Tag Archives: 100 miles

Lighthouse 100 Recap, Part 1

I ran the first-ever Lighthouse 100 race last weekend. This is not really a race review, but a series of vignettes about my experience. I’ll give my thoughts on the course and race organization in Part 2. Hope you enjoy!

I sprawled in the driver’s seat of a stranger’s car, air conditioning blowing on my flushed face. Laura, the car’s owner, had given me a cold drink which I sipped while wishing the runner she was crewing for would arrive. She’d agreed to drive me to the next aid station as soon as she refilled his bottles and sent him on his way. “He’s just a few minutes away,” she’d told me.

Outside the car it was over 90 degrees in pitiless sunshine, and a 40 mph wind blew grit in the faces of the runners trudging south along Elk Lake Road.

I was at mile 65 of the inaugural Lighthouse 100 race, and, in my mind, done. Toast. Ready to call it a day.

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Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day, etc. – Oklahoma!

THAT DAY HAD BEGUN on a much more positive note.

We set off from Bayfront Park in Petoskey at 6 a.m., following the Little Traverse Wheelway to Charlevoix and southwest from there to Elk Rapids, Traverse City, and then north up the Old Mission Peninsula to the lighthouse at its tip. Seventy runners crossed the starting line, with until noon Sunday (30 hours) to finish.

The morning was cool with a light breeze and the sun eased through the overcast to light up the bay on our right. I felt great, my pace was easy and light, and everyone was upbeat and chatting about the gorgeous view. This was what I’d signed up for, and life was good.

Eventually the pack stretched out and broke up. I settled into a steady pace and passed time with other runners talking about favorite races, nutrition, the usual stuff. The laid-back attitude and camaraderie are characteristic of ultras, and among the reasons I love them.

For the first forty miles all went according to plan. My left IT band oddly flared up at mile six, but stretching at Aid Station 1 (Mile 10) resolved it. In downtown Charlevoix a bearded fellow in a Run Woodstock T-shirt cheered me on. Then onto back roads and rolling hills, with a short stretch on US-31 to Aid Station 4. I was running strong and breathing easy, on pace to finish well under my target of 24 hours.

Things went downhill from there. And not in the good way.

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“There will be times when you’ll want to quit,” Dave Krupski, the race director, had told us at the pre-race meeting the day before. “But do this first; take a long break, 15 minutes or half hour, and drink some electrolyte fluids. If at the end of that time you decide it’s not your day, then okay. But give yourself time to recover and think about it.”

Well, I’d taken that break; several of them. Given myself time. And I’d thought about it. Nope, it wasn’t my day. But it would soon be over. I just had to wait a few more minutes.

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The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can. – Tolkien

The heat and full sun began its work on the US-31 stretch, and I knew there would be more to come, but I wasn’t worried. I’ve run several ultras in hot weather with no problems, and figured I had the process down. Salt tablets every hour. Icewater-soaked cloth under my white sun-reflecting cap. Ease off on pace. Got it.

Naivete, thy name is runner.

Trouble started as I turned (at last) off US-31 back onto country roads, looking forward to cold water at the 45-mile mark. The jug was missing; someone had stolen it. Why, Lord only knows, but obviously he or she had no idea how much it meant to an uncrewed runner on a hot day.

My remaining water was too warm and too little to make it to AS5 (Mile 51), but I’d passed a crew vehicle a half mile back. I retraced and it was fortunately still there. Kevin, the driver, had extra ice and water and was happy to help. Turned out I was not the only other runner he saved that day.

Now the sun began taking its toll, and a nagging stomach issue grew steadily worse. At AS5 I took an extended break to sit, cool off, and re-evaluate. I was #11 overall and it was a bit annoying to watch other runners go by, but I needed the rest and figured I’d catch up. Then a change of shoes, final fluid reload, and back into the fray.

I got to AS6 at mile 60 without trouble, although I was now doing run-walk intervals instead of the steady jog I prefer. And with no interest in food, I didn’t refuel like I should have. Bad move.

