Superior Fall Trail Race 2024

WHY am i doing this again, oh, because i love it and fucking missed it.

The Same, but Feels Different

Two years older, a little lighter, and back at the Superior 100. Id like to say this was the year I am total prepared and trained, but to be honest, I was only sorta prepared. Sorta will get you to mile 50, the rest of the race takes place between your ears.

Priorities shift, energy gets divided. I wasn’t as consistent with training as I had been in 2022, but I still managed to put in some solid months and felt pretty confident in my fitness come race day. The 2024 curveball I wasn't expecting was to be running it while my wife was seven months pregnant. Life changes like that, especially at 40 (crap when did I get old?), force you to look at things differently. 40, with a kid on the way; why not run a 100+ miles for vacation. My wife may be the only women ever who had her Babymoon crewing her husband running a 100 miles; kudos to her.

I had some last minute knee issues that honestly caused me concern about even starting that showed up about 10 days out to the point I already had a list of excuses read why I was going to drop. This story would probably be longer if it was a DNF, so be thankful it wasn't.

The start line at Gooseberry Falls had this buzz you could feel in the air. Familiar faces and new ones all there, ready for 105 miles of rugged trail ahead. I wish I could’ve bottled that energy—it was electric. My friend from WTM Lisa was running for her first finish with her Husband Chris Crewing. It had been a couple years since we had seen them so it was great to see old friends. The weather was perfect. Partly cloudy, a high around 70, and a low in the mid-30s. No heat waves this year, and I was thankful for that.

I had brought shirts for the Denim Dave Running Club (My father is known in the backyard ultra community as Denim Dave for his ability to show up and run races in Jeans (crazy right?)) and distributed them to my team members crewing/supporting/pacing as well as the folks who coined the phrase, 'Denim Dave' named (Mel and Elliot).

The Start at Gooseberry

Found Lisa!

Portrait by Scott Rokis

Miles 1-5, Easy Does it

We started at Gooseberry Falls with all the excitement of a big event. The crowd was huge, making it feel more like a state fair than the start of a grueling ultramarathon. But soon, the crowd thinned, and I found myself running with Lisa, a friend from Boston. Those first 5 miles were easy (pretty much the only easy ones)—just chatting as we jogged along the paved bike trail with the sun rising over Lake Superior. I probably annoyed Lisa, because I wouldn't stop talking at this point. Requesting parenting advice, sharing my theory about how the folks who run with a single water bottle on their hand are the ones that will 'fuck shit up'.... i still stand by this assessment; never go head to head with a single hand water bottle runner, their pace will humble you.

Photo by Michelle Haupert

Split rock to silver bay - reality sets in

In 2022, Split Rock was a muddy, slippery mess. But this time, it was dry—so much better. We fell into a single file as we made our way up and across the Split Rock River. Water crossing was knee deep in 2022, but this year, it was low enough that careful rock hopping kept my feet dry. After the first aid station, there’s a steady climb up to the bluff overlooking the lake. The race director was there, cheering us on. I was still riding a wave of adrenaline, and he reminded me to not to get carried away. I confidently responded I planned to ride this wave of stoke until I imploded; (which I did somewhere around Mile 32)

That next section to Beaver Bay was harder than I remembered. The climbs were steeper, the downs were sharper, and everything felt more technical than I had anticipated. This hard ups and downs don't give the heart a break and its easy to get warm in the canopy of the trees even on a cool day. I ran in a pack of folks which was great for maintain some sort of regulated pace.

It was early in the race, and between Beaver Bay, and Sliver bay I was smart enough to slow a bit to cool down (I was running hot) and regain my composure. This section goes quick when you feel good.

Photo by Howie Stern

silver bay to tettegouche: the first real test

100 Mile Ultras, at their core are about making no big mistakes. A BIG mistake (Chaffing bad, super dehydrated, super calorie deficit, etc.) can end your race. Small mistakes just make the rest of the race a bit more uncomfortable.

Out of Silver Bay, the trail took us up toward Bear and Bean Lakes. The sun was out, and the rocks reflected the heat. I had forgotten how tough this section was but was still cranking and running the down's and flats. Half way through I started to get a bit clumsy on my feet from fatigue, lack of sugar, lack of water, something.... I clipped a rock and did my best superman into the ground—nothing serious, but I sprained my wrist slightly.

