“Suffering produces endurance. Suffering produces endurance. Suffering produces endurance.” I chanted these words over and over with each step, as I climbed yet another hill, my legs feeling like lead and my chest burning. I was almost forty miles into my first 100k and I was definitely suffering. I had no idea how I was going to go one more mile, let alone another twenty. What was I thinking…62 miles, on one of the toughest trails in the Midwest, with 10,000 feet of elevation gain? I had severely overestimated my capabilities. It had seemed like a great idea back in January, but now?
Rewind several months…in January there had been a virtual trail running film festival. Viewers could take part in a virtual scavenger hunt/trivia game for a chance at some truly awesome prizes; running vacations, gear, and free entries into several racing events. As luck (or maybe fate would have it), I won free entries into two events of my choice through Adventure Running of Duluth. I was ecstatic! I immediately signed up for Last Runner Standing and the Wild Duluth 100k, and immediately set to training. I was going to latch onto the 100k with laser focus. I planned to do all the things; eat right, strength train, do mobility work, and put in a ton of miles. Like most things in my life, things didn’t go quite according to plan. My summer of hard work and commitment turned into a summer of experiences. Instead of spending hours out on the trails I spent half a month road tripping to Western States to crew my boyfriend’s amazing sister as she placed fourth, and another all expense paid week in Aruba soaking in the sun and drinking all the Slippery Monkeys I could handle from the pool. Between all the traveling and doing the essential mom things, before I knew it, school had started again. Suddenly, I only had a month before the race and a pretty tight time frame to get my runs in.
Luckily, in August I had found myself a local running coach who not only had experience with the Superior Hiking Trail (he holds the course record for the Wild Duluth 100k), but also with balancing parenting, working a full time job, and training for ultras. I dived into his training plan tried desperately to get all I could out of those last couple months, hoping it was just enough to get my legs to carry me 62 miles.
The morning of the 100k I was terrified. Actually, if I’m being honest, I had been living in high anxiety for at least the prior week. That distance kept growing and growing in my mind…morphing from something totally doable, to an insurmountable number of miles. Now, I want to make a disclaimer here, this is probably not the best way to prepare mentally for a race. Yes, prepare for the worst, but I’m sure it’s much more beneficial to have some level of positivity and confidence going into a race. However, I had a small amount of hope because I a couple things going for me. First, I have an amazingly supportive boyfriend, Mike, who is an old pro at crewing races. Seriously, he even has a clipboard and keeps track of metrics. It’s pretty wild. Second, I am incredibly stubborn and knew that in the back of my mind I would crawl over that finish line if need be.
We got to the starting line, down in Bayfront Park with a few minutes to spare. I stepped into line behind some individuals who looked like they had done this before, and listened as the race director, Andy Holak, gave his prerace talk, threw my jacket to my coach who happened to be there (I always seem to be overdressed), and then we were off. I waved at Mike as I jogged across the starting line and filed into the single file train of headlamps as they headed up the sidewalk road toward Enger Tower. I jogged comfortably along, listening to the other runners chat, until we entered the single track going up and all of a sudden we left the city behind and were in the woods.
The first few miles, flew by. We got to the first aid station by Lincoln Park before I knew it. Mike was waiting, but I didn’t need anything-I hadn’t even started to drink my water or Tailwind. So, I ran on, down the hill, over the bridge and into a part of the trail that I knew really well. As we ran through the Lincoln Park section of the trail and into Piedmont, the sun came up over the lake and I was able to take off my head lamp, and enjoy the beauty of that morning. It was a perfect day to run. Cool, clear, with a bit of wind. We were lucky. As I ran, I was able to talk with a few other runners. We talked about careers, kids, running…the miles seemed ticked by effortlessly.
