, from the 35 miles I traversed that day. I would say “ran,” rather than “traversed,” but as you will see that would be inaccurate.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>A Trail that Demands Attention:</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first mile of this trail was the easiest. Easy even at 4:30 in the morning, when I started my day in the pre-dawn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was not the easiest mile in the usual sense. It wasn’t the easiest because it was the first. It wasn’t the easiest because it was downhill. In fact, it is almost all uphill. No, the first mile is literally the best mile of trail, at least in the half I ran.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">For that first mile, the trail shares a path with the Magnetic Rock Trail, which must get much more traffic than the Border Route as a whole. It it the quintessential trail: a path through the brush that has been worn down to the dirt, easy to follow and packed enough to hit a good pace. Soon enough, the monolith that gives the trail its name loomed out of the growing light, a stark outline against the glow in the east, and the Border Route Trail turned south on its way towards the Cross River.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magnetic Rock </td></tr>
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<span class="s1">With that turn, the trail reveals its true nature: a “vague path through the woods,” as the GearJunkie team called it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the trail?<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">The course of the trail was not that difficult to follow, in general. In an area like the Boundary Waters, the brushing efforts to either side of the trail were readily evident: an area of much lower growth four feet wide, winding through an otherwise trackless area. But the trail demanded attention. I picked up my pacer in this section (my brother in law), because I’d heard that there were a number of intersecting trails, making it difficult to follow the correct trail.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map Check. <i>Photo: Steve Snyder</i></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">I was glad for the second pair of eyes, because even with the help, I missed the trail twice, and had to backtrack to get back to the BRT proper. Amusingly, the second time we missed a turnoff, a mistake that would see me running an extra mile, I only noticed we were off-route because the trail was too well-trodden and too clear. Whoever marked the ski trail in the same blue as the Border Route made, in my opinion, a poor decision.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">While prior attempts at the 24 hour mark on this trail have seen navigational problems and mistaken routes derail their attempts, I found most of the trail easy to follow. But as I have said, it demanded constant attention. Twice in the Wilderness section of the trail I let my attention stray from the trail in front of me, both times while fiddling with my GoPro camera to try to get some footage of the trail and record my thoughts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Each time, when I looked up again, I found myself disoriented, completely unsure if I was still on the trail. The first time, up on the ridge above Gunflint Lake, I had to backtrack, downhill, until I found that most useful of clues: the telltale sawed ends of a cleared deadfall. The second time, in the Alders, I caught a glimpse of the dopamine-inducing blue flagging that marks the trail throughout its length, which assured me that, while the trail was not in evidence under my feet, I was still on the correct track.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The Border Route is, in nature as well as designation, a Wilderness trail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Beyond being faint, the trail is lightly used.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At least by humans.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Moose, on the other hand, seem to use the trail far more than people do. Rarely did I travel more than a mile or two down the trail without seeing moose sign. Their huge, splayed prints in the mud, more reminiscent of the hoofprints left by horses than by the dainty tracks of deer that I see when running closer to home, helped define the course of the BRT in many places. I quickly gave up trying to avoid their scat on the trail, there was simply too much to bother.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And then there were the Alders.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had read about this section in my pre-run research, with numerous trip reports, as well as the guidebook itself, warning about the difficulty these plants created.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The warnings did not do these trees justice: I was truly unprepared for the true obstacle these would present, both physically and mentally. Through one quarter mile section of the trail, these saplings had grown across the trail to the point that they were weaving together, right at eye level, and I had to push forward and up to make any progress. This was, not coincidentally, the point where I started to fully realize the magnitude of the task I had set myself.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was also the most discouraging portion of trail for me. But brighter times were coming.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Even though it is wilderness, the Border Route is still a trail, and people backpack, hike, and even run on even this trail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">After running all morning, 25 plus miles, seeing nobody but my crew and a pair of boats 400 feet below me on the lake, Stairway Portage felt crowded. I ran into my first pair of backpackers just before the falls. These two were backpacking the full length of the trail. When I told them where I had started that morning, they were visibly impressed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">“That’s where we’re planning to end up<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>. . . three days from now.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shortly after that, there was a family of four who must have hiked in on Caribou Rock Trail and were having lunch by the falls.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And then I had to shake my head to be sure I’m not hallucinating. There, on the trail in front of me, was Jon Storkamp, the race director for the Superior Spring and Fall races, and the Zumbro race that I had dropped out of just six weeks before. He had run out with two others on the Caribou Rock trail. When I told him when and where I had started, he told me “that’s a damn good pace out here!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The three and a bit miles had taken them two hours to cover, a slower pace than I was making so far.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Of course, I had to take a selfie.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>A Changing Trail</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The Border Route is changing. Over the past 20 years, it has been subject to several fires and the 1999 storm known as “The Big Blow,” which saw 100mph straight-line winds down hundreds of acres of trees like matchsticks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>For a long time after, this meant that the affected areas were much harder to navigate, with new deadfall often falling across the trail, and less to differentiate the trail from the surrounding wilderness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the years the fires and blowdown, though, the transition forest has started to spring up. Where once there were acres of pines, there are now crowded stands of deciduous saplings, some over ten feet tall. Brushing efforts have made the trail more open and easier to follow, but I found that the easiest way to follow the trail through much of this section was by looking for where the deadfalls had been cleared.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burnt trees and new growth. </td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There is little stands out as clearly as the clean line of a sawn tree in the middle of the Boundary Waters.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The forest has also shifted character from the older-growth pine to young aspen and birch. Beautiful, but exposed to the sun.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And there is another change going on. The sad possibility is that the pines, which generally move in after the first stage forest of fast-growing deciduous trees, may never come back. The climate is warming, a fact that I couldn’t keep far from my thoughts on an 85 degree day in May in northern Minnesota. With this warming, the types of trees that can survive here will inevitably change as well. Pines may give way to birch and maples, and eventually to the scrub-oak forest we see so much in the southern portion of the state.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>A Stunningly Beautiful Trail</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Through all of that, and even though I was moving quickly and concentrating on my end goal, I could not stop marveling at just how beautiful the Border Route is.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning on the BRT <i>Photo: Steve Snyder</i></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Ed Solsted and company, who broke the trail in the 70s, set the trail up to take advantage of the gorgeous vistas that the cliffs of the Gunflint and Rose Lake areas provide. The trail primarily follows ridge lines, from vista to stunning vista. The highlight of the trail for many is the course it takes along the high cliffs above Rose Lake, in the middle of the 40 mile section of trail that passes through the Boundary Waters.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_zTA_JzQZ5GygVA3wYpfFNH9WMPbJq3J3egDB2OADoZcPUVqIiHnmm_Dtt7kDBvCaBKPPtvJLi5QhiEvuz1xPePfojqjU6kffS3MLy0sm-PfF83mcqsJL3LQMdZf_ExBb9bCcibdgIM/s1600/IMG_4369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="1600" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_zTA_JzQZ5GygVA3wYpfFNH9WMPbJq3J3egDB2OADoZcPUVqIiHnmm_Dtt7kDBvCaBKPPtvJLi5QhiEvuz1xPePfojqjU6kffS3MLy0sm-PfF83mcqsJL3LQMdZf_ExBb9bCcibdgIM/s640/IMG_4369.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">And the views are worth every step of the climbs it takes to get there. Trudging through the forest, the view suddenly opens up, and you look out over just a tiny sliver of the United States, over the watery border into the vast area that is the Quetico in Canada: mile after mile of lakes and forests, stretching to the horizon. The only sign of people I saw from the Rose Lake cliffs, where I had stopped to remove and readjust my socks and shoes,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>were the two boats I mentioned earlier. From this high up, I couldn’t even hear the whine of their motors as they traveled the lakes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">A small, uncharitable voice in the back of my head said “cheaters.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But I found the true beauty of the trail revealing itself in every step. The trail was so faint much of the time that it hardly disrupted the forest surrounding it, and unlike some trails, it seemed to belong in the wilderness, rather than cutting through it. Even as I pushed myself to try to hit my pace and make my cutoffs, I could not help but feel how privileged I was just to be out on the Border Route, at the edge of things, moving so easily through such a beautiful place.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Looking back now a week later (as I write this), my impressions of the trail are of birds calling all around me as I make my way through the pre-dawn darkness, of the rising sun flickering through the trees as I followed it east, of the faint trail rising (how does it always seem to be rising?) ahead of me, wending its way through the forest, and of water, always water, falling in streams across the trail, or lapping quietly at the shore of lakes as I picked my way among the roots of cedars along the shoreline.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_-jRu8G-c7Qx-p6CZGEKdWYnXxWlFsDM6wL6TzPCCJeqSGrhJBZBxnDdP6V4tjaAAqROCOqvt4WxWh_32r1eUA94mZHqDiwzLZmjLlgnZelcpHg8NzGN3SpTDSzhEdmT-y3bgG7z6Ps/s1600/IMG_4356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_-jRu8G-c7Qx-p6CZGEKdWYnXxWlFsDM6wL6TzPCCJeqSGrhJBZBxnDdP6V4tjaAAqROCOqvt4WxWh_32r1eUA94mZHqDiwzLZmjLlgnZelcpHg8NzGN3SpTDSzhEdmT-y3bgG7z6Ps/s320/IMG_4356.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above Bridal Veil Falls</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I think I’d like to go back, some time, and do a slower trip of the Border Route. Maybe take a whole three days.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In summary,: the Border Route Trail is stunningly beautiful, unapologetically wild, and not to be underestimated. I wouldn’t say that this trail beat me, but it certainly tested me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-30014821115296038772018-05-14T19:40:00.000-06:002018-05-14T19:40:22.296-06:00A Tale of Three Long Runs