It shook me up, but I kept going at a more cautious pace. There are some pretty technical ups and downs in this section. The trail eventually gave way to a long, runnable grassy downhill into the Tettegouche aid station where I managed to put down a 11 minute mile at mile 34. Once arriving all beady eyed and a bit nauseous; I took a few extra minutes to rehydrate and regroup. I needed it. Bear and Bean Lake is still one of my favorite sections on the whole course.

Photo by Michelle Haupert

Photo by Howie Stern

tettegouche to FINLAND: into the evening

Top Photo by Scott Rokis Bottom Photo by David Markman

I hooked up with a new group of runners after leaving Tettegouche, a Husband and Wife from Andover known collectively as Melilot. We chatted about their backyard ultra that fundraises for Children's Hospital, quesadilla's and many other things. Important things, like solving all the worlds problems before sunset. As the Sun went down we just clicked into a steady rhythm, working our way towards County Road 6. I enjoy this section, although it does seem to drag on as the sun starts to set and everything turns to grey. Rocks get more difficult to define with the eyes, and a headlamp doesn't always help create contrast in this section. I think I got through a bit more of it before darkness than I did in 2022, which was great, because there are some beautiful overlooks with steep sharp rock drop-offs that are better traversed in the daylight.

I zipped through the CR6 aid station, which was a small mistake because I think they had good food and I should have eaten; I just forgot to stop. I hit up my crew which I hadn't seen since Silver bay. They filled my water and kicked me out of the aid station with a PB&J un-crustable sandwich. It didn't sit well with me, but I kept moving and kept it down, hoping the nauseous would pass. It would not pass for a Looonnng time. This section towards Finland the trail had some initial steep climbs (the kind where I used my hands!), but there were also sections of new trail, which made it runnable in some sections. There was also a few long foot bridges, some in great shape, and some ready to toss you in the drink. One specifically was 2- 2x6's wide, and snaked across a beaver pond, but the boards were all at 30 degrees making it a mile 45 exercise in balance. I passed a few inspiring TRECs folks (The Lohn's) in the section; its always awesome to see familiar faces on the trails, especially in the dark and battling. Eventually, I rolled into Finland, where I changed clothes and picked up my pacer and discovered more food that didn't sit well with my stomach.

Also the last 6 miles the song, "Me, You and Steve by Garfunkel and Oates" was in my head because I was so excited to pick up my Pacer, Steve at Finland as the woods can become a dark an lonely place when running Superior, and I was tired.

I also thought back to the episode of 'What we do in the Shadows' Season 2 episode 2 when Nandor picks out a keychain... anyways... .I was really fucking ready for a pacer.

Photo by Michelle Haupert

FINLAND - MILE 52 - HALF F#@KING WAY (AGAIN!)! ONWARD To CROSBY-MANITOU

By this point, I’d been battling light nausea for a while. I tried to keep eating, but I had to be picky. Potato skins? No. Pizza? Definitely not. But broth and ginger ale? Nothing ails a ginger like ginger ale says I! Food you like; you can hate, and vise versa, its amazing the mental games even food can play on a stomach in these long events. The trail out of Finland is notorious for its tangle of roots—so many that it’s hard to find stable footing. It felt like my brain couldn’t process where to step anymore, and everything just got harder with the dark and tiredness of the night. Moving slow enough not to sweat as a strategy to stay warm in the coldness of the evening as temps dipped into the lower 30s.

Between Sonju and Crosby Manitou, things became a blur. I may have suggested to aid station folks to throw rocks at my pacer, although I cannot remember why....he was probably being too nice. Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the fatigue, but I don’t remember much, I was kind of a whiney bitch. I followed my pacer’s heels, focusing more on hiking than running to avoid sweating in the cold night air. The trail was grown in compared to 2022, and we were constantly brandished by bushes with hits to the body, arms and face. There was a nice warm fire at one of the aid stations, tempting me to stay, but I forced myself to push on after taunting a few other runners who looked to be getting a bit too cozy.

