(Photo courtesy of the race)
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| Early in the race (I think) on the singletrack along the St. Louis River. (Photo courtesy of the race) |
Minnesota has mountains! Who knew?
I found out the hard way July 28, running (well, mostly running) 50 miles through them in Carlton State Park, near Duluth in the 2007 Minnesota Voyageur 50-mile trail run.
Having hiked and run in the Rockies, Appalachians and Sierras, I thought I pretty much knew where all the mountains in this country are. Big surprise!
Afterward, flat on my back in the hotel room, every time I closed my eyes, I’d see again the curving uphill trails and switchbacks leading out of the wild, deep stream-bottomed ravines. . . sweeping endlessly up and away.
I see them still, and now that the pain and nausea are gone – I want to go back. I want to spend the day again with my fellow ultra-runners, the greatest tribe this earth has ever seen, running and slogging away through those peaks and valleys, 25 miles out, 25 miles back.
Plus, my spouse, the Big K, loves the cool finisher’s mug and wants another one so we can have a matching set. So I guess I’ve GOT to go back.
Drove up from Lawrence, Kansas, home of the mighty Jayhawks, Friday, the day before the race in a rented car with fellow runners Greg Burger, Brian Pawley, and our crew, official photographer and retired ultra-runner Ed Payne.
Paid $4 for the carbo-loading spaghetti feed that evening. No veggie spaghetti sauce, which is all I’ll say about that.
At the start at the high school in the tiny but nice town of Carlton, Ed snapped a pic of Brian and Greg and I. . . thought I heard something about “the 3 stooges,” but maybe it was my imagination – if not – I’m Larry. Brian’s Moe and Greg is Curly. “Remind me to moidah yuh!”
Cool, clear 7 a.m. start, in the low 60s, but humid. The course took us about a mile through town and on a bike trail to some singletrack along the St. Louis River. I heard somewhere it was too technical to run, but it didn’t seem any worse than our Clinton Lake trails here in Lawrence. However, the field was packed in tight. Since I started near the back, it kept me slow, which is how I like to start.
We got glimpses through the trees and brush, of the river next to us, rolling and sometimes crashing along its rocky course. After about three miles or so we crossed a swinging bridge spanning the river. I wanted to stop and gawk at the white water and falls. I didn’t.
Next came a series of soft grassy paths through the woods on gentle uphill and downhill grades. The field was thinning out here, it was still cool, the grass was great to run on, and I felt good, so I sped up. Ran and blabbed for a while with a Voyageur vet named Tom, who was going pretty strong. Between about 6 and 10 miles, we dropped down into and climbed back out of two deep, mountainous ravines.
Greg and Brian were way ahead of me by this time.
At 10 and a half, we hit the infamous powerlines. This rugged section starts with a precipitous drop into a deep ravine, and then a nearly vertical, 4-points-to-the-ground climb hundreds of feet back out again. From there, to a wooded ridge, mostly uphill for a half-mile or so. Then, there’s about a mile-and-a-half of open tall-grass field, all up and down, some very serious. It ended with a viciously steep drop back down into a wooded ravine, stream, and the inevitable, though more gradual climb back out.
Aid stations were every 3-5 miles, but I hadn’t been stopping, except to say hi to Ed who was clicking pics as I came through. I stopped at the 12.5 –mile station, though, to get my hydration pack refilled. It was getting hot and I’d been slamming the H2O. Surprisingly, Greg was there, too! Ed told me Greg had gotten off course.
Greg got out of the station before I did, but I managed to catch up and we ran and talked. He’d been making good time, and was bummed about losing ground by going off course. We made the 15.5-mile aid station, and I stopped to get into my drop bag while Greg continued on.
I caught up to him again, and we ran through some woods, and down a long downhill grade on a dirt road. The grade leveled out at a little stream, which we crossed, and then we climbed up a long uphill grade and went across a bridge directly above the 12.5 – mile aid station. We came out of the woods at a highway, which we ran along for about an eighth of a mile, then crossed to the 18.5-mile aid station.
About the stations – they were well-stocked, well organized, and run by some of the best volunteers I’ve ever seen. And they all had my favorite summertime race food – watermelon! It sure was good, especially since the day was heating up.
From 18.5, Greg and I headed uphill on about a mile of asphalt, then into the woods again, where we fell in with another Voyageur vet, whose name I forgot, but who willingly shared his hard-earned insights about the course. This was a nice grassy section with mild up and down. About 20 miles in, we saw the first front runner, Andy Holak, inbound.