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<span class="s1">The last two Saturdays, I’ve spent better than five total hours on the trail. These runs has different goals, different preparations, and predictably, different results.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Saturday, April 28, I left the house at 7:30AM, and by 8:10 I was on the trails at Afton State Park. My goal for the day was a 15+ mile progression run. I’d run the first five miles easy, the second at 50k to Marathon effort, and the final five plus mile at 25k to half marathon effort. My ultimate goal was to actually run the loop as fast as I ever have (2:12 and change). With that in mind, I’d slept well, eaten a good, but not huge, breakfast, and had fresh legs after a relatively low-mileage week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first five felt predictably slow. But that allowed me to really notice all the sounds around me. It was fully spring in Minnesota (finally), and the chorus of birds was truly amazing. I heard the trill of robins, the call of jays, the caw from crows and croaks of the ravens, and even the honking of a trumpeter swan flying overhead. It was almost a cacophony.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">All too quickly, I hit five miles in just a little over 45 minutes, and kicked it up a notch. This section took me down a short technical section, uphill on a dirt road, down again and along the river, and back up into the campground, all at a quick pace (but not punishing).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Along the river, I noticed the first pelican. It was simply swimming upriver by itself, looking like a sailboat, even with its bulbous bill (beak?). The “v” of its wake stretched out behind it, and I saw another.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I didn’t think much of it. I figured that a small flock of them had paused mid-migration to take a break.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I headed back up and into the birdsong again, reveling in it as I took the climb to the campground at a run. I couldn’t help but grin: I had picked up the pace more than I thought possible, and it was easy enough that I could still enjoy the spring weather.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I clocked the second five miles at 8:20 pace.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Through the campground, and down to the river again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And more pelicans. One after another. They kept coming. Swimming upstream. I clocked sub-seven miles on the old railway bed along the St. Croix river, but I must have seen 50 or more pelicans (one of which had a fish in its beak).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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<span class="s1">Up the meat grinder, and into the single track of the snowshoe loop, I knew I was slower than the second five-mile section. Even so, the effort was higher. I averaged 8:36 for the last part, including the single track and the last hill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">All in all, the workout went exactly as I had hoped.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next week, I had a different plan. I wanted to mimic, as much as possible, the afternoon of my run on the Border Route Trail. I put in a full, difficult week of training beforehand: a 10k tempo at half marathon pace and two runs with surges, for one of my higher-volume weeks prior to the weekend. I went swimming in the morning, then headed out after lunch for a three plus hour run at Afton.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was also 85 degrees and humid: by far the hottest day of the year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">From the first two steps I knew it was going to be a difficult run. I felt flat. My legs were tired (as expected). And of course, it was hot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had planned to fall into a 9/1 run/walk cycle, to try and mimic my plan for the BRT. I wanted to run easy, and walk fast. And I succeeded in that. But it was far hotter than I had planned for, and I went through water more quickly than I thought. 15 miles in, I ran out of water, at exactly the correct point, since I was near the water station.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I finished the run, though. At ten minute pace, which is still faster than I plan to run the Border Route.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I’ll be honest, as elated as I felt after the run the prior week, I felt really down after this one. The little doubtful voice in the back of my head gained volume over the next week, trying to convince me that I would never, ever be able to finish the BRT, so why would I even start?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Doubts gnawed at me until this past Saturday.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had dropped my training volume after the prior week’s long run, so my legs were feeling good. I loaded up my pack with a full water bladder and most of the gear I I plan to take on the trail, just to get used to the extra weight. Even so, and even though I’d been out late the night before, I felt light and strong as I ran through Battle Creek.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Ten miles later, I still felt light and strong, even though I was running a full 30 seconds per mile faster than i usually do on the trails at Battle Creek.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">There are still doubts nagging at the back of my mind, but they are much quieter than before.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-36307702525036744992018-04-24T20:42:00.001-06:002018-04-25T11:09:02.904-06:00Zumbro 50: DNF<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1">It’s 6:30AM.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">That means I’ve been running for 6 1/2 hours, give or take ten minutes. Right now, though, the term “running” has to be used loosely. I am moving along a ridge, at the edge of a field. The wind, which is blowing at 30 mph, has blown the snow into cornices across the trail, erasing the footprints of the runners ahead of me, and making the whole scene look more like Colorado in February than Minnesota in mid-April.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At the bottom of the climb to this ridge, I had just missed being hit by a falling tree branch.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Once I hit the ridge proper, I stepped over a downed tree that I would swear was not there the previous lap.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I started to wonder if it was really a good idea to be out here, in southern Minnesota’s Driftless Region, running a 50 mile race in a winter storm.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And then my left eye started to get blurry.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So how, exactly, did I end up here?</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>The Build Up: A “Training Race”</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I signed up for the Zumbro 50 as my first 50 miler back in January. I had run the accompanying 17 mile (1-lap) race three years ago, and remembered it as a tough, but not overly technical, course with good aid stations.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I also remembered it being sunny and 60.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My goals for Zumbro were primarily related to a larger goal of mine: to run the Border Route Trail in a day later this year. I thought I would use Zumbro as a test event, to dial in several items that I needed to sort out prior to attempting a 65 mile wilderness route. These goals were:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test fueling options and quantities for a longer effort.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test out at least some gear options.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test whether I can go long periods without aid.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test whether I can make sound, clear headed decisions when I am mentally and physically fatigued.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
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<span class="s1">Zumbro is an ideal course for all of these tests. At 50 miles, 1 is a necessity.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>50 miles also gives ample opportunity to test out gear options. The 17 mile loop course would give me ample time to test out 3, while giving me an out, in the form of aid stations every 3-4 miles, if anything were to go south. The midnight start would force me into a state of mental fatigue. And I figured the physical fatigue was a given.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My training in the first three months of 2018 had been very, very solid. I followed Jason Koop’s advice from “Training Essentials for Ultramarathons,” creating my own training plan from his guidelines. I had added more intensity earlier in my training than I have in the past, while at the same time slowing significantly (to about 5% per week) the rate at which I increased my weekly mileage.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">With that training under my belt, even though I had not done particularly long runs (nothing over 3 hours) in training, I felt confident heading into race week.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Pre Race: The Weather Dominates</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the weeks and days leading up to the race, the primary question, the shadow looming over the race, was the weather forecast. As race day approached, the warnings got worse: inches of rain on Friday, turning to snow sometime around the midnight start, accompanied by gale force winds and temperatures between 30 and 40 degrees. Eight or more inches of snow were forecast throughout the day Saturday.<br />
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<span class="s1">Nevertheless, the race was still on. And so. on Friday, April 13, I drove an hour and a half southeast of the Twin Cities, to the tiny town of Theilman, MN, and reached the campground at the starting line around 2PM. The weather so far seemed surprisingly tame: 40 degrees and cloudy, with the occasional extreme wind gust. But the campground was sheltered, and the reports coming in from the 100 mile runners warned of wind, water, and mud.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I puttered around my campsite for a couple hours, set up my tent, got some firewood, met the neighbors. Around 4PM, I realized I was just wasting time, tucked myself under a sleeping bag, put a headband over my eyes to block out the light, and tried to sleep for a couple hours before dinner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Did I sleep? I don’t think so, though I am not sure. My light doze was punctuated by the regular arrival of 100 mile runners arriving at the end of a lap, and the announcer broadcasting their names.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Every time I heard the cheers for a runner, my mind flashed to my own race, the problems that would inevitably arise in this weather, and how I would solve those problems.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Around 6PM, I woke up, put some pasta on my stove, made a little pre-race spaghetti, and tried to start a fire while waiting for my sister and brother-in-law to show up. With time still to kill, I made sure (for the third time since arriving) that all my gear was organized for my crew to find, and when I had done that, I wasted a good half hour trying, and failing, to start my wood stove.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the plus side, I learned that my new hatchet, a christmas present from my wife, works like a charm.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Kris and Steve showed up between 7:00 and 7:30, and I gave them the brief tour and even more brief instructions. Then they settled into their car and I huddled up in my tent to try and sleep again until it was time, once again, to get up.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My goal was to sleep until 10:00PM. I would then try to trick my body and mind into thinking it was morning by waking up two hours before the race and going about my morning routine of making oatmeal and coffee. Mother nature, as would be a pattern throughout the race, had different plans.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Around 9PM or so the graupel started falling. An inch or more of the heavy, wet stuff fell in the next half hour, weighing down my tent until the rainfly sagged into the mesh of the inner tent, and I was forced to knock it off repeatedly. By 9:30, I had given up any attempt to sleep, and Steve and I packed up the tent before it crumpled under the weight of the wet slush covering it. By the time the tent was semi-packed back into the car — a wet, difficult process in the wind and sleet — it was time to wake up and make breakfast.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So that’s what I did. I boiled water for oatmeal, made coffee, and took a cup to the start line with me to check in. Then it was just a matter of sitting in the car, sipping coffee and listening to a Jim Butcher book on tape, read by James Marsters (who you may remember as the vampire Spike from Buffy), and calming my nerves until it was time to head to the start.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">An aside: James Marsters reading the Dresden Files has a soothing effect on most people. I listen to the books in the background while I work. My wife, on the other hand, listens to the books when she has trouble falling asleep as a soporific. It is, in a word, excellent nerve calming noise.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The start itself was alive with runners, volunteers, and even spectators. I was astounded by the number of people who had made the trek down and shown up for the race, at midnight, in what had now changed from sleet to snow and ice; 170 people showed to attempt the 50 mile race. We stood or bounced around the start area, chatting about how “fun” this was going to be, and how crazy we all were for showing up and attempting this thing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And here I made what may have been my only real mistake of the race: I opted to start the race in my waterproof pants. It was wet. It was windy. It was cold. I had a larger pack than most since I was planning to run unsupported for each loop, and I figured that I could always take them off and stow them when they got too warm.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I should have known better and been more confident in myself. Despite the conditions, it was still above freezing. I had long tights on instead of my planned capris. I knew from a winter of running that I would be plenty warm as long as I kept moving. But to be honest, I was more than a little concerned about the conditions. The RD’s pre race warning (“don’t hesitate to drop at the first aid station 3 miles in. It’s a quick walk back.”) and the reports of 100 milers taking 6-7 hours to complete single laps didn’t help.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So, with waterproof, nonbreathable pants on, I started with the rest of the field at about 12:10AM on Saturday, April 14.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A bobbing line of headlamps headed into the woods, the winds, the snow, and the mud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Lap 1: Oh, the Mud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">An aside: I am unsure how to present the race itself. Usually I can portray a race at least semi-chronologically. My memories of this race seem to be less linear, and more like impressions, general thoughts, and specific flashes of crystal clear memories than any sort of narrative. Fortunately, I took some snippets of video. So what I’m going to do is post those, and write up the impressions, thoughts, and flashes that I can remember.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The immediate impression I got off the start line is one of mud. As we left the start/finish area, with many of the lead group missing the turn onto the first climb in the dark and snow, we hit the mud almost immediately. We, the lead group, shuffled order throughout the first climb, settling into our natural paces while attempting to avoid the, at times, calf-deep mud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">While the first climb felt easy, and I was consciously keeping it that way, I quickly warmed up and started to overheat in my waterproof pants. With no hesitation, I stepped to the side of the trail, about halfway up the climb, and removed them, putting them in the outer mesh pocket of my pack. These would come back to haunt me throughout the race.