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“You are not a bad runner. You are a good runner having a bad moment.” – Pacer to runner, overheard at Run Woodstock during a 100K

I’d pictured Elk Lake Road (miles 60-67) as pretty and meandering, with lots of shade making for an easy stretch. Instead it was straight into a hot south wind, with no shade whatever. I got to mile 65 with just one thought; find that water jug.

Except I didn’t see it. Not where my watch said it should be, nor up ahead.

It was too much. I found a shady swale off the road, lay down, and put my damp cloth over my face. I lay there for a while trying to figure out how I would go on. I did not improve, and eventually I figured if I didn’t get up then, I wouldn’t get up at all. So I staggered to my feet just as another runner came up to me, asking if I was okay.

“I can’t find the water jug,” I said.

He pointed ahead. “It’s right there. Can’t you see it?” I couldn’t. We walked back to the road, and finally I spotted it just over a small rise. Once there I rinsed my face and drank, but I didn’t feel any better.

Then I saw a line of crew vehicles on the other side of the road, I chose one at random and asked the driver if I could sit in her car for a few minutes. She immediately and kindly agreed, and got me an iced cup of Coke to sip. After a few minutes she asked how I was doing.

“I think I’m done,” I said, and asked if she would drive me to AS7 where I could drop. Another 35 miles in these conditions, feeling the way I did, was just not something I could deal with. There was no shame in that. As Dave had said, sometimes it just isn’t your day.

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Get up! Get back on your feet. You’re the one they can’t beat, and you know it. – Styx

Laura’s runner arrived at last. I heard her fill his bottles, say she was proud of him. Then on he went down the road. Laura cleared the front passenger seat for me, then came around to the driver’s side.

I opened the door and stretched out my left leg. It seized up in a calf cramp, which I stretched out only to get a shin cramp. With a grimace and apology, I planted that leg on the ground at last, then the other, emerged from the car, and stood straight. For a moment we just stood there looking at each other.

“You’re going to try to keep going,” she said. She sounded impressed with a strong hint of disbelief.

She was right. Somehow I had recovered just enough to give it one more shot. No way I could run, but I could try to walk it. Heck, every other runner was walking this section of road too.

“I’ll see you at Hawley Road,” she said, indicating it on her map. “That’s two and a half miles.” She mixed some Gatorade and filled one of my bottles with it.

I thanked her, went back out onto the road, turned into that furnace-like wind, and began walking.

How far did I get? What other challenges did I have on my attempt to get through the damn race? What’s all-night running like? All will be revealed in Part 2. Please stay tuned! And thanks for reading!

Saved by a Lighthouse and a Dirty German

When one door closes another door opens…

Alexander Graham Bell is given the credit for this piece of wisdom, though it sounds so universal I have to believe it’s actually far older. For sure I would’ve thought it went back to Buddha, or Plato, or Moses, or the like.

I’ve given this advice to my kids, and it’s always sounded good when I say it. But there are times I need it myself, to practice what I preach. What follows was my latest opportunity.

I’d been interested in the Great New York Running Exposition ever since I’d stumbled across it looking for a suitable first 100-mile race. I decided it would be a bit much for my first try, but I put it into my plan for 2017.

It’s a small race and their Facebook page said they fill up quickly, so I noted the opening day of registration (January 8) and set two reminders in my planner. I even included it in my work computer’s password, so I’d get a daily reminder.

Problem was, registration day was a Sunday. And I forgot. When I finally remembered later in the day and frantically called up the site, it was already too late. Best I could do was add my name to the wait list.

Well, rats. Nuts. Foo. Gosh dang it. Or to borrow a stronger phrase from one of my friends, “Fudge puppies.”

fudge_puppies_14x12

They really exist! You lean something new every day.

So now what?