We cheered him as he went by and he gave us a “good job, you guys!” Only in ultra-running do front-runners use valuable O2 to encourage those following. Andy went on to win. His spouse Kim was first woman AND set a new course record.
Not far out of the 21.5-mile station, as we were heading uphill on more asphalt, we met Brian, inbound, and stopped to compare notes. “This is brutal,” was his note, which was the same as ours. Nevertheless, he seemed to be having a good time, just like us.
Brian and Greg kept talking, while I continued on. Followed the road down and around a curve to catch up to a pair of runners – only they weren’t runners, and I was off-course. Only by a few hundred yards, though. The non-runners pointed me back to the course, where I saw some real runners leaving the asphalt at the curve to re-enter the woods. I followed, now not far from the turn-around.
I followed the course across the side of Spirit Mountain, part of a ski resort. I went under chair lifts and had a fabulous view of a bay of Lake Superior, from about 500 feet up. In the clear blue day I could see Duluth on a far shore. Just breathtaking.
As much as I wanted to stop and goggle, I hustled on through more woods and down a long, rocky road to the turn-around aid-station. Ed was there, and helped me get more water, and Hammer gel and E-caps out of my drop bag, along with more Wmelon. Love the Wmelon!
I headed out of the turn-around to the cheers of volunteers and crews at about 5 hours and 9 minutes into the race – about what I’d hoped for. Shortly after leaving, I saw Greg heading in. Told him he was about there, but didn’t see him again until the finish.
Now inbound to the finish, I felt great. I passed one runner going back up that rocky road and exchanged greetings with many more heading down it to the turnaround. I appeared to be in the middle of the pack.
Back at the 21.5-mile aid station I met Larry Hall, who was crewing for his fiancée Beth Simpson. Larry just finished Hardrock, and is a Rocky Mountain Slammer. I ran with Beth a little in the last 10 miles, but was feeling sick by then, so she went ahead.
Anyway, with 21.5 to go, I still felt great. Got some ice in my pack and some Wmelon in hand and was off again. Made the 18.5-mile station, and stopped briefly for Wmelon. Went across the bridge over the 12.5-mile station, hitting the downhills pretty hard and keeping a respectable pace on the uphills.
Just before the15.5-mile aid station, I took a big slug of Perpetuem, and nausea hit me like a 12-pound sledge to the gut. It was that sudden. I staggered into the aid station, and out again – unaccountably forgetting to get in my drop bag for more E-caps. Volunteers offered me stuff, but it all looked horrible now, even the Wmelon!
I trudged out of the aid station, and was too busy feeling miserable to notice the multiple pink ribbons dangling from a branch, denoting a turn. I crossed the stream, instead of paralleling it, and climbed a gentle uphill road for about a half-mile, until the road was blocked by fallen trees – trees that I didn’t recall from the trip in.
Course sabotage! It had to be. I couldn’t be so stupid as to miss a well-marked turn could I? Half-a-mile back down the road on the other side of the stream, I discovered I could! It was the third time in two races I’d gotten off course. This time it cost me 20 minutes and the sub-12 finish which was my secondary goal after my main goal of “just finish.”
I walked through the woods for awhile trying to let the nausea go away, but it seemed to be enjoying itself there in my stomach and didn’t want to leave. Got through the woods to a bike path right before the 12.5-mile aid station, and trotted in. Nausea or no, one must keep up appearances!
At the aid station, refilling the hydration pack, I saw another runner flat on his back, resting in the shade. One of the volunteers told me it was a case of heat stroke. I asked about Greg, but since I didn’t remember his number, they couldn’t tell me if he’d been through or not. I was sure he’d gone ahead of me while I was off course.
The 12.5 – mile station inbound is the jumping off place for the powerlines, which is why I wanted to make sure I had a full pack of water. As soon as I got it, I headed into the woods, down to the ravine bottom, and back up again.
The viciously steep downhill from the outbound journey was now a viciously steep 4-points-to-the ground uphill. I grimly clawed my way up and passed another runner at the top. “I’m having a long day,” he replied, when I asked how he was doing. Me too, brother!
I ran downhills as much as I could through this mile-and-a-half section. Many were just too steep to do anything but slide down with feet perpendicular to the trail. Uphills were all more grim clawing. It was horrible, yet huge fun! How that could be, I couldn’t figure out, and still can’t.
Eventually, I was back in the woods, running downhill – when who should I meet but Ed! He’d climbed up the first (and worst, in my opinion) of the powerline ascents out of the 10.5 mile aid station to meet me and Greg. I learned that Greg was still in back of me, and that the ultra was exercising its allure on Ed – he was talking about getting back into ultras. I knew it was going to happen.