Mike was at the bridge over Kingsbury Creek with some food and refills to shove in my pack. I talked with him for a minute or two and then continued on through town. The next time I would see him would be at the bottom of Spirit Mountain. This section of trail was one that I didn’t train on and hadn’t ran since the Wild Duluth 50k the year before. At one point, coming out of the single track and onto a snowmobile trail I, along with a couple other guys, ran the wrong way for a bit. It didn’t take us long to realize our mistake and we turned back and found the trail again (it had been directly across, but unmarked). It wouldn’t be a race without getting lost at least once (I am not only directionally challenged, but have a habit of getting lost in my own little world and forget to pay attention). It was on this section of trail that I witnessed one of the most graceful falls of my life. A girl and guy had been running in front of me for quite some time. She had done this race before, but was unable to finish, so she was here to avenge her previous experience and he was supporting her. Anyway, he was very tall, I’d say a good amount of inches over six feet. He tripped during an extremely rocky section, but was able to somehow catapult himself toward the grassy edge of the trail in mid air, not only avoiding all the rocks, but somehow landing in a tuck and roll, which he immediately sprang up from and continued running. I was truly impressed.
I got to the base of Spirit Mountain feeling pretty good. The only issue was I could feel blisters popping up, but that’s something that seems to plague me, so I wasn’t too concerned. I talked with Mike for a second, got some water, and headed up the “mountain.” This was the first time in the race that things started to feel hard. It was a whole lot of up without much down to balance it out. I set my sights on just getting to the aid station at the top of the hill. My coach was supposed to be there and I was sure they’d have peanut M&Ms and a portapotty. It seemed like it took ages, but I eventually reached the aid station, where they did indeed have M&Ms and a bathroom. My coach was also there and told me I looked great, which gave me a little boost, because I sure wasn’t feeling it.
From the aid station, I ran down the trail and once more got a little lost. Only realizing it after I jumped down a very large dip in the trail, which made me realize, it wasn’t in fact the SHT, but I had taken a wrong turn…again. As I made my way back onto the correct course, I saw the first 50ker run by and they were flying. Having these racers going the other way added a new element to the race…who was going to step out of the way? Trail etiquettes says you should move out of the way for someone going downhill since they have the momentum, but on flat sections, what would happen? The leaders of the race were definitely on a mission, so I found myself stepping off trail to let them zoom past. As I got further into the field, more and more runners yielded to me, many telling me I had more miles to do, so I got the right of way. I began looking for some friends who I knew were running the 50k. This not only passed the time, but gave me something to look forward too. As I neared Ely’s Peak I passed Jesse, who had sent me a Bible verse that morning which became my mantra:
“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” Romans5:3-5
He looked strong and we exchanged words of encouragement as we passed each other. A little later I saw, Anna. My daughter’s dance teacher and Wisconsin Ragnar teammate. She was flying down the backside of Ely’s peak looking like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
From there I hiked up the back side of Ely’s and then down the other side, thinking to myself that I was so glad that I’d be going back up the steep sections in daylight (even if I was slow). When I reached the aid station at the bottom off the Munger Trail I was feeling a little better. The aid station workers there had brought in donuts-my all time favorite junk food. That only added to the good mood and seeing Mike even gave me more of a boost. I was over twenty miles in, I was almost half way there and still feeling pretty good.
In between the Munger Aid station and the turn around I met Genie. She was this amazing lady who was flying down the hills, even with a badly cut knee. I hung with her for almost ten miles, until we reached the turn around at half way point. She loved to bomb down the descents, just like me (I have no speed, so I used gravity to my advantage) and was a veteran ultra runner. We ran, hiked, and talked the entire time. Aside from twisting an ankle (I have a tendency to do that), the miles blurred together and before I knew it, we were at Oldenberg Point. I left Genie to do her aid station business and found Mike. I changed shirts, ate an Uncrustable, and unwisely popped the blood blister that had developed on the sides of my feet and on my big toes. I spent too much time at the aid station and Genie had left before me, so I struck out on my own.
The way in, was nothing like the way out. Without someone to keep my mind off my aching feet and legs, the miles dragged on. It seemed like massive hills had developed in the last hour, they surely hadn’t been there before, and I fell for my first an only time, ripping my capris and sending blood streaming down my knee.