I considered my options. I could wait to find out if a spot opens for me. It could happen; plans change. I thought about volunteering instead, to scope things out; it’s a somewhat tricky course. But in the meantime, I began looking for other 100-mile possibilities. For there is a second part to Mr. Bell’s quote:

…but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.”

I could have signed up for Kettle Moraine again, or Mohican, or the Indiana Trail 100, all excellent choices. But I’d set aside 2017 to do the offbeat or unusual, and those are long-established events. Initial poking around on the Internet didn’t come up with anything else promising, though

So after last Saturday’s group run, I was commiserating over coffee with one of our run club’s directors. “There’s a brand new race in northern Michigan,” she said. Why don’t you run that?”

lighthouse-100

lighthouse-100-mapWe pulled up the website. Holy party line, Batman! This is a race along the Lake Michigan shoreline from Petoskey through Traverse City, then up the Old Mission Peninsula. It’s mostly on roads or paved trails, like the New York race. It’s close to our summer campground in Empire, which cuts the travel cost and allows some of our friends there to see me start and/or finish, if they so desire. And it’s in early June, just like New York. Thanks to not getting into that one, I could enter this one!

I signed up right then and there in the coffee shop. Sorry, Big Apple, you’ve been supplanted by the cherry. Still have you on the radar for next year, though.

Now I generally “warm up” for a 100K or 100-mile race by running a 50-miler a few weeks before to assess physical readiness and do a gear check. And right in mid-May was just the ticket:

dirtygermanfinishlogoweb

Among the quirky parts of this race are beer supplied by the St. Pauli Girls (in costume) and age group awards of cuckoo clocks and German “weather houses.” Looking at the 2016 results, I’d have to really haul butt to get one, but that’s sort of beside the point.

dirty-german-agegroupaward

So just like that, two big pieces of this year’s race schedule fell into place. See? Never a doubt! Thanks, Alex.

I hope my kids read this.

Kettle 100: Sights and Sounds

THE KETTLE MORAINE 100 WAS LAST WEEK and I’m still having trouble believing that a) it’s over, and b) I finished it. At least I think I did; I might still be out there hallucinating. (More on that next time.) I’m putting together a more detailed account, but right now I’d like to share some of the myriad sights and sounds of my 28-hour, 17-minute adventure.

The text in italics was spoken by other runners; where there’s no attribution, I just happened to overhear it.

Mile 2 or so, cruising along with a large group: “Hey! Walk the hills!”

KM100 - Early Hill Climb

“I was running with Nick and he picks up this big rock. He was going to carry it to the next aid station as a gag. He thought it was about a half mile away. It turned out to be over three miles. But he carried that rock the entire way.”

Mile 14 aid station, as I approached the drop bags: “Just take any one you like, they all got the same shit in ’em.”

KM100 - Emma Carlin - Drop Bags

Group of women to another group: “Happy Birthday, to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear — people! Happy Birthday to you!”

“We’re celebrating our third wedding anniversary at this race.”

(To me) “What’s the Scuppernong cutoff? My wife’s worried she won’t make it.” Me: “Nine hours. She’s got plenty of time.” Him: “I don’t know why she worries. She did just fine at her 100 two weeks ago.” Me: “She ran one of these two weeks ago?” Him: “Oh, yeah. She’d do these weekly if she could.”

KM100 - Shirt - Our Shoes Have More Miles

Mile 45 aid station, sunset not far away: Guy 1: “You don’t have a headlamp?” Guy 2: “No, I didn’t think I was gonna need one.” Guy 1: “I have a spare headlamp in my bag. You will take it. Just turn it in at the finish and tell them my bib number.”

Woman ahead, turning to me: “What’s a name of a band that begins with V?” Me: “Um – Van Halen.” Her: “Thanks! Never would have thought of that one. Join our game, please. I’ve gotta do something to keep my mind off this.”

I stuck with running.

“Run, Smile, Drink Water, Don’t Die” – sounds like good advice to me!

Mile 62, as I start the second leg of the race: “100-miler going back out!! Woohoo!!”