At one point of the night we were kicked out on a service road to skirt around a broken bridge; Steve and I decided to take a break, enjoy the night sky, and turned off our headlamps. We walked in the darkness lit by only the stars. No moon was visible and the stars were incredible.

I used AI giving it some descriptions of the trail at night and generating an image - This is the section after Finland

This is when Steve and I turned off our headlamps on an access road to view the stars

CROSBY MANITOU TO SUGARLOAF: THE TOUGHEST PART OF THE NIGHT

Leaving Crosby Manitou, I braced myself. This is the section that gets you if you’re not ready—big climbs, steep descents, and rough terrain. It’s brutal, especially late at night. But I knew that, so I just kept my head down and pushed through. Hard to do big climbs, maintain a pace, and not sweat even when cool. It winds and turns you around and by the time you’re done with this section, you don’t even know if you’re going the right way. The sun came up as we neared Sugarloaf, which the aid station seemed so distant even when we thought we should be there; we wern't; seeing it gave me a much-needed boost. A friend was volunteering there, and his familiar face was a welcome sight. Look how stoked i was!

Photo by Dan Kuvass

Sugarloaf to temperance: the never-ending up/downs

Onward to Cramer; another section that skips my mind, so we will call this one easy. However the stretch from Sugarloaf to Temperance seemed to go on forever. You think you’re following the Temperance River, but it’s a trick—the real river and State Park is much farther ahead. Climb after climb, descent after descent for what seemed like no purpose as you parallel a river as you move towards lake Superior. It was exhausting. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, you earn a long knee crushing downhill which spits you into the Temperance aid station. My shin muscles were knotting up so after 5 minutes of utterly pointless streaching; a good friend gave me a classic, ‘don't be a pussy speech’ before I left the aid station, it was nice; thanks Jodee!

Temperance to Sawbill TO OBERG: A milestone Reached

The climb out of Temperance to Carlton Peak was supposed to be tough, but it didn’t bother me too much. The climb didn't seem bad. It was a beautiful day, and I started to believe I could finish. What was a goal to crush my previous finish turned into survival and finishing at this point; just keep moving. Once you’re out of Temperance, it feels like you’ve hit a milestone. I wasn’t done yet, but I felt like I was getting close. Lots of people hiking temperance were our best cheerleaders, with a few just confused why we look so disheveled running on these state park hiking trails.

As we left Sawbill to Oberg I remembered this section being easier, but I was wrong. There were more climbs hidden in the forest than I once again erased from my memory, and my pace slowed. I have a few blisters on my feet, my shin muscle basically didn't work, so moving was getting tougher. Steve, my pacer, kept me moving at around 3 MPH, but the fatigue was setting in hard. I remember yelling at Steve (let's be real, I yelled at Steve a lot, like a crazy girlfriend, "SLOW DOWN, I HATE YOU, I LOVE YOU, IM PREGNANT") I was slowly turning into a puddle on legs.

Photo by Scott Rokis

THE LAST PUSH - OBERG TO THE FINISH

At Oberg, my dad, Deim Dave joined us as a second pacer. I was exhausted, so Steve and I let him take the lead. His energy was impressive, considering he’d been crewing for over 30 hours. He powered through the climbs, tripping on more than a few roots and rocks. I think his lack of Denim on his legs must have been throwing off his cadence; but his enthusiasm was contagious. We made our way over Moose Mountain, then Mystery Mountain, and finally up Eagle Mountain. This eagle mountain climb was a nice little twist to the finish that made you earn that last ¼ mile, no more easy road in; just 1 more hill because we can. The end was so close now.

We crossed the finish line after 35 hours and 15 minutes—about 30 minutes faster than my 2022 finish. I was completely drained, but my heart was full. Crossing that line, I didn’t know if I had another race in me, but 10 days later, I already miss it. I couldn’t have done it without my family crewing and supporting me, Steve pacing me through some dark moments, the epic course marking, and the volunteers. It’s the best race in the world, and I love it.

Ultimately, a 100-mile race is just being stubborn enough to walk in the woods for two days straight, while the people who love you support your crazy endeavor of skipping sleep to achieve something that might feel impossible.

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