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We hit aid station one, at mile three, in a group around 35 minutes into the race, exactly on schedule. As planned, I ran straight through, while other runners stopped to have a snack or refill their water bottles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first ten miles or so were the crowded portion of the race. We were all still close enough together that we spent a lot of time within eyeshot of each other. Since it was after midnight, though, my main impressions were of headlamps through the trees, and the color of runners’ jackets.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I followed pink poncho for several miles, and swapped places with yellow jacket throughout the first ten miles of the race.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This was also the time where my sleepy mind realized that, if I wanted to hit my target goal of 200-250 calories per hour, I needed to eat not every half hour, as I’d planned, but every 35 minutes. While that might not seem like much of a difference, 35 minutes is a much harder interval to calculate on a watch than is a half hour. Instead of using the laps on my watch to calculate the time/distance between aid stations, I started clicking a lap in some multiple of 35 minutes (usually 1:45) to be sure I stayed on top of my nutrition. This proved to be a good system for me, and kept me from bonking the way I have in prior races.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I found it a little eerie, really, running through a snowstorm in the dark.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My headlamp and flashlight, a combination I’ve used to great effect in the past, illuminated little more than a short section of trail and a cone of snowflakes swirling and blowing in the air in front of me. With the world thus constricted, climbs disappeared in front of me, and the trail was a mystery.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">This constriction was relieved only by the headlamps of other runners ahead and behind me on the course. I couldn’t always be sure how far the other headlamps were away from me, but there were few times out on the course where I could not at least glimpse a light bobbing through the trees ahead of me or behind me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Between Aid Stations two and three (which are actually at the same location), I started running with yellow jacket. We started chatting occasionally — you might be amazed by how much trail runners talk during a race — I introduced myself, and he told me his name was Darren. And so we ran together down the trail in the dark, two motes of light traveling through dark woods. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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I would wonder what the animals thought, seeing so many runners out on the trail at night, but most of them seemed to be smarter than us, hunkering down and riding out the storm in shelter instead of running through it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">After Aid three, we picked up another runner, Sam, and made our way up to the ridge portion of the course. Here, off to the right you can see the start and finish area in the distance, and the glow of the aid stations through the trees. To the left, there’s an open field, invisible in the darkness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">We didn’t spare a thought for those, though. The wind had blown the snow across the field, creating cornices that stretched across the trail. It was windy enough, and snowing enough, that the footprints of the runners in front of us were at times invisible, though we 50 milers were still clustered together. And the waffle I was eating, though kept warm in my waist belt until this point, quickly froze, forcing me to gnaw on it before swallowing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">We post-holed our way along the ridge section, and found that the downhill portion down from the ridge, which is the only technically difficult portion of the race most years, had been mellowed out to the point that Sam didn’t even recognize it as the famed “rocky section” he had heard about from a friend. The sharp points of the rocks had been smoothed over to the point of ease. We cruised down the hill and on to the gravel road section together, and ran the full mile along the road, across the bridge, and into the aid station three abreast.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Unfortunately I lost their company at AS4, as I continued to skip the aid stations and run unsupported. The aid station volunteers seemed a bit confused (a startled “Really?!? sounded out at one when I said I didn’t need anything and kept right on running), but I had my plan and it was working well so far. The remaining 2.7 miles to the start/finish area passed quickly and easily, if muddily, and I rolled in after a 3:20 lap at 3:30 in the morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">At this point, I think two things are worth noting. The first is the conditions. There were two prevailing trail surfaces: snow/ice, and mud. In places the mud was calf deep, forming a trench where you either slogged through the middle, or chances the icy conditions off-trail. Where it wasn’t muddy, it was packed snow turning to ice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The weather wasn’t getting any better, either. The temperature was dropping, and a crust of ice was forming on top of the mud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The other note is my mental space. I had a card in my chest pocket listing the aid stations and the distances between them. After aid station, I took out that card, and reset my race to consist only of the distance to the next aid station. It’s a common trick for ultra-runners: breaking down the overwhelming distance into smaller, manageable chunks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Interlude: Aid Stop</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">As planned, I took aid at the start/finish area. My crew was there with my array of stuff, helping me to refill my food belt. Jamison refilled my water reservoir for me. And Austin, a runner I met last year at the Lost in the Woods 50k, was volunteering, and I grabbed some coffee from him. I also nabbed a slice of bacon, because hey, bacon!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I opted to stay in the same shoes and socks, as I thought it was just barely above freezing at this point, and the combo had worked well so far. My feet (which I had asked my sister to quiz me on) were doing well, but I wanted to adjust my socks and tightened my laces. But I had just run 17 miles through mud and standing water, and my laces were frozen into masses of ice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">A clearer-thinking me would have realized that this meant it was below freezing outside, and I should switch to my spiked shoes. Unfortunately I didn’t think about that, so ended up first thawing out my laces in the warming tent, then readjusting my socks, tying my shoes tighter, and heading back out into the night.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Loop 2: Cold, Wind, and Daylight.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Loop two started off in a rough way. I realized that I had missed a fuel up timer at the start/finish aid station, and grabbed a stroopwaffle to eat from my belt. Problem was, I had to take my gloves off to open the package, and it had rapidly gotten colder. My hands, slightly wet from my up-until-then too-warm gloves, chilled rapidly, and I knew I’d have to take care of them before they became a race-ender.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I will say it now: hot-packs are the best things ever! I pulled out a package, tore it open, and put one at the end of each of my gloves.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My fingers properly warmed, my big toes started getting cold: maybe a reaction to warming up in the tent and then cooling down so quickly on the trail. There was less that I could do about that than my fingers, but I used the one trick I knew. For the next several minutes time I picked up my foot, I actively scrunched my toes to get the circulation going again. I resolved that if this didn’t work, I would pull myself out of the race at the next aid station. A finish is not worth a toe.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Spoiler alert: it worked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Though I was, as I told another runner (PJ, who was on the trail looking to team up with Sam, from lap one) “feeling more tired than I wanted to at this point in the race.” I had not been pushing at all, in lap one. Every step had felt easy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But the mud and the weather made fatigue inevitable even at a modest pace.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So after aid station one (mark II) I started walking more. I prefer to run the more moderate uphills, even in an ultra: it just feels better to me to run rather than hike. But at this point, I knew I needed to conserve energy if I were going to make it through the rest of the race. Already, there was a little voice in my head suggesting that I pull out at the end of the lap.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">That voice is there in every race I run. 5k or 50k, the distance doesn’t matter. At some point, if you’re truly pushing yourself the little voice in your head will pop up asking “why?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">You’d better have a good answer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I had my answer: this was preparation for another challenge. I knew I could finish this lap and keep going. I’d had a pain in my left knee in the first lap, but that had gone away. I had an ache in my right quad later on, and that had gone away. I was walking more, and I knew this lap was going to take quite a bit longer than the first one, but even so I knew that I could make it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So I kept going.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My headlight started to noticeably dim between AS one and two on lap two. Rated for 60 hours on high, it was only about 4 1/2 hours into its charge and was already dimming. The cold will do that. And so, at AS2, I stopped and, in a slight break of my self-supportedness, I asked a volunteer to change my batteries while I dug out some actual food (beef jerky, as the sweetness of the gels and waffles was beginning to turn my stomach) and the liner gloves I’d packed for my mittens.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Beef jerky. Salty, chewy, filling. It was heaven.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The change in batteries made all the difference, and I headed off for the next “race” with a mental boost from the added visibility. Adding to that mental boost, on this short (2.7 mile) section of the course, it started to get light out as, somewhere behind the clouds, the sun rose.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I’ve heard, often, about what a difference daybreak makes when you’ve been running all night. Often, the hours between three and five in the morning are the most difficult for runners. It’s the most foreign.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Your mind shuts down just a bit even if you’re still awake. And then day breaks, and you get a fresh boost of mental energy no matter how fatigued you are.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was a strange combination for me. I felt the mental boost, but at the same time, this was the first time all race that I really began to feel the fact that I hadn’t slept in almost 24 hours. Even so, as you can hear in the video below, I was more than a little happy to see night give way to day, even if it was gray, cloudy, and (holy crap it was) windy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The daylight got me through that little section, and I once again passed directly through the next aid station without stopping. As I climbed out of the gully, towards the notorious ridge, I noticed something new, and troubling: there were a lot of branches down. In fact, they were fairly carpeting the trail and the woods. Just as I had that thought, I heard a crack above me and another branch crashed to the ground within a few feet of me. It was a small branch, fortunately, but still enough to make me jump.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So here we are, back where we started, on the ridge. Trees are down. I’m post-holing through the fresh-blown cornices. And my vision is blurring in my left eye.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Looking back now, I’m 90% sure it was irritation caused by the wind, blowing steadily from my left side. At the time, I was freaking out just a bit. With one eye blurry, depth perception, an issue for me at the best of times (I had surgery for it when I was 13. Before that I didn’t have any depth perception to speak of), faded quickly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Running an icy, technical trail, downhill, with one eye, and severe fatigue, is not something I recommend.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I took it slowly down the technical section. It was yet more icy and slick now, and with the added difficulty of vision issues, I didn’t want to risk injury. It took longer than I would like to get down off the ridge and onto the gravel road (really? is there gravel under all that snow, mud, and ice? I don’t see any gravel!).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">With the daylight, it seemed like a new course, and maybe even a new race. The parts I traversed in both daylight and night looked so different from each other that, had I not known better, I would never have realized I was repeating the same loop. Details in the woods to either side were clear now, and I saw a crumbled stone building that I had no idea was just off the road when I passed that way four hours earlier. Off to my left, the Zumbro river emerged. While I had crossed it three times already, I hadn’t really been able to see it muddy water until now.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Across the bridge for the fourth time, and I made my call: I would run to the finish, give myself a five minute break, and decide there, with the support of my crew and the race volunteers, whether it was reasonable to go out on lap three. I threw my plan for an unsupported lap out the window, took a bathroom break at the aid station, downed a cup of broth (broth is amazing at mile 30 of a cold race) and started the 2.7 mile trek to the finish.