Aid station, middle of the night: “What do you need?” Me: “A pizza and a large latte, that’s what I need.” Her: “How about some chicken noodle soup?” Me: “Sounds good.”

"So, like I'm considering swapping the PB&J for peanut M&Ms starting at mile 75. What do you think?"

“So, like I’m considering swapping the PB&J for peanut M&Ms starting at mile 75. What do you think?”

Several people along the way: “God, my feet hurt.” Me: “Yep, mine too.”

And this was *before* things got bad.

And this was *before* things got bad.

Aid station captain at mile 96: “You’ve got 4.8 miles left. You can do anything for 4.8 miles. You could stand on your head for that long.”

KM100 - Leaving Final Aid Station Mile 95

I stuck with running.

Just about everyone who passed me during the race: “Good job.” “Good work, man.” “Keep it up.”

Yeah. What they said.

Yeah. What they said.

Kettle Moraine: 100-Miler Ahead!

Earlier this week I called the Victoria-on-Main B&B in Whitewater, Wisconsin, and asked the owner about rooms for the weekend of June 3-5.

“I’ve got a room for Friday night, and one for Sunday,” he said, “but I don’t have a room for you on Saturday night.”

“That’s perfect,” I told him, and booked the room for those days.

Confused Cat Meme

Howzat? Well, I finally went and did what I’d been planning and working toward for the past four years: I signed up for the Kettle Moraine Trail 100 on June 4-5 – my first 100-mile attempt.

Me Signed Up for Kettle Moraine 2016

It starts at 6:00 a.m. Saturday, and if all goes well I will cross the finish line as the sun comes up on Sunday morning. Hence no need for a Saturday night stay. The response to my call fit so well I took it as a sign; the universe intends me to be there.

And God Said meme

Okay, so why on earth would I do this to myself? My trail-running readers will understand, so my answer is for those of you with more a rational outlook on what makes life meaningful.

My first 50K at Run Woodstock 2012 was just one of those “turning 50” challenges I’d set for myself, and I had no idea what to expect. The farthest I’d run on a trail until then was 5 miles. I arrived late to the start so I got lost immediately, then slogged up and down the trail for six hours, covered in mud from the all-night rain, watching the 100-milers shuffle along like zombies. The moment I crossed the finish line I knew I was hooked. Forget road marathons; this was really living.

But what to do next? Well, a 50K was two laps of the Woodstock course, and a 50-miler was three laps – just one more. How hard could that be?

Much harder, actually, but that's another story.

Much harder, actually, but that’s another story.

And so began the pattern. My first 50-miler was in 2013 and first successful 100K last year, and I have twelve total ultras to date. Up ahead looms will likely be the top of the mountain for me; the 100-miler. There are more punishing events like the 24-hour and 48-hour endurance runs, and the Badwater and Spartathlon are each well over 100 miles, but much like the marathon is the king of the road races, the 100-miler rules the trail ultras.

But am I ready?

Sigmund Freud meme

Well, I’ve trained hard all winter with this goal in mind, and the results so far have been spectacular. Every race since January has been a PR for me, and at Trail Marathon last month I just missed a top 10 finish. So far, so good.

But the best test will be the “dress rehearsal” at the Glacier Ridge Trail 50 on May 14. Last year I fell apart at the 35-mile mark and gave up (DNF) at mile 40. I’m running it again for three reasons – to purge the DNF, to test my physical and mental readiness for Kettle Moraine, and because even with the bad result, I really enjoyed the course and the way it was run.

This year I’m hoping not only to finish Glacier Ridge, but to do so in a reasonable time (12 hours or less), and with something left in the tank. If I can pull that off, it will be a good sign that I’m ready for the big one.

And if not? Well, I paid the money, so I’m going. And with a room secured only for Friday and Sunday nights, I have extra incentive to stick it out on Saturday!

(More to come, including how one trains for an event like this. Stay tuned!)