Back at the 10.5 mile aid station, one of the volunteers iced my neck down while Ed got me some E-caps and demanded I take one where he could see. I’d just eaten one before coming into the station, though, so I didn’t.
Leaving the station, I headed into the first of the last two deep, wild and woolly ravine crossings – walking, mostly. Beth Simpson came up from behind and I followed her for a little. We talked about Leadville. She was there last year and is going back this year. I felt like I might barf, and didn’t want her to see, so I slowed down. Beth motored on ahead. You go girl!
At the 8.5-mile station I rested a little, back against a tree, while the volunteers gave me some Coke. Tasted like heaven and settled my stomach a little. Leaving, I found I could run the downhills, and even felt good. Hit the last big ravine with good speed going in and down. Did the uphill much better than the previous ravine before the 8.5-mile station. At the top, heading into the 5.5-mile station, the nausea began creeping back.
I think if I’d eaten bananas along with the wmelon, my usual practice, I might’ve avoided the upset stomach. I don’t know why I didn’t. Note for next time. . .
By this time, though, I was smelling finish, so I swallowed some more coke at the 5.5-mile aid station, and on I rolled. Back in the woods, I hooked up with another runner named Cliff. We talked a little about our various races – he was another Voyager vet – but I eventually let him go ahead. The Coke had limited effect this time, and I felt sick again.
Came into the 3.5 mile aid station, where I met Ed. He introduced me to Ryan, a young runner who was resting at the picnic table, holding a cold compress over his eye. Evidently, he’d had a run-in with a hostile tree. Ryan recovered, though and finished. I drank another coke, but it didn’t do anything for me. With 3.5 miles to go, however, a little upset tummy wasn’t going to stop me.
I crossed the swinging bridge over the gorgeous St. Louis River, and hit the singletrack, which I had remembered as being similar to the Clinton Lake trails I run on all the time. But there must have been an earthquake or something during the day, because the trail was much harder than the one I recalled from the morning. It had buckled and bulged into big uphill sections in places. Rocks and roots were upthrust into tortured, complicated foot-traps that I just couldn’t traipse over as I had in the morning.
Plus, the nausea was getting worse. I felt I was in a 3-way race – me versus Greg: would he catch me? Me versus the nausea: would I barf before I finished? And me versus the sub-12-hour finish. Could I make it? According to my watch, I was tantalizingly close.
With about 2 miles to go on Route Rock ‘N Root, I came up on Norm Yarger. A few miles out of the turnaround, he had realized he wasn’t going to make the 6-hour cutoff. But instead of going on and taking himself out at the 25-mile mark, he turned around and headed back to DNF at the finish. He said he didn’t come to the race to just do 25 miles. Norm has finished the race before, though, so it won’t be like he has unfinished business with the course.
His daughter, Kathleen finished the race, too, further upholding the family honor. In fact, she was 5th woman.
It seemed like that singletrack, so enjoyable in the a.m., would never end in the p.m. I guess that earthquake made it longer, too! Finally though, I came up to the bike trail – only about a mile to go. I set off at a run, but it was there I lost my race with the nausea. Not much came up, though – mostly just water and acid. I counted about 6 heaves.
Strangely, while barfing, I recalled Andy Holak’s Western States race report (from 2002, I think), which I read on Stan Jensen’s site. There was quite a bit of barfing in that report, which is what brought it to mind, I guess. At the awards ceremony, after congratulating Andy on his win, I mentioned to him that I thought of his report while barfing. Evidently, my mental acuity was still a little fragmented.
Felt better after the heaves, and struck out strongly for the finish. I headed for the be-ribboned finish lane at the high school, while the officials rang the traditional cow bell, and runners, crew, volunteers and other spectators cheered. It was good. On a hamboned whim, I leaped into the air and clicked my heels together to great applause.
And was done!
Brian came over to congratulate me. He was all recovered, having gotten in at 10 hours, 26 minutes and 38 seconds into the race. Sadly, I not only lost the race to nausea, but also missed my sub-12 finish by 7 minutes, 31 seconds. But I got the finish, and that’s what I was after.
Brian and I settled in to watch for Greg. He clocked it at 12:28:49. Just a training run for him, since he’s got the big one – Leadville – in a few weeks.
Later, the boys all went to Duluth for beers, but I felt too puny. I stayed in the motel, and fell asleep to visions of curving uphill trails and switchbacks leading out of wild, deep stream-bottomed ravines. . . sweeping endlessly up and away.
And was done.
- Gary Henry