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Decision made (or at least plan of action made) the last section passed quickly, mostly at a run, and I made my way into the start/finish area just before 8AM.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start/finish at 7:30AM. That's my sister!</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">My crew was there, the volunteers were there. I told them the situation, and we headed into the tent to warm me up. I knew that if I was going to go out for another lap, I’d need different shoes and socks, so I took off my current pairs and dried my feet by the fire as Steve talked to the doctor. (“Oh, yeah. That can happen.” was essentially what he said. More on that later).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I quickly realized how foolish it would be for me to take on another lap with, essentially, one eye.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I pulled myself from the race. John (the race director) took my race number with a concerned look and told me to take care of myself.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Post Race Assessment</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I broke down crying twice on the way to the car to pack up. Not from disappointment or regret. Honestly, I break down after most long races. Long, mentally difficult races break you down and force you to put yourself back together, sometimes multiple times in a race. I don’t break down because of fatigue, or the finality of the finish or DNF, I think it’s just an emotional reset.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">We decided that my sister would drive me and my car home, caravanning with her husband. On the way out of the campground, My brother in law stopped by to check in on some friends and make sure they’d get home, and ran into the race doctor. The doctor thought he’d made it clear that I was a medical pull: I wasn’t allowed to go back out on the course.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">While that wasn’t clear from what he said to me, it did make me happy to know that my own decision was definitely the correct one.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My goals for the race, again, were:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Sorting out some fueling options for a longer effort.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test out at least some gear options.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test whether I can go long periods without aid.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Test whether I can make sound, clear headed decisions when I am mentally and physically fatigued.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">I realized that I need both real food and gels for a long effort. 225 calories per hour doesn’t quite do it for me, as my stomach still growls. I also need a combination of savory/salty and sweet, otherwise my stomach rebels.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">My gear worked reasonably well. I think, for a longer, warmer effort, I’ll want a pack with more, and bigger, pockets up front. I don’t want to use my old Ultimate Direction SJ vest, so I may have to make one more purchase before the BRT comes up.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">This was an unequivocal success. I stopped at aid stations three times. First, to use a restroom. Second, to change batteries (something I could have done on my own, but saw no reason to). And third, to stop at the restroom and have some broth when I was 95% sure my race was done.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Also an unequivocal success: I pulled myself when it was no longer safe for me to continue.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
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<span class="s1">This, I already know, was a defining race for me. I started in difficult conditions, and made it 34 miles. I pulled out of the race when it was the right decision for me. I kept a good outward attitude the entire time, joking and talking with other runners when I saw them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And after the race, I honestly feel different. I pushed myself so far in this race that other tasks seem easier. I caught the ultra bug in a big way, to the point where I almost signed up for another ultra two weeks from the Zumbro. I opted not to, because I want to focus on the BRT for the near future.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Even in my every day life I feel different. I don’t know how to say it other than I feel lighter. I feel less anxious in every day life. I don’t know how, and I don’t really know why, but I have actually changed based on this experience. And I feel like I’m ready to shift towards tarting my running-related ventures: coaching, and other ideas that I have not yet fully been able to articulate.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Zumbro 2018: an epic by any standards.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Coda:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">As I noted earlier: I had a cheat sheet in my pocket with the distances between aid stations. I didn’t realize this when I wrote it on the back of a piece of card that came from Paper Source. After the race, I looked at the back and saw this quotation on it:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying our hopes for love, joy, and celebration. The hummingbird’s delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life’s sweetest creation.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It seems appropriate.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Gear:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shoes: Altra Superiors 3.5.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Socks: Injinji NuWool Hikers</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tights: Old GoLites I bought in Boulder</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Shirt: Under Armor Running shirt</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jacket: GoLite Rain Jacket</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gloves: Hestra all the way!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Hat: Mizuno WindStopper</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pack: Patagonia ForeRunner 10L with HydraPak Reservoir</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Food: 6 each of Honeystinger Waffles and VFuel Peach Cobbler. A couple ounces of beef jerky. A cup of broth, a strip of bacon, and a cup of coffee.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-16478570251907446152017-06-20T17:43:00.002-06:002017-06-20T18:27:00.390-06:00Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon: Race Recap<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I went into this race with a lot of unknowns. I had never run a race this long on the roads. Heck, I had never run more than 8 miles on pavement. I haven’t run a race longer than a 5k on pavement in 10 years. With the knee I sprained in the Lost in the Woods 50k (my PT decided it was a strain or a sprain, not something more serious), I lost most of my May training period. It wasn’t until the week before that I ran a full 13 miles in training, proving that I could actually run the distance. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">When I originally signed up for this race, I thought I might be able to hit between a 6:15 and a 6:30 with a solid training block. With only two solid weeks of speed training plus a taper week leading up to this race, I gave my family split estimates ranging from 6:30 (which I figured would only be to give them enough leeway to see me), to 7:00 minute pace (what I figured I could pull off), to 7:30 (just run and finish pace). </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Pre-Race</b> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">We made the drive to Duluth Friday afternoon. As expected, the construction on 35 led to a long delay (an hour or so?). When we did (finally) get to Duluth, there was a line down the freeway to get off at the DECC parking lot, and the Fitgers 5k was going on as well, so we opted to head to my parents’ house for dinner (chicken stir fry, pre-race meal of not-quite-front-of-the-pack runners). </span></div>
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<span class="s1">After dinner, we headed down to the DECC, wandered past the spaghetti dinner (ugh, definitely not my thing pre-race), through the expo, and picked up my race packet and bib. Then we wandered through Canal Park, to stay loose and relax a bit. In a departure from earlier pre-race traditions, we stopped by Endion Station (now one of many Rod Raymond establishments), and I had a (session) beer. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At one time, I detoxed for three full days before races. As I got more experienced, though, I realized that it was being relaxed, rather than focussing and over-preparing, that has led to my best race experiences and my fastest times. So these days, I will occasionally have a beer the day before a race. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Back to my parents’, and I laid out everything i would need in the morning (running kit, bread and peanut butter, and most importantly coffee makings) before heading for an early bed. The 4:15 alarm was staring me in the face, and I knew I would not sleep well. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sure enough, 6 hours of time and 5 hours of sleep later, the alarm went off, and for once I didn’t hit the snooze. Within half an hour I was fed, caffeinated, and wandering down the hill to the Edgewater, where the buses left from. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now, as you know, my last race had 25 people and started from a guy’s garage. This race had 7,300 starters and had a big production of a starting line. I have to put a word in here: this race has its routine down. The pace groups are clearly labeled in the corral (if not exactly adhered to), the bag drop is well organized, and they had plenty of port-a-potties. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Feeling relaxed, and having put zero pressure on myself, I chatted with a number of people at the starting line. I got a lot of mileage out of my line that “this race is only about 300 times bigger than my last one.” I also got a lot of mileage out of adding “and it should be over about four hours more quickly.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>The Race: </b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I think this race can fairly be divided into three sections: Pre-Duluth (miles 1-6, roughly), London Road (miles 7-10), and Downtown. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Pre-Duluth: </b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My goal was to be conservative out of the gate, so when the flag dropped (no gun for this race) I ran the first mile with the 1:30 pace setter. This kept me from blowing the first mile too quickly, but proved a little too slow. Even though I was still blasting by runners who had started too close to the front, I was still breathing easily in a 4-3 pattern when I passed the first mile in 6:50. I dropped the pace a little bit, and settled into the upper end of my 4-3 pattern, which at this point was about 6:35. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The first five miles of the course follow the north shore scenic highway, and are in my opinion the most beautiful of the course. It is also somewhat discouraging, as you can see the lift bridge, near the finish, from several points on the road. Coming from trails where you’re lucky to see a hundred yards in front of you, this is quite a change. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Even so, I took in the views of the lake and the wildlife. Around mile two or three, there were three loons taking off at the same time, paralleling our course and almost precisely pacing us, with their comically huge feet trailing behind them in the water. This is my hometown race, one I’ve meant to do since I started running, and I intended to take it in and enjoy it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was surprised at how many spectators there were, given that it was still well before 7AM. Some residents had set up showers (they had clearly done this before) at the side of the road. I availed myself, as even at 60 degrees, the 90% humidity was getting to me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Still ticking off the 6:35 miles, I drew even with another runner, and we struck up a bit of a conversation. Neither of us had trained as well as we’d liked, me coming off injury, and him coming of a collegiate track season of much shorter races (he was a 1500m specialist). I found out his name was Nate, and we ran through mile 6 together in 6:25, my fastest mile of the course. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Around 6 miles, the course passes the Lester river, and runs right by my sister’s house. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Apparently, I was outrunning my error bars on the running tracker app, so my sister and brother-in-law were not expecting me yet. Not to worry, for I let out a loud “seeeeeester!” followed by a “This is Nate! Cheer for Nate!” as we went by, and passed into the Duluth section of the course on London Road. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>London Road: </b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b></b></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">This may have been the hardest portion of the race for me. Driving down London Road always seems interminable, with North Shore traffic and a 30 mph speed limit for the 3 miles between I-35 and the expressway. Running along it is not much better. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Up until this point I had been pretty comfortable, but the race caught up to me here, and of all things it was my quads that started to hurt. My calves and hamstrings were somewhat sore before I started, so I anticipated that those might be my weak points. But I was 6 miles in, and this was not unexpected. I ratcheted my breathing up to a 3-2 in/out pattern, and the pace slipped to about 6:40, but I continued down the never-ending road. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A left turn, and there, a full mile away, you can see the only significant hill on the course: Lemon Drop Hill (I miss the Lemon Drop, but that’s another story). I’m not sure what’s more cruel, standing at the starting line of the Pikes Peak Marathon looking up 8000’ at the mountain, or staring down a mile of flat road looking at that minor hill. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Right at the base of the hill, though, I got an unexpected boost: somebody started blasting “Just What I Needed” by The Cars right as I got to the bottom of the hill. A woman to the right gasped “I love this song!” I said “I was just thinking the same thing.” We high-fives, leaned forward, into, and over the hill, where I knew I had a secret weapon. