During the fifteen minute span between the pre-race meeting and playing of the national anthem, the sky began to fill with light. It felt as though the race began at the earliest possible moment in the day, giving the fifty mile racers plenty of time to complete the course in full daylight.
The first few miles meandered downhill along a wide dirt road before turning into the woods on a two track road. Runners quickly spread out and by the time we reached the first single track portion of the race about three miles in, most people found their own place in the pack. I followed the same strategy as I did for other trail races. Since I haven’t run the same race twice, it is impossible to predict an accurate time or compare them to my other race times. Usually, I aim to run really easy for the first 20 miles, to finish, eat some candy, and take some good pictures. Since we had run part of this course last summer and noticed how technical a lot of it was, I added another goal: don’t fall down.
I bounded over tree roots and rocks, my feet instinctively falling between them. It felt as if it were the tires portion of an obstacle course. Most of these areas were less than a mile in length, but they came along with annoying frequency. I dashed around effortlessly snapping photos off the side of the trail and then passing the same few people over and over again. By the time the course looped around to the start at the NTN ski barn and mile 11, I was surprised to notice that my very easy effort was just under an 11:00/mi pace.
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| My twin. We were together for the first 18 mi. |
Most of the day was spent staring at the ground. From the ski trail area, we rejoined the North Country Trail and its blue blaze markers. I remembered this portion last year as frustratingly slow. Tree root and rocky sections came with enough frequency that I found myself stopping a lot to tentatively navigate those sections. Although this was the flattest 50K course I had ever run, these technical portions were major time drains. By the time we reached the aid station below Sugarloaf Mountain, I felt my mental focus dwindle and I had almost fallen at least half a dozen times. I reminded myself that this is just how trail running works. It isn’t about avoiding a rolled ankle or a near fall, it is learning to catch yourself before you actually hit the ground. So far I was doing pretty well at that.
The trail up Sugarloaf was a mixture of beautiful, clear trail and wooden staircases. This is where I let my guard down and I was able to relax a little. Of course this is where I caught my right foot on pretty much nothing and went down. Hard. My right knee hit the ground first and then my left. I was mid-stride when I fell and landed on my left side. The sound was loud and echoed through the trees. Another runner quickly turned around and helped me up. He asked if I was okay, I said I didn’t know. The shock of my fall caused muscle tension throughout my body and was forceful enough to turn off my Garmin (I’ve got the 205, one of the first ones made; I think I might have killed it, it turned off three more times throughout the day, any suggestions for a new one?). I began walking with very stiff muscles and a whole lot of pain. I climbed the next two staircases and my legs protested. I considered going back the mile to the previous aid station but compromised and said I would walk to the next one if I had to.
The view from the top of Sugarloaf Mountain was beautiful. Lake Superior and her dazzling blue water spread out to the horizon. Below the lookout point, I could see the jagged northern shoreline and at least the next ten miles of the course as it traced that line. I made careful steps as I followed the trail through boulders and smaller rocky outcroppings. Eventually the panoramic views disappeared and meandered back into the forest. When other runners caught up to me, I pulled over to let them pass. “I took a dive and will be going downhill pretty slow, so just let me know if you want to go by.” One looked back at me and noticed the blood oozing down my shin. “That looks really painful,” he said. “It looks like it, but I think I just lost a bunch of skin,” I replied, only half believing it myself.
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| Angry knee takes in the view. |
When I finally reached the flat portion of the trail where the race description said we could make up time, I found running extremely painful. I spent the next few miles seriously considering dropping from the race. My first DNF. At the thought of that, I felt my eyes well up with tears. I convinced myself to continue to the next aid station and then make the decision then. Maybe it would get better. I examined my knees and decided to leave the dirt, I didn’t want to rub it further into the wounds. I walked a few minutes and my knee loosened up enough to try running again. This time it felt easier, the initial shockwave of tension released itself.
I paused along the lakeshore to take a picture of the beach, adjusting the settings on my camera. When I resumed running, my knee had already stiffened up and it felt better to keep running, even if it wasn’t fast. Stop-go felt awful. While I ran, I assessed my injuries. My stride was normal, my feet didn’t hit the ground differently. I wasn’t favoring one side over the other. Aside from the sting of open wounds on my knees, I felt fine, good even. As I ran along, I began to pass struggling runners, which only helped to restore the confidence in my decision to continue. The only difference I noticed in my body was my reaction time. I’d have to be extra careful of the technical spots now or risk going down again. I doubt I’d avoid the DNF after a second fall.
