It’s only been a half a year since running the Superior 100…but I’m a master procrastinator. Anyway, if you are up for a long reads like a combination of a race recap and a reflective journal entry, this is the blog post for you.
On January 1st, 2022, I put in for the Superior 100 lottery. Those two weeks in between applying and having my name drawn I went back and forth so many times of whether I really wanted to run it, or was just delusional. In my mind, the entire experience would “transform” me…form me into someone gritty, someone with resolve, someone a bit wiser who would find a sense of purpose (I tend to feel that life is rather pointless and it’s not a character trait that I love about myself). Running 100 miles would be the cure to all that ailed me.
As soon as I found out I had been selected, I began training. I did hill repeats on the local ski hill like my life depended on it, I ran sections of the course, completed some training races, and dialed in my race plan. The road to the 100 miler was a bumpy one. A couple months before the race I was injured, sick, and then injured again. I was terrified that I hadn’t done enough, that I wasn’t prepared to complete the 103.5 miles come race day. But, I knew from the moment I signed up that I was going to finish or be pulled from the course. I was not going to quit, come hell or high water.
It wasn’t hell, but there was high water. We woke up on race morning to a thunderstorm out over Lake Superior. I was dreading rain. The one thing I couldn’t seem to get a handle on was blisters, and I knew if my feet were wet they would be unavoidable. I started the race trying to keep my feet dry, doing my best to avoid puddles and run around the deeper areas. However, when running through a downpour for hours that becomes an impossibility. Soon enough the trails were rivers, and dry feet were soaked. After I accepted that, my life simplified. I no longer was worried about blisters. I’d take them when they came.
The course of the Superior 100 is a difficult one. It is incredibly technical and filled with a ton of foot catching roots and toe breaking rocks. Although there aren’t any long sections of uphill or downhill, there aren’t really any flat sections either, with over 40,000 feet of elevation change. I knew all this going in, but I didn’t expect my hips and IT bands to hurt so much in the first fifteen miles. I had just started and already was wondering how I’d be able to finish. Every step was painful. As I ran I remembered reading about how Courtney Dauwalter didn’t label what she was feeling as pain, instead she considered it a sensation. It couldn’t hurt to give it a try. I began telling myself, this is only a sensation, it’s temporary, it will pass. Miraculously, it worked and by mile twenty I felt like a new person.
Before starting I had broken the race down into the distance between aid stations. I wouldn’t look at it as 103.5 miles. Instead it was a dozen or so mini runs strung together, the miles until I would see my crew again. When I began to feel low, thirty miles in, I listed the things I was looking forward to at the next aid station…dry socks, a hug from Dot, and picking up my pacer. I spent several miles just chanting those items over and over and it carried me through. Looking forward to those little things had such an impact.
By the time I got to mile 42, night was falling and I was ready to pick up my pacer, Shannon. Through the wonders of technology, I had found her through a trail group on Facebook. She had been a godsend, kind enough to send me all of her notes and plans for her first Superior 100 Mile attempt. As we ran from the aid station we already were deep in conversation. The night miles flew by despite some stomach issues, a dying headlamp, and a slippery bridge over a beaver pond that I ended up crawling over. Knowing my stomach was bothering me, Shannon continually reminded me to eat. She’d pull something from her pack, take a bite, and say, “Hey, I’m having a Skratch bar, what are you having?” I’d begrudgingly pull something out of my vest and report back. Her interest and gentle questions kept me fueling despite everything sounding horrible.
Closer to dawn I picked up my next pacer, Brittany, a pro trail runner who I greatly admire. I had crewed for Brittany multiple times as she ran smoking fast times at Western States, watched her crush the course record at Black Canyon, and even crewed and ran with her on the trail when she and Cody Lind had set the FKT in 2020. I had been intimidated, overthinking the fact that she was going to be so disappointed to have to run with me, a mid packer at best. Luckily, by the time I got to her I had stopped caring and was just happy to have someone to talk to, someone to push me, and someone to keep my mind off my sore feet. Brittany was the opposite of Shannon. Instead of gentle reminders, she’d just command me to eat, or run if another racer came into view. She’d mimic casting a line and reeling, yelling, “Reel em in!” I don’t know how many times she got me to run when I didn’t think I had anything left.