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Just what I needed indeed. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Downtown</b>: </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">The top of Lemon Drop Hill, right at 25th Avenue East, is my family’s traditional cheering spot. My parents had indicated that they’d be down there cheering for me, and sure enough they were. Not only that, I spied my their friend Clyde and his son Grant (my friend and a 1:07 half marathoner. He’s far faster than me) with them. In need of a mental boost, I ran over and high-fived my parents, and tackled Grant. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Grant was a bit flustered, yelling at me to keep going because I was at a good pace. I don’t know if he knew my theory of happy running. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7jE6zZTbqClYe3e5xW_lXgbHOcGKK0PCKpJLjkJcZxNcO7AF2iYLbWYC71oioaT_0bAWRE7Jomz41qY1ALzOT_gF4z0In8-n9c_rydPFHLTKhRIM9XotfCnbrZ18kAQuD831LU4CXE2U/s1600/GMas+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7jE6zZTbqClYe3e5xW_lXgbHOcGKK0PCKpJLjkJcZxNcO7AF2iYLbWYC71oioaT_0bAWRE7Jomz41qY1ALzOT_gF4z0In8-n9c_rydPFHLTKhRIM9XotfCnbrZ18kAQuD831LU4CXE2U/s320/GMas+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can see them!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p2">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ee4TOY9vspnUrLTBM1SvRQbsDS3FdIC9y1bZn08Y-zrvsxdXS_gRKxbFOUdkv5GHTDBoorV5Ar85oEKxd8jKSfkKiQlaRoLXGMJl-gvKTac7jpjuAKWI_LHgaeKCPVnyocx7NdKmbTQ/s1600/GMas+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ee4TOY9vspnUrLTBM1SvRQbsDS3FdIC9y1bZn08Y-zrvsxdXS_gRKxbFOUdkv5GHTDBoorV5Ar85oEKxd8jKSfkKiQlaRoLXGMJl-gvKTac7jpjuAKWI_LHgaeKCPVnyocx7NdKmbTQ/s320/GMas+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swerving over to say hi (this may be my favorite picture of me running, ever)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wcprfHHcty8vpLC-tR7l5g1ItFQq2ppy8Fhc7RZ70LJvd2LXT2sfMhWaTJPCuVDns2DJAlwLSSgn0RgZaoL74KvF6Hzt3FRt9uuQyObiIe1p3Y45dktuEkUEYmSR85Jl38RmOHRKQGI/s1600/GMas+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wcprfHHcty8vpLC-tR7l5g1ItFQq2ppy8Fhc7RZ70LJvd2LXT2sfMhWaTJPCuVDns2DJAlwLSSgn0RgZaoL74KvF6Hzt3FRt9uuQyObiIe1p3Y45dktuEkUEYmSR85Jl38RmOHRKQGI/s320/GMas+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeroing in.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLwJNoBAAQYSaFCGCX6v6iy8rqZEekCX1UYg7RH02udxLw1TiIR_-_sFbXvXv9pTK-tja6DbUnwrfE_2RSfOG0DdzqSRrPkG96wYm0DoNkzvmGiBjIZ-XczwG0XRgiRK-HkB4nlkTLeY/s1600/GMas+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLwJNoBAAQYSaFCGCX6v6iy8rqZEekCX1UYg7RH02udxLw1TiIR_-_sFbXvXv9pTK-tja6DbUnwrfE_2RSfOG0DdzqSRrPkG96wYm0DoNkzvmGiBjIZ-XczwG0XRgiRK-HkB4nlkTLeY/s320/GMas+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the tackle!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I knew, though, that I could keep the current pace to the finish. Four miles doesn’t seem like that much when it’s through your home town, where you hear the occasional random shout of “Go Jamie!” and you’ve already finished 9 miles. I was cramping a bit, though, so took a salt tab (without water. Never, ever take a salt tab without water.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This section is where the spectators really start to pack in, lining both sides of the road in a continuous crowd. Turning up and onto Superior Street, I cruised by Duluth Running Company, getting a high five from the owner, and a friend from forever, Clint. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The only unpleasant experience (I mean, other than the growing pain and fatigue of racing 10 miles) on the entire course happened by Fitgers. The runner just in front of me purposefully knocked every cup of water out of the aid station workers’ hands, just as I was reaching for them. It turns out that the station was manned by his Boy Scout troop, but still: Not Cool!</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">(I may have called him a “douche canoe.”)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But now I was a 5k from the finish. Just over 20 minutes, at the pace I was going. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />
The stretch through downtown was fun. Lake Avenue was packed with people (probably waiting to see runners, then dash down to the finish line to see them again). It was harder, now, to hold the pace, and I let it slip a bit on the ramp over I-35. Down, around the DECC, and alongside the Ervin. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">It was like running through my childhood. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">The last mile, there was a young woman ahead of me who kept having to stop, clearly with stomach issues. Rounding the last corner into the home stretch, I slowed briefly to try and encourage her, and it may have helped. She finished just a couple seconds behind me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">This is probably the first time I have ever had tunnel vision at the end of a race. All I was focused on was the finish line and getting across it. The race timer would later say that I was passed by 25 people in the last mile, but I don’t know how that could be. There simply weren’t that many people that close to me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I crossed the line in 1:27:14, a 21 second PR. Despite only two weeks of speed work, and a May largely devoid of training of any sort, I hit all of my goals: I finished, I ran sub-1:30, and I ran a PR. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>The Aftermath</b>: </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Initially, after the race, I didn’t feel bad at all. My dad had biked down the Lakewalk to the finish line, and I chatted with him a bit. Then I wandered down the Lakewalk to wade for a little bit and soak my calves. I had a giant blood blister on each of my little toes, which stung when I tried to get my toe socks back on. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Then, since I had some time and no other way to get home, I ran back along the Lakewalk towards my house. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Another shout of “Hey mate!” and I looked over my shoulder to see none other than Lee Troop, four-time Olympic marathoner and head coach of the Boulder Track Coach. He was in town pacing one of his athletes (she ran a 1:14:51 for 4th place and a chance at the Israeli national team!). Turns out he will again be in town for the Twin Cities Marathon this year. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">I stopped by the DRC to say hi to Clint on the way home, then it was back to 25th, and up the hill to home. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">The day of, I barely felt sore at a all, despite what was well over 16 miles by the end (and a “Strava” PR for my half marathon, 20k, 10 mile, 15k, and 10k). The real soreness did not hit me until Sunday, and today (Monday) I feel far more sore than I ever have after a race. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">This was a fun event, and I am glad I ran it, but in the future, I think I’ll stick to the trails. </span></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Roads are brutal. </span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-77211526076181023322017-05-03T16:06:00.001-06:002017-05-03T16:31:31.489-06:00Lost in the Woods 50k: DNF<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Despite being my first DNF at a race longer than 5k, I would consider this race a success. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I went into it with the mentality of using this as a test event. I wanted to try out fuels, pacing, and strategies I might use on my hoped-for run on the Border Route Trail later this year. I also wanted to see how well my training was going. And to truly do all of that, I needed a bit of a unique event. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This “race” is formatted much like the Barkley Marathons, though it is much less intense on the whole. It consists of three approximately 10-mile laps in Seven Mile Creek park in Mankato, Minnesota. Each lap, there are 11 books you have to find and take a page from, and one hole punch, to prove you went in the proper order. There was an aid station at the start and finish, and one in the middle of each lap. All told, a very intriguing format, and something I was very much looking forward to. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2rKnxVAvRviwwG9uVNs5s2Epf9qKxY_4d80CZTfr7Hu3J3YSQ3lczNu1nqyq2PQjMQldpPQiIz78AGMJ3cJWFLX0EOkLGhiMQjFEc6vasdmuQVuPY-6D4HaTVZ1Ded_Fzmvj4ReFnfVw/s1600/LitW50k+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2rKnxVAvRviwwG9uVNs5s2Epf9qKxY_4d80CZTfr7Hu3J3YSQ3lczNu1nqyq2PQjMQldpPQiIz78AGMJ3cJWFLX0EOkLGhiMQjFEc6vasdmuQVuPY-6D4HaTVZ1Ded_Fzmvj4ReFnfVw/s320/LitW50k+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Campfire of the Year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I headed down to Mankato the night before, planning to stay the night in Minneopa State Park. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I learned quickly that my idea of camping is different than many other people’s. As far as I could tell, there was exactly one other tent in the campground, the rest being approximately a third full of RVs of various stages of ridiculousness The nearest to me, unfortunately, was running a generator Nonetheless, I set my tent up for the first time this year, got a fire going, and after some ukulele in front of said campfire, turned in at around 9:45. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">The generator droned on. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpanFewDgtqUl54vk3gjK3an5wyIlAdxD8VnHv8qvZFOU8_FEqxT5EIyAjB1YGoV4xYHkZEC95sqm0913yDf_hKvwWm09Cnruf5opL7MNKL2aW9VzLByyq8Crx16LflAKTTr2a_HLzMw/s1600/LitW50k+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpanFewDgtqUl54vk3gjK3an5wyIlAdxD8VnHv8qvZFOU8_FEqxT5EIyAjB1YGoV4xYHkZEC95sqm0913yDf_hKvwWm09Cnruf5opL7MNKL2aW9VzLByyq8Crx16LflAKTTr2a_HLzMw/s320/LitW50k+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alpine Start: Complete with red headlamp</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Despite myself, I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up only twice in the night, before my alarm went off at the (you must be joking) hour of 4:15. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">With a true Alpine start, I had my coffee brewed, tent stowed, and running gear on by 4:45 and, with a quick stop by the vault toilet (the restrooms, despite what the website had claimed, were not yet open for the season) I was off and out of the campground. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Race Start:</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Being me, I was the first one to the race start. Granted, there were only 25 people in the race all told, but still. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Scott, the local Doctor who puts the race on, met me with his wife Rita in his garage. Turns out, he has officially registered the race with the USATF in order to get insurance for the race. That made me much more comfortable with the ordeal, as it was clear he had gone about things the right way, and was not just throwing a race out of his garage (even though he technically was). </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYbTuXmWfsXV_RyikFTmmqfLj5Ki5wLYU6fqm1DcQRUdUxo_7H8nGuqZ2B6xtQhcpOXpnqhw02tz8J831S6hepOpCn-sPLdR4Doea0PXR0Gh3u9Gi2RRT2mMXUVjmotYwZCMBbR04TW0/s1600/LitW50k+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYbTuXmWfsXV_RyikFTmmqfLj5Ki5wLYU6fqm1DcQRUdUxo_7H8nGuqZ2B6xtQhcpOXpnqhw02tz8J831S6hepOpCn-sPLdR4Doea0PXR0Gh3u9Gi2RRT2mMXUVjmotYwZCMBbR04TW0/s320/LitW50k+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bell</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I got the race map, and description (insert picture below), and a written description of the course. I quickly realized that I was not likely to gain much from studying it, but would have to learn as I went. The added fact that the course was flagged (for the most part) helped that decision. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-3FLF3v200zdISR5HdcJBtdTOrG3W71n_WaUe9j2Er-ElItEAWQAU2TUGrMgfiCrIz1aXWK5KlwORHEMpEh5Poz7BjtH2Js53Os9u4xfCaDwzSdM-HzaANME8DxVxEkDshl0jJ3v_fk/s1600/LitW50k+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-3FLF3v200zdISR5HdcJBtdTOrG3W71n_WaUe9j2Er-ElItEAWQAU2TUGrMgfiCrIz1aXWK5KlwORHEMpEh5Poz7BjtH2Js53Os9u4xfCaDwzSdM-HzaANME8DxVxEkDshl0jJ3v_fk/s320/LitW50k+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Start in the Garage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So, until the race started, I drank my coffee, chatted with Scott and Rita, and made friends with the other victims, or runners. Whichever you prefer. The race wasn’t slated to start until 7:00 so I had plenty of time to arrange, and rearrange, my vest and my drop bag. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Lap 1:</b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The race started promptly at 7:00, and the 25 or so runners who had shown up and paid the fee took off down the road together. I found myself running with the front group rather quickly. This was fortunate, as several in the group knew the park significantly better than I did (which is to say at all). About a mile on gravel roads and trails, and then we saw the first pink flag and trekked off up the hill into the woods. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBrrrFlKuh6oKVvKAFJ8jA22_Yh3-1d1MRxImAF_GvI37k8MIHDS1stjIrWbsNCvl7AwDaVufOirz_okT-qU9a-20GfVtco3Wb4Ene2vU1lrKAvSdujb9XBqV_nVUA958y-LrncKczuY/s1600/LitW50k+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBrrrFlKuh6oKVvKAFJ8jA22_Yh3-1d1MRxImAF_GvI37k8MIHDS1stjIrWbsNCvl7AwDaVufOirz_okT-qU9a-20GfVtco3Wb4Ene2vU1lrKAvSdujb9XBqV_nVUA958y-LrncKczuY/s320/LitW50k+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Off the trail, to the books. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As you might be able to see from the map above, most books were at the top of a hill, off the trail and into the woods a ways. Most were semi out-and-back sections on deer trails, though some were on marked “trails,” often little more than game trails themselves. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I ran and trekked well within myself in these sections, trying at the same time to conserve my energy, get a mental image of the course for the remainder of the race, and talk with the runners around me. For the moment, I was more than content to just sit with a group of five men, including myself, who were rapidly separating themselves from the rest of the field. We would remain more or less together for lap one and part of lap two. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Halfway through each lap, we hit an aid station, where we had to do a short loop down into a gully, then climb out and check back in with the folks manning the aid station. They were incredibly friendly and generous, to be sitting out there on a Saturday in their own backyard letting a bunch of, let’s face it, wackos wander through and eat food. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">First lap, I took a few cookies and some gummi bears. I had filled my reservoir, the way it would be on the BRT trip, so didn’t need to refill until after lap two. This let me jump ahead with the leader, John, and follow him on the aid station loop. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdFqeo8XM36QHntjjPOQHux1T3lDFXM6JbtYQsx1m-Vy1wHzrRjQIzukfnX88sxTISc5a3yarjgAHS8yZxZY1kZ8eC9y0BK0R1XzaljU9OaoRhOs1uHt2JXYYFJUuS_2QJzaED3CQJFA/s1600/LitW50k+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdFqeo8XM36QHntjjPOQHux1T3lDFXM6JbtYQsx1m-Vy1wHzrRjQIzukfnX88sxTISc5a3yarjgAHS8yZxZY1kZ8eC9y0BK0R1XzaljU9OaoRhOs1uHt2JXYYFJUuS_2QJzaED3CQJFA/s320/LitW50k+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fortunately, the only muddy spot on the course. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1">We found out quickly on loop two, at book 6, that some had missed the aid station loop and gone right back on course. I believe that was corrected on loop two, by doing two aid station loops instead of one. The remainder of loop one went well, the five of us working together, in general, to find the books as we could. <br />