This is where this post started. To get through the miles I alternated between singing “feet don’t fail me now” and “suffering produces endurance.” Once in a while I’d throw in the “endurance produces character. And character produces hope.” At this point I was surviving on hope. Hope that I somehow could get past the pain in my legs on the uphills and desire to quit.
Somehow, I made it through those ten hellish miles and got out to the river, where a photographer was waiting to take my picture. I glued on my best smile and tried to look like I was enjoying myself, instead of like someone who just wanted to lie down in the brush and let the animals dine on my half dead body.
Shortly after the river crossing I made it back to the Munger aid station. As I walked to the parked car, I saw a friend sitting on the ground. She was fast, young, and going into the race I knew she was going to kill it. She told me she was dropping. My immediate thought was; if she can’t do it, how the hell will I? Poor Mike. I was not in a good place. I told him that I didn’t think I could make it, but I wasn’t going to quit. I knew the next section was the climb up Ely’s and at the time it felt impossible. There was no way I would be able to go up that mess of rocks, roots, and steepness. He did his best to give me words of encouragement as he handed me my poles. I think I just grunted at him, but took them and began to hobble back toward the trail.
Now, on my way out a volunteer called out to me and offered me some birthday cake. At this point my outlook had been dismal. I wanted to cry. I wanted to quit. I wanted nothing more than to be done running. When I took that chunk of birthday cake in my dirt stained hand it was like a switch flipped. All of a sudden, I was ready to get back out there. A little over twenty miles? Psh, not a problem. That sugary manna from heaven (or from a Superone bakery) revived my spirits and I actually jogged towards Ely’s.
I’d like to say that the rest of the race was easy. It wasn’t. The climbs were still hard, the downhills stiffer, and the miles got slower. However, mentally I was set. Nothing was going to stop me from reaching that finish line. Over the final twenty miles I found myself passing people. I could still run the downs and I was pretty amazed that my legs had anything left. Other runners would yell encouragement as I ran by and I would reciprocate. Somewhere between Ely’s and Spirit Mountain I passed Genie and her pacer. It was so great to see her again! We wished each other luck and I kept at it. At the top of Spirit I had some chips, then continued down the hill toward Mike as dusk fell. He met me at the bottom of the ski hill and handed me my headlamp as he walked along with me. I think he was pretty impressed with my emotional stability at that time, as was I. I only had a half marathon left. That was doable.
The final night miles weren’t fast. They were methodical and fairly slow. I was stiff and sore, but totally content as I ran/shuffled my way through the section of trail where I felt the most at home. As I passed Ely’s and ran (or more so hobbled) down the last big descent toward Bayfront I reflected on just what I had accomplished. Suddenly, my senses kicked me back to reality as I heard something big breaking through the woods toward me. Forgive me for saying this, but this section of trail sometimes makes me nervous due to the amount of homeless individuals who spend time here. Here I was at almost 11:00 at night and someone was running toward me out of the woods, with no headlamp, so they weren’t a fellow runner. I ran faster than I thought possible, it’s crazy what adrenaline can do, until I heard someone yell “Shannon!” Holy shit. It was only Mike. He had decided to come meet me and run the last mile with me. He had veered off into the woods to use the men’s room, so he had turned off his light. Thank God. Mike caught up with me and we ran the last mile together. He split off from me at the Bayfront parking lot so he could catch me at the finish line.
I rounded the corner and crossed the line to several cheering spectators in a little over seventeen hours and as the sixth woman. I got my mug and my finisher’s hat and smiled like the Cheshire cat. We waited around and watched Genie cross the line not too long after. She made the top ten women as well! Even as we drove home afterward, as I lay in bed being unable to sleep because my legs were too achy, and as I hobbled around school on Monday, I still couldn’t believe that I actually ran that far. It was one of the highlights of my life and I think it’ll live pretty vividly in my memory for a long time. It’s crazy that I could go from someone who dreaded the mile in high school to an individual who voluntarily runs over sixty miles…for fun. I am so blessed to be able to do this and am so grateful for my amazingly supportive boyfriend, daughter, family, coach, and running friends. It is so true, suffering leads to endurance, endurance builds character, and character does indeed, breed hope.