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| Ahh! My smile returns! :) |
When I reached the aid station at mile 21 and Harlow Lake, I tended to my wounds while a volunteer refilled my water bladder. I held the soaked paper towel to my knee and it felt incredible. I dabbed the wound and washed away dirt from the oozing injury. I was surprised to see my knee was bloody enough that it had dripped most of the way down my right shin. It was barely bleeding when I had first checked it out.
The trail climbed onto Bareback Peak, a long rocky outcropping, and I climbed higher in the now late morning sunshine. Gone was the shade. I began to bake. I sucked down two icy liters of water in the three miles between the aid stations. I snapped a picture of Harlow Lake and another runner paused beside me to take in the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked him. “Yes, I’ve been debating: finish the race or go for a swim,” he joked. Oh my goodness! Me too!
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| Harlow Lake |
Until now, it was easier to climb than descend these rocky high points. Now bending my knees to climb more than what my running stride required was stiff and more tedious. After then aid station at 25 miles, the trail was a gentle descent along very easy terrain. I welcomed the easier trail and kept up my slow but steady pace. I passed almost ten people on this section alone. I always feel I'm at a disadvantage running races outside my local area, but the humidity is where I thought I had an advantage over the yoopers running this race, even though my knees were bashed up: I know how to drink in the humidity. My runs at home are always at least 80% humidity. The shade of the forest and a slight breeze kept me from overheating in the already 75F temperature. It felt perfect for a slow trail run.
When I began climbing to the next rocky outcropping of Hogsback Mountain, I remembered the course profile that came in our race packets, we must be at mile 28. My Garmin was still giving me trouble, so I wasn’t trusting the data it displayed. My hands began to swell and overheat. I opened my hands to let the wind pass by, then I soaked them in a nearby creek. They really enjoyed that!
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| Seriously. The terrain was no joke. |
The last bit to the summit of Hogback was long and steep. I stopped several times to relieve the cramps in my calves. Also I found that I had to get on my hands and knees and pull myself up several boulders. This didn’t even look like a trail. If it weren’t for the abundance of orange and pink flags, I would have been convinced I was going the wrong way.
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| What? You don't see a trail in there? Yeah, me neither. |
Atop the summit, a cool breeze blew from the lake. Several other runners were enjoying the view at the top, including the guy that had helped me up over 15 miles ago. “I’m happy to see you here! You took quite the fall earlier,” he said. I thanked him again for his help and said I was happy too. Then I joined the group descending and we picked our way down the smooth rock faces. Two local girls led the way and made the descent look easy. They must have practiced this section. I was left with the two others. We talked about how surprising the rock climbing part was. One likened it to a race he had read about in a magazine article, the one on Seward’s Mount Marathon. I’ve hiked most of the way up Mt. Marathon and this was a lot easier, even though I was pretty tired already.
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| Hogback Mountain, the final summit. |
Before I knew it, we were passing beneath a large set of power lines and entering the ski area again. I walked one of the final climbs and resumed running only when I could see the brown barn through the trees. I made a final loop out through the grassy field and as I rounded the corner, the start/finish banner appeared. A man walking away from a cluster of tents began cheering and applauding. I picked up the pace and finished strong, with applause from my mom, sister, Matt and the race director himself.
All of them immediately noticed my knees. By now, they didn’t resemble those I had tended to earlier. They were swollen and purple bruises had formed in the spots not caked with dirt and blood. After a few cups of water and chocolate milk, I began to clean the dirt from my legs and brushed dirt from the entire length of my left arm.
As I was cleaning my wounds, someone asked Andrew, the race director, if the rock climbing was in the course description because many runners had told them that they were surprised to find it. He replied with an evil grin and a laugh, “Nope, they should have done their homework.”
After I grabbed some food and my winning door prize, we headed for Presque Isle park. I took a short dip in Lake Superior and washed the dried mud from my arms and legs. I scrubbed hard on my raw knees. The dirt floated away and fresh blood appeared. At least they were clean. We stopped for ice packs at the store and then drove home, where I finally got a shower and screamed as I disinfected the angry skin.
6:47:24.
13:00/mi pace
2,692 ft. climb
Female 7/21
Overall 24/63
Matt finished in 5:11:04, good enough for third place overall.
As for my knees, I'll be taking the entire week off to make sure everything is okay. They are still swollen, bruised, and sore, but I think they're fine.