<br />
There was one small navigation error on loop two, where, having gotten split up, three of us ran right past the cutoff for book eight. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Around book eight, I started to notice a theme to the books. Getting separated from the other leaders, I started looking at the covers of the books we were tearing pages from and noticed their titles: “Desolation,” “Black and Blue,” “Too Far to Go,” and other cheery thoughts. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Our race director, it seemed, has a sense of humor. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Somehow, despite the separation that occurred in this lap, we still entered the aid station at the start and finish of the race a group of four. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Lap 2:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We left a group of four as well, along with one “fun runner,” who basically just showed up and realized what was going on and decided to tag along for a while. Lap two was run in the opposite direction, so we started with book 11 and worked our way back to book one. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As happens, the group of four split up quickly. I stopped to answer the call of nature briefly (when we had passed all the runners still on their first loop. I have some modesty still.), and the other three quickly gapped me. I caught up to another, John, after book 9, who said the two leaders had “been shot out of a cannon” down the hill and we likely wouldn’t see them again. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That proved half true. We caught up to Austin, a senior in college who’s off to Colorado for the summer, shortly before the aid station. TJ, the race leader, was nowhere to be seen. That was even more remarkable since he had left his map and course description at the start/finish, and was running the course from memory. Given my two small navigational errors, I was quite impressed by him. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At the aid station, I once again needed very little, as I was still good for water. I took some more gummy bears, and decided to make a move for second place. I left the aid station alone, took off down the hill, and pushed it on a long trail section that led to the turnoff for book five. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I must have gained time quickly here, as by the end of the loop they were a good two minutes back, and I was not pushing myself hard on the off-trail portions. I later found out from my GPS data, that I was, relatively easily, hitting sub-7 minute pace on this trail section. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br />
Unfortunately, I also started to notice something creeping up on me: on the off trail, off camber downhill from each book in this section, my left knee started giving me trouble. It felt like a tendon right at the tibia-fibula-femur junction was irritated. It only got more so as the loop went on, and by the aid station, I was worried enough that I grabbed my trekking poles to see if I could ease the stress on it. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Lap 3:</b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Trekking poles in hand, I started off on my third loop in second place. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I knocked off book one quickly, but on the descent, despite the poles, my knee was still bothering me. I tried book two as well, but the descent made me realize that I could not keep going. Muscle issues I can run through. Joint pains are another matter, and I chose to stop rather than risk further injury. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Turns out, something around 50% of the participants dropped, so I can’t feel too badly about it. And the DNF allowed me to get back to my friend’s novel launch party in the Twin Cities. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That’s it for the race. I learned a lot. But I will put that in another post. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Times</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Lap 1: 2:12:17</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Break 1: 6:16</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Lap 2: 2:13:07</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Break 2: 6:37</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Partial Lap 3: 40:46</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Total time: 5:18:58</span></div>
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<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Total distance:23.5</span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-65947466666834818152017-04-09T12:33:00.000-06:002017-04-09T12:33:38.561-06:00A Surprisingly Zen Run<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To be honest, when I woke up yesterday, I did not feel like running. I creaked out of bed, and found out just how tight my calves were as I walked to the bathroom. I found out how sore my hamstrings were on the way up and down the stairs of my three story one bedroom apartment. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Sometimes I love my apartment. Sometimes not so much. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But, I had a 15 mile run on the docket for the day, and if I want to be ready for a 50k in three weeks, this was my real shot at a longer run. I downed one cup of coffee while eating my breakfast (Ezekiel 4:9 toast with peanut butter and avocado), made another cup to drink while prepping, and changed into my running clothes that I had, for a wonder, laid out the night before. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On the drive out, I thought about my approach for the day. For this particular run, a Twin Cities Classic out at Afton State Park, I usually have a point where I try to pick up the pace a little. Often that’s either the uphills or the flat sections, but sometimes I up the pace and effort level at the end as well. Feeling as I did this day, though, I knew that was a recipe for a slow time and even more soreness the next day. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I decided on three rules: </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<ol class="ol1">
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">No looking at the pace on my watch (a bad habit I have).</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">No pushing the pace, but no letting up either. </span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Take whatever the trail gives me. </span></li>
</ol>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As I thought about it, this fit with a book I have: “Zen and the Art of Running.” I have never read it through, but there are a lot of little pieces of advice in there (such as taking what comes without judgment). </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">With these three rules/goals in mind, what had promised to be a difficult, mental challenge of a run turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable. My legs never felt great, but they never felt that bad or that tired. Despite constant temptation, I never looked at the pace (average or current) through the whole run. And taking what the trail and my body gave me turned out to be an enjoyable experience. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">There are downsides. I was so contained within myself that I didn’t take any pictures. I didn’t stop, either, so that would have been a challenge. I may have been less congenial than I often am on the trails. If you saw me, please don’t take offense, I was just inside my own head. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But in the end, I finished the run in a surprisingly decent time (my third fastest pace for this loop), and as I write this, after a brief run on Sunday, my legs feel solid despite adding four miles to my weekly mileage this past week. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Now I just have to contemplate the equivalent of four of those loops in a row. </span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-67362634070848640382017-02-26T12:10:00.001-07:002017-02-26T12:10:16.041-07:00A Moment of Stillness in a Long RunYesterday, with my Achilles again feeling better, I went for my first long run of the year. For me, a long run is anything that lasts longer than 1.5 hours, regardless of distance traveled. This time, I headed down to the Mississippi River Gorge, in the middle of the Twin Cities, to get my dose of wildness for the weekend.<br />
<br />
I have avoided the trails for the last two weeks. With the disturbingly warm weather, the trails have been either ice sheets or mud patches, or both. I don't trust my Achilles on ice yet, and I don't like to run in mud because it tears up the trail. So it was with great excitement that I woke to 15 degree weather and frozen dirt trails.<br />
<br />
The promised snowpocalypse missed us entirely.<br />
<br />
I usually run without pausing on my long runs. That is, after all, the point of the run.<br /><br />Yesterday, though, I paused. I came to a spot where a small side stream joins the Mississippi, a place where I often see fresh signs that there are beavers living nearby.<br />
<br />
Today, with the sudden temperature drop, the stream's mouth was covered in a thin layer of pancake ice.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQsi1qbC3iSVtVvzW6_ElUabFX2IdTqK94w44JqEcdx4v6vvKirvyccwTdjL5ZoZ5saLwlx8TDs-KHkU8daiLeniz-63RxdHnFdz8srN7kQorWNt_vvBD_NQMCzPaDzLKANIWEK-cs3g/s1600/Ice+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQsi1qbC3iSVtVvzW6_ElUabFX2IdTqK94w44JqEcdx4v6vvKirvyccwTdjL5ZoZ5saLwlx8TDs-KHkU8daiLeniz-63RxdHnFdz8srN7kQorWNt_vvBD_NQMCzPaDzLKANIWEK-cs3g/s320/Ice+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And it was talking.<br />
<br />
As I stopped to look, the ice made cracking, popping noises. Surprisingly, despite being in the middle of a metro area, I couldn't hear anything other than the ice, and a plane passing overhead.<br />
<br />
Looking and listening longer, I noticed to my dismay a piece of trash under the ice. But that trash drew my attention to movement under the ice: thousands of minnows were circling in the shallows, their dark, streamlined shapes highlighted by the bright sunlight shining through the ice.<br />
<br />
Without the trash, I would not have noticed the life under the ice.<br />
<br />
And somehow, after a week of despair about the state of our world, I realized things might just be ok.<br />
<br />
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Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-33444965905706179302017-01-08T08:56:00.001-07:002017-01-08T08:56:14.898-07:00Run the Year 2017A new year, a new, giant challenge for myself.<br />
<br />
Somewhat on a whim, I decided to try to run the year: 2017 miles in 2017. Breaking that down, that's around 5.5 miles per day, every day, or 38 miles per week, every week.<br />
<br />
Realistically, I'm not going to run every day. Nor am I going to average 38 miles every week. Heck, I hit 30 this past week, and am only hoping for 30-34 this next week. So there is going to be a little bit of long-term planning involved.<br />
<br />At the same time, I can't really think about the whole year, or I get completely overwhelmed. I think I can do this. It's going to take some serious mental focus and more than a little motivation, but I think it's possible.<br />
<br />
At the same, I have some other goals for this year. Some I've had before, but I'm approaching with new vigor this year. So here are my goals for 2017:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Run 2017 miles. </li>
<li>Run from Lake Superior to Eagle Mountain (I have a route now)</li>
<li>Become a certified running coach (RRCA is the plan)</li>
<li>"Run" the BRT. </li>
</ol>
<div>
