Tag Archives: Lighthouse 100

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.