Despite enjoying all of my time with Shannon and Brittany, I was looking forward to my final pacer. Mike, my incredibly supportive and non-running boyfriend was going to run in with me for the final miles. When I picked him up around mile ninety, he was just what I needed. I could completely be myself. In between my complaining about my aching feet, we laughed and joked. I was so surprised when he volunteered to run another leg with me. When we finally got to Moose or Mystery mountain. I don’t remember which one, only that it was extremely steep, he hurt noth his IT bands and I spent the last few miles worrying more about his physical well-being then my own. We both were tired, in pain, and ready to be done.
With two miles left, a woman who I had ran with earlier in the race snuck around me on the trail. At this point, both my feet were covered in blisters, I was exhausted, and I had come to believe I couldn’t run another step. However, when she passed me, something ignited and I completely forgot about the pain iin my feet and how tired I was. I took off down the trail trying desperately to catch her. Although I didn’t, my final mile ended up being one of my fastest. I was able to push hard when I thought I was empty. As I neared the finish I grabbed my daughter’s hand and sprinted (remember this is the end of a 100 miler so sprinting is a relative term) across the line. I was elated! Everything hurt; my feet, my legs, even my shoulders, but I was as happy as I had ever been. My coach, Jake, met me at the finish line along with a few friends I had met at other races, and everyone was so jazzed. The feeling of accomplishment and gratitude was only heightened by being able to share it with my wonderful crew-Mike, his parents, Barb and Steve, his sisters, Brittany and Melissa, and of course, Dot. I can still vividly recall the smiles, conversation, and feeling of absolute joy. It was truly one of the best experiences of my life.
And even though that race was more challenging, amazing, and gratifying than I could imagine, I didn’t miraculously transform. However, I’ve taken some lessons from the race that have been, for me at least, transformational.
Resigning myself to the fact that my feet would be wet and they would eventually hurt, but that the feeling was temporary, was pivotal in my race. And it can be a pivotal life skill. Since the race I’ve tried much harder to keep this in mind. I struggle with periods of depression and that same feeling of purposelessness. It still sucks, but like the rain, it’s unavoidable, and the best I can do is accept it and know it may be painful, but it won’t last forever. All I can do is keep moving forward and eventually things will stabilize, and I’ll feel good again.
Like eagerly looking forward to aid station niceties, I’ve incorporated focusing on the small joys and comforts of regular life. During the race it was potato perogies, dry socks, and a hug from Dot. Now, it’s a run in the sunshine, work lunches with hilarious co-workers, and a hug from Dot (somethings are the same on and off the trail). I can get so bogged down by the heaviness of life, that I sometimes forget to enjoy those little things. Shifting my perspective to one of gratitude has definitely helped.
During my 100, my pacers; Brittany and Shannon, were incredible. They each brought me just what I needed at that time; comfort, discipline, and humor. Since the race I’ve tried to treat life more like a pacer. Sometimes it’s going to be comfortable, sometimes I’m going to need to buckle down and push through, and once in a while it’s going to be downright comical. But, I need to embrace each season because if I look at it in the right light, it’s probably just what I need at the time.
My crew was amazing. They were compassionate, caring, and maybe, most importantly, always good for a laugh. I looked forward to spending even a minute with them every several miles. They made the race seem doable, and made me feel strong and capable every time I saw them. I’ve worked harder to surround myself with individuals like those crewing me. The people who inspire me, drive me to be better, and fill my life with joy. Life is a lot easier to handle when you’re laughing your way through it.
Finally, I discovered that even when I feel completely empty, I’m not. I can keep going, farther and faster than I thought possible. When life seems overwhelming and the days feel endless and I am thoroughly spent, I can keep grinding. After all, there may not be a finish line, but there are plenty of wonderful aid stations during this race called life and so many phenomenal people to run it with. And in all honesty, I’ve also decided who wants a perfect race? It’s the challenges that make the whole thing worth running.
What did you learn from your first 100?
