That was one for the books.
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).
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.
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.
I considered dropping out. I didn't.
A more detailed description:
Pre Race:
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.
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.
I can't think of a better motivation to move quickly than the chance to see your father at an extra aid station.
Start to Skyline: Cruising in the Early Morning Light
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."
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.
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."
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.
Skyline to Becks: Jarrow's Beach
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.
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.
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.
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.
(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)
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.
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.
Becks to Fon-du-Lac: Speeding in frustration.
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.
Thank you!
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.
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.
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.
Fon-du-Lac to Seven Bridges: Cursing my Calves.
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."
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.
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.
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.
Seven Bridges to Grand Portage: The Power Lines
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.
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.
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.
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.
Grand Portage to Petersen's: Quads are Gone
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.
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.
It's not a true race unless you consider dropping out, right?
17.5 miles in, 2:39 on the clock, functioning quads:0.
Petersen's to Forbay: Still Cramping.
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.
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.
I could still feel the discomfort and seizing, it just didn't matter as much.
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.
"How's it going?"
"Cramping"
"Oh, that's a tough way to run."
"Well, I've been running on it for 10 miles, so I'm used to it."
"Ha. Good luck!"
20.5 miles in, 3:09 Elapsed. No 4 hour marathon likely.
Forbay to Jay Cooke: Flat Trails.
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.
At this point, I was out of all competition except the one with my self. Or so I thought.
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.
"You're gonna pass me one more time, aren't you?"
I wasn't so sure, but he turned out to be prophetic.
22.9 miles in. 3:34 elapsed. Pickles consumed: 1.
Jay Cooke to Finish: Enter the Gnar.
Another aid station meant another pickle.
Across the Swinging Bridge! I'd been waiting for this the entire race, and now I found myself a little seasick, to be honest.
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.
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."
26.2 miles completed, 4:11 elapsed. Marathons completed (total, not including ultras): 4.