I think #1 and #4 are the "reach" goals for this year. The others are more in line with past goals and possibilities. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It should be another good year. </div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-91408959050357339232016-12-23T12:27:00.002-07:002016-12-23T12:27:56.499-07:00Winter Running<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think my favorite part about running in the winter are the picture possibilities.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGyxxkM5Qxdr9OQX-7epX7OsU7tWR8PCJZJoy5o3ow5cQqWogmfBYU4nubMCKXIALd56f9NjHSHBmYls07215pglm-UdfQ1qzbxnqGLLTme-VTp3iwfafKjVaWQtKoDSwchdj6fTCmek/s1600/Winter+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGyxxkM5Qxdr9OQX-7epX7OsU7tWR8PCJZJoy5o3ow5cQqWogmfBYU4nubMCKXIALd56f9NjHSHBmYls07215pglm-UdfQ1qzbxnqGLLTme-VTp3iwfafKjVaWQtKoDSwchdj6fTCmek/s320/Winter+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-79476535838864307902016-11-27T16:26:00.001-07:002016-11-27T16:26:33.456-07:00Turkey Day at the Races.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In what may be at risk of becoming a Thanksgiving tradition, I again ran the 1 mile Tough Turkey race and the 5k Gobble Gallop up in Duluth on Thanksgiving. The difference this year is that I actually intended to run both of them. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">As usual, this is a bit of an off-season time for me, so I’m never quite sure how I will feel or how well the races will go when I sign up for these. I was feeling a bit flat the day before, and had pretty well thrown away any real hope of doing well in either race by the time Thursday morning came around. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">As she did last year, G had signed up for the 5k only, so I took the opportunity provided by staying with my parents and headed down solo to check in and do my mile warm up routine. It was just above freezing this year, with a tiny bit of moisture in the air. Not ideal conditions by any means for a mile race, but better than last year. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The advantage and disadvantage of racing in your home town, especially when you’re fourth generation in a town of 85,000, is you know a lot of people. There is no hiding in Duluth for me. Prior to the race, I ran into my brother’s best friend and his two kids, as well as his parents and brother (who was also running both races that morning). As I went through my dynamic warm up, I heard an occasional “hi Jamie” from the crowd, not knowing who was saying it. And, of course, I know the RD for this race, so I took a brief second to say hi to him before I finished my warmups. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">G and my parents showed up before race time (I think my dad has been on a bit of a nostalgia trip this year, watching me race for the first time since high school) and in time to watch the 1/4 mile kid’s race at 9AM. This is usually a highlight, as all the kids chase a guy dressed up in a turkey costume down the road, and many of them run with their parents. And since it’s a children’s race, they all get to wear bibs with the number “1” on them. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The mile went off at 9:10 on the dot. As usual, it was a much smaller field than the 5k, with only 100 or so runners on the start line. The mile usually has a large number of kids and, as they do, they all took off at an almost absurd pace. I let them sprint their hearts out, taking it out in a quick pace (4:45 or so according to my watch). I don’t know that I could have done anything near a 4:45, but I wanted to see if anybody would make a race of it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Nobody did, and I eased off to about 5:30 pace or so, and, looking back every hundred meters to make sure nobody was closing, crossed the line in a surprisingly easy 5:40 to win by eight seconds. Unless I am forgetting something, this may be my first overall win since I was a sprinter in high school. The fact that if I had run the 5k at that pace, I would still have been 3 minutes out of first place diminished the elation not one bit. That was the first time I feel like I’ve executed a solid race strategy in a long time. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Of course, the start time of 9:30 for the 5k meant that I now had less than 15 minutes before the start of my next race. I had just enough time to catch my breath (while running to my car), swap out my number, and say hi to my parents before the 5k started. I missed seeing G between the races. And due to apparent blindness on my part, I missed seeing her finish the 5k as well. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">As usual, the start of a 5k with 2,200 runners was chaotic. I put myself in the front line, and in the dash from the line got caught heading out a little faster than I intended. This time, though, I quickly sorted myself out and slowed to what I thought would be a sustainable pace. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I actually felt really good throughout this race, countering my feeling at the beginning of the day. I looked at my watch less often than I sometimes do during races, running more by feel than by the watch, and that seemed to work really well. I found myself running with a group of maybe 5 runners taking a similar pace, which made the whole experience easier. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />
When I did check my watch, for the most part I was surprised by how fast I was running. I was consistently between 6:05 and 6:15 pace throughout the race, only slipping lower than that on the uphill from downtown Duluth up to Fitger’s. Despite the faster pace than last year, I ended up with a lot of gas left in the last half mile, and pushed it in a little faster </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">I’m actually a little disappointed that I didn’t look at my watch a little more often for the actual time I was running. I finished the race in 19:05 for 27th place over all, and 4th in my age group, but I am quite sure that I could have run a good deal faster if I had pushed a little more. I think in this case I just didn’t have enough faith in my fitness. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am quite happy over all with the result of these two races. I finished each race faster than I did last year, and finished 40 second up on my combined 1 mile and 5k times from last year. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">That said, I got left in the dust by G, who improved on her time by a full 10 minutes. She improved so much that I missed her finish, thinking I would have to run back in the pack a ways to see her . . .</span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-65186146303352815722016-11-06T10:15:00.000-07:002016-11-06T10:15:47.042-07:00Bucket List RaceWell, it happened.<br /><br />A couple weeks back, I signed up for the lottery to get into the Garry Bjorklund half marathon. I'd tried once before, and didn't make it in, so I'm happy to make it in this time.<br />
<br />
I grew up watching this and Grandma's Marathon every year, walking down the hill four blocks from my house to cheer on the runners at the top of the largest "hill" (Lemondrop) on the course. I always figured that if I ever ran a half or a full on roads, this would be the one to choose. I will pass my sister's house at exactly the halfway point, and pass my parents at Lemondrop, and see from there how I can finish.<br />
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It will be interesting to see what I can do on a road at sea level. My fastest half to date was run up near Boulder on the trails, so as long as I pace myself reasonably well I can pretty well bank on a PR.<br />
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It will be interesting. I hope it's fun as well.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-72775591151158542512016-10-03T18:55:00.000-06:002016-10-03T18:55:02.047-06:00Back on the WagonThe training plan wagon that is. As ever, I am already feeling more fit than I was before (even though I'm only on week three). There are a few things I'd forgotten about jumping on a training plan, though.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The metabolic implication: I eat constantly again. </li>
<li>Physically, I am more tired on a training plan than off of it. I sleep better, but am occasionally tired at odd times. </li>
<li>Mentally, I find it easier to get out for a run if I have the raw numbers of a training plan staring me in the face. </li>
<li>It's a whole lot easier going off of somebody else's training plan (I"m using Eric Orton's plan from "The Cool Impossible" again. It has worked for me in the past.), than trying to create my own. This one offers enough flexibility that I can easily alter it to my own needs. </li>
<li>Training by heart rate works well for me. </li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I also found that my breathing methods (mentioned in my last post) match pretty well to my heart rate zones. If anything, I was running faster than I should have been when I was using rhythmic breathing alone. </div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-78555095595013619502016-08-24T17:12:00.000-06:002016-08-24T17:12:11.067-06:00A Focus on BreathIn my race report for the <a href="http://runningfalcon.blogspot.com/2016/07/eugene-curnow-race-report.html">Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon</a>, I went on a bit about my strategy of focusing on my breath for the race. I didn't go into much detail, but it definitely helped me out during the really difficult portions of the race (read, the last 15 miles).<br />
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Since the relative success of that race, despite the cramping, I have been continuing my experiments in rhythmic breathing, and I thought it worthwhile to write a post about it.<br />
<br />
First, a general primer on rhythmic breathing, as I learned it. I believe I read about it first in an article on Competitor.com or a similar website. The basic theory is this: your core naturally contracts and activates on an inhalation, and relaxes and collapses on an exhalation. Most people run in an even pattern (2 steps in, 2 steps out, or a 3-3 or 4-4 pattern). This leads to the collapse always happening on the same foot, which can cause greater fatigue.<br />
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If, instead, you run on an odd pattern (3-2 or 4-3, or even 2-1 if you're running particularly quickly), you can even out the fatigue a little bit. It also provides a rough gauge of how hard you're working.<br />
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Additionally, the theory suggests that you should be breathing from your stomach and diaphragm rather than your lungs, as that gives you a fuller breath.<br />
<br />
After a month or so of this, I have found quite a few advantages, and one disadvantage to this technique.<br />
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<b>Advantages</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<ol>
<li>Fatigue: I have not gotten a single side stitch since trying, and sticking with this technique. </li>
<li>Focus: as I said in my <a href="http://runningfalcon.blogspot.com/2016/07/eugene-curnow-race-report.html">Eugene Curnow</a> report, I found that this technique gave me a focus on when I was tired and cramping, and my mind was going dark places. I could focus on my breath and, despite my fatigue and cramping, I could still maintain a solid running pace. </li>
<li>Meditation: On another note, I have found that I enter a more meditative state, since focusing on your breath is a central tenant of meditation, a practice I have recently taken up. I often end the run feeling much more mentally refreshed than I have in the past. </li>
<li>Pacing: breath gives you an idea of where your pace is. 4/3 is generally very easy. 3/2 is getting into a harder, but sustainable pace. 2/1, well, that's hard.</li>
</ol>
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<b>Disadvantages</b></div>
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<ol>
<li>I find it hard to actually get 4 steps on my inhale. And I sometimes have difficulty fully expelling on the exhale. It is something that's getting easer the more I practice, but it is a disadvantage. </li>
<li>I know only 1 song with a 7/4 (or 7/8) beat. And I know 1 song with a 5/4 beat. This is an issue. </li>
</ol>
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Has anybody else tried rhythmic breathing? I'd be curious to hear your thoughts and/or advice. </div>
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Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-64798160290952692222016-07-20T20:39:00.001-06:002016-07-20T20:39:37.174-06:00Eugene Curnow Race ReportThat was one for the books.<br />
<br />
Let's start with a little background. As you know, if you read this blog, I haven't been posting for a rather long time. That is because, between a move and a couple trips, I haven't been running all that much yet this summer. As a result, I came into this race underprepared, without a suitable long run, and having not trained seriously in a month or so. I had managed to get a couple solid runs in while I was on a trip to Colorado the week (!) before, and I think the move qualifies as good training (our entry is on the third floor).<br /><br />Even so, I felt cautiously optimistic about my chances on the day. I thought that, if things went ok, I would run around 4 hours. If they went well, I could probably do 3:50 or 3:45. If they went poorly, I figured it would be around 4:15. Spoiler alert: I ran 4:11. Things went poorly.<br />
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The short version for those who want it: I started fast. I went for it from the start, taking advice from others who noted that the trail got more technical at parts as you went along. Despite some insole issues (I ended up taking them out entirely), I ran well through the first three aid stations. I averaged 8:30 pace or so through those sections, even with stops to take out my insoles, but then the wheels fell off. Right at mile 11, the cramps set in, and they didn't quit the rest of the race.<br /><br />I considered dropping out. I didn't.<br />
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A more detailed description:<br />
<br />
<b>Pre Race:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I drove up from the Cities the night before. My dad was driving the same route as well, so we met up in Carlton, giving me the chance to leave my car there, and thereby get an extra hour of sleep. They had buses from the finish to the start leaving at 4:45AM. I wanted to avoid that.<br />
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It was somewhat surprising to me that my dad offered to get up early and drive me to the start. It should not have surprised me, as he has always jumped at the opportunity to watch any of the three siblings race or compete in any sporting event. His schedule for the day allowed him to come to the start and at least a couple aid stations, depending on how I was moving.<br />
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I can't think of a better motivation to move quickly than the chance to see your father at an extra aid station.<br />
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<b>Start to Skyline: Cruising in the Early Morning Light</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The low-key start was typical of trail races: a non-line in the dirt (seriously, there wasn't any indication of where the start line was), a few brief instructions, and "Go."<br />
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The likely race leaders sped off up the hill. I settled in with the following group. I had inklings already that the day might not go well. My legs didn't feel any spring from my taper. Nonetheless, I cruised this section easily, settling into the 3-2 breathing pattern (3 steps inhale, 2 steps exhale) that I would return to again and again over the course of the day.<br />
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Out of the dirt road and across the Spirit Mountain ski hill, the sun's rays still seemed almost parallel, and I reveled in the cool, clear morning. The forecast was for a pleasantly cool day for Minnesota in July, but I still wanted to take full advantage of the coolness of the early morning. On to Skyline Parkway, and I remarked to another runner how easy it seemed so far, to which a runner farther up the road said "Just wait, it's a little early to be saying that."<br />
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I cruised into the Skyline aid station at sub-6 minute pace, 3.5 miles into the race, 400+ up from the start, and 26 minutes into the race.<br />
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<b>Skyline to Becks: Jarrow's Beach</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Out of Skyline we took a turn uphill into the Magney-Snively nordic ski area. The trails here were deceptively smooth, but with the recent rains there were many low, swampy spots.<br />
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Partway through, still feeling good, I came up behind and older runner who had evidently started the race early. He was moving well, and I asked if he was the one runner who'd finished the race all 24 prior runnings. He was not, but was still inspiring.<br />
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I almost missed the turn for Jarrow's beach, but fortunately (I believe) Jarrow himself directed me down the hill and into the "beach." This was the first, and most, technical section of the course. It was an ugly mix of soccer ball-sized rocks, roots, water, and mud, and I picked my way more carefully than sometimes, not wanting to turn an ankle so early. I also took the opportunity to tighten my shoelaces.<br />
<br />
Some more technical-minded runners passed me at this point. I don't often get passed, in Minnesota, on technical downhills, and I admit to being a little annoyed. But with new shoes (they were a week old) and uncertain training, I opted for discretion over valor. Soon enough, we came out onto the old railroad bed, where I again dropped the pace and passed the technical guys right back.<br />
<br />
(One of the guys who passed me on Jarrow's beach mentioned that he would be running The Rut 50k in the fall, a race I hope to run myself some day)<br />
<br />
This is where my left insole started causing me problems. My shoes were already soaked at this point, and the higher pace on the railroad grade caused my insole to bunch up in the front of my shoe. I've had this trouble with Altras before, but hadn't had ample time to test these shoes to see if they had the same issue.<br />
<br />
At Becks, after seeing my dad for the second time in the race, and while getting my water bottle filled, I untied my shoe, adjusted my insole, and kept on running down the old dirt road, 7.5 miles and almost exactly 1 hour elapsed.<br />
<br />
<b>Becks to Fon-du-Lac: Speeding in frustration.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Not 100 yards from the aid station, my insole had already started bunching up again. In frustration, I knelt down to take off my shoe and remove it for good, to find my shoe was too tightly tied and I couldn't undo it. Fortunately, an angel of a spectator ran over and not only helped me take my shoe off, but took my insole to the lost and found for me.<br />
<br />
Thank you!<br />
<br />
Frustrated, I took off. I later found out on Strava that I had my third-fastest times (on Strava) for both the 1 mile and the 1 kilometer distance on this road(ish) stretch. I again passed those who had passed me at the aid station before we dropped off the road and into the woods to what was probably my favorite part of the trail.<br /><br />Off the road, we stepped into a pine forest and a soft, gentle single track weaving along a ridge. I admit, these are my favorite trails: smooth, gliding, and gentle on your feet (especially when one foot is sans insole). There were parts along the ridge that were rather exposed, making me slow down lest I stumble to one side or the other and tumble down the hill. Then, at the end, it dumps you down the only section of ropes on the course. I admit to almost running straight into a log that sat at about chest height right at the bottom of the ropes.<br />
<br />
My right insole started bunching up in this section, and I decided that at the next aid station, it would go. 10.7 miles in, 1:27 elapsed, remaining insoles: 0.<br />
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<b>Fon-du-Lac to Seven Bridges: Cursing my Calves. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Much to my surprise, my dad was waiting again at this aid station. I figured he'd be gone by that point, but as he said I was "moving well."<br />
<br />
And I was. I was feeling great about how the race was going so far. I was pushing, but it felt sustainable I was sticking to my 3-2 rhythmic breathing. I'd covered almost 11 miles in under an hour and a half. I was moving well, despite my insole issues.<br />
<br />
Out of the aid station, and on the first climb, the wheels started to come off: I felt the beginnings of cramps in my calves. I tried to get on top of them: I immediately popped (and bit, and coughed on) an electrolyte tab, and upped my consumption of these from every 45 minutes to every half hour. In the past, that was enough to stave off cramps. Today not so much. I upped my intake of gels and tabs to every half hour, and hoped that would be enough.<br />
<br />
Even with the cramping, I managed to hold my own through here and not get passed. But I knew the rest of the morning would be difficult. 12.7 miles in, 1:46 elapsed, properly functioning calves: 0.<br />
<br />
<b>Seven Bridges to Grand Portage: The Power Lines</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I'd heard, of course, of the infamous power lines. I knew of the 9 brutal hills, the lack of shade, and the brambles. I found them to be both better and worse than I expected.<br />
<br />
Not for the first time, nor the last, I was glad I was in the first 20-30 runners. With the wet weather, the power lines were muddy, the creeks were high, and the footing was difficult. I can only imagine that it got much, much worse as the day went on and more people scrambled these hills. Gradients of up to 40% don't make for swift going on the best days.<br />
<br />
Even so, I found these less difficult than I anticipated. The steep uphills let do some dynamic stretching on my calves, and the steep downhills were reckless and fun. The descents were steep, short, and muddy enough that I knew I could slide if I got out of control. Save for grabbing a raspberry bush at one point (ow) this section went better than I had feared.<br />
<br />
Two hills of purgatory (not nearly as bad as they suggest) and into Grand Portage. 15.5 miles in, 2:17 elapsed, 3 steps in, 2 steps out.<br />
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<b>Grand Portage to Petersen's: Quads are Gone</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
This section just got hard. My quads started cramping up at this point. People started passing me. I could run for a little while, at a slowish pace, but then my quads would seize up and I would be forced to walk for a while as I tried to loosen them up.<br />
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Even so, the trails were beautiful double track. If I am calculating correctly, it was about 8:30 in the morning: a little before the time I usually start running in the morning. Despite the condition of my legs and the difficulties I was having, I was still grateful to be out, even as I was debating dropping.<br />
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It's not a true race unless you consider dropping out, right?<br />
<br />
17.5 miles in, 2:39 on the clock, functioning quads:0.<br />
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<b>Petersen's to Forbay: Still Cramping.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I'll be honest, it's Wednesday now while I'm writing this section (I started on Monday) and I don't recall this section all that well. It was difficult again, but I managed to keep going and push through.<br />
<br />
And I began to notice something interesting in this section: there were still times where I just didn't feel like I could move. My quads and calves were still cramping horribly. Even so, I found that if I could just focus on three steps in, two steps out, I could actually move at a decent pace. In fact, it was almost as quick a pace as I maintained during the first part of the race. I also found that, as is the case with meditation, focusing on my breath is an excellent way to pull my focus away from anything else.<br />
<br />
I could still feel the discomfort and seizing, it just didn't matter as much.<br />
<br />
Out onto the Munger trail, and I knew I should really be pushing it again. I managed a solid 7:30-7:45 pace. Even so, I was passed on this section.<br />
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"How's it going?"<br />
<br />
"Cramping"<br />
<br />
"Oh, that's a tough way to run."<br />
<br />
"Well, I've been running on it for 10 miles, so I'm used to it."<br />
<br />
"Ha. Good luck!"<br />
<br />
20.5 miles in, 3:09 Elapsed. No 4 hour marathon likely.<br />
<br />
<b>Forbay to Jay Cooke: Flat Trails. </b><br />
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Not much to say on this section. I knew I could finish at this point. All thoughts of dropping out were behind me. Now it was just a matter of keeping on. I hit a very decent pace on the dam, after devouring a pickle at the aid station. The cramps soon caught up again, and I stepped to the side of the double track cross country ski trail (to relieve myself) as another person passed.<br />
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At this point, I was out of all competition except the one with my self. Or so I thought.<br />
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During one particularly agonizing stretch of cramp-induced walking, a runner I had been swapping back and forth with the entire race passed me again.<br />
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"You're gonna pass me one more time, aren't you?"<br />
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I wasn't so sure, but he turned out to be prophetic.<br />
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22.9 miles in. 3:34 elapsed. Pickles consumed: 1.<br />
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<b>Jay Cooke to Finish: Enter the Gnar. </b><br />
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Another aid station meant another pickle.<br />
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Across the Swinging Bridge! I'd been waiting for this the entire race, and now I found myself a little seasick, to be honest.<br />
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A brief bit of smooth, easy trail quickly gave way to remarkably gnarly single track along the St. Louis River. I slowed to a walk often in these last three miles, now counting down the tenths of a mile rather than focusing as much on my breath. When I did, though, I still managed to run at a normal pace, which is still remarkable to me.<br />
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I was passed by a couple runners in this section, though fewer than I expected. And I did, indeed, pass my trail buddy for a last time shortly before popping out to the Munger Trail again for the finishing "sprint."<br />
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26.2 miles completed, 4:11 elapsed. Marathons completed (total, not including ultras): 4.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434501988844602297.post-5116062417974014292016-06-06T20:32:00.001-06:002016-06-06T20:32:05.958-06:00Parkour and Trail Running: A Training UpdateIt's been a while. My posting always comes in waves.<br />
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I am coming off two very solid weeks of training for me, of 40 and 45 miles, respectively. I added in four honest workouts in those two weeks as well, along with two solid long runs. I can already tell that this week is likely to be much less intensive. I'm off to Duluth tomorrow, and I went for an hour-long bike ride (with a bit of a misadventure in the middle) instead of running today.<br />
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At the same time, I have, with my fiancee, been getting more into Parkour again. Lately this involves going to the local Parkour gym, which we are fortunate to have, three times a week. This gives us two classes per week, and one open gym session on Saturdays. We have been adding a short (15-minute) strength workout before or after each gym session as well, which in the short week and a half we have been doing it has already made a huge difference in our overall Parkour ability.<br />
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Better still, I've done two long runs in the last two weeks, each a bit over 15 miles. I ran at Afton a week ago, and ran from home this past weekend to cut down on the overall time my long run took. After all, I had to get to the Parkour gym by 1PM.<br />
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All in all, training has been going well. So well, in fact, that I have had less time to pause and take pictures, but I will post the few I've taken in any case.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzVZZvCDDv0-mcpN3KW-86tYRTxWpYvFUn1sevGnTmp3XhvuU6qtxUdN3oSyj7bJdw2NQxFO2VuDaiN6JNY9dvQcUm4q0tRcHYpRHKxkcCrGvbjiKrD9Krf0VFEbKM5FjczOmyD_PHo4/s1600/Updates+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzVZZvCDDv0-mcpN3KW-86tYRTxWpYvFUn1sevGnTmp3XhvuU6qtxUdN3oSyj7bJdw2NQxFO2VuDaiN6JNY9dvQcUm4q0tRcHYpRHKxkcCrGvbjiKrD9Krf0VFEbKM5FjczOmyD_PHo4/s400/Updates+1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A humid day at Minnehaha</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglX2rCegXmitoEF1aF4iE7l87blRdZztH2zKtYNkWr-ubWa2MSCshCV4GFFRe20XG_wa_TMoaKG0qm7xF-JlCANWRjhTOih4ejyBQ7OFEdHq_KcwLcIZ9WTdV38Yk3OoMZ3SF3L_jADf0/s1600/Updates+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglX2rCegXmitoEF1aF4iE7l87blRdZztH2zKtYNkWr-ubWa2MSCshCV4GFFRe20XG_wa_TMoaKG0qm7xF-JlCANWRjhTOih4ejyBQ7OFEdHq_KcwLcIZ9WTdV38Yk3OoMZ3SF3L_jADf0/s400/Updates+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Place</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15diVcSEueU6jQl86t_ouzeJml_gdoBgxU4Z2KJpoBIQ1xebaO6yNZmpX6MelwpZoExdniVbywixJBeTJMqhyphenhyphenPqHc5Uzyc2-OgGERbsq_j0GQ5-aYTTy-5tdYinXYZMuXfjvK9qviQhw/s1600/Updates+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15diVcSEueU6jQl86t_ouzeJml_gdoBgxU4Z2KJpoBIQ1xebaO6yNZmpX6MelwpZoExdniVbywixJBeTJMqhyphenhyphenPqHc5Uzyc2-OgGERbsq_j0GQ5-aYTTy-5tdYinXYZMuXfjvK9qviQhw/s400/Updates+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh yeah, I took a trip up to Duluth in there too. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EufYlxFIffc2TJ-I7BjaG-risKhdd4PSW2jGlIABBg1OrL1gtKAkJMhUbYuGvJGjz3NLDwsL8tBecf2t4F0Fc30fx6MiaDV27er_mcsOS4swHpm77gcqHgpkXn-Uunj0kU-d9Jq77bc/s1600/Updates+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EufYlxFIffc2TJ-I7BjaG-risKhdd4PSW2jGlIABBg1OrL1gtKAkJMhUbYuGvJGjz3NLDwsL8tBecf2t4F0Fc30fx6MiaDV27er_mcsOS4swHpm77gcqHgpkXn-Uunj0kU-d9Jq77bc/s400/Updates+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning, hometown. </td></tr>
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Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17337459155335926189noreply@blogger.com0